by Bethany-Kris
“Well, that sounds dull.”
“Two seconds, son. You are two fucking seconds away from earning yourself an early grave.”
Doubtful.
“We have a bit more insight on Camorra clans now, don’t we?” he asked. “You take them down, and five more pop up out of the goddamn ruins. Get rid of him, and his clan is going to have more come out on top because of it. And who the fuck do you think they’re going to come at because of it? Is that what you want?”
His father paused—considered.
Caesar smiled to himself.
“Not particularly,” Angelo finally muttered.
“Exactly. Use her to draw him in, and ruin him. Make a show of it—they hold their reputation close. Too close, maybe. Make it known the Accardos shouldn’t be messed with in any way. Whoever comes out on top of this once it’s over will think twice before they come at us again.”
Angelo frowned. “And what about her?”
Yes.
That …
“Killing her does nothing for your endgame,” Caesar said, shrugging. “Killing her when she will have nothing and no one to fall back on would be like pissing on her grave just for the sake of insulting her. What will she have to use to come back on us after this? Nothing. And beyond that, her reputation will be ruined with her clan—to them, that’s worse than anything she could do to us, trust that.”
Angelo’s gaze narrowed. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“You’re asking me to spare the woman.”
“I don’t see why killing her does you any good.”
“Because she is a problem.”
“But she won’t be,” Caesar countered.
“You do realize I know the amount of times you’ve gone to that woman—the things you’ve been doing behind my back. I know, son.”
“Mmm, you even had pictures, remember?”
Angelo’s gaze flashed with a warning.
Careful, dumbass.
His thoughts were a special breed of hell today.
“Camorra isn’t like Cosa Nostra,” Caesar said, shaking his head, “and just killing them won’t drive your point home. If anything, they will rebuild stronger and better, and come at you in a new way because you were stupid enough to let them think death was all they would have to pay for this. That’s the thing—they don’t fear death. They expect it.”
“Even her?” Angelo asked.
Caesar tipped his hand over, saying, “Especially her. You have to humiliate them—drawing her husband in and killing him by tricking and shaming him is the kind of thing that would make them hesitate to attack us again. They would be far more concerned with upholding their image and reputations as a clan.”
“You do know that you won’t get what you want now—the marriage, I mean. It will go through because of this. We agreed, and you fell through.”
A dry, dark chuckle passed Caesar’s lips.
“What is so funny?” Angelo asked.
“You were never going to let me out of that marriage, anyway.”
Angelo glanced away from Caesar.
He didn’t deny it, though.
Because yeah, he knew how this game went. Angelo simply forgot Caesar was a far better player in the end.
Shame.
It meant one of them was going to have to lose.
It wouldn’t be Caesar.
“But now that the woman is here …” his father said, trailing off with a look in Caesar’s direction.
Great.
What now?
FOURTEEN
“YOU’RE LOOKING PLEASED with yourself,” Aria mused as Caesar strolled into the library.
He gave the man who had been watching Aria a nod, and the guy quickly darted out of the room, but not before he slammed the door closed behind him. Likely happy to be the hell out of her presence after knowing what she had done to the two men who delivered her to the estate. Caesar locked the door, too.
Oh, good.
Privacy.
Caesar gave his attention back to her—and the glass of liquor Aria was holding. His gaze narrowed a bit at the sight. “And you’re looking quite comfortable.”
She smiled slyly, and tipped the glass back and forth. He could act pissed all he wanted; she didn’t care. She knew full well he enjoyed the little show she had put on when she first arrived. He probably had planned for that, really.
“What good will sitting here staring at old, dusty books do for me? There’s not even a romance in here, Caesar. I would much rather drink.”
Caesar didn’t even reply. Strolling across the room, he plucked the glass from her hand, and rested it down on the small wet bar with a little more force than was necessary. Aria had all she could do not to pick it back up—because what the fuck—but his hand circling tight around her wrist to keep her still stopped her from doing anything.
“How about no,” Caesar uttered darkly. “There’s already one woman in this house who is constantly drunk and haunts me regularly. Let’s not add a fucking second.”
Wait, what?
Aria gave him a second look.
His easy demeanor was gone.
“Are you—”
“What?”
His gaze burned when it landed back on her.
Aria stiffened. “What is your problem?”
She didn’t miss the way his jaw tensed, or how his gaze darted away from hers. Something had happened, and he wasn’t very pleased about it.
That wasn’t a good sign.
“Shouldn’t it be me pissed off?” she asked. “You did have random, strange men come into my hotel room, and throw a fucking hood over my head like I was a wild animal.”
Caesar’s lips twitched with a smirk.
She had the strangest urge to smack it away, or kiss it.
Wow.
“That’s because you are kind of like a wild animal,” he murmured.
“Watch it, tyrant.”
“I like it better when you say it in Italian, Aria.”
“Too bad.”
