Dishonored

by Bethany-Kris

  She came again.

  And then a third time.

  Aria expected him to pull out, and paint her back with his come. Or to turn her over, and get her to finish him off like he had before. He didn’t—bare, and deep, and hard … he filled her full, and she felt every fucking drop.

  She didn’t care; despite every effort her husband had tried to use to get her pregnant, she had the means and the ability to keep exactly that from happening. For as long as she wanted or needed.

  “Jesus Christ,” Caesar uttered through shuddering breaths.

  It edged along her skin.

  Sharp like a razor.

  Soft like a kiss.

  Still hard inside her, and with shaky hands holding her down against the bed, Caesar said, “I have to kill you to get what I want—it’s the deal I made.”

  Aria stared at the bright sunlight filtering in through the window. “And what is it you want?”

  “Not to be tossed away—not to be married to someone else.”

  “Is that all?” she asked.

  “I don’t think I want to keep being broken.”

  Her emotions tipped.

  Her heart raced.

  Nothing made sense anymore.

  Nothing seemed simple or easy.

  Not with this man.

  Not like he was.

  “Are you going to do it, then?” she asked. “Kill me to get what you want, I mean.”

  “I’m trying to figure out another way.”

  Yes.

  She could tell.

  Because this was dangerous, now.

  It was always dangerous when hearts got involved.

  “How long is he going to make you hide out here?” he asked.

  Aria smiled. “Until someone finds me, I suppose. You should probably hurry up and do that, Caesar.”

  THIRTEEN

  CAIN WAS ALREADY waiting in the Four Seasons hotel room that Caesar had been calling home ever since Raffe had his penthouse—and half of the rest of the building—burnt to the ground.

  “Well?” Cain asked.

  Caesar tossed his wrinkled blazer over the back of the couch, and glanced at his phone. An incoming text from his father wanting an update on the situation, as Angelo kept calling it. It amused Caesar to no end that his father could so easily order the death of a woman, and yet refused to actually call it what it was. Her murder.

  Except that hadn’t happened.

  And he had to figure out something else.

  “Well, what?” Caesar asked.

  “Is it done—the job?”

  Cain glanced up from the sheets he had spread out on the small kitchenette table. Caesar made an iffy noise in the back of his throat, and shrugged. Cain had been the only person Caesar let in on his little deal with his father—Aria’s life for his freedom. Cain figured it was a good trade all things considered.

  Caesar did, too.

  Not so much now.

  “Not really,” he said.

  “Jesus Christ. You fucked her again.”

  “Hey.”

  “What?” Cain grumbled.

  “I mean, the least you could do is give me some dignity and pose it as a question. You don’t have to just assume right of the bat that I—”

  “You fucked her again, Caesar. I know you did.”

  Fine.

  “In the midst of other shit, I may have done that, too,” Caesar offered.

  “You can’t even control it, can you?”

  “I can. I just choose not to.”

  Yeah.

  That.

  That was a good way to put it.

  “And,” Caesar added, drawling out the words with a leer, “if you had gotten a taste of that woman, you would go back for more, too.”

  “I have a wife.”

  “Yeah, shame that is.”

  “Watch it, asshole.”

  Shit.

  Yeah.

  “Sorry,” Caesar said, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “I know you love Gina—force of habit.”

  And it was exactly that. A force of habit. He didn’t know if he could change the urge to mock or ruin every good relationship he saw growing around him. Like a need to prove those things were as fragile and useless as glass in the face of the oncoming storm that was Caesar Accardo. Sure, he didn’t mess in Cain’s marriage, but that didn’t mean he was always quiet.

  Plus, he did like Gina.

  That helped.

  Cain straightened a bit, and cleared his throat. “You know, you’ve never said that before.”

  Caesar cocked a brow. “Said what?”

  “That I love my wife—love, Caesar. The actual word. Like it’s a thing you believe exists.”

  “It doesn’t—”

  “It does, and you just said it does. At least, you said it in regards to the way I love my wife. That you see it there, and you know it’s there. You’ve never done that before. No, what you do is make snide comments or some other kind of shit. But not actually that.”

  Caesar blinked.

  Cain kept staring.

  “Don’t make this into something,” he told his friend. “It was a slip of the tongue. And it won’t happen again.”

  Cain gave him one big nod, as if silently saying, Sure, man, sure.

  “What are you doing, anyway?” Caesar asked, hoping he could get his friend onto another topic of conversation. Maybe then this weird thing he was now thinking about would get the fuck out of his head fast, quick, and in a hurry. He didn’t need to be bothering himself with things like love, and whether or not it was something that actually existed to him. Love ruined things—love was a vulnerability, and something he would much rather destroy. Not something he actually wanted. “What are these?”

  He approached the table, and picked up one of the sheets of paper Cain had set out on the table in front of him. They looked like … condos, and penthouses. Or rather, details for different places in the city. Ones for sale.

