Page 114 of Thin Lives

The Irish?

It was only then that Emma took another look at the man standing beside Calisto. Wearing an all black suit and a cold smile, the reddish-brown haired man nodded at Affonso. She only knew who he was because of the voices talking in hushed murmurs around her.

Irish.

O’Neil.

Connor.

Boss.

Emma finally understood what Wolf had meant earlier in the night when he said there were allies all around them.

“You brought them to my home?” Affonso asked.

“Isn’t it time we settle this?” Connor asked. “Our little feud has caused a lot of problems, from what I understand.”

Calisto’s gaze passed over the people, seeking Emma out in the crowd. As quickly as he found her, his eyes flashing with hidden emotion, he was back on the task at hand.

“I agree,” he said. “This seemed like a good time, uncle.”

Affonso’s jaw ticked, and he held Cross a bit tighter. Emma couldn’t help but notice how Calisto’s gaze narrowed in on the baby in Affonso’s embrace like he had all he could do not to rip the child from the man’s arms.

“How is the principe bambino?” Calisto asked.

The baby prince.

Emma swallowed thickly, wanting more than anything for her son not to be in the middle of whatever this was. She didn’t even know what it was, but she knew it was bad.

Or it would be bad.

“He’s well,” Affonso said. “He’s my son—of course he’s well.”

Calisto barely reacted to that statement, but Emma saw the way his fist clenched at his side. “It’s time to have that sit-down the Irish have been asking for. Hand the principe over to his mother so that we can talk.”

“I don’t think so,” Affonso said.

Connor smiled at Calisto’s side. “My apologies, mate, but it really isn’t an option tonight.”

Emma glanced around at the people again, wondering what on earth Calisto hoped to accomplish tonight. There were too many people there—someone might talk if things went bad. There was no possible way he could leave—not with her and his son, anyway.

She realized something else, then.

He’d leave alive.

And for now, maybe that was the most important thing.

Emma could hear the soft murmurs of voices coming from downstairs as she gently pulled the door to Cross’s nursery closed as quietly as she could. The baby boy was exhausted, and more than ready to be put down for the night. Affonso didn’t seem to give a shit if he kept the baby’s schedule or not—especially on a night where he could show the baby off as another one of his prized things for others to be jealous of.

As she walked back down the hall, she hoped the bit of noise from the party guests downstairs wouldn’t wake the baby. Cross wouldn’t be a very happy child if he lost more sleep than he already had.

Emma just passed the bathroom on the floor—the one closet to the stairs—when someone snagged her arm in a vise-tight grip, and yanked her into the dark room.

She didn’t have to ask who it was.

She didn’t make a fucking noise.

Just the familiar scent of Calisto as his lips found hers in the dark was enough to tell her everything she needed to know. He lifted her up, and Emma found herself sitting on the edge of the marble counter top.