Page 24 of Bad Bishop
Leave it to my mother to be angry at the woman for breaking the dress code, rather than sleeping with the groom.
But Enzo was onto something. Maybe the cheerleader was going to satisfy my husband’s needs for tonight. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him touch me.
Who said he’ll ask for your permission?
I was going to fight. Consequences be damned. I didn’t care that I wasn’t supposed to understand what was happening. The jig was up. I had nothing left to pretend for.
Tiernan and his companion disappeared from view. Mild relief and acidic irritation swirled in my gut.
It was common practice for a man to take a mistress or two in our world. But it was courtesy to conceal her from view. If not from your associates, then at least from your wife.
About an hour later, a Camorra soldier gingerly knocked on the door of the honeymoon suite, where Mama and her friends gathered around me. Little girls in bridesmaid dresses jumped up and down on the bed. Italian tradition, to invite fertility to the newlyweds’ bed.
The married ladies, Mama included, sat on chairs. It was custom that only virgins were allowed on these sheets. It didn’t stop my mama from letting me sit on the edge of the bed.
“Lady Ferrante.” He bowed his head. “Raffaella is being called for the speeches. They’re wheeling in the cake.”
“Oh, Fabio, she’s too tired.” She waved him off. “Leave us. But do send over some food and a hamper of tea.”
He didn’t move.
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes?”
“Her husband wants her there.”
Silence. Dark, ominous energy poisoned the air.
“Speeches?” Mama huffed sarcastically, keeping her poise. “They don’t even know each other. What is there to say? Besides, I do not take orders from peasants, and neither does my daughter.”
“The don asked to relay the message.” The soldier bowed his head lower, switching from Italian to Neapolitan. “He thinks it shows strength through unity. I’m sorry.” His throat bobbed. “She needs to come.”
And come, I did. I was ushered back downstairs, where my mother reluctantly disposed of me next to my new husband. He was surrounded by his father, brother, sister, and Irish soldiers, and spared me no look.
I noticed all three of the siblings had the same, impossibly rare hair. Blood-red burgundy, rich and dark like aged wine. Their father had ordinary, dark brown hair. They must have taken after their mother.
Was she here? If so, how come I hadn’t met her?
I knew nothing about my groom.
Only that he was wild and exquisitely violent.
That the men in my family found him incontrollable and infuriating because he didn’t fear them.
A few minutes later, Tiernan’s brother stood up and clinked a fork to his champagne flute. He made a speech I couldn’t lip-read, since his back was to me. He looked remarkably like my husband, and yet nothing like him at all. The same ruby hair and green eyes, athletic build, and aristocratic strong features.
But this was where the similarities ended. Whereas Tiernan dripped power and cruelty, his brother looked like a well-groomed accountant, one of the many you could find on Wall Street. He lacked that devil-may-care air, the easygoing charisma.
Since I couldn’t read Fintan’s lips, I turned to look at my family’s table. My mother’s face was gray and lifeless. My fatherand brothers’ masks of indifference were on, but I could see through their cracks. The throbbing vein in Luca’s forehead. The strain in Papa’s neck. Enzo’s slight scowl. Achilles’s insatiable thirst for revenge and gore.
Then it was my husband’s turn to deliver his words. He stood, grabbing me by the waist and yanking me up with him. I gasped at the sudden invasion. He wrapped his arm around my neck, tucking me under his armpit like I was his captive.
The crowd shifted uncomfortably.
He studied the room, his silence somehow louder than everyone else’s.
His lips moved, and my eyes clung to them.
“Look at her.” He snatched my jaw, tilting my face upward, exhibiting his trophy. “So clean. So pure. Soinnocent,” he taunted.
