Effortless: A Legacy Novel

by Bethany-Kris

  Behind the large desk, Calisto’s eyes widened and his brow raised as he realized it was Tom knocking on his door. “Tommaso. I heard you were in town.”

  “Dad thought I needed a break.”

  “We all do occasionally. How is your father?”

  “He’s Tommas Rossi. How do you think?”

  Calisto laughed in a knowing way.

  Because fuck yeah, everybody knew what Tommas Rossi could be like.

  “As thick-headed and stubborn as ever, then.”

  “He can be,” Tom said, smiling. “So do you have that minute, or …?”

  “Come on in. Close the door.”

  Tom did as he was told. The last time he had spoken to Calisto had been two years earlier during his nineteenth birthday. The Donati boss had been in Chicago for business, or something. Noting the curiosity burning in Calisto’s gaze, and how he leaned forward to rest his hands on the desk, Tom figured he should explain why he was there.

  “Cross told me where I could find you today.” Tom tried not to get too comfortable in the chair. Just in case he had to bolt …

  “I wondered how you found me. Now, I’m more curious as to why.”

  Tom smiled, shifted again in the chair, and stuffed his hands deep in his pockets. Calisto didn’t seem to miss the nervous actions.

  Christ.

  He really needed to knock that off.

  “Shit,” Calisto said. “Please don’t tell me you killed one of my guys, or some nonsense like that.”

  Tom laughed, but he knew better than to mention the guy at the club that morning. Cross warned him not to, after all. He sobered and straightened in the chair. “No, nothing like that. But you know, depending on how this goes, make sure to tell my mother that I love her, and all that good shit.”

  Calisto’s brow furrowed, and Tom stayed silent while the man cleared off his desk. When the man was done, and his attention was back on the conversation, Tom reminded himself that this wasn’t a big fucking deal. He didn’t need to be so damn nervous.

  “All right,” Calisto said, “give me the bad news. Whatever it is.”

  “Not that, either.” Tom sighed, and cracked another smile. “It’s just … I’m not used to needing to approach a girl’s father, you know? I don’t normally have to do that being who I am, and who my father is. Except you’re not like other men, you’re like my father, but here, in New York. And if someone approached my sisters before they went to Tommas—”

  “Back the fuck up,” Calisto interrupted.

  Tom’s gaze darted to Calisto. “Huh?”

  “This is about Camilla? You’re here about my daughter?”

  “Uh, yeah?”

  “Well, don’t fucking pose it as a question, now. Either you are, or you are not. Which one is it?”

  Calisto reminded Tom of his no-nonsense father’s demeanor in that moment. Don’t fucking beat around the bush, Tommaso, his father liked to say.

  Clearing his throat, Tom said, “I am.”

  Calisto’s shocked expression was the complete opposite of his next words. “Sorry, but you just came here for nothing, Tommaso.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You wasted your time,” Calisto clarified, “especially coming to me.”

  “That has got to be the fastest rejection—”

  “No.” Calisto rubbed at his forehead like he had a headache coming on. “I mean, I take it you’re here to ask me if you can take my daughter out, and you don’t need to ask me at all. I don’t make those choices for Cam, I never have. Neither does her mother. She’s nineteen, smart as fuck, too; so she is more than capable of saying whether or not she’s interested in someone.”

  Tommaso rested back in his chair. “But you’re …”

  “For Camilla? I’m just her dad.” Calisto chuckled, but then added, “And I love her very much. So, should something happen between the two of you that displeases me because it displeases her, then you can safely assume we will revisit this conversation. But until then, Tommaso, the rest is up to, and has always been up to, my daughter.”

  “Okay.”

  Calisto waved at his office door.

  Just like that, Tom was dismissed.

  Just like that, he was good to take another shot at Camilla Donati.

  Huh.

  “So, have a nice day, and enjoy your visit. If it helps with Cam, she likes action movies, pretty cars, and dancing.”

