Chapter 7 — Calisto

“Zio,” Calisto greeted respectfully the moment he answered his ringing cell phone.

“Calisto,” Affonso replied, sounding more chipper than usual. “You know, my boy, you could always drop the pretense when I call and address me the way we both want you to.”

“As in, ‘Afternoon, asshole’?”

Affonso grunted under his breath. “Hey, now.”

“I’ll stick with uncle,” Calisto said, dismissing the entire conversation with four words.

“Such a shame. You could save me all the trouble and heartache in the world if you would simply just—”

“Are we going to do this again today?” Calisto asked. “I thought Vegas was supposed to be a break from me. Wasn’t that what you said? You would be happy to put some distance between you and I for a while. You’re contradicting yourself, zio, and we’re not even in the same goddamn state as you’re doing it.”

“Watch it.”

Two quickly spoken, angry words were enough to check Calisto’s attitude. Regardless of his feelings toward his uncle, the man was still his boss. Despite the way Calisto had entered Cosa Nostra, under false pretenses and years of lies spoon-fed to him, he’d spoken an oath and he intended to keep it.

Respect.

Honor.

A boss is a boss is a boss.

Even if a man despises that boss.

“My apologies,” Calisto said, the words practically choking him on the way out.

“Thank you.” Affonso sighed heavily before saying, “I did think a break would benefit us both, Cal. I hoped you would see how much respect and clout has been practically handed to you simply by having you grow up under my wing, carrying the Donati name, and taking a proper position in the family. Vegas isn’t even New York, my boy, but look at how they treat you like a prince just waiting to take his throne. Imagine how much more you could have if you would only forget about past mistakes and move onto the future.”

“Mistakes.”

“Well, yes.”

“Mistakes,” Calisto repeated, spitting the word through his teeth. “Is that what you want to call what happened?”

Affonso didn’t answer at first. When he did, he changed direction entirely. “This was not what I called you for today, Cal. Once again, you’re getting stuck on things that used to be instead of focusing on what could be.”

Calisto’s irritation jumped a notch. “You brought it up first.”

“And now I’m dropping it.”

“I wish you would leave it that way, uncle.”

Calisto knew damn well that nothing irked Affonso more than when he reminded the man of what he was to him. Not a friend, father figure, or much else. Simply his uncle.

“You could make a fantastic boss, Calisto,” Affonso said, his tone gentler than ever before. “It is right there at your fingertips. You could take it without even giving me what I want, my boy. Don’t you see that at all?”

“I would have taken it,” Calisto replied quietly. “I would have followed your pack of lies to the very end. Whatever you wanted, I would have done for you. Not now, zio. You want me to be the boss. You want me to run your family. It’s what you want me to do. And because it’s what you want, I don’t want it at all.”

“I indulged you too much,” Affonso muttered heavily.

“No, you lied to me. There’s a difference.”

“You and I … it’s a sad thing, Cal.”

“So be it, zio.”

Affonso let out a grumble. “Did she enjoy her gift today?”

Calisto fought the urge to roll his eyes. Affonso’s plan of bribing Emma into compliance with gifts of all sorts was doing little but reminding the girl of someone she didn’t want to be. Even Calisto, with his usual disregard for other people’s feelings, could clearly see Emma’s issues.

The young woman had already been spoiled by a man—her father. And that same man turned on her, feeding her to a wolf like Affonso the first chance he could. Emma was not going to allow Affonso to trick her the same way her father had once done.

“Well?” Affonso demanded.

“She got the spa documents this morning with her breakfast, as far as I know. I had the casino add it on top of her cart as it was wheeled into the penthouse.”

Today’s gift had featured a spa of sorts that Affonso had purchased a year or so ago. He had apparently asked for his lawyer to change the ownership documents to reflect Emma’s name as the other side of a minority shareholder in the business.

Most women would probably love the idea of free spa days, owning their own business, or simply just the gift itself. Calisto didn’t believe that Emma was like most women. She could probably see the gift for what it was. Another way for Affonso to keep an eye on her, to control her, and for him to take something else away, should she misbehave.

“She did get it,” Calisto said again.

“That tells me nothing, Cal.”

“I wasn’t inside the room. Do you want me to spend evenings in her place?”

