by Bethany-Kris
“I’m sorry.”
The soft statement took Calisto by surprise as he turned fast on his heel to find Emma standing in the doorway of the spare bedroom. She hugged her middle tightly, and kept her gaze on the floor.
“You know I hate that, don’t you?” he asked.
Emma glanced up at him. “Hate what?”
“When you do that—act like you can’t look at me, or that I won’t want to see you for whatever reason. It’s almost like every man in your life has made it his job to make you feel some kind of worthless about yourself, and I fucking hate that.”
“I didn’t realize that’s how you see it.”
Calisto shrugged, and dropped the cotton T-shirt to the chair. He was going to get dressed for bed after his shower, but Emma had interrupted his process. He didn’t mind.
“There’s a lot of different sides to you, Emmy. And every time I look at you, I see a different one. There’s the housewife who never wears anything too bright, and her makeup and hair is always perfect. There’s the young woman who is still just stumbling into adulthood, and can sometimes be a little selfish and a brat. There’s the mob boss’s daughter, and the wife of a Don. I’ve seen the woman who’s taken a slap to the face, and the one who’s turned her cheek to awfulness.”
Calisto took a deep breath and continued, “I’ve seen the mother you wanted to be, the heartbroken mother who lost her babies, and the mother you are now. I’ve seen you as a friend, a wife, a daughter, a woman, and a lover. Sometimes it’s hard for me to pick the one I like the most. I love the Emma that wears red lipstick and smirks when she flips life off. I like the Emma that doesn’t care if her dresses are above her knees and if her heels are high enough to make me take another look. I love you, and you don’t need to be anybody else.”
Emma wet her lips, still keeping her arms locked around her middle like she was holding herself together. “You always say the right things.”
“I say honest things. They might not always be comfortable words, sometimes I’m too blunt, I know, but they are truthful. I will always give you the truth, Emma.”
“I’m still sorry,” she said, adding quickly, “for earlier, Cal. I know you were just trying to help and reassure me that Cross was fine if I left him, but I felt like such a fuck up. So I didn’t want to leave him again even for a second.”
“You’re not—that boy loves you, huh?”
“He better. I spent hours pushing him out.”
Calisto laughed hard and loud, needing the amusement to cleanse his soul. The hot shower and praying just hadn’t been enough to make him feel better, but Emma had done it with one single sentence.
It wasn’t even the first time this woman had done that. Calisto was not the laughing type, but he could distinctly remember—and he was so grateful that he could remember them—times when her blunt crassness that seemed so out of character had stopped his over-thinking mind and forced him into a better, joyful place.
“Thank you,” Calisto said as he calmed.
Emma grinned, her arms falling to her sides. “For what?”
“Being you, dolcezza. Nothing more.”
“I love you, Cal.”
Silently, he held out a hand to her, drawing her closer until he could hug her tight, and hide her face into his chest. Closer was better. With Emma, closer would always be better. In his embrace, she trembled, but he just held her tighter.
It was over—all of the nightmares that kept her awake at night.
She could be loved the way she should have been from the start.
He could do that for her.
Calisto cupped her cheeks, wiped away the tear streaks, and kissed away her frown until a beautiful smile bloomed. “I love you, Emmy.”
He had never spoken truer words.
He probably never would again.
Five months later …
“Well, boss, what of it?” Wolf asked.
Calisto gave his right-hand man a small smile, but his attention was on the baby boy in his lap. “Everything is perfectly fine, man.”
“Fine as in you have it handled, or fine as in you will handle it?”
Honestly, Calisto wasn’t sure.
It was a big step.
One he’d worked his people and men into slowly.
Emma, that was.
And whatever relationship he wanted to have with her.
Calisto’s only goal was to make sure his lover was safe from judgment and shame after the story circulated of her husband running off with his only word of doing so being the divorce papers he left behind. Emma needed someone to care for her, her son, and her home. He was the one to do that, and while it looked innocent enough, that didn’t stop people from talking.
He couldn’t have that.
And so, he’d worked into it all with care. Never staying the night, always being appropriate and respectful in front of others, and never allowing even the slightest hint of affection to be shown toward Emma from him when they were in public.
Then, those things had started to change. He stayed the night, he took her out, and he allowed people to talk.
To an extent.
Now, Calisto had a choice to make—a big one.
“I have a few months,” Calisto said.
“The Commission is a stickler for rules.”
Calisto blew out a quiet breath, knowing Wolf was right. The Commission—a group of North American crime syndicates that made up a ruling table of bosses—would be meeting soon, and it would be Calisto’s first time attending. To be considered for a seat at the table as Affonso had once been, he needed to do one simple thing.
Have a wife.
He only wanted Emma, but Calisto wondered …
Was it too soon?
Would it cause a problem?
Did he even care if it did?
“Wake up,” Calisto murmured against Emma’s neck.
