Emma
Emma kept her gaze on the book in her lap, pretending like there wasn’t an argument going on across the room. She had become terribly good at acting like she didn’t hear.
Calisto watched her out of the corner of his eye while he argued on with Affonso.
She was too focused on Calisto to care about their fight.
His anger. The tightness of his jaw. Searing soul-black eyes.
The two men were not the same. They might have shared blood, but their hearts were entirely different. One man never let her out of his sight when he was nearby. The other acted like she didn’t exist.
This was what it was like, she realized, to be in love with someone she couldn’t have.
Calisto Donati would never be hers.
This wasn’t a fairy tale that would end happily.
They weren’t star-crossed. They were impossible.
Christmas was just a week away. Emma had been in Affonso’s office when Calisto barreled in, pissed off and looking for a fight. Or rather, wanting answers. Emma was going over the plans for the large New Year’s party that Affonso had planned. His daughters were supposed to be arriving home from boarding school the next day.
Emma sat on the couch and acted like she wasn’t hearing a thing. Affonso hadn’t kicked her out of the office when Calisto arrived. Her husband rarely did, although she wasn’t sure why.
It made it a little harder.
All of the stolen moments with Calisto over the last month came rushing back to her memory, intent on burning her up. A searing kiss in a hallway. Calisto’s hand finding hers under a table. His fingers skimming her knee, up her thigh, and under her dress when people left a room. Her pants pulled down to her knees in the backseat of his car when they were supposed to be driving to one of Affonso’s monthly dinners with his associates.
Moments that made her heart ache and race at the same time.
They were playing such a dangerous game together.
It was deadly.
Mistakes were a death sentence.
Emma couldn’t stop.
Calisto was a drug—a needle to her vein.
Time with him was heaven while it lasted, but it was going to send her straight to hell.
She just wanted more.
“This is becoming too personal for it to be about business, zio,” Calisto snapped.
Emma broke out of her reverie, and decided to listen to the conversation a little more closely. Something important was happening, clearly, but she didn’t have a clue what exactly it was.
“So they burned one of the warehouses,” Affonso muttered, waving a hand flippantly as if to dismiss Calisto’s concerns. “What does it matter?”
“Not just one of them. A warehouse that you own. The O’Neils could have picked any one of our businesses to mess with. Any of them—we have hundreds between all of our men. But no, they picked yours specifically. One you frequent at least three days out of the week. That was deliberate.”
“Your point?”
“It’s a message, Affonso. A clear one. You’re not willing to sit down with the Irish boss and discuss whatever this issue is. Why?”
Affonso sighed. “Calisto, leave it alone. They will get tired of it all and move on to something new. It’s a territory scuffle, and nothing more.”
“It’s not. That’s what you wanted me to believe. The more I think about the things they were doing before, the more it makes sense. They killed a young soldier to gain attention. They irritated and caused issues with one of your best Capos. They could have picked anyone. They could have killed anyone.”
“Calisto—”
“If this was about territory they would have taken it by now because you stood back and did nothing to stop them!”
Affonso slammed his hand down to the desk with a loud smack. “You are walking on thin ice at the moment, boy.”
Emma sank her teeth into her bottom lip to keep quiet. The two men glared at one another, and neither seemed like he was ready to back down.
Then, Calisto spat out a bitter laugh. “Boy, huh? When I was younger, you used to throw that at me all the time when I angered you or made you disappointed in me. It worked then, zio, but it doesn’t work now.”
Affonso stilled, his gaze narrowing on Calisto with a warning flashing behind his eyes. “You’re to stay out of the Irish and those affairs. I won’t tell you again. You’re allowed to hate me all you want, Cal, but you cannot disobey me as your boss. If you want a different outcome, one you approve of, then there’s only one way for you to get that. Take my seat. I’ll even hand it over to you with a smile.”
Calisto’s fists clenched at his side. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is clever.”
“I’ll stick with my first, zio.”
Affonso rested back in his chair, seemingly calm again.
It concerned Emma how her husband could sometimes go from zero to sixty and then back again in a single blink. His emotional waves were especially hard for her to weather. She didn’t have the first clue how Calisto managed like he did for all those years knowing what he knew about Affonso and his mother.
Emma couldn’t look Affonso in the eye.
“You know,” Affonso drawled, reaching for his glass of bourbon, “… I could always force you into the seat.”
Calisto scoffed. “I urge you to try it if you believe I am stupid enough to fall for it. Like I did for you, I’ll deny it just the same.”
“Unlike me, you can’t deny it once it’s given.”
“Try it,” Calisto said, “and watch what happens.”
The unhidden warning colored Calisto’s tone dark.
Emma hid her shiver, but barely.
“We’re such a sad thing, Cal,” Affonso muttered around the rim of his glass.
Emma was sure she heard her husband say those words before, but she couldn’t remember when.
“You did this, not me,” Calisto replied.
“Stay away from the Irish.”
“And what if they come close enough that they force my hand, zio?”
Affonso shrugged. “They won’t.”
“Because they don’t want me, right?”
Calisto didn’t get an answer.
