Thin Lines (Donati Bloodlines Book 2) (16 page)

She was hot all over. Breathless already. Trembling in
her thighs.

It made him fucking high.

“But it is bad,” she said from above as she rode him.
“We are, Cal. All of this is.”

“I still don’t care, Emmy.”  

Her gaze found his.

“Me, either.”

Calisto couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at his
lover when he woke up alone in bed the next morning. Emma still had to play her
part. She couldn’t be with him in the morning while her husband slept off his
drinking, one floor down.

It still burned Calisto from the inside out.

It wasn’t her fault.

Calisto made the choice, after all. He’d chosen her. He
had allowed himself to become attached to and love someone who wasn’t free. The
consequence of that was a heavy heart, a cold morning, and an empty bed.

His pain was by his own cause.

But it was his choice to make.

Emma was worth it.

Simple as that.

Calisto made sure to get up and get out of the house
before Affonso stumbled his drunk ass out of bed.

There would be another time.

Emma said it.

Calisto would make sure of it.

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.”