Page 27 of Thin Lives

The police had marked the murder as a robbery gone wrong. Calisto still wasn’t sure he believed that nonsense, but he didn’t know what else to think, either. His uncle had known he was going there based on nothing more than a memory he wanted explained, Affonso’s attitude had been less than pleased, and then the priest ended up dead.

That wouldn’t sound good to anyone who heard it.

But why would Affonso do that?

What could he want to hide?

Calisto didn’t have a good answer for that, because obviously there wasn’t one. His mind was just making up its own end to a story to explain things it didn’t understand or know. But it still didn’t sit right with him no matter how he looked at it. Having no other options, he had to drop it and move on.

October had practically sneaked up on him before he even knew what was happening.

He hated how the world seemed to be turning much faster than he could keep up with.

Taking another look around his office, Calisto wondered just how scatterbrained he must have been before the accident. Papers and files were everywhere, piled on his desk and the chairs. Even the couch had taken a hit. Either he had been in the midst of reorganizing something—unlikely, as he kept shit organized anyway—or he had been looking for something and the mess was left behind.

Or you just didn’t care, he thought.

Calisto’s brow fell at the passing idea. That was probably closer to the truth than his other two options, given he hadn’t cared much about the space since he returned to his home. Actually, he’d added to the piles since then, dropping papers and a file here or there and then leaving it before he went off on something else again.

As if this place wasn’t important, and he was just passing through, using it to rest when the time called for it.

He supposed it didn’t matter, not at the moment anyway.

Other things needed attended to, and so his messy office and life had to wait.

Calisto found Affonso sipping on a glass of bourbon and laughing with his underboss, Ray. Neither of the two men tampered their laughter at Calisto’s arrival into the office, and so he assumed whatever it was that amused them wasn’t all that bad.

“Could have called if you were coming over, Calisto,” Affonso said, placing his drink on the desk.

Ray said nothing, just watched Calisto out of the corner of his eye as he took a seat in one of the high-back leather chairs across from his uncle’s desk.

“Do I need to?” Calisto asked. “I’m rarely here as it is.”

Affonso shrugged. “Worth noting. Why did you come?”

“The Marcellos want a sit-down. You, them, and the Calabrese. The Irish nonsense is getting out of hand as far as they’re concerned, and they want it to stop by whatever means necessary. I think they’re willing to put a hand in it themselves if that’ll make it go away.”

Ray cursed under his breath. “I warned you, boss.”

Affonso didn’t pay Ray any mind, as his attention was solely focused on Calisto. “And when did you get asked about arranging this … sit-down?”

“I met up with Gio today. Friendly stuff, not business, zio.”

“I should hope not.”

Calisto resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was twenty-eight, working on twenty-nine years old. He’d been his uncle’s consigliere for four years, but Affonso still acted like he didn’t know what he was doing sometimes.

It irritated him to no end. He respected Affonso as the Don of their family, but his uncle was also the man who put him in the seat he was in, as his right hand.

Didn’t that say something?

Calisto knew what he was doing.

“I wanted to bring it to your attention,” Calisto said, refusing to feed into his uncle’s need to reprimand who his friends were. “Better not to poke the bear that is the Marcello family, right?”

Ray shifted in his seat, looking entirely uncomfortable. “Maybe they can help with the Irish, seeing as how our streets are like a war zone right now.”

Affonso scowled. “Perhaps. My issue with sitting down at a table with the Marcellos isn’t the topic at hand, but that man’s wife.”