by Bethany-Kris
“Go back to bed, fuck.”
Clipped.
Angry.
Tense.
That wasn’t like Calisto at all.
Not the one she knew.
Emma jiggled the doorknob, but found it was locked. Her heart thumped in her throat as the worry compounded hard in her chest. “Calisto, open the fucking door.”
He didn’t say a word back.
Emma smacked her palm hard on the door, and she barely felt the sting. Even so, she instantly began to cry. All of the emotions and the confusion that she had spent bottling up over the last day came pouring out of her in that moment, rushing out like lava from a volcano. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she sobbed, gasping for breath.
She just wanted to talk to Calisto.
She needed to get it all out.
Why wouldn’t he open the door for her?
“Calisto, open the goddamn d—”
The door swung open, and Emma was immediately engulfed in warm, strong arms. She buried her face into Calisto’s chest, and cried harder. She felt his hand stroke her back while his other tangled into her hair.
“I’m sorry,” she heard him murmur. “Please don’t cry, Emmy. It’s been a long day, and I didn’t mean to snap at you. God, stop crying. I didn’t mean to make you cry, bella.”
Emma sniffled, wishing she wasn’t so fucking hormonal and stupid. “It’s not you, not really.”
Calisto held her out away from him a bit, just enough that he could look her over. His dark eyes raked over her form, and he wiped the tears from her face with his bruised, cut hands.
Emma blinked.
“What happened to your hands?”
Calisto pulled them away from her face, dropping them down to his sides like he wanted to hide them. It was too late. Emma had already seen the swollen damage.
“Nothing,” he said quickly.
Too quickly.
“Give me your hands,” she demanded.
When he didn’t do as she asked, Emma grabbed his right wrist and pulled his hand up to look at it in the light from the bathroom. She sucked in a hard breath at the sight of his injured hand. His knuckles were swollen, cut on each one, and an angry red. His pinky was slightly off to the side, and it didn’t look right.
“It’s broken, I think,” Calisto grumbled.
“Oh, my God.”
“Doesn’t hurt a lot.”
“How can it not hurt?” Emma asked, staring up at him.
“I took a Vicodin and washed it back with some vodka.”
Jesus.
Emma’s fingers ghosted over Calisto’s knuckles again. She dropped his hand, and grabbed his other. It was in the same condition, minus the broken pinky finger.
“Here, I’ll get you to hold onto this for me,” Calisto said.
Emma waited as he dug in his pants pocket and pulled out something that was hidden in his fist. Turning his hand over, Calisto opened his palm to showcase the golden ruby ring that he always wore on his pinky.
“I won’t be able to put it on for a while,” he explained. “And if they were to cut it off at the hospital when I go in, I would have a fucking fit.”
Emma plucked the ring from his hand, her palm closing tightly around it to keep it safe. “I’ll hold onto it. Now, tell me what happened.”
Calisto spun on his heel and stalked back into the bathroom. Emma followed right behind. She waited him out as he turned the water on and stuck his hands underneath with a hiss. The water turned pink when Calisto clenched his hands into fists, and his cuts opened up all over again. Blood washed down the drain.
In the light, she finally got a good look at him.
Blood was splattered up his white dress shirt. He had the same red dots all over his neck, jaw, and face. His arms were stained with blood right up to his elbows, and his hair looked like he had run a bloody hand through it.
On the counter, a cigarette burned and smoke curled upward in spirals.
Calisto plucked it up and stuck it between his bloody lips and took a drag.
Emma’s chest tightened.
He was bloodied, dark as hell, and quiet standing there.
It made her stomach twist—it wasn’t a bad thing.
What had happened to make him come home like this?
“Calisto?” Emma asked.
He pulled another item from his pocket, and handed it over. Emma unfurled the crumpled piece of paper, and pain sliced through her heart at the face on the page. Her attacker looked exactly the same in the picture, right down to the scar beneath his eye.
“That happened,” Calisto said, his tone coming out like a rumble.
Emma wet her lips. “How did you find out who it was?”
“I had a meeting this morning. I was given that.”
“And then what?”
Calisto laughed deeply, his soul-black gaze flashing as he turned it on her. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know, Cal”
“I fucking killed him. I went to the restaurant he manages, lured him into the back alley, and beat him like he did to you. I didn’t stop hitting him until he was seizing on the ground and choking on his own bloody vomit. Do you want to know what I did then?”
No.
“Yes,” she said instead.
“I put my hands around his throat,” Calisto said, lifting his hands high for her to see. “And I held on, watching his eyes until there was nothing left. I was so angry because he’d touched you—he hurt you. He left marks all over you, and he made you cry. I had to see him go, watch that leave his eyes and make sure he knew why, and it was worth it.”
Oh, God.
Emma closed her eyes for a brief second, but opened them back up just as fast.
“Do you hate me now?” Calisto asked when she stayed quiet.
“Never,” Emma whispered. “I love you too much to hate you, Cal.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Emma stepped closer to him. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you just shouldn’t. This is never going to be—we’re never going to be more than we are right now. If anything, we’ll be together a hell of a lot less very soon.”
