Thin Lies (Donati Bloodlines #1) (24 page)

Emma
knew it was the truth.

“It
does matter,” Affonso replied in the most uncaring way Emma had ever heard.
“And I won’t stand for it.”

Turning
back to his daughter, Affonso waved his fork again.

“Go,
Michelle,” he told her.

Huffing,
the girl stood from her chair, slammed it into the table with a bang, tossed
Emma a glare, and stormed off. Emma held her breath, hurting for Michelle. She
didn’t deserve to be reprimanded and shamed in front of her father’s people and
her family, simply because she was a child who didn’t understand what was
happening.

“I
apologize,” Affonso said.

Emma
shook her head. “Don’t. As I said, it’s okay.”

But
it wasn’t.

Michelle
had every reason to dislike the woman who would take her mother’s place in her
life. And for that matter, Emma was not the perfect little queen that Affonso
was trying to hold her up to be for these people.

He
wanted Emma to be unsullied in their eyes. The perfect wife, his mob wife.

No
shame.

She
was dirty, more than Affonso could know. She had already broken the vows she
had yet to speak when she laid down in a bed with his nephew. And then again
when she fucked Calisto twice the morning after.

Emma
was not good at all.

She
wasn’t made for this.

“Sorry
I’m late,” came a voice from the other side of the room.

Emma’s
heart dropped and her blood heated at the same fucking time. She forced herself
not to look in the direction of Calisto’s laughter as he greeted a man at the
other end of the table. A chair scraped against tile as it was pulled out.

Apparently,
he had come after all.

“Smile,”
Affonso demanded at her side.

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?

“Calisto,”
Affonso called out. “Where did you stay when the flight was canceled? You said
the reservations for your room was over.”

“I
got another room for the night,” Calisto said.

Lie
.

“You
didn’t answer my calls after we first chatted.”

“I
was tired and fell asleep early.”

More
lies.

“You
should have called me back,” Affonso muttered.

Emma
swallowed back her panic.

“I
slept in and forgot about it,” Calisto said simply, brushing Affonso off. “Then
the airport notified me about the flight to New York and we rushed to catch it
in time.”

Another
lie.

Calisto’s
falsehoods would be easy to unravel if Affonso looked into anything his nephew
said. Thin lies were the easiest to see through.

Emma
met Calisto’s gaze again. The chatter at the table continued like nothing was
amiss. Emma supposed to these people, nothing really was.

Calisto
gave her another one of his sexy, knowing smiles. She didn’t look away.

She
couldn’t.

Calisto

The
church smelled of burning incense. Calisto hated that smell more than anything.
It lingered on everything it touched, his goddamn suit included.

“Father
Day,” Calisto said, knocking on the slightly open office door with two
knuckles.

“Cal?”

Calisto
smiled at the old priest’s voice. He remembered spending Sunday after Sunday at
this church when he was younger, hiding under the pews and ignoring every
second of the sermons. When he had gotten old enough to know that was
unacceptable, Calisto had taken a seat between his mother and uncle.

“Yeah,
it’s me. Do you have a minute?” Calisto asked.

“For
you, my son, of course.”

Calisto
pushed open the door and stepped inside the small office. Father Day sat behind
his desk, wearing his black ensemble and his white collar. Between his withered
fingers, the priest held a small golden cross attached to a long length of
black rosary beads.

“I
didn’t mean to interrupt your prayer,” Calisto said quietly.

Father
Day shook his head. “Nonsense, Calisto. I can pray at any time. He is always
listening, as you very well know.”

“So
you say.”

“So
I know,” the priest shot back.

Calisto
chuckled. “You’re right on the ball today, huh?”

“I
always am. You’re troubled.”

There
was no hiding from this man.

Calisto
sighed, swallowed his nerves, and shoved his clenched fists in his pockets. For
the last couple of days, those very actions had been his repeated failsafe. When
he felt confused, unsettled, or out of control; when he was too close to Emma
and his thoughts wandered, he clenched his fists, let his fingernails cut his
skin, and hid his shaking hands in his pockets.

It
was easier than lying or hiding.

“Is
it that obvious?” Calisto asked.

Father
Day shrugged. “I have known you since you were just high enough to reach my
knees. There is not much you can hide from me, Calisto. How long have I been
taking your confessions or counselling you on personal matters when you needed
it?”

“I
started confessing at fifteen.”

Smirking
just a bit, the priest waved a finger at Calisto. “After your first time with a
girl, I believe. You were not sorry in the least for your actions, but you knew
the right thing to do was confess it. You couldn’t quite say that you wouldn’t
do it again, however.”

Calisto
grinned. “That’s just the Catholic in me, Father.”

“Mmhmm.
Sit, Cal.”

He
did as the priest demanded.

“I
haven’t seen you this month,” Father Day said.

“I
was out in Vegas for a while doing some business.”

“You
mean bringing back your uncle’s paid-for bride. I know where the girl comes
from.”

Ouch
.

Calisto
sucked in air through his teeth. “Know about that, do you?”

“Affonso
confesses, too. When people want things to happen in this church, on their time
schedule, I demand their honesty on certain things. They know better than to
cross the man who offers them the penance they crave in their darker moments.”

“Yeah,
well, that’s where I was.”

“Pity,”
Father Day muttered, steepling his fingers in front of his face. “She’s such a
pretty, young thing and he’s …”

“Not,”
Calisto finished for the man.

“Hmm.
You said it, my boy, not me. My place is not to judge.”

“You
could judge a little.”

“I
cannot,” Father Day said in a murmur. “Tell me your troubles, Cal. Get them off
your mind before they eat away at you. Remember last year, shortly before your
mother died? That was an awful time for you. All that anger you let fester
inside, and when she passed on, you nearly exploded with your guilt and grief.
Don’t do that to yourself again. You’re far too good for that and you know it.”

