by Bethany-Kris
Caesar laughed.
Hard.
Bitter.
And entirely dark.
“It didn’t matter?”
Angelo tipped his chin up at Caesar’s words. “No, I—”
“It didn’t matter?” Caesar scoffed, and shook his head. “No, what you mean to say was it wouldn’t be convenient for you, and who you are to know that your son was being sexually abused by your fucking wife!”
His father said nothing.
He didn’t even try to deny it.
And suddenly, things made so much more sense to him.
It all came in with a clarity so sharp, it hurt his mind.
“That’s why,” Caesar said quietly.
Angelo raised a brow. “Why, what?”
“All these years. Everything I did that you excused, or covered up, or overlooked. All the times I broke every rule that could have justified you putting me in a grave—the way I’ve dishonored our name time and time again. Despite all the things I have done, and the ways I’ve hurt people you care about … this is why.”
“Son,” Angelo started to say.
“Because you felt guilty,” Caesar continued, uncaring about what he had to say. “You felt guilty about what she had done, and what you knew. And this was your way of apologizing or making it up to me?”
Caesar laughed again, and pointed a finger at his father. “I don’t want your fucking apologies, Angelo. I want you to give me what I want now. After everything, you owe me.”
Once again, Angelo said nothing.
And once again, he didn’t deny it.
Cain was sitting on the front stoop of the unfamiliar home when Caesar pulled his Corvette into the driveway. He expected to see more vehicles there—surely Aria would have made some calls the moment she was returned to her house, but it didn’t look like she had done that.
Stepping out of the car, Caesar stared up at the inky sky. Dotted with faint stars, the blackened canvas matched his mind right about then.
He was pissed.
Hurt.
Standing on unsteady ground.
His usual go-to when he felt like this was to act out—hurt someone back just because he could. Because they never cared enough to know he was hurting.
Caesar went and sat down with his friend on the step instead. “I’m surprised she doesn’t have a whole army here.”
Cain shrugged. “She went in and cooked food, actually.”
“Huh.”
“Her friend—Nico—left about an hour ago.”
Caesar nodded. “He’s not half bad. Less violent and unpredictable than Aria is, anyway. Pretty sure that’s a mark in his favor.”
“He’s not us, either.”
“Yeah, well … depending on who the us is in that statement, he might be a hell of a lot better regardless of where he comes from.”
At that statement, Cain stiffened a bit beside Caesar. He’d been there at the dinner—he would have heard the things that were said.
Wordlessly, Cain’s hand struck out, and landed on Caesar’s forearm. He squeezed tight, but said nothing. He didn’t need to say anything. The action, and the support, was clear enough. Caesar was grateful.
“It’s fine,” Caesar muttered.
“I don’t think it is, man.”
“I’ve handled it.”
“But have you handled it well?” Cain returned.
“Probably not.”
Cain sighed. “I know people might say shit or assume whatever based on what they think they know about you …”
Caesar chuckled under his breath. “They’ve been doing that for years, anyway.”
“Right—true. I got you, though.”
He glanced over at his friend.
Cain just shrugged.
“Yeah, I know. Say hi to your wife for me when you get home. She’s probably … concerned.”
“Gina always worries about you. Don’t know why.”
Caesar laughed. “Yeah, me either.”
Cain clapped Caesar hard on the shoulder as he stood. “Speaking of Gina, though. She would like her, you know. Aria, I mean.”
“You think?”
“Hell, Gina likes anybody that can fuck shit up.”
“Yeah, Aria is good at that.”
To say the least …
“We’ll get this figured out,” Cain said as he moved down the steps. “We always do.”
“I don’t think we’ll have to do too much, actually,” Caesar replied. “Everything is about to change, now.”
Cain simply gave him a look over his shoulder, silently questioning without actually asking out loud. Caesar grinned back, saying nothing.
It was what he did.
He was who he was.
“He’s known for years.”
Aria looked up over the tarts she was currently sprinkling with powdered sugar, and found Caesar standing in her kitchen entryway. He could have taken the time to appreciate her house, and the way it was decorated, but he had a lot of shit on his mind.
Too much, really.
“Who?” she asked, setting her utensils aside.
“My father.”
Aria placed her hands to the island, and considered his words for a moment. “Are you sure—”
“Absolutely.”
“My initial reaction is to apologize.”
“Please don’t,” Caesar murmured. “Actually, let’s talk about something else.”
Aria nodded. “Okay—why did you send me here?”
“Because this is your home, isn’t it?”
“It is, but that doesn’t explain anything, Caesar.”
“Do you not want to be here?”
“I have always wanted to be here.”
He gestured at the room. “Here you are.”
“Yes, alone. Minus you.”
