Page 97 of Dishonored

Yeah.

“Sorry,” Caesar said, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “I know you love Gina—force of habit.”

And it was exactly that. A force of habit. He didn’t know if he could change the urge to mock or ruin every good relationship he saw growing around him. Like a need to prove those things were as fragile and useless as glass in the face of the oncoming storm that was Caesar Accardo. Sure, he didn’t mess in Cain’s marriage, but that didn’t mean he was always quiet.

Plus, he did like Gina.

That helped.

Cain straightened a bit, and cleared his throat. “You know, you’ve never said that before.”

Caesar cocked a brow. “Said what?”

“That I love my wife—love, Caesar. The actual word. Like it’s a thing you believe exists.”

“It doesn’t—”

“It does, and you just said it does. At least, you said it in regards to the way I love my wife. That you see it there, and you know it’s there. You’ve never done that before. No, what you do is make snide comments or some other kind of shit. But not actually that.”

Caesar blinked.

Cain kept staring.

“Don’t make this into something,” he told his friend. “It was a slip of the tongue. And it won’t happen again.”

Cain gave him one big nod, as if silently saying, Sure, man, sure.

“What are you doing, anyway?” Caesar asked, hoping he could get his friend onto another topic of conversation. Maybe then this weird thing he was now thinking about would get the fuck out of his head fast, quick, and in a hurry. He didn’t need to be bothering himself with things like love, and whether or not it was something that actually existed to him. Love ruined things—love was a vulnerability, and something he would much rather destroy. Not something he actually wanted. “What are these?”

He approached the table, and picked up one of the sheets of paper Cain had set out on the table in front of him. They looked like … condos, and penthouses. Or rather, details for different places in the city. Ones for sale.

“You need a place to live; you can’t keep staying here,” Cain muttered. “Or, that’s what Gina told me this morning. She said if I didn’t kick your ass into gear to find a new place, then you would never do it. And she is tired of you showing up every night for supper because you don’t like the restaurant here.”

“The chef is an asshole,” Caesar returned.

“Whatever—point is, pick one.”

“Maybe later.”

Finding a new place was the last thing on his mind at the moment. He had far too many other things to do, and this was at the very bottom of the list.

Dropping the paper back to the table, he turned to his friend and said, “I couldn’t do it—kill her, I mean.”

Cain flattened his palms against the table, and let out a sigh. “Why not?”

“A lot of reasons.”

Not of them were particularly important, and Caesar also didn’t think they were any of his friend’s business. Nonetheless, he wasn’t giving out details even if Cain did try to push for them. Thankfully, Cain didn’t ask.

No, Cain went in a different direction.

Always the rule-follower.

The good made man between them.

“Your father isn’t going to like that,” Cain muttered. “And that means you’ve negated the deal—so the marriage will be back on the table.”

Like it was ever off.