Thin Lives (Donati Bloodlines #3) (12 page)

Calisto wet his lips. “S
ex
. We had—”

“Shh,” she said, her thumb stroking his jawline once more.

He wasn’t sure why, but he was shaking. His hands trembled, and he felt entirely overwhelmed. Maybe it was because he was still coming off from that memory, and what it all might mean.

No, he knew what it meant.

And yet, he couldn’t stop watching Emma, the curve of her smiling lips, and the hope that flickered in her eyes as she stared at him … waiting.

He didn’t know what she was waiting for.

Was it him?

Before he even really processed what he was doing, Calisto tipped his head down and caught Emma’s lips with his own. He expected her to freeze—he didn’t even know why he kissed her except that he
wanted
to.

He wanted to kiss her so badly.

She didn’t freeze at all.

Her lips moved against his softly at first, like she knew precisely what she was doing and that it was all too familiar for her. It was new to him, but it wasn’t at the same time.

That scared him.

But he kissed her harder, she parted her lips, and his tongue sneaked into her mouth instantly, wanting her heat and her taste.

When he found it, something cracked in his chest.

His heart, maybe.

All at once, the realization of what he was doing slammed into Calisto like a wrecking ball of pain and shame. He stumbled back from Emma, hands flying up as if to keep her away. Uncertainty flickered across her pretty features as tears welled in her eyes.

Don’t cry
, he wanted to say.

He said nothing.

“I-I shouldn’t have done that,” Calisto mumbled.

Emma shook her head. “You don’t know why. It’s not the same.”

It didn’t make it better.

Calisto took another step backward.

“Wait,” Emma pleaded.

“I have to go.”

“You told me you would always stay if I just asked, Cal. I’m
asking
. I asked once before and you didn’t stay then, either. Something terrible happened. Please just wait.”

He couldn’t.

He’d made a terrible mistake.

“I’m sorry,” Calisto said before he turned on his heel.

He couldn’t get out of the house fast enough.

Calisto buttoned his blazer as he walked past the well-dressed man holding the restaurant door open for him. Inside, a waiting woman offered to take his things and check them into the coat room, but he refused her offer. With Ray at his back, and Wolf Puzza—one of the only Donati Capos that Calisto actually trusted—behind Ray, Calisto strolled further into the restaurant until he was standing in front of a woman with a tablet in her hands and a Bluetooth ear piece attached to the side of her head that she was chatting into.

He waited her out, but couldn’t help the restless feeling settling deep into the pit of his bones. While a part of his mind was on his uncle, another part of it was somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere it shouldn’t be.

Emma.

Ray stepped up beside Calisto, offering a pointed look at Calisto’s drumming fingers. He stopped the fidgeting almost instantly, not wanting to give away his inner turmoil.

“Sir?”

Calisto’s head shot up at the young woman’s question. “Yes?”

“Donati, right?” she asked.

He wasn’t even surprised that she had been forewarned he was coming with his people. This meeting had been a long time coming, and Affonso had purposely avoided it as much as he could. Despite their Cosa Nostra family being steeped in tradition, Affonso greatly disliked working with other syndicates.

Sometimes, shit just couldn’t be helped.

The Donati family wasn’t the dominating family in New York. That wasn’t to say they didn’t have power—they did, to an extent. But there was always someone bigger and better waiting in the wings.

Everyone answered to someone else in this world.

Affonso Donati was no exception.

“Yes, that’s me,” Calisto told the woman.

She offered him a thin smile and a wave as she stepped away from her podium, a finger pressed against the Bluetooth in her ear. “This way, please. The Marcellos are waiting.”

Wonderful
.

Calisto took the lead as he walked behind the woman, letting Ray and Wolf trail behind him once again. He wanted his position when ranked against the other men he had brought along to the meeting to be known as the highest position.

There was no need to confuse anyone, or lead them on, for that matter. He didn’t think the Marcello family would appreciate having to deal with wondering which one of the Donati men was heading the family while their boss was in recovery. It was never good to play those kinds of games, after all.

Affonso was down and out, and so, Calisto took the lead.

For now.

After a short walk through the main section of the restaurant where the rest of the patrons were enjoying their meals, the woman guided Calisto and his men into a private area where four men, and surprisingly, a woman, was waiting. The moment Calisto’s arrival was announced, the woman who had directed them to the room, turned on her heel and left without so much as a word.

No food rested on the tables.

No menus.

Not even a glass of wine or a pitcher of ice water.

Calisto knew it then—the Marcellos had no intention of this meeting being something more than it was. They didn’t intend to break bread and make nice as they chatted about the Irish and the street war that had been going on for well over a year. They were not going to make pleasantries while they figured out what to do.

They were simply going to make demands.

Calisto was going to have to follow them.

The Marcellos dominated.

That’s just how it worked.

Calisto surveyed the men, and woman, waiting across the room. At the far end of the table, his black hair peppered with salt behind his ears, sat the oldest and probably the most domineering of the Marcellos.

