Thin Lies (Donati Bloodlines #1) (7 page)

“Oh,
now that is lovely,” Minnie exclaimed.

Emma
cringed at the high volume of her mother’s voice. She hid her reaction by
turning to face the mirror and making sure her fake smile was plastered back on
when she met her reflection.

“Really,
Mom. You think this is lovely?” Emma asked.

She
didn’t even bother to hide her disdain.

The
princess-style ball gown was big enough to hide four grown men under the skirt.
It swept the floor like the bottom of a swinging bell when she moved even the
slightest bit. A sleeveless, sweetheart cut neckline showcased her neck and
collarbones. Nothing was holding the dress up but for the corset in the back
nearly choking her to death.

The
dress had a mixture of crystals, pearls, and other beadwork that covered the
skirt and bodice. Emma couldn’t look this way or that way without seeing a
cascade of colors glaring off a window, mirror, or wall.

The
damn thing would blind somebody.

“Well,
it is a little too white,” her mother muttered.

Emma
glanced up at the ceiling, praying silently.
God, give me the fucking
strength …
 

It
didn’t help.

“White,
Mom? That’s the problem?” Emma asked.

“You
have to wear off-white. You know why. And also, ivory is a terrible color on
you.”

“Mom,
this dress is ugly.”

“It
is not, Emmy!”

“It
looks like something a beauty queen puked up with her last meal.”

Minnie
pursed her lips, clearly unhappy with Emma’s reaction. “See, this is why I
wanted you to come dress shopping. Your tastes are very different from mine.”

Emma
held back from snorting.

Different
was one way to put it. Her mother believed the bigger something was, the better
it would be.

No
doubt, her mother had set it in her head to convince Emma on this sort of
style. Honestly, the little shoe horn with the pointy handle hanging off the
wall looked like a good instrument to inflict a deadly enough wound to get
herself out of this hell.

Emma
did smile that time.

Calisto
was right.

She
was a little dramatic.

Emma
waved at the skirt of the dress. “Less pouf, Mom. Less beads and shiny things.
I want sleeves, capped at least. Something to make me feel like my tits aren’t
going to pop out and give everyone a show when I bend over.”

“Emma,”
her mother scolded. “Your mouth, my God.”

“Ask
the woman to find another dress. This one isn’t it.”

Minnie
scowled. “Fine. But it does look nice.”

“If
I were a debutant on show, it would be perfect.”

“Now
you’re starting to offend me, Emmy.”

Her
mother had been a debutant from a well-to-do political family that had a hand
in a crime syndicate down south. Minnie had met Emma’s father during college
when George had gone down south for business under his father’s request.
Twenty-five years in Vegas had cured most of Minnie’s southern quirks and
verbal expressions, but an occasional “bless your heart” still slipped through
with just the right amount of sarcasm behind it.

“Fine.
I’m sorry. It’s a beautiful dress,” Emma said. “But not for me.”

“You’re
not sorry,” Minnie muttered, still staring longingly at the gown. “Another one,
then?”

“Something
different this time. Not something you want to wear, Mom.”

Minnie
conceded with a huff. Pushing up from the couch, her mother disappeared out of
the private sitting area, likely to find the woman who owned the shop again and
search for another gown. With her mother out of sight, Emma’s frustrations grew
all over again at the situation she was currently in.

Dress
shopping.

For
her
wedding gown.

A
wedding happening soon.

“Yes,
George,” Minnie said as she came around the corner with a phone pressed to her
ear and no dress in hand. She waved at her daughter and pointed to the phone
like Emma was supposed to know what in the hell was going on. With her mother
and father, it could be anything. The two got off on their occasional spats. It
was kind of unnerving. “I told you, I left the goddamn ticket on your—”

Minnie’s
words cut off as her gaze narrowed. “Don’t you yell at me, George, just because
you can’t find the stupid ticket for your dry-cleaning. I know where you sleep,
you fucking pig. Keep it up.”

“Oh,
my God,” Emma groaned, rubbing at her temples.

A
headache began to throb there all of the sudden. This was exactly why Emma kept
a distance between herself and her parents. Sometimes, their nonsense was
overwhelming. How the two had stayed married for almost three decades, she
didn’t know.

Her
mother was pushy and spoiled. Her father was a bastard with a superiority
complex. Yet, the two seemingly adored one another.