Her heart clenched painfully.
“Calisto, don’t say that,” she mumbled, wrapping an arm around her lower stomach. “I need you.”
“That’s a problem, Emmy.”
“Cal!”
Calisto ignored her shout, and stared into the mirror, his eyes seemingly deader than ever. “Do you want to know what I did after the meeting this morning?”
Emma didn’t understand how that mattered. “No, I want to know why you would say something like that to me, after everything.”
“I met with the Irish boss this morning, and found out about all of Affonso’s double dealings and his bullshit. Thankfully, the meeting went well, and we shouldn’t have any more issues with the Irish family. It was just another one of Affonso’s messes that I had to clean. Just like he wanted me to. Right after, I got in my car and drove across town to meet with the men again. He’s been gone since the first week of February. It’s April, now. His men want to know where he is—why he isn’t here. They’re angry that he left, angry with him.”
“I don’t understand,” she admitted.
“He wanted them like that; he wanted them looking to me, and partial to me,” Calisto muttered.
“So?”
“So,” Calisto drawled, dragging a bloody, wet hand down over his face, “… I sat there with them today, and did nothing as they gave Affonso exactly what he wanted, and everything that I refused him. I had no say. He forced me into it just like he promised to do.”
“The boss’s seat,” she said, finally putting his mumbled pieces together.
Calisto nodded, staring into the mirror again. “He’s got everything he wants from me.”
“Oh, Cal.”
“Do you know what that means?”
Emma reached out and snagged his wrist in her hand, holding tight. “No, but
it’ll be okay.”
“It won’t.” Calisto shook his head, sucking in a shuddering breath. “It won’t be okay, because now he can come back and do what I said he would. Stand in the shadows and watch me run his family. Take you from me. Kill me without even raising a finger. I didn’t want this, but I had to protect you, right the wrongs that had been done to you; I needed to protect la famiglia, too.”
“It’s okay,” she repeated.
Emma didn’t know what else to say.
“It’s not, because now I’m in an even worse position. People will expect things from me—a wife, for one.”
Agony slipped through Emma’s veins.
“But—”
“That’s just how it is,” Calisto interjected softly. “And you weren’t mine to begin with, Emmy.”
Emma wrapped her midsection even tighter with her arm. “Can’t we do something?”
“Like what?”
“Run,” she offered. “Something, Cal.”
“What good would running do? We’ll always be running. We’ll never stop. I can’t keep pretending like this is going to go anywhere, because it won’t.” Calisto pulled out of her grasp and his hand slapped against the countertop, and his rage spilled out in an angry shout that hurt Emma from the inside out. “I am so fucked up now—you fucked me up, and I wanted it. I don’t know how to handle this, Emmy.”
“Calisto …” She reached for him again, but he just jerked away.
“I gave him everything he wanted,” Calisto said again. “But I did it for you, and now I don’t even get you.”
She wanted to tell him. The pregnancy news was right on the tip of her tongue. Calisto didn’t give her the chance. He pushed on past her in the bathroom, and flew out into the hallway. Emma followed behind, confused and hurting even more.
“Cal, wait,” she whispered.
He threw a hand high. “I need to breathe, or to think. Something. Just … I’ll be back, Emmy.”
“Wait, please.”
Calisto didn’t wait.
Emma watched him go, and her heart cracked all over with every step he took.
Emma
The Donati home was far too quiet come morning. Emma walked the floors, the halls, and throughout the rooms, but it was empty and it rang a lonely song. The longer she waited, wondering why Calisto hadn’t come back like he promised, the worse she felt.
She called his phone, but got no answer.
She texted him, and got the same thing.
Silence.
Nothing.
The cracks in her heart grew to cavernous fractures that were barely able to hold together.
Where was he?
Emma tried to distract herself with cooking breakfast—as the cook had taken time off—but once the food was made, she had no desire to eat. She pushed the eggs around on her plate while Midnight napped in her lap.
Once she gave up on trying to fill her stomach, she took Midnight out into the chilly April morning to let the puppy do his business. Not that it mattered. She had already cleaned the business he left on the bedroom floor.
Still, the worry and loneliness grew. Even when she pulled out the poker chip Calisto had given her and held it tight in her palm. Even when she sat with Midnight at the piano and played a few keys.
She couldn’t get the feeling that something was wrong out of her heart. It had burrowed in to all the fissures there, grabbed tight, and refused to let go.
Emma stared at the phone for the majority of the morning, waiting for it to ring. She just needed something—anything. All Calisto had to do was call her and say he wasn’t coming back, and she would understand.
The silence was a cold killer.
But there was nothing she could do.
Emma amused her pup, took her prenatal vitamin, and watched the phone.
Nothing changed.
The front door slammed hard enough to rattle the pictures on the wall. Emma jumped off the couch, waking Midnight up in the process. She patted the pup on his fluffy little head, and left him where he was to see who had entered her home.
She needed it to be Calisto.
