Thin Lines (Donati Bloodlines Book 2)

by Bethany-Kris

  She was safe with him.

  The dark still bothered her.

  Every time she thought of the sun going down, she thought about a dark, cold parking lot and hands around her throat. She heard her cries for help and the husky laughter mocking her before a fist rammed her face. She could taste the blood in her mouth and smell it in the air.

  She was right back there in that moment, curled on the ground, being beaten to death by someone she didn’t even know, and totally helpless.

  Emma let out a slow breath, willing her anxiety away.

  “You all right?” Calisto asked.

  She kept a safe, appropriate distance from his side as they walked up the front steps of the Donati home. People were watching them, after all. Enforcers guarding the house, and even cops, since the attack had brought with it the attention of the officials.

  “I just want to be home,” Emma said softly.

  The house she lived in with Affonso hadn’t exactly felt like home for her before, but at the moment it was the closest thing she had. Three days after she was admitted into the hospital, the doctors signed her papers to leave.

  Calisto’s hand met the middle of her back and rubbed gently. “Few more steps, bella.”

  Emma smiled, but it faded when Calisto dropped his hand to search for the house keys in his pocket. Confused, Emma waited as he unlocked the door and opened it to what seemed to be a quiet, dark house.

  Licking her split lip, Emma ignored the bite of pain that went along with it. “Where is Affonso?”

  Not once had her husband come to the hospital to visit her. He didn’t even send a message, and the phone in her room never rang with a call. She assumed he was at home, working on figuring out who it was that had attacked her.

  Emma had asked Calisto where Affonso was, but he never had an answer. That, or he avoided the question.

  It wasn’t that Emma needed or wanted Affonso, but she thought he would at least show some concern for her. She had been left for dead, and it was probably because of him or his business.

  Yet, she got nothing.

  Calisto cleared his throat, and nodded toward the opened door. Emma shot a glance over her shoulder, seeing two men leaning against a black car parked at the end of the long driveway. She recognized them as Affonso’s men.

  Obviously, Calisto didn’t want to have this conversation outside. Emma followed him into the house, taking her steps slowly. She hadn’t suffered any broken bones or cracked ribs in the attack, thankfully, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t sore. Her lower half had taken a few hits and they’d left bruises behind that were tender to the touch.

  She was sure that had been intentional.

  The beating was bad, but her attacker seemed to know what he was doing. It was almost as if he knew just the right spots to hit her that would cause damage, but not enough to be serious. He knew the right places to hit that would leave bruises, but not broken bones.

  He’d made her bleed, swelled her face, and injured her, but he didn’t kill her.

  The man—whoever he was—had killed her enforcer.

  She watched when the man shot Carter.

  If he had wanted her dead, she would have been.

  Her beating and the way it turned out was intentional.

  Once Emma was inside the house, Calisto closed the front door behind them. He helped her out of her jacket and sneakers, before putting her things away. He did it all without even asking her if she wanted him to. Just like how he didn’t leave her side at the hospital unless he absolutely had to. It helped her more than she could explain just to wake up and see Calisto there.

  It made her adore him even more.

  It didn’t matter how wrong it was.

  Calisto was right for her.

  “You’re avoiding what I asked before we came in,” Emma said.

  Calisto sighed, and faced her. His hand cupped her jaw, and his thumb swept her jawline. She knew he was surveying her bruised face, and taking inventory. For every mark that had been left on her body, he was going to make someone answer for them.

  Emma didn’t have to ask to know.

  It was all in his soul-black eyes.

  “Can you smile for me?” he asked quietly.

  Emma did. “Better?”

  “I worry less when you smile, dolcezza.”

  She gave him another one to make him happier.

  Calisto’s free hand landed on her waist, and he pulled her into his side. She buried her face into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent and soaking in his warmth. He hugged her tight enough to make her feel safe, but not hard enough for it to hurt.

  Just like he knew …

  “Hey,” he murmured.

  Emma glanced up. “Yeah?”

  Calisto tipped his head down and pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was softer and slower than it had ever been. He didn’t demand and dominate the kiss like he usually did, but instead, loved and owned.

  It still made her breathless.

  He would never be this tender if there was a chance someone might walk in on them. It confirmed what Emma believed earlier—the house was empty. Affonso wasn’t here. But he had to have known that Emma would be coming home from the hospital that evening.

  “Where is he?” Emma asked.

  Calisto stroked her face again. “Hiding out.”

  Emma flinched, taking in his words and what it meant.

  “He’s hiding out, but he left me out in the open to fend for myself?” she asked.

  “You’re not by yourself. I’ll be here for whatever you need until we get this figured out and the dust settles.”

  “That’s not the point, Calisto.”

  Calisto nodded. “I know.”

  “Where is he hiding out?”

  “A hotel in the city for now,” he answered. “It took me a while to figure out where he was, and I don’t even have a proper room number.”

  “He didn’t care at all about what happened to me, did he?”