  Tom didn’t know if it would help, but fuck, it couldn’t hurt.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “SO …”

  Camilla made an effort to keep her attention on the steaks she was rubbing down with one of Emma’s special sauces, and not the gossipy tone her mother used. Across the kitchen, her mother sat reading a book, while also keeping one eagle-eye on Camilla at the same time. She had learned to cook alongside her mother, yet Emma didn’t trust Camilla to cook everything exactly the same way she did.

  She partly blamed it on her mother being Italian. Another part of it was probably Emma’s need to make sure her kids could handle themselves out in the Wild, Wild West that was the world. Her mom always had one of her kids coming and going from the house with the promise of some new thing to do. Usually cooking, but sometimes she changed it up.

  “How’s Daddy feeling today?” Camilla asked.

  Maybe if Camilla asked a different question, she could keep her mother’s attention away from whatever Emma was going to ask. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn’t.

  “He’s feeling okay. The headache passed yesterday.”

  Camilla looked up from the steaks to find her mother was avoiding her daughter’s gaze. She wasn’t surprised. Her father’s—Calisto—health was a sore subject. Something was wrong with her dad. Between the headaches, the episodes that threw him into his past, and the tests the doctors had him running to every other week, Camilla just knew …

  Something bad was going on inside her father’s brain.

  It scared her to death.

  Emma and Calisto just didn’t talk about it. At least, not to her. Camilla knew that her brother didn’t give their parents much of a choice, especially as Cross was often the one to come and help when their dad slipped into one of his episodes. Emma had made it very clear that Camilla was not to step in during Calisto’s episodes—he was always confused, and rarely cooperative. Sure, he had yet to get violent, but it was a possibility given he didn’t know what the hell was going on, or even who they were sometimes.

  It was rough.

  Damn rough.

  “You know, you can tell me if—”

  Emma put on a blinding smile, and stopped her daughter from saying more with, “Everything is fine, Cam. Don’t you worry about that, baby.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  Camilla wouldn’t get more out of her mother. That much was obvious. It seemed Emma had not forgotten about her little desire to get more info on Camilla’s personal life, either.

  “August stopped by to chat yesterday.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “Brought me those bath oils she knows I like from the market.”

  “Oh?” Camilla asked.

  She was not making this easy on her mother. Emma would have to drag it out of her daughter like she always did.

  Camilla’s personal life and business was rarely up for discussion with her parents. It wasn’t that they put rules or expectations onto her because they didn’t. Not at all. They didn’t judge her for bouncing between one physical encounter to the next. They never said a thing about the fact she had yet to settle down, or even bring someone around to meet them. Both her parents were aware of the fact her sexuality was quite fluid, even though she hadn’t dated women beyond the bedroom. They never batted an eye at that aspect of her life, either.

  All her parents ever did was love, support, and encourage Camilla. They left the rest for her to figure out. She appreciated it.

  But her mother?

  Emma was nosy. She loved to know everyt
hing and anything she could. Sometimes, Camilla would indulge her mother just enough to satisfy the woman’s curiosity. At least for a little while. This would probably be one of those times.

  “What did August gossip to you about this time?” Camilla asked.

  Emma fake gasped. “We do not gossip, Cam.”

  “Lies. That’s a lie. It’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told me. Lies, Ma. Try again.”

  “Now—”

  “Lies. August comes here, and the first thing you two do is gossip about me. She’s where you get all your info, Ma. I know it.”

  “Sometimes your father, too.”

  “See! I knew it. You’re all the same. Gossips.”

  She loved her best friend dearly, but the girl could not help herself where Emma was concerned. Like Camilla had spent a lot of time with August’s parents as a teenager, her friend had spent a lot of time with Emma and Calisto, too.

  They were all close.

  August’s father was even one of Calisto’s lawyers for the legal side of his businesses.

