Page 131 of Thin Lives

Yeah, that was Affonso’s death warrant going through.

There was a very slight possibility that Affonso had another gun inside the room that he had access to, but Calisto doubted it considering he could still hear the clicking of the empty trigger.

Knowing he was probably safe, Calisto left the barrier the wall provided and stepped into the opened doorway of what was an office. Behind the desk, wide-eyed, messy-haired, and frantic, Affonso stood with shaking hands. Cursing heavily, and still slurring, the fool tossed the gun to the side when he pointed it directly at Calisto, pulled the trigger, and it didn’t fire.

“You took something of mine,” Calisto said, never moving from his spot at the door.

Affonso’s breaths came out heavy and ragged, his chest heaving under the nightshirt he wore. His fingers curled into claws against the wood top of the oak desk, and he glared at Calisto. “Mine, you mean.”

“I can smell the bourbon from here.”

“Don’t you—” Affonso stopped mid-sentence and grabbed the side of the desk as he swayed. “Don’t you say a thing about that—have some fucking respect.”

Calisto shook his head. “That left a long time ago, zio.”

“Papa,” Affonso shot back. “I am your fucking father! Won’t you just say it once for me, Calisto?”

“You donated the sperm, nothing more.”

“Oh, it was more, my boy. She would have taken more, too. Your mother wanted all of that and more, believe me.”

Calisto had all he could do not to react to that statement, but he had a feeling that was exactly what Affonso was trying to do. Bait him. But for what reason, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like Affonso had an acceptable weapon to use if Calisto charged him.

Affonso smiled in that way of his, cold and callous.

Calisto immediately felt on edge at the sight.

“But the boy—Cross—he makes up for all your failures,” Affonso said. “He’s a baby now, but he’s a boy. And you gave him to me, didn’t you? I forgive you, Cal, for everything you wouldn’t do because I am sure he will. He’s mine, everyone knows it.”

Over the years, Calisto had grown accustomed to brushing off comments about his mother for her memory’s sake where Affonso was concerned. Calisto had hardened himself to that sort of thing.

He was not prepared for Cross.

“The only thing the little whore was good for was spreading her legs, but Emma served her purpose, no matter how the end result came about,” Affonso finished darkly.

And Emma …

Calisto’s rage boiled over, and for a second, he forgot about the gun in his hand as he moved forward faster than he thought was possible. He just rounded the desk, ready to grab Affonso and beat the living shit out of him, making him bleed his apology all over that fucking desk, when his uncle struck back.

It was a thin, but sharp, letter opener.

Calisto just barely saw the flash of silver as Affonso raised it. He dodged it, but it still landed on his shoulder with enough force to puncture and hurt like a bitch.

It was a bitch move, after all.

Hissing through his teeth, Calisto’s fist came up, gun still firmly tucked in his grasp, and smashed Affonso in the side of the head and face. The crack of the gun hitting against Affonso’s skull reverberated through the room. Calisto didn’t give his uncle a chance to fight back before he was grabbing a fistful of Affonso’s hair and smashing his face down into the desk.

Blood, cartilage and saliva spilled in a mess of red liquid under Affonso’s face onto the desk. Affonso shouted, although it was muffled by his broken nose and bloodied mouth. He gagged when Calisto pulled his head up again, and brought him right back down into the desk with more force than before.

Affonso tried to fight back, but he was weak.

And drunk.

Calisto let those years of anger, frustration, and hatred build with every lift and shove of his uncle. He let the bones break, because it helped his heart to settle. He couldn’t make Affonso bleed enough, couldn’t hear the man begging loud enough, but it still felt fucking damn good.

“Where’s my son?” Calisto growled.

Affonso cursed at him, garbled and mumbled. “Go to hell.”