Thin Lines (Donati Bloodlines Book 2)

by Bethany-Kris

  “Sì. But I feel like I’m late.”

  Because apparently that made all the difference.

  The Calabrese syndicate was the only other Cosa Nostra family ruling in New York besides the Donati and Marcello families. Affonso made an effort to sit down and chat with the boss of the Calabrese family at least three times a year to discuss business and whatever else. Affonso claimed it kept his friendship with Carl at a respectable level, while reminding both Dons’ families that there was no need for any territorial squabbles.

  “I’ll have Turner drive me,” Affonso said, glancing at Calisto. “Make sure that wife of mine is out of the bathroom in the next half hour, dressed respectably, and at that breakfast no later than a few minutes after it starts. I can excuse her for that long, surely. Any longer and Carl might take offence. This is her first sit-down with another family. The least she can do is follow my goddamn rules.”

  Affonso’s fury bounced off Calisto. It wasn’t unusual for his uncle to throw a temper tantrum.

  “I’m supposed to be at the breakfast, too,” Calisto said. “Why can’t Turner handle Emma this morning while I drive you, like we originally planned?”

  Calisto didn’t think Emma would appreciate him demanding shit from her first thing in the morning. He certainly didn’t need the trouble added onto his plate. Hell, he’d managed to stay away from her for three months.

  A little longer wouldn’t hurt. It might even help to get rid of the last bit of his lingering feelings that kept urging him to seek her out simply because he couldn’t forget. Calisto was not a weak man. He was not going to let the memories of one fucking night, the morning after, and his unshakable guilt ruin him.

  Calisto did that once with Emma.

  Look at where it got him.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Affonso grumbled. “Do as I said, Cal.”

  Damn it.

  “Fine,” Calisto agreed.

  Affonso headed for the front entryway. Calisto was already halfway up the staircase when he heard the door open behind him.

  What a great day this was turning out to be.

  Calisto knocked on the bathroom door for the fourth time, ignoring the irritation settling deep in his gut. It unsettled him to be in his uncle’s and Emma’s bedroom. He didn’t like the somber feel of the room, and just looking at the unmade bed was enough to turn his stomach.

  It still pissed him off.

  It still made him sick.

  Clearly, he was not over whatever little issue he had with Affonso marrying Emma. Calisto couldn’t seem to move past the idea of the woman having to share a bed night after night with Affonso, despite the fact that she obviously did.

  The woman was pregnant, after all.

  Calisto drew in a slow breath, and willed away the annoyance. Knocking on the bathroom door once more, Calisto said, “Emmy, are you almost done, or what?”

  He’d been knocking on the door for a while. Emma had only answered him once, saying she didn’t feel well and asking for a couple of minutes. Calisto didn’t understand a whole hell of a lot about pregnancy, but he did know the mornings could be hell for some women.

  It was better he didn’t pry.

  Calisto didn’t need details.

  He raised his fist to knock on the door again, only to find it swinging open. His hand dropped to his side, and he took a step back.

  Emma stood in the bathroom doorway, looking tired and worn. Her hair had been thrown up into a messy bun, and she stood barefoot on the tile. The silk, white robe she wore had been cinched at her waist, and fell mid-thigh. Calisto’s gaze dropped to Emma’s midsection.

  He immediately wished he hadn’t.

  She was finally starting to show. Calisto had been lucky enough to miss those changes, being that he stayed away. Now, he could plainly see the early swell of Emma’s stomach pushing against the silk robe.

  “Eighteen weeks,” she said softly.

  Calisto’s gaze snapped back up to Emma’s face. It was easier to focus on her pretty features with her soft lines and smooth skin rather than the roundness of her stomach. She was with child—someone else’s child.

  It wasn’t his.

  It would never be his.

  Yet, Emma was still beautiful. Even in her state, with her swell, her flushed skin, and her tired eyes. Calisto clenched his fists tight, feeling his fingernails cut into his skin. A war raged inside his mind, and an invisible agony following right behind. What in the hell was wrong with him?

