Donati Bloodlines: The Complete Trilogy

by Bethany-Kris

  It made him fucking ache.

  Calisto kissed a path over her high cheekbone to her ear, feeling all the little tremors rocking through her frame. He blindly smacked at the door until he found the latch and locked it. He drove his hand down her side and over her stomach. It was smooth again—toned like the rest of her tight body.

  His cock hardened under his jeans, demanding he do something to satisfy it. The only thing he could do was drive his pelvis into Emma’s when she opened her legs wider to let him press against her until it was just them and the fucking door.

  “Kiss me again,” she said, her lips wet and red.

  Calisto let out a shaky sigh. “I shouldn’t.”

  “You already did it once. I want you to do it again. Kiss me, Calisto.”

  He wanted to.

  Fuck, did he ever want to.

  “Your driver is waiting,” he muttered, still watching her red lips. “We’re supposed to be having lunch, or you’re supposed to be coming to get me for lunch. Remember?”

  “I’ll take it from you again,” she warned. “And you won’t say no—you can’t tell me no.”

  Calisto didn’t refuse her when she said it like that.

  She was right, after all.

  She’d figured out his secret.

  Pinned against the door with her right leg wrapped around his to keep him against her, Emma tipped her head back and bared her teeth. She was sexy as hell, and she didn’t even realize how dangerous it was for him.

  For her, too.

  Calisto kissed her again, harder the second time. Deeper when his tongue swept her lips in a silent order for her to open for him. She did, shaking when his tongue dove into her mouth, and struck hard against hers. She pulled him closer; Calisto responded by weaving his fingers even tighter into her hair.

  If she felt the sting, he’d be happy.

  She’d still feel it later, too.

  Damn.

  He wanted her to feel it.

  When he wasn’t there, she needed to feel it.

  Emma

  “How was your day, sweetheart?”

  Emma looked up from her plate to find Affonso watching her at the other end of the table. His cold eyes bore into hers, asking a million and one questions without even saying a word. She could easily become trapped in Affonso’s schemes. He pretended like he cared, like he wanted her to be better and happier, but he didn’t really give a shit at all.

  What Affonso really wanted was for Emma to put her mask back on. He wanted his stupid, simple wife back. The one who didn’t question him and woke up on time in the mornings. He needed his wife to paint her face pretty, hide the stains from her tears with smiles, and cover the puffiness with wide-framed sunglasses.

  He just wanted his doll back.

  She liked his anger better than his fake concern.

  At least when Affonso was angry, Emma could deal with him. She could give it back tenfold. Her argumentative side could come out to play, and her husband never backed down from a good challenge. But when he pretended like he cared, it just pissed her off.

  Yet she couldn’t say a thing then.

  Affonso wasn’t looking to fight, after all.

  “It was good,” Emma said as she cut her steak into small bites.

  “Carter said you went out for lunch.”

  “I did.”

  “Where?” her husband asked.

  “I suspect you already know, Affonso.”

  He smiled. “I do. Calisto has a good restaurant.”

  “It had good food,” Emma agreed.

  And the owner was to die for.

  Literally.

  Emma dropped her husband’s gaze, hoping he wouldn’t see the truths she was hiding in her vague words. She had a hard time pushing aside the memory of Calisto’s mouth on hers as he pushed her harder into the office door while his hands drove up the skirt of her dress. They hadn’t had the time for much—the kissing and his quick, hot touches hadn’t been enough.

  She still couldn’t forget it.

  “I’m surprised he made time to eat,” Affonso said. “All Calisto ever does is work.”

  “He made time,” she said simply, offering nothing else.

  Certainly not how Calisto’s hand had found her bare thigh under the table as he discussed some issue with her enforcer just two feet away. She wouldn’t dream of telling Affonso how she’d let Calisto feel her up while she downed a glass of wine.

  “But he got called away,” Emma said. “So it didn’t last very long.”

  Somehow, she managed to keep the heat out of her tone. It was a goddamn miracle.

