Calisto
It seemed like in no time at all, June had jumped straight to July, and then July jumped into August without warning. By the time September rolled around, Calisto was sure he was just walking around in a bubble, unaware of the seasons changing around him.
Fall was Calisto’s favorite time of year. He enjoyed the colors of the leaves—burned, bright, or dulled—and he could spend hours watching them fall from the trees in the park on a windy day. Fall wasn’t too hot, and it wasn’t too cold.
But he hadn’t even realized it was Fall until he took a stroll through the back property of his uncle’s home with his oldest cousin. Reds, yellows, dulled greens, and oranges littered the ground. The fallen leaves crunched under his shoes.
Calisto finally woke up from the several months’ long daze he’d been in.
“What’s up with you?” Cynthia asked.
“Nothing,” Calisto replied, offering her a smooth smile.
His cousin didn’t fall for it.
“Really? Because you’re looking at the leaves like you’ve never seen them before.”
“They’re bright this year.”
“Mmhmm,” Cynthia muttered. “You missed my whole Summer, Cal.”
Calisto frowned, knowing that was partly true. “We went on that trip to Niagara Falls.”
“It’s in the same state.”
“Still a trip, Cynthia.”
Cynthia crossed her arms, but kept walking beside Calisto. He could practically feel the girl’s irritation wafting from her. He’d promised both his cousins that he’d make an effort to take them away for a couple of weeks over the Summer.
Instead, he’d been too busy avoiding Affonso when he could, and staying the hell away from his uncle’s wife. Calisto didn’t need the temptation of Emma at his fingertips, demanding his attention. More often than not, he found himself worried about the woman, and before he knew what he was doing, Calisto would be asking his uncle how things were going with the pregnancy, just to have some sense of relief.
It was fucking stupid.
Entirely selfish.
Punishing.
To make matters worse, Affonso would answer Calisto’s seemingly normal questions with as much vagueness as he could. Sometimes, it felt like his uncle was baiting him, like Affonso wanted Calisto to ask more, or maybe even come around and check for himself. Affonso had even tried, more than once, to get Calisto involved in things. Driving Emma to more appointments, dropping things off at the house, or whatever else Affonso could dream up.
Calisto wouldn’t do it. Affonso posed the offers innocently enough, but Calisto still wondered if there was more to it. He didn’t trust his uncle, he didn’t want to be too close to Emma, and he certainly didn’t want to find himself inserted into Affonso’s day to day life more than he already was. Calisto would never be friends with his uncle—he couldn’t.
Somehow, Calisto managed to avoid Affonso’s demands by putting others in his place. An enforcer could take Emma to her appointment when her own guard was busy. One of the family soldiers, someone Calisto knew his uncle trusted, could drop things off at the house.
It didn’t have to be him.
Calisto wasn’t going to do what he’d once done again.
No way.
Beside him, Cynthia was still walking with her arms crossed, sporting an unhappy scowl, and staying quieter than normal. Calisto let his cousin have her anger. She was warranted it, after all. He had left her and Michelle to hang out to dry over the Summer in his attempts to stay away from Affonso and Emma.
“I came today,” Calisto said, knowing it was a weak statement.
One day was nothing.
“And I fly back to boarding school tomorrow,” Cynthia replied shortly.
“I’m sorry.”
Cynthia’s straight back softened. “I know.”
“Doesn’t help much, huh?”
“Everyone is always sorry, Cal. Daddy can’t come out to see us dance, he’s sorry. We can’t take the trip with our classmates out of the country, he’s sorry. You spend the Summer avoiding him, and we don’t get to see you, either, you’re sorry.”
“Hey, I wasn’t avoiding—”
Cynthia shot him a burning glare. “Yes, you were. You don’t like Daddy, Cal. I’m not fucking blind.”
“Your mouth has gotten worse, I see.”
Calisto wondered who his cousin had been spending time with for her mouth to be so damn dirty. He figured that was another thing he had to own. He had no one to blame but himself for not knowing what was going on in Cynthia’s and Michelle’s personal lives.
“Saying you’re sorry is just another excuse,” Cynthia told him.
Calisto sighed. “You’re right.”
“And do you want to know what’s worse?”
