by Bethany-Kris
As long as something seemed like it was meant to please him and no one else, he was a happy, selfish bastard. That was just how the man worked. It didn’t take Emma very long in their marriage to figure it out.
“Go on,” Affonso urged.
“Nazio for your father, like I said,” Emma explained. “And I was looking through the religious names because they’re classic, and a lot of Italian names come from the bible.”
“Some. What of it?”
“They seemed too classic, maybe. David. John. How many of those do we know?”
Affonso’s face remained passive. Emma hated that more than anything. It was harder to tell what he was thinking when he gave nothing away. He did that shit far too often.
“Too classic,” Affonso echoed.
“Yeah, but I still liked the idea of something in that ballpark.”
“I’m listening.”
“What about … Cross?” she suggested softly.
Affonso leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on the desk as he said the name to himself, adding in the middle and surname as well.
Cross Nazio Donati.
Emma held her breath, waiting.
Waiting for what, she didn’t quite know. Maybe for him to refuse her suggestion because it was too strange—too eclectic for Affonso’s regal, old-fashioned tastes. The name Cross wasn’t exactly Italian, as far as that went. It could be a problem, given who they were and the fact Affonso held their heritage in such high esteem being a Cosa Nostra crime boss.
But for her, it was more than just a name.
And she couldn’t explain that to her husband without him knowing why she wanted to give the baby that specific name. Months and months ago, Calisto had given her a rope of black rosary beads attached to a golden cross. It was a small thing, to be sure, but he had given to it her in her darkest hour, and it gave her strength because it had come from him. She still had it, but she kept it hidden, for fear Affonso might question her on the piece.
That following Christmas, Emma had gifted Calisto a similar rosary but with a silver cross. He still had it—he’d had it on the night he lost his memories and almost died.
She knew he still carried it with him, even if he didn’t know its significance or where it came from, because she had seen him pull it out on occasion to roll the beads between his fingers.
She thought that maybe, just maybe, naming their son Cross might give Calisto something worth remembering about them. The baby she lost, and every minute he was by her side after. The day of the burial, when he handed his rosary over for her to use as a comfort. The one she’d given to him, her own way of saying thanks.
Emma couldn’t help Calisto to remember their love and time together without incurring Affonso’s wrath, and endangering her child.
But she could do this.
This was not something Affonso would know.
He wasn’t privy to the details of the affair and the moments that had passed between Calisto and Emma over the many months they sneaked around together behind his back. He had never asked about anything other than when and how, and she didn’t offer the sort of information that would give him an inside look to either hers, or Calisto’s, feelings.
Finally, Affonso nodded once. “I like it.”
Her relief was palpable, but she hid it well.
She had become far too good at this.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“It’s a little different, but I’m sure he’ll be a special boy. He was certainly made in a special way, wasn't he?”
Emma choked back her response, refusing to let Affonso shame her or the baby. “He’ll be perfect.”
Affonso smiled.
The sight alone felt like cold gun metal pressed to her skin.
Ready to blow.
“Well, he did come from something I made, after all,” Affonso said. “That in itself makes him perfect.”
Right.
She didn’t bother to give him a reply on that one, either.
Affonso opened his mouth to say something else, but the ringing of a phone stopped him. He jerked a thumb toward the office door, his silent demand for her to leave him. She carefully pushed up from the couch, not wanting to jostle the now still and probably sleeping baby inside her womb.
The more he moved, the more likely he was to push down into place and begin early labor.
She wasn’t supposed to be on her feet for any more than a minute or two at a time.
As she was leaving the office, she heard Affonso pick up the call.
“Ciao?” And then just as fast, “What happened, Cal?”
Emma paused at Calisto’s name, and Affonso’s next words made her blood run cold.
“Say nothing. The lawyer will be right there.”
Emma
The hope that Emma would be able to keep out of her husband’s company for the rest of the day had quickly faded after he ended his phone call. With a sharp bark at her to “not go far” he was back on the phone again, this time with someone new.
Emma had little to no idea what was going on. The time passed by slowly as she watched Affonso pace the halls, take calls, shout orders into the phone, and little else. The more hours that ticked by, eventually trickling into the evening, the more irritated and impatient Affonso became.
By suppertime, Emma was eating alone at the table, but she could still hear her husband’s growls coming from the other side of the large home. Occasionally, he made his way out of the office, saying little as he grabbed a fresh coffee from the cook, and disappeared again.
Sherry worked at the island while Emma ate one of her favorite casserole dishes. The cook was wonderful in that way, and she enjoyed indulging Emma’s favorites where food was concerned ever since the pregnancy had been announced.
“Your puppy is getting fat,” Sherry said, more to herself than to Emma.
“He’s not fat—he’s just furry.”
And a little bit chubby.
Midnight hadn’t grown beyond five and a half pounds. The vet said that was probably as big as the dog was going to get. When he walked on his stubby little legs, his belly rubbed the floor. He was terribly short, and waddled when he walked. But he was still as playful as ever, never messed in the house anymore, and he adored Emma like nothing else.