  Affonso raised a brow. “That may have been my fault. Something came up and he was the best man to handle it. How about tomorrow night?”

  Emma looked up from her plate again. “What about tomorrow night?”

  “I have Ray coming over for dinner with his wife. I’ll invite Calisto, too. Make up for interrupting your lunch today.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat, confused.

  Affonso had no reason to suspect that there was anything going on between her and his nephew. Emma surely hadn’t given the man a reason to believe something of the sort, and as far as she knew, neither had Calisto.

  Yet, there Affonso was, offering to bring a man into their home. Family, sure, but a man.

  Emma’s husband was terribly jealous. Affonso had no issue with telling men to back off his wife if he thought they were getting too close. He certainly didn’t mind reprimanding Emma if he believed she had done something wrong, even if it was as innocent as talking to a stranger.

  “Why?” Emma asked quietly.

  Affonso shrugged. “Why not?”

  That wasn’t a real answer.

  Emma didn’t trust her husband. Not with a fucking inch.

  “I didn’t know we were having people over for dinner tomorrow. Isn’t the Thanksgiving dinner in two weeks going to be busy enough for us?” she asked.

  Affonso waved a hand like it didn’t matter. “I have Ray over all the time. You’ve only met his wife twice since we married. You should make a friend.”

  Emma didn’t think so. She wasn’t fond of her husband’s underboss, or the man’s wife. Lola Missotti was spoiled rotten to her core, and plastic all over. And for every implant and injection the woman sported, Lola’s personality rang just as fake.

  “You didn’t ask me,” Emma said. “What if I don’t want to have dinner tomorrow with Ray and Calisto?”

  “It’s isn’t about what you want, sweetheart. It’s never been about you.”

  She should have known that.

  Right at that moment, Emma believed she knew exactly why her husband didn’t mind that she had spent time with Calisto without Affonso being present. It was the same reason why she had sought Calisto out earlier in the day.

  Calisto cared about her.

  Affonso knew it, too.

  Calisto was the only person who had helped Emma when she lost her second child. It was Calisto who had continued to come around time and time again to make sure she was okay. No doubt, he probably asked after her when she wasn’t around.

  It was innocent enough.

  Family worrying over family.

  Affonso likely thought that his nephew’s closeness to Emma was yet another way to reel Calisto in again so that he could manipulate him. The same way Affonso had tried to bring Calisto closer when Emma’s second pregnancy was first announced.

  Only that time, it hadn’t worked.

  Emma stared at the knife in her hands, unsure in her heart. She didn’t want to question Affonso on her thoughts and draw his suspicion or jealousies out.

  “I’m sure Calisto won’t mind dropping whatever it is he has to do tomorrow night,” Affonso said, spinning the wine in his glass.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Affonso smiled, but it came off cold. “I would. That’s the thing about being the boss, Emma. I get the say on who does what. Besides, I don’t think he’ll mind. Seems y
ou’ve turned into another one of my children for him.”

  Emma dropped the knife in her hand. “What?”

  “He concerns himself with your welfare. It’s the same thing he does with my children. Somehow, you’ve gotten on his radar. I don’t mind. That’s just one more person keeping an eye on you.”

  Affonso essentially confirmed Emma’s beliefs without her even needing to ask a thing. She wasn’t the least bit surprised.

  “And since he’s family, I can trust Cal,” Affonso added. “He might hate me, but the man wouldn’t betray me. It’s hard to find people I can trust lately, if you know what I mean.”

  Jesus Christ.

  Emma let out a slow breath, willing her inner war to calm. “Whatever you say, Affonso.”

  Her husband smiled again. She returned it, but it wasn’t real.

  Affonso had no idea what he was doing by putting Calisto in Emma’s path like he was. She certainly wasn’t going to be the one who explained it.

  She still remembered the hands under her dress from earlier. She couldn’t forget the kiss that took her breath away or the taste of vodka on Calisto’s tongue.