“What?”
Cynthia stopped walking, and let her arms fall to her sides. Calisto stopped beside her, letting the teenager work through whatever it was she had going on in her head. At least if she took it out on him, she was unlikely to go at her father with it. Affonso wouldn’t stand for that, and while he never laid a hand on his daughters, he wasn’t above making their lives miserable to punish them.
Wasn’t being sent away from home for the majority of the year miserable enough?
“What’s worse,” Cynthia said quietly, “is that you can’t even make this up to me like you used to do.”
Calisto shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sure I can.”
“No. I’m graduating at the end of this year. Then, I’m off to college. But if I get my way, it won’t be a college in this state. Daddy will be so busy with the new baby that he won’t give a single fuck about me or Michelle, especially if he finally gets the son he’s always wanted. He’ll probably be happy to let me choose whatever college I want, no matter where it is.”
Cynthia’s tone was sharp enough to cut steel.
It damn well cut through Calisto.
“So, yeah,” she said with a flick of her wrist at Calisto. “You can’t make this up to me. I won’t be around for you to do it.”
She was right.
Calisto’s guilt climbed higher, shaking his foundation. He’d always made a conscious effort to spend time with his cousins, and to be there for them in case they needed him. It wasn’t like they had that in their father.
Jesus.
He was no better than Affonso.
“I’m sorry,” Calisto repeated.
Cynthia shrugged, but wouldn’t meet his gaze. “What difference does it make?”
Sadly, she was right again.
“Cynthia, make sure you have everything you need for tomorrow,” Affonso said as he took the steps two at a time. He fixed the cufflinks on his suit, and then glared at his watch. “Fucking woman. I am late already. Did you hear what I said, Cynthia?”
Calisto watched as his cousin walked on past Affonso on the staircase without a word. She ignored her father, and quickened her steps.
“Cynthia!”
“She’s pissed at me, zio,” Calisto said.
Affonso blew out a heavy breath, glowering over his shoulder. “Women are God’s way of punishing men. Boys are a far easier creature to raise, let me say.”
Calisto didn’t think his uncle was only talking about his daughters being troublesome to him. Usually, Emma would join Affonso as he came downstairs in the morning, but sometimes she came down right after him, too. She wasn’t anywhere in sight right then.
“Why is she mad at you?” Affonso asked. “What did you do?”
“It’s what I didn’t do.”
Affonso cocked a brow. “Oh?”
Calisto didn’t see how it was any of his uncle’s business, but he’d brought it up first. “She’s mad that I didn’t spend more time with her over her break. I apologized. She’s still angry.”
“Fickle things. Spoiled things.”
“Who did that to them?” Calisto asked.
Affonso made a face. “Easier to spoil them than to listen to their complaints. The next man they’re handed off to can deal with their extravagances. I did my part.”
In Calisto’s humble fucking opinion, Affonso’s part in his daughters’ lives hadn’t been a very damned big one.
“As for the one upstairs,” Affonso grumbled, still fumbling with the cufflink on his right arm.
“What about her?”
“She is pulling on every last nerve I have today. I don’t have time to feed into her whims. I have a meeting to be at.”
Calisto checked his watch. “Breakfast with Carl Calabrese, I know. That’s why I’m here. To take you. You’ve got another hour and a half. You’re not late, chill out.”
“Sì. But I feel like I’m late.”
Because apparently that made all the difference.
The Calabrese syndicate was the only other Cosa Nostra family ruling in New York besides the Donati and Marcello families. Affonso made an effort to sit down and chat with the boss of the Calabrese family at least three times a year to discuss business and whatever else. Affonso claimed it kept his friendship with Carl at a respectable level, while reminding both Dons’ families that there was no need for any territorial squabbles.
“I’ll have Turner drive me,” Affonso said, glancing at Calisto. “Make sure that wife of mine is out of the bathroom in the next half hour, dressed respectably, and at that breakfast no later than a few minutes after it starts. I can excuse her for that long, surely. Any longer and Carl might take offence. This is her first sit-down with another family. The least she can do is follow my goddamn rules.”
Affonso’s fury bounced off Calisto. It wasn’t unusual for his uncle to throw a temper tantrum.