  “I never saw him after he left the club that night. I couldn’t say how he felt or what he thought.”

  “You don’t have to,” Emma said. “His actions say it all.”

  Emma wasn’t surprised.

  She wasn’t even hurt.

  “I’m tired,” she told Calisto.

  Without a word, she found herself cradled in his arms. Emma buried her face and hid her falling tears on his shoulder. Calisto whispered the same thing over and over until she was in bed, and sleep finally found her.

  Farò meglio.

  I’ll make it better.

  Ti amo, Emmy.

  I love you, Emmy.

  Mi dispiace.

  I’m sorry.

  His Italian soothed her.

  But his embrace made the awfulness go away.

  “You played me for a fucking fool!”

  Emma jerked awake at the shout echoing from the back of the house. Sleepy-eyed, she pushed off the couch and willed the haziness from her mind. She had been out of the hospital for just a few days, but she felt a hundred times better than she had.

  A few bruises were still sore to the touch and discolored, but the swelling had gone, her busted lip was healed, and her black eyes were gone.

  Calisto came and went from the house with little explanation. She didn’t really want to know what he was doing, so she didn’t ask. If she did, he would probably tell her. She assumed that because Affonso had decided to go into hiding and leave the rest of his Cosa Nostra to fend for themselves, that left Calisto to do the boss’s job.

  “Lower your voice,” came a familiar growl.

  Emma almost stumbled at Affonso’s voice, but she kept walking down the back hallway toward the office and library.

  “You knew exactly what you were doing,” Calisto shouted. “You did all of this—or rather, you stood back and did nothing because you knew in the end that I would be the one who would have to.”

  “I told you, Calisto, that one way or another, you would take my seat in this
family.”

  Emma swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She came to a stop just outside of the office, wondering when Affonso had come home and why Calisto didn’t tell her he was coming.

  “You’re dirty, Affonso,” Calisto said sharply.

  “I told you once—clever.”

  “Emma was nearly killed. Do you realize that? Your enforcer was killed. Now we have the police down our throats and knocking on every door they can. And for what, to force me into a position where I would have no other choice but to clean the mess you refused to?”

  “To get you to act like a boss,” Affonso snapped back.

  “I don’t want to be you!”

  “Too late, son.”

  Something crashed into the wall with a bang, making Emma jump. She hugged her arms around her middle, more confused than ever before.

  What was happening?

  “Do it,” she heard Affonso murmur. “Pull that trigger, Cal. Can you do it? Can you kill your father?”

  “You’re not my father.”

  Calisto’s voice was so pained, like his agony was pouring from his soul into his words.

  “I am. I made you.”

  “No, you forced my life on my mother,” Calisto hissed. “You held her down and raped her when she was weak, drunk, and couldn’t stop you. She had no choice but to lie to the people who loved her so that I wouldn’t have to feel like this.”

  “Calisto—”

  “Like this, Affonso. A product of your violence, of your awfulness. She didn’t want me to know, but you didn’t give her the choice. You don’t get to play God in my life, I told you that once. So no, you’re not my father.”

  “Is that what you want people to know, Cal?” Affonso asked. “That I raped your mother?”

  “No,” Calisto whispered. “And it has nothing to do with denying you, but protecting her. I would never shame her memory to other people by telling them what you did to her. She didn’t want that, and she doesn’t deserve it. So no, I won’t tell. But you won’t have your son, either.”

  Emma hugged her middle even tighter, hurting for her lover.

  “I don’t need you to act as my son for you to be a boss,” Affonso said quietly. “I think this proves it, doesn’t it? You need to step up now, to deal with the Irish so that you can protect your family, and your Cosa Nostra. That is what a good boss does, Calisto. I held off on handling them, knowing that they would keep pushing until it went too far. I was right, son.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “I was right,” Affonso repeated.

  “At what cost?” Calisto roared.

  “None to me. I have everything I want, now.”

  “Go to hell.”

  Affonso chuckled deeply. “I am already there, Calisto. But from where I’m standing, it’s a lot better place than your current position. You could have taken it long ago and saved us the trouble of all of this. I only helped you along.”

  “I can still refuse.”

  “And what, leave your family and Cosa Nostra exposed to the Irish?”

  Calisto didn’t respond to that. Instead, he said, “And what about your wife?”

  “What about her?” Affonso asked, laughing.

  “Do you plan on sending her away to protect her, too?”

  “Why should I? She’s perfectly fine here. You’re obviously keeping an eye on her. She’s fine.”

  “Jesus,” Calisto said, his voice strained. “You don’t care about her at all, do you?”

  “I didn’t marry the bitch because I care, Calisto.”

  “Don’t call her that. Have a bit of respect for the woman you married.”

  “What does it even matter?” Affonso asked. “Emma is fine right where she is.”

  Emma was still trying to piece it all together.

  “You don’t know how to be a coward, Calisto,” Affonso said, sounding far too happy and pleased with himself. “I raised you far better than that, son. I taught you to protect Cosa Nostra first—it’s bred into your very being, it’s who you are. Don’t deny it now.”

