The Donati Bloodlines: Part One

She was just a woman. That’s what Calisto wanted to tell himself; that’s what he wanted to believe. Emma was nothing more than a woman. There were other women for him to want. To obsess over.

It couldn’t be Emma Sorrento.

Not for Calisto.

She was taken.

She was claimed.

She was not his.

In a few days, Calisto would hand her off, and that would be that. He wondered why it wouldn’t be that easy to let her go.

What good had saving her done?

He had simply taken her from one monster to give her to another.

Emma Sorrento Emma slid on her mask. All someone would need to do was look close enough to see what was really beneath the sheer falseness of her smile.

At the other end of the table, Emma found her lies staring her right in the face.

He smirked.

And winked.

Calisto Donati was her worst mistake, her greatest shame, and the one thing she still wanted more than anything. Emma could still feel him all over her, long after his touch and kiss was gone. In thirty days, her entire world had changed—he had changed her.

Emma had a feeling that if she played another game with Calisto, she would surely lose.

She had already lost once.

Wasn’t it enough?

“Duty” was the first word a Mafioso principes learned growing up. Be good to the family. Bring them no shame. Smile for the crowd.

And when the time comes, do your duty.

At only twenty, Emma Sorrento was not ready to do hers.

“You look wonderful, Emmy,” Maximo said.

Somehow, Emma managed a smile for her uncle. “Thank you.”

Maximo waved her closer. Emma followed his unspoken demand until she was standing in front of him with her hands clasped behind her back. Maximo looked over the silver, flared dress that fell just above Emma’s knees, and the black pumps on her feet.

“Your hair is down,” Maximo said.

“You asked for it to be like this, zio.”

“I did. I like it better this way. I’m sure Affonso will appreciate it as well. And your mother made sure you toned down the red lipstick, I see.”

“Sì.” Emma swallowed back the disgust rising in her throat. It burned like bile on her tongue, acidic and full of shame.

“Smile, Emma. That frown does nothing for your pretty face.”

Her uncle’s words had been spoken lightly, as if he were amused, but a heavy ring of warning lingered right behind them. Immediately, Emma fixed her frown to a smile.

Fake and bright.

Enough to distract a man.

She could do this.

Right?

“She’s a little nervous,” came a voice from behind her. “It’s a big day for our little Emma.”

Emma found her father, George, leaning in the doorway with a cigar dangling from his fingertips and a glass of brandy in his other hand.

Maximo chuckled. “How much of a fight did she put up this morning, brother?” A single finger ticked under Emma’s chin, making her stare up at her uncle’s face. “What is there to fight about, hmm?”

“Nothing,” Emma said.

“Surprisingly, very little,” George said.

Maximo smiled. The sight was almost predatory in nature. Her uncle had always treated her well, especially considering that she was the only daughter in their small family. George had no other children but Emma, and the other Sorrento brother had died in a childhood accident when he rode a bicycle out onto the street and was hit by a car.

The Sorrento family was one of many Italian-based organized crime families in Vegas. Over the years, the Sorrentos and other syndicates across the country strengthened their ties by mixing their names and blood. In Cosa Nostra, girls were fodder to a bigger plan. That plan being a man, the one with the best last name for a contract, the family to push them higher, make them safer, or earn them business.

Because that’s all her life was worth.

Emma knew this day was coming.

“It’s just business,” Maximo said as if he could read Emma’s mind.

“Business,” she echoed.

“The Donati family had a long night getting here. Some issue with the plane caused them a layover. It ended up connecting them to a redeye. I expect you to be pleasant and respectful, Emmy.”

Emma felt the spark of anger stab through her heart. She had done all that she could to ignore the lingering rage simmering in her blood, never mind the resentment burning through her soul.

Maximo didn’t give her a chance to voice her inner war. Her uncle left the large office. He passed by his brother in the doorway without so much as a goodbye, and disappeared into the hall. When Emma was sure that she couldn’t hear her uncle’s footsteps anymore, she finally took a real breath.

For two months, Emma had felt like she couldn’t breathe. Ever since her uncle had visited her parents’ home one evening, sat down at the dinner table, and calmly explained that she would be married off to a man nearly thirty years her senior.

