Page 147 of Thin Lives

Donati charm.

“Is it business you’re worried about where Dante is concerned, or something else?” Cross asked.

Calisto laughed, knowing damn well what his son was dancing around. “Well, I think that’s for you to worry about, not me.”

“Dante likes me.”

“At times.”

“When I’m not within breathing distance of his daughter, you mean,” Cross joked.

Calisto shrugged. “A man’s got to do what he’s got to do, Cross. Someday you’ll have a daughter—maybe—and you’ll understand. Don’t fault Dante for how close he keeps Catherine.”

Cross and Catherine Marcello had dated for a few years starting when they were teens and moving into their early twenties. It didn’t end well, but what kind of young love ever did?

Mostly, Calisto just didn’t want Cross getting mixed up in something he couldn’t handle.

He thought his son was over that girl.

Cross matched Calisto’s posture, arrogance back in a blink. “Let me worry about all that, yeah?”

Calisto sighed. “Don’t go looking for trouble.”

His boy laughed, pushing out of the chair without a care in the world, it seemed. The men who had come with Cross to chat got up from their respective seats as well, ready to leave.

“I never look for trouble,” Cross said as he was leaving. “But it always seems to find me.”

Calisto couldn’t even rebuff Cross, because the man was already gone from the office with the other Capos on his heel. Sighing, Calisto waved his consigliere off as well, and watched as the man downed a glass of whiskey before taking his leave.

Alone in his office, Calisto let the peace of the space soak into his bloodstream. He stretched his legs out, propping them up on the desk and folding his arms behind his head.

He didn’t mind this—not as much as he thought he would.

All those years ago, the very idea of being the boss of the Donati Cosa Nostra had sickened him. The thought of carrying on the legacy of a man he despised made him disgusted.

Yet, here he was.

Except … it was his legacy now.

Calisto was okay with that, for the most part.

People rarely spoke about Affonso, or the fact that the man was still missing. His body had never been found, after all. Burned to a crisp.

Ray had never been found, either.

Calisto had the Irish boss to thank for that.

Friendships like those were made to last.

Calisto sincerely hoped that on his rise to the top, Cross was able to do the same, and make his own friendships that would help to carry him through life. As it was, Cross seemed to do damn well all on his own. Most men slipped and stumbled their way through Cosa Nostra, earning their buttons with shaking hands and unsure words as they spoke their oaths.

Not Cross.

Not a Donati.

“Hey.”

At the quiet greeting, Calisto’s feet dropped from the desk with a snap, and he sat up straight in his chair. Emma stood leaning in the doorway with a ball of fur under her arm, petting the dog’s head.