Emma
“Tell me you managed to find a dress after I left,” Minnie said.
A waiter set three plates on the table. Emma was grateful for the momentary distraction, as the waiter began to prepare wine glasses and sparkling water. Once the young man was gone, however, her mother’s gaze turned on Emma again.
“Well, did you?” Minnie demanded.
“She’s been pestering me all damn day,” George muttered. “If you didn’t find one, she’ll blame me, Emmy.”
Emma didn’t pay her father’s tirade any mind.
“I found one,” Emma said. “I charged it to the card Affonso left.”
“Did you take it to your penthouse?”
“I had it shipped to New York.”
“Emma!”
Minnie’s loud exclamation made George drop the fork he was holding. It landed with a clatter in his plate of tiny steak.
“Jesus, Minnie,” George growled. “Lower your voice. Sometimes, it’s like living with one of those goddamn Yorkie dogs with you.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Minnie asked with narrowed eyes.
“You know what it means, woman. We’re eating, not at the fucking races. There’s no need for you to jump out of your skin and shriek like a banshee over the smallest things.”
“Maybe you should take note of where we are and fix your language, George.”
“Maybe you should—”
Oh, my God.
“What’s the issue with me sending the dress straight to New York, Mom?” Emma asked, wanting to diffuse the fight starting between her parents. God knew if those two got into it, they would fight the dinner away. No eating would be had. Not peacefully, anyway. “It’s one less thing I need to have shipped later, or take on the plane with me when I do go. Plus, I won’t have to worry as much if it does get lost on the way because they’ll have more time to find it.”
“Fittings, Emma,” her mother said like it should have been obvious. “You can’t just wear a dress right off the rack.”
George pointed his fork, the one he’d picked back up, in his wife’s direction. “Agreed. It’s like a suit. You need to take the time to have those things fitted properly.”
“I can and I will wear it right off the rack.” Emma shrugged. “It fit perfectly. Even Marian said it didn’t need to be fitted.”
Minnie pursed her lips. “Huh.”
“Sì.”
“I would have liked to be able to see it on you at least once,” Minnie said.
“You will. At the wedding.”
“As long as you don’t gain any weight,” her father added.
Emma didn’t grace that with a response. Her appearance, weight, choices in clothing, makeup, and hair had always been something her parents monitored closely. She could only wear the best of the best, be done up in the most beautiful ways—by the most talented people—and she had to always look the part.
It could mess with a girl’s head.
Emma didn’t allow it to mess with hers.
“I’m sure Emma will look wonderful,” Minnie said.
George scowled. “She better. She’s representing the whole family by marrying into the New York bunch. This is important, Minnie.”
Emma felt a lump rise in her throat. It kept her quiet, even though she wanted to shout as loudly as she could about how little she really cared for the importance of her arranged marriage. It wasn’t like her parents would care. Her feelings weren’t important.
That was how the mafia life worked. A woman had to be blind to the things she didn’t want to see, happy about the things that made her sad, deaf to the murmurs down the hall, and oblivious all the times in between.
“She knows it’s important,” Minnie said quietly. “Worry not, George.”
George passed Emma a silent look that somehow managed to chastise and warn her without even saying a word. “Well, I believe she does. We raised her, after all. Affonso wants a well-behaved, pretty-faced, young woman to stand at his side …”
Well-behaved. Pretty-faced.
Emma’s body went cold all over.
“… and no one can say that we didn’t raise our girl to be a good mob wife,” George finished. “She knows the score. Don’t you, Emma?”
“Yeah, Dad. I know the score.”
George smiled. “That is all that matters, sweetheart.”
In her hand, Emma held the Queen of Diamonds and the King of Spades. On the table, another queen, king, and two aces had been flipped over by the dealer.
Emma tossed another two-hundred into the pool, raising the bet. The pile in the middle was now a foot wide and a couple of inches high. The other four people at the table had folded with scowls at missing a large pot.
Calisto was still in.
Emma watched him from across the table, and ignored the other four pairs of eyes on her. She had been whooping their asses throughout the game, but this one hand had left her chips dwindled down to a few hundred and not much more.