  Some people mistook the closeness between August and Camilla for something else, as though they weren’t just friends. That was nothing more than bullshit, and neither of them bothered to pay it any mind. August was so straight, she could be a fucking arrow.

  And even if she wasn’t, Camilla wouldn’t be interested.

  Sex ruined friendships.

  It always did.

  “Anyway,” Emma drawled, setting her book down to the table. “She mentioned you met somebody at a party.”

  Camilla cocked a brow. “I’m not telling her anything ever again.”

  “Lies. You will.”

  Well, it was obvious where Camilla got her nonsense from.

  “Probably,” she muttered. “So I met somebody at a party, had some fun, and sent him on his way. Same business, different day, Ma.”

  “Tom, right?”

  Camilla made a noise under her breath. “Seriously, does she tell you everything?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Jesus, August.”

  “So, you won’t tell me anything about this Tom, then?” her mother asked.

  “There’s nothing to tell, Ma.”

  “Am I to assume it’s the same Tom that approached your father about you?”

  Camilla hesitated in grabbing the next steak to rub it down, too. “What?”

  Across the kitchen, a slow smile grew on her mother’s face. “Oh, you didn’t know about that?”

  “Tommaso approached Dad?”

  “I guess,” Emma said with a shrug. “But as you said, there’s nothing to tell. Right?”

  Well, there wasn’t supposed to be. It was mid-week, now. Camilla hadn’t heard from Tommaso since … well, Sunday morning when he left her place smelling like sex and grinning in that way of his that made her wet.

  She had given him her number. It broke about ten of her rules when it came to not doing second dates, or whatever, but he asked. She didn’t refuse because she probably wouldn’t turn away a second round with Tommaso Rossi.

  Camilla didn’t know what it was about him—maybe the way he looked at her when he thought she didn’t know—but he made her curious.

  That was a dangerous game to play for a woman like Camilla who was hell bent on living her best, and most unrestricted life for as long as she could. Fun was her thing—freedom to have it was her deal.

  “So, he approached Dad, huh?” Camilla asked.

  Emma laughed quietly. “You said it was nothing, Cam.”

  “It kind of still is nothing, Ma.”

  “Could that change?”

  Camilla went back to work on the next steak. “Even if I were to hang out with him again, it’ll never go further than that, Ma.”

  “Never say never, baby.”

  She didn’t respond.

  Everybody needed to have their dreams, after all. Emma’s dream was for Camilla to find someone—anyone she could love who would love her back—and settle into forever with them.

  Camilla wasn’t ready to burn that dream for her mother.

  Not yet.

  On the island, Camilla’s phone dinged with an incoming text. She discarded her work to wash her hands, and check the message.

  Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

  Tommaso’s contact rolled across the home screen with an accompanying text. You busy? That was the only thing he asked.

  Camilla considered ignoring it, but a part of her didn’t want to. At the moment, yeah. Dinner with my parents.

  Later, then? His reply was damn near instant.

  She couldn’t help but grin.

  A couple of hours and I’ll be free, she messaged back.

  I’ll pick you up, came the reply.

  Camilla almost asked how he knew where her parents lived, but didn’t bother. He was friends with Cross, so maybe that was how. Plus, she recognized Tommaso’s last name, and knew of the father he had mentioned to her. He was likely connected to the criminal organization in Chicago—the Outfit, people called it.

  That was his business, though.

  He didn’t share.

  She didn’t ask.

  See you then, Tom.

  “Who was that?” Emma asked when Camilla put the phone back down.

  “Don’t worry, Ma. The next time August comes to visit, I am sure she’ll fill you in on all the dirty details. You don’t need me to.”

  Emma smirked. “Nope, I sure don’t.”

  “You’ve really never been to Luna Park?” Camilla asked.

  Tommaso held out a piece of cotton candy for her to take. She bit the sweet candy straight from his fingers, and sucked on the tips to clean them off. Her wink only made him laugh, and grin in a way that had her stomach clenching.

