Chapter Twelve

BISHOP

"You sure you don't want to wait a couple of days before you do this?" Hawk questioned, quickly holding his hands up when I fired him a narrowed glare.

Hawk was my VP but also my nephew.

I trusted his opinion for both of those reasons.

Because he was family, I knew his concerns were genuine, and his job as my VP was to have my back and question me when he thought I didn't see the full picture. Many men had lost themselves within their ego after becoming president, thinking they always knew what was right and that their word should be law.

But I didn't run my club that way. I made sure the men beside me felt as though they could speak up, especially when I had them strolling through one of the most prestigious country clubs in Michigan.

It wasn't fucking ideal.

"If we don't do this today, shit is only going to get worse when Vince gets out of lockup and comes back for round two," I explained as we marched past the restaurant building, ignoring the horrified stares of the wealthy as they ate their lunch and heading down the path toward the golf course.

"If I'd known we'd be golfing today, I'd have worn my pink and blue sweater vest," Match joked, dramatically flicking his long hair back from his shoulder. The echo of our heavy boots thumping against concrete bounced off the trees as we wound down a path probably big enough for a couple of golf carts.

The Forreston Country Club wasn't exactly on my bingo card either, but when Hawk had called about twenty minutes ago, letting me know he'd managed to get hold of Frank Martelli, I didn't care where I had to meet him. This wasn't a conversation I could put off.

"I'm glad we prepared the staff at the front door for all the phone calls they're about to get," Hawk muttered as another couple in their polished outfits spotted us and turned the other way, the woman hastily pulling a cell phone from her pocket.

"Me too," I agreed. "Last thing I need today is to have to deal with more fucking cops."

The day had already been a headache.

Vince had been dragged away and thrown in jail before six this morning. By six thirty, a couple of his boys were already shooting up Calli and Shay's apartment in retaliation for what she'd done.

Vince would stand up in front of a judge sometime that afternoon, and there was no doubt in my mind they were going to release him with some bullshit fine for causing a disturbance.

They weren't going to go after him for Alice.

At least, not yet.

And as of an hour earlier, she was on a plane with her mom to Australia. Evan let me know he'd be by the clubhouse later with some cash before following them down there.

So, not only had Vince lost his favorite toy, he also wouldn't be able to steal her back like he'd done last time, meaning the kid was going to absolutely lose his fucking shit.

And guess who he was probably going to blame?

"Bishop, my friend!" Frank called when we finally made it to the bottom of the hill, a wide smile on his face as he waved me over. "Come. Come."

"Here we go," I mumbled under my breath, walking to the edge of the green and watching as he lined up his shot.

He swung back, then drove through—the distinct club versus ball crack filling the air before it went careening down the course. Frank tossed the club to one of his men standing nearby, the poor bastard juggling it between his hands in a back-and-forth motion before he finally managed to grasp it.

The relief on his face was like he'd just had a near-death experience, which may not have been far from the truth.

I'd known Frank Martelli for years since before he took over from his father Nicky, and there were three things of his you absolutely did not want to fuck with.

His wife.

His children.

And his golf game.

You drop those clubs and damage them, you're risking his entire game—a surefire way to find yourself buried in the fucking sand on the ninth hole, and Frank would have another guy to take your place by the time he got to hole number ten.

"Come and sit for a moment," Frank encouraged, patting me on the back and leading me over to a couple of golf carts parked back-to-back so the seats on the rear faced each other. Hawk and Match stayed close by so they could hear what was happening, but not too close. I needed Frank's focus on me.

He knew me.

The trust and understanding between us would hopefully solve this problem so we could all move the hell on.

Frank sat on one of the carts, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at the sweat on his forehead. The man was well into his seventies and definitely not the fit spring chicken he once was. His hairline was receding, his stomach protruding, and how he was breathing after taking fewer than twenty steps from the green to the cart concerned me.

I climbed up onto the golf cart facing his and sat back, thankful for a break from the sun.

