Thin Lies (Donati Bloodlines #1) (3 page)

Dry,
deep chuckles echoed from Affonso before he lifted his glass to take a drink of
white wine. Emma wondered if the Don had a taste for alcohol. It was only noon,
after all, and that was his fourth glass.

Affonso’s
gold pinky ring hit his glass as he tapped his finger along the side. Sitting
across from her at the small, cozy table, Affonso radiated an aura that churned
with his aloof attitude and cold demeanor. The few lines at the edges of his
eyes deepened when he was annoyed, but that was his only show.

Turning
his head slightly, Affonso watched Emma from the side. Silently, unmoving, and
calculating. A shiver raced down her spine.

Affonso
wasn’t exactly old, but he wasn’t young, either. Emma had a feeling that
Affonso’s age made him more susceptible to people’s bullshit and lies. His
profession, on the other hand, taught him how to deal with those kinds of
people.

Emma
didn’t want to be one of them.

“Are
you quite finished?” he asked.

The
deadly calm tenor of his tone reminded Emma of a slow-moving river. It looked
safe enough, but once a person caught the undertow, they were dead and gone.

Emma
quickly decided not to irritate the man more than she already had. Affonso had
been promised something from her—a proper, young wife who knew how to behave. One
that could give him exactly what he wanted in his personal and professional
life. She could be the perfect public image of a housewife, while also being
the respectable persona of a Cosa Nostra Don’s wife.

He
clearly expected her to understand that, too.

“You’re
quite a combative little thing, aren’t you?” Affonso asked, smiling slowly.

“I—”

“Don’t
argue the point,
bella
. It’s clear to me that your spoiled nature
occasionally bleeds into your personality more than you realize. I can only
chalk that up to age for so long before that is no longer an acceptable
excuse.”

“I
wasn’t going to argue it,” Emma said.

“Oh?”

The
genuine surprise on Affonso’s face almost made her laugh.

Almost
.

Emma
held it back, somehow.

“No,
I wasn’t,” she said. “My father regularly tells me to cut the attitude. I’m
aware that I can sometimes be …”

“I
think
bratty
is the word you’re looking for.”

Ouch
.

His
words felt like a slap cracking across her cheek.

Emma
let out a quiet breath, and put her rudeness in check. The last thing she
wanted to do was anger Affonso and end up in a worse position than she already
was by having to marry the man. “My apologies, Affonso.”

“That’s
better,” he murmured. “As for your things and the movers, I’m sure you will
have no problems.”

“I
thought you were leaving. How am I supposed to know what you consider
appropriate for me to keep or wear, without your input?”

“Just
because I’m leaving doesn’t mean you will be left alone, Emma. I may be a couple
of decades older than you, but that doesn’t make me a fool. And I certainly
won’t give you the chance to make me look like one, either.”

What?

Emma’s
brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

Affonso
tipped his glass in the direction behind Emma. Turning slightly in her seat,
she caught sight of a familiar presence. Calisto sat two tables away with his
head down and cup of coffee in his hands. He raised the cup high enough to take
a sip. The curve of his mouth, tipping into a smirk that felt laced with something
unknown, said that he knew she was watching. The strong lines of Calisto’s face
were darkened by the corner he sat in.

Tilting
his head up, Calisto’s dark eyes found Emma’s green ones almost instantly. His
expression was passive, uncaring even, but his gaze burned straight through
her.

Instantly,
she wondered who he was beyond Affonso Donati’s nephew. She knew better than to
let her curiosity climb higher than it already was. Calisto lifted his cup to
take another sip, and he cocked an eyebrow at her. Something wicked twisted in
her gut.

Sexy
came to mind.

So
did
sinful
.

Her
interest was undeniable.

And
unobtainable
.

Jesus.

Emma
turned back around in her seat. “Is he my bodyguard?”

Affonso
barked out a laugh. “God, no.”

“Oh.”

“My
nephew will stay behind and keep an eye on you, but once we get back to New
York, he’ll go back to working as my consigliere,” Affonso said. “God knows I
could use a break from him for a month. Believe it or not, but Cal can
sometimes be even more difficult than your bratty attitude, Emma. He’s made his
place abundantly clear to me—unfortunately—but I’m sure he won’t mind the
break, either.”

“And
what is that?”

“Hmm?”

“His
place. What it is?” she asked.

Affonso
set his glass to the table, and rested back in the chair. “As I said earlier,
if my nephew would do what I wanted for him to do, then I wouldn’t need
you
at all. Despite your age, you’re a smart girl, Emma. I’m sure you can figure it
out.”

Calisto

Dragging
a hand through his hair, Calisto leaned back in his seat and observed the two
people talking a couple of tables beyond his. His coffee was long gone, his
plate empty, and he itched for a cigarette.

The
nagging voice of his mother wasn’t too far behind his craving for nicotine. She’d
always hated his habit, and never failed to point out how unhealthy it was.

