Page 44 of Dishonored

Caesar smirked. “I have my ways of getting them.”

“Careful—Angelo won’t like that.”

“You offer that like a deterrent, but …”

“It’s more like encouragement,” Cain grumbled. “Yeah, I know how you fucking work.”

He did.

It was why they were friends.

“Now, when and how is she going to set up this meeting?” Caesar asked more of himself than his friend. “That should be interesting.”

Cain gave him a look. “Or deadly.”

Yes, or that.

He figured it’d be worth it.

SIX

PEPPERMINT SCHNAPPS WAS a favorite drink of Aria’s—straight, and not mixed with anything. A cool burn slid down her throat with every sip, and a bite lingered behind with her next breath. She nursed her drink while staring out the window of the hotel she had slipped off to for the evening.

“All’s well, then?” she heard Nico ask on his phone call.

Turning to stare at her friend, she caught sight of his quick frown before he put his back to her, and finished up the call. She wasn’t too worried about that frown of his—it wasn’t because something had gone wrong in her plans, no doubt.

It was because everything was going right.

And he worried.

“Well?” Aria asked when Nico came to stand next to the chaise.

“He’s on his way.”

“Good.”

She sipped on the drink again, and reveled in the calm it chased through her bloodstream. Another reason why she loved the drink.

It was calm in a bottle.

“I don’t think they’ll be long,” Nico added after a beat of silence. “Maybe fifteen minutes, or so. Caesar wasn’t too far away when they picked him up on the side of the street.”

Aria contemplated that statement. “Doesn’t he ever drive?”

“Occasionally, it looks like. A red Corvette, actually. Vintage style.”

Well, damn.

That was a nice car.

Even she could appreciate that.

“Nothing else?” she asked.

Nico shrugged. “Other than the Corvette, no.”

“I bet I know why he picked that car.”