Thin Lines (Donati Bloodlines Book 2) (23 page)

“Cal?” Emma said loud enough for him to hear.

“Go to sleep,” she heard muttered behind the door.

Emma’s brow furrowed. “Open up.”

“Go back to bed, fuck.”

Clipped.

Angry.

Tense.

That wasn’t like Calisto at all.

Not the one she knew.

Emma jiggled the doorknob, but found it was locked.
Her heart thumped in her throat as the worry compounded hard in her chest.
“Calisto, open the fucking door.”

He didn’t say a word back.

Emma smacked her palm hard on the door, and she barely
felt the sting. Even so, she instantly began to cry. All of the emotions and
the confusion that she had spent bottling up over the last day came pouring out
of her in that moment, rushing out like lava from a volcano. Tears streaked
down her cheeks as she sobbed, gasping for breath.

She just wanted to talk to Calisto.

She needed to get it all out.

Why wouldn’t he open the door for her?

“Calisto, open the goddamn d—”

The door swung open, and Emma was immediately engulfed
in warm, strong arms. She buried her face into Calisto’s chest, and cried
harder. She felt his hand stroke her back while his other tangled into her
hair.

“I’m sorry,” she heard him murmur. “Please don’t cry,
Emmy. It’s been a long day, and I didn’t mean to snap at you. God, stop crying.
I didn’t mean to make you cry,
bella
.”

Emma sniffled, wishing she wasn’t so fucking hormonal
and stupid. “It’s not you, not really.”

Calisto held her out away from him a bit, just enough
that he could look her over. His dark eyes raked over her form, and he wiped
the tears from her face with his bruised, cut hands.

Emma blinked.

“What happened to your hands?”

Calisto pulled them away from her face, dropping them
down to his sides like he wanted to hide them. It was too late. Emma had
already seen the swollen damage.

“Nothing,” he said quickly.

Too quickly.

“Give me your hands,” she demanded.

When he didn’t do as she asked, Emma grabbed his right
wrist and pulled his hand up to look at it in the light from the bathroom. She
sucked in a hard breath at the sight of his injured hand. His knuckles were
swollen, cut on each one, and an angry red. His pinky was slightly off to the
side, and it didn’t look right.

“It’s broken, I think,” Calisto grumbled.

“Oh, my God.”

“Doesn’t hurt a lot.”

“How can it not hurt?” Emma asked, staring up at him.

“I took a Vicodin and washed it back with some vodka.”

Jesus.

Emma’s fingers ghosted over Calisto’s knuckles again.
She dropped his hand, and grabbed his other. It was in the same condition,
minus the broken pinky finger.

“Here, I’ll get you to hold onto this for me,” Calisto
said.

Emma waited as he dug in his pants pocket and pulled
out something that was hidden in his fist. Turning his hand over, Calisto
opened his palm to showcase the golden ruby ring that he always wore on his
pinky.

“I won’t be able to put it on for a while,” he
explained. “And if they were to cut it off at the hospital when I go in, I
would have a fucking fit.”

Emma plucked the ring from his hand, her palm closing
tightly around it to keep it safe. “I’ll hold onto it. Now, tell me what
happened.”

Calisto spun on his heel and stalked back into the
bathroom. Emma followed right behind. She waited him out as he turned the water
on and stuck his hands underneath with a hiss. The water turned pink when
Calisto clenched his hands into fists, and his cuts opened up all over again.
Blood washed down the drain.

In the light, she finally got a good look at him.

Blood was splattered up his white dress shirt. He had
the same red dots all over his neck, jaw, and face. His arms were stained with
blood right up to his elbows, and his hair looked like he had run a bloody hand
through it.

On the counter, a cigarette burned and smoke curled
upward in spirals.

Calisto plucked it up and stuck it between his bloody
lips and took a drag.

Emma’s chest tightened.

He was bloodied, dark as hell, and quiet standing
there.

It made her stomach twist—it wasn’t a bad thing.

What had happened to make him come home like this?

“Calisto?” Emma asked.

He pulled another item from his pocket, and handed it
over. Emma unfurled the crumpled piece of paper, and pain sliced through her
heart at the face on the page. Her attacker looked exactly the same in the
picture, right down to the scar beneath his eye.

“That happened,” Calisto said, his tone coming out
like a rumble.