Calisto
had never been able to explain to his mother that when he smoked, his problems
drifted away with every drag and exhale. Like a foggy cloud that he blew into
the air, his stresses floated off his shoulders.

He’d
cut back on the cigarettes since his mother died a year ago. Even his mother’s
heart attack hadn’t been enough to scare him away from the little death sticks.
More often than not, he found himself digging out the pack he kept inside his
jacket and lighting up. He could forget the blood on his hands, the demands of
his uncle, and the expectations of
la famiglia
for a brief while.

Simple.

Easy.

Calisto
blew out a heavy breath, trying to tamper down his restlessness. Keeping an eye
on Affonso and his new fiancée was boring as hell. It wasn’t like he’d expected
the trip to Vegas to be particularly interesting, but he’d hoped that the
Sorrento
principessa
might give his uncle a decent run for his money
when it came to getting her down the aisle.

Something
to make this trip worth his time.

If
there was anything Calisto enjoyed, it was watching his uncle squirm. Affonso
didn’t find himself in awkward positions very often. The man’s middle name was
control. When Affonso mentioned the marriage arrangement a couple of months
ago, Calisto thought his uncle was a fool.

Nothing
good could come from the Sorrento Cosa Nostra, female or not. Hell, even Maximo
Sorrento’s only son had been a useless fuckup before his death, known for his
hothead and heavy hand. Calisto didn’t understand his uncle’s reasoning for
wanting to tighten their ties with the Vegas syndicate, but it wasn’t his place
to question Affonso on that.

As
consigliere to the Donati dynasty, Calisto simply had to keep Affonso happy. A
happy Affonso was a happy
famiglia
.

And
when his uncle was happy, he stopped pestering Calisto every chance he could.
There were things his uncle wanted from him—things Calisto refused to do. If he
trusted his uncle, it might be a different story.

Out
of the corner of his eye, Calisto caught sight of his uncle’s jaw clenching. That
was never a good sign. Anger didn’t look good on the Donati Don.

The
Sorrento
principessa
was twenty, to Affonso’s almost fifty. Knowing the
girl’s age and family, Calisto went looking for more information on her.
Curiosity was a killer. Calisto knew about death better than anyone. A little
looking and a few questions filled him in on everything he needed to know about
the girl and where she came from.

A
spoiled woman.

Kept
and pleased.

Primed
and waiting.

The
girl didn’t seem to have much direction in her life. She’d taken a few college
classes, but mostly she enjoyed the Vegas nightlife, her status in one of
Nevada’s most elite families, and her free-range lifestyle that wasn’t actually
free at all.

Calisto
hated a wasted effort.

He
figured that was exactly what Affonso’s arrangement would be with the woman—a
waste of damn time. Affonso wanted an heir of sorts, a boy specifically, but if
the man hadn’t yet produced one with his dozen mistresses and his twenty-five-year
marriage, he probably wouldn’t ever have one.

And
now Calisto was going to be stuck babysitting his uncle’s soon-to-be bride
while the girl worked her anger out on whoever she could for the next month.

How
fun
.

Emma
Sorrento, however, was proving to have a wide spectrum of personalities. In
just the few hours that Calisto had been shadowing Affonso and Emma, he’d
watched the young woman go from quiet and reserved, respectful and jittery, to having
peeks of fire in her eyes. At this very moment, she had a back so straight it
spoke entirely of anger and indignation.

Don’t
worry,
dolcezza
.
Affonso has that effect on everyone.

Calisto
chuckled dryly.

Maybe
the girl would even grow to like it after a while.

Or
maybe not.

Either
way, it wasn’t Calisto’s problem.

The
rapid beat of fingernails against wood brought Calisto from his partly amused
but mostly annoyed thoughts. Emma drummed her manicured fingernails on the
table in quick succession as Affonso looked her over. From his position,
Calisto could see the young woman’s heel beating against the floor. Her other
hand balled into a fist at her side.

Affonso
looked entirely bored but somehow irritated at the same time. The man had
little patience for women, and his reserve lessened the younger the woman was.
In fact, he had such little desire to deal with younger women—barring the
bedroom—that he even sent the daughters he publically recognized away to
boarding school, just so he wouldn’t have to manage them.

Whims
were fantasy, after all.

Didn’t
women like that sort of thing?

Affonso
had no time for it.

This
is not going well.

With
a flick of his wrist, Affonso silently dismissed the woman across from him
without even saying a word. Emma stood quickly from the table, grabbed her bag
and tweed coat off the back of the chair, and bolted in the direction of the
front of the restaurant.

The
flyby of the woman’s dark brown, wavy hair, the grim set of her full lips, and
the flash of heat in her green eyes was all Calisto caught before she
disappeared around the partition. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened,
but it couldn’t have been good.

“Good
God,” Affonso groaned.

Calisto
watched his uncle rub at his forehead, squeeze his eyes shut, and clench his
teeth.

“Trouble,
zio
?” Calisto asked.

