Page 8 of Thin Lines (Donati Bloodlines 2)

“Do you really think Daddy is going to let me orCynthia out of New York?”

Ouch.

The bite in Michelle’s tone couldn’t be hidden, notthat the girl even tried to. She had a point, too.

Calisto didn’t want his cousins giving Affonsotrouble. It wouldn’t lead to anything good. Affonso was more likely to marryhis daughters off—just to get them out of his hair—if he thought they were abother. Calisto didn’t want to see that happen, because he would be forced tostand by and watch it happen, without being able to do anything to help Michelleor Cynthia.

Wasn’t it bad enough that he’d done that exact thingto Emma? He’d watched the woman be taken from her home and life. He was the onewho dragged her to New York and delivered her to her new husband, then stood byand did nothing as she was married off. If he could help it, Calisto wouldn’tallow the same thing to happen to his cousins.

“Coward”, “asshole”, and “stupid” were just a fewwords he used to describe himself. In the midst of it all, Calisto had somehowallowed himself to become attached to Emma.

“You make me proud when you focus on your studies,”Calisto said, trying a different tactic.

Michelle’s sneer melted into a small smile. “Yeah?”

“Of course. Someday, when you do find a man to marry,I’d like to know that you’re capable of standing up for yourself, kid. I wantto know that he can’t use you, trick you, or dumb you down because you’re toosmart for that shit. It’s important. And you make me very proud every time Isee a letter on Affonso’s table about you making the honor roll, or winninganother award. I wish I could be there more often for your ceremonies.”

“You call,” Michelle said quietly. “I like that.”

Calisto nodded. “I always will, huh?”

“Good.”

Beyond Michelle, guests milled about between thedining room and the large living room that also doubled as a spot forentertaining during parties. The maroon walls mixed in with the leatherfurniture gave the room a dark, but warm, quality. The bright, nickel-brushedfixtures hanging down from the vaulted, cathedral-style ceiling lit the spaceup. The old, female Italian singer that Affonso loved to listen to droned on inthe background.

“What is your father planning tonight?” Calisto asked.

Michelle shrugged her shoulders. “Not sure.”

Her gaze was focused elsewhere. Calisto followed wherehis cousin was staring, only to find a young man watching Michelle from thecorner of the room. He recognized the sixteen-year-old boy as the son of one ofAffonso’s Capos.

The kid was good, if not a little rough around theedges. What boys weren’t a bit jagged and jaded after growing up in CosaNostra?

“A new friend?” Calisto asked, hiding the curiosityfrom his tone.

Barely.

Michelle’s head snapped to the side, and she foundCalisto with a hint of concern lighting up her brown gaze. “No, I—”

“I’m not going to rat you out to your father,Michelle.”

“Well …”

“Hmm?”

“We talked a couple of times since I got home fromschool,” she said.

“And?” Calisto pressed.

“Maybe I like him.”

Calisto chuckled. “Then maybe you should be verycareful so your father doesn’t have a fit about a would-be boyfriend.”

Michelle gave Calisto a conspiratorial grin. “Maybe Iwill.”

That was his girl. The Donati charm was a learnedtrait, and he was awfully happy that his cousins managed to pick it up in theirgene pool as well. All it took was the proper smile, the right words, and ateasing shrug to deflect someone’s attention.

Michelle had hers down to a T.