Broken Bishop (Preview)
Chapter One
Anna
As I step out onto the curb, I suck in a deep breath and try my best to enjoy the spring air. It sounds dramatic, but when you step onto the Robinson estate you never know whether you’ll see the light of day again. Fresh-cut grass, the faint aroma of lilacs and hydrangeas, and a trace of exhaust from the interstate. Everywhere you look, there is a reminder of destruction disguised as progress. Even when I’m trying to accept my potential end—my mortality—it doesn’t matter.
I haven’t been to the Robinson estate in six years, but it is always too soon to see the place again. It is a modern, sophisticated-looking lion’s den. Blood-thirsty beasts that have no regard for what the society at large has to say, let alone their rules, prowl within those walls. And through the faults of my loving, but harebrained father… it seems as though I’m tied to them forever.
As I walk to the front door, I do everything in my power to calm myself down. The last thing you want to show in front of a mob boss is fear. They can smell it like sharks can smell blood in the water; and Andrey Robinson is absolutely no exception. If he senses fear, he will twist, mangle, and manipulate it just for the hell of it—not to mention his own personal gain.
Deep breaths. I need to take deep breaths and focus on maintaining my composure. I’ll give him nothing to go on, not even an inkling of emotion. No anger, no sadness, and never fear.
I don’t even have to knock on the door; it opens right when I approach. A false sense of security dares to fall over me at the sight of an older woman in a maid’s uniform, with a matching gray tunic and pants. The only splash of color is the pale pink turtleneck she’s wearing underneath. She’s meant to make the unexpecting feel safe, as though visitors aren’t walking into a potential death trap.
“Good afternoon, Miss White,” she greets so cheerfully that my heart longs to warm at the sound. “Come on in.”
She guides me inside and shuts the door behind me. I try my best not to stare, but my mind longs to torment itself, wondering whether or not she is involved with the family. A level of comfort shows in her body language, so I’m guessing she’s worked here for quite some time. Meaning she’s had to have seen quite a bit, right? Hell, why do I care?
Because I’m trying to think of anything that isn’t centered around guessing why the hell I have been called here.
She leads me to the base of the stairs and gestures for me to walk ahead of her. I suppose she doesn’t trust me to trail behind, knowing I could sneak away and end up somewhere they don’t want me to. Without comment, I lead the way. I hate the way my steps sound on the metal, a hollow pang that reminds me too much of the horror movies I watched in my youth. I’m only twenty-two, I should still be ‘in my youth’. Who stays young in a life like this? The person I once was— the bubbly, excitable girl— had died. Getting kidnapped, being treated like nothing more than a pawn in a game I didn’t know I was playing… Well, it changed things.
My father getting arrested cemented those changes for me. I needed to grow up fast, so I did.
We walk down a long, stark white hallway, and I pause right before the only open door. I give her one last look, as though my fate would reveal itself in the fine lines on her face. If she knows whether this meeting will bring me to my end, she isn’t showing an ounce of it. Would that make her cruel, or merciful? Knowing I’ve been staring too long, I nod once and start up the stairs.
I step into view of the open door, and I can hardly think around the sound of my heart beating erratically in my ears. Looking within, I see a tall, older man with salt and pepper hair. He’s leaning against the front of an extravagant, massive, wooden desk. The piece of antique furniture feels out of place with the starkly modern and industrial-styled estate. The wood is warm, handcrafted with care, and inviting—nothing like Andrey Robinson.
Andrey manages to smoke a cigar in an intimidating manner. His eyes constricted before he even met mine. He blows smoke in my direction and flicks the ashes around with reckless abandon. He doesn’t care about anything in the room or the mess he’ll make. Everything in there is pocket change, and like everything else in his life, he has someone to clean up those messes.
“Well, are you going to stand there all day?” he calls. His voice is deep and gruff by nature, and his tone is pointed, maybe even a little irritated.
I step inside the room, and he gestures for me to take a seat in front of him. He tells me to close the door as I come in. I don’t want to. My instincts are screaming at me to stand by the door ready to flee in case something happens. However, I follow his instructions obediently. It’s better to play along; challenging the boss over even the smallest of things could potentially make life hell for me.
