Read Online Thin Lives (Donati Bloodlines #3) by Bethany-Kris - Free Book Online
Authors: Bethany-Kris
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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.”
Calisto figured as long as Affonso was open to the meeting, then that was the important thing. “I’ll set it up.”
He got up out of the chair, ready to leave.
“Leaving already?” Affonso asked, picking his glass back up for another drink.
“Long day,” he offered in explanation.
Affonso looked him over, dark eyes surveying him like he was trying to find something specific. Calisto wasn’t entirely sure what his uncle could be looking for, but he was doing it.
“Do you need something from me?” Calisto asked.
“If I do, you have a phone,” Affonso said.
Point taken.
Calisto left the office without a goodbye.
A long day was a goddamn understatement.
Shutting the door to the office behind him, Calisto noticed the doors to the library were slightly open. They hadn’t been when he first arrived. He’d spent a lot of time in the library, playing the piano as he sat in a wheelchair during his recovery.
Stepping up to the door, he peeked in, hearing the melody of the piano coming from within the library.
Emma sat at the piano, her fingers dancing over the ivory keys, and a small smile playing on her lips. At her feet, the little black dog slept happily. Her loose dress did little to hide the swell of her stomach, and she stopped playing for a moment to rub her pregnancy bump.
“This always helps you, baby boy,” she whispered, obviously talking to the unborn child. “Just a little while longer, huh?”
Calisto couldn’t help his own smile growing as Emma went back to the piano and began playing again. He opened the doors a little further, stepping in just far enough that he could lean against the wall and listen to her play.
She was good. The tune was familiar, one he too enjoyed playing. Before long, Calisto had closed his eyes and was drumming his fingers against his side in tune with the piano.
For a second, he was lost in it all.
Lost in her playing.
Emma didn’t miss a key in the song, so she must have been practicing.
Calisto’s eyes popped open as the music stopped and a throat cleared. Instantly, he found Emma looking at him over her shoulder.
Something unknown burned in her eyes, like she was silently asking him a question, but couldn’t make the words come out for him to hear them. After a long silence stretched between them, Emma dropped her gaze, a pink flush coloring
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.”
Calisto figured as long as Affonso was open to the meeting, then that was the important thing. “I’ll set it up.”
He got up out of the chair, ready to leave.
“Leaving already?” Affonso asked, picking his glass back up for another drink.
“Long day,” he offered in explanation.
Affonso looked him over, dark eyes surveying him like he was trying to find something specific. Calisto wasn’t entirely sure what his uncle could be looking for, but he was doing it.
“Do you need something from me?” Calisto asked.
“If I do, you have a phone,” Affonso said.
Point taken.
Calisto left the office without a goodbye.
A long day was a goddamn understatement.
Shutting the door to the office behind him, Calisto noticed the doors to the library were slightly open. They hadn’t been when he first arrived. He’d spent a lot of time in the library, playing the piano as he sat in a wheelchair during his recovery.
Stepping up to the door, he peeked in, hearing the melody of the piano coming from within the library.
Emma sat at the piano, her fingers dancing over the ivory keys, and a small smile playing on her lips. At her feet, the little black dog slept happily. Her loose dress did little to hide the swell of her stomach, and she stopped playing for a moment to rub her pregnancy bump.
“This always helps you, baby boy,” she whispered, obviously talking to the unborn child. “Just a little while longer, huh?”
Calisto couldn’t help his own smile growing as Emma went back to the piano and began playing again. He opened the doors a little further, stepping in just far enough that he could lean against the wall and listen to her play.
She was good. The tune was familiar, one he too enjoyed playing. Before long, Calisto had closed his eyes and was drumming his fingers against his side in tune with the piano.
For a second, he was lost in it all.
Lost in her playing.
Emma didn’t miss a key in the song, so she must have been practicing.
Calisto’s eyes popped open as the music stopped and a throat cleared. Instantly, he found Emma looking at him over her shoulder.
Something unknown burned in her eyes, like she was silently asking him a question, but couldn’t make the words come out for him to hear them. After a long silence stretched between them, Emma dropped her gaze, a pink flush coloring
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