“I’m supposed to be at the breakfast, too,” Calisto said. “Why can’t Turner handle Emma this morning while I drive you, like we originally planned?”
Calisto didn’t think Emma would appreciate him demanding shit from her first thing in the morning. He certainly didn’t need the trouble added onto his plate. Hell, he’d managed to stay away from her for three months.
A little longer wouldn’t hurt. It might even help to get rid of the last bit of his lingering feelings that kept urging him to seek her out simply because he couldn’t forget. Calisto was not a weak man. He was not going to let the memories of one fucking night, the morning after, and his unshakable guilt ruin him.
Calisto did that once with Emma.
Look at where it got him.
“I don’t have time for this,” Affonso grumbled. “Do as I said, Cal.”
Damn it.
“Fine,” Calisto agreed.
Affonso headed for the front entryway. Calisto was already halfway up the staircase when he heard the door open behind him.
What a great day this was turning out to be.
Calisto knocked on the bathroom door for the fourth time, ignoring the irritation settling deep in his gut. It unsettled him to be in his uncle’s and Emma’s bedroom. He didn’t like the somber feel of the room, and just looking at the unmade bed was enough to turn his stomach.
It still pissed him off.
It still made him sick.
Clearly, he was not over whatever little issue he had with Affonso marrying Emma. Calisto couldn’t seem to move past the idea of the woman having to share a bed night after night with Affonso, despite the fact that she obviously did.
The woman was pregnant, after all.
Calisto drew in a slow breath, and willed away the annoyance. Knocking on the bathroom door once more, Calisto said, “Emmy, are you almost done, or what?”
He’d been knocking on the door for a while. Emma had only answered him once, saying she didn’t feel well and asking for a couple of minutes. Calisto didn’t understand a whole hell of a lot about pregnancy, but he did know the mornings could be hell for some women.
It was better he didn’t pry.
Calisto didn’t need details.
He raised his fist to knock on the door again, only to find it swinging open. His hand dropped to his side, and he took a step back.
Emma stood in the bathroom doorway, looking tired and worn. Her hair had been thrown up into a messy bun, and she stood barefoot on the tile. The silk, white robe she wore had been cinched at her waist, and fell mid-thigh. Calisto’s gaze dropped to Emma’s midsection.
He immediately wished he hadn’t.
She was finally starting to show. Calisto had been lucky enough to miss those changes, being that he stayed away. Now, he could plainly see the early swell of Emma’s stomach pushing against the silk robe.
“Eighteen weeks,” she said softly.
Calisto’s gaze snapped back up to Emma’s face. It was easier to focus on her pretty features with her soft lines and smooth skin rather than the roundness of her stomach. She was with child—someone else’s child.
It wasn’t his.
It would never be his.
Yet, Emma was still beautiful. Even in her state, with her swell, her flushed skin, and her tired eyes. Calisto clenched his fists tight, feeling his fingernails cut into his skin. A war raged inside his mind, and an invisible agony following right behind. What in the hell was wrong with him?
He felt like a sick bastard, almost enjoying the pain.
“I beg your pardon?” Calisto managed to ask.
“I’m eighteen weeks along, Cal.”
“Oh.”
Emma nodded. “Almost halfway.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“Yes. I had some testing done early on, shortly after I passed the first trimester. The doctor wanted to check the amniotic fluid and do a genetic workup after what happened the first time. Everything seemed well. It’s a boy.”
Calisto swallowed hard. “Affonso must be—”
“Thrilled,” she interrupted coolly. “He’s thrilled.”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“Would you have cared?”
Calisto didn’t respond.
Emma stepped out of the bathroom, and brushed past Calisto without as much as a look in his direction. She immediately went toward the large walk-in closet, and disappeared inside. Calisto rubbed a hand over his face, wishing he could calm his inner thoughts and think for a moment.
“Did he send you up for me?” Emma asked from the walk-in closet.
Calisto shook the heaviness off his shoulders. “Yes. He was convinced he was already late. I’ll drive you to the breakfast.”
“Great.”
She didn’t sound like she thought it was great.
Calisto let it go.
