Thin Lines (Donati Bloodlines Book 2) (19 page)

“There they are,” his man said.

Calisto’s gaze cut to where his man was pointing. On
the top row of monitors, the third one to the right, he found the men.

Leaving the club.

Smiles on their faces.

Nothing had happened.

Fucking mole hill
, Calisto thought.

It still didn’t feel right.

His walkie-talkie beeped.

It was a new voice this time.

“Arthur just called, the boss is in his car and
they’re gone,” Ray said.

Calisto grabbed his own walkie-talkie and pressed the
button on the side to reply. “Thanks, Ray.”

His uncle’s underboss came back right away. “They
still inside?”

“We’re keeping an eye on things,” Calisto said,
instead of giving the truth.

“All right. Have a good night. You know where to call
if you need something.”

Calisto tossed the walkie-talkie down without
responding. His aggravation levels spiked all over again. But his worry was
even worse.

Instinct was the best thing a man had to work with in
the mafia world. If his gut told him that something wasn’t right about a
situation, he needed to listen or he would find himself dead somewhere in a
makeshift grave.

Too many people ignored their instincts.

Calisto wasn’t one of them.

He looked over the swarm of people on the monitors,
wondering if he had missed something.

Someone else, maybe.

There was nothing.

“Strange,” his man said beside him.

“Yeah,” Calisto agreed.

“They almost seemed like …”

“What?”

“Bait, Cal. Like they wanted us to watch them and not
somebody else. I mean, why else would they do nothing if they meant to cause
trouble of some sort?”

Calisto’s stomach dropped.

Were the Irish sending yet another message to Affonso?
Was it meant to be a message that would hit a little closer to home?

As close as say … Affonso’s wife?

Calisto found the monitor that had full view of the
backdoors where Emma had left with her driver. She had an enforcer with her.

It wouldn’t help if they were ambushed.

He hoped he was wrong.

God, he
hoped
…

Calisto grabbed the Glock .19 from the drawer on his
desk and made a beeline for the office elevator.

He needed to be wrong.

But he didn’t think he was.

“Have two bags of O-neg on standby,” the paramedic
barked into the phone.

Calisto choked on his air, unable to catch a proper
breath. Other than the paramedics in the ambulance, there was no one else to
see his breakdown or the tears streaking down his cheeks.

He hadn’t been wrong.

He wished he was.

Calisto found Emma on the cold, slush-covered pavement
of the back parking lot. She’d been listless and bloodstained, her pretty face
marked by someone’s hands. Her enforcer had taken a bullet directly between the
eyes, while she had taken a beating like no other.

So wrong.

“Possible skull fracture,” he heard one of paramedics
say.

“Get her eyes open. We need response there.”

Calisto watched, stricken and useless, as a small
light was flashed in front of Emma’s eyes. Cosa Nostra would never have done this
to a woman. They wouldn’t haven’t beaten her black and blue and left her for
dead. Wives of made men were held above others—given more respect than other
people.

What had Emma done to deserve this?

Calisto clenched his hands into tight little balls, wishing
his panic would ebb just enough to let him think and breathe. He had been
allowed to get inside the ambulance, but he was made to stay back in the corner,
out of the way, as the paramedic worked and the other drove like he was trying
to race death.

In a way, Calisto supposed they were.

Around Emma’s pale neck, red, angry bruises had begun
to form. The shape of someone’s palms and fingers had wrapped her throat and
squeezed hard enough to leave marks behind.

Someone
choked
her.

He was so fucking angry.

He was angry with himself for failing her. For being
wrong. For messing up.

Calisto had given whoever had done this to Emma a
head-start on the beating. She’d been outside for at least three to five
minutes before he realized his error in sending her out the back and not
Affonso.

It might as well have been his goddamn fist.

His hands around her neck.

Calisto stared down at his palms, his breathing
shallow and ragged. Emma’s blood had stained his hands and his clothes when he
had fallen at her side and pulled her from the ground. He didn’t remember a
whole lot, but he remembered aching inside.

So much pain.

He remembered apologizing, and asking her to open her
eyes.

Calisto got nothing.

