Thin Lives (Donati Bloodlines #3) by Bethany-Kris Page B

that showed his stress and how he tried to manage it.
    He’d opted for sunglasses that morning, something he rarely did. He had a few days’ worth of stubble dotting his jaw and cheeks. He’d even topped off his breakfast with a glass of brandy.
    Yeah, Affonso’s threads were showing, and they were thin as hell.
    Emma couldn’t help but wonder why, or rather, what was happening that caused Affonso’s stress. He wouldn’t tell her if it was about Cosa Nostra business, and since he didn’t talk to her at all unless it was to criticize her, she chose not to ask in the first place.
    It was easier this way.
    “Today is not a good day for this,” Affonso said to Ray.
    “I’m aware. But we had some sights on a few cars. It could be an issue.”
    Emma’s brow furrowed, as she had no idea what they were talking about.
    “This is a day to celebrate the life of a holy man before he’s put to rest,” Affonso said. “No one would desecrate that, surely.”
    Ray clapped Affonso on the shoulder. “You give them too much faith.”
    “Not them, but the respect they have for God.”
    “Like the respect you have for it?” Ray asked.
    Affonso’s features hardened. “You’re awfully bold today.”
    “It could be an issue,” the underboss repeated.
    Giving a nod to Ray, and nothing more, Affonso turned back to Emma with a small smile. She didn’t trust his smiles—she had learned long ago that nasty usually followed Affonso’s fake happiness or joy.
    He was a snake in that way.
    “Would you mind going on ahead without me?” Affonso asked. “I’ll be in to give my respects in just a few minutes.”
    Emma shrugged. “Sure.”
    She didn’t mind getting away from her husband.
    Leaving Affonso behind to finish his conversation with Ray, Emma stepped into the main floor of the unfamiliar church. The somber mood of the day clung to the tapestries on the wall. The tall, stained-glass windows were barely lit up with light seeing as how it was overcast, cold, and rain was threatening to fall.
    If nothing else, it was appropriate for the day.
    Father Day’s body had finally been released and approved for a proper funeral and burial. The church wasted no time getting the arrangements set up, and sending notices out for the members of the priest’s congregation that might want to attend.
    Their church was still closed, due to the investigations, and the fact the office needed to be cleared out. Apparently, it had been a bloody mess.
    Emma took a few steps down the aisle, ignoring the curious gazes watching her from the pews. Already, the church was filling with people who had already paid their respects to Father Day and were now simply waiting on the funeral procession to begin.
    If it were any other priest, Emma might not have come.
    She didn’t like funerals, or the sadness they brought. Despite people often proclaiming that they wanted nothing more than to celebrate the life of the deceased, grief was still forefront, saddening everything it could touch.
    But no matter how much she disliked funerals and the pain they brought, Emma couldn’t bring herself to disrespect Father Day in that way. Months back, the morning before Calisto’s accident, Emma had learned of her pregnancy.
    She’d been terrified.
    Ashamed.
    She hadn’t known what to do given the circumstances. She knew there would be no hiding what had happened between her and Calisto because of the pregnancy, and she was just scared.
    Stupid, foolish, and scared .
    Emma went to Father Day, needing a safe place to land as her emotions crashed and burned all in one fell swoop. He’d listened to her sins, mistakes, and fears. He let her tell the story, and how it all led into the predicament she found herself in.
    Father Day never judged her.
    He held her hand, and he’d wiped the tears away with a promise that she would find her path again someday, but it might take a while of walking before it showed up.
    More than anything, Emma had needed those words in