“Sweet
Jesus, George, you are hopeless. Utterly hopeless,” Minnie said, sighing. “I
will go get your suit and bring it to you. Thank you for ruining this day for
me. I was so looking forward to this.”

For
her
.

Emma
didn’t miss her mother’s words. She wished they weren’t true, but she knew they
were. Her mother had pushed and wanted this dress shopping day far more than
Emma. Minnie had her hand in planning the wedding from afar. Minnie was looking
forward to it all.

Emma
was ready to cut tail and run.

As
fast as she fucking could.

If
only …  

“Emma,
dear, we’ll have to cut this short,” Minnie said, drawing Emma from her
thoughts.

Relief
flooded Emma.

The
headache ebbed away.

“No
problem, Mom,” Emma replied.

“Dinner
tonight?”

The
hopefulness on her mother’s face kept Emma from refusing. Despite the
strangeness around her parents and their sometimes difficult personalities, she
did love her mother … and even her father.

“Sure,”
Emma said. “At your home or somewhere else?”

“I’ll
wrangle George into getting us a table at the Grand.”

“Perfect.”

“You
know,” her mother started to say, glancing around at the gowns in bags and the
others hanging off the wall. “Emma, you could try a few on just by yourself. I
know you’re not exactly excited for—”

“Not
even a little bit.”

Minnie
nodded. “I know. But you have a duty, as your father has explained so much that
my ears hurt just hearing the damned word. Nonetheless, you could, Emmy. Try on
a few alone. Maybe you’ll find something in here that you like—something to
make all of this worth it. Hmm?”

Emma
doubted it.

She
still agreed to appease her mother.

Once
Minnie was gone again, it was just Emma alone in the private sitting room. She
wondered where the lady that was helping her get in and out of the dresses had
gone. More than anything, Emma suddenly wanted to rip the one she was currently
wearing off. Just getting another glimpse at it in the mirror was enough to
make her sick.

The
chiffon … silk … crystals …  

Emma
blinked.

A
church, an aisle, and flower petals filled her vision. Quiet music, a waiting
priest, and a man with his hand out, waiting to take hers.

A
man she didn’t want.

Emma
didn’t realize she was having a panic attack until her throat tightened to the
point where she couldn’t breathe. She turned away from the mirror, unable to
look at the dress or herself for another second for fear of throwing up the breakfast
and lunch she had eaten.

Jesus.

Where
was that goddamn woman?

She
needed the dress off right now.

Right
the hell now
.

Slipping
on the too long skirt of the gown, Emma stumbled off the slightly raised
platform. She managed to catch herself, but not before a sob caught in the back
of her throat. Tears welled in her eyes without her permission, promising a
breakdown was close by.

Damn
it.

She
had done so well.

She’d
not cried yet.

It
wouldn’t do any good.

Hot
tears escaped as she fumbled with the back of the corset on the dress,
desperately trying to find the ties to undo them even a little bit.

Just
enough to take a breath.

She
only needed the
one
.

How
was she supposed to get married if she couldn’t even wear a wedding dress
without having a panic attack?

Emma
was fucked.

She
knew it.

Calisto

“
Zio
,”
Calisto greeted respectfully the moment he answered his ringing cell phone.

“Calisto,”
Affonso replied, sounding more chipper than usual. “You know, my boy, you could
always drop the pretense when I call and address me the way we both want you
to.”

“As
in, ‘Afternoon, asshole’?”

Affonso
grunted under his breath. “Hey, now.”

“I’ll
stick with uncle,” Calisto said, dismissing the entire conversation with four
words.

“Such
a shame. You could save me all the trouble and heartache in the world if you
would simply just—”

“Are
we going to do this again today?” Calisto asked. “I thought Vegas was supposed
to be a break from me. Wasn’t that what you said? You would be happy to put
some distance between you and I for a while. You’re contradicting yourself,
zio
,
and we’re not even in the same goddamn state as you’re doing it.”

“Watch
it.”

Two
quickly spoken, angry words were enough to check Calisto’s attitude. Regardless
of his feelings toward his uncle, the man was still his boss. Despite the way
Calisto had entered Cosa Nostra, under false pretenses and years of lies spoon-fed
to him, he’d spoken an oath and he intended to keep it.

Respect.

Honor.

A
boss is a boss is a
boss
.

Even
if a man despises that boss.

“My
apologies,” Calisto said, the words practically choking him on the way out.

