Thin Lives (Donati Bloodlines #3) (28 page)

That was something Calisto could thank his mother for doing where he was concerned. Had she left his raising mostly up to Affonso, there was no telling how he would have turned out.

Terribly, likely.

Worse than he was. And as it was, Calisto already felt like a monster.

Did love justify suffering?

Would it ever justify pain?

Calisto wasn’t sure that fixing mistakes and giving futures that would have been otherwise lonely and obsolete was enough to make up for the suffering.

But he had chosen this path—it was the right one for him. Emma, his son, and his
famiglia
… how could it be wrong?

As someone had once told him, he would find his way back to the right path eventually, but it would be a journey to get there.

Calisto sincerely hoped the worst of it was over.

“I’m sorry.”

The soft statement took Calisto by surprise as he turned fast on his heel to find Emma standing in the doorway of the spare bedroom. She hugged her middle tightly, and kept her gaze on the floor.

“You know I hate that, don’t you?” he asked.

Emma glanced up at him. “Hate what?”

“When you do that—act like you can’t look at me, or that I won’t want to see you for whatever reason. It’s almost like every man in your life has made it his job to make you feel some kind of worthless about yourself, and I fucking hate that.”

“I didn’t realize that’s how you see it.”

Calisto shrugged, and dropped the cotton T-shirt to the chair. He was going to get dressed for bed after his shower, but Emma had interrupted his process. He didn’t mind.

“There’s a lot of different sides to you, Emmy. And every time I look at you, I see a different one. There’s the housewife who never wears anything too bright, and her makeup and hair is always perfect. There’s the young woman who is still just stumbling into adulthood, and can sometimes be a little selfish and a brat. There’s the mob boss’s daughter, and the wife of a Don. I’ve seen the woman who’s taken a slap to the face, and the one who’s turned her cheek to awfulness.”

Calisto took a deep breath and continued, “I’ve seen the mother you wanted to be, the heartbroken mother who lost her babies, and the mother you are now. I’ve seen you as a friend, a wife, a daughter, a woman, and a lover. Sometimes it’s hard for me to pick the one I like the most. I love the Emma that wears red lipstick and smirks when she flips life off. I like the Emma that doesn’t care if her dresses are above her knees and if her heels are high enough to make me take another look. I love you, and you don’t need to be anybody else.”

Emma wet her lips, still keeping her arms locked around her middle like she was holding herself together. “You always say the right things.”

“I say honest things. They might not always be comfortable words, sometimes I’m too blunt, I know, but they are truthful. I will always give you the truth, Emma.”

“I’m still sorry,” she said, adding quickly, “for earlier, Cal. I know you were just trying to help and reassure me that Cross was fine if I left him, but I felt like such a fuck up. So I didn’t want to leave him again even for a second.”

“You’re not—that boy loves you, huh?”

“He better. I spent hours pushing him out.”

Calisto laughed hard and loud, needing the amusement to cleanse his soul. The hot shower and praying just hadn’t been enough to make him feel better, but Emma had done it with one single sentence. 

It wasn’t even the first time this woman had done that. Calisto was not the laughing type, but he could distinctly remember—and he was so grateful that he could remember them—times when her blunt crassness that seemed so out of character had stopped his over-thinking mind and forced him into a better, joyful place.

“Thank you,” Calisto said as he calmed.

Emma grinned, her arms falling to her sides. “For what?”

“Being you,
dolcezza.
Nothing more.”

“I love you, Cal.”

Silently, he held out a hand to her, drawing her closer until he could hug her tight, and hide her face into his chest. Closer was better. With Emma, closer would always be better. In his embrace, she trembled, but he just held her tighter.

It was over—all of the nightmares that kept her awake at night.

She could be loved the way she should have been from the start.

He could do that for her.

Calisto cupped her cheeks, wiped away the tear streaks, and kissed away her frown until a beautiful smile bloomed. “I love you, Emmy.”

He had never spoken truer words.

He probably never would again.

Five months later …

“Well, boss, what of it?” Wolf asked.

Calisto gave his right-hand man a small smile, but his attention was on the baby boy in his lap. “Everything is perfectly fine, man.”