  He felt like a sick bastard, almost enjoying the pain.

  “I beg your pardon?” Calisto managed to ask.

  “I’m eighteen weeks along, Cal.”

  “Oh.”

  Emma nodded. “Almost halfway.”

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “Yes. I had some testing done early on, shortly after I passed the first trimester. The doctor wanted to check the amniotic fluid and do a genetic workup after what happened the first time. Everything seemed well. It’s a boy.”

  Calisto swallowed hard. “Affonso must be—”

  “Thrilled,” she interrupted coolly. “He’s thrilled.”

  “He didn’t tell me.”

  “Would you have cared?”

  Calisto didn’t respond.

  Emma stepped out of the bathroom, and brushed past Calisto without as much as a look in his direction. She immediately went toward the large walk-in closet, and disappeared inside. Calisto rubbed a hand over his face, wishing he could calm his inner thoughts and think for a moment.

  “Did he send you up for me?” Emma asked from the walk-in closet.

  Calisto shook the heaviness off his shoulders. “Yes. He was convinced he was already late. I’ll drive you to the breakfast.”

  “Great.”

  She didn’t sound like she thought it was great.

  Calisto let it go.

  Ten minutes later, Emma walked out of the closet wearing a navy blue dress that hugged her curves and fell just above her knees. She had applied very little makeup, just enough to put more color into her lips and cheeks, and also some black mascara to fan her already long lashes. She didn’t need the makeup. Her features were already vibrant and stood out in a crowd of people. In her left hand, she held a pair of matching kitten heels. She tossed the shoes to the floor, and slid her feet in.

  Waving at her back, Emma said, “Zip me up.”

  Calisto’s stomach clenched. The last time he’d touched this woman’s back, she had been on her knees while he pounded into her from behind. She’d been gripping white sheets, shaking all over, and gasping for more.

  Stop that, he told himself.

  “What are you waiting for?” Emma asked, clearly irritated. “Aren’t we already late?”

  “No,” Calisto said, offering nothing more.

  He quickly crossed the room and zipped up the back of Emma’s dress. He made sure not to touch her skin or her body over the dress as little as was possible. He didn’t need more fuel added to the already growing fire.

  The more Calisto thought about it, the more he was absolutely convinced that he was punishing himself where Emma Donati was concerned. Surely he could let whatever this little obsession was with the woman go.

  So why didn’t he?

  Emma tugged on the elastic in her hair, and pulled the messy bun out. Her shiny, dark waves fell over her shoulders and down her back. Tossing the elastic to a corner chair, she put a hand to her hip.

  “How does this look?” she asked Calisto.

  He dragged his gaze over her curves, her tiny swell, and back up to her face. Despite how much it ached for him to see her like she was, Emma looked good. Full of life, young, and healthy. Maybe he could finally understand what people talked about when they said pregnant women glowed.

  “Beautiful,” Calisto said honestly. “You look beautiful, Emmy.”

  For a split second, Emma’s stony features cracked. The mask of disinterest and coldness broke away as her bottom lip trembled. She balled an
d released her fists over and over again at her sides like she was trying to figure out what to say.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Were you nervous?” he asked. “Was that why you were hiding in the bathroom?”

  “No.”

  Emma’s distance and apathy was back in a blink.

  Calisto wondered why.

  What had he said?

  “Are we ready to go?” she asked. “Because I don’t want to stand around and chat, Cal.”

  Apparently, it didn’t matter.

  None of what he felt did.

  Oddly, Calisto was grateful for Emma’s icy demeanor, as strange as it was. She was simply reminding him, without knowing she was doing it, that this was not his place. Her life was not for him to worry over.

  She was not his.

  That should have helped him.

  It didn’t.

  “Yeah,” Calisto finally replied, finding his voice. “We can go anytime.”

  “Then let’s do that.”

