Page 89 of Thin Lives

The woman was dangerous.

She found herself wondering what it was like to be feared and respected by men.

“It is so,” Catrina said, still smiling in that way of hers. “Apparently Calisto’s SUV was found behind his club, smashed into a wall, and bullet holes all through the back.”

Affonso didn’t relax in his stance for a second. “Something happened—we’re not sure what.”

Something happened …

Emma’s panic climbed tenfold.

What had happened?

“But was he found?” Dante asked.

Affonso’s jaw ticked again, like it had earlier.

It always did that when he was aggravated, or frustrated.

“No,” her husband admitted.

“One little toe, two little toes, three little toes, and there’s four,” Emma said in a sing-song fashion, tickling each of baby’s Cross’s tiny toes in the bathwater. Her one-month-old son grinned a toothless smile when she tickled his biggest toe and said, “Here’s the fifth little toe, but wait—there’s more!”

She repeated the song as she counted the toes on his other foot, thoroughly enjoying the quiet moment she had to spend with Cross. Things like bathing, clothing, feeding, and changing the baby were not events Affonso wanted anything to do with. He happily passed Cross over to Emma whenever the baby began to fuss for whatever reason.

Emma didn’t mind.

Affonso would disappear, leaving her alone with her son. She rarely got the chance to actually spend time with him without someone looking over her goddamn shoulder.

It seemed like someone was always around—mostly her husband, though.

Cross reached toward Emma, little fingers spread wide, and his face bright with happiness. She took comfort in the fact that he was content and only really knew joy for the short time he had spent on earth. She loved him with her whole heart—every piece of her soul—and she wanted her son to know it, too.

There were times when Affonso would come into a room, take the baby, and stroll off like nothing was amiss. Those were the times when Emma’s heart cracked and fell to the floor, shattering into pieces with all her broken emotions. She kept it together, for the most part.

Or she tried.

That didn’t mean it was easy.

Calisto’s absence was a constant reminder that wouldn’t leave. Each time she looked at little Cross’s features, it was like looking at his father’s face.

A father he was without.

She refused to think of Affonso as Cross’s father in any way. The man could pretend all he wanted, and he could say whatever he wanted to his people, but Emma wouldn’t feed into it.

Especially not to her son.

When she was alone with her son; when Affonso wasn’t hovering over her shoulder; when there was no one else around to hear her whispered words, she told Cross about Calisto … the things she knew, the memories he’d shared, and how the little baby boy had come to be.

Affonso could take a lot of things from Emma, but he couldn’t take those.

None of them.

Cross’s cooing brought Emma from her depressive thoughts. She smiled down at her boy, running her hand over his wet, dark tufts of hair. Letting the plug out of his safety tub, she waited for the water to drain before scooping him up in a soft, fluffy towel.

Instantly, the baby snuggled into the crook of her neck. His little legs pulled up close to his chest, and the only thing that remained visible under the towel was the very top of his head.

For a moment, Emma simply held him like that.