Page 53 of Thin Lines (Donati Bloodlines 2)

“I think more than anyone else, my mother wouldunderstand,” Calisto said quietly.

“I can’t say the same. When you’re ready to see meagain, you know where to find me. What will you do now?”

“About what?”

“The rosary. You were using it for your own comfort. Ican’t see you taking it away from the woman,” the priest said.

“I’ll figure something out.”

“I have no doubt.”

Once the priest was inside his silver Mazda, Calistotook his first real breath. He trusted Father Day not to spill his secrets, orwhatever assumptions the man had. That didn’t necessarily make Calisto’sfeelings any better.

He was still heavy in his heart.

His stomach rolled.

Thin lines, the priest hadsaid.

It was appropriate. Calisto had been walking on atightrope from the moment he met Emma Sorrento all those months ago. Dancingbetween the lines of what was acceptable and what was downright wrong.

More than he wanted to admit, Calisto crossed thoselines. He did in it his thoughts and sometimes his actions. He rarely feltguilt for what he had done, but more what he didn’t do.

He might do it again, too.

Calisto wanted to get the hell out of the cold Octoberair, so he took the steps two at a time. It seemed like a blink, and thereasonably warm September gave way to a chilly, windy October. He’d beenperfectly happy collecting money, checking up on his uncle’s Capos earlier inthe day, and staying out of the wind. But when the boss called, Calisto did ashe was told.

Affonso demanded Calisto come to the house.

Nothing else.

Calisto pressed the doorbell and waited. He tucked hishead down, determined to hide from the wind by flipping the neck of his tweedcoat up. He shoved his hands into his pockets and cursed under his breath.

Two long minutes later, the maid let Calisto in thefront door. He would usually just go right in if Affonso wanted or needed something,but his uncle had told him to make sure he rang the doorbell. He wasn’t surewhy.

“Mr. Donati,” the maid greeted, taking Calisto’s coatonce the door was closed. “Your uncle is in his office with his wife. He’salmost done. You shouldn’t interrupt them when they’re in the middle of one oftheir … feuds. Let them shout it out and pretend like you didn’t hear. It’sbetter for us all that way.”

Calisto’s brow furrowed. “They’re fighting?”

“For the last week.”

He hadn’t noticed that.

“Really?” he asked.

The maid nodded. “About all sorts of things. At leastshe’s not quiet anymore. When she’s quiet, she makes me sad. But when she’sangry …”

Calisto couldn’t help but laugh at the expression themaid wore. “That bad, huh?”

“She gives it to him, let me just say. I’m surprisedhe lets her go on like that.”

Calisto had made an effort to come around to the housemore than he usually would over the last month since the baby’s burial. He madeall sorts of excuses to Affonso for why he would randomly show up. Maybe he hada payment to drop off that could have waited until tribute, or some issue thatneeded discussed that wasn’t really an issue at all.

Really, Calisto just wanted to check up on Emma. Itwas like a fucking itch that irritated him on a daily basis. It would prick athim just below the surface of his skin, demanding his attention. Most times, hewould find Emma locked away in the library during his visits. She would besitting in a window, or on one of the leather chairs. There was never a book inher hand, and she rarely acted like he was there. Sometimes she talked, butmost times she didn’t.

Affonso occasionally mentioned how distant Emma was.

Calisto knew depression. He’d had his own bout of it afterhis mother had died and his anger ran its course. The grief in his heart hadbeen debilitating. There was no doubt in his mind that Emma was probably in nobetter of a state.