Thin Lies (Donati Bloodlines #1) (16 page)

With
a steady hand, Calisto lifted his cigarette for a drag. He inhaled the smoke,
let it burn in his lungs, and then exhaled a steady steam to the alleyway. The
sound of bells jingling as the door to a small bakery was opened rang in the
darkness. Calisto pushed off the wall, and kept his cigarette in his mouth all
the while.

He’d
went to Poppy’s place, only to find she wasn’t there. A quick check with her
neighbor, a charming smile and a smooth word, and the older woman let him know
that she heard Poppy talking on the phone before leaving the building.

Apparently,
Poppy’s neighbor was nosy.

That
was good for Calisto.

The
old neighbor let Calisto know that Poppy had a taste for coffee and bread from
a shop down the street, and that’s where she told her caller she was going. The
woman even let Calisto know the name of the small bakery.

Norris
had emailed Calisto a picture of Poppy, one that had been distributed in one of
Vegas’s socialite magazines. He knew which woman he was looking for.

The
waiting game was still a killer.

Stepping
closer to the mouth of the alley, Calisto took another drag from his cigarette
and leaned his shoulder to the brick wall. The bright lights of Vegas were everywhere.
A person couldn’t even see the fucking stars from down below because the lights
outshined them.

It
was a shame.

Calisto
missed New York.

He
still hated his uncle. But he missed home.

It
was easier for Calisto to think about the little things that were bothering him
than to let his insides be eaten away with all the worries he had about Emma. Maybe
over the last three weeks, he had allowed himself to get too close to the girl,
even if it was at a distance.

He’d
worried about what would happen after she married Affonso. He didn’t like that
she wouldn’t be happy. It made him sick to think about Emma being in his
uncle’s bed night after night.

Calisto
shouldn’t have concerned himself with those things at all.

So
yeah, he stared at the fucking sky and let himself be annoyed by the lack of
stars.

It
was easier.

A
redhead strolled past the alleyway, drawing in Calisto’s attention. He was
thankful for the distraction. Poppy Johansen could dress herself up or down
however she wanted; she could hang out in the worst neighborhoods, or go to the
elite parties on the weekends.

What
the girl couldn’t hide, was her flaming red hair.

Stepping
out of the alley without making a sound, Calisto followed behind the woman. He
kept his head down, smoked his cigarette, and kept one eye on the unknowing
woman ahead of him. It wasn’t long before a block had passed and they were
closing in on the building where Poppy lived.

She
still hadn’t noticed Calisto when she rounded the front of the building and
unlocked the main doors to get inside. Calisto had waited earlier for someone
to leave when he had entered, but being as close as he was to Poppy, this time
he only had to grab the door before it closed.

That
was the first time she took notice of him.

Poppy
gave Calisto a strange look, smiled slightly, and then headed for the
elevators. Calisto followed without a word.

Standing
in front of the elevators, Calisto took note of the messenger bag Poppy had
slung over her arm. She likely had a gun in there, or maybe a knife,
considering her choice in company for men. He wanted to make sure he wasn’t on
the receiving end of any weapon she might have.

Poppy
reached out and pressed the button for the elevator. The right one opened
almost immediately. She stepped in, shooting Calisto a glance over her
shoulder, and he walked in right behind.

“Are
you new to the building?” Poppy asked as she hit the third floor button.

“No,”
Calisto said. “Visiting someone.”

“Which
floor?”

“Fourth.”

Poppy
hit the floor number, and the doors closed. Calisto took note of how she held
her bag a little tighter as the elevator began to lift.

At
the third floor, the elevator came to a smooth stop before the doors opened to
allow Poppy out. Calisto gave her a smile as she stepped off the elevator, and
started to walk down the hall. Just as the doors began to close, he stuck his
hand out and stopped them, forcing the elevator to open and let him out, too.

Poppy’s
place was only a couple of doors down from the elevator. Calisto had taken note
of that earlier. As he stepped out into the hallway, Poppy was just unlocking
her door.

With
her head down, she didn’t even see him coming.

Calisto
grabbed her bag off her shoulder as the barrel of his newly acquired gun met
the back of her neck. The girl froze like a statue, and her keys fell on the
floor.

