Thin Lives (Donati Bloodlines #3) (26 page)

He’s waiting
, Calisto thought.
Waiting for when your guard is down.

Affonso was sneaky like that, Calisto knew it. The man had already proven he could hide within the limits of the city without being obvious.

Calisto wasn’t sure if that made it worse or not, but he was going to go with the latter. It was a small thread of hope to hold onto, as far as that went, but he didn’t have many other options to look at. At least if Affonso was still in the city somewhere, he wasn’t out of Calisto’s reach just yet. He wasn’t in some country with a new name, and access to enough offshore money to keep him well hidden.

That would be the smart thing to do, of course, and he suspected that was exactly what Affonso would do.

But first, the man needed to get there.

The bigger question was where would the man hide out until he could make his way there?

That was what Calisto needed to answer first.

And when he did … when he had that answer, Affonso was going to wish that his death would be as easy and quick as God would provide to him for his years of lies and betrayals.

But Calisto wasn’t God—certainly not Affonso’s.

There was no mercy here.

Calisto didn’t even turn to greet Giovanni as the man climbed inside the SUV, and slammed the door shut. He just kept tightening his hand around the steering wheel, glaring out the windshield, and forcing back the urge to do as much violence as he could to quell the raging torrent of emotions eating him from the inside out.

“Still nothing,” Giovanni said. “But hey, no news isn’t necessarily a bad thing, Calisto. He’s not getting out of this city without somebody seeing or knowing something.”

The man lit up a cigarette, and smoked silently. Calisto took the time to think about where he wanted to go from here or what he could say to Giovanni.

“I came to you for a reason,” Calisto said. “The Marcellos know if someone shits on the sidewalk across the city, but you can’t find a fucking man as well-known as Affonso Donati?”

Giovanni sighed, and snuffed his cigarette out before it was even half finished. “I get you’re pissed—”

“Fucking right.”

“Don’t interrupt me, man, or this will end quickly.”

Calisto tampered down his attitude. “Sorry, I’m just … edgy right now.”

“When John went missing, Lucian was borderline psychotic. Not a lot of people knew what was happening, and we pretty much had him located by morning, but that night …”

“What about it?”

“That night was a scary time for anyone within a five foot radius of Lucian. So what I’m trying to say is, I get it, Cal. Just chill out and think about what you know regarding Affonso, because right now, that’s what we’ve got to work with. You know the man, you know what he’s like and what he’ll do—so where the hell is he, and what is he going to do?”

Calisto took those words in, and chewed them over. It took him a few minutes to settle himself with the fact that Giovanni was probably right.

But he still didn’t have answers.

“About the whole paternity thing,” Giovanni started to say.

Calisto didn’t react outwardly, but inside, he was at war. “What about it?”

“I’m not even going to ask why, man.”

“Good, because I wouldn’t explain anyway.”

Giovanni chuckled. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. My point, though, is that you need to make sure you protect her and that baby after this. People are fucking terrible—cruel, even. It’s like they’re just waiting for a reason to fuck you up in Cosa Nostra. They’re waiting for that mistake.”

Calisto swallowed hard. “This—the affair and Cross—was a big mistake.”

“Yeah. We take that oath for a reason, right? The last thing you need is for people, your men, to know you broke it without a care. I didn’t tell Dante or Lucian what little you did explain to me about Cross and Emma.”

“Thanks.”

“But that’s only because they wouldn’t understand—they’re old school, and I respect them for it. I think had I told my brothers the entire truth, they would have been a lot less amicable to helping you here. So we’re back to protecting what matters to you when this is all over.”

“I’ll figure something out, but that baby … and her … they’re mine, Giovanni.”

Giovanni nodded. “I can see that, but maybe start working on figuring out a way to keep them as yours without outing something that might hurt you all when you’re not looking, huh?”

For a long while, Calisto just sat silent and still in the driver’s seat.

Finally, Giovanni broke the calm. “You know him better than anyone—where would he go?”

“I don’t know, Gio.”

“You do. Some part of you does. You lived your whole life under his feet, right? What are you missing here?”