Emma wet her lips. “How did you find out who it was?”

“I had a meeting this morning. I was given that.”

“And then what?”

Calisto laughed deeply, his soul-black gaze flashing
as he turned it on her. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, Cal”

“I fucking killed him. I went to the restaurant he
manages, lured him into the back alley, and beat him like he did to you. I
didn’t stop hitting him until he was seizing on the ground and choking on his
own bloody vomit. Do you want to know what I did then?”

No
.

“Yes,” she said instead.

“I put my hands around his throat,” Calisto said,
lifting his hands high for her to see. “And I held on, watching his eyes until
there was nothing left. I was so angry because he’d touched you—he hurt you. He
left marks all over you, and he made you cry. I had to see him go, watch that
leave his eyes and make sure he knew why, and it was worth it.”

Oh, God
.

Emma closed her eyes for a brief second, but opened
them back up just as fast.

“Do you hate me now?” Calisto asked when she stayed
quiet.

“Never,” Emma whispered. “I love you too much to hate
you, Cal.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Emma stepped closer to him. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you just shouldn’t. This is never going to
be—we’re never going to be more than we are right now. If anything, we’ll be together
a hell of a lot less very soon.”

Her heart clenched painfully.

“Calisto, don’t say that,” she mumbled, wrapping an
arm around her lower stomach. “I need you.”

“That’s a problem, Emmy.”

“Cal!”

Calisto ignored her shout, and stared into the mirror,
his eyes seemingly deader than ever. “Do you want to know what I did after the
meeting this morning?”

Emma didn’t understand how that mattered. “No, I want
to know why you would say something like that to me, after everything.”

“I met with the Irish boss this morning, and found out
about all of Affonso’s double dealings and his bullshit. Thankfully, the
meeting went well, and we shouldn’t have any more issues with the Irish family.
It was just another one of Affonso’s messes that I had to clean. Just like he
wanted me to. Right after, I got in my car and drove across town to meet with
the men again. He’s been gone since the first week of February. It’s April,
now. His men want to know where he is—why he isn’t here. They’re angry that he
left, angry with him.”

“I don’t understand,” she admitted.

“He wanted them like that; he wanted them looking to
me, and partial to me,” Calisto muttered.

“So?”

“So,” Calisto drawled, dragging a bloody, wet hand
down over his face, “… I sat there with them today, and did nothing as they
gave Affonso exactly what he wanted, and everything that I refused him. I had
no say. He forced me into it just like he promised to do.”

“The boss’s seat,” she said, finally putting his
mumbled pieces together.

Calisto nodded, staring into the mirror again. “He’s
got everything he wants from me.”

“Oh, Cal.”

“Do you know what that means?”

Emma reached out and snagged his wrist in her hand,
holding tight. “No, but it’ll be okay.”

“It won’t.” Calisto shook his head, sucking in a
shuddering breath. “It won’t be okay, because now he can come back and do what
I said he would. Stand in the shadows and watch me run his family. Take you
from me. Kill me without even raising a finger. I didn’t want this, but I had
to protect you, right the wrongs that had been done to you; I needed to protect
la famiglia
, too.”

“It’s okay,” she repeated.

Emma didn’t know what else to say.

“It’s not, because now I’m in an even worse position.
People will expect things from me—a wife, for one.”

Agony slipped through Emma’s veins.

“But—”

“That’s just how it is,” Calisto interjected softly.
“And you weren’t mine to begin with, Emmy.”

Emma wrapped her midsection even tighter with her arm.
“Can’t we do something?”

“Like what?”

“Run,” she offered. “Something, Cal.”

“What good would running do? We’ll always be running.
We’ll never stop. I can’t keep pretending like this is going to go anywhere,
because it won’t.” Calisto pulled out of her grasp and his hand slapped against
the countertop, and his rage spilled out in an angry shout that hurt Emma from
the inside out. “I am so fucked up now—
you
fucked me up, and I wanted
it. I don’t know how to handle this, Emmy.”

“Calisto …” She reached for him again, but he just
jerked away.

“I gave him everything he wanted,” Calisto said again.
“But I did it for you, and now I don’t even get you.”

She wanted to tell him. The pregnancy news was right
on the tip of her tongue. Calisto didn’t give her the chance. He pushed on past
her in the bathroom, and flew out into the hallway. Emma followed behind,
confused and hurting even more.

