Page 60 of Thin Lives

“But not out of the water,” came a reply from the quietest of the three brothers.

He passed Lucian Marcello a look. “No, not quite yet.”

“Sad thing, that is,” the woman at Dante’s side said softly, glancing up at her husband.

Catrina Marcello.

Calisto wasn’t all that surprised to see the woman sitting there amongst the Marcello men. She, herself, had a reputation in their business. Where most wives of made men were comfortable at home, in church, raising children, and putting dinner on the table, this woman was not like that at all. In her own right, Catrina had made herself a nice little spot as a Queen Pin—a drug dealer that catered to the richest and most elite people.

She was strikingly beautiful with her painted red lips, tight dress, and fire-red hair. Calisto suspected that Catrina’s beauty was her greatest weapon. Men probably flocked to her like stupid moths following a pretty flame, and when they touched her …

Poof.

Nothing but ash was left behind.

Beauty was dangerous.

Calisto’s thoughts drifted back to Emma without his permission. It was almost like he couldn’t fucking help it. Emma wasn’t like Catrina, sure, but she was still dangerous to him.

Or so he was learning.

He felt like a moth chasing her flame, but he didn’t know why.

“I’m going to need as much information as you can provide me about the Irish, your uncle, and how this war between your families came about,” Dante said, drawing Calisto from his thoughts.

Calisto swallowed hard, hearing the hard edge in Dante’s tone. “I can try to do that.”

“There’s no trying,” Lucian put in.

Giovanni rested back in his chair, watching Calisto carefully, but being mindful not to step in, it seemed.

“Lucian has a good point,” Dante murmured, nodding in his brother’s direction. “There is no trying today. We’ve been watching for long enough. What started out as a disagreement between two syndicates has now reached a very bloody, violent level on the streets. There is too much attention—too much police attention—on us all. I can’t have that. I won’t.”

“I intend to finish it out,” Calisto said.

Dante tipped his head to the side, gaze narrowing. “That’s all fine and well, but it isn’t what I asked.”

Smart man, Calisto thought with a grin.

Few people knew of Calisto’s amnesia, and those who did outside of their family had only been given the bare minimum of information where it was concerned. People like Dante probably had little to no knowledge of whether or not Calisto had gained any of his memories back.

“I want to know why this all started,” Dante said.

Calisto’s stare never wavered from the Marcello Don when he replied, “I don’t know. I still don’t know. But I intend to finish it out, as I said. This last attack was my final straw. It won’t affect the Marcellos anymore than it already has, that I can promise you.”

Dante’s features was a mask of cool, calm, and collected. He didn’t even blink. “So what they say is true—you remember nothing.”

“No,” Calisto admitted.

“You’re fighting a war with a family and you don’t even know why.”

Calisto’s jaw ached when he clenched his teeth. Still, his confession slipped out, one that had been plaguing him for months. “No, I don’t.”

At her husband’s side, Catrina shook her head and frowned. “Unfortunate.”

“It is,” Dante agreed, passing his wife a silent look before focusing back on Calisto. “Still, I was sure you would know something, or even that someone in your family might have had answers for you where the Irish was concerned, given the fact you had been so involved with the Irish—”

Ray cleared his throat, stepping up beside Calisto and interrupting Dante. Just in the way the Marcello Don’s eyes darkened as he looked at Ray told Calisto that he was not pleased at being interrupted.