Affonso grew deadly quiet. “You’re toeing a very thin line at the moment.”

“I don’t have much else to tell you. She didn’t mention it when we did talk earlier.”

“Earlier? What were you doing with her earlier that you had time for a conversation?”

Another contradiction.

Affonso’s jealousy was showing. The man despised anyone coming close to his women, in any respect. He could be violent toward men who he considered had crossed a line with one of his mistresses or … well, his wife. But it wasn’t like Calisto could find out if Emma enjoyed her latest gift—bribe—without talking to the woman.

Calisto didn’t bother to point it out to his uncle. “I was having a smoke when she finally got out of her car to meet her mother. I wanted to make sure she was feeling up to the day, I guess.”

“What are they doing?”

“Looking at wedding dresses.”

And likely wishing for a black hole to appear so she could disappear forever, Calisto held back from adding.

Maybe Emma wasn’t the only one who could drudge up the most dramatic bullshit at the drop of a hat. Calisto wondered if he should lay off the girl.

“No princess-y garbage,” Affonso said suddenly.

Calisto rubbed at the spot between his eyes as an ache started to form behind his skull. “What?”

“Those big, awful dresses that takes three people to get a woman in and out of a car, never mind through a fucking door. They may look nice on a mannequin, but I can assure you they are hell in a bedroom when you just want to get the terrible thing off.”

Again, what?

“Is there a point to this?” Calisto asked.

“Sì, make sure she doesn’t pick a dress like that. If she does, I am holding you personally accountable for it. I hate those. Cose brute.”

Wonderful.

Just fucking perfect.

Hedging on the line he knew better than to cross, Calisto dared to say, “Isn’t it supposed to be her choice, as it’s her day and all that jazz?”

“Hers.” Affonso scoffed. “Another pile of garbage to wade through. I’m paying for it, Cal. The wedding, the things her mother wants, and even the dress she’s buying today. It’s coming from my bank account. The least they can do is provide me with easier access on the wedding night.”

Jesus Christ.

That was ten shades of wrong.

All wrong.

Emma was more than just a wedding night—more than easy access. She was young, sure, but anyone with two eyes and a half of a brain could see the woman was unhappy, worried, and anxious about what was still to come. Couldn’t Affonso see that, too? Couldn’t the man make the transition a little less painful by allowing Emma her own choices, or even a little more time?

People had to see she wasn’t ready for this nonsense to happen.

Like her wedding night …

With Affonso.

Calisto didn’t like how his entire body seemed to want to recoil against that realization. Like he didn’t even want to think the words because that would somehow make it true. Bile filled his throat, but he swallowed his disgust and the sickness back down. What else could he do?

Emma wasn’t his to protect.

Her feelings couldn’t bleed into him.

It would do him no good.

“Make sure she picks something beautiful, but simple and easy to remove,” Affonso said, bringing Calisto from his thoughts.

He didn’t want to speak.

He didn’t have another option.

“Whatever you need, zio.”

Calisto hung up the call just as Minnie Sorrento stormed from the dress shop, sporting a scowl that could rival even the devil’s. Without so much as a glance in Calisto’s direction, the woman scuttled across the street and jumped into a white Lexus. Tires squealed as Minnie took off.

Maybe Emma had thrown a fit after all.

It was the very last thing he wanted to do, but Calisto stepped up on the sidewalk and made a beeline for the dress shop. He hadn’t been inside one before. Not a wedding dress shop, specifically. Pulling open the door, shades of white trimmed with lace, beads, and glittering panels assaulted his eyes.

Stepping in further, Calisto noticed a mid-thirties, heavy-set woman with large-framed glasses chatting on a phone at the desk. She didn’t see him as he looked the place over. Dresses hung from hangers and poles on every wall. Shoes, veils, and matching clutches had been displayed in glass cases.

Good God.

This was hell.

A crinoline, silk, and satin-walled hell.

Toward the back of the shop, Calisto took a hallway directing customers to dressing rooms and sitting areas. It wasn’t long before he found Emma.

A dress that was big enough to be a house was the first thing to catch his eye. The second was Emma. Tears streaked down the young woman’s cheeks as she stumbled over the layers and layers of crinoline. She grappled for the back of the dress, failing to grab the ties at the bottom of the tightly woven corset. She didn’t notice him in the doorway of the private sitting room, but her panic was as clear as day.

