Bad Bishop by L.J. Shen - 6

There was only one thing I hated more than a Ferrante brother.

And that was two Ferrante brothers interrupting me while I was splitting the G. The heavenly act of taking the first, large sip of a freshly poured Guinness.

I was sitting in Fermanagh’s, going over the books, when Enzo and Achilles showed up at my door.

I drew my weapon and aimed it at Achilles’s head. Let’s be honest, a bullet would only do his face good.

“That’s a weird way of saying hello.” Enzo flashed me a friendly smile.

“I don’t acknowledge lesser life-forms.”

“ Ouch . That is so uncalled for.” Enzo almost pouted. “If it wasn’t for me stitching your ass, I’d be visiting a cemetery right now, not a lively pub.”

I forgot how chatty the Ferrantes were. Already, I wanted my fucking time back.

“What brings you down to my humble kingdom?” I asked.

“Maybe we just missed you.” Enzo tossed his knife in the air with a shrug, catching it by the hilt.

I cataloged the Italian jokester. A preppy black peacoat and black hoodie combo, slim fit chinos, and a three-hundred- buck haircut. He looked about as scary as a moldy piece of marshmallow.

“Have your fill, lover boy. You just entered my territory unannounced, and I have every reason to make lasagna out of your brain. Frisk them.” I jerked my chin toward the Camorristi men.

Three of my soldiers stood up, stomping over to the brothers and patting them down. They raised their arms sideways with a disgruntled look. I grabbed my phone and took a picture of the humiliating moment.

Astonishingly, they were both unarmed.

“What do you want?” I grumbled.

“Come with us, and we’ll tell you.” Enzo tilted his head to the Humvee parked outside.

“Tell me here. I don’t serve at the pleasure of your crown.”

“We have an offer for you.” Achilles’s tone suggested his offer was to drink cyanide straight from the source.

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 gave me 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.”

I sauntered painfully slowly just to piss everyone off before sprawling on the recliner opposite him.

“Do you enjoy making people wanna bash their heads against the wall?” Achilles seethed.

“Of course,” I answered matter-of-factly. That he’d even ask was disconcerting.

“Let me start by saying nothing we’ll discuss here will ever leave this room.” Don Vello stood up, limping toward a drink cart with his cane. “If I hear you as much as breathed about it to anyone else, I’ll make sure to kill your entire family in front of you before slaughtering you. That includes your father and siblings, who kindly grace us with their presence today.”

His words, calm and deadly, brushed right past me. He plucked two small glasses and a bottle of Amaro del Capo from a mini freezer, returning to his seat and setting the glasses in front of us. His knees gave out, buckling him back into the seat. His fingers trembled against the bottle of liquor. I wasn’t about to offer him help. I wouldn’t piss on a Ferrante if one was on fire. It was a matter of principle.

Vello filled the glasses halfway. I snapped my fingers and motioned upward.

“Keep going. I’ve a feeling I’m going to need it.”

He filled my cup until the liquid sloshed over. I picked it up and downed it in one gulp, slamming it against the table. “Why am I here?”

“Lila is pregnant,” he announced, reaching for an engraved box. He produced a Cuban cigar, ran it under his nose, and bit off the tip with a scowl.

“I see.” I ran my tongue across my teeth, considering the information. “Who the fuck is Lila?”

Whoever she was, I hadn’t done the impregnating. I’d sampled my fair share of Camorra princesses, but never in the traditional, baby-making ways.

“Raffaella. Lila. My daughter .” Vello’s molars ground into dust.

Ah. Raffaella. The youngest. Mentally three, the lads at the poker tables whispered. Which still put her a few dozen IQ points above Enzo.

“Congratulations?” I yawned.

“ Che idiota .” Achilles scrubbed his face with his hand.

“That’s a bit harsh.” I tsked. “She’s your sister, after all.”

The taunt made Achilles bulldoze in my direction. Fintan lunged to his feet, blocking his way to me.

“Another move toward my brother and you’ll be God’s problem.”

“Sit your ass down, Fintan. You’re not even a made man.” Luca’s voice dripped in disdain.

I toyed with the ring on my pinky, still annoyed I left a perfectly poured pint of Guinness for this shit.

“Lila was raped during Luca’s wedding,” Vello provided.

Everyone in the room shifted uncomfortably. Mrs. Ferrante let out a strangled sob. Fuck’s sake. Was there a bottom line to all of this?

And then Vello stared at me in a way that indicated the bottom line might be that I did the raping.

“Don’t look at me. I’ve very few red lines, but raping children is one of them.” I tapped my pinky ring. “Besides, I only do blowies and anal. Less chance of giving the woman an orgasm.”