Affonso Donati was forty-nine, but his fiftieth birthday was right around the corner. Apparently, the man’s wife had passed away a few months earlier after three separate battles with cancer. Every good Cosa Nostra Don needed a wife and so, Affonso went shopping for one.

Emma’s father and uncle—without her knowing or giving input—had placed her name, picture, and pedigree directly in Affonso’s path.

It pissed Emma off like nothing else. The Donati family certainly wasn’t the biggest or best syndicate for her uncle and father to marry her off to. They were small-time in New York compared to the Marcellos or even the Calabrese family. Affonso could be her father, for Christ’s sake.

Emma forced back the sickness beginning to rise again. She took a deep breath, needing to calm the torrent of panic starting to well all over again.

Duty.

That stupid word kept ringing louder and louder.

“Your mother is waiting for you downstairs,” her father said.

His voice reminded Emma of George’s presence.

“Thanks,” she said, spinning around.

“You know I appreciate how good you’re being about all of this, don’t you, Emmy?”

Emma refused to even grace her father with a smile. The man knew how angry and disgusted she was over this entire agreement between the Sorrento and Donati families. “Yes, I know, Dad.”

“Good.”

George smiled, taking another step into the room. Her father reached out and snagged Emma’s hand, drawing it away from her side. He glanced over her bare ring finger and said nothing about the slight tremor rocking her hand. Then, her father’s grip tightened to an almost painful point. His fingernails dug into the skin of her palm with enough pressure to leave marks behind.

Emma sucked in a sharp breath. “Ouch.”

“Remember that feeling, sweetheart. I hear Affonso has a taste for pain where his women are concerned. At least, he does if they don’t behave.”

Oh, God.

“And the ones who do behave?” she asked quietly.

“He treats them like little queens.” George smiled again. “I have given you everything you have ever wanted, Emmy. You have been spoiled rotten, treated like a princess, and handed over every bit of respect you deserved as a Sorrento daughter. It’s time for you to repay me for that. Be a good girl, and do this for your family without issue.”

Emma had never been particularly close to her parents. Both George and Minnie Sorrento had been far more focused on their social lives and la famiglia business, than they had been about Emma as she grew up. Her parents’ way of making up for neglecting her of love and attention was by giving her things.

Lots of things. Love couldn’t be bought. Emma ignored the pain in her chest. Her screaming mind was louder.

Loyalty is bought all the time.

Her parents were the perfect example of how people attempted to do just that. They’d birthed a daughter they didn’t really know, gave her a glamourous life that placated and tricked her into comfort, and now she didn’t have a choice but to do what they wanted. Emma had no money of her own, no status to keep her safe or provided for unless she did what her parents demanded. Even her apartment and car were not hers to keep unless she did what she was told.

Emma hadn’t realized how controlled she was by her parents and Cosa Nostra until a choice was placed on the table. A choice that wasn’t really a choice at all.

“What is Mom waiting on me for?” Emma asked her father.

“She brought along your birthday gift. The diamond and pearl set she wore for our wedding. She wants to see you wearing them for yours. Happy twentieth, sweetheart. Another month to go, and you’ll be a married woman.”

Emma stifled her shudder.

Barely.

“Smile,” George reminded her sharply, his fingernails cutting into her palm again.

She did.

And blinked back her tears at the same time.

Her life was not her own.

She didn’t get to choose.

Emma had always known this.

It didn’t make it easier.

*

“Emma.”

Spinning on her heel, Emma came face-to-face with a gentleman who was taller than her by a half of a foot. His black hair was peppered with gray just behind his ears, and his easy smile spoke of kindness and grace. His eyes, however, were an emotionless, cold brown.

Affonso.

Emma reminded herself that people were watching the exchange. A whole houseful of people, actually.

“Hello,” Emma said, offering the man the best smile she could muster up. She held her hand out and Affonso took it instantly to press a feather-light kiss on her knuckles. “I’m sorry there was a problem with your plane yesterday.”

Affonso raised a single shoulder in response, like he didn’t give a damn either way. “Me too. I was hoping to get a decent night’s rest before meeting you and taking you to church. But non è importante. You, however, are very important, bella.”