Andrey unbuttons his suit jacket as he positions himself to halfway sit atop the desk. I try to act unaware of the way he is eyeing me. I feel put on display for his enjoyment alone, like a private gallery for him to ogle at. Something shifts inside of me at the realization. An irritation comes on so strong that it alters my fear ever so slightly. It’s that grotesque stare of his that reminds me he isn’t some otherworldly figurehead my childhood built him up to be. No, he’s just a man. One that has a history of making me want to crawl out of my skin—which says more about him than me, since the last time I laid eyes on him, I was fifteen.
Still, even with my little flurry of courage, I’m scared. Andrey is not just a cruel man, he has the power and resources to do anything he wants. He can take my life without so much as a second thought, and no one would ever bother to avenge me, not with the state my family is in right now.
“My, my,” he grins. “I have to say, the years have been so, so kind to you… You’re absolutely radiant. With this beautiful blonde hair, eyes as blue and deep as the ocean, and skin as fair as the moon itself… you’ve always been like out of a fairytale, but now—well, you are more like a fantasy.” As though it can’t get any worse, he chuckles a hollow bout of laughter, and adds, “Oh… What was that nickname I used to call you? Annabiotics, wasn’t it? Because your smile can cure any ailment?”
“Yes, you are a true creative genius for that one,” I grumble and soothe my skirt, batting away invisible dust. “Now can you get to the point of why I was called here?” I want to be assertive, to take a semblance of control over the situation. However, my voice fails me. Even to my own ears, I sound strained and meek.
Andrey’s eyes shine with intrigue, apparently viewing my words as a challenge as opposed to anything else. Thankfully. “What’s the matter, sweet Anna, have I happened to catch you in a mood?”
His incessant need to call me some sort of pet name is nauseating. I retort quickly, not to get caught up in my thoughts, “I think anyone in my position would be ‘in a mood’ if they were called to the house of a Don without explanation.”
Immediately, I internally curse myself. While I want to assert myself to attempt to demand some respect, my voice came out snippy. The last thing I want to do is throw attitude his way. He’s not a man to sass.
My nerves are raw. Talking with him feels like navigating a mental minefield. You never know what step could be fatal. Do I assert myself to not be his plaything, or do I fold into his whims and risk angering him?
The hand that isn’t cradling a cigar clasps over his chest and his brow droops. “I have to say, I am hurt —no, wounded— that you are behaving in such a way. Acting as though I am nothing more than some pest on the street. And to use Italian terminology in this beautiful Irish home!” he expresses himself in a tone that suggests it is the worst heartbreak of his life. He follows the sentiment with a tutting sound as he shakes his head side to side. “I have to say, sweet Anna, after all that trouble I went through to get Sean to attack your abductors… I was expecting a little more warmth from you.”
His choice of using the word warmth makes me itch with discomfort. I can’t help but imagine that he is trying to convey physical touch, as though I would owe him anything for a favor I didn’t ask for. Besides, nothing about him saving me back then had anything to do with me yet everything to do with motives for which I was a pawn instead.
I hate it, but even the mention of the abduction brings flashes of it back to me.
Hands all over my body as I go from the hands of one set of abductors, to what feels like another. Squealing tires as a car attacks the Levines— my original abductors— we had been heading back to their place. Vanessa, my friend, had a terrified expression on her face as I was snatched away. I’d never met any of the men before, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were. Knowing I was in the hands of my father’s associates should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. Even if you didn’t ask for it, a favor from the mob always came at a cost.
And the moment I realized the men weren’t Robinsons, but Mullens… Andrey had to have had something to do with it. The last man I wanted to owe anything to. The man who had wanted me in heinous ways since I was far too young.
As my breath threatens to hitch, I let out a long sigh to cover it up and keep my composure. Fear. Don’t let him notice your fear.
“Yes, I meant to send you a thank you card for almost getting my friend killed,” I fire back at him with the sweet hum of sarcasm to my voice. The Mullens practically killed everyone in the car with me that night. “I’m not so naïve, Andrey… That had nothing at all to do with me. It had everything to do with your desire to kill Ethan Levine, in hopes of getting the Levine clan to fall so the Robinsons could take over the market.”
The mock hurt drains from his face, and it is replaced with an ear-to-ear grin. He claps slowly and chuckles, “Bravo, Anna. Who knew it was possible to have beauty and brains? It’s a rare combination indeed. Even rarer these days given how distracted the world has become. Though, I suppose that works to our benefit, doesn’t it? A distracted world pays no mind to what is going on beneath its skin.”