Emma figured he didn’t need one.
“Well, did you find something?” Emma asked.
Cynthia held up a golden Zippo with incrusted diamonds around the cover. “What do you think?”
“I think your father will love it.”
Affonso had a taste for anything gold and he liked his cigars, after all.
“Maybe you can get it engraved,” Michelle added from across the display case.
Cynthia shrugged. “Maybe.”
She didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the idea.
“Do you want to look into that?” Emma asked. “We’d have to get it done soon to get it back in time for Christmas.”
“What would I put on it?” Cynthia asked.
Emma stumbled over her thoughts.
She was going to tell Cynthia to put what she felt for her father—her love, even—but that didn’t seem appropriate. Neither of the Donati girls were very close to Affonso. His distance and lack of interest in their lives pushed them away from him.
“You could put something simple like the year,” Emma suggested.
“Lame,” Michelle said.
“Shut up,” Cynthia replied. “It’s not like you’re helping any.”
“Put that you love him on it, Cynthia. Something to make him smile. Maybe then he’ll let you go to that college in England you like so much.”
Cynthia frowned, but quickly hid it by looking down. “That’s your style, not mine.”
“Whatever. I want a slushy juice. I’ll be right back,” Michelle said.
Emma let the teenager leave the store, but kept an eye on her as she crossed the small section to the juice stand across from their current spot. Sometimes, the glaring differences between the Donati sisters were as clear as day. One didn’t mind indulging her father while the other was at an age where she had already realized that her father simply didn’t care enough about her life.
“Okay, your sister is out of eat-shot,” Emma said as she leaned against the glass case. “Talk to me, Cynthia.”
Cynthia met Emma’s gaze. “I didn’t want to come home for Christmas this year.”
“Why not?”
“Because what’s the point? We’ll go back. We’re lucky if we get a call once every couple of months.”
Emma’s brow furrowed. “Affonso was on the phone twice last month with Michelle.”
“She causes trouble to get attention.”
Ah.
Emma wasn’t included in those sorts of things where her husband’s daughters were concerned. She wasn’t allowed much say with them, or their business with school. Affonso handled it all.
“But I came anyway,” Cynthia said.
“I would have been sad if you didn’t.”
Cynthia laughed. “I know. You and Calisto. I came home for him, too. He always makes sure to call me once a week. And sometimes he texts, just to see how I’m doing.”
Emma’s heart softened a little more toward her lover.
“He would have been disappointed had you not come home for vacation, I’m sure,” Emma said.
“Daddy isn’t going to let me go to school in England, Emma.”
Yeah.
Probably not.
“Doesn’t hurt to ask, though,” Emma said softly.
“I already got accepted into the arts program for dance,” Cynthia said. “And I’ll have to turn it down.”
Emma wanted to help her step-daughter, but she didn’t really know how to without irritating her husband. The closer she was to his daughters, the stranger he acted, like she was doing something wrong.
She was always careful to make it seem like there was a distance between her and the girls whenever Affonso was around. But she had grown to love them in the short time she was able to spend with them. Well, in her own way, at least.
Emma plucked the golden Zippo from Cynthia’s hand and looked it over.
“Maybe your sister was right,” Emma suggested. “Let’s get it engraved with something to make him smile. When it comes to men like your father, they need to feel like the most important person in your life. It won’t hurt to try.”
It was wrong to manipulate a man.
It was even worse to teach his daughter how to do it, too.
Emma figured the Donati girls had been neglected enough. They deserved a bit of their own happiness. She would try to help them achieve it however she could.
“Do you think it will work?” Cynthia asked.
“No, but it’s a start.”
“I’m not as good at making Daddy like me the way Michelle is.”
Emma thought that was terribly sad. A daughter shouldn’t feel like she had to make her father like her. He just should without question.
“Emma?” Cynthia asked when Emma stayed quiet.
“Yes?”
“I wanted to say sorry.”
Emma’s brow lifted. “For what?”
Cynthia’s gaze dropped to Emma’s flat stomach. “Daddy said we shouldn’t say anything, just act like nothing was different.”
Oh.
Emma’s heart leaped into her throat, almost choking her silent. “It’s okay.”
“Is it really?”
“No,” Emma admitted. “But it’s a lot better than it was.”
“I’m still sorry.” Cynthia turned back to the display case and stared inside. “I need to find something for Cal.”
Emma did, too.
“I’ll help you look,” she said.
Cynthia smiled brightly. “Thanks, Emma.”
Teenagers weren’t as hard to like as everyone claimed.
Except for one …
“Are we done here or what?” came Michelle’s annoyed voice from behind Emma. “I’ve got things to do. Better things. Just get him the goddamn lighter, Cynthia. Daddy will shove it into his drawer like he does with everything else we buy. Stop wasting time on him.”
The girl was more like her father than she knew.
Emma didn’t bother to tell her that, though.
Christmas rolled in quietly for the Donati home. It was one of the only holidays when Affonso didn’t open up his home with a large dinner and parties that went on for hours.
Emma was grateful.
She didn’t think she would be up for it.
