Page 141 of Dishonored

Just outside the porch, frosted glass covered the French doors leading to where Angelo was currently eating.

“Just you,” the enforcer said when she gestured for Nico to follow.

Aria frowned, and glanced at Caesar for an answer. “What, I can’t have my right-hand man with me?”

“His rules. You asked for this.”

She had.

“Fine,” Aria said, rolling her eyes. “We were checked, though. I don’t have anything to hurt him, and neither does Nico.”

Caesar shrugged. “His rules.”

“It’ll be fine,” Nico murmured. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

She didn’t doubt it.

Caesar, on the other hand, leaned back against the wall, and gave her a look. “Don’t antagonize him—we’re hanging by a very thin thread here.”

Right.

“Antagonizing him is the last thing on my mind,” she assured.

It wasn’t a lie.

Caesar nodded at the doors. “Go ahead. We’ll be here.”

Aria grabbed the handles on the French doors, and pulled them down. Pushing the doors open, music filtered through the space. Italian opera, it sounded like.

Jesus, she hated that garbage.

It wasn’t important.

At the other end of the room, Angelo sat at a table near the windows. A small, two person dinette set that gave him the perfect position to see everything. He didn’t even pass her a glance as she closed the doors behind her with one last look at Caesar and Nico. As she crossed the room with quiet steps, her heels still clacked against the tiles.

In front of him, Angelo had a full spread of food.

Eggs, bacon, bagels, and more.

Anything he wanted.

Currently, he was buttering a bagel.

Aria came to a stop two feet away from the table, and waited. Angelo didn’t keep her waiting for long—he gestured with the butter knife in his hand at the seat across from his at the small dining set. Once she had joined him at the table, Angelo tapped the edge of his butter knife against an empty coffee mug.

“Make yourself something to drink,” he said, “if you think we’re going to be here a while.”

“I don’t know that I will, actually.”

The man’s dark eyes lifted, and landed on her with a heavy weight. She could tell he was unhappy—he didn’t like her, and she didn’t even wonder why. After everything she had done to him, she suspected it was only because of his son that he allowed her to be in his presence.

“Then, what are you here for?” Angelo asked gruffly. “I was told you wanted to apologize.”

Aria nodded. “That’s what I said.”

“Get on with it, then. Kind of pointless, though.”

The song changed on the small radio behind Angelo, and he set the butter knife down on the table before turning around to increase the volume just enough to make Aria smile.