Page 101 of Dishonored

Not to him, anyway.

“My husband will kill you,” she told Angelo.

“Yes, well, he’s been threatening that for a while,” Angelo grumbled. “I have learned to roll with it. Kick the gun over to us, please.”

Aria’s foot snapped out, and the small handgun slid across the floor before coming to a stop in front of Caesar’s leather loafers. “I’ll enjoy watching what he does to you, Accardo. Trust that it’ll be slow, painful, and you’ll wish you were dead long before he lets me kill you.”

She really did put on a good show.

Even if some of it was a lie.

No wonder Raffe couldn’t tell this woman was working to see him dead and cold in the ground. He probably thought she loved him.

She didn’t.

“Caesar, we need to have a word,” Angelo said, never taking his gaze away from Aria, “but first, someone needs to handle that. Put her somewhere she can’t hurt anyone else … or something. Cristo. She is a rompicoglioni—ball-breaker. You know how I feel about those kinds of women.”

He did.

Angelo hated them as much as he respected them.

This was going well.

“And hurry up,” his father barked, lowering his weapon and turning on his heel to leave the grand entry. “Before she takes another swing at someone else.”

Caesar nodded. “I think I can do that.”

“This is not what I asked for!” The office door slammed shut with a bang the second those words left Angelo’s scowling lips. “That woman should be dead, not in my fucking home!”

Caesar dropped his form into the leather chair next to the window. A good spot to distract himself by staring out over the yard while he convinced his father this was the better way to go with Aria rather than killing her.

“I think this is better in the grand scheme, actually,” Caesar returned. “Think about it.”

Angelo huffed, and from the corner of his eye, Caesar watched his father cross his beefy arms over his chest. “I don’t have to think about it—we had an agreement. This is a complication I can’t afford, and do not need.”

“Wrong.”

“I swear—”

“You have his wife alive,” Caesar said. “Before, you were just going to kill her, and be done with it. Claim the kill, and piss him off spectacularly. Drive him into some kind of brilliant violence that would let you kill him and be done with it.”

“Yes, because that’s easy, Caesar! Or have you forgotten that I want to be rid of this shit? They’ve caused me enough problems, and this would have been the end of it, for Christ’s sake.”

“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.”