She mumbled something unintelligible, giggling into her pillow when his fingers tickled up her side under the covers. She was naked—all soft, warm skin under his fingertips.
Christ.
He loved her like that first thing in the morning.
“Where is—”
“Cross is still sleeping—heavily, I might add.”
Emma sunk further into the bed, sighing happily when Calisto’s hand sneaked in between her thighs to stroke her bare sex.
Hot.
Wet.
Tight.
Her pussy took two of his fingers in knuckle deep without protest, and her long, hard moan muffled into the pillow. Calisto couldn’t have her doing that—hiding her face and sounds. He liked them too damn much to let her keep them from him.
“No, no,” Calisto said, chuckling. “I want to see your face while I’m fucking you with my fingers, Emmy. Roll over.”
He didn’t have to tell her again. She obeyed his request, tipping her head back on the pillow so her hair was out of the way and he had the best view of the pleasure washing over her features. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, and his name fell from her mouth as he curled his fingers on every thrust, hitting that one spot that was sure to make her wetter than ever, and shaking all over by the time he was done.
“Are you going to come?” he asked.
“God, yeah.”
“Will you ride me then?”
Emma laughed a breathless, sweet tune. “All morning, Calisto.”
Or … at least until their son woke up.
“Then come, because I really want you riding me right now,” he demanded.
Another brutal thrust of his fingers, and then his thumb sliding up to press into her throbbing little clit, and Emma was flying high. There were many things Calisto loved in his life—watching Emma pant and cry her way through an orgasm first thing in the morning was high on that list.
“There we are,” he whispered.
Calisto didn’t even give Emma the chance to recover, or finish riding out the waves of her bliss. He pulled her up from the sheets without warning, and right on top
of his own body. Hovering above him, she trembled and breathed deep, her hands circling around the hard, thick base of his cock to steady his length as she lowered down.
Oh, yes.
Wet.
Hot.
Tight.
She fit him like a fucking glove. So perfect.
Every little flex of her inner muscles hugging his dick made him want to pull her down on him the rest of the way until he was buried balls deep into her pussy and couldn’t think of anything else.
Silently, Emma pulled Calisto’s hand up toward her mouth, the one he’d used to fuck her with. As she started a slow, grinding rhythm on top of him, she sucked his fingers clean of her come.
Wet, red lips.
Sly smile.
Messy, wavy hair.
Silky skin.
All he could do was watch her, watch him.
His breaths came out in staccato beat, matching every push of her pubic bone against his groin. She never really lifted off his body, just moved their bodies together fast and hard, her legs tightening around his waist. The delicate line of her shoulders swayed with her movements, and her hair tumbled down over her chest, covering her breasts. With the blanket pooled around their waists, all he could really do was watch her, and feel it all.
It was a slow burn.
Sort of like they had been.
Through the haze of his lust, he said, “I’m going to marry you, Emmy.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “Of course you are—all you have to do is ask, Cal.”
He asked.
After she’d fucked him dry, licked him clean, and did it all over again.
He asked.
They had always been a little dirty like that, anyway.
He loved that the best, too.
Two Months Later …
Calisto knocked on the door marked with a large, white satin bow, and took a single step back. He shifted the weight of Cross on his hip, letting the nine-month-old toddler chew on the very tip of his tie. He figured it didn’t matter much if Cross wrinkled it, considering it would be hidden by his jacket for most of the day, and underneath his vest.
He was more a dress shirt, tie, and slacks kind of man. He liked his leather shoes, sure, and cuff links weren’t half bad, either.
But for the most part, he didn’t do the three piece suit thing.
Today, Calisto did.
Today was important, though.
“Baaa, maaaa, gaaa, baaa, daaa,” Cross babbled, grinning a mostly toothless smile. He had a few teeth, all in the front, but his back ones were being stubborn. “Daa, daa, daaaa.”
Calisto glanced down the hallway, noting a few guests waiting to be let into the main floor of the venue so they could find a seat and sit down. Some looked his way at the loud babbling of his son.
As much as it pained Calisto to do it, he corrected Cross for the benefit of other ears that might be listening. “Zio, little man.”
“Daaa.”
Calisto sighed. “Yeah.”
It was harder on him than he thought, but it was for his son’s best interests, and Emma’s, that they keep all that had happened a secret. And so, what people knew were the details they stuck to, and didn’t allow anyone to dig any further into
Cross had a father—Affonso Donati—the bastard who had run off, abandoned his Cosa Nostra family, left his young wife with signed divorce papers, and a young baby and two step-daughters to look after. He had done so without a word to anyone, and Calisto was left cleaning up the mess.
Or, that’s how the story went.
It allowed Cross the ability to grow up without being looked at as the product of an affair, as a literal betrayal in the flesh. He would never be looked down upon because of how he had been brought into the world. He would be loved and adored all the same, with a mother and step-father, who was also his uncle to the outside world, that would raise him together, as he deserved.