Emma wished the man’s charming smile and his sweet words was enough to lull her into some sense of comfort around him. They didn’t. She didn’t know Affonso from a goddamn hole in the ground. She was thirty years younger than his nearly fifty, and she couldn’t forget that she had essentially been sold to the man like cattle.

The price for her hand was still a mystery.

Affonso moved closer, tugging on Emma’s hand at the same time. He drew her just inches from his tall frame, slid a finger under her chin, and tilted her head up. “You don’t seem happy, my dear.”

His words had been spoken far too quietly for anyone else to hear.

“I am,” Emma lied.

Affonso chuckled. “Well, you’re a good liar. I will give you that. You’ll certainly need that, being my wife. I was promised a girl who knew her place as long as she was kept and spoiled properly. Can you turn your cheek as well as you can tell a lie and smile, bella?”

Emma blinked, stunned. “Why?”

“I didn’t ask for a question. I suggest you learn quickly to answer what I do ask, and without any other frilly nonsense to waste time. I hate wasting time, Emma.”

A sliver of dread drove into Emma’s spine.

“Okay,” Emma said, looking down to drop the man’s gaze.

“I simply want a good, young wife, Emma Sorrento. Nothing more. A young woman who can birth me the healthy boy my first wife didn’t give me, and my mistresses seem unable to produce. I have daughters galore. No boys. Give me the boy, and you can live your life in a spoiled, peaceful bliss. Does that sound good to you, bella?”

Emma’s air caught painfully in her chest.

That’s what this man wanted from her?

A child?

A boy, for that matter.

Was that all she was worth to this man? Her ability to carry him a child, one with the gender of his preference? Didn’t he realize that the man decided the sex of a baby and not the woman?

Affonso’s smile faltered for a split second. “You’re overthinking, Emma. I can see it in your face. Your father and uncle have gone through great hoops to get one of theirs tangled in marriage with a New York family. You’re not going to ruin it for them, are you?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

The man sighed.

She’d asked another question. “I mean no. Of course not, Affonso,” Emma said quickly.

“Well done. You’re young, and so I will give you a pass on your behavior. I imagine this is still a shock to you. A huge change. Am I right?”

Emma’s emotions thickened in her throat. “Sì.”

“Povera ragazza.”

Poor girl.

She glanced away from the man and the softness in his tone. “I’ll do what you need for me to do, Affonso.”

“You really are just a girl, hmm?” he asked. “Twenty is still a child in many ways.”

Maybe to him and his nearly fifty years.

Emma didn’t feel like a girl. She was simply trying to let her mind and heart catch up to this awful day and begin to work together.

Even still, she didn’t answer the man.

Apparently, Affonso wasn’t looking for an answer. He dragged his gaze from the heels on her feet to the bareness of her legs, and up to the swell of her breasts.

“I like this dress,” he told her.

Always thank a man when he gives you a compliment, her mother used to say. Smile for him, sweet girl. Men need to feel respected.

Emma’s lessons over the years came rushing back to her like a tidal wave of memories. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she had been groomed for this very moment ever since she was just a young child.

“Thank you,” Emma said with a smile.

“I’ll have you a dozen more dresses like this one waiting in your closet at home.”

Home.

The one word was enough to make Emma sick.

“As I was saying,” Affonso continued, smiling slyly as his leer traveled over her body again. “… you’re still young in many ways, but you’re old enough in all the ways that count, bella. I hope you know how to use those ways. I’m not interested in teaching and, let me just say, you wouldn’t enjoy the way I would teach you.”

Emma felt her cheeks pink. Was he asking what she thought he was? That he hoped she wasn’t innocent to a man and sex?

She bit the inside of her cheek before muttering, “I don’t need to be taught.”

“Wonderful.”

Stepping away from Emma, Affonso spun on his heel to face the waiting people. His hand hadn’t released Emma’s, and he pulled her with him. She found the familiar faces of her family and a few of her uncle’s men watching the exchange with curious, but wary, expressions.

“Maximo,” Affonso said, “are we just about ready to leave for the church?”

Emma was shocked that her uncle was going to church at all. He hadn’t returned to the Catholic church since he divorced his first wife. Maybe it was another way for Maximo to extend a hand to Affonso in friendship. She wasn’t sure.

Her uncle nodded. “Yes, we are. The cars are waiting.”