  “Never. Been to New York lots of times, but I never came down this way.”

  “Coney Island and the amusement park is like … a rite of passage for tourists.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Can’t say I’m really a tourist, though.”

  “Might as well be.”

  “New York is a lot like Chicago—less windy, maybe.”

  “Chicago is not like New York. At all. New York is far better, thanks.”

  Tom glanced over at her with a wicked glint in his eye. “Do you really want to get into it with a Chicago native over which city is better?”

  “We have proper pizza.”

  “Define proper, Cam. You can get a good pizza on every block in Chicago. But we’ve got killer hot dogs that you can’t beat. It’s a damn art form. Try again.”

  “Yankees. Mets.”

  Tom scoffed. “So we’re going to pretend like the Cubs don’t have the best fans in the fucking world, huh?”

  Camilla pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “Lower crime rate here.”

  “Dirtier politicians here, too.”

  Goddamn him.

  Then, Tommaso added, “We get to be The City by the Lake. You get to be The City by New Jersey.”

  Camilla fake glared. “A polluted lake, thank you.”

  Tom shrugged. “Didn’t say I swam in it, did I? I just said we have a better view.”

  “You’re such an ass.”

  “You started this,” he shot back.

  Camilla stopped their walk by moving in front of him, and putting a finger to his chest. “New Yorkers stay up all night, and this is where all the big players come to have fun. We’ve got Fifth Avenue, historic churches, and—”

  “Cheaper to live in Chicago,” Tom interrupted, never budging, “people know how to put garbage in the trash, our rats aren’t the size of cats, and people might actually say hello to you in our city. Don’t even try to have this fight with me, donna. You will lose all over this park.”

  “You’re … impossible.”

  “Bet you like it, though.”

  Camilla couldn’t help but laugh. “And arrogant, apparently.”

  “I mean, if it works, let it work, babe.” He flashed her a sinfu
l smile. “But hey, you got the biggest mob family here, so take that as a win.”

  She knew he didn’t mean her family, particularly, but …

  “I’ll take it,” Camilla said, huffing as she spun around on her suede heeled boots.

  Tom didn’t let her take a single step. He caught her wrist with his hand, and then yanked her back around fast enough to make her vision swim.

  Camilla barely got the chance to catch her breath before Tom was kissing her. His kiss was still new enough to her that it made her heart race as she fisted his jacket, and dragged him closer. Yet, somehow, it felt familiar enough that all she wanted to do was sink into him, and slow down the world for a minute.

  That was kind of terrifying …

  And wonderful.

  People blew past them in the park; headed for rides, games, or food. Camilla suddenly didn’t care because she was far more interested in the way Tommaso’s tongue flicked against hers as though he wanted to tease her.

  Or promise something …

  She wondered if she could get him to put that tongue of his to use again. She liked the way his facial hair scratched and tickled her skin, and she bet it would feel really good somewhere else, too.

  Like between my fucking thighs.

  Far too soon for her liking, Tommaso pulled away. His hand skimmed over her throat and jaw before his thumb stroked along her sensitive lips. “Just say it, Cam.”

  Dazed, and damn near ready to drop to her knees right then and there for him, Camilla peered up at Tommaso. “Say what?”

  “Chicago is better.”

  “Blasphemy, Tom. All lies.”

  “It can’t be a lie when it’s the truth. Just say it, babe.”

  “We’ve got the accent, Tom.”

  “Okay, I did not want to pull this one out of my pocket, Cam.”

  She tried to glare again, but she could still feel the graze of his lips against hers as he talked, and that made it hard. “Pull what out?”

  “Chicago-style deep dish pi—”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “Pizza,” he finished. “I know it’s your favorite because you had a box of leftovers in your fridge, and one in the trash.”

  “August ordered them!”

  “Liar. Someone’s cheating on New York, and it isn’t fucking me, Cam.”