Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 13
BJORNSSON
“The Bishop is here,” Lars says after Angel disappears from our view. It irks me that he saw her at all in this state, but I can’t kill Lars for doing his job. He falls in step beside me as I walk toward the main house.
“Did I miss a notice?” I’d been distracted by Angel, but I didn’t think I had been that lost.
“No.”
At the entry of the arched walkway that runs along all four sides of the courtyard, an attendant comes forward with a basin of warm water. A soft white towel is draped over his arm. Another reason why I can’t kill Lars for looking at Angel. He’s too efficient. I dip my hands in the water and rinse off Angel’s scent. After I wipe my hands, the attendant turns to leave. I stop him and lift the bowl out of his hands and fling the water into the nearby bushes. The attendant’s eyes widen, but he’s too well-trained to question me.
Lars steps forward and takes the towel from the attendant. “I’ll burn this.”
He understands. She belongs to me, in every way, and nothing that touches her skin should be allowed to exist beyond my reach.
“There’s blood on your collar. Should I dispose of that too?” He reaches out a hand. I stop him before he can make contact.
“No. I’ll take care of it.”
“The Bishop may be concerned if he sees it.”
I arch an eyebrow. “The Bishop is spending a lot of time in my territory, telling me what to do. I don’t think I like that. Do you, Lars?”
His jaw tightens. “I don’t, but the Church is powerful.”
“Even Rome fell.” I remove the stained collar and tuck it carefully in my pocket. “Let’s go see what the Bishop has to say.”
The old man scowls when I arrive in the receiving room. In his hand is a nearly empty Baccarat crystal glass. Only a fingerful of whiskey remains.
“You’ve kept me waiting too long, Bjornsson, and why are your vestments out of order?”
“I wasn’t aware we had an appointment.” I stride over to the liquor cart and retrieve the Macallan whiskey. I refill the old man’s glass and then settle into one of the leather chairs. He remains standing, drinking, staring at the Rothko painting in deep shades of red dominating the far wall. I know he hates it. He thinks he hates it because it is devoid of people, but I think he hates it for the same reasons I love it. The deep reds remind him of violence he’s wielded through people like me to keep the peace. He likes to believe he’s above the fray, that he’s a holy man with an honorable mission, but the Church is nothing more than a vessel of power, and to hold power, you shed blood. Some of that red is from innocents.
He forces his eyes away from the painting to look over my shoulder. “There’s an issue with Santino. You’ll need to take care of it.”
I will myself to show no reaction. He wants me to take down Kane Santino and Santino’s gang? “What’s the issue?”
“He plans to kill someone who was under protection.”
“Plans to?”
“Our work isn’t cleaning up after people. It’s prevention.”
That’s debatable. “Whose protection?”
Bishop slams his glass down on the table. Thousand-dollar whisky sloshes over the sides. “You don’t need to know. The only thing for you to do is act. Take him out and make an example of him.”
“I’m not a machine, Bishop. You don’t get to point me in a direction and fire me off like a cannon. If you don’t feel comfortable sharing the details of why Kane Santino needs to be disciplined by the Church, I don’t feel comfortable executing your orders.”
The Bishop rears back, his face red and mottled. “How dare you question me!” His jawline quivers in indignation. “I’m the Bishop. I control here. You can have this all taken away in a heartbeat.”
I grind the back of my teeth together and strive for an even tone. “I’ve kept the peace in this territory for a long time. I know the players. Kane Santino is an important part of the balance. If we remove him, other factions who aren’t as scrupulous—”it’s ironic that I’m using this word for Santino. I know he’d laugh if he heard me—“would cause chaos, so before I turn this city upside down, I’d like to know what sin Santino committed—and murder is not sufficient. People are killed every day.” I tip my head toward the painting.
The Bishop’s nostrils flare. He doesn’t like his authority being questioned. “Fine. You want details? He stole a girl from her father. The father had planned on sending the girl to David Marks, but Santino plans to keep her, which violates the contract that Santino has to marry the Soritz girl.”