  Emma grabbed a black clutch off the chair where she had thrown the elastic earlier. Calisto let her lead the way out of the bedroom, and he still avoided staring at the messy sheets on the bed as he closed the door behind them.

  As they began walking down the steps, Emma hollered a goodbye out to her step-daughters. For a quick moment, when he heard both girls answer Emma’s call back almost instantly, Calisto didn’t feel as guilty as he had with Cynthia earlier.

  At least, he thought, they found common ground.

  The girls had someone to befriend, someone to trust and talk to. He didn’t believe that Emma would take the girls’ secrets to Affonso, or anything like that.

  Emma was hard not to like.

  At the last couple of steps, Emma stopped abruptly, making Calisto almost collide into her back. His stare caught the sight of her hand clenching tightly around the smooth, wood edge of the banister, and her arm trembled. Emma sucked in a quick breath that sounded like she was in pain.

  Calisto was at her side in a flash. “Emmy?”

  She didn’t even blink. Her other hand grazed the side of her stomach as she frowned, shook her head, and took another breath.

  “Emmy, are you all right?” Calisto asked.

  “Fine,” she said faintly.

  The bright glow to her cheeks had left. Her mouth pressed into a thin, grim line. The previous coldness of her green gaze had been replaced with a confused daze as she touched the side of her small swell again.

  “I don’t think you are, bella. Are you in pain?”

  Emma pursed her lips, her hand coming up to push Calisto away from her side. “I’m fine. We’re wasting time.”

  “Emmy.”

  She took the last couple of steps quickly.

  “Stop worrying about me Calisto, and get me to the damned breakfast.”

  Not worrying was easier said than done.

  Calisto decided not to argue.

  Emma

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said quietly.

  She watched the cars they flew past, wondering who was inside the vehicles, and what their lives might be like. Were they happy?

  Calisto cleared his throat. “For what, dolcezza?”

  “Earlier.”

  “You’re going to have to give me a bit more to go on.”

  Emma willed away the guilt compounding in her chest, promising to keep her quiet. “I was snappy at you. I shouldn’t have been. You didn’t deserve it.”

  She caught sight of the small smile gracing Calisto’s darkly handsomely features. Quickly, Emma turned her head again, not wanting to stare at him for long. It never helped her, it only hurt.

  “I think I can overlook it,” Calisto murmured.

  “And why is that?”

  “Hormones.”

  Emma’s mouth popped open a second before she reached over and whacked Calisto hard in the arm. It was nothing more than second nature, and she didn’t think much of it. But when Calisto started to laugh, hard and loud, Emma did all she could to stay still in the seat as she watched him let loose. His shoulders shook and his soul-black eyes lightened in his genuine amusement.

  It made her companion all the more appealing. It reminded her of one of their first drives together. It was bad all over. Because it made her feel damn good all over.

  Emma hid her sudden frown by looking back out the window again. Apparently, Calisto hadn’t missed it.

  “We’re not very good at this whole thing, are we?” he asked.

  “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Being near one another. Do you remember what you said at the wedding reception when we danced?”

  Emma wished her throat didn’t suddenly feel so thick with emotions. “Yes.”

  “Well, what was it?”

  “That we could do this. Pretend like nothing happened. Be friends.”

  Calisto chuckled, but the sound was hollow and sad. “We’re not very good at it. I hide away from you, making sure I’m not within yelling distance. When I do come around, you barely hold back from spitting at me. Like you hate me.”

  Emma’s heart clenched painfully. She slowly rotated in the seat, wanting to see Calisto as he spoke. Months ago, she’d learned that he could be emotionless and detached on the outside, but his voice gave everything away.

  And his eyes, too.

  “I don’t hate you,” she whispered.

  Calisto’s hands squeezed tighter around the steering wheel. “No?”

  “No. You make me feel angry sometimes, hurt, or confused. Ashamed, when I look at my husband, embarrassed at myself, and sad. And other times, when you’re around, I feel …”

  “What, Emmy?”

