Page 30 of Bad Bishop
Intellectually challenged, my ass. She understands complicated assignments.
This was an unfortunate turn of events for my new wife. Because if I found out she was a mole—which I now suspected—I was going to punish her. Severely.
I raised my palm between us. Blood snaked down my forearm, twisting like ivy. We both watched. Her in fascination, me with dry amusement.
“First time drawing blood?”
She licked her lips quietly.
“Here. Have a taste.” I pushed my bloodied hand in her face. “One of the many perks of marrying a psychopathic murderer is I’m in no position to judge you.”
I was fucking with her. Testing her limits. Stretching and pushing them to make them burst so I could unveil what lurked beyond that porcelain doll facade.
Her eyes hooded, and her breathing labored. She snatched my wrist with those dainty fingers of hers and jerked it to her cherry-blossom lips.
She forked my fingers with her hot, wet tongue, tasting my blood, ravaging it like a hungry, feral thing. She growled, high on her own newfound ferocity, and I saw it then. Who she was.
A monster, like the rest of her family.
A pretty monster, but one who was capable of killing just like any other.
It was a thing of beauty, watching her feast on my blood. Submitting to her brutal nature. The way her eyelids fluttered shut, the shallow panting that made her tits bounce in this odd, erratic rhythm. Her sweet tongue moved in and out between my fingers, catching every drop.
I hoped she was a spy, because then, I’d have a very good excuse to punish her. And punishing a Ferrante was something I’d always had an appetite for.
Sucking in a breath, I stood up and fisted the unspoiled snowy sheets, tainting them pink.
A knock on the door reminded me there was a world outside of this suite, and that it was time for me to conquer it. I glanced at my wife, who had a postorgasmic, dopey look in her eyes and swollen lips. She didn’t seem so innocent and compliant under the morning light.
I turned my back on her.
“Limp your way to breakfast.”
_______
I disposed of Lila at the women’s breakfast table on the patio along with Fintan, Tierney, and two of my soldiers before meeting with the Ferrante men. I didn’t trust the Camorra with her safety. They fucked up once, and though she couldn’t get pregnant again, I didn’t like people touching my shit. My siblings were trustworthy. Chaotic and extremely messed up, but reliable.
“Where’d the blood on the sheets come from?” Luca’s businesslike tone gave nothing away as he and his brothers escorted me to Vello’s office.
I uncurled my fist and showed him his sister’s handiwork.
Luca nodded. “I’ll send someone with the cash tomorrow.”
“Next month I’m bumping it up from fifty K to eighty.”
“The fuck?” Enzo protested. “Why?”
“I got a preview when she changed this morning. You’re lowballing me. That pussy’s worth a lot.”
All three brothers trained their faces to a hard mask, but their flared nostrils gave their rage away. I never understood Italian conservatism. Tierney could get railed by every man on this island for all I cared as long as she consented to it.
“Don’t parade your whores in front of my sister ever again,” Achilles finally clipped out. “It’s disrespectful to the family.”
I followed them down a curved hallway with black and white checked marble and headless Roman sculptures. “Consider yourself lucky I haven’t raped her.”
I doubted I ever would, but I did like keeping people on their toes. Money could keep me sated for only so long. I was promised a docile little maiden and ended up with a venomous demoness. All bets were off now.
We arrived at the tall double doors leading to Vello’s Crimson Key lair.