  No, she wouldn’t explain it to her husband.

  She would just take advantage.

  What was the difference?

  Affonso had certainly used her.

  “Again.”

  A trickle of heat slid down Emma’s spine at Calisto’s dark, heady words whispering in her ear. Her fingers ached all of the sudden, and she had to stop herself from reaching behind and grabbing Calisto to bring him closer. To get away from those dangerous thoughts, Emma put her fingers back on the ivory keys at the right position and bent them as she had been taught, and then played another round of scales.

  “Quicker next time,” Calisto murmured.

  Emma shook her head, amused at his teaching. She did as he asked.

  “I’m not nearly as good as you, Cal,” Emma said. “You play.”

  “No. I try not to play for Affonso.”

  Emma shot a cautious look in her husband’s direction. Affonso was thoroughly engrossed in the drink in his hand and the man at his side. Ray and Affonso bent their heads together before laughter erupted from the other side of the room. Ray’s wife had gone in search of another bottle of wine. Emma had somehow managed to make it through the dinner with her smile plastered on, but barely.

  “They’re drunk,” Calisto said as he sat down beside her on the piano bench. “Move over a little.”

  “My ass isn’t that big. You’ve got lots of room.”

  “I know exactly the size of your ass, bella. That’s not why I asked you to move over.”

  Emma’s cheeks pinked, but she moved all the same. “There.”

  “Good, now …”

  Calisto grabbed her left hand and moved it under his right arm. His left hand was just a few keys beyond hers, while her right hand was just beyond his. Like this, she could plainly see the new ink he had gotten done on his forearm, wrist, and palm. The rosary was intricate in detail, and each little black bead had swirls inside the middle, drawing her gaze in every direction it could. She had noticed a piece of the tattoo yesterday when they ate, but he had been wearing his suit jacket. Now, he had his jacket off and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows.

  “When did you have that done?” Emma asked.

  “Shortly after I gave you the rosary I had,” he answered.

  Emma flipped over Calisto’s hand, wanting to see what the length of rosary beads led to. A woven cross had been tattooed inside his palm. “It’s very pretty.”

  “I wasn’t exactly going for pretty, dolcezza.”

  “What were you going for?”

  Calisto smiled gently. “A memorial of sorts for myself. Maybe I’ll explain it better someday. Now, we’re supposed to be practicing the piano together. Play it again, and I’ll do the same but on a different key.”

  “I thought you didn’t play for Affonso,” she teased.

  “He hates the scales.”

  Emma muffled her laughter into Calisto’s shoulder. “Okay, then.”

  “We’ll do this like a round robin,” Calisto told her. “You start.”

  She did as he asked, and a few seconds into her scales, he began to play, too. It was still the same old boring notes, but it was better with two. It made it less routine in a way.

  “Play something for me,” Emma said when they finished.

  Calisto chewed on his inner cheek. “Don’t make a habit of asking, huh?”

  Emma shrugged.

  She would try.

  “I’m not promising anything,” she said.

  Calisto chuckled. The sound rocked Emma straight to her core. She had been careful around him all night. She didn’t cross any lines like the day before. Calisto barely acted like anything had happened, and he didn’t bring a single thing up to her about it all. He was polite and well-mannered, as always.

  But when he looked at her …

  When no one else was watching …

  It was entirely different.

  “You should know this one,” Calisto said.

  His fingers hit the keys, and it was fucking beautiful. Emma felt her smile grow as a familiar melody began to flow from the piano.

  “Third movement,” she said. “Moonlight. Sonata.”

  Calisto nodded, but his fingers never stopped. He didn’t miss a single note, and Emma couldn’t stop watching his hands dance over the keys like it was second nature. She remembered him saying that he didn’t train often anymore. That he rarely played.

  He couldn’t possibly be telling the truth.

  He was too good—too practiced.

