Page 122 of Dishonored

He was not offering what she thought he was.

He couldn’t be …

“Marry her,” Angelo echoed.

Caesar nodded once. “And then the Accardo organization can absorb the De Rose Camorra into a faction for our business—the men will either get in line, or they can be killed. Either way, their added business is a win for us. They have a decent territory where their drug trade is strong. A heavy hand in loansharking within Philly. And even a racket in the new development on the west end where those condos are being built for the next five years. Her father knew a guy higher up with the suits—it looks like it’ll be a good deal.”

Aria was stunned.

Silenced.

Livid.

How did he know all that?

“They’re not made men,” Angelo pointed out, although not unkindly.

It sounded like he was actually fucking considering this.

“They don’t have to be made men to work under a made man,” Caesar returned. “Name one Capo in our family who has a crew made up of entirely made men. Go on—I’ll wait. I have all the time in the world tonight, apparently. No better place to be.”

He even flicked his hand at his father like he was passing the goddamn torch.

Angelo sighed. “No need; I get your point.”

“And should a crew fall to shit, well, the business will still be there at the end of the day,” Caesar said, shrugging his Armani covered shoulders.

Like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like he wasn’t ruining everything Aria had worked for. Like he wasn’t ripping apart her entire world without even looking at her while he fucking did it!

Inside, she seethed.

Outside, she was a mask of calm.

Life had taught her to be this way.

She didn’t know anything different.

Angelo leaned forward at his desk, and rested his elbows along the edge as he steepled his fingers together. Overtop his fingertips, he stared at Caesar for a long while. The room stayed quiet with a tension so thick, it seemed almost suffocating.

Then again, that could have just been her.

And her rage.

“That would renege the deal with the Canadian boss,” Angelo murmured.

Caesar looked entirely unaffected that statement. Was that was this was? He’d been nailed to the wall with that marriage arrangement, and his way out was using her?

He’d told her that once, hadn’t he? This—to be free from that marriage arrangement—was what he needed. His way to freedom was to cage her.

“I’ll handle the De Rose crew—stay on my side of the city, and out of your hair. Other than tribute once a month, you won’t need to see me at all, or have anything to do with me. The trouble will be, essentially, gone. That’s what you want the most, isn’t it?”

“And you will see it through?” Angelo asked, ignoring his son’s question altogether. “The marriage, I mean.”

Caesar nodded. “I picked it, didn’t I?”

“It’s true you haven’t done that before.”

“I keep my word when I make it, and not when you do. There’s a difference. I will see it through.”