Dishonored

by Bethany-Kris

  Aria stood at the edge of the grave, and peered down. At the bottom of the hole, her father’s casket waited to be covered by the mound of dirt still hidden with a tarp to keep it from getting too wet by the drizzling skies. Only a small handful of dirt had been tossed down on the casket by the priest earlier—custom, and nothing more. The black glossy wood still stood out prominently and maybe even with a warning.

  She heard it.

  This could be you soon.

  She didn’t heed it.

  Gray clouds hung overhead.

  It was appropriate.

  Even if her father had betrayed her, she still loved him.

  Or, a piece of her did.

  Strange how that worked.

  Bending down, Aria dragged her fingers through the dirt at the edge of the grave. She tossed it inside, and watched it spatter the top of the black casket. The cold detachment she had been feeling in her heart lifted just enough to let her experience the heaviness left behind.

  It didn’t matter.

  She’d made her choices.

  “Until we meet again, Papy, and then, I hope you’ve forgiven me,” Aria murmured.

  Standing straight again, Aria brushed her hands together to rid them of any lingering dirt. She peered up at the gray skies, and let out a little sigh. This was it—time to put her mask back on, and get back to the plan. She had wasted enough time.

  Turning to move back down the path and meet up with Nico at the graveyard’s gate, she almost stumbled over her knee-high leather boots at the man who was currently leaning against a ten-foot statue of an angel cradling a child in her arms. His intense blue gaze all but nailed her to the spot, and when his lips quirked up in a half-smirk, Aria sucked in a sharp breath.

  Still, she straightened her shoulders, and refused to let him see her shock at him showing up at her father’s grave. And on the day of his funeral, no less.

  “Caesar,” Aria greeted as she came closer.

  He didn’t push away from the statue, and his arms stayed loosely folded over his broad chest. In a tailored suit, with his black shoes shining against the pathway, he looked entirely cool, confident, and calm.

  “You don’t look terribly sad,” Caesar noted as his gaze drifted over her features, and then traveled down her body to linger even longer. Jesus. This man was something else. “I’m not sure whether to be happy about that, or not. I was hoping for …”

  Aria quirked a brow high. “What, for me to be a sobbing mess over my father’s grave because you took him from me? Would that have pleased you, Caesar?”

  Fast as a blink, his gaze cut back up to hers.

  That smirk of his deepened.

  “Maybe,” he offered simply.

  There was something about this man’s voice that needled at Aria’s insides. In good and bad ways. She tried her hardest to ignore it, but it was becoming all the more difficult with each and every encounter they had.

  “Well, surprise,” Aria deadpanned, “I am not the woman who weeps over a man.”

  Ever.

  Caesar slanted his head to the side, and grinned a bit. “No, I didn’t really expect you to be, honestly. I thought I should show my face, and let you know, though. I couldn’t have you thinking I was hiding away after all of …” He gestured at her father’s grave up the pathway, saying, “… all of this, now could I?”

  “That is your modus operandi, isn’t it? You like the glory of it all—you have to let someone know it was you who hurt or took from them.”

  “Point is,” he returned easily, “you should know now, donna. Don’t ever fuck with me because I will answer back each time that you do. This time, it was your father. Next time, it’ll be someone else I know you care for. I won’t be a game for you to play and win—I am no one’s pawn. Remember it.”

  Aria couldn’t help herself.

  She laughed even as she passed Caesar by.

  “Who do you think really killed my father, Caesar?”

  She didn’t give him a chance to answer.

  She didn’t care.

  “Has he been drinking?” Aria asked as she walked the path leading up to her home.

  Nico, keeping a respectable distance behind her, made a noise under his breath. “I couldn’t get a clear answer on that one, and I didn’t want to press lest someone get suspicious on why I was asking.”

  Well, damn.

  “I’m sure—”

  “It’s fine,” she said quickly.

  She didn’t want Nico to worry, or concern himself with what might happen once she opened the front door to her home. It would do neither of them any good at the end of the day. He did his best to look out for her from afar, and that was all she could really ask for. Anything else, and he might be the next target.

  Straightening her spine and shoulders, Aria kept her head high and gaze straight as she opened the door to her home. She could smell him the moment she walked inside—a strong, masculine musk that he preferred. One that could damn near make her sick to her stomach every time she got a whiff of the cologne.

  It reminded her of a heavy, sweaty body pushing her smaller frame over a footboard, and forcing her legs apart. It reminded her of delicate lace being torn away from her body time and time again when all she wanted to say was no.

  “Aria—angelo bellissima.”

  Aria did her best not to stiffen at Raffe’s voice drifting from down the hall. She found him standing in the shadows between the enclave of the kitchen and the light in the hallway. Tall, large, and formidable, he was not the kind of man a woman wanted to meet in an empty alleyway in the dark.

  And yet, she had been forced to meet him in the dark for a year and a half.

  “Raffe,” she replied kindly.

  Somehow.

