Page 48 of Bad Bishop

We watched the water. I sifted through my gray matter for an olive branch to extend to her. It wasn’t in my nature to appease, or even to negotiate, but Tierney was right. I needed this girl alive.

“You can be happy here,” I lied, holding my gelato without eating it.

She gave me a questioning look, her delicate frown deepening.

Progress.Her isolation from her mother took its toll.

“As long as you don’t cross me and play by my rules, I’ll let you thrive. You can come and go as you please. Hire your own staff. I can buy you a place next to your parents.”One I would never set fucking foot in.“You can pursue your artistic ambitions. Study.” Her face lit up before she was able to conceal it.

I continued, knowing I had her full attention now, and not for the wrong reason for a change.

“Luca told me you go to Ischia every summer. You can still do that. Not this year, but the next one.” I wasn’t going to stick around for next year. What did I care, throwing empty promises in the air?

She had the audacity to scowl at me. The little shit might have let Tate Blackthorn touch her.Impregnateher. It wasn’t particularly significant in any way, other than the carnage-fueling thought that he touched something that was mine.

She squinted at the horizon, popping the little spoon into her mouth, suckling it. The motion sent a throbbing ache straight to my cock. Sweet and merciful Jesus. I did not believe in karma, God, or anything else not backed by science, but it appeared Iwas paying for my sins by marrying the most enticing creature on planet Earth, knowing damn well I couldn’t have her.

The ice cream was melting in my hand, and I tossed it into the trash can next to the bench, irritated that I now had a sticky hand on top of a raging hard-on with nowhere to sink it into.

One of those problems could be mitigated by a quick hand wash. The other was here to stay.

Lila finished her gelato and the waffle cone that came with it. Quietly, she picked up my ice cream-covered hand and uncurled my fingers. She twisted her head, holding my fingers open as she stared at my palm.

She wanted to check the injury she inflicted on me. Unfortunately, it was covered in green gelato.

She studied the gelato stain, frowned, then brought my hand to her mouth, flattening her hot, wet tongue over it and licking it off me.

I growled, my blood roaring in my veins. Euphoric desire flooded me. This felt better than sodomizing any professional escort I’d ever laid hands on.

She was dangerous.

For my plans.

For my goals.

For that useless thing inside my chest.

The mark resurfaced. The wound had healed, leaving only a pale, pink scar. She rubbed her tiny thumb over it, and that simple move threatened to change my entire brain chemistry. I yanked my hand back and stood up.

“Enough.” I buttoned my coat with one hand. “You’re not a fucking dog, Lila. Stop licking everything you encounter.”

I spent the walk back to the apartment silently contemplating why the fuck I didn’t kill her at that fountain and save myself this headache. I’d never shown mercy to anyone before.

And the one thing I saved just might end up killing me.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

TIERNAN

“Fuck.”

Pressing my hand to a four-inch gash in my torso to stop the bleeding, I collapsed into the passenger seat next to my brother in his nickel-gray Porsche.

Fintan floored it before the cops arrived to scrape off the body I left three streets down from Fermanagh’s. An Albanian aspiring mobster had tried dealing meth on my turf and had the audacity to stab me when I informed him he was trespassing.

Sighing, I tossed the two bullet cases I collected from the crime scene into the central console for my brother to get rid of.

I hated amateurs. People should have to pass a bar to get into the field of organized crime. I swear my line of work attracted the stupidest people on planet Earth.