“We’ll catch up in a minute,” Affonso replied to Maximo. “I want a second alone with Emma, if you wouldn’t mind, old friend.”

Maximo passed Emma a look as if to silently ask if she was okay with the request herself. Emma didn’t see how her opinion of things mattered at all. It hadn’t before, so why would it now?

Before long, the house had cleared of people but for Affonso and another man standing at the bay window. The color streaming in through the glass bathed him in bright light, showcasing a tall frame and broad shoulders hugged by a tailored suit. His dark hair was cropped short, but it was still long enough for him to run his fingers through as he lifted a glass of water in his hand to take a drink.

“Now that we’re alone,” Affonso said, turning to Emma.

She shot the quiet man with his back turned a look. “Um—”

“My nephew always stays close by. Ignore him. As I said earlier, I was promised a girl who knew her place, Emma. I want to make sure you understand everything that means.”

“I think you explained it well enough.”

“Then why are you trembling like a little leaf?” he asked.

Emma stilled on the spot. She hadn’t realized that she was still shaking. “I’m nervous.”

Affonso frowned. “Calisto?”

The man at the window turned his head slightly, just enough to stare at his uncle and Emma. Dark brown, almost black, eyes and a strong jaw framed the man’s face. His sharp cheekbones and unsmiling lips hardened his features, but it still stunned Emma.

It stunned her because he was … beautiful.

A hint of something dangerous and sinful wafted from the young man as the corner of his mouth tugged upwards into something resembling a smirk or even a sneer. She couldn’t be sure. Long fingers wrapped tighter around the glass he was holding, drawing Emma’s attention to the fact he wore no wedding band and his hands seemed strong.

She could clearly see the resemblance between the younger man—Calisto, Affonso had said—and his uncle.

“Sì?” Calisto asked.

“Cal, ottenere vino. Fill a glass. Hurry, before someone comes back and bitches about her age and drinking.”

Calisto chuckled deeply. The sound came out dark and heavy, and his tall, fit frame rocked with movement. Emma thought he sounded almost musical, even if the man looked entirely bored with the situation and day.

“Whatever you need, zio.”

Then, Calisto was gone.

“Wine?” Emma asked.

“It’ll take the edge off for you,” Affonso said, smiling widely. “As long as you’re a good girl, Emma, I will always take care of you.”

A good girl.

Emma felt sick again.

“And of course, Cal will always be around to keep an eye on you when I can’t,” Affonso added. “He’s closer to your age, at twenty-seven. Too bad, really. Had he wanted what I wanted for him, then I wouldn’t need you at all, Emma.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“I prefer Emmy,” she said.

It was the only thing that came to her mind. She felt stupid for even saying it, but it was better than spitting out how disgusted the man made her.

“Emmy,” Affonso echoed. “Sounds a bit girlish and young, doesn’t it?”

Suddenly, a presence was behind Emma. She knew Calisto was back before he’d even said a thing.

“Here,” Calisto said, handing Emma a glass of wine.

Her fingers brushed his and warmth spread up her arm. She pulled her limb and the wine glass back as fast as she could, but not before dropping her gaze.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I prefer Emmy,” Calisto said quietly.

Emma’s head jerked up, finding Calisto watching her curiously.

“Pardon?” Affonso asked.

“Her name. Emmy. I like it.”

Emma tipped her wine glass up and gulped down a mouthful just to keep from smiling. Who was this man? A few minutes ago, he seemed like he didn’t care who she was or if she was even breathing.

“It’s got a nice ring, zio,” Calisto added. “Rolls off the tongue, if you know what I mean.”

Affonso scowled. “You would think so, Cal. Hurry up with the wine, Emma. We have things to do and people to see. A good Don doesn’t keep people waiting. You’ve spent enough time around Maximo to know this.”

Emma drank her wine a little bit slower.

“Our church isn’t quite as big as this one,” Affonso said from beside Emma in the pew.

Emma didn’t know how to respond to that. For the last two hours, Affonso had been dropping hints and information about New York during the drive to the church and during Mass. He spoke about his two daughters from his dead wife. Michelle was the youngest at fourteen and Cynthia was the oldest at sixteen.

