Dishonored

by Bethany-Kris

  “I would rather chew glass than come here more than I already do. Angelo won’t change that, Martina.”

  The woman pushed away from Caesar with a laugh. “We’ll see.”

  Then, she was gone as she disappeared into a connecting room. Aria stayed in her place just long enough to see Caesar let out a heavy breath, and clench his fists hard at his sides. She quickly slipped back to her spot at the table before he came into the room.

  His presence in the space was tangible before he even made a sound or spoke. It was enough to make her heart pick up speed, and for her skin to tingle.

  She didn’t know why.

  She just liked it.

  “You done?” Caesar asked, rounding the table.

  She glanced up at him. “Done what?”

  He cocked a brow, and pointed at her plate. “That.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Fucking smooth.

  Caesar didn’t say a thing. “What do you want to do next? Have a tour—go piss off Angelo’s guards? Feed the ducks?”

  “You have ducks here?”

  “He does. They live in a small pond toward the back of the property.”

  “Ah.”

  “Might as well let you stretch your legs.”

  Sure.

  “While the king is away, the prince will play,” Aria said in a sing-song fashion.

  Had he known she was watching?

  Caesar chuckled as he pulled her empty dinner plate away from her. “Something like that—I just thought you might enjoy getting out of that wing for a bit.”

  “And the fact your father isn’t home has nothing to do with it, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah. It has everything to do with it.”

  She laughed.

  Caesar shrugged.

  As unashamed as ever.

  Her amusement died as another thought filtered into her head—one she had been meaning to ask since her encounter with his step-mother the day before.

  And where was that vile woman now?

  “When did your parents divorce?” she asked.

  Caesar stiffened as he lowered his form into the seat next to hers. “They didn’t—Catholics don’t divorce.”

  Fair.

  “She’s passed, then?”

  He nodded. “By means of one of the worst sins, should you ask the Church. The priest appealed to the bishop, but uh, he wouldn’t bend even a little bit; we couldn’t have her funeral at the church, but they did allow her to be buried in the graveyard.”

  She didn’t need to ask what he meant, then.

  She knew with those words.

  “She killed herself.”

  Caesar cleared his throat, and reached for the glass of water in front of him. He didn’t take a drink, but he did distract himself from needing to look at Aria when he spoke by edging the pad of his fingertip around the rim.

  “She fell into a bad depression after losing a pregnancy, and that’s what came of it. I was four; Angelo remarried before I turned five.”

  “To Martina.”

  His jaw clenched.

  His finger froze on the glass.

  A fire blazed in his gaze.

  “Yeah,” he said thickly. “To that thing.”

  “You don’t like her.”

  “That’s not a good enough word for what I feel regarding her, actually. Even hate isn’t strong enough, but it works just as well.”

  “Why?” Aria asked.

  Instead of answering her, Caesar asked, “Where’s your mother?”

  “An incident between two clans killed her. My father never remarried.”

  He nodded. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. I didn’t even know her; I have no memories of her, either.”

  “Well, then, I’m sorry for that. I remember my mother. Sometimes, I think that fucks me up more than anything else ever did because it’s warped in my head now. She chose to leave—I got fed to the wolves. Even if my mother needed help, I just … blame her.”

  Hate her, Aria thought. He hated her.

  His tone said that without him needing to.

  Hated her like he hated most—if not all—women.

  “The wolves being your step—”

  “Is there a reason we’re talking about this?” Caesar asked, his tone gruff and strained. “Because I would rather not.”

  “We can’t talk?”

  Caesar leaned back in the chair, and glanced up at the ceiling. “My favorite color is red, and I like vintage cars. I enjoy a lot of things, actually, despite what people say about me. It’s just that none of the things I enjoy are very moral, or good. Specifically, I make a game out of irritating my father just because I can and that’s caused me more trouble than anything else ever has.”

  He tipped his head to the side like he was considering something as he said, “What else? Oh, I have exactly two friends. They’re married, by the way. People think I have a kink for fucking married women, but I just tend to like anything I’m not supposed to have. I’m Italian through and through, but I could do without pasta. Unless, it was my grandmamma making it from scratch. No one made it like her, but she died from a heart attack last year, so I haven’t eaten pasta since. Your turn.”

  Aria blinked. “To what?”

  “Talk. That’s what you wanted to do, wasn’t it? So, talk.”

  “Actually, I want to talk about Martina, and something you told me in the hotel room—”

  His gaze cut to her; sharp as a knife in a blink. “We’re not talking about that.”

  “You don’t know what I’m going to say.”

  Caesar’s face smoothed into a mask of stone.

  Cold.

  Blank.

  Distant.

  “I know exactly what you’re going to say, and we’re not talking about it,” he murmured coolly. Standing from the table, he pulled a phone from his pocket, and set it on the table in front of her. “You’re going to be moved to a new location tonight; Angelo’s orders.”

  He rattled off an address.

  Another hotel.

  One still in Philly, though.

