Dishonored

by Bethany-Kris

  God picked a good day for you to say goodbye, didn’t he, Papa?

  It was just too bad that Caesar had said his goodbyes years ago. He’d said goodbye to the man his father once was, and to the things that could have been. He’d said goodbye to a lot of things, and today, he felt almost nothing for this.

  He felt things, sure.

  Too many things.

  Not for this.

  “You couldn’t even give me this, could you?”

  Caesar’s vision blurred as he looked away from the bright sky to acknowledge the person speaking to him. He had to give it a second to adjust from the sunlight, but he wished he had just kept staring at the sky when he realized who was standing on the other side of the grave glaring at him.

  Martina.

  She was a mess.

  Her dress crumbled.

  Face streaked with tears.

  Makeup ruined.

  Heels caked in mud.

  Drunk.

  Caesar was at a point where he no longer wanted to even share the same air as this woman—but he wasn’t at a place where he could correct that issue for himself just yet. Oh, soon, sure. Not quite yet.

  “What couldn’t I do for you?” Caesar asked. “Don’t you think I’ve done enough for you, Martina? Don’t you think you’ve taken enough from me?”

  Everything.

  She’d taken everything.

  His mother’s place.

  His father.

  His trust in women.

  Any love he might feel for his family.

  His virginity.

  Innocence.

  Happiness.

  This bitch and everything she had done to him turned Caesar into someone he might not have been, otherwise. And for the most part, he had learned to love this person staring back at him in the mirror.

  He was who he was.

  Nothing was ever that easy, either.

  He thought it was kind of like grief—it sure felt a hell of a lot like it. He was grieving a man he could have been, and a life he could have had if she had not abused him for years. It was only now that he was finally starting to see how much her misdeeds and wrongdoings had shaped and affected him.

  And she wanted something from him? After everything she did, this thing had the audacity to think she could demand anything from him?

  It was infuriating.

  Hilarious.

  And entirely sad.

  “Go crawl back into your hole, Martina,” Caesar muttered, his attention going back to his father’s grave. “No one cares to hear whatever problems you’ve got with me today. Add them to the list—I hear Cain keeps one just in case I ever want to go back to it.”

  His step-mother huffed.

  “No, this!” she shrieked.

  Her voice grated on Caesar’s nerves.

  “This grave,” Martina continued in that shrill way. “You had to bury him next to her. You couldn’t even give me that, Caesar!”

  Ah, yes.

  His one of two requests for this event.

  Next to the church, he’d picked the grave for his father. Angelo had never said where he wanted to be buried should he die, and it hadn’t been in the man’s Last Will and Testament, either. This spot seemed like the perfect place.

  Next to Caesar’s mother, Isabella.

  Angelo would like that.

  Turning on his heels, Caesar moved to step back on the path. But not before he called over his shoulder to Martina, saying, “It seemed appropriate that he be buried next to the only woman he ever loved, doesn’t it? You’ve lived for two decades knowing you were a replacement—I’m sure you can manage for a few more hours.”

  That should have been a warning for her.

  She should have heard him.

  Martina only shrieked at him again.

  Stupid woman.

  Caesar flashed the woman who stepped out behind her desk a smile even as she put her hand up to try and stop him from entering the elevator.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t—”

  “Oh, they’re expecting me,” he returned easily. “No worries.”

  They being the made men of the Accardo Cosa Nostra.

  And they weren’t actually expecting him at all.

  Cain rushed to get inside the elevator as well before the doors could close—giving his friend a fucking side-eye the whole time. “Slow down.”

  “Keep up,” he countered.

  “That’s fair.”

  The elevator jerked as it moved up fifteen fucking floors without stopping once. Who thought it was good to have a meeting between made men in a hotel where not only did Caesar know the owner, but said owner was also very open to being paid the fuck off?

  Stupid men did so.

  That’s who.

  Of course, it hadn’t only been the owner of the hotel who let Caesar in on this little meeting that was happening, but he confirmed it. Caesar would deal with the person who did tell him at a later date—if he felt like it.

  “You could do this another way,” Cain said.

  Caesar shook his head. “There is no other way.”

  And even if there was, this was what he wanted to do.

  “And besides, do you think Angelo’s old consigliere and underboss gathered the rest of the made men of the family here because they were going to talk about a party?” Caesar scoffed. “No, and there was a reason why you and I were not invited to this, too. While we’re waiting to get up there, let’s take a fucking bet on how long you think they would let the two of us live before someone whacked us. It’ll be fun—you go first.”

  “Fuck off.”

  Caesar shrugged. “Your loss.”

  The elevator jerked one last time, dinged, and then the door opened to expose a long hallway. There was only one penthouse suite on the top floor, and it was way down the hall. He did a cursory check of the hallway before he stepped out of the elevator, and Cain followed behind. Caesar pulled out his gun, and checked the clip before making sure the safety was off, and it was ready to fire.

