Thin Lives (Donati Bloodlines #3) (24 page)

“Someone from downstairs is going to miss you,” she said along the seam of his mouth.

Calisto bit down on her lip, making her whine from the sting.

It hurt, but it felt damn good.

“He is drunk and distracted. He has an office full of Irishmen, and one of them wants his heart in a fucking pickle jar.”

Emma swallowed back the moan when Calisto’s thumb stroked her clit. “But you—”

“Slipped out. This is Connor’s show. I just wanted Ray—Connor gets Affonso. That’s our deal.”

What?

Emma wasn’t all too sure what Calisto was trying to tell her.

“I’ll give Affonso to him if I can, but I have to play by his rules,” Calisto continued, still stroking her pussy with measured, firm swipes of his fingers that already had her soaked and shaking. “And Connor really likes his mind games.”

“Calisto—”

“I don’t have a lot of time here.”

She decided to shut up.

Really, Emma didn’t have much of an option when she heard the shuffle of Calisto’s pants as he pushed the clothing down. She wished she could see a little better, but the darkness kept them both shrouded. Her senses worked on overtime as his fingers bit into her thighs, spreading her legs wider until her thighs fucking burned.

“Jesus,” Emma breathed.

“Stay quiet,” he ordered in her ear.

She nodded.

His whispered
I love you
was the only thing she heard when the head of his cock slid along the slickness of her slit. He flexed his hips forward, and filled her full instantly. A soft ache thrummed through her bloodstream as he stretched her open, giving her no time to adjust or prepare.

She really didn’t want it.

Emma’s one hand grabbed the edge of the counter as Calisto’s mouth found hers in the darkness again. He fucked her hard enough that the small bottles on the counter rattled, though that was the only noise between her gasping breaths and his soft whispers.

She couldn’t see him, but she didn’t need to, she realized.

His scent was everywhere.

His cock hit all of her nerve endings with each long, hard thrust.

His hands grabbed, pulled, and explored.

She had his taste in her mouth, and her body flooded with heat.

Frantic, raw, and rushed.

That’s what their fucking was.

It hurt and it relieved at the same time. Her body burned and her skin sang.

Between thrusts she begged him softly for
more
and
harder, please
.

He always did give her just what she wanted.

When she finally came, she bit down on her own fingers to keep from crying out.

Calisto wasn’t far behind—holding her waist as he gave another punishing thrust, then one more, and she felt him fill her full in ropey streams.

Emma wanted to ask him to stay, to hold her for just a few minutes. She knew that she couldn’t. He shouldn’t have even left the downstairs to find her.

“Go,” she told him, her voice shaky.

She felt his eyes close and his frown grow against her neck.

“It’ll be over soon,” he promised.

Emma hoped so.

“Go,” she repeated.

He did, giving her one quick kiss that still managed to linger even after the bathroom door shut behind him.

Emma hid around the corner of the entryway of the large living room, staying just out of sight. Her legs felt weak, and her fingers stung from where she had bit into them, trying to keep quiet while Calisto fucked her in the bathroom.

She could still feel him.

Between her thighs.

His fingers digging into her skin.

Bad, dark promises whispering into her ear.

She couldn’t dare rejoin the party because people would know. All they would need to do was take one fucking look at her, and they would know what she had done.

There was no hiding her messy hair, her smeared lipstick, or the crumpled mess of her dress.

Affonso was distracted—drunk.

Stupid man.

Maybe she should have ran straight upstairs to shower and change; hiding all the proof of yet another moment of her weakness and infidelity, but she didn’t. She couldn’t help but watch Calisto leave, as she knew that’s what he was about to do.

How much longer was she going to have to wait?

Emma was tired of walking on eggshells, of being afraid.

She wanted Calisto—why couldn’t she have him?

She hadn’t chosen the marriage.

Emma’s gaze was drawn across the room to where Calisto approached Affonso, men at his back. He hadn’t come unprotected, and the Irish he brought along had seemed both friendly, and willing to cause enough distraction in the large dinner party that Calisto could afford to slip out.

“I’ll be back,
zio
,” Calisto said, loud enough for the room to hear.

Silence echoed.

Affonso pushed through his wall of men, making his way toward Calisto.

It didn’t matter—Calisto was already walking away.

Emma couldn’t get upstairs fast enough.

What would happen now?

Emma

Emma woke out of a dead sleep, and panic seized her stiff as she straightened upright in the bed, glancing from one side of her to the other in search of baby Cross. He had been having trouble getting to sleep, and so, she thought bringing him into her bed might help.

It obviously had, as they both fell asleep soon after.

