Thin Lines (Donati Bloodlines Book 2)
Page 2
A safe zone, even.
Without question, it was never good for one family to step in on another family’s territory. Having a safe zone where meetings could be held, sit-downs arranged, and whatever else needed doing was invaluable. Affonso seemed to prefer Harlem for his routine business. The other families never complained. It was better for the three New York families to work together, otherwise the bloody street wars that settled scores would be deadly and useless.
Ray Missotti, Affonso’s underboss, stood to greet Calisto with his usual sly smile. “You’re nearly late.”
“Traffic,” Calisto said, strolling past the man without as much as a handshake. Ray was lazy as hell, and Calisto picked up enough of the man’s slack as it was without acting like the two were friends for the sake of the men watching. “Sit, Ray. The boss is coming up the elevator now.”
Ray did, but he tossed Calisto a baleful scowl at the same time.
Calisto found his favorite chair in the east corner of the room beside a mahogany bookshelf filled with classic literature. No matter how many times he sat in the spot, far away from the view of the windows and facing the men in the room where no one could hit him from behind, Calisto still felt a little uneasy.
In his life, nothing was promised or safe. Getting rid of the boss’s consigliere might just be the chance one of the Donati Capos needed to get higher in la familiga. He took note of the five Capos sitting around the room in their usual spots.
While the men would chat happily and unconcerned with Ray, they wouldn’t do the same with Calisto. They felt he was too close to the boss—that he was Affonso’s eyes when the man wasn’t around.
It amused him to no end.
They didn’t have a clue.
“Ah, everyone is here.”
At Affonso’s voice, each man in the room stood from their respective seats to greet their boss with a nod and a “boss” right on the tips of their tongues. Calisto was no exception, although his greeting was a hell of a lot quieter, and he was the first to sit back down.
“Traffic was hell this morning,” Affonso said, strolling across the room to grab the waiting bottle of vodka. He poured himself a drink, leaned against the table, and took a hearty sip. “But that’s nothing new for Manhattan. No problems, right?”
“No, boss,” came the collective answer.
Affonso’s routine rarely changed when it came to tribute. He asked the same few questions, vaguely hinting at things like problems—which usually meant officials following them or issues with other Capos or families. Then, he’d gesture at Calisto and the tone would change. Envelopes would be brought out from each man’s pocket, all thick and full of dirty cash.
It was the only part of Calisto’s job as the consigliere that he liked. Nothing was better than money, making it, having it, or spending it. Dirty money was even better, because the government hadn’t gotten their paws on it to take what they could from it.
Calisto raised his hand, saying, “There is a problem.”
Affonso sighed and eyed his nephew over his shoulder. “What now, Cal?”
“Irish. New Jersey. Same shit.”
“Same empty threats, pushing their luck, and little else?”
Calisto nodded. “Sì, Don.”
“Madonn,” Affonso cursed under his breath. Then, he waved a hand high in the air. “As of now, they’re hurting no one.”
“The Marcellos and the Calabrese won’t be as nice, if they try selling products on their territories.”
“Right now, they’re edging on ours. Leave it alone, Cal.”
“Whatever you want,” Calisto replied, unbothered.
As much as Calisto despised his uncle as a man, he couldn’t help but admit that Affonso was a damn good boss where it counted. Affonso didn’t have to be a man of high moral standards, and he didn’t even have to be a decent human being to run his Cosa Nostra.
No, Affonso only had to be a boss.
“I have something to do today, so we’ll be cutting this short if there’s nothing to discuss,” Affonso said, directing his statement to the entire room. “Who has gifts for me?”
Gifts.
Calisto barely held back from scoffing. Still, he stood from his seat, pulled out the envelope from his own pocket, and dropped it on the table behind his uncle. He walked around the room with a hand held out, collecting payment after payment from each man, until he had another six more envelopes to put beside his uncle.
“Grazie, Cal,” Affonso said. “Make sure each has paid the required minimum before they leave, yes?”
“No problem,” Calisto replied.
Affonso downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, and pushed the tumbler back onto the table. “Now, as for that business I mentioned doing today.”
“What about it, boss?” Ray asked.
“I’m having a dinner.”
Calisto’s back straightened, but he stayed quiet.
“Little early in the week for that, isn’t it?” a Capo asked.
“I have news,” Affonso replied.
Calisto could practically hear the grin in his uncle’s tone.
“What news, boss?”
“Come to dinner tonight and find out. Around seven. My beautiful wife had some late appointments today. She won’t be getting back until that time. It’s time for the Donatis to have something else to celebrate.”
God, no.
Calisto hoped his uncle wasn’t saying what he thought he was.
A hand landed on Calisto’s shoulder. Hard.
“And you,” Affonso said.
Calisto refused to meet his uncle’s gaze as he continued counting cash. “Yeah?”
“You need to be there, too. You haven’t been coming around enough. I want you there tonight.”
The lie—some bullshit to get him out of the dinner—was right on the tip of Calisto’s tongue.
“I—”
“No excuses, Calisto. Be there. I want you there.”