“You
should answer your phone when someone calls,” Calisto said. “Since you wouldn’t
answer mine, I decided to come over for a little visit. It’s Poppy, right?”

Poppy
nodded. “Yes.”

“Is
there a gun in your bag, Poppy?”

“Yes.”

“Anything
else?”

“No,”
she said.

Calisto
didn’t believe her, but since he had the bag in his hand, he figured he was
okay. “Open the door and step inside. Turn on the light. Keep quiet, or I’ll
blow your spinal cord out through your throat when I pull the fucking trigger.
Is that understood?”

“Yeah.”

Poppy
did as she was told. Once they were inside the apartment, Calisto tossed the
bag ten feet into the space and far away from his current captive.

“Emma
called you. Where is she?”

“I
don’t—”

Calisto
spun Poppy around fast, shoved her into the closet wall, grabbed her throat in
his free hand, and pointed his gun right between her wide eyes. “Lying won’t
make this easier or faster, Miss Johansen. I simply want to know where Emma
Sorrento is.”

Poppy’s
gaze darted back and forth as her mouth opened and closed. Calisto knew that
look. It was the look of someone trying to search for a lie.

He
cocked the hammer back.

Poppy
whimpered.

“His
name is Mika, right?” Calisto’s smile was deadly.

Poppy
sucked in a ragged breath. “What?”

“I
hear you like to sleep with monsters, sweetheart.” Calisto dragged the barrel
of his gun from Poppy’s forehead, over her nose, and down to her trembling lips.
“The kind of monsters that take girls just like you, shoot them up with drugs,
and shove them into a room for the taking. And do you know what the monster you
sleep with does with those girls he takes? He sells them, Poppy. He lets other
men go in and beat them, use them, and rape them however they want for the
right price. Don’t tell me that you don’t know the kind of monster you’re
sleeping with.”

“And
if I do?”

Calisto’s
smile melted into a smirk. “Let me introduce you to a whole new kind of
monster. And the best part about me is that I’m not the monster fucking you,
sweetheart. Did you fish her into his hands? Is that what happened? Are you
trying to get your boy a little higher in his game so that you can live off the
wealth of a man other than your daddy?”

Poppy
sneered. “Go to hell.”

“I
already live there.”

She
blinked, stunned.

Calisto
didn’t give a fuck. “Make this easy, tell me where I can find either Emma, or
Mika.”

“I
don’t—”

He
grabbed her cheeks, spread her mouth wide, and shoved his gun so far down her
throat that she gagged on the barrel. Poppy’s eyes filled with tears, and
slivers spilled over her cheeks.

“Tell
me,” Calisto urged quieter, “and I’ll seriously consider letting you live
tonight. You’re nothing more than a stupid, spoiled little rich girl who is so
far out of her fucking league that you can’t even afford the tickets to the
show you’re trying to see, sweetheart. I’ll let you live tonight if you tell me
where to find your little boyfriend. And you know what you’ll get to do then?”

Poppy
swallowed around the barrel, unable to speak.

“Then,
tomorrow, when you wake up and see the news of your boyfriend’s death plastered
across the television, you’ll be able to go back to your father on your hands
and knees like the worthless bitch you are, and beg him to let you back in to
your family. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? I bet it’s much better than your
father having to come here and identify what is left of your face after I pull
the trigger.”

More
tears spilled.

Calisto
kept smiling.

Poppy
mumbled something around the barrel of the gun. Calisto pulled the weapon out
just enough to let her speak. She instantly blurted out the name of what
sounded like a strip club.

“Where
is that located?” Calisto asked.

“About
twenty minutes from here,” Poppy cried, her sobs following right behind.

She
said a street and number. Calisto filed the info away in his mind for later.

“Thank
you,” he said, stepping back from Poppy.

The
girl fell on the floor, holding her face and throat in her hands. She didn’t
notice Calisto reaching behind his back to grab the silencer. She cried below
him as he spun the silencer into the tip of his barrel.

“I
lied,” Calisto said.

Poppy
glanced up, her brown gaze zoning in on the gun pointing at her face.

“My
apologies to your father,” he added.

Calisto
pulled the trigger.