It wasn’t.
Ray stormed down the hall, a wild look in his eye. His clothes were wrinkled. His hair looked like he’d been pulling on the strands. The man had never once entered the Donati home without knocking before, despite being Affonso’s underboss in la famiglia. It was a respect thing, and it shocked Emma to see Ray looking so disheveled and crazy.
The awful feeling welled in Emma’s gut again.
“What happened?” she asked.
Ray shoved past her, pushing her into the wall. She yelped her surprise on deaf ears; Ray continued without even looking at her. Emma’s back hit a painting, and it fell to the floor with a crash.
She pushed off the wall, and ran after him. Her heart raced, threatening to jump right out of her throat. She clenched her fists at her sides, her fingernails biting into the skin of her palm with enough force to break the skin.
“Tell me what happened!” Emma shouted.
“Where is it?”
Emma stumbled in her walk, grabbing onto a hallway table for support. Ray turned on his heel just as he came to Affonso’s office across from the library.
“Tell me where it is!” he repeated, shouting for all he was worth.
She blinked, her mouth opening.
Nothing came out.
What did he want?
“Why are you here?” she asked in a whisper.
“I need to know where it is, Emma,” Ray said instead.
Sickness rose in her stomach, threatening to overspill. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Another large crack splintered across her heart.
Ray had no reason to be here, doing what he was.
Calisto would never allow it.
Affonso would never allow it.
“Where is Calisto?” Emma asked.
Ray made a frustrated noise, and waved a hand at her. “Stupid girl. How could you possibly know what I need?”
He turned fast on his heel and disappeared into Affonso’s office. The heaviness in Emma’s feet damn near kept her rooted in place in the hallway, but she pushed forward. The quiet whines of Midnight echoed from the living room, telling her the dog was scared to be alone.
Emma’s own heart was whining, too.
Crying.
Sobbing.
Something was wrong.
Inside the office, she found Ray digging through papers on the desk. He tossed them here and there, letting them fall to the floor like he didn’t care at all. He pulled open drawers, and yanked files out to slap them on the desk. Again, he went through the contents, tossing whatever he didn’t find useful to the floor.
“Where in the fuck is it?” he growled.
“What?” Emma cried. “Where is what?”
“I need …” Ray trailed off, grabbing the laptop. He turned it on, and then slammed his hands into the keyboard when a passcode page lit up the screen. “Goddammit!”
Emma shuddered.
His rage was visible in his burning eyes and his shaking fists.
It was the first time Emma didn’t feel safe in Ray’s presence.
“I need to call him,” Ray mumbled, reaching for a stack of Post-it notes on the desk. “I have to.”
Emma went numb all over. The pain finally stopped for a moment, but she couldn’t feel anything at all. Ray wouldn’t need to find Calisto’s phone number. He would already have it. He called Calisto on a daily basis.
But for Affonso … Ray had been out of the loop.
A lot like everyone else.
Even Emma.
“Why do you need to call Affonso?” Emma asked, her tone barely above a breath.
Ray ignored her. He continued searching through the scraps of paper and another drawer of things. He typed on the keyboard of the laptop, trying different password combinations only to fail each time.
Emma found her voice, somehow. “Why?”
; The volume of her shout was enough to make Ray stutter in his movements. He stared at her, taking her in as his hands shook over the papers.
“There was an accident,” Ray said quietly.
Emma took a step backward.
No.
“Calisto was driving down the highway and—”
“Stop it,” Emma mumbled, putting her hand up as if to block Ray’s words.
She had backed up to the doorway, and was standing in it. Her heart was beating, but it felt like with each one, total agony was being pumped straight into her bloodstream.
Oh, God.
She couldn’t breathe.
“I have to call Affonso,” Ray said. “He has to know what happened to Calisto.”
“Stop it,” Emma repeated, practically screaming the words.
Stop lying, she wanted to shout. You’re lying.
Ray couldn’t possibly understand, but he was killing her. His words were cutting into her already broken heart and leaving her even more battered than before.
Emma turned on her heel, and ran.
She didn’t know what she was running from.
This whole house was her prison now.
Emma blinked awake, and her entire body protested as she moved off the cold tile of the bathroom floor. The stale stench of her vomit still lingered in the air, and she blindly waved at the toilet to hit the latch and flush the contents down.
She had cried herself into a puking mess.
Then she passed out on the floor after crying some more.
Stumbling onto her feet, Emma grabbed the doorknob and swung the door open. Stepping out into the hallway, she could hear quiet murmurs down the hall coming from the office. She checked the decorative clock on the wall, realizing it had only been a little more than an hour since Ray showed up with his … news.
Was he still here?
She could distinctly hear two murmurs.
Two people.
The closer she came to the office, the better she could discern who was speaking.
“They drove him off the road?” Affonso asked.
Emma could tell by the slight change in Affonso’s tone that he was speaking through the speaker on the telephone.
“There were a few bullet holes in his car as well,” Ray said.
Affonso cursed low. “You’re sure it was the Irish?”