“I wouldn’t group us all together,” I mutter, despite my best efforts to sound brave. I don’t want to be associated with his organization or anything remotely related to it; however, I am because I am my father’s daughter. He is the only reason I’m sitting here instead of running for the hills. Andrey’s eyes are narrowing again, and I’m struggling to keep my cool. Frustration and terror may be fighting within me, but discomfort is the most dominant emotion I am feeling. It’s so powerful that I begin to wonder if my soul will eject itself from my body just to get away from here.
Andrey takes notice of my fidgeting, and I try hard to stop. My only hope is that he registers it as restless annoyance instead of fear. He relaxes and takes another obscenely long drag on his cigar, not bothering to pretend he isn’t staring at my bare legs. Had I been aware when I dressed myself that day that I would end up here, I would have worn a parka, long pants, or even a snowsuit if I needed to. Anything to protect myself from his hellish gaze.
“So, do you really not know why you’re here today, Anna?” he asks once he finally lets the smoke pour out of his mouth – looking more like a dragon to me than a man at this moment.
“If you mean if I know why you called me here, then I’ve already told you I don’t. I know why I agreed to it, though,” I state as clearly and smoothly as possible.
“Go on,” he smirks, again placing the cigar between his lips.
The muscles in my throat tighten as though my body itself is trying to keep me from saying it. There is no going back once I tell him, and I know I’ll be placing myself right in the palm of his hand when I do. However, if I am going to be forced to do anything— which is the only reason I think I’ve been called here— then I’m going to get something out of it. Even if it means playing Andrey’s game by allowing myself to be manipulated by him.
“I want my father out of jail.”
I don’t need to explain the situation because I know he’s aware of it. Andrey is well-versed in the activities of the Robinson mafia and their associates. My father, Louis Holmes, had been arrested in a police sting. Given that he was the only one implicated in the crimes, it stinks of bullshit. Anything connected to him should implicate numerous members of the Holmes and Robinson families. My father’s family, while not part of the Robinson mafia, certainly operates like it. They run protection rackets and cook the Robinsons’ books to ensure that their payroll and expenses do not raise any flags with the IRS.
Five years for tax fraud, five years for evidence tampering, and an additional two years for a laundry list of misdemeanors I can barely keep track of. Twelve years. A man like him probably has done a few things worth a life sentence alone, so maybe twelve years is lucky… But I can’t just stand by and let it happen. He’s my father, and really, he’s my only family. And I know a man like Andrey is the only way I can free him.
Andrey flicks more ashes away and settles in, looking too smug and comfortable to bring me any ease. “What a coincidence, sweet Anna. I have brought you here to make you a deal.” He pauses to take another drag. I have to make a mental and physical effort not to squirm. The wait is killing me. I think he knows it, and he’s savoring it. “An exchange of your soul for your father’s freedom.”
Chapter Two
Liam
I wonder if it makes me subhuman to be able to feel so calm.
It’s a blissful sort of nothingness, the sort of Zen I imagine other people might feel when folding laundry or washing dishes—a routine task that isn’t enjoyable nor horrible per se, but one that is done so often that the mind can wander or think about nothing at all. That’s the only way I can describe my state of being as I pull on a pair of black leather gloves and stand in the factory hallway. The sort of machinery that used to be in use here was deafening, so the builder made the walls as close to soundproof as they could. Whatever is going on in the room I’m about to enter comes through as nothing more than muffled mumbling.
Drinking in the quiet darkness, I take a deep breath and do my best not to smirk as I turn to the door. Getting my hands dirty is the routine Zen that comes with the job— however, this is my American debut. My first brush with business stateside. In their city. So, I suppose that if I’m feeling anything at all, it’s a tingle of excitement.
Swinging the door open, the harsh, crooning voice hit me first, followed by the sight of Colin Doyle strapped to a chair under the only flickering light in the room. A bit stereotypical, but it’s just as I pictured it. Colin seems to be barely clinging to life; his angry, hoarse cries are perhaps acting as the only tether to this life and the next. Anger is a hell of a drug, isn’t it? It can destroy a life, or motivate a person to live. And in this case—it’s both.
“He insists he knows nothing,” Michael, my underboss, calls from the shadows as I start pacing toward Colin. No doubt the other couple of men I’ve enlisted to assist are lingering in the room with him. I’m a sucker for theatrics, I suppose. It gives me a rush to imagine myself as him. He must be terrified, not knowing where the men who had just beaten him to a pulp were. They could emerge from anywhere to finish the job. Only, the unsettling darkness gives you an uneasy feeling that you can’t shake; that the men there do not possess the mercy to let you go with any dignity or peace.