He also despised Affonso, and had since the first time he met the man.
Emma figured her dog just had good taste in people.
Grinning, Emma dropped her hand down from the side of the table to feed Midnight a scrap of spiral noodles. The black ball of fur quickly inhaled the food, not even bothering to chew. Just as fast as the food was gone, Midnight sat sweetly, his little curled tail wagging hard.
“No more,” Emma told him.
Midnight didn’t move an inch, watching every bite Emma put into her mouth. Eventually, his silent begging got to her, and she dropped him another piece. He lapped it up before looking for more.
“And that is why he is fat,” the cook said, laughing.
Emma shrugged. “But he’s cute.”
“If ugly is cute, then yes.”
She knew the cook was only teasing her, because Midnight was terribly cute, what with his size, demeanor, and appearance. He still had that puppy look about him, and Emma didn’t think it would ever change.
Sometimes, it made her sad just to hold Midnight, as he had been one of the few gifts Calisto had given her. He was one of the only things left behind from their time together.
He was his own little reminder.
But she loved him all the same.
“Do you want some more of that casserole?” the cook asked.
Emma smiled. “I’m not sure that I should.”
Sherry waved her statement off. “Eating for two, Emma.”
The puppy wasn’t the only one who was getting fat around the Donati home. It wasn’t that Emma had gained a lot of weight during her twenty-four weeks of pregnancy, but she was getting there. It was one thing to indulge in food, but it was a
nother thing to overindulge. And since working out was a huge no-no during her pregnancy—what with the risks and all—Emma had to be careful about her weight gain through other methods, like eating well and making healthier portion choices.
The last thing she wanted was gestational diabetes added to her list of issues.
“I’m good,” Emma assured. “And it was delicious, so thank you.”
Sherry nodded. “If you’re su—”
The cook’s words were cut off by the sound of the front door slamming shut. Raising a brow at Sherry only earned Emma a shrug.
She didn’t know who it was, either.
Affonso hadn’t come out of the office to say anyone would be dropping by, and next to his phone calls and muttering, the home had been quiet for the majority of the day. Emma hated it when people came and went from their home like it was a meeting hub, available for anyone to use whenever they felt the need to show up.
Saying that to Affonso, however, had earned her a quick reprimand.
She chose not to voice her feelings anymore on the topic.
“I wonder who that is?” Sherry asked.
“I don’t know.”
Emma didn’t have to wonder for long.
“Zio!”
Calisto’s shout made Emma jump in her seat. She shot the cook a look, only to see Sherry sporting wide eyes.
“Well, that answers that,” the cook muttered, grabbing a cloth to begin wiping the counter down. “I think I’ll just finish up for the day.”
“Zio, where are you?” Calisto yelled.
He didn’t sound happy.
In fact, his yell had been coated in a heated anger Emma had only heard from Calisto a handful of times since she’d known him. Something thumped against the hallway wall, making Emma get up from her chair a little faster than she knew she should to go see what was happening.
In the hallway, she found Calisto kicking off his other shoe. It too hit the wall with a snap.
His broad shoulders, covered with one of his many blazers, were taut. He scowled as he pulled the blazer off, and tossed it over a decorative hallway table. His usually put-together appearance was more disheveled than normal, and that worried Emma.
But even in his obvious anger, Calisto was still so breathtaking to Emma. Just looking at him brought back waves of memories—his touch, kiss, and how he loved her, fucked her. She hadn’t been touched by anyone since Calisto.
She did miss Calisto, though.
Every single day she was without him.
Affonso made all the efforts he could to keep Calisto away from the Donati home if he could help it. He always did it in such a way that nothing looked amiss from the outside. Most of the business Affonso had once done with Calisto, and his underboss Ray, was now done outside of the home. Dinners were rare, though they did happen. Parties had become even rarer.
Emma knew what her husband was doing.
He was purposely keeping Calisto away from Emma as much as he possibly could without making it obvious. He was probably worried the more time the two spent together, the more likely it was that Calisto would gain some memory of their relationship back.
Affonso didn’t want that to happen at all.
“Cal?” Emma asked softly. “Is everything okay?”
Calisto’s head jerked up, his soul-black eyes landing on her. A fire burned behind his irises—fury swimming as he took her in. For a second, the anger there disappeared and his shoulders loosened. A small twinge of hope swelled in Emma’s heart as Calisto just stood there, hand against the wall, watching her.
He’d done that very thing before.
He’d stood in the shadows of a room more times than she cared to count, watching her in that very same way.
It had hurt him to do it, but they didn’t have any other choice at the time.
Did it feel familiar to him?
She couldn’t help but wonder, even if a dull ache settled deep in her bones when he blinked, shook his head, and sighed harshly.
“Where is my uncle?” he asked, standing straight.
“His office,” Emma said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Emma. Go relax. Rest for my cousin, huh? No stress for the baby. Don’t worry about the problems of men.”