  “You need a place to live; you can’t keep staying here,” Cain muttered. “Or, that’s what Gina told me this morning. She said if I didn’t kick your ass into gear to find a new place, then you would never do it. And she is tired of you showing up every night for supper because you don’t like the restaurant here.”

  “The chef is an asshole,” Caesar returned.

  “Whatever—point is, pick one.”

  “Maybe later.”

  Finding a new place was the last thing on his mind at the moment. He had far too many other things to do, and this was at the very bottom of the list.

  Dropping the paper back to the table, he turned to his friend and said, “I couldn’t do it—kill her, I mean.”

  Cain flattened his palms against the table, and let out a sigh. “Why not?”

  “A lot of reasons.”

  Not of them were particularly important, and Caesar also didn’t think they were any of his friend’s business. Nonetheless, he wasn’t giving out details even if Cain did try to push for them. Thankfully, Cain didn’t ask.

  No, Cain went in a different direction.

  Always the rule-follower.

  The good made man between them.

  “Your father isn’t going to like that,” Cain muttered. “And that means you’ve negated the deal—so the marriage will be back on the table.”

  Like it was ever off.

  And when had he ever given a single fuck what Angelo wanted or thought?

  Caesar made a dismissive grunt. “I’ll give him what he wants. She was a detail to him. That’s it, and that’s all. Just something else for him to add to the pot, and nothing more. She’s not actually important to Angelo’s plans other than removing her from the equation to piss off her husband. He can still do that without killing her at the same time. She doesn’t need to die.”

  Cain cleared his throat, and glanced over at Caesar. “And what, she isn’t just a detail to you? You don’t want to get
rid of her?”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Caesar—”

  “Don’t even try to do that.”

  “Now—”

  “This isn’t something, Cain. And don’t try to make something out of fucking nothing.”

  Cain glared at the ceiling. “You’re impossible.”

  “Yeah, well …”

  It was all he could say, and he’d offered it rather lamely. Caesar had never claimed to be anything but exactly what he was.

  “How many times have you slept with that woman now?” Cain asked.

  “A few times.”

  Are we counting the encounters, or the number of times one of us has come?

  Because those were two very different numbers, and one was a great deal higher than the other. Soon to be a hell of a lot more the second he got a chance. He was done pretending in that aspect—he liked fucking Aria, and he was going to keep doing it as long as she wanted him to.

  Caesar didn’t see the issue.

  “You do realize when you go back more than once, you can’t keep calling it nothing, right?” Cain asked.

  “Just … fuck off.”

  Cain laughed. “I’m just saying.”

  “Fuck off, and find me two guys Angelo won’t care about if they die.”

  That quieted his friend.

  “Why would they die?”

  Caesar grinned. “Aria is predictable. That’s why.”

  And it was time to put some of his plans in motion.

  “What are we standing here for?” Angelo asked.

  More like grumbled.

  “Something fun,” Caesar said. “Wait for it.”

  He checked the screen of his phone again to see the men he had tasked with snatching Aria from her safe hotel were at the bottom of the driveway, and currently waiting to be granted access to the Accardo estate by security. Almost.

  “Fun for me is not standing around,” Angelo said with a sigh.

  “You could indulge me a little.”

  Angelo gave his son a side-eye. “In case you missed the goddamn memo, I indulge you far too often. It’s every reason why you are the way you are.”

  “That’s not the reason,” Caesar returned, “but you can keep thinking that way, if it’s easier on your conscience.”

  His father opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it. Really, it was a smart move on Angelo’s part, but Caesar opted not to point it out. Frankly, he had probably stretched his father’s good graces just about as far as he could for the evening.

  “Where’s Martina?” Caesar asked.

  Her name came out a little twisted—dark and bitter with his tone. He hated the taste it left behind on his tongue, too.

  Still, he had to be sure …

  Angelo gave him another look; surprised, likely, that he’d asked about his step-mother. Caesar never did that, if he could help it. Most times, he made every fucking attempt to act as if the woman didn’t even exist. It didn’t escape Angelo’s notice, but the man rarely said anything. And only if Martina mentioned it.

  She was like a weed.

  Growing where she shouldn’t.

  Impossible to be rid of.

  A fucking pest.

  “Out with friends,” Angelo settled on saying.

  “For how long?”

  “Until someone brings her home, I imagine.”

  His father offered the words dryly—unaffected, even. Like the fact his wife was probably out at some bar or club plastered and making another one of her scenes wasn’t even the smallest blip on his problematic radar.

  It disgusted Caesar.

  And amused him.

  “Well, good,” Caesar said.

  “Why is that good?”

  “I wouldn’t want her walking in on this. I don’t think she’d do well standing up against this one.”

  “What—”

  Caesar’s phone dinged with an incoming message before his father could ask more. He checked the message to find the men had parked the van, and were coming up to the front door. He sent back a confirmative text for them to come right in, and not to bother with knocking as they were already waiting.

  “So, fair warning,” Caesar said to Angelo, “I didn’t exactly do what you wanted. I think you’ll have more fun with this option, though.”

  “Didn’t do what I—what?”