Calisto did lift his stare to meet Affonso’s that time. A hint of excitement and youth colored up his uncle’s cold, brown gaze.
The feeling from earlier was back.
Whatever was happening, it was going to be awful.
Calisto knew it.
Calisto
The Donati home came alive when people filled it. Usually, the place came off as cold and intimidating because of its large stature and the Gothic-slash-Victorian style of the outside architecture. But when music echoed throughout the halls, guests filled the rooms, and laughter was shared, the place warmed and felt like it could actually be a home.
Calisto was not stupid enough to be lulled into a sense of comfort, simply by the feel of a place. He had lived over two and a half decades and spent more than enough time inside his uncle’s home to know that outside appearances lie.
The snakes were everywhere.
“Cal!”
Calisto opened his arms wide to greet his cousin. Michelle bolted in his direction with a beaming smile before barreling straight into his embrace. His cousins, Michelle and Cynthia, were the only things about Affonso Donati that Calisto cared to give a damn about.
Michelle had just turned fifteen a month before, while Cynthia was only a couple of weeks off from her seventeenth birthday. Both girls spent the majority of their time away at boarding school, at Affonso’s demand. Despite making children, the man had very little interest in raising them.
“Michelle, dolce ragazza,” Calisto said, hugging his cousin tight. “How were your final weeks of school?”
She stepped far enough away from him to look up with disinterest. “It’s school, Cal. It’s boring. But Summer is here, and that’s all that matters.”
Calisto chuckled, and ticked two fingers under his cousin’s chin. “Hey, school is good for you. How else are you going to get out of this place and make something of yourself, huh?”
“Do you really think Daddy is going to let me or Cynthia out of New York?”
Ouch.
The bite in Michelle’s tone couldn’t be hidden, not that the girl even tried to. She had a point, too.
Calisto didn’t want his cousins giving Affonso trouble. It wouldn’t lead to anything good. Affonso was more likely to marry his daughters off—just to get them out of his hair—if he thought they were a bother. Calisto didn’t want to see that happen, because he would be forced to stand by and watch it happen, without being able to do anything to help Michelle or Cynthia.
Wasn’t it bad enough that he’d done that exact thing to Emma? He’d watched the woman be taken from her home and life. He was the one who dragged her to New York and delivered her to her new husband, then stood by and did nothing as she was married off. If he could help it, Calisto wouldn’t allow the same thing to happen to his cousins.
“Coward”, “asshole”, and “stupid” were just a few words he used to describe himself. In the midst of it all, Calisto had somehow allowed himself to become attached to Emma.
“You make me proud when you focus on your studies,” Calisto said, trying a different tactic.
Michelle’s sneer melted into a small smile. “Yeah?”
“Of course. Someday, when you do find a man to marry, I’d like to know that you’re capable of standing up for yourself, kid. I want to know that he can’t use you, trick you, or dumb you down because you’re too smart for that shit. It’s important. And you make me very proud every time I see a letter on Affonso’s table about you making the honor roll, or winning another award. I wish I could be there more often for your ceremonies.”
“You call,” Michelle said quietly. “I like that.”
Calisto nodded. “I always will, huh?”
“Good.”
Beyond Michelle, guests milled about between the dining room and the large living room that also doubled as a spot for entertaining during parties. The maroon walls mixed in with the leather furniture gave the room a dark, but warm, quality. The bright, nickel-brushed fixtures hanging down from the vaulted, cathedral-style ceiling lit the space up. The old, female Italian singer that Affonso loved to listen to droned on in the background.
“What is your father planning tonight?” Calisto asked.
Michelle shrugged her shoulders. “Not sure.”
Her gaze was focused elsewhere. Calisto followed where his cousin was staring, only to find a young man watching Michelle from the corner of the room. He recognized the sixteen-year-old boy as the son of one of Affonso’s Capos.
The kid was good, if not a little rough around the edges. What boys weren’t a bit jagged and jaded after growing up in Cosa Nostra?
“A new friend?” Calisto asked, hiding the curiosity from his tone.
Barely.
Michelle’s head snapped to the side, and she found Calisto with a hint of concern lighting up her brown gaze. “No, I—”
“I’m not going to rat you out to your father, Michelle.”
“Well …”
“Hmm?”
“We talked a couple of times since I got home from school,” she said.
“And?” Calisto pressed.
“Maybe I like him.”
Calisto chuckled. “Then maybe you should be very careful so your father doesn’t have a fit about a would-be boyfriend.”
Michelle gave Calisto a conspiratorial grin. “Maybe I will.”
That was his girl. The Donati charm was a learned trait, and he was awfully happy that his cousins managed to pick it up in their gene pool as well. All it took was the proper smile, the right words, and a teasing shrug to deflect someone’s attention.
Michelle had hers down to a T.
Calisto couldn’t be prouder.
“Zio,” Calisto greeted, taking his uncle’s hand.
“Cal,” Affonso said with a smile.
The two shook hands before Calisto lifted his uncle’s and pressed a quick kiss to the large, ornate ring on his middle finger. It was a sign of respect, although Calisto despised the very action. His respect for Affonso was limited, if not barely there at all, but it was something his uncle demanded from his men.