  Aria found it easy to keep her attention off her husband as she removed her coat, and shoes. Hanging the items up on the coat hanger with her purse as well, she turned only to find Raffe had moved silently down the hall to stand in front of her.

  Nico had not come inside.

  The house was empty.

  It was just … them.

  She peered up at her husband—he towered over her by inches.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get back in time for the funeral,” he said.

  Aria nodded. “You couldn’t help the delay.”

  And frankly, she was grateful for it.

  The less time with him, the better.

  Raffe’s dark eyes drifted over her features with the slow grace of a predator taking in his prey before he pounced. His hand came up to cup her cheek, and his thumb stroked her skin with a softness she knew was a lie.

  “I will handle the Italians for what they did,” he murmured.

  “I have no doubt.”

  “You will need to step back, now, you know. I’m home—let the boss handle this little problem. I am sure I will get it done in no time at all, and we will have the territory we want to show for it. Hell, maybe even more.”

  He posed those words like all her efforts had been in vain. As though she hadn’t gotten anywhere, or gained any ground on the Accardo organization. And maybe she hadn’t—not in a way that Raffe would see as good, anyhow.

  That hadn’t been the point.

  She put something else in motion.

  That’s what she needed.

  “I’m sure you’ve been enjoying playing the little queen, though,” Raffe murmured, his hand drifting from her cheek to rest on the side of her throat. Still soft to the touch, though, so she forced herself not to stiffen. “You have enjoyed it, haven’t you?”

  “I tend to be good at it,” she replied.

  “You do; that’s fair, my sweet girl. But you will step back now.”

  Aria nodded. “Of course.”

  To him, anyway.

  Then, Raffe’s hand tightened roughly around Aria’s throat, and she instinctively sucked in a breath at the harsh action. His fingers dug into her neck, and her a
irways constricted.

  “Now, do you care to explain to me why Giovanna has been to visit several times, but you were nowhere to be found? Or why there’s rumors that you were leaving the house late at night without the proper people knowing?”

  Shit.

  Sometimes, things were just too good to be true.

  “Nico took me to the movies,” she lied, “and I had business, also. I always had someone with me.”

  Raffe’s gaze narrowed, and he tilted his head back to search her face for any lie. “Giovanna says—”

  “Giovanna doesn’t like being punished for stepping out of line against me, Raffe.”

  And the bitch would die for this.

  Aria guaranteed it.

  Raffe’s hold loosened. “Maybe so.”

  “There’s no maybe about it. She’s a petty cunt who enjoys the misfortune of others, but especially when she is the cause of it. She doesn’t even try to hide it, Raffe.”

  “Yes, well, at least the woman is warmer than you when she’s told to please a man.”

  Aria blinked.

  He was fucking Giovanna?

  “Does Simone know you’re—”

  “Mind your business,” her husband snapped. Then, he twisted her around, grabbed the back of her neck, and pushed her down the hallway. “Meet me at the foot of our bed. Be naked by the time I get there.”

  Aria said nothing.

  She simply went.

  NINE

  CAESAR SLIPPED HIS hand into the pocket of his slacks, and silenced the phone that wouldn’t stop vibrating with one call after another. He didn’t even bother to check who the caller was, but no doubt, it was his father asking if he had made his flight.

  To Canada, that was.

  Caesar glanced down the familiar city street of Philadelphia, and grinned.

  Nope.

  He sure hadn’t.

  And he wouldn’t.

  As long as he could avoid Angelo for a while, then he wasn’t too worried about whatever his father might have to say or try to do about Caesar refusing to follow through on his orders. Besides, for the moment, Caesar had other things to do.

  Better things to do.

  He couldn’t do them in Canada.

  Angelo wasn’t going to understand that his son was practically obsessed with knowing and understanding every little detail he could about Aria De Rose—only so that he could use it against her, of course. She thought to use Caesar like a pawn in her game, whatever it was that she was playing, and he had news for her.

  It wasn’t happening.

  The woman was smart, though.

  Keen, really.

  Deceptive.

  Manipulative.

  Quick as hell.

  Any other time, and he might have appreciated the cunningness that was Aria, but not so much when it was his ass on the line.

  Who do you think really killed my father?

  Caesar hadn’t been able to forget those words since she told them to him three days earlier in a graveyard. It had been with those words that his decision was cemented—he wouldn’t be leaving Philly, and his business with this woman was far from fucking finished.

  He had killed her father. He had put it into motion, and paid the hefty goddamn price for the job. He had done all of that.

  But now he was left wondering … why?

  Nothing with Aria was what it seemed to be—her surface was not even close to being similar to what was inside. He had figured out she was quick to direct people to the things she wanted them to see, or know about her, for that matter. And she made a very careful effort to hide her real motives, and actions.

  Caesar had gone after her father because she mentioned him; she had made sure to bring the man into her conversation with him, and plant the seed. Like a fucking weed Caesar hadn’t even known it was there, it grew, and he chose to use it against her.

  But had it really been against her?

  Or had it been for her?

  A part of him was amazed, and another part of him was infuriated.

  And all for a fucking woman.

