Page 57 of Thin Lines (Donati Bloodlines 2)

“It’d be wise. There isn’t much else I could do foryou. Why don’t you try aligning yourself with the Marcello crew in Brighton? Iknow the Capo running them, I can make a call to him. He’s an old friend.”

“Giovanni Marcello handles the territory there,right?”

“It’s the only section of Brooklyn that LucianMarcello let his brother take during the last Commission meeting. I’m convincedit’s because Lucian is like any good Italian.”

Wolf laughed. “He doesn’t want to deal with theRussians.”

Calisto smirked. “Exactly. And Gio, well, he getsalong with everybody. Better to let someone like him set up shop than someonelike Lucian who shoots first and doesn’t even bother to ask his questionslater. He’s a lot like his father, Antony, in that way.”

“I hear Antony stepped down,” Wolf noted.

“A while ago, actually. Gio doesn’t talk aboutbusiness a lot. We keep it clean of all that.”

“I’d appreciate the call, Calisto,” Wolf said.

“I’ll make it before the night is over,” Calistoreplied.

A quick handshake later, and Wolf disappeared out ofthe office and into the hustle of the busy kitchen. Sitting back down in thechair, Calisto rested his elbows to the edge of the desk and rubbed his handsover his face. The loudness of the kitchen soothed him in a way, and that wasone of the only reasons why he kept the door open. It also helped to wane anygossip that might be happening between the workers about what the owner wasdoing behind closed doors.

Loose lips sunk ships.

Calisto wouldn’t be the one to find himself underboiling water because of an employee who was more interested in their boss’sdealings than doing their work.

Most of his businesses dealt with clubs—he ownedthree. But during the daylight hours, when he wasn’t running for Affonso,Calisto took up residence in his lone restaurant in Manhattan. It was upscaleenough to keep the police away, but it was a good enough spot that he hadaccess to the Donati Capos, should they need something or want to chat.

The pile of cash sitting on the corner of the deskcaught Calisto’s eye.

Chatting was one way to put it, he thought wryly.

Another was to say it like it was. When a Capo came tohim for a talk about business, they did so with the intention of gettingthrough to the boss. Calisto, as a consigliere, was Affonso’s gatekeeper. Muchlike Ray was, as Affonso’s underboss. Capos often brought along a bit of greaseto wet Calisto’s wheels, so to speak. Money talked louder than words didsometimes, and they figured handing him some cash would get them to the bossquicker.

Calisto decided who or what was important enough totake to Affonso. He made the calls on what Affonso got to hear or deal withwhen it came to his men. It cut down on a lot of bullshit where the boss wasconcerned, but it left Calisto wading through it for most of the day.

Double-edged swords.

While it was great for Affonso not to have a half of adozen men running to him for every little problem, it was irritating andtime-consuming for Calisto to be the middle man.

His eye caught the money again.

But he did like cash.

“So this is what you do all day?”

Calisto damn near jumped out of his chair at the softvoice coming from the open doorway. His head snapped up from his hands, and hisgaze immediately found who he was looking for leaning against the doorjamb in atight, short red dress.

Shorter than he knew was appropriate.

Affonso wouldn’t like that. He also wouldn’t like thered on her lips.

Emma.

Calisto shook off the surprise at seeing her in theback of his kitchen, standing in his office. He ignored the strange happinessthat bubbled up in his gut at the idea that she had sought him out forsomething.

“Not all day,” Calisto corrected quietly. “Just themorning and afternoon. I take from three to eleven to do what I want—or whatAffonso wants—and then I head over to the club I manage until two in the morning.”

Emma pursed her lips and tapped her crimson, spikedpump to the floor. “And when do you sleep?”

“When I can.”