Calisto
wished it was that easy.

“It’s
not the same thing,” Calisto assured.

“How
so?”

“I
feel very little guilt for what I did this time, or, for that matter, what I
didn’t try to do at all. Maybe that’s what bothers me—that I didn’t try to stop
myself, and that I have no remorse for taking something precious, something
that didn’t belong to me.”

Father
Day lifted a single brow high as he replied, “And do you wish to keep this
thing; this thing that isn’t yours, as you say?”

Calisto
tried to stay quiet, but the confession slipped out. “
Sì
.”

“Why?”

“I
don’t know.”

“That’s
not a good answer.”

“There
are a lot of reasons,” Calisto said simply. “I’m not sure any of them would be
worthy or good ones to move forward with. One is simply to hurt someone else,
another is to feed my own selfishness, and others could be to build onto this
complex I have festering in my head that I need to save something to keep it
from being ruined like other things have been. I don’t know, Father, because
none of them matter.”

“Because
it isn’t yours,” Father Day said.

“Exactly.”

“You
know, Calisto, these roadblocks that pop up in our lives at the worst times and
in the most unlikely of places are put there for a reason.”

Calisto
scoffed. “Really? And what is the reason for this one? Because believe me, it
couldn’t be worse than it is.”

“It
could,” Father Day assured. “But God will not give you what He doesn’t know you
can already handle.”

“That
doesn’t help.”

“Because
you’re not listening.”

Calisto
blew out a frustrated breath. “In a month, I managed to break every rule I ever
followed. I broke my oath to my
famiglia
, and I betrayed my uncle. My
actions would defile the church, the vows that I believe in, and my faith. Did
He really give me a barrier like this just to see me fail, Father?”

Father
Day smiled softly. “Of course not, Calisto.”

Then
why did it feel like it?

“And,”
the priest added quieter, “you cannot blame God. He allows you to make your own
choices, knowing that you are strong enough to handle the consequences of
them.”

“Even
if it kills me,” Calisto murmured.

It
wasn’t even a question.

Father
Day glanced down at the rosary in his hand. “If it does, then He will be there
to welcome you. You make your path, Calisto, and He will walk you through it.”

“I
don’t know what my path is anymore, Father.”

“You’ll
wander back to it, I’m sure.” 

Two
days later, the church bells began to ring.

At
the very front of the church, Calisto sat at the end of the pew. His left ankle
crossed over his right knee, and his chin rested in his hand. His gaze never
left the altar where his uncle and the priest stood waiting, but his mind was
somewhere else entirely.

A
quiet room in Vegas.

Marble
floors.

Breathless
whispers.

White
sheets.

Soft
skin.

Morning
light.

“I
think I would keep you …”

But
she wasn’t his.

Calisto
reminded himself that he was obsessing over nothing—something he couldn’t have.
He was letting his confused thoughts tie strings with his emotions. This was
exactly why he didn’t attach himself to people. It always ended up ruined
somehow.

He
drew in a deep breath, needing the moment to calm the heaviness settling
throughout his body. In his heart, his mind, and his chest, it was like a
weight had suddenly been put there, taking him down under invisible water.

Clearly,
he had not found his path yet.

He
was still scrambling to keep from drowning.

“Beautiful
day for a wedding,” Ray said at Calisto’s side.

Calisto
passed his uncle’s underboss a dismissive glance. “Mmm.”

“You
could show a little more interest in all of this, you know. Sit straighter and
fucking smile, or something.”

“I’m
good,” Calisto said under his breath.

Ray
sighed loudly, but stayed quiet.

Calisto
couldn’t show any more interest in this sham of a wedding than what he already
was. It had been an internal war just to get up on time, get his goddamn suit
on, and show up at the church to take his seat.

A
woman was being married today.

She
didn’t want to be married.

He
knew the truth.

It
ached.

Calisto
clenched his fist on his knee. Shortly after, the wedding march began to play.

The
doors to the back opened.

Calisto’s
chest got tighter than ever.

Somehow,
he managed to stand like he was supposed to. Turning slightly, he found Emma
and her father instantly. She was the only one wearing white, after all.

The
veil she wore covered her face just enough to shroud her features. The sheer
fabric trailed all the way back to the floor behind her and over the length of
the dress. Lace hugged her curves, reminding him of how it felt to hold her in
his hands, and to own those dips and swells.

A
lump formed in Calisto’s throat.

Emma
wasn’t smiling.

How
could she?

This
was a terrible day.

Calisto
dropped his gaze as the father and bride-to-be started their slow walk up the
satin-lined aisle. Tulle linked between every church pew, and a ball of white
roses hung off the ends of each curled arm.

The
closer Emma came to the front and Calisto’s spot, the worse he felt.

He’d
delivered her for this day. This was his penance for doing that to her when she
didn’t deserve it. The ache in his chest, the lead in his feet, and the wrongs
he helped to make with her were all a part of the sentence he had to endure.

Emma
Donati would be his punishment.

She
wouldn’t be as sweet after today.

She
wouldn’t ever be as happy as she had once been.

She
would never be free.

Calisto
would have to watch it all from the shadows, knowing he brought her to this.

So,
he met Emma’s gaze as she passed him by, arm in arm with her father, and didn’t
drop it until he no longer had a choice. He was quiet as she was handed over,
familiar words were exchanged, and a new future was given to a woman who never
asked for it.

Calisto
didn’t do a thing.

He
couldn’t, without hurting Emma in a new way. Not without putting her in danger,
or worse, causing her to be shamed for their lies.

Hadn’t
he hurt her enough?