Page 115 of Bad Bishop

“Your wife is stunning,” Aisling gasped in disbelief, ping-ponging her gaze between us. Yes, I wasn’t much to look at these days, thanks to Achilles, but Lila never seemed bothered by that.

She always made sure I removed my eye patch when I came to bed, rubbing a soothing thumb along the indents it left on my skin.

“You’re very lucky,” Aisling added.

“Luck has nothing to do with it.” I took a swig of my drink. “I’d have claimed her as mine if I had to burn down the whole country.” I frowned, considering my ridiculous statement. “Canada, too.”

Eventually, I’d have seen her in broad daylight. Noticed her.

Once I had, I’d have made her mine.

Even if I had to slaughter every single Ferrante in my way with my bare hands.

Even if she had to watch it.

She was an obsession. A compulsion. Martyrs had died for lesser causes.

I didn’t love her. But there was no denying we changed each other in ways that benefited both of us. I needed some of her tenderness. And she, in return, received a blank check to be who she truly was—a little fucked up, a tad violent, entirely a sexual woman who deserved to be satisfied often, and hard. With me, she could be a teenager. Messy. Emotional. Confused.

She could make small mistakes without worrying about the consequences.

“Are you going to stop staring at your wife at some point?” Sam shot me a concerned look.

“Logic dictates that, yes.” I tucked a hand into my front pocket. “But I wouldn’t put money on it, Brennan.”

We fell into boring small talk for a few minutes, most of it carried by Sam, who insisted on being civilized in front of his wife, before Achilles announced, “Enough of this bullshit. Let’s talk shop.”

“That’s my cue to leave you to it.” Aisling smiled, kissing her husband’s lips and moving toward the Keatons. Sam watched her go, his eyes dimming like he just said goodbye to his last ever sunset.

I turned to him. “Well?”

“Alex’s back.” He cut straight to the chase, switching to an entirely new persona. “Landed in Vegas eleven hours ago. With reinforcements.”

“What’s the head count?” I asked.

“Five, at least. Couldn’t confirm their identities, though.”

Probably from his gulag. Fresh warriors he had trained, then planned to unleash here in the States.

“Is he making a move east?”

Sam shook his head. “That’s the good news. I think we have four, maybe five weeks before he’ll attempt retaliation. He needs to recoup. Get his ducks in a row. He just had an entire drug shipment stolen from the dock, so he’ll deal with that first. Next, he has a few turncoats he needs to off in his own ranks. He’ll probably strike after he’s checked those boxes, though. He’d want your head on a platter when he assumes his place as pakhan. It’d be a nice touch if he has your skull when he makes the announcement.”

“No doubt.” I casually knocked down a vase full of roses on the fireplace mantel. A harem of maids hurried in its direction,sweeping the flowers and chucking them into the bin along with the broken glass.

I wasn’t in any hurry to die anymore. Especially not before I sank my cock into my beautiful wife’s cunt, which I planned on doing very soon.

“This means we have a couple weeks to start moving soldiers into his territory discreetly. Weapons, too,” I mused.

“And we know his life better than he does,” Achilles pointed out. “The blueprints to his estates and warehouses. The names and addresses to all of his first-rank soldiers. We can take them out simultaneously while we go after Alex and his brothers.”

“Are you killing the baby sister, too?” Sam asked. Katya was eighteen, maybe nineteen, and apparently harmless.

I nodded. “No Rasputin left behind.”

“Tiernan, how many soldiers do you think we’re gonna need?” Achilles turned to me.

“Twenty, excluding you and me.”