Bishop |18+|

Ch.19

Antonio

~10:00pm—The Manor~

"Why are you here?" I asked him, glaring over at the man leaning against the balcony, looking over a garden of rotting leaves. A garden, once a beautiful haven for snow-white roses, now mere skeletons of their former selves. With nothing but the light of the manor illuminating the garden, it stood still, with not even a chirp nor a click erupting from the grave sight.

The man turned, looking over at me with a face that was written with a bloody history of trauma and brutality. His hair was a dark brown with white streaks, evident of his aging body. He smiled.

"I asked you a fucking question." I repeated myself in a firmer tone, closing the glass door behind me. "Why the fuck are you here?"

"Is it a sin to visit my family every once in a while, Antonio?" Padre replied, now turning his full body and leaning against the concrete railing. He sipped on a glass of rum, settling it down on the rails once he was done. "I missed them."

"Says the man who buried my mother 6 feet under the fucking dirt." I muttered with a frown. "Give me a better one."

Padre furrowed his eyes and looked away scowling. "I'm on the run."

"Typical." I scoffed and walked up to the balcony, standing a few feet away from my padre. His cologne reeked of dark smoke and sin, the complete embodiment of what this man really is. His nose flared as he took a deep breath, taking in the serenity of the peaceful night.

I wanted him dead.

"So much hatred in your heart, boy." Padre let out a chuckle before coughing lightly, taking out a handkerchief to cover his mouth. The sight was disturbing and I looked away before hearing him let out a groan and grunt as he cleared his throat. Letting out a deep sigh, Padre looked over at me. He was trying to fucking egg me on I could tell.

"I'm getting old, son." Padre muttered and looked down at the garden. "Fuck. I don't even know how long I have left. I'm tired, and I just want to rest." He let out a sigh. "But I need this fucking business in shape before I go."

"Tired? That's fucking rich." I chuckled sarcastically, keeping my gaze on the rotting garden. My smile was quick to falter and as I turned to him and frowned. "In shape?"

"I saw your little stunt on the news the other day." Padre muttered, his gaze shifting to meet mine. "The Miller case. A fucking beauty of a kill wasn't she?"

I don't want the praise, especially from a man like him. Whatever goes through his head every passing second is bound to be twisted in ways that would seem uncanny to others. Disturbing. He should be fucking locked up in an asylum.

"What about it?" I asked and looked over at him as he took another sip of his rum, placing it back on the railing.

"Nothing, it's just something to contemplate about." Padre said in a way that seemed he was talking to himself. I felt an aura of dread and I stayed quiet, looking over at him.

"People are so fucking greedy that they'd go to great lengths just to tell a story." Padre chuckled. "Greed, fame and money. How fucking disgusting."