Page 17 of Thin Lives

Emma held her breath, waiting.

Waiting for what, she didn’t quite know. Maybe for him to refuse her suggestion because it was too strange—too eclectic for Affonso’s regal, old-fashioned tastes. The name Cross wasn’t exactly Italian, as far as that went. It could be a problem, given who they were and the fact Affonso held their heritage in such high esteem being a Cosa Nostra crime boss.

But for her, it was more than just a name.

And she couldn’t explain that to her husband without him knowing why she wanted to give the baby that specific name. Months and months ago, Calisto had given her a rope of black rosary beads attached to a golden cross. It was a small thing, to be sure, but he had given to it her in her darkest hour, and it gave her strength because it had come from him. She still had it, but she kept it hidden, for fear Affonso might question her on the piece.

That following Christmas, Emma had gifted Calisto a similar rosary but with a silver cross. He still had it—he’d had it on the night he lost his memories and almost died.

She knew he still carried it with him, even if he didn’t know its significance or where it came from, because she had seen him pull it out on occasion to roll the beads between his fingers.

She thought that maybe, just maybe, naming their son Cross might give Calisto something worth remembering about them. The baby she lost, and every minute he was by her side after. The day of the burial, when he handed his rosary over for her to use as a comfort. The one she’d given to him, her own way of saying thanks.

Emma couldn’t help Calisto to remember their love and time together without incurring Affonso’s wrath, and endangering her child.

But she could do this.

This was not something Affonso would know.

He wasn’t privy to the details of the affair and the moments that had passed between Calisto and Emma over the many months they sneaked around together behind his back. He had never asked about anything other than when and how, and she didn’t offer the sort of information that would give him an inside look to either hers, or Calisto’s, feelings.

Finally, Affonso nodded once. “I like it.”

Her relief was palpable, but she hid it well.

She had become far too good at this.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“It’s a little different, but I’m sure he’ll be a special boy. He was certainly made in a special way, wasn't he?”

Emma choked back her response, refusing to let Affonso shame her or the baby. “He’ll be perfect.”

Affonso smiled.

The sight alone felt like cold gun metal pressed to her skin.

Ready to blow.

“Well, he did come from something I made, after all,” Affonso said. “That in itself makes him perfect.”

Right.

She didn’t bother to give him a reply on that one, either.

Affonso opened his mouth to say something else, but the ringing of a phone stopped him. He jerked a thumb toward the office door, his silent demand for her to leave him. She carefully pushed up from the couch, not wanting to jostle the now still and probably sleeping baby inside her womb.

The more he moved, the more likely he was to push down into place and begin early labor.

She wasn’t supposed to be on her feet for any more than a minute or two at a time.

As she was leaving the office, she heard Affonso pick up the call.

“Ciao?” And then just as fast, “What happened, Cal?”

Emma paused at Calisto’s name, and Affonso’s next words made her blood run cold.

“Say nothing. The lawyer will be right there.”