Page 12 of Dishonored

Aria raised a brow, and nothing more, in the face of Simone’s sudden rage. He was not the first man to get angry, or to try something with her. He could raise his fist, and she would probably smile at him and dare him to try it.

She didn’t frighten that easily.

“I want to speak with Jac,” Simone demanded.

Growled, was more like it.

Aria smirked a bit, and shook her head once. “No, that won’t be possible for a while. You know how this goes while he’s in lockup—the less visitation, the better. He doesn’t want names and records kept of our coming and going besides his immediate family. Me, I mean. If you have something to say, Simone, you are looking at the one woman you get to say it to. Otherwise, sit yourself back down in that chair. I’m starting to think my father has severely neglected some things when it comes to you.”

She was acutely aware of the gazes watching her. Of the other men at the table who would report back to whoever they needed to about her behavior, and how she handled this situation. That was fine with her. She needed people to know her name. She needed them afraid of the one and only De Rose woman willing to cut them down.

Power came to those who took it.

It was never given.

Simone scoffed, although he did sit down. “What exactly has he neglected with me, Aria? Nothing more or less than he neglected with your ignorant—”

“Watch your tongue, or I will cut it out.”

He blinked, silenced.

Aria smiled.

Simone’s wife was not quite as smart, though. Giovanna’s gaze narrowed as it turned on Aria with a burning rage that might shrink a lesser woman.

“Who do you think you are?” Giovanna asked. “You’re reaching a bit when you talk to him like that, don’t you think? Be careful, Aria. Your father isn’t going to be in prison for very much longer.”

Didn’t this stupid wife know?

Getting up from her seat with the slow grace she had been taught was most beneficial to a lady who wanted all eyes on her, Aria fingered the rim of the wine glass she’d emptied just before this meeting had begun. The wine bottle was all the way at the other end of the table, so no one seemed to think twice about her grabbing the glass as she moved down the table. All eyes stayed on her, and frankly, they should have known.

When it came to her, they always should have known.

Aria had just come to the back of Giovanna’s chair when she showed them she had no intention of going for the wine bottle. She smashed the wine glass overtop of the woman’s unsuspecting head before she grabbed a fistful of Giovanna’s hair, and yanked her head back so wide eyes were staring up at her. Chairs scraped, and warnings murmured along the table, but no one stepped in.

They did know better, then.

Or, they were learning.

Good.

Bending down to murmur in Giovanna’s ear, Aria’s smile stayed firmly in place when she said, “Check my bloodlines, cagna. You’ll find exactly who I am.”

She was a De Rose.

Camorra.

Vicious, violent, and vehement.

And she would bow to no one.

Not again.

It was only the click of a door closing that drew Aria’s gaze away from the mirror showcasing her painted-to-perfection features. All her delicate lines had been highlighted and contoured, and her eyes made demure with dark kohl. The red stain on her lips made them appear fuller, and accentuated her small cupid’s bow. Heavy, black mascara lifted, lengthened, and thickened her eyelashes enough to frame the green orbs.

She preferred it when her eyes were the first thing a man saw when he stared at her. And then, the man could get lost while he looked at everything else she had to offer, too.

That daze was dangerous.