But where was he now?

Emma quickly realized her son was no longer in the bed with her, and clearly he hadn’t fallen on the floor, or he would be crying. Bleary eyed, she reached for the soft blue blanket that Cross loved to be swaddled in. Even two and a half months after his birth, the boy still enjoyed being tucked safely and warmly in his blankets when he slept.

The swaddling blanket had just been tossed over the end of the bed, like someone had unwrapped the baby and then left it behind, uncaring. It was only then that she noticed her bedroom door—as she still slept in a separate room from her husband—was opened a few inches.

Emma’s mind immediately screamed
Affonso
.

She had been tired, sure. Cross still wasn’t sleeping through the night, and her worry for Calisto and whatever plans he had for Affonso kept her up all the time in between. When she did sleep, she slept like the fucking dead.

Emma tried not to let her simmering anxiety grow any worse as she tossed the blankets off, and reached for the silk robe she had left hanging off the bedpost. Maybe Cross had just been whining, Emma hadn’t stirred at the baby’s fussing, and Affonso decided to act like a man and care for the child.

As unlikely as that situation was, it was better than where her mind wanted to go.

Why else would Affonso sneak into her room?

Why would he take Cross and not wake her up?

Why would he do anything like that at all if he didn’t have bad intentions?

Emma shook the sinking feeling off, knowing it would do her no damn good at the moment. She noticed the cell phone blinking on her nightstand, probably with a message from Calisto. It was one of the only things keeping her sane most days lately. His sporadic, cryptic messages were like private, saving graces for Emma.

After his show at the dinner, she knew he was getting close to putting his final plan into motion where Affonso was concerned. Why else would he come out of hiding if he wasn’t ready for the consequences of doing so? He’d blatantly challenged Affonso, and his position as the boss.

That, in itself, said everything.

Calisto barely had to say a word.

So … Emma was left waiting for whenever it may be that Calisto finally acted.

Emma stuffed the cell phone in the pocket of her robe, and padded across the hallway to Affonso’s bedroom. She walked in through the opened doorway, finding the bedroom lit up and no one inside. Her gaze fell on the pulled out drawers of the dresser, and the few items that had been left scattered on top of Affonso’s nightstand.

The man was not messy.

He was clean and organized to a fault.

Emma’s panic picked up a notch.

“Affonso?” she called, taking a step further into the bedroom.

Silence answered her back.

She quickly checked Affonso’s attached master-bath, and his walk-in closet. All she found there was more stuff missing and scattered, including one of his larger pieces of luggage.

Emma’s heart practically jumped into her throat. She turned on her heel fast, running out of the bedroom and down the hall to where Cross’s nursery was situated. Like the master-bedroom, she found the door open, lights turned on, and dresser drawers empty of baby clothes. Even the stacks of diapers and the box of wipes were missing from the cheery oak changing table.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her eyes stung as tears gathered.

Emma clenched her fists so tight at her sides that her fingernails broke the sensitive skin of her palm.

No.

He wouldn’t take her baby, surely.

Affonso wasn’t equipped to handle Cross, and all the things the two and a half month old needed on a daily basis. He couldn’t even stand to listen to the child cry for longer than a minute.

Maybe he was just
—

Emma couldn’t even finish that thought. There was nothing she could tell herself that would make sense for why Affonso’s and baby Cross’s belongings were gone in the middle of the fucking night. Nothing.

She damn near tripped over her own two feet as she scrambled back down the hallway, her tears starting to fall as she realized what Affonso had done to her. He’d threatened it more than once—promised to take Cross from her if he deemed it necessary, or should he think that she wasn’t worthy of the child.

Yet, somewhere deep inside, Emma had never really taken those threats all too seriously. It frightened her, sure, but she didn’t believe that Affonso had the balls to take her baby while he was still as young as he was.

Her heart shattered over the staircase as she took the steps two at a time, not even trying to hide her noise. It wasn’t like there was anyone in the house to wake up.

She flew around the banister, heading for the front door of the home, and finally froze in her steps. Resting against the wall of the entryway was a familiar piece of black leather luggage, and a baby’s diaper bag right beside it.

He was still there.

He hadn’t left yet.

Emma took her first real breath in minutes. The fear that had previously taken over her was gone in a blink. A deep, burning anger took its place.

There was only one place left in the house that Affonso would bother with before he left, she knew. One place where he might keep things that he would want to take with him.

His office.

Uncaring about what might be waiting for her in Affonso’s office, she went in that direction, determined to get her son away from her bastard husband. Affonso could leave if he wanted to—the asshole was a coward, anyway. But he was not taking her baby with him when he went.

