Calisto Donati
She was just a woman. That’s what Calisto wanted to tell himself; that’s what he wanted to believe. Emma was nothing more than a woman. There were other women for him to want. To obsess over.
It couldn’t be Emma Sorrento.
Not for Calisto.
She was taken.
She was claimed.
She was not his.
In a few days, Calisto would hand her off, and that would be that. He wondered why it wouldn’t be that easy to let her go.
What good had saving her done?
He had simply taken her from one monster to give her to another.
Emma Sorrento
Emma slid on her mask. All someone would need to do was look close enough to see what was really beneath the sheer falseness of her smile.
At the other end of the table, Emma found her lies staring her right in the face.
He smirked.
And winked.
Calisto Donati was her worst mistake, her greatest shame, and the one thing she still wanted more than anything. Emma could still feel him all over her, long after his touch and kiss was gone. In thirty days, her entire world had changed—he had changed her.
Emma had a feeling that if she played another game with Calisto, she would surely lose.
She had already lost once.
Wasn’t it enough?
*
Emma
“Duty” was the first word a Mafioso principessa learned growing up. Be good to the family. Bring them no shame. Smile for the crowd.
And when the time comes, do your duty.
At only twenty, Emma Sorrento was not ready to do hers.
“You look wonderful, Emmy,” Maximo said.
Somehow, Emma managed a smile for her uncle. “Thank you.”
Maximo waved her closer. Emma followed his unspoken demand until she was standing in front of him with her hands clasped behind her back. Maximo looked over the silver, flared dress that fell just above Emma’s knees, and the black pumps on her feet.
“Your hair is down,” Maximo said.
“You asked for it to be like this, zio.”
“I did. I like it better this way. I’m sure Affonso will appreciate it as well. And your mother made sure you toned down the red lipstick, I see.”
“Sì.” Emma swallowed back the disgust rising in her throat. It burned like bile on her tongue, acidic and full of shame.
“Smile, Emma. That frown does nothing for your pretty face.”
Her uncle’s words had been spoken lightly, as if he were amused, but a heavy ring of warning lingered right behind them. Immediately, Emma fixed her frown to a smile.
Fake and bright.
Enough to distract a man.
She could do this.
Right?
“She’s a little nervous,” came a voice from behind her. “It’s a big day for our little Emma.”
Emma found her father, George, leaning in the doorway with a cigar dangling from his fingertips and a glass of brandy in his other hand.
Maximo chuckled. “How much of a fight did she put up this morning, brother?” A single finger ticked under Emma’s chin, making her stare up at her uncle’s face. “What is there to fight about, hmm?”
“Nothing,” Emma said.
“Surprisingly, very little,” George said.
Maximo smiled. The sight was almost predatory in nature. Her uncle had always treated her well, especially considering that she was the only daughter in their small family. George had no other children but Emma, and the other Sorrento brother had died in a childhood accident when he rode a bicycle out onto the street and was hit by a car.
The Sorrento family was one of many Italian-based organized crime families in Vegas. Over the years, the Sorrentos and other syndicates across the country strengthened their ties by mixing their names and blood. In Cosa Nostra, girls were fodder to a bigger plan. That plan being a man, the one with the best last name for a contract, the family to push them higher, make them safer, or earn them business.
Because that’s all her life was worth.
Emma knew this day was coming.
“It’s just business,” Maximo said as if he could read Emma’s mind.
“Business,” she echoed.
“The Donati family had a long night getting here. Some issue with the plane caused them a layover. It ended up connecting them to a redeye. I expect you to be pleasant and respectful, Emmy.”
Emma felt the spark of anger stab through her heart. She had done all that she could to ignore the lingering rage simmering in her blood, never mind the resentment burning through her soul.
Maximo didn’t give her a chance to voice her inner war. Her uncle left the large office. He passed by his brother in the doorway without so much as a goodbye, and disappeared into the hall. When Emma was sure that she couldn’t hear her uncle’s footsteps anymore, she finally took a real breath.
For two months, Emma had felt like she couldn’t breathe. Ever since her uncle had visited her parents’ home one evening, sat down at the dinner table, and calmly explained that she would be married off to a man nearly thirty years her senior.
Affonso Donati was forty-nine, but his fiftieth birthday was right around the corner. Apparently, the man’s wife had passed away a few months earlier after three separate battles with cancer. Every good Cosa Nostra Don needed a wife and so, Affonso went shopping for one.
Emma’s father and uncle—without her knowing or giving input—had placed her name, picture, and pedigree directly in Affonso’s path.
It pissed Emma off like nothing else. The Donati family certainly wasn’t the biggest or best syndicate for her uncle and father to marry her off to. They were small-time in New York compared to the Marcellos or even the Calabrese family. Affonso could be her father, for Christ’s sake.
Emma forced back the sickness beginning to rise again. She took a deep breath, needing to calm the torrent of panic starting to well all over again.
Duty.
That stupid word kept ringing louder and louder.
“Your mother is waiting for you downstairs,” her father said.
His voice reminded Emma of George’s presence.
“Thanks,” she said, spinning around.
“You know I appreciate how good you’re being about all of this, don’t you, Emmy?”
Emma refused to even grace her father with a smile. The man knew how angry and disgusted she was over this entire agreement between the Sorrento and Donati families. “Yes, I know, Dad.”
“Good.”
George smiled, taking another step into the room. Her father reached out and snagged Emma’s hand, drawing it away from her side. He glanced over her bare ring finger and said nothing about the slight tremor rocking her hand. Then, her father’s grip tightened to an almost painful point. His fingernails dug into the skin of her palm with enough pressure to leave marks behind.
Emma sucked in a sharp breath. “Ouch.”
“Remember that feeling, sweetheart. I hear Affonso has a taste for pain where his women are concerned. At least, he does if they don’t behave.”
Oh, God.
“And the ones who do behave?” she asked quietly.
“He treats them like little queens.” George smiled again. “I have given you everything you have ever wanted, Emmy. You have been spoiled rotten, treated like a princess, and handed over every bit of respect you deserved as a Sorrento daughter. It’s time for you to repay me for that. Be a good girl, and do this for your family without issue.”
Emma had never been particularly close to her parents. Both George and Minnie Sorrento had been far more focused on their social lives and la famiglia business, than they had been about Emma as she grew up. Her parents’ way of making up for neglecting her of love and attention was by giving her things.
Lots of things. Love couldn’t be bought. Emma ignored the pain in her chest. Her screaming mind was louder.
Loyalty is bought all the time.
Her parents were the perfect example of how people attempted to do just that. They’d birthed a daughter they didn’t really know, gave her a glamourous life that placated and tricked her into comfort, and now she didn’t have a choice but to do what they wanted. Emma had no money of her own, no status to keep her safe or provided for unless she did what her parents demanded. Even her apartment and car were not hers to keep unless she did what she was told.
Emma hadn’t realized how controlled she was by her parents and Cosa Nostra until a choice was placed on the table. A choice that wasn’t really a choice at all.
“What is Mom waiting on me for?” Emma asked her father.
“She brought along your birthday gift. The diamond and pearl set she wore for our wedding. She wants to see you wearing them for yours. Happy twentieth, sweetheart. Another month to go, and you’ll be a married woman.”
Emma stifled her shudder.
Barely.
“Smile,” George reminded her sharply, his fingernails cutting into her palm again.
She did.
And blinked back her tears at the same time.
Her life was not her own.
She didn’t get to choose.
Emma had always known this.
It didn’t make it easier.
