Page 38 of Dishonored

If the fucker kept that shit up, Caesar was going to figure out another way to knock his arrogant ass down a peg or two. Maybe fucking his wife hadn’t been enough.

“You think?” Angelo asked with his blazing eyes attempting to burn a hole into the clock on the far wall. “No, it didn’t go fucking well! It’s a woman running it. A woman. Could you imagine a Cosa Nostra boss sitting down to do business with a woman? It’s abhorrent.”

“Why?” Caesar asked. “Because it’s that woman putting a major dent into your organization right now, too. I would think that gives her a right to have a seat at the table, and figure out what in the hell you can do to make her knock it off.”

Angelo’s anger directed its way to Caesar in a flash. “I didn’t realize I asked for your goddamn opinion.”

Yeah, all right.

Caesar chose to stay quiet while his father went about explaining to Daniele the details of their meeting—none that particularly mattered, really, except the fact their father had gotten flustered and tricked by a woman.

It looked good on no man, and that’s what the problem really was where Angelo was concerned. He felt Aria De Rose’s little stunt had pushed him down in the eyes of his men, and he had needed to reclaim that lost bit of respect by shunning her and their meeting.

Caesar figured that wasn’t going to go well for his father.

“What info do you have on her?” Angelo snapped.

“Me?” Caesar asked.

“Who else?”

“You could tone it down a touch,” Caesar told his father. “She’s not here, and nobody else is here that gives a fuck about the fact you entirely missed it was a woman coming at you from behind.”

Daniele blinked.

Angelo’s face reddened in his rage.

Caesar shrugged, adding, “She’s just a woman. Like every other fucking woman we know except maybe she actually buys her own fur and diamonds. Who gives a fuck about a woman? Why do you even care? Had it been a man at that meeting, you would have made nice and fixed the problems, but because she’s got a cunt between her legs, you can’t do that? Sounds like another one of those you problems, you know?”

Angelo spluttered before finally spitting out, “You are ridiculous. Unbelievable!”

“All of that and more, yeah.”

Daniele sighed, and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I fucking hate saying this—Caesar’s got a point. Camorra deals in a different culture and rules from us. You can’t expect them to follow Cosa Nostra expectations just because you’re coming to the table.”

“I did not ask for opinions,” Angelo barked, “I asked what Caesar knew about that goddamn woman or her clan!”

“I know very little about Camorra,” Caesar said. “A lot like you, clearly.”

“Caesar.”

That was likely his one warning to tone down the attitude, but shit, it was hard.

“As far as her,” Caesar continued like his father hadn’t even spoken at all, “she’s been married to Raffaele Ferri—goes by Raffe, I heard—for a year and a half. Married shortly before her father went to prison.”

“And where does this Raffe come from?” Angelo asked.

“A rival clan that Jac De Rose absorbed into his own after he dismantled them a while back. I don’t have all those details.”

Angelo went back to scowling at the wall. “Well, where is the husband?”

“I was told he’s out of the country on business, but it looks like some of this shit started when he was in Philly. I don’t think she went ahead on this by herself, if you get my drift. It’s not very clear what she wants.”

His father’s gaze darted back to him in a blink. “Isn’t it? She wants territory—the city. Power, Caesar. You are not this slow. Catch up to speed.”

He didn’t think that was entirely the case, all—

“Anyone want a drink?”