No way.

Emma slid her hand into the pocket of her robe, and pulled out the phone. Knowing the night could end badly, or she just might need someone else’s help, she sent off one single text to the number Calisto always texted her from.

It only read,
Help
.

That was it. Nothing else.

She didn’t have time for more, and quickly hid the phone back into the pocket of her robe. From just down the hallway, Emma could already hear the mutterings of Affonso. That wasn’t unusual for the man when he was drinking, and she noticed that he had been drunk a lot more often since the dinner.

Almost every night, actually.

She mostly tried to stay out of his way. It was easier.

And safer.

Affonso tended to get louder and more menacing when he was drunk. He had no issue with waving his arms and tossing around his weight to frighten someone else. His cold smiles turned into ice.

The man was evil all over.

If he was drunk, or drinking at all, Emma knew she would have to tread extra carefully. Sure, her husband hadn’t put his hands on her since the night in her walk-in closet when he found out she was pregnant with Calisto’s child—other than the moment in the hospital—but it had been enough for her.

Enough to know the man was capable of it.

That he could—and would—hurt her.

Or kill her, even.

Emma’s heart started beating again when she stood in the doorway of Affonso’s office. There, in his car seat all buckled up and dressed in his winter bunting suit, was a wide-eyed baby Cross. His gaze found his mother the moment she was in his line of sights. She went straight to him, ignoring the mumbling Affonso across the room who was bent down searching for something in his desk.

“Knew that bastard was up to something,” Affonso said to himself. “Can’t be trusted—none of them.”

Emma’s brow furrowed as she listened to his mutterings. She knew Ray had gone missing a while ago, and had yet to show back up. That was two men down for the Donati family, or at least, that’s how it seemed with both Calisto and Ray gone. It probably didn’t help that she had left those letters for Affonso to find, like Calisto had asked her to. They only added to her husband’s drunkenness and his paranoia.

She quickly unbuckled Cross from his car seat, and scooped her baby up into her embrace. She felt better the moment he was snug and safe in her arms.

“Probably got Ray for getting him,” Affonso continued on, in his own little world. “I overlooked that, you know. I overlooked Ray’s mistake because he’s a friend, and you have to keep your friends. Calisto should have understood that—I spoiled him too much. Well, he’s not getting me. I did nothing but love him.”

Emma stared at Affonso, more confused than she had ever been.

She didn’t understand a word of what he was saying, but she figured it wasn’t important. What she needed to do right then was get her son away from Affonso Donati before the asshole took him from her for good.

Spinning around, Emma headed toward the door, hoping Affonso was too lost in his own head to even notice she had been in his office, took the baby, and was gone again before he’d looked back up.

She’d hoped for too much.

Emma heard his heavy footsteps behind her, and she held tighter to Cross when Affonso reached out and fisted a handful of her hair, yanking her backward.

Shit.

That hurt.

Letting out a quiet yelp, Emma stumbled to keep upright as Affonso pulled her back into the office. She didn’t let go of Cross for a second.

“Fucking useless bitch,” Affonso snarled. “What do you think you’re doing, huh?”

He didn’t even let her get upright before his hand cracked her hard across the face, and sent her falling to the floor. Somehow, Emma managed to wrap her arms around her baby, keeping him protected from the fall.

“You can’t take what doesn’t belong to you, whore.”

Emma blinked up at Affonso, seeing his wild, bloodshot black eyes boring down into hers. He was reaching out for Cross, but she rolled away from him and quickly got to her unsteady feet

“No,” she said, hearing Cross’s tiny sniffles start up. “You’re not taking him.”

“Give me my fucking son.”

“He’s not your—”

She didn’t get the chance to finish her words. His fist—not his open palm this time—came flying out of nowhere. Emma’s vision blackened at the corners when the punch connected with the side of her face. Blood bloomed in her mouth at the same time.

Her grip on her son loosened.

Affonso reached for the baby as he hit her again, taking the child from her arms as she instinctively tried to raise one hand to protect her face. Without Cross in her arms, all Emma could do was ward off the blows from Affonso’s one hand as he rained punch after slap down on her without pause.

When she was on the floor, trying to cover her head and push away the blackness seeping into her vision, Affonso started kicking her.

Through his attack, she heard his words.

His names.

His taunting.

They were worse than anything else.

Whore.

Slut.

Useless.

Bitch.

Cunt.

You deserve this.

I should have done this months ago.

My fucking son—mine, Emma.

Mine.

The baby wasn’t his.

Cross would never be his.

But it was the last thing she heard before her world went dark.