Page 42 of Dishonored

“I didn’t take you for a frightened woman.”

Aria’s scowl melted into a condescending smile. “I’m not.”

“Then why—”

“Merda,” she swore.

Caesar followed her gaze to see the black sedan she had come in was now parked across the road, and the man stepped out of the driver’s side. He looked both ways, and then waited for a short line of cars to pass before he thought to cross the street.

“I have to go,” Aria murmured, fear thickening her voice. She tried to push past Caesar, but he grabbed tight to her arm, and swung her back around to face him as he dragged her closer. Maybe that was an asshole move—he didn’t tend to manhandle women outside of sex—but she seemed too shocked to do anything. All she gave him was a weak, “Don’t do that, Caesar.”

“You’re not leaving yet.”

Her worried gaze darted to the windows. “Please, you don’t understand what—”

“I want a meeting. You and me, and no one else.”

Surprise stared back at him. “What, why?”

“Because I asked for it.”

She was afraid the man was going to see him with her, and even though Caesar didn’t know why, he was more than willing to use it to get something he wanted from her. He was an asshole that way—never denied it, really.

“It’ll have to be on my terms,” she countered fast, her voice barely a whisper. “A safe meeting I set up, not you.”

Caesar shrugged. “Fine.”

“Now, let me go.”

He did, and she moved fast to head for the door. She had just stepped outside of the boutique as the man came to the other side of the road. The two exchanged words, but Aria kept shaking her head, and pointed at the car.

What was she hiding?

Who was this woman?

“I swear, it was entirely different women,” Caesar said as he cupped the to-go coffee between his palms. “The woman I met today was not the same one I met in the club, or the one who came to the meeting.”

Cain nodded, and sipped from his coffee before he replied, “No doubt. Depending on her father or husband’s disposition, though, something like that could get her killed.”

Caesar stiffened. “Something like what?”

“Anything, man. Everything she’s done—with you, I mean. But beyond that … just today, Caesar. Camorra isn’t like our thing, okay. Women may appear like they have more respect and freedom in a clan, but they’re fucking heavily controlled in every aspect. It’s all about appearance and reputation for them. She probably shouldn’t even be wearing fucking lipstick if her husband is out of town, you know what I mean?”

Wait, what?

Caesar blinked a few times as he tried to absorb those words, and still failed to understand. “You’re going to have to explain that to me.”

“Which part?”

“Most of it.”

Cain shrugged, and set his cup down on the table. “A woman is only respected in their culture if she is without shame. And they take it so far as to even say a woman isn’t allowed to be in private with a man who isn’t of her own blood, or one chosen by her husband.”

“Like a guard.”

“Yeah, I suspect whoever is watching her at any given time has been handpicked by either her husband or her father.”

“More likely the husband, though.”