“Thank
you.” Affonso sighed heavily before saying, “I did think a break would benefit
us both, Cal. I hoped you would see how much respect and clout has been
practically handed to you simply by having you grow up under my wing, carrying
the Donati name, and taking a proper position in the family. Vegas isn’t even
New York, my boy, but look at how they treat you like a prince just waiting to
take his throne. Imagine how much more you could have if you would only forget
about past mistakes and move onto the future.”

“Mistakes.”

“Well,
yes.”

“
Mistakes
,”
Calisto repeated, spitting the word through his teeth. “Is that what you want
to call what happened?”

Affonso
didn’t answer at first. When he did, he changed direction entirely. “This was
not what I called you for today, Cal. Once again, you’re getting stuck on
things that used to be instead of focusing on what could be.”

Calisto’s
irritation jumped a notch. “You brought it up first.”

“And
now I’m dropping it.”

“I
wish you would leave it that way, uncle.”

Calisto
knew damn well that nothing irked Affonso more than when he reminded the man of
what he was to him. Not a friend, father figure, or much else. Simply his
uncle.

“You
could make a fantastic boss, Calisto,” Affonso said, his tone gentler than ever
before. “It is right there at your fingertips. You could take it without even
giving me what I want, my boy. Don’t you see that at all?”

“I
would have taken it,” Calisto replied quietly. “I would have followed your pack
of lies to the very end. Whatever you wanted, I would have done for you. Not
now,
zio
.
You
want me to be the boss.
You
want me to run
your
family. It’s what you want
me
to do. And because it’s what you want, I
don’t want it at all.”

“I
indulged you too much,” Affonso muttered heavily.

“No,
you lied to me. There’s a difference.”

“You
and I … it’s a sad thing, Cal.”

“So
be it,
zio
.”

Affonso
let out a grumble. “Did she enjoy her gift today?”

Calisto
fought the urge to roll his eyes. Affonso’s plan of bribing Emma into
compliance with gifts of all sorts was doing little but reminding the girl of
someone she didn’t want to be. Even Calisto, with his usual disregard for other
people’s feelings, could clearly see Emma’s issues.

The
young woman had already been spoiled by a man—her father. And that same man
turned on her, feeding her to a wolf like Affonso the first chance he could.
Emma was not going to allow Affonso to trick her the same way her father had
once done.

“Well?”
Affonso demanded.

“She
got the spa documents this morning with her breakfast, as far as I know. I had
the casino add it on top of her cart as it was wheeled into the penthouse.”

Today’s
gift had featured a spa of sorts that Affonso had purchased a year or so ago.
He had apparently asked for his lawyer to change the ownership documents to
reflect Emma’s name as the other side of a minority shareholder in the
business.

Most
women would probably love the idea of free spa days, owning their own business,
or simply just the gift itself. Calisto didn’t believe that Emma was like most
women. She could probably see the gift for what it was. Another way for Affonso
to keep an eye on her, to control her, and for him to take something else away,
should she misbehave.

“She
did get it,” Calisto said again.

“That
tells me nothing, Cal.”

“I
wasn’t inside the room. Do you want me to spend evenings in her place?”

Affonso
grew deadly quiet. “You’re toeing a very thin line at the moment.”

“I
don’t have much else to tell you. She didn’t mention it when we did talk
earlier.”

“Earlier?
What were you doing with her earlier that you had time for a conversation?”

Another
contradiction.

Affonso’s
jealousy was showing. The man despised anyone coming close to his women, in any
respect. He could be violent toward men who he considered had crossed a line
with one of his mistresses or … well, his wife. But it wasn’t like Calisto
could find out if Emma enjoyed her latest gift—bribe—without talking to the
woman.

Calisto
didn’t bother to point it out to his uncle. “I was having a smoke when she finally
got out of her car to meet her mother. I wanted to make sure she was feeling up
to the day, I guess.”

“What
are they doing?”

“Looking
at wedding dresses.”

And
likely wishing for a black hole to appear so she could disappear forever
, Calisto held
back from adding.

Maybe
Emma wasn’t the only one who could drudge up the most dramatic bullshit at the
drop of a hat. Calisto wondered if he should lay off the girl.

“No
princess-y garbage,” Affonso said suddenly.

Calisto
rubbed at the spot between his eyes as an ache started to form behind his
skull. “What?”

“Those
big, awful dresses that takes three people to get a woman in and out of a car,
never mind through a fucking door. They may look nice on a mannequin, but I can
assure you they are hell in a bedroom when you just want to get the terrible
thing off.”

