Page 28 of Forbidden Pregnancy
Will the twins learn about Italian heritage from their brown-skinned mother? Unlikely.
For a meeting with Uncle Pino, I refuse to look sloppy. Gino and I differ in how meticulously we look after our appearances. We always wanted to find ways to differentiate ourselves from each other once we realized we shared a face and unless we both stop working out, we share every part of our physique too.
My body double dresses almost exclusively in extra-large black hoodies and sweatpants with black sneakers, occasionally black sneakers with red stripes.
To meet Uncle Pino, I wear a black tailored suit like the ones Luigi wears. I’m not as tall as my older brother, but at six-foot-three, my twin brother and I command a presence – especially when we enter a room together.
My younger sister Nicoletta works as Uncle Pino’s secretary at the downtown office for a summer internship. Dad refused to have her working for anyone outside of the family and ever since she turned twenty-one, she claims to need more spending money to go out with her friends.
“Meeting with Pino at 5:45 p.m.?” Nicoletta asks without looking up.
“Hi, sis.”
“Your cologne is too strong. I could smell you the second you opened the door.”
“Is anyone here yet?”
“Just Peter.”
That’s it? Just me and Peter. Strange.
A panicked thought enters my head.Are they going to kill me?
It’s possible, but it would be especially cruel to use my younger sister as an accomplice, or leave her as a witness. If Uncle Pino were to kill me, he would have to kill her too. He might go through with it, but that would add unnecessary layers of complexity to the situation. I have to trust this will go well…
If it ever comes my time to have a gun pointed at my head, I’m hoping it won’t be soon. Nicoletta pages me up and I take the elevator to my uncle’s office on the top floor. It’s slightly comforting to see Peter in the hallway sticking a Zyn in his lip when the elevator doors open.
They aren’t scheming about me at least. Peter salutes when he sees me.
“Ciao, Renzo.”
“Ciao.”
Michael and Peter don’t speak Italian and the few words they do speak are completely mangled by American accents. My fluency improved immensely during my years in Italy, but I wince privately, still more concerned with what awaits behind those doors.
“I didn’t know dad called you here,” Peter says, eyeing me suspiciously as I lean against the wall next to him quietly. Peter, like most other people, gets uncomfortable with how little I feel the need to talk.
Endless talking never achieved anything worth the trouble.
“He must want something.”
“Yeah. But why you and not Michael?”
I shrug. It’s not my turn or my time to ask questions. In the future, when my brother takes on his expected role as the leader of the Taviani family, if I earn the right to play the role of underboss, maybe then I can ask questions. Realistically, the job will go to Michael, although if his father won’t ask him a personal favor, maybe I stand a chance.
Unlike my brothers and cousin, I won’t deny that power appeals to me. Power allows you to get everything you want in life without hassle and allows you to expand your desires to fill the infinite capacity of the human mind. I get high off the slightest expressions of power, only gaining modest control over my yearnings as I approach thirty.
Our training in Italy helped.
Uncle Pino doesn’t give us much time at all to consider his reasons for calling us downtown. He opens the door promptly at 5:45 p.m., already reeking of his afternoon lowball glass of whiskey. Pino’s red eyes sit deeply sunken into his face as his wrinkled skin displays colored patches.
It’s harder for my uncle to process his liquor the older he gets. I abstain from drinking to keep my mind clear and to stay free from the debilitating physical effects. My older siblings both drink too much and I don’t believe it’s because they’ve had “tougher lives” the way they say.
“Peter, Renzo. Thanks for coming down here. Join Uncle Pino for a drink…”
Cigar smoke thickens the air in Pino’s office. Peter coughs as he steps into the room and I follow his lead by taking shallow breaths as I trail behind him. He’s older and outranks me, so I follow to show respect. Uncle Pino notices those small details. He’s from that traditional time.
He also comes from a time that doesn’t believe in getting straight to business. We talk about baseball and the weather as we sip from lowball glasses until 6:20 p.m. My glass only has sparkling water in it, so I watch my uncle and Peter loosen up as my mind stays utterly clear.