Emma was sure the man had said he had a “handful” of daughters. Apparently, the ones born from his mistresses weren’t important enough for him to talk about. She didn’t press him about the children he might have made outside of his first marriage. Even the two children he did talk about were quickly discussed and then dropped before he moved onto something else. Emma did learn that the two girls spent most of their year away at boarding school.

The two girls would likely hate her.

Jesus.

She was only four years older than the oldest one.

Holidays would be awkward if nothing else.

“I know your uncle hasn’t attended church since his divorce from his first wife,” Affonso said.

“He hasn’t, no,” Emma agreed quietly.

“But you do, yes?”

“Every Sunday.”

When she had been home to go, that was. While she was away at boarding school, church hadn’t been a very important thing. Emma didn’t add that information in. It’d been two years since she graduated high school, anyway. She’d messed around with some college courses but never settled on one particular area of study.

Now, she wouldn’t get the chance at all.

“Good. Then explaining to you why you’ll continue to attend in New York is pointless. You already know.”

Emma glanced up at him. “I enjoy church. I think it’s peaceful, in a way.”

Affonso’s lips flattened into a grim line. “I find it boring, but it’s a necessary evil. Confession is even worse.”

Maybe if the man didn’t have a lot to confess, his confessions wouldn’t be so daunting. It wasn’t Emma’s place to point that out to her future husband, so she stayed quiet.

“You won’t have to worry about convincing me to go,” Emma said.

“Wonderful.”

The progression of Mass continued. Emma, like she usually did on Sundays, watched her family and the familiar faces surrounding her in other pews. Her gaze caught the rays of early January sunlight filtering in through the stained-glass windows. Prisms of light danced across the altar, down the aisle, and over the congregation. Shuffling clothes and the squeak of shoes echoed throughout the building as the people stood, prayed, and sat back down, over and over.

It was familiar.

Almost comforting.

Peaceful, Emma repeated silently.

“How do you feel about a private lunch after Mass?” Affonso asked.

It wasn’t really a question.

Emma smiled falsely. “That would be nice.”

“Your uncle has some kind of dinner party planned later, as far as I know. The arrangement for the marriage will be announced then and I will hand over your ring. I’m sure you’ll like the piece. Your father said you have a taste for anything that’s princess cut, an interesting color, and more than a couple of carats. Was he telling me the truth?”

Shame rested heavily on the back of Emma’s tongue. It tasted a hell of a lot like disgust and anger. She wasn’t feeling those things for Affonso, but for herself.

She hadn’t minded the life of a spoiled mafia principessa. Being respected and adored by la famiglia, simply because she was someone’s daughter and had a good last name had lulled Emma into a false sense of security. Her sheltered life and foolishness had put her in this position.

A position where she woke up one day to the rug being ripped out from under her.

Emma wondered if she deserved this. She had rows and rows of beautiful clothes, shoes, and bags at home, bought for her by her mother and father. She had jewelry galore, a penthouse apartment in a casino hotel, and a Benz with her name on the license plate.

She had always been stupid.

Spoiled into submission.

Tricked like an idiot.

And now she was the one being used.

“Emma?” Affonso asked again.

Drawing in a slow breath, Emma said, “My father didn’t lie. He’s been spoiling me with diamonds for years, Affonso.”

Emma was only now realizing the game her father played.

And she had lost.

“What’s wrong, bella?”

Emma blinked down at her hands clasped in her lap. She knew from her earlier discussion with Affonso that he didn’t like it when others questioned him. He certainly didn’t seem to like it when a much younger woman, one he essentially considered to be a child, questioned him.

Even so, the words still spilled out.

She couldn’t stop them.

“Is that what you want?” Emma asked.

“Pardon?”

Emma caught Affonso’s eye from the side. He was watching her with a hint of amusement in his otherwise cold gaze, but the ghost of a smile shadowed the edge of his mouth.

“Am I what you want, Affonso?”

“I would say so, considering you’re the woman I chose.”

“A silly, young wife,” Emma said, not bothering to hide her contempt or bitterness. “A stupid, spoiled, and easily placated wife. One that will brush off the awfulness around her when you buy her a new car. One that will overlook your whores when you fill her closets with new dresses and furs. Am I supposed to hide the unhappiness with all the jewelry and makeup, too?”