Again,
what?

“Is
there a point to this?” Calisto asked.

“
Sì
,
make sure she doesn’t pick a dress like that. If she does, I am holding you
personally accountable for it. I hate those.
Cose brute
.”

Wonderful.

Just
fucking perfect.

Hedging
on the line he knew better than to cross, Calisto dared to say, “Isn’t it
supposed to be her choice, as it’s
her
day and all that jazz?”

“Hers.”
Affonso scoffed. “Another pile of garbage to wade through. I’m paying for it,
Cal. The wedding, the things her mother wants, and even the dress she’s buying
today. It’s coming from my bank account. The least they can do is provide me
with easier access on the wedding night.”

Jesus
Christ.

That
was ten shades of wrong.

All
wrong
.

Emma
was more than just a wedding night—more than easy access. She was young, sure,
but anyone with two eyes and a half of a brain could see the woman was unhappy,
worried, and anxious about what was still to come. Couldn’t Affonso see that,
too? Couldn’t the man make the transition a little less painful by allowing
Emma her own choices, or even a little more time?

People
had to see she wasn’t ready for this nonsense to happen. 

Like
her wedding night …  

With
Affonso
.

Calisto
didn’t like how his entire body seemed to want to recoil against that
realization. Like he didn’t even want to think the words because that would
somehow make it true. Bile filled his throat, but he swallowed his disgust and
the sickness back down. What else could he do?

Emma
wasn’t his to protect.

Her
feelings couldn’t bleed into him.

It
would do him no good.

“Make
sure she picks something beautiful, but simple and easy to remove,” Affonso said,
bringing Calisto from his thoughts.

He
didn’t want to speak.

He
didn’t have another option.

“Whatever
you need,
zio
.”

Calisto
hung up the call just as Minnie Sorrento stormed from the dress shop, sporting
a scowl that could rival even the devil’s. Without so much as a glance in
Calisto’s direction, the woman scuttled across the street and jumped into a
white Lexus. Tires squealed as Minnie took off.

Maybe
Emma had thrown a fit after all.

It
was the very last thing he wanted to do, but Calisto stepped up on the sidewalk
and made a beeline for the dress shop. He hadn’t been inside one before. Not a
wedding dress shop, specifically. Pulling open the door, shades of white
trimmed with lace, beads, and glittering panels assaulted his eyes.

Stepping
in further, Calisto noticed a mid-thirties, heavy-set woman with large-framed
glasses chatting on a phone at the desk. She didn’t see him as he looked the place
over. Dresses hung from hangers and poles on every wall. Shoes, veils, and
matching clutches had been displayed in glass cases.

Good
God.

This
was hell.

A
crinoline, silk, and satin-walled
hell
.

Toward
the back of the shop, Calisto took a hallway directing customers to dressing
rooms and sitting areas. It wasn’t long before he found Emma.

A
dress that was big enough to be a house was the first thing to catch his eye.
The second was Emma. Tears streaked down the young woman’s cheeks as she
stumbled over the layers and layers of crinoline. She grappled for the back of
the dress, failing to grab the ties at the bottom of the tightly woven corset.
She didn’t notice him in the doorway of the private sitting room, but her panic
was as clear as day.

What
had caused her to react like this?

More
tears spilled as another sob echoed. Emma tried to reach for the ties again,
and managed to get one free. She still couldn’t loosen the back of the dress
quickly enough for her satisfaction, apparently. She grabbed at the sweetheart
neckline and yanked for all she was worth. It looked like she was trying to rip
the damn dress right off her body.

“Jesus
Christ,” Emma mumbled. “I want this
off
.”

Her
voice, heavy with pain and anxiety, struck Calisto in the chest like a hot
knife slicing through butter. She probably didn’t think anyone was watching her
breakdown happen, and she likely wouldn’t want him to step in and help her.

Calisto
couldn’t help but move forward with his hands outstretched to soothe Emma. It
was like some kind of fucking cord had suddenly wrapped itself around his
middle and tugged hard, making him step over the threshold, around the white
leather couch, and closer to the woman with her smeared makeup, her mussed
hair, and her pain shattering all over a hardwood floor.

No
one should cry like she was doing. No one should hurt like that. Hell, it made
him ache just to see it.

Calisto
figured that Emma’s reasons for her emotional collapse wasn’t all that
important for the moment. Getting her calm, comfortable, and breathing normally
again was what needed doing before anything else could get better.