  “Hot. So strange. And that makes me irritated, confused, and ashamed all over again.”

  “Vicious, isn’t it?” he asked calmly. “Those circles are fucking vicious, kitten.”

  Emma should have told him right then and there to cut out the pet names, but she didn’t. She liked the sound of them coming out of his mouth far too much. The slight stubble dotting Calisto’s jaw and neck made Emma’s fingers twitch in her lap. She had the strangest urge to reach across the middle of the vehicle and run the tips of her fingers over the coarse hair.

  She knew what it would feel like.

  She had his lips on her body once.

  She felt his stubble leave marks on her skin.

  She knew.

  The shame rose fast in her throat, making her sick again. Emma hid the redness of her cheeks with her palms, taking a slow, deep breath to soothe the nausea. It didn’t help a great deal.

  “Yeah,” Calisto said, glancing at her. “We’re not very good at this at all.”

  Emma chose not to respond.

  Another ten minutes passed the two by in silence. Her stomach eventually settled, and the shame that never quite left began to subside. Emma rested her hands on her lap, careful not to touch her midsection.

  She still couldn’t do it.

  The first miscarriage was … heartbreaking.

  Even with the doubt and worry in her heart, Emma still stroked the side of her thumb along the underside of her swell. She ignored the dull ache in her chest and back as she rubbed her stomach, and let her thoughts focus on the unborn child she was carrying.

  A boy.

  She had passed the first trimester, which was good.

  It still wasn’t enough to calm her concerns.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Emma caught sight of Calisto watching her with his usual impassive expression. She swore there was both a warmth and a sadness to his gaze.

  “What?” she dared to ask.

  “I should be the one apologizing to you.”

  “Oh?”

  Calisto nodded. “You can’t be having a very easy go of everything with this pregnancy. It’s probably stressful. I doubt that Affonso helps a whole lot in that department. I should have made an effort to come around more often over the Summer, maybe to take Cynthia and Michelle out of your ha
ir.”

  “I adore those girls.”

  “I’m glad for that,” he admitted. “I was hoping they wouldn’t be too hard on you.”

  “After they realized I was just another commodity to their father, like they are to him, the nastiness went away. They’re good girls. They miss their mom a lot.”

  Calisto raised a single brow. “I miss her, too. She was certainly the better half where Affonso and she were concerned.”

  “It’s all right that you didn’t come around,” Emma said. “We managed.”

  “But I should have.”

  “Better you didn’t.”

  Calisto’s gaze narrowed. “And why is that?”

  “Because that was what Affonso wanted. He was counting on the pregnancy drawing you into the folds again. He said you probably wouldn’t be able to help yourself, what with the way you seem to need to take care of all his children in one way or another. You sure proved him wrong by making every single effort you could not to come anywhere near me.”

  Damn.

  Even she couldn’t ignore the hurt and anger in her tone.

  Calisto drummed his fingers against leather. “Is that all you want to say?”

  “No.”

  “What else?”

  “I’m pregnant, Cal. Not carrying a disease.”

  Calisto straightened in the driver’s seat like someone had shoved a stake into his spine. “I don’t think that way.”

  “It feels like it when you can’t even be bothered to share a space with me.”

  “Mi dispiace,” he apologized.

  All of the little things that Emma had allowed to eat away at her over the last few months came rushing out of her in a vomit of words. She always had to be perfect, compliant, and quiet with her husband. She was never allowed to have an opinion, or make her voice heard.

  She was his perfect little thing.

  Not a partner.

  His thing.

  Emma knew that Calisto didn’t think of her that way. He’d showed her once how he thought of her, and exactly what he would do with it all. He could take her anger.

  She needed it out.

  Not inside killing her.

  Out.

  “You made me feel so goddamn guilty,” Emma said, refusing to keep it in any longer. “Months ago when you found out about the baby I lost, and all the things you said, you made me feel guilty. Like I did something wrong; like I did you wrong.”