Bishop |18+|

Ch.50

Alia

"You don't recognise me, Alia?" He smiled, cocking his head to the side once he realised not a word left my lips. My name felt bitter on his tongue—a sour taste that irked me the wrong way.

The air in the apartment hung heavy with thick, foreboding tension, the slight drift of the smell of pure intoxicating smoke wavered in the air. A sweet-burnt scent lingered around his body, and the light hint of metallic blood made my nostrils flare.

He smelt of pure hot ash.

"Giovanni.." I whispered out, watching the eerie smile on his face stretch tenfold.

"Smart girl." He smirked, walking closer before standing next to Miguel, glancing down at both me and Marcus. "My son knows how to choose his women."

A sudden hot flow of pure fucking rage drowned all thoughts of rationality and with my gun mere feet away, it was that unrealistic thought of getting to the weapon on time that made me want to fucking scream.

The resemblance was uncanny, and it fucking irked me to see the man who killed not just my coworkers, but many poor and innocent people back in Sicily—his motherland. I could see where Antonio got his sharp looks, and those dark eyes felt foreign to the ones I'd wake up to every morning. His were merely empty.

"Why are you here?" I stammered, my voice barely above whisper. Giovanni looked down at me with a piercing gaze, stretching time at that very moment.

The clock on the wall ticked, and I soon became acutely aware of it counting down the mere minutes of my life.

"Your place is beautiful." He smiled, looking down at the blood splatters on the floor and following its trail to Marcus, who's body was laid down against the sofa in a stiff position. "Cozy. I figured it'd make a nice place to chat, dolcezza."

"Don't fucking call me that." I hissed out, Miguel frowned before his hand retreated to the gun on his waist, quickly stopped by Giovanni's own. "You're in no place to come to my own home and fuck around with me like this."

The arm clock ticked in a synchronised fashion with the man's jaw.

My mind was simply engulfed into pure hot fear in the physical form of anger. I wanted to curse, I wanted to scream—but this is Giovanni I'm dealing with.

I don't want a bullet between my eyes.

"What a dirty mouth." His brows raised, looking me up and down. He ran a hand through his white hair, his eyes raking every inch of my body too intently that I had to physically cross my arms to cover myself. Marcus stayed close, a hand on his knee as he watched Giovanni's every moves.

"Did you like the flowers?" He spoke with a hint of arrogance. His body reeked of pure power and as much as I wanted to pull my eyes away, I couldn't. I stood in the presence of an Italian ex mob boss, how could I?

"No I didn't." I scoffed, glaring at him. "Threw them in the trash."

He simply sighed. "Pity. I should've chosen the red ones."

His hands dug into his pockets as he scoured the apartment with his eyes. Marcus let out a stifled cry in pain and my hand squeezed his arm a bit harder in effort to get him to be quiet. I sunk back slightly into the sofa, seeking refuge within the soft cushions.