  He wasn’t fucking around.

  They hadn’t, after all.

  At the room door, the two men stopped.

  “Should we knock, or …?” Cain asked.

  “Fuck knocking. I am beyond that.”

  He was so beyond any and all politeness at this point.

  Rearing back, Caesar let his booted—God, he missed his loafers—foot smash into the wood just below the doorknob. Wood cracked and splintered, but the door swung open with a bang. Sure enough, every made man of the Accardo organization that had not at all been expecting Caesar or Cain to show up stood from the table in a rush.

  They couldn’t get on their feet fast enough.

  They were already too late.

  Caesar lifted his gun, aimed, and fired.

  Davide, Angelo’s consigliere before his death, took a bullet right to the forehead. It sent the man flying back from the head of the table, and crashing into the glass stand behind him. Knickknacks and shards went flying—the dead man’s body lie bleeding on the floor.

  Cain already had his gun up, and he took his shot, too. Like his friend, he didn’t miss when he aimed for Angelo’s old underboss, Christoph. He blew the side of the man’s head out, and made quite a mess on the far wall when it became splattered with Christoph’s brain matter.

  Caesar lowered his gun.

  All eyes were on them, now.

  He smiled. “Now, who thought they could have a meeting without inviting us?” he asked the silent room.

  Gazes darted around.

  These men looked like they wanted to bolt.

  Caesar passed a cursory nod to the one man who had actually filled him in on this meeting that was to take place right after Angelo’s funeral that afternoon.

  Daniele.

  He wasn’t sure if his half-brother was trying to save his own skin, or he was feeling some kind of guilt about everythin
g that had happened. It really didn’t matter at the end of the day. What was important was that Caesar would not be letting any fucking man make a plan on his life like he was just going to stand there and take it.

  Even if that meant hurting them.

  Or taking over the organization.

  Maybe killing a few.

  Whatever it took—here he fucking was.

  Caesar moved around the table as Cain stayed in his position with his gun aimed and ready. He took the seat that Davide had first been sitting in, but not before he kicked the dead man’s leg out of the way, so he could roll the chair back in its proper place.

  Sitting down at the head of the table, Caesar moved it closer and gave another one of his brilliant, cocky smiles to the dumbfounded men. He set his gun to the table, and then gestured with a single finger at the men, saying, “There seems to be some kind of confusion about what’s going to happen to me from here on out, but that’s okay. I’m here to correct any kind of misconception you all have. Shall we get started—do any of you want to go first, or should I?”

  The men stayed silent.

  Caesar figured that.

  It was kind of hard to find the balls to talk when there was a gun pointed at you, and the man you were planning to kill just foiled everything you were working for.

  Karma really was beautiful.

  Leaning back in the chair to appear more relaxed, Caesar folded his arms over his chest, and eyed each of the men individually. “You know, I could go through each one of you, and humiliate you with different things. Which of your wives or daughters I’ve had the pleasure of bending over some variation of a flat surface—hell, Micky, I didn’t even need a flat surface for your wife, did I? Ever get the back of your Mercedes cleaned?”

  The Capo in question turned cherry red from Caesar’s statement.

  Caesar laughed, and nodded. “Yeah, see, we could do that whole thing. And I could explain to each and every single one of you how you’ve all been dishonored in some way by me, but I don’t think we need to do that. You are all compromised, though. And unless you want those details to leave this room—see, I have more than just memories when it comes to the shit I’ve done because I’ve been waiting for this day—we’re going to sit here, and have a nice conversation about how I plan to take over this family, and what I want to do with it.”

  Dead stares.

  Clenched jaws.

  Shaking fists.

  Their rage was palpable.

  And he ate that shit for breakfast.

  “Thing is,” Caesar continued, “for every one of you that speaks out here, Cain is going to drop you. He and I can leave this room alone, and begin the process of rebuilding this organization, or you can all make it a bit easier on us. Keep standing if you’ve got something to say, or sit your asses down if you want to let me talk. Go ahead and choose—I’ll wait.”

  “You cock—”

  Pop.

  Caesar felt the splatter of blood drops hit his cheek when Cain turned his gun on Micky, and pulled the trigger. The back spray was a bitch.

  Shaking his head, Caesar wiped at the blood on his cheek, and likely just smeared it. “All right, that’s one. Who wants to be next? We’ve got all day.”

  Three men sat, including Daniele.

  Two stayed standing.

  Hard way it is.

  His father’s office wasn’t as dreadful as it had been when the man was alive. He used to hate coming here—it could fucking induce walking nightmares, really. Yet, there he stood just hours after regaining control of an organization his father’s father had helped build for years, and he felt nothing but calm.

  It was strange.

  But he wasn’t complaining.

  Moving behind the desk, Caesar pulled the chair out, and dropped into it unceremoniously. He had always hated this desk because it was huge, and terribly ostentatious. What kind of man needed a desk this big?

  One trying to make up for something.