And there were a lot of men watching.
Calisto ignored the other Mafiosi in the room, gauging and surveying the exchange between an uncle and his nephew—the Don and his consigliere. Some of Calisto’s grievances and disagreements with Affonso were known to the other men. Not every argument was held behind the protection of closed doors. It wasn’t a well-kept secret.
Nonetheless, Calisto put on the mask of a sheep when the time called for it. This was one of those moments, unfortunately.
It didn’t help that Emma stood at Affonso’s side with her head turned to the side, and her hand entangled with her husband’s. She wore a red dress, skin-tight, that was littered with sparking beads from the neckline to the hem. Each time she moved, the flared skirt would shimmer, sending bolts of colors cascading across her skin and the floor.
She looked beautiful. Still young and vibrant. Her painted red lips spoke of her silent defiance, a fire that had first drawn Calisto to Emma when they were in Las Vegas before the wedding. Affonso hated red lipstick. Emma was clearly still wearing hers.
Calisto was pleased that his uncle hadn’t somehow managed to take that away from the girl. A dangerous satisfaction swam through his bloodstream, just by knowing Emma hadn’t bowed to all of Affonso’s demands.
Hopefully, Affonso wasn’t giving the woman too much trouble for it all.
“Evening, Emma,” Calisto said quietly.
Emma’s gaze cut to Calisto at his acknowledgment. A spark of anger heated up her green eyes as she looked him over briefly, and then dropped her stare altogether.
“Cal,” Emma murmured. “How’s work? We don’t see you nearly enough.”
“Clubs are good.”
“I’ve been meaning to visit one.”
“Oh?” he asked.
Affonso chuckled deeply. “She likes to dance.”
Emma didn’t pay her husband any mind, and her gaze never once left Calisto. “Yes, but you’ve been everywhere but here. I didn’t know which one of your clubs was the best.”
“They’re all good, bella. I own them, after all.”
Affonso didn’t seem to notice Calisto’s affectionate use of “beautiful” in regards to his wife. That, or the man didn’t care.
Emma, on the other hand, softened a bit in her stance. “I’ll keep that in mind, Calisto.”
Her voice was still like honey, he noticed. Soft, smooth, and wickedly sweet. Calisto had spent the majority of the last four months avoiding his uncle and Emma for the sake of his own sanity. He had hoped that staying away from the woman would let him clear his head, get her out of his system, and allow him to move on.
It didn’t.
Instead, Calisto found himself thinking about creamy skin, expressive green eyes, and white sheets more than he cared to admit. His dreams often turned to clothes discarded on marble floors, the music of Emma’s pleas as Calisto fucked her from behind, and the way her bottom lip looked when her top teeth bit down into the pink flesh.
With just a few wayward thoughts, Calisto was right back to where he started with Emma. Walking on thin lines, and knowing he was a fucking fool for doing so.
The girl made it damn easy.
She probably didn’t even know.
Why couldn’t he just let it—her—go?
“Ah, there’s Ray,” Affonso said, taking Calisto’s attention off of Emma for a moment.
Ray Missotti strolled into the living room with a glass of brandy in each hand. “Why don’t you have your mouth full of liquor yet, boss?”
“I’m working on that, cafone,” Affonso replied. “I was waiting on you to correct the problem, and you finally have. It took you long enough.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Affonso muttered something in Emma’s ear, earning him a quick nod from his wife. Then, the Don was gone from Emma’s side without as much as a goodbye to Calisto.
It wasn’t like Calisto minded.
“Well, I should—”
“Wait,” Calisto said, stopping her before she could make an excuse to leave him.
“Sì?”
Her jade gaze met his, unashamed. She stared at him like it didn’t bother her a bit that he was here, like maybe it didn’t hurt her. She didn’t seem like she was embarrassed at his presence or knowing that he had spent hours learning what her body looked like when she was wearing nothing but her skin. He wondered how well she remembered what it felt like to be wrapped up in him.
For the first time in months, Calisto felt better. Like maybe he could breathe again. He wondered all over again why he had been avoiding this woman when his only reasons for doing so were purely selfish.
Doing what you did with her the first time was selfish, too, his mind taunted.
Calisto pushed his inner thoughts away. “How are you doing?”
Emma lifted a single manicured brow high. “Fine, Cal.”
“Just fine?”
“Affonso treats me well, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It was.”
Emma smiled. “And it wasn’t at the same time, right?”
“Something like that.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she told him.
The words slipped from Calisto’s lips before he could stop them. “I don’t seem to have much of a choice on the matter. I tried not to, but it didn’t do me much good.”
Emma didn’t bat a lash. “That’s a problem you’ll have to deal with, isn’t it?”
Damn.
Her words had sliced right through his tough-as-steel exterior, and cut him deep. Calisto supposed, after everything that happened and all that he did, he didn’t deserve much else from Emma. She owed him nothing.
“I guess it is,” Calisto finally said.
“Have a good evening, Cal. Thanks for coming.”
Emma hadn’t even smiled when she said it. She just walked away, in the same direction that Affonso had gone earlier, without even looking over her shoulder.