Caesar sighed, and his grip on her wrist loosened. “Thanks for playing along when you got here—you made for a good show. It was as amusing as I hoped it would be.”
Aria gave him a look. “Glad to be of service.”
Her tone was cutting.
He didn’t miss it.
“Don’t be like that, now.”
“You’re being a bit of an asshole,” she countered.
“Force of habit,” he replied.
“Then, you get the bitch.”
Caesar tipped his head down. “That’s fair. I don’t get too much control, now, though. Be warned—you’re here, so it’s all on Angelo to make the calls from now on.”
“As long as I don’t die.”
“Working on keeping that from happening, yeah.”
Aria’s fingernails dug into the thin skin of his wrist, forcing Caesars gaze to dart quickly to meet hers. “Don’t work on it—make sure it happens.”
In a blink, he was closer.
All in her vision.
Crowding her.
Making it hard to breathe.
She liked it as much as she hated it.
His lips were a breath away from hers when he said, “It won’t happen, bella.”
“You’re distracting.”
“And you’re dangerous.”
Aria shrugged. “Fair trade, isn’t it?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
She reached up and pressed the pads of her fingers into the tense, furrowed line of his brow to smooth it out. “You’re angry. Why?”
“Because you have to stay here. In this mansion. At least, until Angelo says otherwise or chooses to move you to a new location.”
She blinked. “Okay.”
“No, not okay. I have to keep an eye on you—Angelo’s demands.”
Aria grinned wickedly. “That could be fun.”
She was asking for trouble.
Begging for it, really.
Caesar was a fun kind of trouble, though.
Caesar shook his head. “That means … you stay here, and I have to stay here. I don’t fucking like this house—I hate it, and the people inside it.”
There was something dark in his words.
Something that ached in his tone.
She didn’t miss it. They’d had enough conversations for him to let things slip, and she was wondering just how important some of those things were. How much had he told her was tied to this house, and the people inside it?
“Why?” she asked. “Why do you hate it, and them?”
Caesar swallowed hard. “Just … never mind.”
“You know you can talk to me about—”
“I don’t want to talk,” he uttered through clenched teeth.
Yeah, something was really wrong. Something that bothered Caesar so much that he couldn’t even make an effort to hide it.
“Okay, no talking,” she said.
“No talking,” he agreed. “Something else is good, though.”
“Something like what?”
“Something that would really piss my father off.” The words were no sooner out of Caesar’s mouth than he kissed her—hard, deep, and fast. Taking away what was left of her air, and making her wet between her thighs when his hand snaked up the skirt of her dress so his fingers could rub along her sex. Groaning against her mouth, he muttered, “Yeah, I really just need to piss him off.”
She would have asked why.
He was already on his knees. Her panties were already being pulled down. His mouth was already on her pussy.
Jesus Christ.
Aria almost lost her balance when he hooked her leg around his shoulder, and his tongue found that sweet spot. If someone was outside in the hallway beyond the library door, they would hear every single fucking hot noise crawling out of her throat.
He had some kind of crazy talent with that tongue of his. It could make her come in less than thirty seconds—faster if he got his fingers working her pussy, too.
His mouth was damn good, though.
Too good, even.
Distracting and delirious.
Caesar was relentless. His mouth drove her wild. His tongue made her beg.
Over, and over, and over.
Yeah, she would have asked why.
She really didn’t care right then.
Three days.
Three long fucking days.
And so far, Aria had only gotten to see one small section of the Accardo estate. Not that she was complaining, but she wasn’t used to this. Even as controlled as her life was with Raffe, he never locked her into a single small wing somewhere for days at a time, and refused to allow her to leave.
That was exactly what Angelo Accardo did.
Aria was going stir crazy in every possible way. It didn’t matter that she had all she needed between the five rooms she had been provided, or the fact that Caesar brought her food, and kept her company for a good part of the day … no, it didn’t matter.
She hated not knowing.
Wondering.
Being out of the fucking loop.
Her husband had to know by now that she was taken—there was no way around it. Raffe was probably in a right fit, but she couldn’t plan or prep for whatever move he might make next when she didn’t know anything.
Yeah, that made her nuts.
Aria had stopped trying to check the door that led out of the small wing because it was locked regardless if Caesar was inside with her, or if she was alone. Thankfully, Angelo had not come to see Aria since her arrival—she didn’t think it would end well for the man if he did, considering he’d locked her away like a wild animal.
At least, someone had thought to grab her luggage from the hotel when she was taken. She had clothes. Decent clothes that were hers, and weren’t someone else’s things. That really would have been the icing on this hellish cake.
Aria sipped from a tea that Caesar had brought up to her with her breakfast, and stared at the set of doors from the other end of the hallway. Thick, dark oak doors that she would really like to blow—
The doorknob jiggled, and Aria cocked a brow as the two doors were opened just a sliver. It was enough for a woman to slip in through the cracks before she closed the doors behind her without barely any sound at all.
