Page 133 of Thin Lives

He’d thank the lawyer again for that one when he could.

Following the sound of the faint cry of an infant, Calisto moved out of the office and all the way down the hallway to the only door that had been opened. The bedroom.

He found little Cross—swaddled but angry—in a pile of blankets in a closed closet.

With trembling hands, Calisto scooped his son up, and held him tight. He cradled Cross’s tiny head in his much larger palm, kissed the baby’s soft, sweet smelling skin, and told him how much he loved him and that he was sorry.

“Daddy’s here, little man,” Calisto whispered.

Cross stopped crying, but his sniffling continued. He rooted against his father’s cheek, looking for something to suck on, Calisto believed. He couldn’t get out of the penthouse fast enough, and he didn’t spare a glance at the bloody, dead woman on the way out, either.

The moment Calisto stepped out of the penthouse and closed the door, he knew something was wrong.

He could smell it.

Fire.

“Jesus, Gio,” Calisto grumbled.

The elevator wouldn’t work when he tried it. Cross fussed in his father’s arms as Calisto jogged to the exit where the stairs were. He took them three at a time, practically flying down level after level. At the middle, firefighters were coming up.

“Hurry, hurry,” one barked at him.

Calisto nodded, and kept going.

“Too much,” another one said. “Floors are looking empty from the eighth down. We gotta go back.”

One man offered to take the baby from Calisto’s arms, but he refused. With an entourage of escorts, he was taken down the rest of the way until he was shoved out into the cold, dark night air.

Someone shouted out a head count.

Another responded positively.

The firefighters’ coms went off, confirming they were out, too.

Looking up, Calisto found the building bright and burning right in the middle and just above. The flames kept going higher, licking at windows and promising to hide what he’d done.

Just across the street, he found his old friend waiting.

Giovanni waved two fingers.

Calisto nodded back.

He couldn’t do much else.

He had a baby to bring home to his mother.

Calisto

Calisto had only stepped out of the SUV when the front door of the large Donati home was thrown wide open. He circled the front of the vehicle, his son in his arms. It wasn’t safe to drive while carrying an infant, to be sure, but he hadn’t exactly had a choice.

Snuggled against his father’s chest, seemingly unbothered by the cool wind whipping through the air thanks to his thick blanket, Cross slept. A tiny, pink thumb was stuck firmly in his mouth, while his other fisted his blue blanket and kept it close to his face.

The softest cry—aching and relieved at the same time—carried over the large front lawn as Calisto came up to the walkway. He glanced up, finding Emma waiting in the entryway of the home. Wolf stood beside her, a hand on her shoulder as if to keep her in place.

Calisto didn’t want to make a scene—he was sure there were people watching from their homes, given the time, and the fact that his SUV was anything but quiet. Also, he was a Donati, and everybody knew who lived in the Donati home. It wasn’t like they were afforded a great deal of privacy.

Even still, he sped up his walk, knowing how worried Emma must have been as she waited for days to have her son back—his son.