What had caused her to react like this?

More tears spilled as another sob echoed. Emma tried to reach for the ties again, and managed to get one free. She still couldn’t loosen the back of the dress quickly enough for her satisfaction, apparently. She grabbed at the sweetheart neckline and yanked for all she was worth. It looked like she was trying to rip the damn dress right off her body.

“Jesus Christ,” Emma mumbled. “I want this off.”

Her voice, heavy with pain and anxiety, struck Calisto in the chest like a hot knife slicing through butter. She probably didn’t think anyone was watching her breakdown happen, and she likely wouldn’t want him to step in and help her.

Calisto couldn’t help but move forward with his hands outstretched to soothe Emma. It was like some kind of fucking cord had suddenly wrapped itself around his middle and tugged hard, making him step over the threshold, around the white leather couch, and closer to the woman with her smeared makeup, her mussed hair, and her pain shattering all over a hardwood floor.

No one should cry like she was doing. No one should hurt like that. Hell, it made him ache just to see it.

Calisto figured that Emma’s reasons for her emotional collapse wasn’t all that important for the moment. Getting her calm, comfortable, and breathing normally again was what needed doing before anything else could get better.

Emma bent over at the knees, still not seeing Calisto behind her, and grabbed at the sleeveless, princess-style gown to pull at the bodice again. Her hard panting, like she was gasping for a breath that just wasn’t there, was accompanied by a broken sob.

His black heart, incrusted with years of layered ice, cracked.

Calisto tried to ignore it.

He wanted to …

“Now,” he heard her mumble. “I want this off right now.”

Closing the last couple of feet between him and Emma, Calisto’s hands landed on her bare shoulders. He felt every muscle in her body jump under his touch, but he didn’t let her go.

“Hey, it’s all right, Emmy,” he said softly.

Emma straightened fast before spinning around. Calisto’s hands went with her, moving from her shoulders to her neck in a flash. He tried hard to ignore the softness of her peaches and cream skin under his palms, or how the heat of her body seemed to fuse straight into his bloodstream.

Wiping at her eyes, Emma mumbled, “Go away. I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

She was so far from fine that it wasn’t even funny.

Emma’s breath caught on another sob.

Calisto flinched. “Turn around. You want this awful thing off, right? That’s what you said when I came in here. Let me take it off, Emmy. I’ll help.”

At first, it seemed like she was going to argue with him. Her green eyes welled with tears all over again, and her bottom lip quivered just enough to shake what resolve Calisto might have had left.

“It makes me feel like I can’t breathe,” she said.

“Turn around and I’ll help, Emmy.”

Calisto didn’t wait for her to do as he asked. He spun her around, fisted the ties keeping the corset tight, and yanked. Over and over, he pulled the silk bands out until the bodice of the dress was falling apart and away from Emma’s body.

It also did something else he hadn’t thought about.

From the swell of her ass to the middle of her back, Emma’s skin peeked through the breaks in the ties. Smooth, unblemished, pale skin. It didn’t help that Calisto was still touching her. He could feel her shivers under his hands, and if he just moved his palms down a little lower, the dress would slide right off and leave her naked and bare.

His teeth clenched. A heat bloomed deep in his gut, shooting straight down to his cock and balls. Inside his head, he knew it was bad. To look at Emma Sorrento in a less than innocent way would surely earn him a few bullets. To act on the dark lust spinning around in his blood would be a nail in the coffin.

If he even got a funeral.

Despite what Calisto knew, it didn’t stop his erection from straining against the zipper of his jeans. It didn’t help the hunger, never mind the confusion.

Space, his mind said. Take some space.

Calisto dropped his hands and stepped back, putting a foot between him and Emma. It didn’t make much of a difference to the mind his cock now seemed to have. Emma didn’t care that Calisto had stepped back either, considering she was pulling the dress down and shimmying her hips to free the skirt.

“Uh, Emma … let me get out of here before you—”

Calisto’s words and thought process stopped as the mountain of silk and crinoline fell to the floor. Emma stood in the middle of the pile, her shoulders heaving and her back bare, as she sucked in a deep breath.

