Page 91 of Bad Bishop

“Psychopaths lie and pass polygraphs all the time,” I countered. “They will themselves to believe whatever comes out of their mouths.”

I wanted Tate to be the rapist. Angelo was a can of worms I wasn’t sure I wanted to open. And killing Luca’s brother-in-law was essentially starting a war with the Outfit.

“That’s generally true if the heart and respiratory rate are already jerky and inconsistent. Tate’s as calm as a cucumber. There are no discrepancies.” Sam shrugged. “I think he is telling the truth.”

I dragged my teeth along my lower lip, mulling this over. Lila said she forgot the face of her attacker—but did it really make sense that she’d draw Tate and his features wouldn’t bring back the memory if it were him?

Plus, as much as I hated him, he didn’t give me rapist vibes. Now, Angelo, on the other hand, was the kind of prick to take what’s not been offered. A Mafia brat who had the entire world handed to him.

I jerked my head in a nod, and Sam stood up, unhooking Tate from the lie detector. Tate remained completely still, his eyes flicking among the three of us.

“So, it happened during Luca’s wedding?” He crossed one leg over the other, grabbing Enzo’s soft cigarette pack from the table and helping himself to one.

“Yeah.” Luca reached to light his cigarette.

“How is she?” He blew a stream of smoke.

“She’s…”Brave. Smart. Resourceful. Talented. Witty. So nauseatingly beautiful I cannot wrench my goddamn eye from her face whenever we’re together.“None of your fucking concern,” I finished dryly.

Tate shrugged. Luca stood up to pour him a drink. Forever the diplomat. If Vello wanted half a chance to save his sinkingempire, appointing Luca as the don was a no-brainer. Enzo was too nice, and Achilles too evil.

“So where were you between 10:33 and 11:04 that night, Tate?” I rotated my head toward the billionaire. “Because it sure as fuck wasn’t in the ballroom.”

“Gia didn’t feel well. She was nauseous and needed some medicine. I went to the nearest convenience store and got her ginger candy, a Sprite Zero, and an herbal inhaler.”

“They didn’t have Sprite Zero at the party?”

Tate returned my glare bluntly. “I can probably pull up the receipt through my online banking account, if you’d be so kind as to fucking give me my phone back.”

Luca shot me a look. I nodded.

Luca pulled Tate’s phone out of his pocket and handed it over. Tate’s thumb flew over his screen while I traced my inner cheek with my tongue. I could still taste my wife in my mouth. She seemed to be resilient and tough as nails. Most girls in her position would shy away from men, spiral farther down the dark hole they’d been sucked into, but not her.

Sure, she slept like shit, but she still got out of bed every morning. Made coffee for us and Imma. Tidied up our room. Cooked with Tierney. Hung out with Imma. Sketched. Filled my apartment with random shit as she caught up on eighteen years’ worth of online shopping.

“Here.” Tate stopped scrolling, placing his phone on the table and sliding it toward me. I caught it. The transaction showed Luca’s wedding date, at exactly ten forty-five at night.

Sam ran the distance between the manor to the convenience store and back on his laptop. “How did you get there?”

“I walked,” Tate said.

Sam turned to me. “Everything checks, Callaghan. Do with it what you will.”

I sat back in my chair, blowing air. A part of me was glad it wasn’t Blackthorn. Killing someone so high-profile came with a shit ton of paperwork. Plus, a demented, completely fucked-up part of me didn’t want Lila to be betrayed by one of the few men she actuallyliked, even if the fact she liked him in the first place made me want to feed him his own fucking cock.

This meant my suspect list had shrunk to the measly count of one person. Angelo Bandini.

We let Tate go, but not before he spent ten minutes showering us with a scathing rant about how we couldn’t hijack planes like we were in a B-grade video game. He then finished it off by saying, “You know, Callaghan, I still can’t fucking stand your ass, but at least you’ve proven to be a better husband than you are a human.”

He offered me his hand.

I stared at it.

“Aww,” Enzo cooed. “Mommy and Daddy aren’t breaking up, after all. Hug it out, bitches. I love feel-good moments.”

“You’re so fucking camp,” Sam grumbled.

Enzo’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, yeah? And you’re such a fucking homophobe.”