“And you’ll remain that way. No guards—no men of ours stepping in on your business. You’re free to do what you want until we see this agreement of ours through.”
She stiffened, then.
He didn’t miss it.
“The marriage, you mean,” she said quietly.
Caesar shrugged. “What else?”
“I thought—”
“What, that because I let you come home and be comfortable that the deal was done? I don’t go back on my word. There’s still something I need, after all, and you can get it for me.”
Aria blinked.
Her anger was a slow simmer in those green eyes.
Getting hotter by the second.
“Would I be so bad?” he asked. “We get along well enough when we’re not trying to kill each other, and it’s not like you don’t enjoy being on your back for me.”
Her cheeks pinked, but she only asked, “To marry?”
“Exactly that.”
“You’re trapping me. It’s not by choice. There’s the difference.”
Caesar sighed. “For one’s freedom, someone else always has to sacrifice. I’m sure you know that well, considering everything you’ve done to get to this point.”
Aria’s jaw clenched. “That doesn’t mean—”
“You know, when I have a night like tonight, the first thing I do is … something destructive. Usually to someone else, although I have been known to go out and fuck myself up nearly beyond repair, too. I just want to forget; I don’t want to feel, or think. It’s easier. I get pissed off, and I need to distribute it elsewhere, so I don’t implode on myself.”
“Your point?”
Simple, really.
“I know I could get that with you right now if I just pushed you the right way.”
“You mean fuck me?”
Caesar gave her a pointed look.
“Is that an offer?” she asked when he said nothing.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Good because the answer is no.”
“Ever?” he asked innocently.
&nbs
p; Aria narrowed her eyes. “Not tonight.”
“So, even though you want to kill me a little bit, we’re still good to fuck is what—”
“Not tonight. And not when you’re feeling like you do right now. At least give me the respect of not using me like some object to make yourself feel better because you don’t want to deal with your issues, Caesar.”
Fair point.
“I’ll take the couch,” he said, “because I still don’t have a place to live since your husband burned it to the ground, I don’t want to grab a hotel, and I am not going back to the mansion.”
“You can take the bed with me.”
Lady’s choice.
Who was he to argue?
“Have a tart,” Aria said waving at the sweets in front of her. “They’re my specialty.”
He arched a brow, and gazed at the sweets. “Did you poison them?”
She smiled. “You know me better than that—nothing is ever as it appears, and I don’t do simple when I want someone to die.”
Truth.
He ate a tart.
It was good, too.
And not poisoned.
EIGHTEEN
A LOT OF things were not supposed to happen in this plan of hers. From the moment Aria had started to work out exactly how she was going to free herself from the marriage to Raffe, and take over her father’s Camorra in the process, she had a clear goal.
One path.
One road to travel.
One prize at the end.
And sure, she had sought out Caesar specifically because she figured—given the things that were widely known about him and his family—he would be an easy way in to cause problems, and someone she was capable of manipulating.
He had been exactly that. He’d also ended up being far more to her, too.
Aria had not been prepared for him, or the hurricane he would be once he swept into her life. She’d expected a man—like every other man she’d encountered—but he hadn’t been that kind of man at all.
He’d been this man.
This broken, beautiful man.
This wounded soul.
And yet, he went beyond even those things.
He was more.
He was the kind of man that even when she wanted nothing more than to kill him for the things he had done, she still wanted to see him sleeping in her bed.
What was she to do with that?
Aria hugged the Afghan blanket tighter around her shoulders, and stared at the sleeping man from her position across the room. She’d gotten up an hour ago when the sunlight first peeked through the window shades, but found herself drawn back to the bedroom despite everything.
Why?
Because a part of her wanted this man. Somehow, she had grown to care for him in all their vileness, and hurt. It was never more apparent to her than when she drifted back to the bedroom, and sat in the corner chair simply so that she could watch him sleep.
In his dreams, Caesar was at peace. He didn’t move, or want to hurt. He was relaxed, and even boyish in his features. Nothing like the sharp-edged, dangerous man he could be when his eyes were open, and his mind was ready to find the next thing to attack.
And even when he was like that, she enjoyed him, too.
Wanted that, too.
Aria knew it, then. She knew what it was that had wrapped its way around her heart like a fist squeezing the organ with a tight grip, and refusing to let her go. She knew because nothing in her life had ever quite had this sort of effect on her, and no one probably ever would again.
That terrified her.
Amazed her.
In everything they had done to one another, and within all the destruction they had caused, she loved him.
How, and why, and when.
Those were the things she didn’t know.
Didn’t understand.
And she didn’t know what to do about it.
