Page 96 of Thin Lives

A rosary.

Black beads.

Silver cross.

It was the rosary she had given to Calisto for Christmas—the one that nearly matched the rosary he had given to her. He’d had it during his accident, as she had seen it in his hospital room when she visited. After, when he’d come home, it was one of two items he rarely let out of his sight, even though he couldn’t remember where it had come from.

She squeezed the rosary in her grip for all she was worth.

Calisto.

“Shhh, there you go, bambino,” Emma whispered softly as she put a finally sleeping Cross down in his crib. She carefully maneuvered the baby and her arms as to not jostle him too much, and wake him up again. As it was, it had taken her a good half hour just to get him back to sleep. Those teeth were giving him hell. “Please, sleep.”

Or stay sleeping, she thought to herself.

It was just one of those nights with a baby.

Some were better than others.

This one was a bad one.

Emma tiptoed as quietly as she could across the plush, beige carpeting, and closed Cross’s nursery door behind her without so much as a creak in the floor or a click of the latch. She waited by the door for a few minutes, listening for even the slightest sound of the baby waking back up.

When she heard nothing, she let out a sigh of relief.

While she was tired, Cross was exhausted, too.

That was the hardest part, she knew. He was tired, and frustrated. Pain and lack of sleep would make anyone fussy, no matter their age.

She’d worried for a long time about what kind of mother she would be given her young twenty-two years. In fact, her twenty-second birthday had passed by without anyone even noticing. She nearly forgot it the week before until her mother called.

It was one of the few times her mother did call. Minnie Sorrento hadn’t even bothered to call after Cross was born, but rather, waited until Emma called to let her parents know the baby had made his way into the world.

Still, Emma worried.

And then she held Cross, and all those worries went away. The most important thing, she figured out, was her son’s health and his happiness.

Nothing else mattered.

It wouldn’t make a difference if she was twenty-two, or thirty-five.

Cross would always be her priority now.

Emma just wished she didn’t have to do it alone.

Knowing it wouldn’t be long before Cross woke up again, Emma decided to go make herself a coffee to inhale that would hopefully keep her awake enough for the next round of sleep-deprivation. Her foot barely hit the bottom step, and she could already hear the voices traveling out from the large kitchen.

“This is a problem, Affonso,” Ray snapped.

“I am well aware of that, Ray.”

“Then do something about it.”

Affonso grunted something a second before the sounds of glass shattering echoed out to Emma’s spot. “I will when I know what is happening—remember who is the boss between us, Ray. I make the calls, not you.”

“Connor O’Neil is missing. This is no longer a little street war, Affonso. Bosses only go underground when shit is about to happen, and they need a safe spot. You are sticking your head in the sand.”

“I am—”