“Cal, wait,” she whispered.

He threw a hand high. “I need to breathe, or to think.
Something. Just … I’ll be back, Emmy.”

“Wait,
please
.”

Calisto didn’t wait.

Emma watched him go, and her heart cracked all over
with every step he took.

Emma

The Donati home was far too quiet come morning. Emma
walked the floors, the halls, and throughout the rooms, but it was empty and it
rang a lonely song. The longer she waited, wondering why Calisto hadn’t come
back like he promised, the worse she felt.

She called his phone, but got no answer.

She texted him, and got the same thing.

Silence.

Nothing.

The cracks in her heart grew to cavernous fractures that
were barely able to hold together.

Where was he?

Emma tried to distract herself with cooking breakfast—as
the cook had taken time off—but once the food was made, she had no desire to
eat. She pushed the eggs around on her plate while Midnight napped in her lap.

Once she gave up on trying to fill her stomach, she
took Midnight out into the chilly April morning to let the puppy do his
business. Not that it mattered. She had already cleaned the
business
he
left on the bedroom floor.

Still, the worry and loneliness grew. Even when she
pulled out the poker chip Calisto had given her and held it tight in her palm.
Even when she sat with Midnight at the piano and played a few keys.

She couldn’t get the feeling that something was wrong
out of her heart. It had burrowed in to all the fissures there, grabbed tight,
and refused to let go.

Emma stared at the phone for the majority of the
morning, waiting for it to ring. She just needed something—anything. All
Calisto had to do was call her and say he wasn’t coming back, and she would
understand.

The silence was a cold killer.

But there was nothing she could do.

Emma amused her pup, took her prenatal vitamin, and
watched the phone.

Nothing changed.

The front door slammed hard enough to rattle the
pictures on the wall. Emma jumped off the couch, waking Midnight up in the
process. She patted the pup on his fluffy little head, and left him where he
was to see who had entered her home.

She
needed
it to be Calisto.

It wasn’t.

Ray stormed down the hall, a wild look in his eye. His
clothes were wrinkled. His hair looked like he’d been pulling on the strands.
The man had never once entered the Donati home without knocking before, despite
being Affonso’s underboss in
la famiglia
. It was a respect thing, and it
shocked Emma to see Ray looking so disheveled and crazy.

The awful feeling welled in Emma’s gut again.

“What happened?” she asked.

Ray shoved past her, pushing her into the wall. She
yelped her surprise on deaf ears; Ray continued without even looking at her.
Emma’s back hit a painting, and it fell to the floor with a crash.

She pushed off the wall, and ran after him. Her heart
raced, threatening to jump right out of her throat. She clenched her fists at
her sides, her fingernails biting into the skin of her palm with enough force
to break the skin.

“Tell me what happened!” Emma shouted.

“Where is it?”

Emma stumbled in her walk, grabbing onto a hallway
table for support. Ray turned on his heel just as he came to Affonso’s office
across from the library.

“Tell me where it is!” he repeated, shouting for all
he was worth.

She blinked, her mouth opening.

Nothing came out.

What did he want?

“Why are you here?” she asked in a whisper.

“I need to know where it is, Emma,” Ray said instead.

Sickness rose in her stomach, threatening to
overspill. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Another large crack
splintered across her heart.

Ray had no reason to be here, doing what he was.

Calisto would never allow it.

Affonso would never allow it.

“Where is Calisto?” Emma asked.

Ray made a frustrated noise, and waved a hand at her.
“Stupid girl. How could you possibly know what I need?”

He turned fast on his heel and disappeared into
Affonso’s office. The heaviness in Emma’s feet damn near kept her rooted in
place in the hallway, but she pushed forward. The quiet whines of Midnight
echoed from the living room, telling her the dog was scared to be alone.

Emma’s own heart was whining, too.

Crying.

Sobbing.

Something was
wrong
.

Inside the office, she found Ray digging through
papers on the desk. He tossed them here and there, letting them fall to the
floor like he didn’t care at all. He pulled open drawers, and yanked files out
to slap them on the desk. Again, he went through the contents, tossing whatever
he didn’t find useful to the floor.

“Where in the fuck is it?” he growled.

“What?” Emma cried. “Where is
what
?”