Ten minutes later, Emma walked out of the closet wearing a navy blue dress that hugged her curves and fell just above her knees. She had applied very little makeup, just enough to put more color into her lips and cheeks, and also some black mascara to fan her already long lashes. She didn’t need the makeup. Her features were already vibrant and stood out in a crowd of people. In her left hand, she held a pair of matching kitten heels. She tossed the shoes to the floor, and slid her feet in.
Waving at her back, Emma said, “Zip me up.”
Calisto’s stomach clenched. The last time he’d touched this woman’s back, she had been on her knees while he pounded into her from behind. She’d been gripping white sheets, shaking all over, and gasping for more.
Stop that, he told himself.
“What are you waiting for?” Emma asked, clearly irritated. “Aren’t we already late?”
“No,” Calisto said, offering nothing more.
He quickly crossed the room and zipped up the back of Emma’s dress. He made sure not to touch her skin or her body over the dress as little as was possible. He didn’t need more fuel added to the already growing fire.
The more Calisto thought about it, the more he was absolutely convinced that he was punishing himself where Emma Donati was concerned. Surely he could let whatever this little obsession was with the woman go.
So why didn’t he?
Emma tugged on the elastic in her hair, and pulled the messy bun out. Her shiny, dark waves fell over her shoulders and down her back. Tossing the elastic to a corner chair, she put a hand to her hip.
“How does this look?” she asked Calisto.
He dragged his gaze over her curves, her tiny swell, and back up to her face. Despite how much it ached for him to see her like she was, Emma looked good. Full of life, young, and healthy. Maybe he could finally understand what people talked about when they said pregnant women glowed.
“Beautiful,” Calisto said honestly. “You look beautiful, Emmy.”
For a split second, Emma’s stony features cracked. The mask of disinterest and coldness broke away as her bottom lip trembled. She balled and released her fists over and over again at her sides like she was trying to figure out what to say.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Were you nervous?” he asked. “Was that why you were hiding in the bathroom?”
“No.”
Emma’s distance and apathy was back in a blink.
Calisto wondered why.
What had he said?
“Are we ready to go?” she asked. “Because I don’t want to stand around and chat, Cal.”
Apparently, it didn’t matter.
None of what he felt did.
Oddly, Calisto was grateful for Emma’s icy demeanor, as strange as it was. She was simply reminding him, without knowing she was doing it, that this was not his place. Her life was not for him to worry over.
She was not his.
That should have helped him.
It didn’t.
“Yeah,” Calisto finally replied, finding his voice. “We can go anytime.”
“Then let’s do that.”
Emma grabbed a black clutch off the chair where she had thrown the elastic earlier. Calisto let her lead the way out of the bedroom, and he still avoided staring at the messy sheets on the bed as he closed the door behind them.
As they began walking down the steps, Emma hollered a goodbye out to her step-daughters. For a quick moment, when he heard both girls answer Emma’s call back almost instantly, Calisto didn’t feel as guilty as he had with Cynthia earlier.
At least, he thought, they found common ground.
The girls had someone to befriend, someone to trust and talk to. He didn’t believe that Emma would take the girls’ secrets to Affonso, or anything like that.
Emma was hard not to like.
At the last couple of steps, Emma stopped abruptly, making Calisto almost collide into her back. His stare caught the sight of her hand clenching tightly around the smooth, wood edge of the banister, and her arm trembled. Emma sucked in a quick breath that sounded like she was in pain.
Calisto was at her side in a flash. “Emmy?”
She didn’t even blink. Her other hand grazed the side of her stomach as she frowned, shook her head, and took another breath.
“Emmy, are you all right?” Calisto asked.
“Fine,” she said faintly.
The bright glow to her cheeks had left. Her mouth pressed into a thin, grim line. The previous coldness of her green gaze had been replaced with a confused daze as she touched the side of her small swell again.
“I don’t think you are, bella. Are you in pain?”
Emma pursed her lips, her hand coming up to push Calisto away from her side. “I’m fine. We’re wasting time.”
“Emmy.”
She took the last couple of steps quickly.
“Stop worrying about me Calisto, and get me to the damned breakfast.”
Not worrying was easier said than done.
Calisto decided not to argue.