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

The guy’s name didn’t exactly fit him well. Tiny
towered over Calisto by four inches, making the man a good six-foot, six
inches. He also packed a good one-hundred pounds of beefed up muscle to
Calisto’s lean, toned one-eighty. Despite his size, and his mean ass demeanor,
Tiny was quick on his feet, and his sharp blue eyes were capable of finding
danger in even the calmest of situations.

Calisto trusted Tiny.

That was the important thing.

In a world where Calisto was considered a target for
his last name and position in Cosa Nostra, he knew that Tiny had his back. That
was saying a lot.

“Here we are,” Tiny said as the car pulled into the
circular paved entrance of the Hilton.

“Wonderful,” Calisto muttered dryly.

Tiny got out of the Lexus without another word, and
made his way around the vehicle to open Calisto’s door. With his hands at his
back, Tiny waited as Calisto climbed out, fixed his suit jacket, and stepped
away from the car.

“I’ll keep the car ready, Cal.”

“Thanks.”

“And I’ll grab you another coffee with a shot of
something extra,” Tiny added.  “It’ll give you something to look forward to
after you’re done playing your uncle’s right-hand.”

Tiny knew him well.

“Make that a double shot and no rum this time,” Calisto
said. “Get me something stronger. I have a feeling today is going to be a long
day.”

“Any particular reason why?”

“No reason,” Calisto murmured.

The heat of the early June sun soaked into Calisto’s
black suit. It seemed like Summer had come on quickly. Calisto barely noticed
Spring before it passed him by. Already, the heat was unrelenting, and it only
made the exhaust smell hanging in the city air all the more difficult to
ignore. Usually, Calisto loved the hustle and bustle of the city with its
constant movement and all the lights. Even the bumper-to-bumper traffic gave
him time to think in the back of a car.

Now, it all just seemed to irritate him. Maybe it was
his bleak mood that was coloring his world and outlook a bit gray at the edges lately.
But maybe it wasn’t.

He just had a feeling.

Strange and unexplainable as it was.

His gut was never wrong.

“Mr. Donati.” Terri walked toward Calisto, tablet in
hand and an extra sway to her hips. “You’re one of the last ones to arrive
today. The boardroom is ready upstairs. Can I bring you anything in to make you
more comfortable?”

“No, thank you.”

Calisto continued to walk on past the woman in her
straight pencil skirt and blood-red blouse. Terri was Affonso’s assistant for
his personal things, and sometimes that meant Calisto had to check in with the
woman to make sure his uncle’s illegal activities wouldn’t interfere with his
legal business.

Terri had thrown enough hints in Calisto’s direction
over the years for him to know she was interested, but he sure wasn’t. For one,
the girl wasn’t Italian. And for another, she was too damn close to his uncle,
in a friendly sort of way, being his assistant and all.

Calisto didn’t need the trouble.

Not even for a quick fuck.

The elevator was open and waiting for Calisto as he
rounded the corner. He stepped inside and hit the button for the doors to close
just as Terri’s voice echoed to his spot.

“Affonso’s car has just arrived.”

The Don had come to collect.

Let the business begin.

Calisto scrolled through his phone as the elevator
traveled to the highest floor in the hotel. He was at least three minutes ahead
of his uncle, and he took the walk down the long, quiet hallway with unhurried
strides. He was in no mood to play consigliere for Affonso while the man
collected his dues, but it wasn’t like he had a choice.

This was the life he’d chosen.

The murmurs of deep voices quieted as Calisto entered
the stylishly decorated boardroom. Wide windows covered the far wall, overlooking
a busy part of Harlem. The Marcello family controlled Hell’s Kitchen, while the
Donati family had territory in Harlem and down on the other side of Manhattan.
The Calabrese family had little business in the area, but the very center of
Manhattan had long been considered a dead man’s zone for the three families
running the state of New York.

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.

Emma fidgeted, twisting her fingers together as she
watched her husband go. Her restless actions screamed of her nervousness, even
if her expression was a blank slate. It bothered him in a way he couldn’t
explain that Emma didn’t want to be near him, no matter her reasons.

“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.