Calisto was clearly going for broke.
Or he wanted to make her go broke.
“Bet, check, or show,” Emma said, grinning. “We don’t have all night here, Cal.”
Chuckles passed around the felt top, leather-lined table. Emma rested back in the high-back leather chair, still uninterested in the other players.
Under his dark lashes, Calisto’s eyes lifted to meet Emma’s. Amusement danced in his gaze while his face remained impassive and unreadable.
Then, his hand lifted. He stroked his bottom lip with his thumb.
Emma had watched Calisto enough throughout the game to know that was one of his tells. Every poker player had them. Some didn’t even know, despite trying hard to keep from showing their tells to the other players. Sunglasses were common, as were ball caps. Some women even liked to play with fresh Botox done, simply because then they couldn’t show even an ounce of emotion at the table.
It brought a whole new meaning to “poker face.”
Touching his lip was one of Calisto’s. It usually happened when he was forced to consider his next moves, or he was weighing the cost of continuing on. Emma had seen him win with a great hand after showing that specific tell, or lose a decent pot after doing it.
“All in,” Calisto murmured.
Emma’s stare snapped up, finding Calisto watching her intently. His murmur had passed over the table with the slowness of a crawl to reach her spot. And when it got to her …
She shivered.
Pushing aside the inappropriate lust circling in her gut, Emma focused on the cards in her hand again. She checked the table once more. Three-pair didn’t exist in poker. A player had to choose their best pairs and then use the next highest card as a kicker.
King and queen in her hand. Two aces, a king, queen, and Three of Hearts on the table.
Pair of aces.
Pair of kings.
Queen as the kicker.
The lower number card on the table wasn’t important. It wouldn’t do her any good.
Her hand was good.
It was Calisto’s she wondered about.
Emma decided to take the chance. She answered Calisto’s raise to the bet by pushing in the rest of her own chips. The dealer waved at the last two playing from his respective spot behind the table.
“Go for it, Emmy,” Calisto said, smirking in that way of his. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Technically, she could have made him flip over his cards first, but she didn’t mind showing her hand on the table. Turning over her hand, she showcased the pairs she had and the kicker to top it off.
An older man whistled at the end.
A woman in a tight, red dress with matching hair leaned closer to Calisto with a slow smile spreading over her flawlessly done face. Emma could see the woman’s arm lift slightly at her side and then lower back down. Had she touched Calisto?
The woman … had she put her hand on his leg?
Higher, even?
Something tight and hot balled in Emma’s stomach, making her angry and sick all at the same time. Leaning even closer, the woman’s blood red lips moved in a whisper as she said something to Calisto. Emma barely refrained from snapping at the woman to remove her hand from wherever it was on Calisto’s body, but only because she knew it wasn’t her right.
Calisto wasn’t hers.
Emma didn’t get to claim him.
Her jealousy still seared through her heart, flaring and growing like a wild fire that had found dry land to devastate. She swallowed back the ache it caused, pretending like it wasn’t there at all. Acknowledging it would only lead to bad things.
Emma found that Calisto was still watching her from the other side of the table in that silent, intense way of his. A way that said he knew exactly what was going on inside her head and the war that she was feeling in her heart.
Why did he have to do that?
The woman was still close to Calisto, leaning in with her hand under the table somewhere on his body, and talking like she was trying to gain his attention. Calisto wasn’t giving the flirting woman a damn thing.
In fact, his attention was all on Emma.
Waiting …
It unnerved her.
Then, he tossed out his cards with a two-finger wave. Two aces faced upwards, and the table erupted in noise. Four of a Kind—aces, the best Four of a Kind for a poker hand. Emma was out her chips—all of them—and Calisto had played her right off the table.
Fuck.
Calisto had played her well.
Emma stared at the cards, amused and annoyed at the same time. She ignored the cheers of the other players as they congratulated the winning hand and how well it had gone down. She was too busy gazing between the cards and Calisto’s knowing grin.
A sexy grin.
Sexy as sin.
Calisto was still ignoring the other woman. The dealer moved the pile of chips toward Calisto with a hooked baton. A lovely ache settled between Emma’s thighs as Calisto began to organize his chips.