  Across the street from Caesar’s position, a black Mercedes pulled up along the side of the road. The windows—tinted a dark black—kept the passengers from his view. That was fine as he didn’t need to see who was inside to know who it was.

  After all, these people were creatures of habit.

  Or so he was coming to learn.

  First, the car stayed idling in a No Parking Zone for a good two minutes before the driver’s door opened. It wasn’t the first sight Caesar had gotten of Aria’s husband, Raffaele Ferri; he’d been tailing the two ever since the man arrived back in the country. The bull of a man was nearly as tall as he was wide with dark hair he liked to keep slicked back with some kind of gel or oil.

  Raffe—as Caesar had been told the man liked to be called—had eyes that never stopped darting from one thing to the next as though something might jump out at him. In three days, Caesar had seen the man intimidate the men who worked for him, stay permanently close to his wife’s side whenever they were out, and make his daily rounds around the city.

  That was how Caesar knew where they would be today.

  Yeah.

  Creatures of habit.

  Raffe was quick to move around the front of the Mercedes, and when he came up to the passenger side, he waved his finger in a circle at the window. A silent order for the person in the passenger seat to roll it down.

  She did.

  Aria, that was.

  Even in the shadows of the car, Caesar had a perfect view of Aria sitting in the passenger seat with her hair down in loose curls, and a scarf fixed around her throat. That was probably the first time he’d ever seen her wear anything other than a necklace or choker.

  Not that it mattered.

  Her gaze drifted to her husband as Raffe leaned down to speak to her, but it was the shake of her head at whatever he said that made the man stiffen. She shrugged, and then gestured at him before nodding at the restaurant they were parked in front of.

  One Raffe regularly visited.

  It took another minute or two of the husband and wife talking before Raffe stood up straight, and nodded once. Then, he slapped a hand against the hood of the car before he darted back around the front of the car. Three seconds later, and the man disappeared inside the entrance doors of the business.

  No doubt, Raffe would be busy inside the restaurant for a good twenty minutes or more. Caesar didn’t know what kind of business the man had here, but he always left with a doggy bag of food in one hand, and a thick manila envelope in the other. Dinner and cash … fascinating.

  Except Caesar didn’t care.

  At all.

  Now’s my chance.

  Caesar hadn’t gotten one of those in days—a chance, that was. Not one to approach Aria, anyway. Her husband rarely left her side, and now that he was back in the country, it seemed the woman couldn’t even leave her house without the man next to her.

  The graveyard had been a spur of the moment decision, and looking back, maybe a bad one at that. Then again, Caesar had never had much respect for the dead, or their grieving family. He didn’t care for rules that dictated his behavior or what was expected of him. In fact, he was known to do exactly the opposite of everything he was told to do just because he fucking could. And so, he had gone just to see …

  Lucky him that she had been alone.

  That he could get her alone.

  Kind of like now.

  Caesar pushed out from under the enclave entrance to a small café, and into the bright sunlight of the day. Across the street from the business, it had kept him hidden well enough from view, and allowed him the chance to wait.

  Plus have a drink of coffee.

  Win-win.

  Caesar dropped his to-go cup in a trash bin just before he stepped out onto the quiet street, and shoved his hands in his pockets. His aviator sunglasses kept his ga
ze hidden from view as he came closer to the vehicle Aria was waiting inside.

  Her gaze drifted to the side, and caught him coming her way just as she had started to roll up the window—it was a little hot out, he supposed. The sight of her eyes widening almost made him smile.

  Fuck.

  She always looked good when he surprised her.

  “Question,” Caesar said as he came up to the side of the car. “If you wouldn’t mind answering, that is.”

  Aria’s surprise quickly melted into anger as she glanced between him at her window, and the restaurant. “What do you want?”

  “Oh, we can’t talk now?”

  “I don’t—”

  “You didn’t really expect to leave me at the cemetery with that little nugget about killing your father, and then think I wouldn’t want to know more, did you?”

  She turned her head, and kept her eyes on the stretch of road and walkway in her windshield. Even with Caesar now leaning against the car, she all out refused to even look at him. Any other time, and he might have been fucking offended.

  Today, he just found it amusing.

  “Leave,” Aria murmured. “It’s the only warning I can give you.”

  “Can’t do that, actually. Sorry.”

  She sighed, and glanced down at her lap. “What do you want?”

  Caesar reached inside the window, and fingered the small golden tassel on the end of the scarf wrapped around her pretty neck. “This is new—I think I like your throat naked more, though.”

  As quickly as he had touched her, Aria was quick to slap his hand away. Her gaze burned when it turned on him again—hateful and bitter in a blink.

  “Don’t.”

  Caesar put his hands up in mock surrender. “My apologies. I can’t touch you now that your husband is back in town, or what?”

  All that fight and fire seemed to drain out of the woman in a breath. With nothing more than a simple question from him, and she reverted back to the pretty little doll staring out the window. A doll with no expression, no emotion, and probably no fucking brain.

  It irked him.

  Pissed him off.