Page 85 of Dishonored

“His name isn’t important.”

“Yeah, well, there. They have different rooms.”

Good to know.

“Get back to Philly, huh?”

Cason nodded. “Got it.”

The kid stepped out of Caesar’s rental, and disappeared into his beat up Toyota. There was no way in hell Nico—considering he seemed to be the fool constantly tasked with watching Aria—didn’t notice that piece of shit following him to a whole new state.

But hell, who was Caesar to say anything?

Maybe he just wasn’t a good bodyguard.

Caesar checked his mirrors to make sure no one was watching him from anywhere, and then stepped out of the vehicle. He headed for entrance of the five-star hotel that Aria’s husband had holed her into—for protection, likely.

At the front desk, Caesar smirked at the sight of a pretty, young receptionist behind the desk. Like taking candy from a damn baby. He strolled up to the desk wearing his usual fuck-me smile that women fell for every single time.

Never failed.

And it wouldn’t this time.

The receptionist smiled at him—Courtney, her tag read.

Okay, Courtney. Let’s see what you can do for me.

“How can I help you today?” she asked after her welcome-to-this-shithole greeting.

Caesar stuffed his hands in his pockets, and leaned against the desk a bit. “Well, it might go against policy, but … see, I sent my wife away for the weekend. Three kids, and she never stops, you know?”

The woman nodded like she understood—the chick was way too fucking young to have any kids, but a good looking man was smiling and talking to her. No woman would ignore that. Caesar banked on it a lot of the time.

“Anyway, I meant to surprise her with me being here. Thing is, she checked in under a different name. I don’t want to—”

“Oh, you don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Caesar shrugged. “You got it. Think you could help me out?”

Another long stare.

Another smile from him.

All he had to do was describe Aria, and the woman practically threw the fucking spare room card at his face with a giggle. Caesar wasted no time—lest Aria come out of the dining room and run into him—getting up to the fourth floor, and inside Aria’s hotel room.

A room fit for a queen, really.

Caesar didn’t take time to look around, or familiarize him with the space. He just took in the laptop sitting on the desk by the wall, and the dress that had been thrown over the foot of the bed. He didn’t have time to do much else because the murmurings coming from just outside the hotel door told him dinner was over, and the woman of the hour was back.

He slipped into the shadows of the darkened bathroom, and stayed out of sight.

“It’ll be fine, Nico,” he heard Aria assure.

“Let me come in—he’s less likely to—”

“He said me. He gave me three minutes. That’s more than Raffe usually gives me. Just … go back down and enjoy your dinner. You know how he is.”

What was happening?