  “And what are you going to do?” Calisto asked. “Keep hiding?”

  “If that’s what it takes. Cancun is beautiful this time of year. My fight is already booked.”

  “You … pezzo di merda.”

  “Ouch, my heart,” Affonso mocked.

  “What heart?” Calisto asked, scoffing. “You don’t have one.”

  “But you do, Calisto, and that’s all that matters.”

  Emma sipped on a cup of coffee, watching Calisto from the other side of the table as he flipped through a newspaper. He hadn’t said a single thing about Affonso showing up the night before. She had tiptoed back into the living room and pretended to be asleep before Affonso left without so much as a goodbye.

  Not that she minded.

  She was worthless to her husband.

  Emma was well aware of his feelings.

  Still, she wondered why Calisto hadn’t told her.

  “Cal,” she said quietly.

  Calisto lifted his gaze, cocking a brow in question. “Hmm?”

  “I …”

  “Spit it out, Emmy.”

  “I saw Affonso and you fighting last night.”

  Well, she heard it.

  Same difference.

  Calisto’s throat bobbed as he sat the paper aside. “And you didn’t think to tell me when I woke you up to go upstairs?”

  She shrugged. “You didn’t think to tell me this morning when I woke up.”

  “Point taken.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

  “I didn’t want to upset you,” he replied.

  Oh.

  Emma had not been expecting that answer.

  “Where is he now?”

  Calisto lifted one shoulder and said, “As far as I understand, out of the country.”

  “Why?”

  “To force me into something I didn’t want to do,” he muttered heavily.

  “Women and children,” she said to herself.

  “Hmm?”

  “Women and children are supposed to be the most important thing in Cosa Nostra. Men are supposed to protect them, no matter what. Why does he get to run away and hide, but I’m left here to fend for myself?”

  Calisto didn’t have an answer for her other than to say, “He doesn’t think you need to be taken away.”

  Or he didn’t care enough.

  Emma pushed down her rising sadness. “He didn’t say anything about you being here in the house and looking out for me?”

  “Why should he? I’m doing his job. I’m doing what he believes I should do—protect my family and my Cosa Nostra. And he was right, the fucking bastard. He was right and I hate him for it.”

  God.

  He sounded like he was in pain.

  Again.

  “I still don’t understand what I heard between you two,” she said.

  Calisto ran the tip of his thumbs over his lips, laughing low. She wanted to lean over the table and kiss his confusion and worry away. “Me, neither.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Something crazy, but it’s got little to do with you and everything to do with me,” Calisto explained.

  “The bruises on my body say differently.”

  Calisto frowned. “You were collateral damage. A maybe situation that he knew could happen. He had a goal that he wanted to meet, and that was all about me.”

  “Being the boss,” she finished for him.

  That much she had understood.

  “It’s what he wants,” Calisto said under his breath.

  “But you don’t.”

  Calisto shook his head. “No, because he wants it.”

  “What do you want, Cal?” Emmy asked.

  “I didn’t know for a long time.”

  “But you do now?”

  “Of course, I do. I’ve known for a while. I just can’t have it.”

  Emma bit her bottom lip, knowing then what he was
alluding to. She still asked, “And what is that?”

  “You, Emmy. I only want you.”

  Emma found Calisto sitting at the piano. The cover was turned down over the keys so that he couldn’t play, but he was staring at the large instrument like he wanted to.

  She had listened for the last hour and a half as Calisto and Ray shouted at one another from inside the office. Ray showed up, demanding to know when they were going to make a move on the Irish and wanting information on Affonso’s whereabouts. Calisto finally had someone to take his anger out on, it seemed.

  Now, he was just quiet.

  Emma ached for this man.

  He was rarely sleeping, and when he did, he couldn’t sleep in a bed with her because someone might show up. People seemed to come and go from the house all the time, wanting things from Calisto that he never gave, before they left again.

  He was torn in a million directions.

  She wanted to bring him back again.

  “Cal?”

  Calisto’s swung around at Emma’s call, and offered her a tired smile. “I thought you were napping. You’re supposed to be resting, Emmy.”

  “The yelling woke me up.”

  Again, she held back from adding.

  “Sorry about that, kitten,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face.

  Calisto looked older than his years in that moment. He still had that twenty-eight look about him, but his eyes spoke of stress and age that she couldn’t possibly understand.

  Invisible burdens weighed him down.

  “Come upstairs with me,” Emma demanded. “To bed.”

  “No, I—”

  “Is there something wrong with me?”

  Calisto’s gaze widened before it narrowed. “With you?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  Her bruising had mostly healed, and the swelling was finally gone. A little bit of makeup helped to cover up what remained. Even still, Emma wondered if that’s why Calisto was keeping a physical distance between them.

  “Is it this?” Emma asked, waving at her cheek.

  The makeup hid the worst bruise that had turned a yellowish color, but he would know what she meant.