Wearing a designer dress with black heels, her blonde hair pulled into a simple chignon, and makeup, someone might think this woman was … put together.
Except for the drink in her hand.
It was ten.
In the morning.
“Can I help you?” Aria asked.
The woman spun around to face Aria. She only needed a peek at the woman’s features to know who she was.
Angelo’s wife.
Martina.
Aria had seen enough pictures of the woman gracing the society rags to know it—fifty-three, but lived life like she was in her twenties. Sometimes, she had wondered how appropriate it was for the wife of a Cosa Nostra boss to be pictured regularly hammered, and out on the town. Not all of those pictures in the rags were very flattering, either.
Pictures couldn’t be flattering when someone was stumbling drunk, and looked like it, too.
“Trying to find a way out?” Martina asked, fiddling with the wine glass in her hand.
Aria lifted her cup of tea. “Enjoying my drink, actually. Shame to waste it when Caesar made sure to make it just the way I liked.”
And he even brought it warm, too.
Martina’s gaze narrowed briefly before her features schooled. She tipped her glass up for another drink of wine, and eyed Aria at the end of the hallway. “I don’t see what Angelo is so worried about with you—you’re not very much to look at, tiny little thing. I doubt you’re very dangerous.”
“Is that what he told you—that I’m dangerous?”
The woman shrugged. “That, and something about Caesar. Thinks he’s taken a liking to you.”
“Men usually do after they’ve spent more than five minutes looking at my tits or face.”
Martina lifted a brow. “I can’t see why. There’s nothing interesting to see.”
Was that …
Jealousy?
Was this woman jealous because her step-son showed interest?
Aria couldn’t be sure.
“If your husband told you not to come into my wing—”
“This is my home,” Martina snapped. “You would do well to remember that, you little whore.”
Ouch.
Martina’s outburst came so fast and hateful that Aria could only blink. She suspected it was because of the drink in the woman’s hand, and probably the many other drinks she had already had that morning.
Hadn’t Caesar said there was already one constantly drunk woman in this house?
Aria suspected she was looking at said woman.
“Point is,” Aria murmured, “if your husband told you I am dangerous, you would be wise to heed that warning, Mrs. Accardo.”
She sipped on her tea again.
Matrina didn’t move.
She was dumb, then. Didn’t realize the hell Aria could do to her before she even got the chance to shout for help. She probably snuck up there, and no one was around to hear her. It would be easy.
Aria needed to get out of this house alive, though. She didn’t think killing this dumb bitch would do that for her.
Shame, really.
“I just had to see for myself,” Martina said, finishing off her wine as she turned for the door again, “and I can’t say it was worth it.”
Again with the nasty comments.
Was that really necessary?
Aria didn’t think so.
“Don’t come into my wing again,” Aria told the woman, “because next time, you won’t leave. At least, not looking like you did when you first came
in.”
Martina glared over her shoulder. “Oh, I won’t be back in here, but I’m sure we’ll see more of each other. Unfortunately. Caesar always gets what he wants in that way.”
No, Aria definitely heard it that time. It couldn’t be missed. The woman was green with it. Her voice was thick with it. Martina was jealous all over. Jealous over her step-son, and a woman.
It left Aria cold all over.
It left her heart heavy.
Her stomach rolled.
Because why?
Aria didn’t think she would like the answer to that question. And she suspected … Caesar might have already told her exactly why, but she hadn’t listened—people often didn’t when it came to a victim, even if it wasn’t intentional.
Or they didn’t want to hear.
“What, you won’t let me play with your little thing?” Martina asked her step-son.
Aria, hidden by the shadow that the kitchen entryway provided between the room and the hallway, watched the confusing scene happening down the way about twenty feet. Neither of the two noticed Aria standing there, and she wasn’t moving an inch.
She couldn’t.
The woman was too close to Caesar.
Her gaze was too hazy.
Too drunk.
Too hurt.
Like his refusal actually caused the woman pain, and she wanted to show him it, too. She moved slightly closer to her step-son, and reached a hand up.
Caesar hit it away—hard enough for the sound of skin smacking against skin to echo—before her palm could come in contact with him. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”
“I’ll tell your father that you let her out, Caesar.”
“Do that. He expected me to, anyway.”
Martina huffed. “Why do you have to be like this? There was a time when you adored me, you know.”
“Is that what you call all of that?” he asked. “Because I would call it something else entirely.”
Oh, God.
The disgust and hatred colored every word Caesar spat out. He didn’t even try to hide it. Martina didn’t seem the least bit bothered.
Aria didn’t like what she was hearing. She could barely stand what she was thinking.
“Play nice,” Martina said, her words slurring a bit. “Fine, go play with your little thing alone. I do miss having you around this often, though—I’ll mention it to your father. He always gets you to come around more, doesn’t he?”
