Page 2 of Dishonored

That was the whole problem, though—Angelo wanted Caesar to be something he couldn’t be. His father wanted his son to be him.

Twenty years ago, when Caesar was just a boy still, he would have been happy and pleased to be compared to his father. He wanted to emulate Angelo in every single aspect of his life. Except … he had been just a boy then—stupid, innocent, and naive.

He was none of those things anymore.

Someone had taken it away from him.

It all started and ended right there.

Tossing the leather messenger bag over his shoulder, Caesar headed down the plane for the exit, and gave the flight attendant a wink as he passed. The reddish tint that instantly colored up her cheeks at his gaze drifting over her pencil skirt and then lingering on the top two buttons of her unbuttoned blouse made him grin—satisfied. Had he been in first class, and she paid more than twenty seconds of attention to him during the flight, he might have seen just how long it would take before she snuck him into the bathroom to get a hand up that tight skirt of hers.

Another thrill of his.

Women, that was.

Caesar didn’t have much of a preference when it came to females, but he did have a kink, of sorts. Or that’s what his friend—his only friend—liked to call it. As if calling it a kink somehow made it slightly less unappealing or wrong. Married women, or those he shouldn’t be fucking with for one reason or another, were a particular favorite of his.

Maybe it was the shame they would feel after …

Or the forbidden that got his dick hard …

It could be any number of things.

It didn’t matter.

That’s what he liked.

Not today, though.

He gave the flight attendant another look—including the wedding band on her finger—and forced his gaze away before he disembarked the plane. He had other things to handle before he could worry about sticking his dick into something warm and wet.

Things like his father.

And his family.

Speaking of which …

Caesar had just come down the escalator at arrivals when the sight of someone waiting for him down below had his rage simmering damn near instantly. Of fucking course his father wouldn’t let Caesar come home to no one waiting for him.

He should have known better.

But shit, he was surprised to see the man who his father did send to wait for him. His half-brother—Daniele.

Was Angelo trying to start a war?

Because Daniele looked ready for it.

Caesar found that amusing.

That was half the problem.

“Caesar,” Daniele greeted when Caesar stepped off the escalator.

The hatred dripped from his half-brother’s tone. It almost made Caesar giddy—yet another person in his life that he had ruined in one way or another. Really, what Caesar had done to Daniele was just a by-product of someone else’s doings to him.

So was Caesar’s circle.

Vicious.