Calisto’s chest constricted with pain and memories flooded his mind. Without even knowing it, Giovanni had hit a nerve that Calisto didn’t like to show all that much.

A nerve that was still raw to the goddamn touch.

He mostly tried to put his childhood and all the years he’d spent idolizing a monster out of his mind. Because that was what Affonso was—a monster. He’d treated Calisto like a little prince for two decades, all the while reminding Calisto’s mother—Affonso’s rape victim—what he would do to her child, should she defy him.

Calisto didn’t like to think about how naive he had been back then, or the things that had just seemed to fly right over his head. Without realizing he was doing it, he had betrayed his own mother for years.

Thinking about those things forced Calisto to re-evaluate situations and moments that probably hurt his mother the most as he grew up. Ways that Affonso had manipulated her, certain things he had done to keep Camilla in her place as he slowly took more and more control of Calisto’s life as he took him from her arms.

One memory stuck out in particular above the rest.

He’d been … maybe seven years old.

Affonso had shown up at his school, took Calisto out of classes early, and told him they would be spending the weekend together with a friend. Calisto hadn’t known what his uncle was talking about, and when he asked about his mother, Affonso brushed it off, saying Camilla wouldn’t mind. Calisto spent the weekend watching his uncle amuse himself with one of his many mistresses while he wandered through an unfamiliar penthouse apartment, getting into all sorts of things throughout his exploration.

But when Affonso brought him home, Calisto distinctly remembered his mother’s panic and her fear. She’d practically crushed him with her hug, and she hissed and cussed at Affonso.

And Affonso?

He stood back with a smile and a shrug.

Like it was nothing.

At the time, Calisto had overlooked it. As an adult, after learning all that happened between his uncle and mother, he knew the truth.

Camilla never knew about that weekend. She had never given permission for Affonso to take Calisto. It had simply been yet another one of Affonso’s reminders for Camilla about what he could and would do regarding Calisto when and how he wanted. He could take Calisto from her without her even knowing until it was too late—and what would she do then?

It was simple, effective … and cruel.

Shaking his head to rid the memory, Calisto had another thought. It was just a passing question, but he wondered if there might be more to it.

Giovanni was right.

Calisto knew Affonso too well. The man was a creature of habit, and a lot of his habits revolved around women, and the secrets he kept with them.

“You look like you’re thinking terribly hard over there,” Giovanni said as he lit up another cigarette.

Calisto didn’t respond, just grabbed the phone in the middle console and dialed a familiar number. He hoped she wouldn’t be too pissed off at him because he hadn’t been answering her calls, but she might know—Emma might have the answer.

Emma picked up on the second ring. “Cal?”

“I might know where he would take Cross,” Calisto said, wanting to get that out before he explained anything else. “But you might know even more than me.”

Calisto glanced at the clock as Emma cried on the other end of the phone.

Time was running out again.

He knew it without being told.

“Help me find him,” Calisto said.

“What do you need?” Emma asked.

Everything.

But he’d take getting their son back.

Calisto

“Ever been here before?” Giovanni asked.

Calisto pressed the button for the floor they wanted to go to, and waited for the elevator doors to close. “No, but that’s only because this one managed to keep from getting pregnant, or she aborted whatever pregnancies she did have.”

Giovanni cocked a single brow high, eyeing Calisto from the side. “Care to explain?”

“The only mistresses I ever met of Affonso’s, were ones I needed to keep paid and compliant after they’d birthed him a kid that he didn’t want to take care of. Daughters, I mean.”

“How did Emma know about this one in particular?”

Calisto chuckled, the sound coming out dry and hollow. “Because that’s the kind of man Affonso is—he’s a dirty bastard through and through. He didn’t bother to hide the fact he was having affairs on his wives, and even went as far as letting them know which woman he would be with should they need him. Sandra is one of his long-time
goomahs
. And if he was going to go anywhere to hide out, he would go to someone he trusted.”

“Sure, it makes sense.”

“I’d say after two decades of fucking around with Sandra, he trusts her. Or he thinks he can. She’s never given him children he didn’t want, she fucks him whenever and however he demands it, she keeps a low profile, and she doesn’t cause him issues. That right there is a woman made in heaven to Affonso Donati.”