Black lace covered her backside, drawing Calisto’s gaze straight down to Emma’s ass. His fingers itched to reach out and run over the swell of her ass, just to see what she would do.

Would she shiver?

Shake?

Ask for more?

Calisto swallowed hard, trying to come up with something to say. Emma wore no bra, so when she turned with her arms covering her chest, he could see the sides of her breasts peeking out to give a hint of her beauty.

Wary eyes found him still as a stone. Emma chewed on her bottom lip and avoided his stare.

She was all skin, curves, and sin, standing there like that. A body that looked fit to be touched, tasted, and explored. He bet his hands would fit perfectly in the dip of her waist while his other disappeared down her panties. The kind of lace covering her sex and ass was just the right material to grab on, pull hard, and rip right off when he had her bent over a flat, sturdy surface.

This wasn’t good at all.

“Thank you,” Emma said.

Calisto nodded tightly. “No problem.”

“I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”

How was she being normal right now?

Couldn’t she see he was fucking struggling?

“You should put something on,” Calisto said, hoarse and husky at the same time.

Emma didn’t act like she heard him. “It just caught up to me really fast.”

“Did your mother leave because you were having a fit?”

“No, my father called. I panicked after she left.”

Calisto shouldn’t care; he shouldn’t ask. “About what?”

“Wearing a dress. Walking down an aisle. It felt real all of the sudden and then I couldn’t breathe, or get the dress off. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

Emma glanced down at the dress. “God, that’s a lot of material for something so ugly.”

Calisto somehow managed a laugh. Considering the majority of the blood in his body was still owned by his cock, it was the best he could do.

“Get dressed,” he said again.

“Haven’t you seen a naked woman before?”

“Yes.”

Not you.

The longer you stand there, the more I want to.

“Keep your eyes up above the neckline and you’ll do okay,” Emma told him.

“Funny,” he replied. “You’re fucking hilarious.”

“Calm down. I’ll get dressed. My clothes are in the changing room.”

She stepped out of the pile and moved toward the changing room. Calisto tried not to watch the way Emma’s hips swayed as she walked. For most women, they learned how to move just the right way to draw a man’s eye.

Emma’s sway wasn’t learned—it was all natural.

Once she was safely hidden behind the dressing room door, Calisto took a much-needed breath. He ran through the alphabet, times tables, the American anthem, his Cosa Nostra oath, and anything else he could think of to get his erection down.

Anything to get the woman out of his head.

It didn’t work.

Cazzo.

“What did you come in for?” Emma asked behind the door.

“Affonso called.”

Emma groaned. “Weren’t his letter and gift this morning enough? He can’t leave me alone for a day?”

“Sorry, Emmy. Don’t kill the messenger. Didn’t you like the gift?”

“No,” she said sharply. “It’s another attempt to buy my loyalty and good behavior.”

Smart girl, he praised silently.

“He wanted me to check on your shopping,” Calisto settled on saying.

Honesty was the best policy.

Emma yanked open the door and glared at him. Her dress hung off one shoulder, barely covering her breasts. She hadn’t gotten the other arm in, obviously.

Calisto averted his eyes.

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“Sì. By the way, the one on the floor is in no way acceptable for his standards.”

Emma’s lips drew thin. “I should wear it even though I hate it, too, just to piss him off.”

Calisto was inclined to urge her on, but he didn’t. “Don’t you want to pick your dress?”

“Not really.”

“But it is your dress, Emmy, and despite what Affonso doesn’t want you to wear … well, you do have a choice in the matter. Some women like to keep their dresses and have them made into things for their children. Christening gowns or whatever.”

Emma blinked, her features softening. “My mom did that with hers. I still have the miniature gown.”

“You could do the same thing. Instead of seeing this as something awful, turn it into something to look forward to.”

Because children with Affonso was sure to be wonderful. Calisto hated himself the more he spoke. He shouldn’t be encouraging her to pick a wedding dress so she could marry a man he hated.

“I could,” Emma mused. “But that means I expect to have his children.”

“Caught onto that, did you?”

“I don’t think it’s really optional with him.”

“Probably not,” Calisto admitted.

“Is he making you ensure I pick the right dress?” she asked.

“Essentially.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“You don’t even know how much.”

Emma smirked bitterly. “I think I do.”