  “Let’s say,” Caesar said, “that somehow you got ahold of a phone, and let your husband know you’re at said hotel with only a couple of guards. He should probably show up with as few people as possible—preferably alone, but we’ll make due. He really won’t need more; we won’t have an army, and he won’t want to make a public scene.”

  Guilt climbed up Aria’s spine.

  Caesar wouldn’t even look at her, now.

  “Caesar, wait—”

  He was already turning to leave.

  Already done with her.

  Already hurting.

  “I’m done talking,” Caesar said, heading for the entryway of the kitchen. “And you have something to do now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  For bring up pain.

  For hurting him.

  For a lot of things.

  She didn’t think he was going to respond, but he did. Quietly, as though his words were barely there at all. Like he didn’t want her to hear them.

  “Don’t apologize,” he said. “No one else ever has—why should you?”

  FIFTEEN

  THE COMM BUZZED in Caesar’s ear, taking his attention away from where Aria currently sat on the edge of a table in the hotel room. She wasn’t talking to him, and he wasn’t talking to her. They hadn’t said a word to one another since he took her from the locked wing in his father’s mansion, drove into the city, and set them up in this hotel for the evening.

  He didn’t have anything to say—he refused to dredge up old demons to satisfy whatever fucking thing she wanted to know. What good was that going to do for him except hurt him? Hadn’t he already been hurt by that shit enough?

  That’s not what this is about.

  Or, it shouldn’t be.

  She kept staring at him, though, and she wasn’t even ash
amed to be doing it. It was almost as though she were trying to figure him out—and whatever was going on inside his mind—just by looking at him. Caesar felt like he was a bug under a goddamn microscope, but at the moment, he had more important things to be worried about other than what was going on in Aria’s head.

  “Three entering the building. Raffe Ferri leading.” Cain’s voice came through the comm in Caesar’s ear with a smooth calmness that he really needed to hear right now. He would much prefer to have his eyes on Raffe from the moment the man came inside the hotel, but that just wasn’t going to happen. Cain kept him informed on what was happening, and that would have to be enough for now. “Standby.”

  “Show time,” Caesar murmured to his companion.

  Aria heard his words if the stiffening of her back was any indication. “Did he listen to me?”

  “He only brought two men—makes three with him. I’d say yes.”

  Which made this somewhat easier, and probably a hell of a lot faster. Cleaner, too, given the way Cain and his guys would work to pick off Raffe’s men either outside of the hotel room, or in the hallways depending on how they chose to try and retrieve the man’s wife. Cain and Caesar had a plan, then a backup plan, and another plan just in case.

  Nothing was left to chance.

  It couldn’t be.

  Aria nodded, and fingered the hem of her wine-red dress. Other than first thing in the morning when they had woken up in bed together, he had never seen her without her hair and makeup done up to perfection. Today was no exception—except he thought she’d taken a special care to look even more beautiful.

  Not for him, certainly.

  This was all about the show for her.

  She wanted to make a show out of Raffe.

  Even through her beauty and carefully kept composure, Caesar found her nerves were still quietly present. He found it in her darting eyes every time she heard the smallest of noise outside the hotel room—the way she’d glance at the door like she was expecting someone to burst through it. He could see it in the small tremor working its way through her fingers even though she tried to hide them by fidgeting with something.

  “It’ll be fine,” Caesar told her.

  Aria’s gaze cut to him in the corner of the room. He was slightly hidden by the shadows leading into the master bedroom of the large suite. It was a good place for him to stay until he needed to come out of hiding, and do his job where Raffe was concerned. The man wouldn’t even know Caesar was coming up behind him if he walked quietly enough.

  As for their hotel room, it was the only room on the top floor—a penthouse-style room with several square feet, and a hell of a lot of privacy. The hotel manager had even taken a hefty bribe to ensure his cameras would be shut off for the night, and to—no matter what—keep his employees far away from the top floor.

  It was all good news for them.

  Bad news for Raffe.

  “One of Ferri’s men is down—stairwell,” Cain said through the comm.

  Caesar pressed the button to talk back, asking, “Why the stairwell?”

  “He directed one there. The other one is with him.”

  Caesar didn’t bother responding. The less communication they had at the moment, the better this would all work out for them. His curiosity ate at him, though. He ignored it by talking to Aria instead despite not wanting to do that very much either.

  “How do you think he’ll react to all of this?” Caesar asked.

  Aria didn’t look away from the door. “Badly.”

  “You asked for a few minutes—what do you plan to do?”

  She shrugged the dainty line of her shoulders. “Hurt him.”

  Ah.

  Yeah.

  Caesar knew that urge all too well. “Physically, or emotionally?”

  “Can’t one be nearly the same as the other when done properly?”

  “That’s fair,” he returned.

  Aria stared down at her hands. “He’s hurt me for long enough; it’s my turn, now.”

  “Who am I to judge? I’ve spent the last two decades of my life hurting everyone and anyone who I felt deserved it all because of a bitch who wouldn’t keep her fucking hands off of me as a kid. You want to hurt him, then go ahead and hurt him. Make it worth it; otherwise, you’re left with guilt when you don’t follow through because maybe you couldn’t—maybe he didn’t deserve it. They all fucking deserve it.”