Vello screwed his fingers into his eye sockets. Luca stared at the ceiling. Enzo looked like he was about to hurl his knife straight between my eyes.

“I pray for your soul,” Chiara muttered.

“Don’t have one, but cheers.”

“Actually, the fact most people in the underworld would believe you’re a child rapist is exactly why you’re here,” Achilles said.

“I already told you; you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“You’re not being blamed for anything, son,” Da clarified.

“Doesn’t sound like it.” I thunked my glass Vello’s way, signaling for him to top me up. “Happy to do a paternity test.”

Vello pushed another glassful of alcohol toward me, staring at me shrewdly. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Do you guys think it’s a Camorrista?” my twin sister asked curiously. “A turncoat?”

Luca dragged a hand over his face. “We’re still connecting the dots.”

“And you need someone discreet to find the rapist?” Tierney guessed. “Is that why you called us here?”

It made sense they wouldn’t task one of their own with the job. This was a PR catastrophe for a crime family who made a living being feared.

“I can hunt him down,” I offered. “But I charge up front, and I ain’t cheap.”

Vello chuckled, staring me down like I offered him a hearty bowl of vomit. “If I wanted an assassin, I’d hire Tristan Hale. I only work with the best.”

Hale did make an art of killing people, but I wouldn’t say he was better. We had different execution styles. Mine was more eccentric. I liked to put forth my imaginative nature. Besides, Hale was a masked man. No one knew what he looked like. Technically, I could be him.

“So.” I twirled the liquor in my small glass, staring down at it with boredom. “You gonna tell me why I’m here, or beat around the bush for another hour?”

“We want you to marry Lila,” Vello said.

I ceased the twirling. Stared him down. I knew he was losing the battle to whatever the fuck was killing him. Didn’t realize he also lost his faculties.

“Marry my daughter, Callaghan. Claim the baby as your heir.”

“No,” I said simply.

“Wait!” Tierney lurched forward in her seat. “W—wait. Hear him out.”

I shot a glare at my family. My father shrugged.

“People will believe you’re ruthless enough to take someone like… Miss Ferrante .” He cleared his throat. “You thrive off your merciless reputation. This’ll serve you well. We’ll have Ferrante business, connections, resources. They’ll open up the port for us. We’ll be able to get shipments from Europe. Unchecked.”

The PANYNJ was riding our ass six ways from Sunday, confiscating my drug shipments on a regular basis. The Ferrantes had no such problem. They owned the port, organization, and workers’ union.

“And I’ll be able to break my deal with Achilles.” Tierney tried snatching my gaze, her voice reeking of desperation.

The deal.

Achilles Ferrante’s greatest sin in my book wasn’t even clawing out my eye.

About a year ago, when I kidnapped billionaire Tate Blackthorn’s wife, just minding my own business, as a part of work, Achilles held Tierney hostage for a few hours. We’d ended up striking a deal where she’d agreed he’d choose her future husband, and in return, he released her.

“Nice try.” Achilles afforded her a smile. “Your ass is mine, sweetheart.”

“What do you even care about my love life?” Tierney threw her hands in the air. “You’re gay.”

“That’s a rumor you started,” Achilles said laconically. “Good to see you know how to spread something that isn’t your legs, though.”

“We both know I’m spreading nothing. You assigned me a chaperone.”

“ Enough .” Vello’s palm came crashing down onto the table. “You two aren’t the subject. Although, now that we veered off-topic—Achilles, you cannot marry the mouthy Irish girl. She’s impure.”

“Toxic as all hell.” My sister kicked back, crossing her legs with a grin. She wore black Chanel logo stockings and a black dress that wanted to be a handkerchief. “I’m no Eve. More like Lilith.”

My sister was a sight. Men desired her. Women detested her. It made her an extremely lonely creature, even though she had hundreds of fake friends.

“Your behavior is shameful.” Vello’s lips curled.

“I suggest you keep your opinions about my sister to yourself,” I warned Vello. “It’d be incredibly rude of me to kill a man in his own office.”

“Oh, let him vent.” Tierney rolled her eyes, examining her dark nail polish with a pout. “The only time I’m interested in what a man has to say is when my personal shopper calls to tell me the new Balmain collection just dropped.”

“So.” Vello returned his attention to me. “Back to our negotiation.”

“Fuck your negotiation.” Fintan pointed a shaky finger at Vello. “She’s damaged goods. Why should my brother receive someone else’s scraps when he can marry a Mafia princess like Francesca Rossi?”

“Did you just compare your brother to the sitting president ?” Achilles tilted his head, his dark eyes dancing with wicked amusement. “My fucking God, I knew you were an alcoholic, but I didn’t know you were a tweaker, too.”

