Thin Lives (Donati Bloodlines #3) (10 page)

Emma looked away. “I—”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said before she could even get a word in edgewise.

Fuck.

“You are,” Calisto continued, “because you can’t even look a person in the eye when you do it. Why won’t you just tell me the truth? And I feel like I have to ask you again about us, like I did in the library.”

Emma swallowed the lump beginning to form in her throat. “Cal, please.”

“Give me something, or I’m going to start looking for it.”

She was pretty fucking sure he already was.

“I don’t know the other date,” she lied, looking him straight in the eye, “but the one that matches my child’s birth and death date is well-known to close people in our circles. It’s not talked about, but everybody kind of knows in one way or another. You were the one who went with me in the ambulance when I went into labor because Affonso was too busy with Carl Calabrese and their breakfast meeting to bother with me or the blood running down between my legs.”

Calisto’s arm dropped. “Oh.”

“Yeah. You went with me. You were there for that.”

“What you were saying earlier … you didn’t finish. It was about me, yeah?”

Emma shrugged, wishing her shoulders didn’t feel as heavy as they did. It was impossible to pretend otherwise. It was like the whole world rested there, pushing her into the damn ground.

“Yes,” she agreed, “it was. I didn’t want to hand my baby over after I’d birthed him and watched him die. The doctor wanted to weigh him and check for any visible abnormalities—there were none, he was perfect, but he just wasn’t ready to come out yet. That was the only reason he died.”

“You wouldn’t give him to the doctor,” Cal assumed.

“No.”

“But you handed him to me.”

Emma clenched her teeth so hard her molars ached. Still, the word slipped out. “Yes.”

Suddenly, he lifted his arm and two of Calisto’s fingers stroked Emma’s cheek. Gently. Tenderly. Almost knowingly.

Before she could stop herself, the familiarity in his action had her tilting her face into the palm of his hand, and then his thumb grazed over her cheekbone like he had done so many times before.

It took Emma all of three seconds to realize what she was doing before she blinked out of her daze and took a huge step away from Calisto. He sucked in a sharp breath at her action, like she’d somehow hurt him.

“I-I have to go,” Emma said.

Calisto took a tentative step forward, hands up as if to reach for her. “Just wait a second, please.”

“No, I—”

“Don’t run right now. I just want you to tell me the truth.”

“I did!” Emma winced at the level of her shout before adding quieter, “I did about the baby and the date.”

“But we’re back to the same thing again like before. How close were we, Emma, that I couldn’t wait outside your hospital room during the delivery? How close that you only gave the baby to me to hand off? How close that I had to tattoo the date of that event on my body
forever
? What else is there about us that you’re not telling me?”

Everything
.

There was everything, and she was scared.  

“Stop,” she whispered, willing the anxiety in her tone away.

They were too close to Affonso’s car, or even one of his men.

“Emma, wait!”

“Stop, Cal,” she repeated stronger.

Calisto threw his arms wide, seemingly unbothered by where they were or by who might be watching. “I just want answers.”

“I can’t give them to you.”

Emma knew the truth of their situation, and why Calisto couldn’t see what was right in front of his face. He had so much love and respect in his heart for Affonso that the idea he might have betrayed his uncle was the very last thing he might consider as something he could do to the man. And so, he was looking for other things, instead of the obvious.

She was terrified what might happen if he found out the truth
before
he gained his memories back. What would that do to him? Would he even be able to protect her and their child, or would he be torn between the knowledge of what he had done and his falsely-grown affection and wrongly placed loyalty for Affonso?

If she was forced to tell him what she knew about the things that had transpired between him and Affonso before she even came into the picture, would he resent her for ruining what he believed was his life?

Would he hate her?

Emma couldn’t bear the thought of that at all.

She just didn’t know what to do. Not for him. But she knew she had to protect herself and his baby. Until things were clearer, that’s the one and only thing Emma would do.

“What is it?” Calisto asked suddenly. “It’s all over your face—you’re just standing there like you don’t even know which way to go.”

Emma blinked up at him, realizing that in one single statement, he had summed up everything that was wrong with her without even properly understanding why. Even being lost like he was, Calisto still knew her. He was still in there somewhere.

“Are you torn?” he asked softly. “About me?”

She stayed quiet.

Calisto wasn’t looking for that. “Just answer me. I’m missing something. I’ve been missing something since I woke up from that coma. I only want to know what it is.”

“I … I am torn, but I don’t know.”

Emma didn’t know a lot of things, and for that, she was sorry.

“Then how about I help, huh? I’m going to look for it. Whatever it is you’re hiding that you don’t want me to know, I am going to look for it, Emma.”

“Then do what you need to do, Cal, but don’t get killed in the process.”

