Page 17 of Bad Bishop
I used the muzzle of my gun to scratch my jaw. “What do you want in return?”
“Not enough,” Achilles grumbled. “And the offer is time-sensitive, so hurl your ass this way now.”
“Bold of you to barge in here looking for a favor and put me on a deadline.”
“Look, either you’re coming or we’ll move down our list to another asshole who’d take this deal.”
“I’m coming armed.” I re-holstered. The brothers exchanged looks. Achilles jerked his head in a nod.
They led me to their Humvee, glancing at me every now and then to ensure I didn’t put a bullet in their heads. I had no plans to do that.Yet.Anger made you stupid, and stupid got you killed. Whatever they needed from me, they were desperate enough to ask for it nicely.
Achilles, Enzo, and Luca—who waited in the driver’s seat—bickered in Neapolitan the entire way to their Long Island mansion. They sounded pissed, though it beat me as to why. All the Russians I’d killed after our little reunion had been dumped far beyond the city limits. I even attended Luca’s wedding. He and his new wife had the sizzling chemistry of a toothpick and a bucket of piss.
We arrived at their manor. Last time I was here, I lost an eye. Now, I was losing my bleeding patience.
We spilled into the foyer. Two curved, grand staircases stared back at me. Intricate columns in ivory and gold. Vaulted high ceilings, rich Persian carpets, baroque paintings, and so much gold my healthy eye nearly bled itself into blindness. The design was a mix of expensive, tacky, and over-the-top.
Servants rushed to take my coat and offer me refreshments. A wry chuckle escaped me. Last time I was here, I was a prisoner. Now, I was royalty. Oh, how the tables had turned.
“Not one word, Callaghan.” Achilles got in my face, his finger an inch from my good eye. “In fact, try not to breathe. Your goddamn existence chaps my ass.”
Ignoring him, I stalked inside.
“By the way, love the pirate look.” Enzo slapped my back from behind, catching my step. “Really suits you.”
“I don’t swing that way.”
“Don’t mistake my hate boner for a proposition,” he said smoothly, but the tips of his ears reddened. “Neither do I.”
“Sure, buddy.”
Eager to finish the conversation with a man so dumb he probably dropped out of the University of Life, I stepped forward, deeper into the house.
Luca and I ascended the curved stairway. Enzo and Achilles trailed behind. I considered all theories during the ride here and still hadn’t figured out their angle for this meeting. They gaveme the okay to kill Alex and his siblings as long as I made their bodies disappear, which I hadn’t even done yet. Other than that, I had no outstanding beef with the Italians.
We marched through the corridor and into the first set of double doors leading to Vello’s office. Luca opened the doors, and Achilles shoved me through them.
Sitting behind his desk was Don Vello himself, wearing a paisley cravat and a three-piece. He looked like a sphinx cat in a suit. Pale, mostly hairless, wrinkly, and too frail for his scowl to be taken seriously.
The rumors were true, then.
He was dying.
To his right, on an upholstered velvet settee, were his wife and daughter.
Lady Chiara was bawling her eyes out into what, at some point, was a tissue. She stared at me like I pissed in her grits this morning. I didn’t take it personally. That tended to happen with women who knew what I did for a living.
The vast room was paneled with mahogany and filled with pictures from Camorra events—weddings, funerals, and baptisms. There was an elaborate, gold-gilded chess set on the desk in front of Vello.
In one of the two seats in front of him was my da, wearing his Sunday best and a placid expression. Next to him was my older brother, Fintan, and my twin sister, Tierney.
My irritation turned to apprehension. What the fuck was my entire family doing here?
“Callaghan. Thank you for coming.” Vello gestured to the chair in front of him.
I glanced around. “What’s the story? We throwing a party? Enzo’s balls finally dropped?”
Vello signaled to the chair again. “Have a seat.”