“Damaged goods, huh?” Luca ran his tongue over his teeth.

“You heard it right.” Fintan’s flat tone held no hesitation. “My brother deserves a debutante, not a teenager with a bastard in her womb. He’s the rising king of the underworld.”

Luca shook his head, jerking his chin toward Fintan. Enzo nodded, waltzing over to my brother, grabbing him by the collar, and dragging him down to the basement of terror.

I was pleased Fintan was going to get a rib or two cracked. It’d keep him away from the gambling rooms for a while.

“Why me?” I asked Vello.

“You have a last name and are above killing women.”

“Glowing endorsement, but I killed three.”

Chiara gasped. I never said they didn’t deserve it. Sue me for being an equal opportunity feminist.

“You’re single, powerful, and discreet.” Vello ignored my confession. “And we’d rather fight with you, not against you.”

Prying the truth out of a Ferrante was like milking a cockroach.

“Why isn’t she getting an abortion?” I asked. “Seems easier than pawning her off.”

“Surely, as a fellow Catholic, you understand why.” Vello scowled.

“As a man who has committed every sin in the Bible and invented new ones in the process, I don’t consider myself a son of God.” I reached to grab one of his cigars, running it under my nose. “Truth be told, we’re not even second cousins. Besides, she’s a fucking fetus.”

“She turned eighteen two months ago.”

“Tiernan will take good care of Lila,” Da said earnestly. I didn’t know where he got this idea from. I wouldn’t trust myself with a bleeding houseplant. Not even a succulent, and those apparently didn’t need much water. “He won’t harm her. And this’ll squash all territorial and trust issues between the Irish and the Camorra.”

“Doesn’t she have severe intellectual disabilities?” I asked. “I’m not here to wipe someone’s ass, no matter how beneficial to me.”

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Achilles bared his teeth. “Don’t use that derogatory language.”

I couldn’t help but toss my head back and laugh. Achilles being inclusive was the height of comedy. I’d seen this man rip a person’s asshole with construction tools as a form of interrogation.

My best-kept secret was that I was not, in fact, a bigot. But in my line of work, not being an ignorant bag of shit was hardly a flex. I had a reputation to uphold. I was the man God didn’t want in hell from fear he’d corrupt its residents.

“Lila is self-sufficient.” Chiara straightened her spine, her urge to defend her daughter overriding her disdain for me. She had dark circles under her eyes. “She doesn’t require any assistance to fulfill basic tasks such as eating a meal and tidying after herself, as well as using the bathroom and showering independently. Besides, she’ll be with me all day, every day. She has activities to attend to. Occupational therapy. Swimming. Horseback riding. She’ll barely be at your…” She twisted her upturned nose in revulsion. “ Place .”

“I’m not marrying her,” I drawled, so we could start bargaining. I would marry a fucking crack pipe if it brought me closer to my end goal. I had no scruples to speak of. But I wasn’t doing it for free.

“Rethink your answer, Callaghan,” Luca demanded. “You owe me. Filippo, remember?”

“Kill one of my soldiers to even the score.” I kicked my feet onto Vello’s desk, tossing the unlit cigar back to the floor. “I’m not giving your sister my ring and my name to get in your good books.”

“Look at her.” Vello gestured to the helpless creature on the couch. “Would it be so terrible to claim this fine woman as your own?”

“ Vello ,” Chiara warned. “You’re taking advantage of her mental disabilities.”

“I’d have done this regardless, considering the circumstances,” Vello said. “You know that.”

I had to tilt my entire body to look at the Ferrante girl, thanks to her brother plucking one of my eyeballs out. She sat primly on the edge of the settee, hands in her lap, staring down at her feet.

I didn’t need to look. I already knew she was fucking gorgeous.

It was why I spared her meaningless life the night Achilles took my eye.

Tarnishing her soft skin with my blood, putting fear in those sapphire blues, had been enough to get my dick hard.

She was fawn-like in features. A tiny little thing. Utterly angelic. Her pale gold hair flowed in succulent waves down to her ass. Her frame was narrow and slim, and the swell of her tits was magnificent under her lilac buttoned-down dress. Her face was the pinnacle of perfection. Hand-drawn high cheekbones, elfin nose, cerulean eyes, and pouty, pink lips. The elegant arch of her eyebrows was delectable. Even her nostrils were flawless. She held zero resemblance to her brothers, with their Roman noses, square jaws, and amber tans. Not to mention Vello, who had the underbite of a French bulldog.

If this creature was a pure-blooded Ferrante, I was Peter the Apostle.