Her hands were over.
She was out of chips.
Strangely, Emma didn’t mind losing to Calisto Donati.
This time, anyway.
Emma leaned against the entrance wall of the casino, swallowed by the flood of patrons moving in and out. Across the golden decorated, overly ostentatious foyer of the venue, Calisto stepped up to the chip desk. He dropped a satin bag, handed out to the guests when they needed to carry a load of winnings to be verified and cashed in, on the desk. He rested against the desk, and by the looks of it, barely spoke to the woman behind the counter as the chips were taken and dumped into the electronic sorter and counter.
Like this, behind Calisto and far away where he didn’t know Emma was watching, she had an entirely different view of the man.
An easy posture. A lazy smile. Drumming fingers. His left foot hooked behind his right ankle as he waited. Relaxed shoulders.
Instead of the seemingly aloof, unapproachable right-hand man to Affonso, Calisto now seemed his twenty-seven years, loosening up and having a bit of fun for an evening. Nothing more, nothing less.
Appearances certainly were deceiving.
Any woman would probably see Calisto and think he was a charming, handsome man. If the woman were lucky enough, maybe she could catch his eye. A man like Calisto, one that radiated confidence, intrigue, and sexiness all in one wave, was impossible to ignore.
He demanded attention.
But he didn’t seem like he noticed.
Calisto had changed from the jeans and leather jacket attire he’d sported earlier in the day when he had interrupted her dress shopping. Tonight, he’d opted for a flat black suit with sharp lines and perfectly tailored hems. All black, actually. Black, like the color of his dark gaze, something else about Calisto that Emma noticed drew people in closer to him. The sort of darkness that made people wonder, like little moths flying straight toward a brightly burning flame, wanting to touch the pretty colors only to be burned into nothing but ashes. From the dress shirt underneath, the tie with a straight, tight knot, to the pants and Italian leather shoes he wore, everything was black.
And the man looked good in it.
Really good.
She bet he thought dressing in dark clothing would allow him to blend in more, but she thought it made him stand out.
Calisto was trouble waiting to happen.
She could feel it in her blood.
So why couldn’t she bleed the curiosity out?
Emma averted her gaze, hoping that if she quit watching Calisto—and wondering about everything little thing that surrounded him—maybe that would help.
Surprise.
It didn’t.
Sighing harshly, Emma pushed off the wall. She fixed the skirt of her dress, readying to meet Calisto when he was done cashing in his chips. He hadn’t seemed all too concerned earlier when she left the table. Emma figured he would only have to play a few more hands to knock out the other players in the poker game, take his winnings, and run with it.
She’d been waiting for an hour.
Briefly, the jealous flare she’d felt when watching the woman try to flirt with Calisto came back to Emma with a vengeance. Had that been what took him so long? Had he taken the woman up on some kind of offer? Was that his reason for taking an hour, instead of the maybe twenty minutes it should have been to end the game?
Why do you even care?
Emma brushed off her inner voice. Other than being mocking or confusing, her instincts weren’t helping her out all that damned much lately. Especially not where Calisto Donati was concerned.
She knew right from wrong, though. That was the important part. It didn’t matter what Emma felt for Calisto, it was still wrong to act on it. It wouldn’t make a difference that the man could make her heart race, her lungs stop breathing, or her blood heat up with a single look … not when acting on the attraction would only put her in a grave.
And him, too.
Emma couldn’t forget that.
Running her thumb over her finger, Emma felt the band of her engagement ring press against the pad of her digit. It was a good reminder of the weight already resting on her shoulders, and how she certainly didn’t need to add any more to it.
Glancing up from the floor, Emma stilled in place. Calisto had turned around, cash in hand, and was watching her from across the casino’s foyer. She stopped toying with her engagement ring instantly.
How long had he been watching her?
Calisto nodded toward the elevator as he shoved the small wad of cash into the inside pocket of his jacket. Emma thought the wad looked smaller than it should have been, considering what he won in that last pile.
It didn’t matter.
He’d followed through on their deal of letting her try to make him go broke at the poker table. Emma had lost.