Emma flinched inwardly, her heart seizing with an invisible agony that Calisto couldn’t possibly know was there. His words had been said so flippantly—his cousin.
The baby was not his cousin.
It was his son.
She had to press her lips together in a tight line to keep from saying that exact thing to him.
Calisto strolled past her in the hallway, already moving onto his next thing. By the time she turned around to watch him go, he was already gone around the corner, and she was forgotten to him.
She had learned over the last few months that she was not a priority in Calisto’s world anymore, what with his memories being gone. As Affonso’s wife, she was simply a woman in Calisto’s life that he treated with respect, but kept a healthy distance from at the same time.
How could Calisto ever possibly begin to remember her when he wouldn’t get close enough to her to be triggered into a memory?
Emma knew it would only take just one memory.
The right one. A simple one. Anything.
A clue for him to see that something between them hadn’t been as innocent as it looked like to everyone else on the outside. Some small hint for him to go digging for more. When that avalanche started for Calisto, she hoped it didn’t end until he had everything he needed.
She would be waiting when it did.
But, today was not that day.
Clearly.
Despite knowing better, Emma turned fast on her heel and followed the same path that Calisto had. Guessing by the phone call from earlier, and the several that Affonso had made afterward, something had happened and it wasn’t good.
Emma wanted to know what it was.
She quickly made her way to Affonso’s office, noting from down the hall that the door had been left open. The hissed voices coming from inside didn’t slow her down a bit. She could have stayed out in the hall and kept hidden from view, but as it was, she had already been on her feet for longer than the doctor would approve.
Walking right inside the office, she found Affonso and Calisto glaring at one another. Affonso stood behind his desk, palms down on the top as he leaned over it slightly. Calisto stood only a couple of feet away from his uncle, sneering and not backing down.
From what, though?
“Leave,” Affonso barked at Emma.
She sat down on the couch instead.
“Did you?” Calisto asked, ignoring Emma’s presence and Affonso’s demand for her to go away. “I want to know, zio, and I want to know why.”
“I have been here all day,” Affonso snarled, his gaze cutting back to Calisto in a blink. “Ask Emma or the cook, for God’s sake.”
Calisto’s stance didn’t soften a bit. “We both know you rarely dirty your hands. Why must you dirty yourself when you have plenty of others who would do it for you?”
“Calisto!”
“You were the only one who knew I was going to the church and why—”
“What does that have anything to do with the priest?” Affonso asked, throwing his hands wide. “And why do you think I had anything to do with it, my boy?”
Calisto’s straight back relaxed a little. “They questioned me for hours. Even having the lawyer in there did nothing for me.”
“I tried all day to get you out, Cal. I did.”
“They treated me like shit. I was the one who found him, zio.”
Affonso frowned.
Emma was shocked to see how honestly sad Affonso looked.
“It’s because of who you are, not what happened to the priest,” Affonso replied quietly. “You know that, Cal. You won’t be blamed for this—your last name just causes the police to get into an uproar.”
The priest?
>
Something happened to the priest?
The only priest Emma knew that Calisto would make any effort to spend time with was Father Day. She was aware he had been Calisto’s counselor and confessor for years. He had been at the church the day of the accident, too.
A heaviness settled in Emma’s stomach.
“What happened to Father Day?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Calisto tensed, but didn’t turn around.
Affonso passed her a look, but stayed quiet.
“Someone could answer me,” Emma said, frustrated and tired.
“He was murdered in his office this morning,” Calisto replied, his tone barely above a whisper.
Emma had strained to hear his words, but she couldn’t possibly miss the pain coating each one when he said them. Her heart hurt for him, and for Father Day.
Who would have done that?
And why?
Her gaze drifted past Calisto to Affonso. What was it that he said? Calisto had come in accusing Affonso …
Oh, God.
She didn’t want to think Affonso was capable of doing something like that, but the better question on her mind was why he would have to do it.
The two men went back to staring at one another again, silent but warier than before.
Finally, Affonso spoke first, breaking the tension. “Why would you have that sort of suspicion about me, Calisto? Because you called me this morning and then you found him? It was coincidence, nothing more. I don’t understand what would make you think I did this. I cared for that man—he’s been my priest for years.”
“I just thought—”
“Thought what?” Affonso shouted.
Calisto turned his head to the side, giving Emma a view of his pained profile. “I spoke to you about the dream, and like you always do when I’m trying to remember something, you were unhappy and irritated. Snapping at me like I was doing something wrong. I want to remember, zio. Why don’t you want me to remember?”
Affonso stood straight, his stare flicking quickly to Emma and then back to Calisto. “Of course I want you to remember. Cal, it’s not that I don’t want you to remember, it’s that you’re happy, and alive right now. The past two and a half years that you’re missing were hard for you. After your mother died, you didn’t just go downhill, you might as well have ran down it. You were in so much pain, my boy. And now you’re not, you’re okay again. Why would I want you to feel that way when you don’t have to?”