He would be right if he did think that.
“No matter,” I call to Michael. “I’m sure I can convince him to talk.” I am standing just feet from him now. Colin lifts his bloody head and peers up to me with the one eye that isn’t completely swollen shut. “Seen better days, haven’t you?” I ask him with a trace of mockery in my voice.
“Who the fuck are you?” Colin tries to hiss, blood splattering from his mouth as the word fuck is spoken. He is one of the men originally from Ireland, so his pleadings in this accent sound almost comical.
He’s lucky I am just out of range of his spewing. I’m pretty sure it would have sent me over the edge; and what I would have unleashed would have left him looking to his previous tormentors, my men, as potential saviors. Unbuttoning my collar, I answer softly, “Dear friend, I am your reckoning.” The bound man dared to let out a single howl of laughter. “I also happen to be Sean Mullen’s fucking nephew.”
His brows try to knit together from confusion, but he winces and stops; his face too swollen, bruised, and cut to be too emotive. “The fuck are you saying? Sean didn’t have any nephews.”
“Because you knew my uncle so well, right? That’s where this confidence is coming from?” I ask him with a hint of a smile. He was my uncle’s underboss—his friend and most trusted, loyal follower. “You know what they say, Colin. Most crimes of passion are done by those closest to you.”
His face fought through the pain to gape at me. “Are you accusing me of bumping off Sean? Are you taking the piss, boyo?”
“That’s exactly what I’m accusing you of,” I respond by lowering my head and looking him in the eyes. “Only, it wasn’t a crime of passion. What do you think the pigs would call it, Dan?” I call into the darkness. My voice is dripping with sarcasm, and I want to remind Colin that there are people surrounding him. I want to see the panic flare in his eyes, again and again, as he becomes more and more aware that this is the end of the road for him. I’ll savor every little twitch of his split lips and tear that pours out of his blackened eyes. That anxiety in a man’s eyes as you deliver the karma that is meant for them— it’s better than cigarettes after sex, or a stiff drink after a long day.
“Premeditated murder, Boss,” Michael responds from a different spot than he was before.
“Right, right. Premeditated murder,” I smile. “That’s what you’re being accused of,” I tell Colin before poking him playfully in his very obviously broken nose.
Colin swears from the pain and does his best to throw himself away from my touch. Once he recovers, he meekly shakes his head. “Clearly, you aren’t from around here. No one would dare accuse me of such a thing. Sean was like a brother to me!”
“Like a brother he says!” I call to the others. There’s an eruption of mild laughter as I close the distance between Colin and I again. “Now, Colin, I am normally not the most gracious of men, but I am reasonable. And I will give you an opportunity to correct yourself, alright? If you’re honest with me now, you’ll be spared from a world of trouble and pain. There will still be prices to pay, but you will find such fees to be much, much more lenient than the alternative. Got it?”
“You’re being too nice, Boss,” Michael says in humor.
“I know, I know. And there’s plenty to go around. So, what do you say, Colin? Do you want to be honest with me and make all our lives simpler?”
Colin’s chest is heaving. He’s nervous, but he’s trying to pass it off as anger. I can tell because his nostrils are flared but not matching his breathing. The excitement of it all seems to be weakening him, his eyes beginning to struggle to focus on me. “I don’t know where you get off accusing me of such a thing—”
“I’ll tell you, don’t worry,” I state, patting his shoulder. “I think you killed my uncle to take over the Mullen family. You thought it was the perfect plan, didn’t you? There’s so much fighting with the other gangs and you and Sean were always like brothers, right? And seeing as how there weren’t any direct descendants left… that you knew of,” I can’t hide my smirk, and couldn’t even if I tried. “It would have never been brought back to you.”
His head is starting to wobble, but the adrenaline keeps him with me. “I… worked with Sean… my entire life. Since we were boys, even…”
I tut and stand straight. “That’s what makes it all the more heinous, doesn’t it?”
“I didn’t kill Sean Mullen!” Colin cries as sternly as he can. “On my honor, I swear it.”
“Too bad that honor means nothing,” I sigh. From my pocket, I retrieve a digital recorder. It feels like a relic from the past, but the mobs still use them because they are disposable, cheap, and not kept on any sort of database or cloud software.