  Emma’s gaze moved from Calisto’s hands to his face. His strong jaw was dotted with a few days’ worth of stubble, hardening his already sharp appearance. His lips curved into a wicked smirk as the notes came faster, harder. He tilted his head to the side, his grin deepened, and his fingers never missed a key.

  Not one.

  “As much as I hate it,” he said too low for anyone else in the room to hear. “I do love it.”

  Emma didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing at all.

  She let the music sing instead.

  It spoke far better than she could.

  “My mother loved this one,” Calisto said, still watching Emma. “She never could get through it all without stumbling near the middle of the piece, but she said she didn’t have the fingers for it.”

  He clearly did.

  Emma smiled. “Did you ever play it for her?”

  “A few times.”

  “She must have loved that, Cal.”

  Calisto didn’t answer. He went back to the piano and finished the piece strong and wonderful. He didn’t even turn to look at Affonso and Ray who had started clapping the moment the music ended.

  Emma was still watching Calisto.

  “She did love it,” he said.

  “Good.”

  “But so did he. And I stopped playing for her because he was always around those last few months. I couldn’t give her what she wanted without giving him what he wanted.”

  Emma frowned. She didn’t understand what Calisto was talking about, but she got the gist. It still didn’t explain the whole story, she knew. He was still hiding something.

  “You didn’t have to play.”

  Calisto’s hand dropped down from the keys. Being side by side like they were, no one could see his fingers dance over hers on top of her lap. It was sweet enough to make her breath catch. Calisto’s gaze never left hers.

  “I did,” he said. “Because you asked me to, Emmy.”

  Oh.

  “Thank you for putting up with the noise tonight, Sherry,” Emma said to the cook.

  Sherry smiled her toothy grin. “Ah, it’s no problem. I’m just happy to see you doing something other than sitting around, Mrs. Donati.”

  Emma made a face. “How long is it going to take before you just call me Emma?”

  “A
little while longer.”

  “Too bad. Mrs. Donati makes me feel like I’m—”

  “Your husband’s age?”

  “Yeah,” Emma said, laughing under her breath.

  “Maybe I’ll drop it a little sooner then.”

  “I’d appreciate it. Affonso wanted me to let you know that you could clear the library anytime. He moved into his office with Ray, I think. I don’t know, they’re pretty …” Emma trailed off, tipping her thumb up to her lips to mimic drinking. “You know.”

  “Drunk?” the cook asked.

  “Very. I’ll probably grab my book from the library and head up to bed before he gets anymore livelier.”

  Sherry winked. “That’d be a smart thing to do. I’ll go down and clear out the library in a few minutes.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  Emma was just outside the library when raucous laughter echoed out behind the closed oak doors across the hall from Affonso’s office.

  “What did you do with your wife?” she heard Affonso ask.

  “Ah, I sent her home with the driver. He’ll come back and get me later. The more she drinks, the louder she is. Hopefully, by the time I get home, she’ll be too drunk to notice that I’m in the next room with the maid. God, that one … she can suck like a fucking hoover.”

  Affonso roared with laughter.

  Emma cringed at both men’s crudeness.

  “You’re playing with fire, Ray,” Affonso said through bouts chuckles. “I had that fight with my first wife and a maid she picked. She won; the maid left.”

  Ray burst into laughter, saying, “Was it worth it, though?”

  “More than. She was such a slut under that uniform, I couldn’t help myself. My wife forgave me after a while. How do you think that trip to Cancun came about that year?”

  “Ah. I thought that was random.”

  “It never is,” Affonso muttered.

  Ugh.

  Emma felt sick.

  “Unfortunately, Cancun didn’t take care of the whole problem. I have another thirteen years before it’ll go away.”

  Ray coughed and sputtered like he’d swallowed a drink wrong. “Really?”

  “Mmhmm,” Affonso hummed. “She named her Trista. She’s got the Donati eyes. I swear to God, every kid that I had, came into the world with those black-brown eyes. I can’t get out of it when they come out looking like that.”