That was just about the best and only warning Emma could give Calisto. As it was, she had already given him too much.

It was like playing with fire.

And she wouldn’t survive the burns.

Calisto

“Here,” Emma said, shrugging off Calisto’s coat and holding it out.

When he didn’t immediately take the item, she shoved it into his grasp and took another couple of steps further away from him.

“Wait,” he said. “Just wait a second longer.”

“I can’t.”

Calisto stood there under the shadows of the trees with his hand outstretched toward Emma as she walked away from him. He didn’t know why, but a huge piece of him might as well have been screaming at him to go and get her. To keep her with him. To not let her go.

It was more than his lost memories.

It
had
to be.

Still, Calisto wasn’t a stupid man, and he noticed things. Like Emma’s nervousness, and her comments about Affonso. She was frightened of being seen with him—scared of the trouble it might bring.

He wanted to know why.

But he didn’t ask, she clearly didn’t want him to, and he let her go instead.

Calisto needed the moment with Emma gone from his side to gather his bearings. Some days, like today, it felt as if the world was mocking him. Like the truth was staring him right in his face, waving and flailing around, but he was too fucking blind to see it.

Or maybe his brain just didn’t want to.

He wasn’t sure which one it was.

And he hated that it made him feel weak.

So yeah, he took that moment to think about what Emma had said, and the few things he learned in their short conversation. His tattoo—a permanent memorial forever inked on his skin—was tied to her in a huge way. He still didn’t know what the one date was for, but knowing the one related to Emma was enough for him.

Enough that it made him consider her even more.

Consider things that might not be … acceptable.

Calisto shook his head, needing to get away from those thoughts. Stepping back out on the pathway, he put his suit jacket on, and did up the buttons. Most of the mourners who had attended Father Day’s funeral and then traveled to the graveyard to see the man be buried had gone from the cemetery. Calisto was alone as he walked the pathway down to where all the cars were parked.

Only a few were left—most were his uncle’s men.

He took note of Emma climbing into the back of Affonso’s Mercedes when a door was opened for her by the driver. Pulling the fob to his own vehicle out of his pocket, Calisto hit the unlock button as he came around to the side of his SUV. Once inside, and hidden by the dark tinted windows, Calisto finally felt like he could breathe a little bit better.

Strange how that worked.

When surrounded by people he knew, he still felt incredibly alone.

It didn’t seem to matter the circumstance.

Yet, there were still a few people who didn’t make him feel that way. People like Emma. To him, that was even stranger considering he literally didn’t know her at all.

At least, not right now.

But it was possible you did
, his mind whispered.

Calisto ignored his inner voice.

The cars ahead of his started moving out of their parked spots, allowing Calisto the distraction of driving for the time being. He was grateful. As it was, he found himself spending far too much time lost in his damn thoughts and trying to figure out the mess that was his life.

Easing his own car behind the fleet of vehicles, Calisto cursed, knowing he should be a few cars ahead. That would put him directly behind Affonso, where he needed to be. His distraction earlier with Emma had put him off his game. Given the tensions between the Donati Cosa Nostra, and the New Jersey Irish mob, no one needed to be taking any unnecessary risks.

Especially not after Calisto had gotten notice from his men that there had been Irish seen in vehicles near the church earlier that day.

As he watched Affonso’s vehicle get closer to the exit of the cemetery, Calisto’s unease picked up a notch. He wasn’t sure why, but his attention was drawn from Affonso’s Mercedes to the road just beyond the exit. A black car with dark windows slowed behind a delivery truck as they passed the cemetery.

Calisto knew it then.

He just …
knew
.

Before the car ahead of Affonso pulled out, before the window of the black car on the road rolled down, and before the barrage of bullets sliced through the air … Calisto knew that the Irish were about to unleash hell.

All sorts of hell.

Calisto watched, horrified, as bullets from a semi-automatic rifle blew into Affonso’s Mercedes just a few cars ahead of his own. The slow moving fleet of vehicles came to a standstill, as did Calisto’s own SUV. His instincts told him to duck as he watched the glass from the windshield in Affonso’s car explode with shatters flying everywhere.

And yet, Calisto didn’t duck.

He threw his car in park.

He was jumping out before the bullets had even stopping flying.

With his heart in his throat, he hit the ground running as soon as he was out of his SUV. Shaking, he reached back for the gun he usually kept holstered to his back, but came up with nothing. He’d taken the damn thing off that morning because he didn’t like to bring guns to church.

Fuck.

Calisto was regretting that choice now.

Making a fast beeline straight for the car he knew housed his uncle, the driver, and Emma, Calisto barely heard the screech of tires fill the air. He didn’t bother watching the car speed off down the road, as he was too concerned with making it to the Mercedes, even though he didn't know what he might find.