Tapping play, there’s a metallic clicking before voices appear. “It’s simple,” a voice says on the tape. “So many people want the man dead. Think of all the motives. Money, power, revenge… You name it and it’s a reason for someone to want him dead. All we have to do is find someone with enough tangible evidence to pin it on.”
“If there is anyone they’re going to look at first, it’s gonna be you,” Colin’s distinctly accented voice replies.
“That’s why we need a fall guy,” the man urges. “Someone in the Mullen gang. That way there is infighting, and a takeover is simple. We use the evidence to frame the person. Taking him down will glorify you. They will easily look to you as a leader.”
“Fair enough,” Colin sighs. “How should we do it? That’ll play into who we should set up. Sean’s a big guy—”
I click the tape off, needing to play only until Sean’s name was said. There isn’t anything I needed to say, I simply watch for his reaction. Colin has surrendered his one chance at mercy, and I have hard evidence that he was plotting with an unknown party to murder my uncle. He knows what is coming.
“Alright, fine!” Colin hollers, then pauses to take a few heaving breaths. “I was plotting it, alright?” Another few pants. “But that doesn’t mean I went through with it. I’m telling you here and now that I didn’t do it.”
“You’re still going to sing that song after what I just played?” I ask him with a little chuckle. “I have to say, your stubbornness rivals my uncle’s. But I have to ask, do you think I’m stupid? Do you think selling me that story will convince me? Or are you the stupid one, who thinks that I will listen to the cries of a man plotting my uncle’s death? Do you think I’ll be moved? Do you think I’ll show mercy after you’ve already kissed that chance goodbye?”
“I swear to ya,” Colin croaks, tears bubbling from his eyes. “I didn’t do it. Someone got to him first.” When I tut at him and reach for my waistband, his face turns to the ceiling. “Forgive me for my sins, Holy Father—”
“The only ones here are my men and me,” I interrupt his prayer. “If God does exist, he abandoned you long, long ago.” My hand pauses. “I will ask you only once. Who did you plot his murder with?”
“Holy Spirit, please guide me to the gates of Heaven. I am but a mortal, rife with sins worse than my brothers. But I am requesting mercy—” he goes on praying.
“Last chance,” I warn.
“For the Lord died for all our sins, including my own. I am your humble servant, Dear—”
I roll my eyes. “You’re boring me.”
Withdrawing my gun, I swiftly aim the barrel at the center of his forehead and pull the trigger. The silencer is enough not to make the gunshot crackle like a firework, but it’s enough of a noise to cause it to echo through the massive room. Colin’s head jerks backward one last time, and blood pours from the fresh hole in his face. Letting out a sigh, I tuck my gun away again and adjust my jacket.
Michael steps into the light, his eyes analyzing the body. “What a mess of a man,” he snorts. “Think he thought prayer would actually save him?”
“Possibly. He was an idiot,” I mutter.
He looks over at me with curious eyes. “Why didn’t you give him a while longer to admit who his accomplice was?”
“I told you. He was boring me,” I huff. “If these two were stupid enough to plan their scheme on a landline, without considering my uncle would keep his men’s phones tapped, then they are likely sloppy enough to leave some other sort of evidence about.” I sniff and look at the body one last time. He looks so weak and pathetic, just as he had in life. “Besides, they narrowed down our list of suspects in that recording. There are few men that would be an obvious suspect.”
If there is anyone they are going to look at first, it’s gonna be you. The words buzz about my head like hornets, stinging my mind. Someone was bold enough to orchestrate a hit on my uncle with his best friend—someone we would easily point the finger at.
“Fair enough,” Michael chuckles. His lips curling into a grin make the lines on his face more severe, his hazel eyes a little brighter. There was a time that Michael and I could have passed as twins—both dirty blonde, brown-green hazel eyes, and tall. However, there’s five years between us and age is starting to catch up with him. I’m no spring chicken myself, but he’s more cemented in time. Thirty-six looks good on him.
When I look down at myself finally, a deep sneer appears on my face. I curse under my breath and pivot to leave the room. A great annoyance has blossomed to life in my chest, cursing Colin right to Hell for his indiscretion.
“Everything alright, Boss?” Michael asks.
“He got blood on my fucking shirt,” I spit. “Burn his body, sink it in the river. Do whatever you have to do so I don’t have to lay eyes on him again.”
The heavy metal door slams shut behind me.
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