Affonso smiled slowly. “Well, well.”

Emma didn’t wish for a second that she could take her words back. She’d meant every single one of them. Frankly, her father, uncle, and Affonso were lucky that she had made it to the church without spilling her true feelings.

Up on the altar, the priest asked the congregation to stand once more for another song and yet another blessing. Emma stood like she was supposed to. Affonso quickly followed beside her. She placed her hands on the rounded edge of the back of the pew in front of her.

One of Affonso’s hands covered hers.

She felt the heat of his palm, but it did nothing. The weight of his fingers and the gold bands he wore rubbed against her skin.

Again, nothing.

“You’re exactly what I want,” Affonso murmured.

He never once took his eyes off the altar.

“I married for love once. In twenty-five years of marriage, she gave me two daughters, a well-kept home, and a warm bed. She was neither spoiled, stupid, nor easily placated, as you said. But like you will, Emma, she learned her place in the hierarchy of la famiglia and took her seat like all good wives of bosses do. The quicker you take yours, the easier this will all be.”

“I don’t want to be married,” Emma said, harsher than she first realized.

Affonso chuckled. “You mean to say that you don’t want to be married to me.”

Was there a fucking difference?

Emma didn’t see one.

“Nonetheless, you will be my wife in a month’s time,” Affonso added. “You’ll have another few weeks here with your family before you fly down to New York, and settle into a new life with a much better status than you have now.”

“I don’t care about status.”

But she had.

Once.

The truth choked her.

Emma despised herself for even knowing that at one time, she had soaked in the attention as a boss’s only niece, reveled in her family’s position, power, and wealth, and at the same time, ignored what it would mean for her in the end.

Stupid girl.

“I wondered how long it would take,” Affonso said, more to himself than her.

Emma watched him from the corner of her eye, wary and unsettled in her heart. “Take for what?”

“For your anger and fight to show. A tiger can’t change or hide its stripes, after all. Your father and uncle did a damn good job this morning of dressing you up, prettying your face, and prepping you for the first meeting. But it was when you were alone and without them that I knew you wouldn’t be able to hold up the mask. And it’s fine, really. Better for me to see it than them.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I know that no matter what you feel or believe, you’re still going to be my wife. Your father and uncle want you to take the easy road down the altar with no muss or fuss.”

Emma swallowed hard. “So?”

“Honestly, bella, I don’t give a good goddamn if you fight your way down it.”

Great.

*

“I’ve hired a moving company for your penthouse apartment,” Affonso informed her.

He had done it at the right time, considering Emma had her mouth full of steak and couldn’t respond. In just the few hours she had spent with the man, Emma had quickly learned that Affonso Donati was shady and sly.

It left behind an icky feeling. Like the man couldn’t be trusted.

Swallowing the bit of meat, Emma said, “I can take care of packing my own things, Affonso.”

“Perhaps, but you won’t be bringing much down to New York at the end of the month. Most of your things will be given away or donated. I’m sure you have a few knickknacks or treasures that mean something. You can keep those, of course. And your clothes, shoes, and whatever else you females enjoy dressing up in. As long as it’s appropriate, a good name, and stylish enough for the wife of a boss, then you are more than welcome to pack it up and have it sent to the mansion. One of the maids will sign for it and I’ll let them know which room to put it all in. You can go through it again with me when you’re home.”

Emma’s frustration made her drum her nails on the tabletop. “You’re not staying here?”

Her words had come out as irritated and sharp as she felt. She wished the nervousness and unease from earlier in the day would return for long enough for her to do what she needed until Affonso left Las Vegas.

Then maybe she could plan.

Something …

At that moment, Emma didn’t know if there was anything she could do to get herself out of this situation and arranged marriage.

Affonso’s brow lifted. “No. I’m flying out tomorrow afternoon.”

“Huh.”

“You don’t look disappointed.”

Emma didn’t even try to placate or lie to the man. “You’re upending my life. You’re making rules, taking away my things, and forcing me into compliance because you know I have nothing to fight against you with. I’ll get a month without you looking over my shoulder before I have to stare at you every day for the rest of my life. Do you really think I’m going to be disappointed that you’re leaving without me?”