“Fine as in you have it handled, or fine as in you will handle it?”

Honestly, Calisto wasn’t sure.

It was a big step.

One he’d worked his people and men into slowly.

Emma, that was.

And whatever relationship he wanted to have with her.

Calisto’s only goal was to make sure his lover was safe from judgment and shame after the story circulated of her husband running off with his only word of doing so being the divorce papers he left behind. Emma needed someone to care for her, her son, and her home. He was the one to do that, and while it looked innocent enough, that didn’t stop people from talking.

He couldn’t have that.

And so, he’d worked into it all with care. Never staying the night, always being appropriate and respectful in front of others, and never allowing even the slightest hint of affection to be shown toward Emma from him when they were in public.

Then, those things had started to change. He stayed the night, he took her out, and he allowed people to talk.

To an extent.

Now, Calisto had a choice to make—a big one.

“I have a few months,” Calisto said.

“The Commission is a stickler for rules.”

Calisto blew out a quiet breath, knowing Wolf was right. The Commission—a group of North American crime syndicates that made up a ruling table of bosses—would be meeting soon, and it would be Calisto’s first time attending. To be considered for a seat at the table as Affonso had once been, he needed to do one simple thing.

Have a wife.

He only wanted Emma, but Calisto wondered …

Was it too soon?

Would it cause a problem?

Did he even care if it did?

“Wake up,” Calisto murmured against Emma’s neck.

She mumbled something unintelligible, giggling into her pillow when his fingers tickled up her side under the covers. She was naked—all soft, warm skin under his fingertips.

Christ.

He loved her like that first thing in the morning.

“Where is—”

“Cross is still sleeping—heavily, I might add.”

Emma sunk further into the bed, sighing happily when Calisto’s hand sneaked in between her thighs to stroke her bare sex.

Hot.

Wet.

Tight.

Her pussy took two of his fingers in knuckle deep without protest, and her long, hard moan muffled into the pillow. Calisto couldn’t have her doing that—hiding her face and sounds. He liked them too damn much to let her keep them from him.

“No, no,” Calisto said, chuckling. “I want to see your face while I’m fucking you with my fingers, Emmy. Roll over.”

He didn’t have to tell her again. She obeyed his request, tipping her head back on the pillow so her hair was out of the way and he had the best view of the pleasure washing over her features. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, and his name fell from her mouth as he curled his fingers on every thrust, hitting that one spot that was sure to make her wetter than ever, and shaking all over by the time he was done.

“Are you going to come?” he asked.

“God, yeah.”

“Will you ride me then?”

Emma laughed a breathless, sweet tune. “All morning, Calisto.”

Or … at least until their son woke up.

“Then come, because I really want you riding me right now,” he demanded.

Another brutal thrust of his fingers, and then his thumb sliding up to press into her throbbing little clit, and Emma was flying high. There were many things Calisto loved in his life—watching Emma pant and cry her way through an orgasm first thing in the morning was high on that list.

“There we are,” he whispered.

Calisto didn’t even give Emma the chance to recover, or finish riding out the waves of her bliss. He pulled her up from the sheets without warning, and right on top of his own body. Hovering above him, she trembled and breathed deep, her hands circling around the hard, thick base of his cock to steady his length as she lowered down.

Oh, yes.

Wet.

Hot.

Tight.

She fit him like a fucking glove. So perfect.

Every little flex of her inner muscles hugging his dick made him want to pull her down on him the rest of the way until he was buried balls deep into her pussy and couldn’t think of anything else.

Silently, Emma pulled Calisto’s hand up toward her mouth, the one he’d used to fuck her with. As she started a slow, grinding rhythm on top of him, she sucked his fingers clean of her come.

Wet, red lips.

Sly smile.

Messy, wavy hair.

Silky skin.

All he could do was watch her, watch him.

His breaths came out in staccato beat, matching every push of her pubic bone against his groin. She never really lifted off his body, just moved their bodies together fast and hard, her legs tightening around his waist. The delicate line of her shoulders swayed with her movements, and her hair tumbled down over her chest, covering her breasts. With the blanket pooled around their waists, all he could really do was watch her, and feel it all.

It was a slow burn.