Page 2 of Bad Bishop
Achilles moseyed over to me. His fingers fastened around my neck, his thumbs hiking my Adam’s apple up my throat. Choking me to death on my own cartilage? Creative. I despised all things mundane, and that included artless murder. Achilles Ferrante was a cold-blooded monster. But hey, at least he wasn’t mediocre.
His brothers pulled him back before he cut off my air supply, slamming him against the wall. The three broke into an argument in Neapolitan, their lips moving a mile a minute.
Waiting for them to stop bickering, I examined my surroundings in boredom.
As far as torture chambers went, this one was adequate. Stone walls bracketed the room. It was dark, cold, and packed with medieval torturing devices. The iron maiden, the rack, the pear of anguish. There was also a generic knife rack, a chainsaw, and a wall of artillery. It was Disney World for psychopaths. And I wasn’t allowed to test any of the rides.
The door at the top of the steep stairway was padded with noise-canceling foam. No one was coming to save me.
Not that there was anything to save.
No soul.
No heart.
No conscience.
I was an animated corpse. Bones, muscles, flesh, and menace. Vengeance was my fuel, and it was enough to keep me moving, just about.
At last, Luca broke out of their human circle. He grabbed me by the collar and pulled me back into a sitting position. He popped a cigarette into my mouth, flicking his Zippo to torch the tip.
So we got into the good cop/bad cop portion of the night. Yay fucking me.
“You killed the head of Bratva,” he surmised, voice shredded by cigarettes. “We have good business with them. Drugs, weapons, recycling routes. You’re costing me money, Callaghan. And Ilikemoney. You know what I don’t like?”
“A clean pair of fucking lungs?” My gaze halted on the cigarette in his hand.
“People who stand in the way to my money. I always find creative ways to get rid of them.”
“Send me the bill,” I drawled.
“It’s not just monetary.” Luca kicked the pakhan’s skull sideways. “New York belongs to us. When you go around killing people in our zip code, it makes us look like we don’t have a grip on our own ground.”
“Where’s the lie?” My voice was distant and disinterested. “What the fuck was a Bratva boss doing deep in Camorra territory?”
“Family function,” Enzo ground out. “His nephew’s graduation. Igor asked for permission, which I personally granted. You made me look like an idiot.”
He didn’t need me to look like an idiot. He was doing a fine job by himself.
“I found him exiting your club,” I reminded him.
“It was a very emotional ceremony, okay?” Enzo said earnestly. “He took the nephew to have his first drink there. Adorable, if you ask me.”
“My beef with the Rasputins extends beyond geography and politics. I won’t stop until I kill the entire family.” I spoke around the cigarette. I didn’t smoke. Not very often, anyway. Here and there, and mostly weed. I was far too committed to my other vices—violence and greed—to pick up a third one. “And if they dare set foot in this city, I sure as fuck am going to take advantage.”
“Let’s hope your beef with them extends into the afterlife, too.” Achilles slapped my back, nearly making me cough out a lung. “Because next time you take liberties in Camorra territory, I’ll smoke your ass like a pork’s butt.”
“Considering they’ve been eyeing New York for years now, you’d be a fool to intervene.” Talking sense into the Ferrantes was the equivalent of fucking a roadkill into resurrection, but just like a wayward squirrel, something compelled me to try.
“New York’s ours,” Luca snarled.
“Is it?” I marveled. “I own the Bronx, and the Russians have been buying Manhattan land for years now. What you have with them isn’t business, it’s a hostile takeover.” I spat out the cigarette. “You’ve been losing prestige for a solid decade. Once you lose the Upper East Side, the empire falls. It’s already decomposing. Why do you think your father hasn’t picked any of your sorry asses to replace him yet? You reek of weakness.” Imanaged to keep my irritation out of my tone.Just.“Give me a blank check to finish the Russians off.”
“You want us to think you have our best interests in mind?” Luca took a drag of his cigarette, wafting the smoke sideways. “After all this time?”
I’d known these fuckers since I was fourteen. They aged like a fine corpse.
“I’m killing them because of my own personal vendetta.” I cracked my neck. “Our interests happen to align, that’s all.”
