Page 185 of Bad Bishop
I stopped in front of the Tudor-style, white-bricked mansion and killed the engine. Closed my eyes.
He is your brother.
He picked up your pieces when you found your way home.
Taught you English.
Saved you from offing yourself when you didn’t think life was worth living.
Taught you how to find joy in the life you have left.
If it wasn’t for him, you’d have killed yourself after killing Igor. You wouldn’t have Lila. Or Nero. This life.
“Please.” I heard him again. I opened my eyes and looked out the window to the second floor, immediately finding him peering from behind the curtain of his bedroom.
“Tiernan, forgive me. I would’ve never touched a girlfriend of yours. Let alone your wife. Anyone who’s important to you. I’d never done anything like it before. Not ever. I was feeling wild that night. And drunk. So fucking drunk. I was livid with the Camorra for taking out your eye and having the audacity to invite us as guests. I knew the Ferrantes only issued the invitation to show off what they’d done to you. Like you were a circus monkey or something.”
This was likely true. I’d shown up anyway, not too proud to give up on the chance to squash my beef with Tate Blackthorn. He’d been meddling in my legal business for months before that.
“It was myfuck youto them for what they did to my little brother. A one-off. Anonly-off. You have to believe me.”
I didn’t utter one damn word.
“You forgave Alex Rasputin for what his father’s done. You spared his life. I’m sure you have it in your heart to forgive another brother. I’ll get better. I’ll getsober. I’ll repent this sin. I swear to you. I will. And I’ll be the best damn uncle in the entire world.”
“I believe you,” I said, finally. “I’m going to come inside now. You will greet me unarmed. You will have a duffel bag ready with your bare necessities. I’m going to drive you to a rehab center in Connecticut. And I’m not going to discharge your arse until you’re as sober as a nun for one whole bleeding year. After which you’re moving to Ireland, and I’m never seeing you again. Am I clear?”
“Y-yes,” he spluttered, breaking into a sob. “Thank you, brother. Thank you so much. I won’t let you dow—”
I killed the call and got out of my car before waltzing toward the front door. Fintan’s sports car was the only one parked in front. Shame he wouldn’t have time to say goodbye to Da or Maggie.
I unlocked the front door and stepped inside. A few minutes later, Fintan took the stairs down, holding a duffel in his hand. He stopped when he reached the last step.
We stood in front of each other, somber and subdued.
He looked like hell. Face splotchy and swollen, eyes bloodshot, hair a tangled mess.
I forced myself to push aside the thought of him touching my wife, prying her sweet, delicate thighs open, pushing into her virginal cunt, snatching her virtue, spilling his seed inside her, hitting her, splitting her lip, her temples, her cheeks…
My nostrils flared.
You’re alive because of him.
Remember that.
I opened my arms, palms up, my expression tranquil, my posture casual.
“You are absolved. Come and get your forgiveness, brother.”
His breath picked up, the tension between us brewing like a cyclone that started in the very foyer we stood at. “Just like that?”
“You saved me when I wanted to kill myself,” I said. “I’ll spare your life this one time. There won’t be a second.”
His entire posture deflated. His resolve broke, and he hurried into my embrace, throwing his arms around me, weeping into my neck. “Oh, God. Tiernan. God. Keeping this secret to myself all these months…it ate me alive. I couldn’t bear it.”
His duffel fell to the floor. I held him for a moment, breathing in his familiar scent, of alcohol and leather and his favorite cologne.
Placed a soothing palm on the back of his head with my left hand.
