Page 3 of Forbidden Surrogate

"I don't expect you to be in the room when men discuss business."

Angela rolls her eyes, snatches her coffee off the counter and disappears into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She hates men for absolutely no reason which makes it incredibly easy to piss her off and get some peace.

I'll have enough trouble when dad gets here. I need to think.

Angela skips breakfast, but I don't. I can't. I have a routine for eating that enables me to keep 270 lbs of lean muscle on. It's good for the family and good for my health. I cook steak and eggs for breakfast with a side of home fries and avocado to add the additional fat required to hit my macros. While the last of thefood heats up, I tidy Angela's shopping bags and rearrange my kitchen to its natural, pristine state.

It won't last while she cooks lunch, but someone has to fight back against Angela's constant and persistent messiness.

Once I eat, handle some of the behind-the-scenes work for the business, and tidy up after Angela, she emerges from her bedroom suite looking worse than when she went in.

"You're meeting dad in sweatpants?"

"I'm not wearing a button down," she says, rolling her eyes at me for having the audacity to dress up for the day. It doesn’t hurt to put on a collared shirt and tailored pants. It takes the same amount of time to slide on some sweatpants, except I look clean and put-together instead of homeless.

"You're in your thirties. You should dress better,” I point out to Angela, who rolls her eyes at me and then blows her unwashed hair out of her face.

"Has that helped cure your chronic singleness?"

"My relationship status is none of your business."

"Whatever. Either I cook in my sweatpants or I don't cook at all."

We need lunch, so I’ll stop pushing.For now.

"Everything you need is in the fridge."

Angela smugly gets started and I scroll through my phone, replying to messages from my brothers and cousin, plus a text from Vito Corsini that I don't want to acknowledge about the problems out in Pittsburgh. We’re related to the Corsini’s in Pittsburgh by marriage, not blood, but their problems have a way of filtering across the highways back to the slice of hell our Tuscan ancestors chose to call home after landing from Italy on Ellis Island. Buffalo, NY.

We both know dad walked in the apartment building entrance before we logically could have known he was in the lobby. Dad has a presence. Always has. He learned how to carry himself with that raw power from all his years running every black market in this city with an iron fist.

My body tightens with tension only possible in my father’s presence. I regret this hangover more than ever, because I should have saved the drinking for the time right before my father’s arrival.

Angela's phone buzzes a few seconds after we both sense his arrival. The gnocchi smells good, but it’s not enough to remove the tension lingering in my body. Dad grew up in a different time. It was tough to be a guido out here, especially with all the drama from the born-and-raised Americans, plus the shit from the primarily Sicilian population in Buffalo.

Angela answers her text message with a grimace. It’s definitely dad.

"He's here."

"Food almost done?"

We wouldn’t dare have dad over without at least having food on the way.

"Yes."

Angela and I drop our bickering in the presence of a common threat. Dad doesn't suffer foolishness of any kind. The doorman buzzes up from downstairs. He sounds awestruck and scared, like most people who interact with Leandro Taviani.

"Mr. Taviani, your father is here,” the doorman says to me. I’ll never get used to that formality. Mr. Taviani is my father. I’m just…Luigi.

"Send him up. We're ready."

If I really wanted to be ready, I would have opened another bottle of wine and chugged it. Dad doesn't make house calls like this without a very specific reason. He wouldn't come alone unless it was serious, which also concerns me.

The serious shit is all out in Pittsburgh and that has nothing to do with us here in Buffalo, right? I don't want trouble when I already have Angela to deal with.

Dad opens the door without knocking.

"Luigi! Luigi, my son! Come kiss your father..."

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