Page 111 of Thin Lines (Donati Bloodlines 2)

As close as say … Affonso’s wife?

Calisto found the monitor that had full view of thebackdoors where Emma had left with her driver. She had an enforcer with her.

It wouldn’t help if they were ambushed.

He hoped he was wrong.

God, he hoped …

Calisto grabbed the Glock .19 from the drawer on hisdesk and made a beeline for the office elevator.

He needed to be wrong.

But he didn’t think he was.

“Have two bags of O-neg on standby,” the paramedicbarked into the phone.

Calisto choked on his air, unable to catch a properbreath. Other than the paramedics in the ambulance, there was no one else tosee his breakdown or the tears streaking down his cheeks.

He hadn’t been wrong.

He wished he was.

Calisto found Emma on the cold, slush-covered pavementof the back parking lot. She’d been listless and bloodstained, her pretty facemarked by someone’s hands. Her enforcer had taken a bullet directly between theeyes, while she had taken a beating like no other.

So wrong.

“Possible skull fracture,” he heard one of paramedicssay.

“Get her eyes open. We need response there.”

Calisto watched, stricken and useless, as a smalllight was flashed in front of Emma’s eyes. Cosa Nostra would never have done thisto a woman. They wouldn’t haven’t beaten her black and blue and left her fordead. Wives of made men were held above others—given more respect than otherpeople.

What had Emma done to deserve this?

Calisto clenched his hands into tight little balls, wishinghis panic would ebb just enough to let him think and breathe. He had beenallowed to get inside the ambulance, but he was made to stay back in the corner,out of the way, as the paramedic worked and the other drove like he was tryingto race death.

In a way, Calisto supposed they were.

Around Emma’s pale neck, red, angry bruises had begunto form. The shape of someone’s palms and fingers had wrapped her throat andsqueezed hard enough to leave marks behind.

Someone choked her.

He was so fucking angry.

He was angry with himself for failing her. For beingwrong. For messing up.

Calisto had given whoever had done this to Emma ahead-start on the beating. She’d been outside for at least three to fiveminutes before he realized his error in sending her out the back and notAffonso.

It might as well have been his goddamn fist.

His hands around her neck.

Calisto stared down at his palms, his breathingshallow and ragged. Emma’s blood had stained his hands and his clothes when hehad fallen at her side and pulled her from the ground. He didn’t remember awhole lot, but he remembered aching inside.

So much pain.

He remembered apologizing, and asking her to open hereyes.