"Thanks for meeting me like this," I told him with a polite nod. "I appreciate you taking time out from your game."

He chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "The longer I'm able to get out of the house, the better. Otherwise, Clara wants me to be doing things with her… going to cooking classes, visiting the grandkids. She thinks I'm retired or something!"

I scoffed. "And I'm guessing that's not something you have plans to do any time soon."

"You know as well as I do that building a legacy is the easy part," he ranted, jabbing his finger at the soft white cushioned seat beside him. "It's finding the person who you know is going to carry it on and make sure it lives up to what you envisioned… that's the hard part."

"Don't I fucking know it."

Frank Martelli was a very smart man.

He would never come out and say anything negative about his family. The risk that it could be used against him in some way was too high.

But his little spiel indicated there was trouble in paradise.

Which could mean a bigger problem than I'd originally thought.

"Now, enough of my rambling. When Hawk called, he did make it seem pretty urgent, so let's not mess around," Frank said, finally relaxing back against the seat. "Please, let me know what I can do for you today."

This was where I needed to be strategic.

Coming at Frank Martelli and telling him to get a leash on his psycho fucking son was the best way for me to end up with a war on my hands. Especially now that I knew things were already very tense in that area, and I was probably working with a pretty short fuse.

"I think, unfortunately, a job of ours may have crossed over with something of yours recently." I leaned forward and braced my elbows on my knees, cupping my hands together. "It was unintentional, obviously, but the second I found out, I got Hawk to make this meeting with you to sort it out before anyone else got hurt."

He sat tall, his brows shooting up. "Who got hurt?"

The surprise was genuine, meaning Vince probably hadn't been in much contact with his father since that morning. Everything had been left to the family lawyers to deal with.

Hopefully, that was going to work in my favor.

"Someone very close to the club. She works at the hospital, and Vince came in this morning with a young girl." The way his surprise instantly dropped into a heavy frown at the mention of Vince with Alice was a telling sign. "This person ended up stepping in to stop Vince from taking the girl out of the hospital, and I'm sure you're aware of the results of that."

"I am," he answered, drawing out the word. "The lawyers say they'll have him out this afternoon."

"You don't sound certain that's a good thing."

He pursed his lips and stared out into the trees for a moment before returning his gaze to mine, no doubt considering his words. "My son's obsession with this young girl has been going on for a while. I'm glad it's finally done with, though I'm sure he's going to feel like he needs someone to be held accountable." He let out a heavy sigh. "As much as I regret my son's behavior, this woman being an associate of the club isn't exactly enough for me to step in here, Bishop. You're aware of this."

I was.

We had a gentleman's agreement. One that had been in place for more than twenty years. We stayed out of each other's business, respected the other's territory, and agreed that wives and children were always untouchable.

That had always been very clear.

But there has to be a line.

If one of his men stole something from me, Frank wouldn't protect them.

Vince sees what Shay did as taking something he owned, and since Shay is only associated with the club casually, I don't have the right to tell him to back off without starting a serious fucking problem.

And possibly a war.

I cleared my throat, rolling my hands into fists but quickly tucking them in under my arms. "And if she was more than just an associate?"

Frank's brow pinched between his eyes as he narrowed them at me. "Well, it would depend. But she would have to be someone pretty important for me to step in and keep Vince in line." This was a bad idea. "Is she more than just a club associate?"

It was a really fucking bad idea.

But it was the only one I had, and if I didn't get this sorted immediately, Shay would be in very real danger. Vince Martelli was mentally unstable. I'd known that before, but with the way his father was speaking, it sounded like even he was struggling to control the little bastard.

It made me sick to think about what he would do if he got his hands on Shay.

I wasn't going to let that happen.

If he even came near Shay, I would kill him, and if that happened, I needed to be sure that Frank Martelli would have my back and not his son's.

It sounded fucked up.

How did you get the head of Detroit's most powerful crime family to take your side over his flesh and blood?

By doing this.

"Yeah." I swallowed hard. "Yeah, Shay is my Old Lady."