Tragic was the fact such beauty was wasted on a woman who could never use it as a weapon. Although, judging by the way she stared back at me now, she looked like she wanted to spear me into the nearest rusty fence. Very Ferrante of her.

It occurred to me Vello just sacrificed his only daughter for me to do to her as I pleased. Snap those shapely legs like twigs. Make her pay for every single thing her brothers did to me. She wouldn’t breathe a word. Even if she could, it’d be too late. She’d be mine.

To own.

To control.

To abuse.

Every single person in the room knew this fact. Yet, it was a price they were willing to pay. All of them, with the exception of her mother, who hardly had a say.

I turned back to the don. “She’s a corker, I’ll give you that, but a pretty cunt is just that—a cunt. It feels the same as any other in the dark. Sweeten the deal for me. Offer me something I cannot refuse.”

“ Tiernan ,” Da growled.

Vello held his hand up. “It’s his right to consummate this marriage if he takes her as a wife. As long as he doesn’t damage her, I’ll allow it.”

Chiara completely lost it. She flung from the couch, throwing herself onto Vello, her fingers wrapping around his neck. She started yelling in Italian.

Luca and Achilles didn’t intervene.

“ A santa Chiara dopp’arrubbato mettettero ‘e porte ‘e fierro ,” 1 Vello spat out, not bothering to spare her a look. He hit the panic button under his desk with a yawn. Two Camorrista soldiers stepped into the room.

“Gentle with her,” Luca said coolly. The two men pried the hysterical woman from her husband, escorting her out of the room.

“You’re a bad bishop, Tiernan.” Vello dragged a bishop piece across his chessboard. “You have all these ambitions—eliminating the Bratva, taking over swaths of New York, getting into politics, but none of the manpower and only half the funds. You’re blocked whichever way you go. Camorra here, Russians here, feds there. Can’t move left, right, backward, or forward. You’re stuck.” He knocked a pawn on the chessboard with the bishop. “I can help you with that. I can unlock all these doors you’ve been craving to open. Tiernan ,” he raised his voice, his eyes searching mine, “I have the key.”

“I’ll claim the bastard by giving it my name only. I’ll not be involved with your daughter or the child. She can live under my roof, and I’ll fuck her occasionally, but nothing more.”

“Continue.” Vello pressed his fingers together. He was an old wolf. But an old wolf was still a wolf. He wasn’t going to hand over half his kingdom.

“In exchange, you’re gonna help me finish off the Rasputins.”

The room fell quiet.

Achilles was the first to bite. “Fuck it.” Smoke engulfed his words. “They want New York. We’ll have to deal with them sooner or later. It’ll send the right message to our enemies, too.”

“What’s the message?” Luca asked.

“That we always notice and never fucking miss.”

Vello turned to look at Luca.

He jerked his chin. “It’s been a long time coming.”

Vello inclined his head. “My soldiers are at your disposal.”

“Your sons, too.”

He needed to have real skin in the game. Plus, I didn’t rule out getting Achilles killed for what he did to me.

“Our hands have been clean for far too long.” Achilles’s voice cut through the silence like scissors. “Blood. Power. War. We crave it. Our soldiers, too. It’s time.”

Vello contemplated this for a moment before nodding.

Well, shit. If this was his opening gambit, he really needed this reunion.

“And I want Harlem. North. South. All of it,” I pressed on.

“Keep dreaming, pretty boy.” Achilles flicked his cigarette out the window.

I stood up, knowing I wouldn’t make it past the threshold. They were desperate to clean their hands of the girl. I turned around and headed for the door. Vello’s words stopped me midstride.

“I’ll give you Harlem on one condition,” Vello’s death-drenched voice croaked. “You find Lila’s rapist and take revenge. Discreetly. Show your loyalty to us, prove that this union between the Ferrantes and Callaghans is more than business. If you do this for me, if you find the man and kill him, I will give you Harlem. Not before.”

Expanding the Callaghan territory and dragging the Ferrantes into my war was too sweet a deal to turn down. I wanted to conquer New York, so I could leave Tierney and Fintan something behind. Means to live comfortably after I was gone.

Plus, I never shied away from wet work.

Pivoting, I reached over to his chessboard, using a bishop to knock down every piece around it. “Send me all CCTV footage from the wedding weekend.”

I stalked out of the office without sparing my new bride a glimpse. Chiara was in the hallway, wrestling with the soldiers on the carpet. I sidestepped her. Behind my back, I heard the sound of the glass shattering in Vello’s fist, Achilles ranting in Italian, and Luca barking at his soldiers to unhand his mother.

Only Lila stayed silent.

Not for long. I smirked.

I was very good at making people scream.

1 “You’re trying to protect something after the loss has already occurred”; “too little, too late”.