“So what about her?” Giovanni asked. “His mistress, I mean. What do you plan on doing with her after this is all said and done?”

Calisto’s fists tightened into hard balls at his sides. He hadn’t given much thought to all of that, but mostly because Sandra was nothing more than a means to an end for both Calisto and Affonso. He certainly didn’t think his uncle loved the woman—Affonso was incapable of loving women the way they deserved. His love was always determined by other factors surrounding the woman like her behavior and how well she could please him. It was a selfish love that wasn’t really love at all.

As for Calisto, he’d do what needed to be done.

“It’s a big building,” he noted more to himself than Giovanni.

“It is,” his friend agreed. “Thirteen floors of souls.”

Finally, the elevator came to a stop at the very top floor, letting the doors open wide. Calisto took a step forward, standing out in the hallway as he held an arm up to stop the doors from closing, but also blocking Giovanni from coming with him.

“You’re going to need help,” Giovanni said.

“Not for this,” Calisto assured smoothly.

He was lying—two guns would be better than one.

Still, there were some things Calisto wanted to keep secret at all costs, and he didn’t know what Affonso might do or say when Calisto went barreling into his mistress’s place with a gun blazing. He certainly didn’t want Affonso spilling more family secrets to outsiders—things like Calisto’s own paternity.

Cross was enough for now.

“Thirteen floors of souls,” Calisto said, looking down the hallway. At one end, an apartment door rested, waiting. It was the one he was looking for. At the other end, another penthouse suite was waiting, but the people inside were not anyone he cared to know. “Think you can get them out?”

Giovanni folded his arms over his chest. “How so?”

“I need ten minutes—fifteen at the most. I’ll be out by then. But he won’t, and neither will she, if she’s in there with him, and I suspect she is. I don’t want him to be found after today—not his body, anyway. Emma needs to be free, and safe. Cross, too.”

His friend didn’t even question him. “I’ll figure something out. Fifteen minutes at the most.”

“At the most,” Calisto echoed.

“You’re safe, right? Just in case?”

“Yeah, I’m good, Gio.”

“Good luck, man.”

Calisto responded to that with a nod, and nothing more. He let the door of the elevator go, watching it close Giovanni behind it. Checking his watch, Calisto noted it was well after one in the morning. Chances were, Affonso and most of the other people in the building were sleeping.

Or maybe Affonso wasn’t. Paranoia could keep a man up for days.

Either way, he wasn’t going to like the wakeup call that was coming for him.

Checking his inner pocket, Calisto found the paperwork he had asked Emma to get secretly drawn up weeks ago. At his back, his gun waited, holstered and safe, for now.

Time to play
, he thought.

Affonso always did like his games.

Calisto seriously hoped this one would end in his favor.

Stepping to the side to keep from view of the peephole in the front door, Calisto reached out and slammed the side of his fist against the hard, polished wood.

Bang, bang, bang.

Whoever was inside would have to be deaf not to hear it.

He didn’t let up. Over and over, he hit the door until he could hear someone cussing behind it and accompanying footsteps.

When the muttering and walking stopped, Calisto made sure to stay still for fear whoever it was might see him standing there.

“Who is it?” a slightly muffled, feminine voice asked.

Calisto, knowing Affonso’s mistress wouldn’t know his tone, replied, “Building maintenance. We’ve got an issue and tenants need to be evacuated immediately.”

He only needed the bitch to open the door without causing a scene.

“What
issue
?”

“An is—”

Calisto didn’t get the chance to respond fully before alarms started wailing overhead. He glanced up to see the fire alarm going off as lights flickered.

Jesus, Gio, what did you do?

It didn’t matter.

Calisto didn’t have time to worry about all of that—fifteen minutes was what he asked for. So he started counting down time.

Thankfully, the alarm seemed to placate Sandra from within the penthouse into believing that whoever was outside her door was telling the truth. That, or she panicked at the sound. Calisto didn’t bother to think on it too much as the door was flung open.

