Page 137 of Thin Lives

“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.”