From the vehicles he passed, he could hear muffled screaming and shouts as someone dialed nine-one-one. Calisto paid them no mind.

He was too busy watching the Mercedes. He was too concerned with the fact he couldn’t see movement through the dark tinted window of the back, and how not one person had exited the vehicle since the shooting had stopped several seconds before.

It felt like time had just slowed.

He couldn’t move fast enough.

What was even odder, was that while he knew he should be most concerned about his uncle’s welfare, his mind was screaming someone else’s name.

Emma.

Emma.

Emmy
.

Over and over.

Louder and louder.

The mantra of her name continued to fill his thoughts until his heart was in his throat and he couldn’t breathe. Calisto didn’t even realize he had gone to the side of the car that he watched Emma jump into earlier until he was grabbing on the door, and trying to yank it from the fucking hinges to open it up.

The damn thing wouldn’t move.

He pulled again, only to realize it was locked.

Calisto slammed an open hand on the dark tinted window, letting out a shout. He heard the click of a latch as someone inside the vehicle unlocked the door, and then he pulled it open just as fast.

Emma’s frightened, wide stare met his the second he had the door open. It was just the sight of her face—pale skin, red lips, green eyes. Terrified, and shaking, she whispered his name. Across the side of her cheek, blood splatters dotted her skin.

“Emmy,” he said softly, reaching in for her.

She held up her hands.

Bloody.

Her fingers trembled.

“Cal …”

It was only then that Calisto’s attention was drawn to the form slumped against Emma’s side.

Affonso
.

Shit.

Calisto cursed under his breath as he pulled Emma from the car. She didn’t put up a fight, and even stumbled a few feet away before he could ask her if she was okay.

She was walking.

Her side was bloody.

But no gunshot wounds.

“
Zio
,” Calisto said, climbing in the back of the Mercedes.

Affonso groaned, low and hard. The sound was filled with pain, and a gurgling followed right behind. Calisto paid no mind to the driver that was slumped over the wheel.

“Cal,” Affonso gasped.

Calisto swallowed back his panic, hearing sirens in the distance.

Help was coming, he knew.

Somehow, he got Affonso to his back on the leather seat, ignoring the blood that stained his hands. Calisto found three different wounds that were bleeding from different spots on Affonso’s chest.

It was bad.

So bad.

Affonso stared up at Calisto, glassy-eyed and breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,
zio
,” Calisto mumbled.

And he was.

He’d been distracted.

He made a mistake.

Had he been behind Affonso’s car, or in front of it, this probably wouldn’t have happened. Had he taken more care to protect Affonso after getting warned about the Irish, his uncle wouldn’t be dying in his arms.

Affonso chuckled, but it came out hollow, and he winced. “No worries, my boy.”

“I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Calisto … this is nothing.” Affonso let out a shuddering exhale, and red tinted his saliva when he coughed. “I’ve forgiven you for worse—I’ll forgive you for this, too.”

“Thirty seconds out, Ryke.”

Calisto barely heard the shout from the front of the ambulance. He hadn’t even gotten a decent glance at the man’s face when the paramedics arrived on the scene and began working on Affonso. Their movements had been rushed—a frantic, but organized chaos. He stayed out of their way, but couldn’t help watching as his uncle drifted out of consciousness as the paramedics finally got the three bullet wounds staunched.

There had been so much blood.

So much.

Calisto was pretty certain a body couldn’t sustain that much blood loss. Affonso’s usually olive tone complexion had slowly turned an ash gray over the course of the ride to the hospital. His lips—covered by an oxygen mask as the paramedic kept pressure on his wounds—were tinted blue around the seams.

“Ten seconds to drop,” came the familiar voice from the front of the ambulance.

Calisto’s brow furrowed, and for a second, his attention left Affonso’s prone form on the stretcher. He’d been asked to sit back and out of the way, and he was more than happy to do so.

But that voice …

The few times he’d heard the paramedic that was driving, he hadn’t noticed anything unusual about the guy’s voice. But right then, Calisto had.

Familiar
.

“They’re notified it’s a gunshot victim, right?” the paramedic working on Affonso said.

“High trauma, yeah.”

“They’re waiting?”

“Of course, Jose.” Ryke said. “Five seconds.”

Calisto wasn’t even sure what he was hearing between the two male paramedics, but he stayed in the corner of the ambulance and didn’t move a fucking inch. The final words were barely out of the driver’s mouth and the ambulance came to a sudden stop that rocked the vehicle, but didn’t seem to faze the paramedic leaning over Affonso with both hands pressed down to the man’s bloody, bare chest where he had gauze bunched up and soaked in red.