Page 73 of Thin Lives

“So he is.”

Emma started at the new voice, knowing damn well her hospital room had been closed, which meant she didn’t want visitors while she fed and attended to her son. Cross was staying in the NICU as his oxygen levels sometimes dropped, and he had just a touch of jaundice that the doctors were monitoring. He also wasn’t taking well to a bottle, but he didn’t mind a breast. Emma’s milk hadn’t dropped, even two days after her son was born, although the lactation consultant said that was normal for some women. Still, she fed her boy because that was what he wanted, even if she wasn’t giving him much.

“Affonso,” Emma said, not bothering to look up from her son. “Good of you to finally come around.”

He hadn’t bothered to come to the hospital during the birth, or even seen Emma off when the ambulance came. He hadn’t once visited her in the two days since Cross made his way into the world. She was surprised to see the man there at all.

Then again, maybe she wasn’t.

Affonso wanted his boy, after all.

Affonso strolled across the room, his shoes squeaking with each step, making Cross’s little brow pucker at the sound. “I’ve been here. I’ve seen him, and held him, for your information. And when you’re ready, I will sign the birth certificate. Today, even.”

Emma’s throat thickened at his admission.

“I even took him for a little walk around the place, and let some of my men see him,” Affonso added.

It was very possible he was telling the truth, considering Cross spent a good majority of his day between Emma’s room and the NICU ward when they were checking him over and recording what they needed to, regarding his breathing and color. When he wasn’t with Emma, she knew that Affonso could have gotten in on the basis that he was her husband, and the child’s father. He was listed on the information, and even had a bracelet waiting that matched the baby.

Still, it made her sick to her stomach.

Affonso watched her from the side with that cold smile of his. “Ah, you’re getting it, I see.”

She was getting it, as terrifying as it was to her.

He was telling her—without directly saying it—that her son was not safe from him, not even in a hospital surrounded by people who were meant to be constantly watching Cross. At any point, Affonso could simply take her baby, and she could do nothing.

“I’ve had men posted around the building since you came in,” Affonso explained with a wave, coming closer to the bed. “I had to make sure everything was … good.”

Emma swallowed hard. “You mean that I didn’t have Calisto come here and meet his son before you could get your filthy fucking hands all over his child.”

Affonso’s dark eyes flashed with a warning. Emma knew she had crossed a line, but damn, that’s all her life was with Affonso Donati.

Lines drawn in the sand.

Rules written on the walls.

Unspoken threats hanging in the air.

It suffocated her.

Her life felt so thin—it only became thinner with every passing day. Like the less pleasing she was, the less useful she could be, the less important she became.

Cross was her one thing—a beautiful, perfect thing she just wanted to love.

And keep safe.

With the grace of a predator, Affonso sat on the edge of Emma’s hospital bed, never taking his gaze away from her and the content baby boy. He reached out to touch Cross, and Emma moved slightly away, holding her baby a little bit tighter from the monster who appeared on the outside to be a saint.

“My son?” Affonso asked, opening his hands to take the baby.

Emma refused. “He’s happy where he is.”

“Give me my child, wife.”

“Affonso—”

Her words cut off as he ran a hand over the top of Cross’s head, messing up the baby’s black tufts of hair in the process. Then, as quickly as his hand had touched the baby, he was lifting it, and squeezing Emma’s throat.