Calisto

Calisto
checked out the small caliber handgun that he had taken from Poppy Johansen’s
messenger bag before he’d left the apartment. He looked the clip over, made
sure the ammo inside was in decent condition, and then slid the gun into the
back of his pants.

There
was nothing wrong with a backup.

Across
the street from his parked car, Calisto took note of the strip club that was
still lit up for business. There weren’t a lot of cars in the parking lot. In
fact, there hadn’t been very many people coming or going from the business.
Checking the clock, he noted it was after one in the morning. That could
explain the dwindling patrons to the club, but the more likely reason was
because only certain people used the place—the kind of people that normal,
everyday people wouldn’t be comfortable being around.

He’d
been watching the hours crawl by, and counting down the time that he was losing
with every passing second.

“Antsy”
was not a good enough word for what Calisto was feeling. Twice, he’d taken
routine calls from his uncle over the day, and twice he’d managed to lie his
way through the details of Emma’s whereabouts and whatever else Affonso wanted
to know.

Calisto
couldn’t keep that up forever.

Say
in thirty hours when the girl needed to be on a plane to New York.

Second-guessing
oneself was the best way to fuck up a situation. Calisto refused to even consider
whether or not he was out of his league with what he was about to do. He
couldn’t afford the doubt. It wasn’t such a surprise to Calisto that the
Russians had their hand in a skin trade right under the nose of the Sorrento
Cosa Nostra. It wasn’t all that uncommon for many organizations, both little
and small, to be working around one another. Families and syndicates weren’t likely
to step in on another family’s business unless it was causing them some kind of
problem. Maximo probably knew that the Russians were running a scheme, but
unless it was affecting the businesses he had a hand in, the man wouldn’t
bother to put a stop to it.

Besides
that, Russians and Italians never worked well together in business. The
organizations were run in entirely different ways with bosses that had
completely opposite morals when it came to life and the mafia. The two
syndicates wouldn’t put their hands in a pot together, unless it was absolutely
necessary.

It
didn’t make Maximo a bad boss for letting the Russians run their trade. Just
like it didn’t make the Russians weak because they allowed the Italians the
majority control over the drug and gun trade in Vegas.

That’s
just how things worked.

Turf
wars were only good for one thing: spilling blood.

Nobody
wanted that.

Grabbing
the black bag in the passenger seat, Calisto stepped out of the Porsche and
locked it up tight. He kept a firm hold on the bag, and felt the cold metal of
the gun at his back.

The
bouncer at the front door looked like he had taken one too many shots of
steroids. The budging veins under the guy’s skin-tight black shirt were as
thick as ropes. Calisto tried to pass the guy, only to find a trunk-like arm
blocking his way.

“Wait,”
the bouncer said. “What’s in the bag?”

“Money,”
Calisto replied honestly.

The
bouncer cocked a brow. “How much?”

“A
lot.”

“Why?”

“Because
I intend to spend it,” Calisto said, smirking.

The
bouncer eyed him speculatively, but quickly seemed to take notice of Calisto’s
expensive suit, Italian leather shoes, and the gold ring on his pinky finger.
Calisto rarely, if ever, took the ring off. With a ruby set atop the gold band,
it always drew attention.

It
had been his father’s.

Calisto
probably didn’t look like the strip club’s usual patrons.

But
he had money.

No
one refused money.

“Open
it for me,” the bouncer said.

Sighing,
Calisto unzipped the bag. He only opened it enough to flash the cash, cell
phone, and a few other knickknacks that he’d tossed in to make it look like he
carried a regular bag.

“Go
ahead. No touching.”

“Don’t
plan on it,” Calisto muttered under his breath as he passed the bouncer by.

Calisto
strolled down the dark corridor of the entrance to the strip club, still
silently counting the time he was losing with every step.

He
only had one shot.

Just
one to get this right.

Calisto
leaned back in the worn leather seat, rested his arms over the sides, and
pretended to give a fuck about the woman shaking her ass five feet away. Up on
the stage, the dancer bent over and used her hands to support her weight by
holding onto the metal pole. Her G-string hid nothing, and she had long since
taken her top off.

She
didn’t hold even an ounce of Calisto’s interest, but he tossed another fifty-dollar
bill to the stage for her efforts.

