Page 146 of Bad Bishop

“My soldiers are well rewarded.”

“Monetarily, perhaps.” He arched a golden, thick brow. “But there is darkness, depravation only betrayal can feed. This is what I tap into when I find my spies. People who want to see the world burn.”

Instead of confirming or denying his words, I drawled, “Seems like you’ve been busy writing my biography. I love meeting fans.”

“It’s not admiration if you know the person intimately. I loved you like a brother, Tiernan.”

“Yeah? Well, you treated me like the family pet.” I spat on the floor.

“No, my father did. Igor was never good at letting go of grudges. May I remind you, Tyrone killed my own mother when I was a few weeks old.”

“I was reminded of that every day for fourteen years.”

Alex stared at me indifferently, as though I was a petulant child.

“Don’t pretend to be so calm.” I stepped toward him, aiming the blade of my knife at the center of his neck. “I killed your father. Your pakhan. I kept his skull as a souvenir. Neither of us is here to reminisce about the good old days.”

“I’m aware you killed my father. I was the one to direct him straight into your path. He wasn’t supposed to be at the gentlemen’s club you caught him in.”

I stopped rolling the tip of the blade over his skin, scowling. “Liar.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. Fintan’s name flashed across the screen. I sent him to voicemail.

Alex shook his head. “Got a hot tip you were going to wait for him in the back alley of the club, where you knew he’d exit to avoid heat.”

But his version of things seemed as logical as any. Igor wasn’t supposed to be in New York that weekend. He had the feds crawling up his ass, breathing down his neck. I remembered my surprise when I realized I could off him that night, instead of next year, like I’d planned.

I arched an eyebrow. “And you just let it happen?”

Alex shrugged. “Igor was my father, not my dad.”

“And?”

“On top of that, he was also a shit pakhan. Lethal combination,” he finished. “It was time I took his place. The Bratva was falling apart. I spent the last few months trying to undo decades of damage in Moscow. The gulag in Siberia is gone now. Dismantled. I freed all the prisoners.” Pause. “Other than Olga. I killed that bitch myself. Never liked her.”

A stone rolled off my heart at his words. I’d dreamed of going back there one day and doing it myself.

“Igor betted on all the wrong people. Formed alliances with toothless old dogs. He made us weak and vulnerable. And he didn’t play nice with the feds, which landed us in a world of pain,” Alex groused.

That wasn’t news to me. I just didn’t think Alex was that much of a sick bastard to actually lead his father to slaughter.

“You brought reinforcements from Russia,” I pointed out.

“I did,” Alex confirmed. “But not to take you out. I needed them to train my new soldiers. I wasn’t gonna come for you, Tiernan,” he said, voice as even and calm as though we were discussing the weather. “Not to kill you, anyway. I wanted to clear things up and go our separate ways.”

Fintan was calling. Again.

I killed the call.Again.

Beyond the door, I heard Camorra and Irish soldiers discussing finding a stash of M16s and depth charges.

Why would the Russians need depth charges?

“Eliminate cargo ships carrying drugs for competitors,” Alex read my mind.

I almost smiled. We used to read each other’s minds all the time.

“You wanna tell me you knew all this shit about my life, yet you had no idea I was coming for your ass today?” I tucked the knife into my pocket. I wasn’t going to draw out his death. He didn’t do anything to me. It was his dad I had beef with.