Page 73 of Bad Bishop
The Ferrantes arrived at their manor before me, probably realizing I was pissed enough to follow through with my threat to shoot the matriarch of the family. By the time I parked the golf cart and walked inside, they were all sitting at the table in the kitchen, breads, soups, and salads spread before them. There was a soccer game playing on a gilded framed TV, and a blueforza Napoliscarf draped over the dining chairs. The men were barking orders at the soccer players on TV like they could hear them.
I finally met the elusive Imma. She was sitting with Lila, feeding my wife a hearty Italian wedding soup, cooing at her. Chiara was there, too. Everyone was already eating, but I didn’t mind. We weren’t really family, and thank fuck for that.
“Chiara. A word.” I planted myself between her and my wife.
“It’sLadyChiara,” she enunciated through pursed lips. “And I do not appreciate your tone.”
“You can say whatever you wanna say to her right here,” Achilles informed me, sprawling on a seat and lighting himself a cigarette.
I reached across the table and yanked the cigarette from his mouth, flicking it into his drink. “Not in front of my wife. This applies both to your cigarette and the conversation.”
“You just threatened tokillher, bro,” Enzo pointed at me with his spoon.
“If we reach an understanding, she’ll probably get to live.”
“You’ll be six feet under if you threaten my wife again,” Vello drawled, staring bitterly at the bowl of food he probably couldn’t stomach. “Your audacity is starting to grate on my nerves, son.”
“Should’ve thought of that before you invited me into your family.”
A tug on my wrist made me look down at my wife.
“You get more bees with honey,” she signed.
“Fine.” I shook her off. “If your mother’s pathetic life means something to you, I guess she can keep it.”
Chiara put a hand to her diamond-decked neck, staring at her daughter with anger and betrayal.
“You speak to him now?”
“She does,” I supplied. “As she should. I’m her husband.”
“Mama, please.” Lila’s eyes were begging.
Chiara looked the other way. Something happened in my body. Something that didn’t even happen when I watched my sister almost get shot to death in a game of Russian roulette when we were kids.
Rage.Potent and red and inescapable.
“Mama, you told us Lila can’t understand us.” Luca kneaded his temples. “You said she is mentally four years old.”
“I said what needed to be said to keep her safe.” Chiara straightened her back primly.
“All this time… We could’ve talked to her.” Enzo’s lower lip curled.
“You dodged a bullet.” Achilles turned to Lila. He didn’t seem any more rocked by this revelation than he was by tomorrow’s weather forecast. “Asshole would’ve talked your ear off.”
“Achilles,” Chiara chided.
“He started it,” Achilles said gravely.
“Look at me. I’m the picture of a good brother.” Enzo gestured to his baby face. “How did I start it?”
“You were born,” Achilles deadpanned.
“Does this mean we’ll all have to learn ASL now?” Enzo swirled his tongue over a spoonful of soup.
“Yeah,” Luca growled. “All of us. Nonnegotiable.”
“Ugh, I suck at languages.”