“Oh,
don’t start, Cal,” Affonso snapped without opening his eyes.

Calisto
smiled to himself, knowing damn well what the issue likely was. Emma Sorrento
was not bowing to his uncle like most women did when faced with Affonso Donati.
Usually, women found themselves entranced by Affonso’s handsome features,
curious about his lone wolf personality, and then were surprised to see the
monster behind the mask.

Affonso
had hoped to easily ensnare Emma so that the transition from Vegas to New York
would be a simple one for the girl and the families.

“She’s
… frustrating,” Affonso muttered to himself. “Combative. Argumentative. Young.”

“You
picked her. You thought she had a pretty face, if I remember correctly.”

And
she did.

Emma
was a beautiful young woman, there was no denying it. Her trim, petite figure
held sweet curves that would make any man feel like he was protecting her just
by holding her. Her pixie-like features and wide eyes only added to the appeal.
Her top lip was slightly larger than her bottom, and her two front teeth were
just big enough to peek out so that it looked like her mouth was open for the
taking. The heels she wore added a bit of height to her short five feet, three
inches.

It
wasn’t like the girl radiated innocence. Not with smooth, bare legs traveling
out beneath a flared dress, hinting at the curve of her thighs and the swell of
her ass. And certainly not with a mouth that looked like it was ready to be
used or filled.

Calisto’s
throat tightened momentarily as his thoughts flew by. He tampered down the
sudden heat flaring in his groin and readjusted his seat on the chair.

Admitting
he found his uncle’s bride-to-be attractive was one thing. Feeding the
attraction was quite another. One that would find him in a grave next to his
murdered father and dead mother.

He
surely didn’t need that.

“A
pretty face will only go so far when the attitude makes her ugly,” Affonso said
quietly.

Calisto
openly frowned. “Is it attitude, or stubbornness and unhappiness?”

“Is
there a difference?”

Not
to Affonso, maybe.

Calisto
thought there was.

“Besides,”
his uncle added, waving flippantly, “… I know exactly how to make women like
that happy, Calisto. They’re like all women.”

“Shovel
nice things at them to distract their whims with possessions,” Calisto said.

“Exactly.
She’s difficult now, but that’ll only last so long before her tune changes.
Once she realizes how much she will have and what she can be given if she
follows my rules and expectations. She’s been a princess her whole life—time to
start acting like a queen.”

Not
all women wanted to be queens.

Calisto
didn’t correct his uncle.

“Where
did she go?” Calisto asked. “Aren’t I supposed to be keeping an eye on her for
you?”

“To
the bathroom. I think she can handle that business alone, Cal.”

Whatever
.

It
was Affonso’s problem if the girl ran.

“The
dinner party is in a few hours,” Calisto informed his uncle.

Part
of his job was making sure Affonso knew where he had to be, while also taking
care of the man’s wants and needs for
la famiglia
. While in Vegas that
part of his job was pushed to the side as there were no men to handle, but
Calisto still picked up the slack elsewhere.

“Mmm,”
Affonso responded noncommittedly.

The
man’s attention was somewhere else entirely. Like on the swaying, tight ass of
the server across the room.

Calisto
resisted the urge to snap his fingers. Once Affonso caught something he liked
in his sights, the man went after it without hesitation.

“Your
bride-to-be will be coming back soon,” Calisto said dully.

Nothing.

Not
even a blink.

Affonso
pursed his lips, then smirked as he caught the eye of the early-twenties
waitress. The Donati charm was flicked on like a light switch. In a blink,
Affonso’s hardened features darkened. His posture softened enough to make him
seem approachable, and he waved at the woman, asking her over.

The
girl came.

Calisto
wasn’t surprised.

“Would
you like another drink?” the girl asked.

Affonso’s
smirk melted into a wide, pleased smile. “No. I had a thought and I wanted to
ask you about it.”

Amusement
danced on the woman’s features when Affonso hooked a finger in her direction,
silently asking her to come closer. She did, just like a little moth following
the pretty lights.

“Tell
me,” Affonso said, “how old are you?”

“Twenty-two,
sir.”

“Young.
College?”

“Yes.”

“Working
on what, exactly?”

“Business,
mostly, but some arts.”

Affonso
laughed. “Arts will keep you amused through the boring business nonsense, at
least.”

“It’s
worked so far, sir.”

“I
bet,” his uncle murmured. “Tell me something else.”

Calisto
sighed harshly.

His
uncle loved this game.

“What
else?” the girl asked.

“Student
debt. I imagine you owe quite a bit, hmm? That’s probably why you’re working here.
Part-time student. Full-time worker. That must be difficult.”

“I’m
doing okay, but it’s still tight.”

“Sure,”
Affonso said quietly. “Come here.”

Hooking
his finger again, the girl dropped down so that Affonso could whisper something
in her ear. A disgust welled heavily in the pit of Calisto’s stomach and the
bitter taste of hatred rested on the back of his tongue.