Page 5 of Forbidden Pregnancy
“It’s not that,” I assure CC, although I can’t confirm that. Dad loves his daughters more than his sons. My sisters somehow find a way to get offended over that. Ugh, Gen Zs…
“Yes, it is. Our family is so fucked up.”
“You mean traditional?”
CC stares back at me with a piercing, meaningful expression. “I mean fucked up.”
“When is dad getting here?” I ask her. It’s better for me to change the subject than for us to get into another argument over our family values.
“Five minutes.”
“Five? Shit. I’d better take a shower.” I smell like the gym and I need those precious minutes to mentally prepare myself for seeing my father after we all just got the news about Luigi Taviani.
CC shrugs and talks while continuing to text, “Just don’t leave that nasty fake eye on the kitchen counter again. You don’t live alone anymore.”
I lost my eye working for the family about six years ago. Long story involving metal shrapnel and my brother, Peter.
“He’ll get here before I’m done. Keep him busy and don’t fight.”
By the time I emerge from my shower, dressed well enough to see my father, Pino Corsini, right hand to the most powerful mobster in Buffalo, my sister already goes against my commands. I hear her argument with dad from the hallway and question whether I should leave through the back door instead of sitting through this.
“Be quiet,” he snarls at her. “I am not Leandro Taviani. You aren’t going to lie on your back for some fat fuck the rest of your life. I’m paying for you to finish business school and that’s what you’re going to do.”
“But dad, this is the best oil painting course in all of North America.”
“It’s in Canada. We’re not fucking Canadians, CC…”
I clear my throat before tensions rise between them even more. My sister has dreams of becoming an artist that my Italianfather couldn’t begin to understand. Guidos from his generation dreamed of joining “the family”. Wanting anything outside of our life and Cosa Nostra doesn’t register in my father’s mind.
“Mikey. Come on over here before your sister and I get physical.”
Again,I think to myself, not daring to say it out loud and remind either of them of a conflict we would be better off not returning to. These days, my sister hits back.
“She’s been a lovely house guest,” I reassure my father.
He gives CC an icy, disapproving stare while her face offers me gratitude I’ve barely seen during her stay here. Young people. They don’t appreciate their blessings until it’s too late.
“Good to hear,” my father responds icily, clearly doubtful. I don’t blame him, but I’ve always had a unique ability to reach my sister.
“Did you just come here to check on us?”
My father is easy to read in the sense that he never fully relaxes until he discusses business. He spent his entire life as Leandro Taviani’s right hand man, which pretty much meant he never got to relax until the boss was satisfied. He doesn’t envy Leandro’s position in the slightest, but there has always been a competitive edge between them about other things aside from their positions in the family.
Golf swings. Children. Money.
“No. I’ve been thinking about an heir.”
“An arranged marriage for Cosima?”
He chuckles. “How did that work for Angela Taviani? I thought it might be wiser to leave producing an heir up to you.”
Me? I haven’t had a woman in my bed for years. After the first year, I stopped missing their presence. Sex is just one of many emotional releases available and you can get a similar high elsewhere. I can’t stand the demanding emotions of most women and how wholly incompatible untethered emotions are to our family situation.
Marrying a cold-hearted Italian woman only after my money doesn’t feel like the right answer either. Why the hell should I pay for boob jobs and lip fillers that I don’t even want?
An heir requires a wife. Unless I do it the way my cousin did. Dad seems to read my mind.
“I’m going to be direct with you, Mikey. Because we are different from Leandro and his family. Similar, but different.”