It was only a minute before someone came out after him
through the backdoor of the club. It took every ounce of willpower he had to
act like everything that mattered to him wasn’t bleeding and unconscious in his
arms.

“Do you need a fucking Ativan?” the paramedic asked
sharply.

Calisto blinked out of his daze, finding the paramedic
watching him. “N-no.”

“She’s got air. Her heart is beating. She’s got pupil
response. She took one hell of a beating, man, but she’s going to be okay. The
blood loss came from that nasty cut on her head. Head wounds bleed the worst of
them all. Whoever did this must have snapped her skull into the pavement a
couple of times. It looks worse than it is.”

Calisto didn’t think so.

It was bad all over.

“She your wife or something?” the paramedic asked.

Calisto swallowed his denial.

He wished she were.

If Emma were his wife, this never would happened.

“Well?” the paramedic asked again.

“She’s everything to me,” Calisto said instead.

No one was around to hear him say that, either.

It was the truth.

He needed to say it to
someone
.

Calisto held the phone to his ear, listening to the
call ring through.

Again.

For the fifth time.

He wasn’t surprised when he got no answer.

Frustrated, he pulled the phone away from his ear and
smashed it into the closest wall. That just happened to be the white painted
cinderblock wall of the hospital hallway. He felt the plastic and glass break
into pieces under the hit before it all tumbled from his hand to the ground.

Calisto didn’t even care.

What did it matter?

He could call another fifty times, and Affonso still
wouldn’t pick up. Where was he?

Calisto leaned against the wall, and rubbed at the
tension heartache starting to form at the base of his skull. Affonso had been
informed of Emma’s attack before the ambulance even arrived on scene, yet, the
man hadn’t come to the hospital.

Thankfully, Emma was okay.

The beating looked worse than what it was. She hadn’t
suffered any fractures as first thought, and her blood loss had been less than
expected. She woke up around three in the morning, asking for Calisto.

She didn’t even want her husband.

She asked for
him
.

Calisto had a man posted at her door. The nurses
station had been instructed not to let anyone else pass into her room unless he
gave his consent.

Something was still wrong.

It was still off.

Affonso should have been there. It was his wife that
had been attacked, and probably because of something he had done. Calisto made
several calls to Ray, and other men his uncle was close to, wanting to know
where the Donati Don was.

No one had an answer.

Fucking coward
.

“Cal.”

The quiet rasp from across the hall made Calisto’s
gaze fly upwards. He’d allowed the man watching Emma’s room a break to go find
something to eat and have a smoke. Calisto was left alone to watch his lover.

Pushing off the wall, Calisto entered Emma’s private
hospital room. He had turned off the lights after the first round of morphine
kicked in and knocked her out. The darkness did nothing to hide the fear in
Emma’s eyes or the tears falling down her cheeks.

“Cal,” she whispered again.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, sitting down beside
her bed. Emma’s hands found his, and she sobbed. Tears slipped from her
blackened eyes, down her bruised cheeks, and fell on her split lips. It killed
Calisto to see her so marked up, hurt, and broken. “Shhh, Emmy. I got you. I’m
always going to have you, huh?”

It wasn’t the first time she woke up over the course
of the night, crying and terrified.

Calisto didn’t blame her.

His guilt ate away another hole inside.

“Don’t go again,” she told him.

Calisto frowned. “I was just outside.”

“Don’t do it again, Calisto.”

“Okay. I’m right here, Emmy. I’m not going anywhere.”

Emma sucked in a deep breath, another broken cry
following right behind. “I don’t like when you’re not here and I can’t see
you.”

He reached up and cupped her cheek, rolling his thumb
over her bruises with a careful caress. Even marred like she was, her beauty
was still clear to him.

Her marks would fade.

She would leave the hospital eventually.

And he wouldn’t be able to be with her then.

“I won’t go until I have to,” Calisto promised.

At least until he found the sorry fucker who had done
this to her.

God save that man’s soul.

Calisto had no mercy left to give.

Emma

Shoving her hands in her coat pockets, Emma was able
to hide their trembling. The sky was just beginning to darken, and that alone
was enough to send her into a panic attack. The only thing keeping it at bay
was Calisto’s presence.

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.”