And
for the men watching him from across the club.

Behind
a roped off section, a man sat watching Calisto shower stripper after stripper
with cash. A bottle of Patrón sat on the table in front of the man, half empty.
A deck of playing cards rested neatly beside the bottle. His guards rarely
moved from their spots, unless the man asked for something. Usually with a snap
of his fingers.

Calisto
would bet every dollar in his bank that the man was Mika Orlov. He’d heard a
few people refer to the guy as their boss, but not much else. What was more
important, was that Calisto had gained Mika’s attention with his show of money
and his disinterest in the strippers.

He
wanted the man to question.

He
wanted Mika wondering.

This
was good.

Calisto
waved two fingers at the girl on the stage, catching her attention. Somehow,
the dazed woman managed to stay upright without swaying more than she already
was in her six-inch heels. The high look in her eyes, mixed with the shitty
makeup job on the creases of her arms—an attempt to hide traces of track marks—were
seriously worrisome.

No
wonder the club didn’t do decent business.

This
was fucking shameful.

“Another,”
Calisto said quietly.

The
woman’s brow furrowed. “But—”

“Take
your money, sweetheart, and find me another girl to dance.”

Scowling,
the dancer did as she was told. Not two minutes after she had left the stage,
another high, young female clamored up the steps to earn her cash like the
three women before her. Calisto kept his gaze trained on anything but the
stripper. Her swaying and grinding did little to wake his dead desire, and he
didn’t want to seem interested at all.

Calisto
being interested wouldn’t make Mika seek him out.

Flashing
more cash, tossing fifties and hundreds to the woman on stage, and keeping the
aloof demeanor up was Calisto’s main game plan. Mika, the quick, business-savvy
man that he was, would surely notice the patron in his club that was spending a
lot of money, but wasn’t finding exactly what he wanted in the stripper’s
offerings.

A
rich man.

Money
to spend.

Bored
out of his mind.

Mika,
the upstart that he was, wouldn’t pass up a possibility when he had the means
and motive to get Calisto something far better.

A
tap on Calisto’s shoulder stopped him from grabbing another fifty from his bag.
Subtly glancing to his side, Calisto found one of Mika’s guards waiting with
his arms at his back.

“Evening,”
Calisto said. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No.
My boss, Mika, noticed that you’re spending a lot of money on women that don’t
seem to interest you in here tonight. He was curious if maybe you would like to
have a chat about possibly correcting that issue and working something else
out.”

Calisto
tipped his chin down, hiding his grin. “And what would that be?”

“If
the dancing isn’t sufficing, he is more than willing to offer you something
more private in the back. For the right price.”

“Of
course,” Calisto murmured. “Money is the kicker, isn’t it? How much is he
willing to make me spend for a ten-minute session with one of these junkies?
I’m not interested in that, sorry.”

“Yes,
well …”

“I
had a rough day. Spending money and watching females take off their clothes
usually fixes that for me, but not tonight. I stopped at this club because I
thought it would give me a bit of privacy. Unfortunately, these girls aren’t
anything like what I expected.”

The
bodyguard cleared his throat. “My apologies.”

“I’ll
speak with your boss if he has something better to show me, other than these … women,”
Calisto finished with an indifferent wave to the girl on stage.

“Wonderful.
Come with—”

“No,
I like where I’m sitting. Ask him over here.”

With
a quick nod, the man left Calisto alone. Out of the corner of his eye, Calisto
watched as the guard approached Mika beyond the roped off section, bent down to
relay the message, and then waited for his boss’s response.

Mika
scowled in Calisto’s direction.

Calisto
only smirked at the girl on stage and tossed another bill up for her to have.
Five long minutes later, a form sat down in the leather chair directly beside
Calisto’s seat.

“I
hear my girls are not up to your standards,” the man said.

For
a Russian man, his accent was quite American.

Calisto
chuckled dryly and nodded at the girl on stage. “Look at her, is she up to your
standards?”

“I
look at her every night she works.”

“Maybe
so, but if given the chance, would you fuck her?”

Mika
raised a brow. “I have.”

“Before
she started using, I suspect.”

“You
would be correct, Mr. …?”

“You
can call me Cal,” he told Mika.