Page 47 of Thin Lines (Donati Bloodlines 2)

“I had a father,” Calisto replied coldly. “And I haveno doubt that he would have been far better than you, even though you nevergave him the chance to be one.”

“I don’t want to go into all this again.”

“No, you only want to do it when it’s suitable foryou.”

“Enough, Cal,” Affonso said dryly.

“She delivered your child. You should have been herefor her.”

“It was dead.”

“It was alive,” Calisto hissed. “I watched the baby breathein her hands.”

“She didn’t need me. She wouldn’t have wanted me.”

“What she doesn’t need is a man who doesn’t care. Andyou fit that bill perfectly, zio.”

Emma’s heart hurt, but she managed to keep quiet.

“I’ll leave her alone for a while and let her heal,”Affonso murmured.

“You might want to take a trip downstairs, too.”

“What for?”

“The baby is waiting to be claimed in the morgue.Because he was born alive, he is considered a live birth. He was named andgiven a death certificate, like any other human being would be. There was onlyone person who felt like they didn’t have to treat the child like he wasn’t afucking human, uncle. You. You felt like he was unworthy of your timefor his only moments on earth. You did that.”

“It wasn’t going to survive, Cal.”

“He. Not ‘it.’ He.”

Emma wiped at the wetness streaking down her cheek.

“And what do you expect me to do down there at themorgue?” Affonso asked.

“Claim him. Sign your name to his fucking birthcertificate like you should have done yesterday when he was born. Have himtransferred to the funeral home we use. Jesus Christ, you don’t even have tolook at him, Affonso. I will handle arrangements for the baby’s burial and forFather Day to go over and bless him. But you will go down there and put yourname on his goddamn certificates as his father. It’s the least you can do aftereverything.”

“What did she name him?” Affonso asked.

“She named him after you.”

“Why?”

“Because you wanted your boy,” Calisto snapped. “Andhe’s the first, right? The only. She thought you would want him namedfor his father.”

“Calisto.”

“Don’t touch me, zio.”

“Tu sei il primo.”

“Mai.”

Emma understood their words when they turned toItalian, but she couldn’t compute what they meant. The men’s tones had turnedso pained—agonized. One begging, the other refusing.

“Cal,” Affonso said.

“Just go.”