Antony.

From outwardly appearances, Antony Marcello was an enigmatic, charming individual. He was often quieter than those around him, but Calisto was a man who saw that for what it was. While most would overlook Antony at first glance, someone would be incredibly stupid to do so.

He watched, rarely speaking unless needed.

Antony always watched.

And that was unsettling.

A man who watched took in everything. He knew everything. He could use it, too.

Antony was the former boss of the Marcello family, but had stepped down a while ago to allow his second oldest son to take over. Willingly, from what Calisto understood. It was a rare thing, to be sure, as most bosses were usurped or forced out of the seat in some other way—usually violent.

This man, however, had raised an army of sons.

Three sons, to be exact.

And so, when he was ready to give up his position and
retire
, he had that army of sons to fall back on. God knew the Marcello sons ran New York like the Cosa Nostra royalty they were.

Calisto had no intention of fucking this up.

None at all.

The man sitting at the middle of the table stood, his hand coming up to rest on the woman’s shoulder who was sitting in the seat beside him.

“Calisto,” Dante said, smiling politely, “take a seat, old friend.”

Calisto chuckled. “How long do you intend for this meeting to last, Dante?”

Dante shrugged. “Not very long.”

“Then you won’t mind if I stand, I’m sure.”

Calisto’s closest friend from the Marcello family sat beside his father. The youngest Marcello son—Giovanni. He reached over, and patted the table with his palm.

“Let him stand,” Giovanni told Dante.

Dante sighed. “Fine. How is your uncle?”

Calisto’s smile faded. “Better.”

“But not out of the water,” came a reply from the quietest of the three brothers.

He passed Lucian Marcello a look. “No, not quite yet.”

“Sad thing, that is,” the woman at Dante’s side said softly, glancing up at her husband.

Catrina Marcello.

Calisto wasn’t all that surprised to see the woman sitting there amongst the Marcello men. She, herself, had a reputation in their business. Where most wives of made men were comfortable at home, in church, raising children, and putting dinner on the table, this woman was not like that at all. In her own right, Catrina had made herself a nice little spot as a Queen Pin—a drug dealer that catered to the richest and most elite people.

She was strikingly beautiful with her painted red lips, tight dress, and fire-red hair. Calisto suspected that Catrina’s beauty was her greatest weapon. Men probably flocked to her like stupid moths following a pretty flame, and when they touched her …

Poof.

Nothing but ash was left behind.

Beauty was dangerous.

Calisto’s thoughts drifted back to Emma without his permission. It was almost like he couldn’t fucking help it. Emma wasn’t like Catrina, sure, but she was still dangerous to him.

Or so he was learning.

He felt like a moth chasing her flame, but he didn’t know why.

“I’m going to need as much information as you can provide me about the Irish, your uncle, and how this war between your families came about,” Dante said, drawing Calisto from his thoughts.

Calisto swallowed hard, hearing the hard edge in Dante’s tone. “I can try to do that.”

“There’s no trying,” Lucian put in.

Giovanni rested back in his chair, watching Calisto carefully, but being mindful not to step in, it seemed.

“Lucian has a good point,” Dante murmured, nodding in his brother’s direction. “There is no trying today. We’ve been watching for long enough. What started out as a disagreement between two syndicates has now reached a very bloody, violent level on the streets. There is too much attention—too much police attention—on us all. I can’t have that. I won’t.”

“I intend to finish it out,” Calisto said.

Dante tipped his head to the side, gaze narrowing. “That’s all fine and well, but it isn’t what I asked.”

Smart man
, Calisto thought with a grin.

Few people knew of Calisto’s amnesia, and those who did outside of their family had only been given the bare minimum of information where it was concerned. People like Dante probably had little to no knowledge of whether or not Calisto had gained any of his memories back.

“I want to know why this all started,” Dante said.

Calisto’s stare never wavered from the Marcello Don when he replied, “I don’t know. I still don’t know. But I intend to finish it out, as I said. This last attack was my final straw. It won’t affect the Marcellos anymore than it already has, that I can promise you.”

Dante’s features was a mask of cool, calm, and collected. He didn’t even blink. “So what they say is true—you remember nothing.”

“No,” Calisto admitted.

“You’re fighting a war with a family and you don’t even know why.”

Calisto’s jaw ached when he clenched his teeth. Still, his confession slipped out, one that had been plaguing him for months. “No, I don’t.”

At her husband’s side, Catrina shook her head and frowned. “Unfortunate.”

“It is,” Dante agreed, passing his wife a silent look before focusing back on Calisto. “Still, I was sure you would know something, or even that someone in your family might have had answers for you where the Irish was concerned, given the fact you had been so involved with the Irish—”

Ray cleared his throat, stepping up beside Calisto and interrupting Dante. Just in the way the Marcello Don’s eyes darkened as he looked at Ray told Calisto that he was not pleased at being interrupted.

“Cal’s involvement with the Irish family had been very little before his accident, and clearly it didn’t end well.”