Page 88 of Thin Lives

Beside the priest, Ray Missotti stood waiting for his time, and his wife waited next to him with a painted on, plastic smile.

Rage simmered through Emma’s nervous system.

Neither of those people were supposed to be standing where they were. She hadn’t wanted them to be the godparents to her son. Affonso had promised her that Calisto would be the godfather.

Yet, there they were.

Another lie to add to the pile.

Emma’s gaze turned on the crowd again, and she searched once more for the face she wanted to see in the crowd. He wasn’t there.

Calisto wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

When someone had mentioned it earlier, Affonso hadn’t said a word, simply walked away. When a second person mentioned it, he brushed it off.

Emma chose not to ask, but obviously, something was very wrong.

All too soon, the Christening was over. Once the regular Sunday services were finished as well, Emma finally had her baby boy back in her arms. She talked sweetly to him and let him suck on the tip of her finger as she followed behind Affonso to leave the church.

She was surprised to find a group of people waiting for them.

Only in passing had she heard them mentioned.

They were a little infamous in the world of Cosa Nostra.

The Marcello family dominated the syndicates, after all. Of course, she had heard of them.

The man in the middle, holding the hand of a red-headed woman, stepped forward.

“Dante,” Affonso greeted, tugging Emma to his side. “I’m glad to see you could make it.”

Dante nodded, and passed Emma and baby Cross a small smile. “Congratulations on your son, Affonso.”

“Yes, thank you. It’s about time.”

Emma couldn’t help but notice how the other people—the rest of the Marcello family, she suspected—stayed quiet as Affonso and Dante discussed the baby, and then quieter, the Irish.

“I was told it would be handled,” Dante said. “He assured me.”

One of the other two men behind Dante sighed and said, “Don’t play word games, Dante.”

“Hush, Giovanni,” Dante snapped over his shoulder.

Giovanni did just that.

“Word games?” Affonso asked.

Dante folded his arms over his chest. “My wife was doing business over in the area of Calisto’s club the other week.”

Affonso stiffened, giving the red-headed woman a dismissive look. “Is that so?”

The woman smiled sweetly, but it radiated coldness at the same time.

Catrina, Emma knew.

She had heard the woman’s—Dante’s wife—name mentioned in passing, and usually because the men who were talking about her, didn’t approve of her, the status she held, or her career choices.

Emma only knew what she heard, but it was enough.