“I need …” Ray trailed off, grabbing the laptop. He
turned it on, and then slammed his hands into the keyboard when a passcode page
lit up the screen. “Goddammit!”

Emma shuddered.

His rage was visible in his burning eyes and his
shaking fists.

It was the first time Emma didn’t feel safe in Ray’s
presence.

“I need to call him,” Ray mumbled, reaching for a
stack of Post-it notes on the desk. “I have to.”

Emma went numb all over. The pain finally stopped for
a moment, but she couldn’t feel anything at all. Ray wouldn’t need to find
Calisto’s phone number. He would already have it. He called Calisto on a daily
basis.

But for Affonso … Ray had been out of the loop.

A lot like everyone else.

Even Emma.

“Why do you need to call Affonso?” Emma asked, her
tone barely above a breath.

Ray ignored her. He continued searching through the
scraps of paper and another drawer of things. He typed on the keyboard of the
laptop, trying different password combinations only to fail each time.

Emma found her voice, somehow. “
Why
?”

The volume of her shout was enough to make Ray stutter
in his movements. He stared at her, taking her in as his hands shook over the
papers.

“There was an accident,” Ray said quietly.

Emma took a step backward.

No
.

“Calisto was driving down the highway and—”

“Stop it,” Emma mumbled, putting her hand up as if to
block Ray’s words.

She had backed up to the doorway, and was standing in
it. Her heart was beating, but it felt like with each one, total agony was
being pumped straight into her bloodstream.

Oh, God
.

She couldn’t breathe.

“I have to call Affonso,” Ray said. “He has to know
what happened to Calisto.”

“Stop it,” Emma repeated, practically screaming the
words.

Stop lying
, she wanted to
shout.
You’re lying
.

Ray couldn’t possibly understand, but he was killing
her. His words were cutting into her already broken heart and leaving her even
more battered than before.

Emma turned on her heel, and ran.

She didn’t know what she was running from.

This whole house was her prison now.

Emma blinked awake, and her entire body protested as
she moved off the cold tile of the bathroom floor. The stale stench of her
vomit still lingered in the air, and she blindly waved at the toilet to hit the
latch and flush the contents down.

She had cried herself into a puking mess.

Then she passed out on the floor after crying some
more.

Stumbling onto her feet, Emma grabbed the doorknob and
swung the door open. Stepping out into the hallway, she could hear quiet
murmurs down the hall coming from the office. She checked the decorative clock
on the wall, realizing it had only been a little more than an hour since Ray
showed up with his … news.

Was he still here?

She could distinctly hear two murmurs.

Two people.

The closer she came to the office, the better she
could discern who was speaking.

“They drove him off the road?” Affonso asked.

Emma could tell by the slight change in Affonso’s tone
that he was speaking through the speaker on the telephone.

“There were a few bullet holes in his car as well,”
Ray said.

Affonso cursed low. “You’re sure it was the Irish?”

“Who else would it be, boss?” Ray asked back just as
fast. “He was playing your games like you wanted him to—doing your bidding.
He’d had a meeting with the Irish boss earlier in the day. I wanted to join, I
practically demanded he let me go, but he refused. He wouldn’t allow anyone to
go with him. I have no idea what happened in that meeting, or how it ended.”

That didn’t make sense to Emma.

She distinctly remembered Calisto saying the meeting
with the Irish boss went well. Why would he say that if he didn’t mean it?

“My boy,” Affonso murmured, a sadness thickening his
words. “
Dio salvi il mio ragazzo
.”

“You have to come back, now. You don’t have a choice.
Otherwise, you’re leaving
la famiglia
open to any man, Affonso. I know
this was your last hope in getting Calisto to take over, but he might not even
wake up.”

Emma truly believed that Affonso loved Calisto in his
own way. It was a selfish way, to be sure, but he still loved the man just the
same.

“The Irish,” Affonso said quietly.

“Yes.”

“Kill them.”

Ray coughed. “Pardon?”

“Kill them—all of them,” Affonso said darkly. “I want
them gone.”

“Boss …”

“Kill them!”

“What about Calisto?” Ray asked.

“I’m coming home. Soon.”

“His doctors need someone here to sign papers and make
decisions, Affonso. Like I said when I first called, he’s critical and he’s in
a bad way.”