Page 36 of Dishonored

“Always.”

Lies.

Never was more like it.

“Mmm, I bet. Stand, would you?”

Aria didn’t even question him, and stood from the bed. She saw his gaze lift and lower on her in the video, and then he nodded.

“Remove your dress, and whatever is on underneath. Don’t fucking dally around like a foolish girl about it, either.”

She let out a silent, but shaky, breath. Still, she did as he asked and stripped down from her dress and black lace underwear set. Naked in front of the camera, she came closer when Raffe crooked his finger at her, and then turned like a pretty little doll on a spinning pedestal when he made a circle.

“Move that bit of hair around your face and let me see your neck, so I don’t have to break it when I get home,” Raffe ordered.

Aria did what he demanded again. She knew what he was looking for. He’d done this time and time again.

Marks from someone else.

Proof of her infidelity.

A reason to hurt her.

She had been faithful to this man despite his treatment and abuse of her, and regardless of the fact his mistress had birthed him a baby boy just two months ago. He was a cute baby, and Aria was simply glad the baby wasn’t hers.

But she had—been faithful, that was, right up until the moment she couldn’t be anymore—Caesar. Until the moment her plan had called for something drastic, she had done what Raffe demanded of her.

But he didn’t know about Caesar.

Those marks were gone.

The bruises on her ass faded.

His kisses didn’t brand.

At least … not skin deep.

“Still untouched,” Raffe murmured. “Good girl.”

She suppressed the shiver.

Her attention was on her husband.

Her mind was on her goals—on power and control.

One. Step. Closer.

Rome wasn’t built in a day.

FIVE

CAESAR HAD A million and one other things he could be doing; a lot of things he would rather be doing, but here he was watching Angelo pace in his office. The only remotely good thing about the whole shit-show was the fact Daniele had not yet arrived.

But he would.

Soon.

Angelo had been quiet for hours. Never speaking from the moment he left the meeting at the restaurant, and silently stewing in his thoughts. That didn’t particularly bode well when it came to his father’s moods, but Caesar was unwilling to step in quite yet.