  He still didn’t like it.

  He simply respected it.

  The phone in his pocket buzzed—Cain, likely, asking if he was done or if he was ready for the cleaner to come in and fix whatever hell he caused. Caesar slipped his hand in his pocket, and silenced the phone for a moment.

  He needed to be alone.

  To think.

  Or at least until—

  “W-what … Angelo?”

  Caesar’s gaze drifted to the drunk woman stumbling past the office’s oak doors. Her hazy gaze, messy appearance, and missteps told him she had been drinking a hell of a lot since the funeral that morning. Martina looked like she was one good breath away from falling over, and dying of alcohol poisoning.

  Too bad for her.

  That would be an easy way to go.

  Caesar wasn’t about to give this woman easy.

  Her gaze narrowed as she blinked, and came closer to where Caesar sat behind the desk. She wasn’t seeing him—that he could tell. Her words only confirmed it further.

  “Why won’t you come to bed, Angelo?”

  Caesar didn’t speak, simply tipped his head to the side, and watched her come closer. How she was even staying upright, he didn’t know. At least, she had managed to throw on something for bed even if it was just a silk robe. God knew he’d seen enough of her nakedness over the years—not by his choice, obviously—but he kept his stare strictly to her face. She had nothing he wanted to see, anyway.

  Martina rounded the edge of the desk, and used a shaky fingertip to trace the corner as she said, “You’re still angry with me, aren’t you?”

  He refused to speak.

  Not until he was ready.

  She made him ready with her next words.

  “You know how Caesar is,” she mumbled, staring at the floor like some poor, wounded animal in need of healing. “He made a bigger deal out of what happened than what it actually was—I only ever loved him.”

  Caesar snapped out of the chair in a flash, and had Martina’s throat in his hands before she even understood what was happening. He slammed her down on the desk, and squeezed her throat for all she was worth. Despite the rage swimming in his bloodstream, and the absolute fury he felt at just having to even touch this woman to kill her, his face and voice remained cool, and calm.

  “Loved?” Caesar asked. “That’s what you call love?”

  He knew love.

  He knew it from his mother.

  And from the way he felt without Aria despite … everything. He was so lonely without her, and he wasn’t even sure when that had happened. All he knew was that she was every single thing that made him question who he was, and he thought he could be better.

  For her … for Aria, he could be better.

  He knew love.

  And what this woman had done to him was not it.

  Martina’s eyes widened, and her face reddened with the lack of oxygen. Oh, sure, she tried to fight but, in her drunkenness, it was pointless. He could have eased up and let the bitch talk—try to find another way out of this—but he didn’t care to hear her excuses.

  He didn’t want an apology.

  Not from her.

  “Enjoy your place in hell,” Caesar murmured.

  He didn’t let Martina see his anger, or the pain she caused him for all those years in her final moments. He made sure all she saw was his cold face until the last second, and he didn’t let go of her throat until he couldn’t feel a fucking heartbeat racing under his palms anymore.

  And it was only when he did finally let her go that all those emotions came rushing in like a tidal wave ready to devastate and destroy him. Like a jackhammer pounding against his chest; the grief, anger, and pain swelled and spread.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  And his body hurt.

  His mind felt broken.

  And his heart ached.

  He’d killed his monster; his demon was gone.

  And he was still ruined.<
br />
  He was still shattered glass standing there looking at her body—made up of fractured pieces, sharpened edges, and he couldn’t be made right again.

  He was never going to be right again.

  He couldn’t be.

  It was then that he finally cried.

  After all these years …

  It was then that he finally broke.

  TWENTY

  “SIMONE IS VERY angry,” Mae whispered as she slid into the kitchen. “And he’s got the rest of them in an uproar.”

  Aria’s irritation level spiked higher, but she managed to keep her cool. “Is that so?”

  “What is his problem?”

  “Me,” she said simply.

  What else?

  Aria had always known that she was going to need to take care of Simone Bruno at one point or another—she had known it from the very first time he tried to act against her after her father had been sent to prison. She’d hoped she could hold off on removing his little problem for as long as possible. He was a good earner for their Camorra, and he controlled a great portion of the loansharking business that kept them in the green more often than not.

  But that just wasn’t the case anymore.

  His time had run out.

  Aria had to handle him now—later was no longer an option—because if she didn’t, then Simone was going to continue to rally the rest of the Camorra men against Aria until he staged a fucking coup. And then there she would be … fucked.

  Everything she worked for would be gone.

  She would not let that happen.

  Not for a man.

  “I’ll bring in the food,” Mae said.

  Aria shook her head—her sister-in-law didn’t need to see what was going to come next. Mae was still untouched by a lot of dirtiness in this life, and Aria wanted to keep it that way for as long as she possibly could for the girl.

  Life would teach her soon enough.

  It always did.

  “How about you head upstairs, and just stay there until Nico or I call for you,” Aria suggested, not even posing it as a question. “That would be better.”