The Christmas holiday brought with it a somber mood that seemed to hang in every damn hall of the house. It was unavoidable.
Emma knew that Affonso’s first wife, his daughters’ mother, had died close to Christmastime. It was probably hard on Cynthia and Michelle. They wanted to celebrate the holiday and enjoy their gifts, but it was another reminder of their grief and losing their mom.
She understood.
Emma let the girls do their own thing when they needed to. Affonso didn’t say a word either way. She decorated the home using a mixture of the decorations that had been packed away, and some new things she had purchased leading up to the holiday. Instead of asking if Cynthia and Michelle wanted to join in to help string lights or hang wreaths, she let them come to her willingly.
But even with the decorations, bright lights, and tinsel all around, the house still felt sad. Like it had its very own heart that was broken.
So when Christmas morning arrived, Emma didn’t rush to get ready and make her way downstairs. It wasn’t like anyone else in the house was particularly excited, and she certainly didn’t have anything to look forward to.
Whatever gifts Affonso gave to her would be yet more bribes.
Something to keep her pleased, happy … quiet.
Once she was dressed, and her mask made of makeup and fake smiles was plastered on, Emma finally made her way downstairs.
She was the last one to wake up, apparently.
Emma was surprised to find her husband, his daughters, and Calisto chatting around the dining room table. The cook had been given the day off, which meant everyone had to fend for themselves if they wanted to eat, or Emma had to cook.
“It’s about time you woke up,” Affonso grumbled from the head of the table.
Calisto met Emma’s gaze, his expression passive. The barest hint of a smile graced his lips at her confused look.
“They’re hungry and incapable of cooking,” Calisto said.
“I’m not incapable,” Cynthia replied. “Emma just makes things better than I do.”
“Your opinion,” Michelle said. “But she does make great waffles.”
Emma smiled at that. “I can make waffles.”
“Hurry up then,” Affonso said. “The coffee is hot. I’m not so inept that I don’t know how to turn the pot on. We’ll be in the living room opening gifts when you’re ready to join.”
“Sure,” Emma said, still watching Calisto out of the corner of her eye.
He hadn’t mentioned that he would be there on Christmas morning. She was surprised to see him. It didn’t help that her first reaction was to rub her thighs together to soothe the constant ache whenever he was near.
As soon as Affonso stood from his seat, his daughters followed suit and left the dining room. Calisto stood to join them.
Emma tampered down her desire at the sight of him in one of his all black, tailored suits. The man looked damn fine, and he knew it.
This was not the time.
Today was not a good day.
She went straight to the cupboards, thinking Calisto would follow the rest of his family to the living room where the tree was set up. Pulling out the things she would need to make the waffles, she didn’t realize Calisto had come up behind her until his hand landed on her hip.
Emma jerked at the sudden touch.
And sighed.
He made her so goddamn stupid.
“Merry Christmas, Emmy,” Calisto whispered in her ear.
“Merry Christmas, Calisto.”
“I’ve made it a tradition to join them on Christmas morning and take the girls to Mass afterward. Affonso takes his own car. I’m sure the girls wouldn’t mind if you joined us.”
Emma’s stomach clenched with heat and need. “Yeah, sure.”
“I have something for you.”
Calisto took his hand away, and every single part of Emma felt the loss. She wanted him touching her again, she wanted him closer. It didn’t matter how dangerous and idiotic it was, she needed it.
She didn’t say a thing.
Calisto moved beside her, and put a tiny gift box about the size of her palm on the counter.
“Better I give it to you now,” he said. “No one else will understand.”
“Your gift is under the tree. The girls picked it out with me.”
She hoped he liked the black rosary with its silver cross and chain. It reminded her of the one he had given to her. He had yet to ask for it back.
She made sure to touch it at least once a day.
Calisto smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind. Open it, and then don’t let anyone see it.”
Without another word, Calisto caught Emma’s chin between his forefinger and thumb, and pressed a fast kiss to her lips. Before she could react to his kiss, he was leaving the kitchen with a two finger wave.
Stolen moments.
Calisto couldn’t possibly know, but Emma clung onto each one.
Every single time.
Shooting the kitchen entryway a look, Emma listened to make sure no one was coming back from the living room. She quickly opened the top of the gift box, and froze in place as she saw the small item nestled inside black velvet.
A casino chip. From the casino where her penthouse had once been. Where Calisto played her right off a poker table with his cocky as hell grin.
The white chip was embossed with golden dots all around the outer rim. The casino’s logo was emblazoned on the middle along with the dollar value.
It was a little thing.
A stupid thing.
And she loved it.
Emma laughed under her breath, amused and overwhelmed at the same time. She plucked the chip out of the velvet case with trembling fingers. Her vision blurred as she blinked away the sudden tears gathering in her eyes.
Somehow, Calisto had either kept a chip from his time in Vegas, or he got one sent to him.
It didn’t matter.
It meant the same thing to her.
His time there had been important enough for him to want to keep something from it. His time with her had been important to him.
Emma held the chip tighter, hiding it in her palm.
The simplest things were the best kind of things.