Dry, deep chuckles echoed from Affonso before he lifted his glass to take a drink of white wine. Emma wondered if the Don had a taste for alcohol. It was only noon, after all, and that was his fourth glass.

Affonso’s gold pinky ring hit his glass as he tapped his finger along the side. Sitting across from her at the small, cozy table, Affonso radiated an aura that churned with his aloof attitude and cold demeanor. The few lines at the edges of his eyes deepened when he was annoyed, but that was his only show.

Turning his head slightly, Affonso watched Emma from the side. Silently, unmoving, and calculating. A shiver raced down her spine.

Affonso wasn’t exactly old, but he wasn’t young, either. Emma had a feeling that Affonso’s age made him more susceptible to people’s bullshit and lies. His profession, on the other hand, taught him how to deal with those kinds of people.

Emma didn’t want to be one of them.

“Are you quite finished?” he asked.

The deadly calm tenor of his tone reminded Emma of a slow-moving river. It looked safe enough, but once a person caught the undertow, they were dead and gone.

Emma quickly decided not to irritate the man more than she already had. Affonso had been promised something from her—a proper, young wife who knew how to behave. One that could give him exactly what he wanted in his personal and professional life. She could be the perfect public image of a housewife, while also being the respectable persona of a Cosa Nostra Don’s wife.

He clearly expected her to understand that, too.

“You’re quite a combative little thing, aren’t you?” Affonso asked, smiling slowly.

“I—”

“Don’t argue the point, bella. It’s clear to me that your spoiled nature occasionally bleeds into your personality more than you realize. I can only chalk that up to age for so long before that is no longer an acceptable excuse.”

“I wasn’t going to argue it,” Emma said.

“Oh?”

The genuine surprise on Affonso’s face almost made her laugh.

Almost.

Emma held it back, somehow.

“No, I wasn’t,” she said. “My father regularly tells me to cut the attitude. I’m aware that I can sometimes be …”

“I think bratty is the word you’re looking for.”

Ouch.

His words felt like a slap cracking across her cheek.

Emma let out a quiet breath, and put her rudeness in check. The last thing she wanted to do was anger Affonso and end up in a worse position than she already was by having to marry the man. “My apologies, Affonso.”

“That’s better,” he murmured. “As for your things and the movers, I’m sure you will have no problems.”

“I thought you were leaving. How am I supposed to know what you consider appropriate for me to keep or wear, without your input?”

“Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean you will be left alone, Emma. I may be a couple of decades older than you, but that doesn’t make me a fool. And I certainly won’t give you the chance to make me look like one, either.”

What?

Emma’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

Affonso tipped his glass in the direction behind Emma. Turning slightly in her seat, she caught sight of a familiar presence. Calisto sat two tables away with his head down and cup of coffee in his hands. He raised the cup high enough to take a sip. The curve of his mouth, tipping into a smirk that felt laced with something unknown, said that he knew she was watching. The strong lines of Calisto’s face were darkened by the corner he sat in.

Tilting his head up, Calisto’s dark eyes found Emma’s green ones almost instantly. His expression was passive, uncaring even, but his gaze burned straight through her.

Instantly, she wondered who he was beyond Affonso Donati’s nephew. She knew better than to let her curiosity climb higher than it already was. Calisto lifted his cup to take another sip, and he cocked an eyebrow at her. Something wicked twisted in her gut.

Sexy came to mind.

So did sinful.

Her interest was undeniable.

And unobtainable.

Jesus.

Emma turned back around in her seat. “Is he my bodyguard?”

Affonso barked out a laugh. “God, no.”

“Oh.”

“My nephew will stay behind and keep an eye on you, but once we get back to New York, he’ll go back to working as my consigliere,” Affonso said. “God knows I could use a break from him for a month. Believe it or not, but Cal can sometimes be even more difficult than your bratty attitude, Emma. He’s made his place abundantly clear to me—unfortunately—but I’m sure he won’t mind the break, either.”

“And what is that?”

“Hmm?”

“His place. What it is?” she asked.

Affonso set his glass to the table, and rested back in the chair. “As I said earlier, if my nephew would do what I wanted for him to do, then I wouldn’t need you at all. Despite your age, you’re a smart girl, Emma. I’m sure you can figure it out.”