  His question sent her questioning gaze flying to him, and she replied, “Not everyone, Caesar. They didn’t all deserve it. They’re not all culprits.”

  “Maybe not, but they all looked the same to me at the end of the day. The person who didn’t wake up down the hall. The bitch that ignored what she saw one night. The family that didn’t care enough to notice. The people who saw obvious signs of something being wrong, but chose not to ask or do anything about it because it was fucking inconvenient to their life and business. They may not be identical in appearance, but they are all a similar breed of monster.”

  “Sor—”

  “Don’t apologize,” he said sharply.

  Aria sucked in a quick breath, and nodded before she went back to staring at the door. He was grateful that the comm buzzed in his ear again because it took him away from his darkening thoughts. Something he desperately needed right then.

  “They’re coming up your way, Caesar,” Cain said.

  And this was where it got … well, tricky for a bit. Keeping the cameras off meant for the time it took for Raffe and his—now one—man to get up to their floor using the elevator, it was just Caesar and Aria. Cain and his men would take the stairwell to get up to their floor—but would Raffe come in blazing with the man at his side, or alone because he thought he was invincible?

  It was hard to say.

  Well, not really.

  “You’re going to hear a gun shot, likely,” Caesar said.

  Aria’s gaze narrowed. “What, why?”

  “Cain posted a guard outside the door here. It’s to make Raffe think that’s who is watching you, and that you’re in here alone. We want him to come in without his man, right?”

  That was their hope, anyway.

  “Oh, yeah, I—”

  Pop.

  It wasn’t entirely silent.

  It wasn’t loud, either.

  The guard’s—a disposable man that Angelo could afford to lose—body hitting the door was louder than the gun going off, actually. Silencers worked wonders.

  Caesar quickly pressed the comm in his ear, and muttered, “Go time.” Then, to Aria, he added, “Smile—this is your show for the next ten or so minutes. And then we end him.”

  All he got from her was a nod.

  That was fine, too.

  Caesar’s gun was already locked and loaded at his side while in his other hand, he kept a tight grip on a string of razor sharp wire. Just as he expected, Raffe didn’t try the fucking door to see if it was unlocked—it actually was—he simply kicked it in.

  The scene was already set.

  The moment that door flew open, there she was for him to see.

  Pretty, sweet, and waiting.

  Sitting on the edge of a table.

  Distracting.

  Dangerous.

  Divine.

  Raffe’s gaze was only on his wife—narrowed and angry—he didn’t even look around the room when she was the first thing he was able to see. He certainly didn’t notice Caesar pushing out of the corner from the shadows, and coming for him.

  Caesar tucked his gun into the waistband of his pants, and strung the wire out straight between his two hands. He came up next to Raffe just as the man who had been left in the hall shouted, “What the fuck?”

  Raffe’s head turned fast.

  Too late, though.

  Caesar wrapped that wire around the man’s throat, twisted hard, and pulled back for all he was worth. Raffe was one hell of a big bastard—at least forty pounds of muscle on Caesar, a
nd a couple of inches, too. And yet, when the unexpected hit, it didn’t matter how goddamn big a man was—he still fell like Goliath.

  “Fuck—”

  Raffe’s words were cut off by his back slamming into the floor, and his air rushing out of his body in one hard whoosh. Another pop echoed out in the hallway—Caesar’s comm buzzed again.

  “Last man down,” Cain grunted. “Coming in, man.”

  Good.

  Because Caesar could really use some fucking help right about now.

  Cain swept into the room, and was fast to tuck his pointed gun away at the sight of Caesar struggling with Raffe to keep the man on the floor. It didn’t take long for the two of them to drag the man further away from his currently smiling wife.

  Raffe was fighting; even as he was dragged across the room to the chair Caesar had set up five feet away at the opposite end of the table Aria was sitting on. He bucked, and kicked, and more. Anything to get away, but it was pointless.

  He had no air.

  His strength waned fast.

  They got him into the chair, and Caesar kept a firm hold on that wire while Cain grabbed the rope that had been sitting underneath it. Less than a minute from the moment Raffe had kicked the door open, he was bound to a chair with a razor sharp wire cutting bleeding lines into his throat.

  “Give us a few,” Caesar said to his friend when Cain stepped back.

  Cain glanced at him. “What?”

  Yeah, so that bit hadn’t been part of the plan. It was now.

  Caesar gestured at the door. “Give us ten minutes—close the door, and keep it that way. Don’t come back in until I call for you.”

  “Caesar—”

  “Now, man.”

  Cain nodded once, and then he was gone, forcing the broken door closed behind him. It was only then that Aria pushed off the side of the table and rounded the front of it, so she could lean against the edge and stare directly at her still-struggling husband.

  “Would you let him talk?” she asked quietly.

  Caesar shrugged. “Your ears, I guess.”

  And what he meant by that was—

  “Fucking cagna,” Raffe spat the second Caesar loosened the wire. The man’s voice was hoarse, and strained, but it still carried volume and weight. “I will kill you for this, puttana! You’re going to di—”