Before Sandra could even take a step out of the penthouse, Calisto was in front of her, his gun drawn and pointed right at her face. Wide eyes stared down the barrel of Calisto’s gun, but he didn’t let the woman’s fear affect him in the least.

He didn’t particularly like killing women, unless he had to and there were no other options to choose.

This, unfortunately, was going to be one of those times.

He’d ask for forgiveness later.

He always did.

“Get back in there,” Calisto snarled, his hand coming up to shove her back into the apartment.

Sandra let out a scream as she stumbled backwards, but Calisto was already slamming the door shut behind him. The woman barely caught herself in the long, satiny robe she wore, watery eyes flickering between the gun in his hand and his face.

“Where is he?” Calisto asked lowly.

Sandra blinked again. “W-what? Who?”

“Affonso. Where is he? Better yet, my child—the baby—where is
he
?”

“I d-don’t know what—”

Something hit the floor in what sounded like the far end of the penthouse, but still up above Calisto’s head. It was likely the place had a second level.

The slight distraction had been a bad mistake for Calisto to make. His gaze was just swinging back to Sandra as she pulled something metal and shiny from within her robe.

Calisto didn’t even hesitate. He cocked back the hammer and pulled the trigger, not even flinching when the bullet tore through Sandra’s face, sending blood and brain spraying before she fell to the hardwood floor with a dull thump.

The gun she had been trying to pull on him clinked out of her slackened hand to the floor.

Calisto passed it by as he went in search of that noise.

Affonso was here.

He had to be.

“Affonso!” Calisto shouted loud enough for it to ring through the halls.

Calisto wasn’t here to hide. He wanted Affonso to know he was there, and coming for him.

Keeping his gun up high, Calisto aimed straight ahead, in case Affonso got any bright fucking ideas. Behind the thick apartment door he was leaving behind, he could still hear the fire alarms wailing, and it was an impossible sound to miss. People would be up and out of the building quickly.

It would also mask the sound of gunfire.

Calisto had a decent view of the penthouse ahead of him, given it was mostly an open concept space beyond that first hallway entrance. The bottom level looked empty of life except for the flickering television in the great room. His attention, however, was drawn to the man’s jacket and the two glasses of bourbon resting on the coffee table.

Another thump from up above Calisto’s head somewhere sent him moving a little faster toward the small, spiraling metal staircase. He took the steps two at a time, knowing he was making enough fucking noise to wake anybody up. The upstairs was not as open as the downstairs, he found. A hallway led straight down to what looked to be a bedroom at the very end. But in between, there were several other rooms.

All the doors were closed.

“Fuck,” Calisto hissed under his breath.

He highly suspected Affonso was not in that bedroom, but the asshole was probably hiding out in another one of the rooms with a gun aimed straight at a door, waiting for Calisto to open it up. He was not a fool, and neither was Affonso.

Calisto figured he had one of two options. He could carefully check a few doors, and play it like a game of Russian Roulette. Or, he could force a reaction out of Affonso and take another bullet out of his clip that should have been meant for the old Don.

He chose the second option.

Calisto raised his gun and fired right into the ceiling.

Sure enough, probably out of fear and nothing more, Affonso reacted with his own bullets. Two spit out of the third door down on the left, and then shattering glass followed.

“
Merda cazzo
,” he heard Affonso cuss.

Something else was in the man’s tone, too. His Italian words had come out slurred and sloppy.

Affonso was
drunk
.

This news didn’t surprise Calisto in the least. Affonso’s drinking had always been an issue, but one the man managed to keep under some kind of control. Although, over the last year or more, his drinking had dramatically increased depending on his stress level.

Calisto surely didn’t feel bad for the man. It would make things a hell of a lot easier. A drunk man was a man that was not on his game.

Quickly making his way down to the door, Calisto stepped to the side of it, out of range of being shot should Affonso pull that shit again, grabbed the door handle, and spun it fast, throwing the door wide.

“Fucking bastard!”

More bullets flew, embedding themselves into the wall opposite of the opened door, and not anywhere near Calisto.

Then, he heard it.

The telltale …
click, click, click
.