Page 25 of Dishonored

“It was good, actually. I’m feeling it this morning.”

Neither of the two people waiting in his doorway needed anymore explanation than he just gave them. They knew his habits, and the shit he did. They were quite aware that he spent his evenings looking for a new pussy to bury himself in, and sometimes more than one if he was in that kind of mood.

“Are you going to let us in, or should I take your food somewhere else?” Gina asked, holding up the takeout bag.

Caesar’s stomach betrayed him by grumbling. “I guess you can come in.”

Gina beamed as she moved past him. “Like there was any other answer.”

“Get dressed,” Cain told him as he came inside, too.

“Nah, I need a shower first, and I don’t think I want to wash her off yet.”

Cain arched a brow over his shoulder, asking, “That good, huh?”

“Don’t be asking about his sex life,” Gina shouted from the kitchen. “He’ll start, and he’ll never shut up.”

“She knows me well.”

Cain scowled. “Everybody knows you well, asshole.”

Caesar tipped his head to the side. “Accurate. That’s fair.”

Once the three of them were settled into the kitchen, and Gina had plated the spread of brunch foods for them to each have a bit of everything, the husband and wife sat on one side of the island while Caesar sat on the other. He was more comfortable with Cain and Gina than he was with his own family—it helped that he’d known Cain his whole life, and the man had never snubbed Caesar for anything.

Hell, he’d watched these two fall in love in high school.

And maybe that was why … he never tried to ruin them.

Not that Gina ever gave him a second look.

“I got news for you,” Cain said just as Caesar filled his mouth with a bite of ham sandwich. The man knew to talk while Caesar couldn’t—smart fucker. “About the De Rose Camorra, since you’ve been so patient, and all.”

Yes, because Cain understood Camorra far better than Caesar. Or … he knew more about them, and the clan as a whole. Any kind of inside information was good for him.

“Speak,” Caesar mumbled around his food.

“Gross,” Gina grumbled.

He ignored her.

“Strange thing—the boss of the clan, Jac De Rose, has been in lock up for a year and a half. He’s got another six months on his sentence before he’s out. I’ve been told that getting in to see him is damn near impossible. Visits are almost always refused.”

Caesar finished his bite, and said, “Like someone wants to keep him away while he’s … well, away.”

“Yeah.”

“Who is acting as the boss, then?”

Cain shrugged. “Could be any number of people, Caesar. That’s the thing about Camorra—there’s no real structure like with Cosa Nostra, or practically any other fucking organization. They just are. There’s a boss, and the people he speaks to. Everyone answers to him. There’s no boss of my boss kind of thing.”

“Wait, anyone could be acting boss?”

His friend nodded.

“Even a woman?”

Cain just stared at him. “I said anyone.”