And Emma … Emma would never be called a whore, or mocked because of mistakes they had made together. She would never be shamed for birthing a child that belonged to a man who wasn’t her husband.
She would still be respected as Calisto’s wife.
Because he was marrying her.
Today.
It was such an important day.
Balancing Cross on his hip once more, Calisto knocked again on the door, wondering why no one was answering. That time, he heard the heels click across the floor, and a smile instantly began to grow on his face even before she swung it open to reveal who was interrupting her time.
Emma’s eyes flew wide at the sight of Calisto and Cross waiting for her. The fitted, lace mermaid style wedding gown she wore was a blush cream and tight to every one of her curves. Calisto couldn’t stop his wandering gaze if he tried.
“You’re not supposed to be here!” she whispered.
Calisto’s gaze snapped back up to hers, and his grin deepened into a smirk. “Weren’t we in bed together last night?”
Emma reached out and smacked a hand over his mouth, quieting him instantly. He laughed under her sweet smelling palm, and kissed her skin. With a small smile, and happy eyes, she let him go, reaching for her son. Cross’s arms were already wide and wanting his mother.
“Maaa, maaa,” the baby babbled.
“Someone was being demanding about wanting to see you,” Calisto said. “He gets antsy when you’re gone for too long.”
“You couldn’t send him over with someone else? You have a room across the church to stay in.”
Maybe so.
But …
“Maybe someone else was getting antsy, too,” Calisto said quietly.
He was always like that with her now, and with Cross, too. The longer he was away from one or the other, the worse his attitude and restlessness became. He loved them far too much to be away from them. They were his place—his one good, safe, and happy place made just for him.
Emma pursed her painted red lips, leaned forward, and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth. She murmured against his lips, “I love you, but I will see you at the end, Calisto.”
His throat tightened.
She had no one to walk her down the aisle this time.
But she was free to choose, and she was choosing him.
Sometimes, even the bad guys won.
“At the end, Calisto,” Emma repeated. “I will find you there, I promise.”
He kissed her again, lingering for as long as he could.
“At the end, Emmy.”
Calisto
There was something to be said for the way a man raised his family. Because at the end of it all, when a man was driven to his final resting place, there wasn’t very damn much he could take with him. Sure, he could line his casket in gold, and rot inside a silk lined grave. His tombstone could be the biggest in the cemetery, the one people saw first before any other.
But those were just things.
Unimportant, forgettable things.
It had taken Calisto years to learn that it wasn’t what he would take with him when he died, but what he left behind. Those things were the important, poignant moments that would never be forgotten, that would carry his legacy beyond his grave and tombstone, and they would come from him.
Well, a part of him.
“Almost ready?” Emma asked.
Calisto felt her hand on his arm, her fingers squeezing gently. She was there, getting him through the emotional hell this day was.
He never thought it would be this hard.
“Cal?” his wife asked softer.
Calisto glanced up from his wrist as he slid his watch in place and cuffed the links together. He’d been staring at the same spot for minutes, and only now realized it. “No, Emmy, I’m not ready.”
Emma smiled, soft and sweet.
She was always sweet.
Always would be.
Her hand came up and cupped the side of his cheek, patting lightly. “This is a good day, Calisto.”
“I know, bella.”
Calisto sighed. “I am happy.”
“You could look a little happier,” Emma suggested.
Pursing his lips, Calisto chuckled dryly. “This is the best I can do right now.”
“It’s not the end of the world.”
“It’s the end of something, Emmy.”
She kissed his cheek, fast and fleeting. He wanted her to stay there and kiss him a little bit longer. Keep his mind occupied with the softness of her lips and the warmth of her breath on his skin. She was damn good at her distractions, and he’d learned over their two and a half decades together that her little talent for occupying his mind during rough times was a gift.
Some people might have seen it like a curse.
He knew it wasn’t.
But Emma had other things to do.
More important things.
At least right then.
She patted his cheek again.
“Not the end of the world,” Emma repeated gently.
“I know.”
“It’s just a wedding.”
Calisto let out another hard breath. “Yeah.”
“And she’s happy.”
Jesus.
His wife was not letting him go down without a fight, apparently.
“She’s happy,” Calisto echoed.
Emma smiled brightly, kissing his cheek once more before using her thumb to wipe away a smudge of lipstick. “And what does that mean, huh?”
Calisto forced back the lump beginning to form in his throat. “If she’s happy, I’m happy.”
“Tommaso is a good man, Cal.”
Well, he came from a good man.
And Calisto liked the kid enough.
Frankly, Tommaso Rossi wasn’t so much a kid as a man. A man who was marrying Calisto’s twenty-two year old daughter today. A ceremony that would take place in the very same church where both Calisto’s children had been Christened, where they had grown up in pews listening to a priest, and where Cal and Emma were married almost two and a half decades before.
That helped.
For some reason that Calisto just couldn’t explain, it helped to know he was giving away his only daughter in a place that he cherished and respected as much as he did her very breath and soul.