  Caesar tipped his head toward the door as it started to open. A woman entered first—Aria—although with her head covered by a black hood, and her arms pinned behind her back by the hands of one of the men leading her inside, it was nearly impossible to tell it was her. Except he could tell.

  A body like hers …

  All that anger and tension …

  Her rose perfume …

  How could he not know her?

  Caesar knew the moment his father realized exactly who was being delivered to his home hooded and captured like a prize—when Aria spoke.

  Or rather … cursed.

  “Vaffanculo! Vattela a pigliare in culo, merda!”

  Angelo’s gaze widened as he cleared his throat. “Those are quite the words for a lady.”

  “I don’t think she cares if you think of her as a lady,” Caesar mused.

  “This is not what I asked for, figlio. She should be dead, not standing in my home!”

  “Yes, well—”

  “Remove her hood, and let her go,” Angelo ordered the men, not even giving Caesar a chance to speak.

  That’s a mistake.

  Caesar didn’t tell his father that.

  He actually thought Angelo might see the show Aria could put on, and appreciate it. Or rather, maybe think he could use it to his advantage. Angelo was always looking for the next thing he could use to advance his business, after all.

  The taller of the two men yanked the hood off Aria’s head while the stockier, dark-haired man let go of her arms. Her wild curls flew in every direction as her blazing glaze searched the room—painted-red lips pulled back in a challenging sneer, and fists clenched down at her side.

  Goddamn, was she ever a sight.

  Caesar liked it.

  Too much.

  Aria took a second—one to find who was in the room.

  Then, two—to fix her dress.

  And then she acted.

  Spinning fast, her hand slipped between her legs and the men never saw her coming. Caesar only caught sight of the barest glint of metal before she struck out at the stockier of the two men. She sliced the small knife across his face, leaving a nasty, bleeding gash behind. At the same time, she reached for the jacket of the other man.

  Her hand came back with his gun.

  She didn’t blink.

  Didn’t hesitate.

  Racked, aimed, and fired.

  A single shot right to the face sent the man flying backwards.

  Caesar heard the cock of his father’s gun in the next second, and so did Aria if the stiffening of her shoulders was any indication. The man who had been sliced across his face was holding the injury with one hand while thick blood poured between his fingertips. Caesar could still see the man’s rage as clear as day as he stepped toward Aria.

  Angelo spoke first.

  “Don’t touch her,” his father uttered. “And you … turn around, donna, and drop the gun carefully to the floor.”

  Aria’s shoulders heaved, and her back tensed. Still, she did as she had been told. Turning slowly, she put the weapon to the floor as her fiery green eyes landed on Caesar next to his father. He was grinning—a stupid, foolish grin.

  He couldn’t help it.

  She was amazing.

  Aria didn’t speak, though.

  Not to him, anyway.

  “My husband will kill you,” she told Angelo.

  “Yes, well, he’s been threatening that for a while,” Angelo grumbled. “I have learned to roll with it. Kick the gun over to us, please.”

  Aria’s f
oot snapped out, and the small handgun slid across the floor before coming to a stop in front of Caesar’s leather loafers. “I’ll enjoy watching what he does to you, Accardo. Trust that it’ll be slow, painful, and you’ll wish you were dead long before he lets me kill you.”

  She really did put on a good show.

  Even if some of it was a lie.

  No wonder Raffe couldn’t tell this woman was working to see him dead and cold in the ground. He probably thought she loved him.

  She didn’t.

  “Caesar, we need to have a word,” Angelo said, never taking his gaze away from Aria, “but first, someone needs to handle that. Put her somewhere she can’t hurt anyone else … or something. Cristo. She is a rompicoglioni—ball-breaker. You know how I feel about those kinds of women.”

  He did.

  Angelo hated them as much as he respected them.

  This was going well.

  “And hurry up,” his father barked, lowering his weapon and turning on his heel to leave the grand entry. “Before she takes another swing at someone else.”

  Caesar nodded. “I think I can do that.”

  “This is not what I asked for!” The office door slammed shut with a bang the second those words left Angelo’s scowling lips. “That woman should be dead, not in my fucking home!”

  Caesar dropped his form into the leather chair next to the window. A good spot to distract himself by staring out over the yard while he convinced his father this was the better way to go with Aria rather than killing her.

  “I think this is better in the grand scheme, actually,” Caesar returned. “Think about it.”

  Angelo huffed, and from the corner of his eye, Caesar watched his father cross his beefy arms over his chest. “I don’t have to think about it—we had an agreement. This is a complication I can’t afford, and do not need.”

  “Wrong.”

  “I swear—”

  “You have his wife alive,” Caesar said. “Before, you were just going to kill her, and be done with it. Claim the kill, and piss him off spectacularly. Drive him into some kind of brilliant violence that would let you kill him and be done with it.”

  “Yes, because that’s easy, Caesar! Or have you forgotten that I want to be rid of this shit? They’ve caused me enough problems, and this would have been the end of it, for Christ’s sake.”