Page 152 of Dishonored

“She may be a widow, but Camorra still expects—”

“Too much,” Aria said, stepping out from the entryway so that the rest of the room could see her. This dinner was far smaller than it might have been, but she only extended the invitation to a select few. Unfortunately for him, Simone had been one. “Camorra expects too much from a woman—we give and give and give, but you only take. When do you give back to me, Simone?”

The man’s eyes blazed. “You know very well what is expected of you, Aria.”

Yes.

For her to be perfect.

Unsullied.

Reputable.

Everything.

And it was too much.

“Look at all I have done for this clan,” Aria murmured, waving a hand at the room. “We have the territory we fought for, and the money to do whatever we want with it. We have control, and power. Everything men didn’t give you. A woman did. And what do you give me in return, Simone?”

“I—”

“You give me disrespect, and hatefulness. You shame me behind my back, and dirty my name. My name. The one and only thing I was allowed to keep in this fucking life, and you dishonor it every single time you open your mouth.”

Simone didn’t move from his chair even as Aria came closer. After all that she had done, and every move she had made, these men still thought to underestimate her. For no other reason than she was a woman, and they were men.

Stupid men.

“Since you like my name so much,” Aria said, stopping just two feet away from Simone’s seat when he turned to face her properly, “then you won’t mind saying it.”

“Wha—”

“Say it.”

Simone’s jaw clenched. “Aria—there, happy?”

“My last name. Say it. You do it every day. The De Rose bitch. The De Rose whore. Say it, Simone. It’s your mantra now, isn’t it? Don’t open your mouth again unless you’re going to say what I want you to, otherwise, I will really make this hurt.”

He stayed quiet.

But it didn’t last long.

“De Rose,” he uttered.

That paring knife slid down from her sleeve, and the handle fit perfectly into her palm. She struck out with a fast swipe of her arm, and the blade came across Simone’s throat with a deep slice as she said, “And you can die with my name in your mouth, too.”

Blood arched.

Hit the ceiling.

Her.

Jesus.

She really did hate the mess.

Aria let out a sigh, and tossed the paring knife to the table even as Simone continued bleeding out, and gurgling in a morbid way. She was done with him, and moving on to the rest of the foolish idiots at her table. “Anyone else?”

Silence answered her back.