Page 69 of Bad Bishop

Another rush of heat spread across my chest.

No one had ever referred to my sketches as art. Mama called them my little doodles.

“I sketch because it passes the time. But I’m no artist.”

“To define is to limit.”

Tiernan stood up and strolled to the alcohol cart, flipping two tumblers and pouring brandy into them. There was a real bullet in the decanter. He returned to our seats and handed me a drink.

“I’m not twenty-one,” I signed, which seemed ridiculous, seeing as giving an underage person alcohol was the least of my husband’s lawbreaking history.

“But you’re eighteen.”

“Yes.”

“Legal in Italy. You’re Italian. I see no flaw in this logic.”

“I’m pregnant.” I stared at him in disbelief.

“You don’t have to be.” He took a sip of his brandy, studying me hawkishly. “I won’t stop you from getting an abortion. We can tell your father it was a miscarriage. It will free you from the burden of motherhood. From doting over your rapist’s bastard. The only thing you need to be aware of is that you’d still be bound to me by marriage. I won’t let you go. Too much is riding on my Bratva operation to give up the Camorra’s alliance.”

I swallowed hard as I considered his proposition. Therewasroom for deliberation. The baby belonged to a violent rapist. I was too young…

“If you keep it, I’ll never love it. Never regard it as my own.” His lips moved, piercing through my thoughts. I swallowed hard.

“I want to keep it.” I placed the brandy on the coffee table between us. “I’ve always wanted a child of my own.”

He shrugged, tossing his drink back in one gulp and staring at the bottom of his empty glass.

He seemed lost in thought for a moment, and I wanted to draw him back to me. As much as his attention unsettled me, it also reminded me I was alive in some strange, amorphic way.

“How am I supposed to sleep in my bed after you screwed someone inside it?”

Tiernan threw me a distant glance. “I didn’t fuck her. Didn’t even touch her. She was an interrogation device, and it worked.As for your question—as a matter of fact, you shouldn’t sleep there at all. Your place is in my bed.”

“You cheat on me and you want me to sleep in your bed?”

“You cannot cheat on someone who isn’t yours.”

“Do you want me to be yours?” I blinked in disbelief.

“Not particularly.” His words dripped pragmatism. “We’re not sexually compatible.”

“Why?”

“You require tenderness and warmth. I only fuck women in the ass and, if I’m feeling benevolent, let them blow me instead.”

“Does this mean I can take a lover, too?”

“Sure.” He motioned with his hand to the door. “Knock yourself out.”

I scowled, realizing his game.

“No one would touch me because I’m your wife.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. The world has no shortage of idiots.” He stood up, unbuttoning his shirt. “But you should know that there’s a bounty on the head of anyone stupid enough to look in your direction, your own bodyguards included. Six million dollars, to be exact. Now, I suggest you move your shit to my bedroom if you want to sleep anywhere untouched by other women. I never let my hookups into my bed. Or.” He peered around us. “You can sleep on the bathroom floor again. Avoid the sofa, though. Some heinous things happened on it.”

“Aw.” I stood up quickly, scrunching my nose in disgust.