Fun time was over.
Back to reality again, her mind taunted. She didn’t even know what her reality was now.
Calisto met Emma at the elevator with one of those easy, smooth smiles that could make a woman wet just at the sight alone. The small flash of his teeth when his grin deepened and his gaze raked over her form let Emma know that she was not immune to the man’s charms.
Was he purposely doing this?
Emma shook off the oddities and pressed the button for the private elevator. While there were several elevators in the casino, this specific one took patrons straight to their very expensive, and high penthouses. Once inside, all Emma would need to do was swipe her card and the elevator would take her directly to her penthouse apartment without stopping.
“Ready to call it a night?” Calisto asked.
Emma shrugged. “I’m out of cash.”
“Oh? I thought you had a trust fund to dip into when you wanted.”
“Nice. Cheap shots.”
Calisto smirked. “I’m joking. Don’t be bitter that I beat you.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what’s with the pout, dolcezza?”
The elevator door opened, allowing Emma a reprieve from answering Calisto. She stepped inside, expecting him to stay behind like he usually did. This time, Calisto stepped in with her.
“What, you need to see me walk into the apartment tonight?” she asked.
“No,” he answered simply.
Emma didn’t press him for more information. “That was a good hand, by the way. I don’t think I’ve ever pulled pocket aces like that.”
Calisto chuckled. “Luck and nothing more.”
“It takes a bit of skill.”
“Sure. A damn good poker face will get you everywhere. Bluff it until they fold it.”
“Exactly.” Emma shifted in her heels, aware of how close to Calisto she was in the small elevator. The mirrored walls let her see every angle of the man without even needing to turn. She simply had to look through her lashes and admire in silence. “Took you a while.”
“Business.”
“Oh?”
“Mmm. No good made man wins a decent sized pot in a Don’s casino without paying the man some kind of tribute for the business. I found one of Maximo’s guys and paid him a reward to deliver half of my chips to the boss’s offices.”
Emma blinked, stunned. It wasn’t the woman in red that kept Calisto away for longer, or anything like that. “Oh.”
Calisto glanced down at her. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m—”
Calisto turned quickly, his hand coming up to snag Emma’s wrist tightly in his palm. Heat siphoned immediately from his skin to hers, making her feel drunk and awake all at the same time.
“Lying,” he interrupted. “Did you think I was going to leave you to do whatever while I was playing poker?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think you’d mind if I took a bit longer. You know the place, after all. You live here. What’s the issue?”
Emma’s cheeks pinked and she refused to look at him again. “Nothing. Leave it alone. It’s not important.”
Calisto’s hand tightened around her wrist before he dropped it fast. “The woman at the table, was that it? You might as well have ‘pissed off woman’ stamped on your forehead, Emmy. What, did you think I kept you waiting so that I could get a quickie with that woman?”
Why did he have to be so astute?
Goddamn him.
“Did she offer?” Emma asked.
She knew better.
“She offered something. I wasn’t interested. Does that make you feel better?”
Yes.
“Should it?” Emma asked. “What does it matter? It doesn’t. I told you to leave it alone.”
Calisto didn’t answer. Emma peeked up at him through the shielded veil of her sharply cut bangs. The distance on his features was something she had seen him wear all too often. The confusion setting his mouth down into a frown was new, however. As was the sadness coloring his stare.
“It’s not important,” Emma said weakly. “It was a stupid, errant feeling that doesn’t have any say on anything.”
Emma didn’t believe her own lies.
She had seen the way Calisto watched her at the table. And earlier in the day at the dress shop? God, she had the pleasure of seeing him stare at her then, too. Like he was fucking starved for something beautiful, and his hands had suddenly felt it the moment they touched her skin.
He’d comforted her, but he hadn’t needed to.
He’d helped her, but it wasn’t his job.
And it had been there—right there in his soul-black eyes.
Desire.
Hunger.
Lust.
Calisto wanted her, too.
Emma wasn’t dumb.
“Not important,” she repeated.
Maybe if she said it enough, it would make it true.
“Yeah,” Calisto said gruffly. “You’re right.”
It still hurt.