The peace written in the hard, handsome lines of Caesar’s features were quick to leave as his eyes opened, and he stared directly at the window where the light was shining in. He took a moment, and blinked awake fully.
Aria didn’t move. “Sleep well?”
Rolling to his back on the bed, Caesar scrubbed his hands down over his face, and stared at her from the bed. “It’s only reality where my nightmares visit me.”
Yeah, she bet.
She knew that well.
Now, though, it was time to get back to that reality.
To life.
To her plan.
“I was thinking about what you said last night,” she murmured.
Caesar stretched his arms over his head, showing off his muscular, naked chest without even realizing how damn good he looked. And fuck him for doing it, too. He probably did know how he looked; he just didn’t care of the effect it had on women.
“About what, specifically?”
“The marriage.”
His right eyebrow arched, and he passed her another look. “Go on.”
Now or never.
She could give them what they both wanted.
He had to let her, though.
Setting her half-empty mug of coffee on the stand next to the chair, Aria stood, and dropped the blanket. Caesar’s gaze drifted over the silk baby doll nightie she’d slipped on the night before to sleep in, and then traveled down her bare legs. Once she was close enough for him to touch, he reached out a hand and did just that, stroking a single palm along the curve of her thigh down to her knee.
His touch burned her.
In the best way.
“You seem … more pleasant this morning,” he noted, glancing up at her.
Aria nodded. “You don’t give me much of a choice.”
“That so?”
“Very much.”
“Or are you trying to get something from me?” he asked.
Aria grinned.
He knew her so well.
Kind of.
“I’m not being nice because I want something,” Aria told him, reaching out to run her fingers through the longer bit of hair at the top of his head. “I don’t need to be nice to get what I want, Caesar.”
“Mmm, good.”
“Good?”
“That’s what I said, donna. What do you want, then?”
“To talk about something.”
Caesar made a face. “Fine, but first I get what I want, and then you.”
“And what do you want?”
The words were barely out of Aria’s mouth before she found herself yanked to the bed, and pulled on top of Caesar. His hands cupped her face, and pulled her in close for a kiss that took her breath away. The kiss—like him—was fierce, and hot, and violent.
Dangerous, too.
A war between two people, but the only kind that wouldn’t end in bloodshed between them.
Murmuring against her lips, Caesar said, “You said no to last night. It’s not last night—it’s today. And feel, I woke up ready for you, love.”
Goddamn him.
He was right.
About both things.
He flexed his hips upward, and it caused the hard length of his erection to grind against her sex through the thin silk covering her sensitive spot. A small moan escaped her lips before she could even think to try and stop it.
Not that she wanted to.
Caesar’s hands moved to her ass, and squeezed tight enough for it to ache. He dragged her body against his again, and chuckled when she shivered in his hold.
“Don’t you want a taste?” he asked.
“How is fucking me the first thing on your mind this morning?”
His blue eyes found hers. “Because it’s easy. Everything else is hard.”
Oh.
She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth, and then let her lips travel down over his jaw, chest, and lower. Her hands slipped beneath the boxer-briefs he’d slept in, and pushed them down just enough to free hi
s cock. Thick, hard, and warm in her palms, she stroked him as she shifted lower, too. Her gaze darted up to find he was staring down at her with a smirk lingering at the corners of his lips.
“Get that cock in your mouth, Aria,” he said gruffly.
She didn’t even want to refuse.
The silken flesh of his cock met the roughness of her tongue when she swallowed his length in one pull. All the way down to the base—his thick groan echoed in her ears. She could feel the pulse of his heartbeat in his shaft, and the shudder working its way through his body.
She didn’t tense when his fingers threaded into her hair, and held her down on his cock as his hips flexed upward. Her throat constricted from the action, but she relaxed. He never pushed too far—never hurt her.
“Fuck, just like that,” he murmured. “Get me nice and wet for you, my girl.”
And then his hands loosened their hold just enough for her to move. She raked her fingernails down his chest and stomach as she sucked him off. Every single noise that crawled out of his mouth was a dangerous sound for her.
Dangerous for her heart
For her body.
For everything.
“Shit, get up here.”
His sharp words were quickly followed by him yanking her up from his lap, and pulling her back onto his lap. Those deft hands of his had her panties swept to the side in no time at all, and then he was grabbing her hips, and tugging her down.
Onto him.
All nine inches.
Filling her full.
Stretching her open.
It really was the best feeling first thing in the morning.
Below her, she watched Caesar’s eyes close as his fingers dug in tighter to her hips, and held her in place on his cock. She felt his length jerk inside her pussy—once, and then twice. His hips flexed upward, and he hit that spot.
It made her bite her lip, and moan.
“You always make music for me,” he murmured, eyes still closed.
“And what does that make you—the composer?”
