Page 6 of Forbidden Property
“That’s it, I’m calling my brother.”
Does she mean Renzo? My heart tightens in an uncomfortable knot. I’ve had to ignore my hatred of Nicki’s brother for a long time, but he doesn’t bother hiding his hatred for me. It’s weird. He’s always staring at me with those cold, strangely gorgeous eyes. It’s not a compliment – almost everyone at our high school could identify a Taviani by their eyes.
“What?” I shoot up from Nicki’s shoulder. Which brother? I’ve snuck around trying to stay invisible around Nicki’s terrifying brothers whenever I’ve had the experience of hanging around them. They’re much older than she is and too wrapped up in themselves to know their youngest sister's best friends by name.
“I can have Weston killed,” Nicki says.
She gives me a strange look, which I return. That uneasy suspicion about Nicki’s family connections rises again. Her face flattens into an indiscernible expression. She has to be joking.
“Ha-ha,” I answer. “Funny joke.”
The silence is way too long.
“Youarejoking right.”
“Of course!” she says laughing awkwardly. “What, do you think I’m in the mob or something? I have a much better idea.”
I never said she was in the mob, but Nicki always makes crazy slip-ups like that. I’m willing to let my crazier and much more extroverted best friend take the reins though… as long as we don’t actually have to kill anyone.
“Like what?”
“Bar tonight. I still have to call my brother, though. I’m not allowed to go anywhere anymore without his supervision.”
“Are you going to tell me why?” I ask her.
Nicki puffs on her joint and passes it to me.
“Nope,” she says. “But you look like you need a smoke, sister.”
“I don’t condone this unhealthy behavior.”
“I’m not asking you to condone it, queen. I’m asking you to smoke it,” Nicki Taviani says, handing me her freshly rolled joint with its orange, burning tip.
Chapter Three
Renzo
One week after Michael’s wedding…
3 Months Before Nicki Moves In
Dad isn’t pleased with me for how everything went down. I thought I was doing the right thing, but the situation with Myra got completely out of control. Now, I have the privilege of a one-on-one meeting with my pissed-off father. He invites me to dinner at his favorite steakhouse – Il Macellaio – the best steakhouse in his neighborhood with discreet booths that keep private conversations just that.
I choose a light blue linen suit for dinner with dad so he doesn’t interpret a sloppy appearance as disrespectful. I finally allowed my natural hair color to grow out. We used false names during our college years in Italy, and I kept my copper hair dyed jet black to maintain the distance from my true identity as Leandro Taviani’s son.
Beneath the linen jacket, I wear a white linen shirt to keep cool and my lucky golden cross, a gift from my grandmother after my First Holy Communion. Uncle Pino gave me my watch – a solid gold vintage Prada men’s watch from the early 00’s. Hetold me that he chopped it off a Greek man’s wrist, but I don’t know if he was fucking around about that.
I walk into the restaurant and recognize the hostess as a guy I went to high school with. Ian Pirrone grins when he sees me.
“Renzo! I heard you were back. What’s good, man?”
It feels good to be well-known around this city. I don’t miss the anonymity we had in Italy. My twin brother and I disguised our identities, but even if we hadn’t, we were strangers in a strange land with ‘different’ accents.
“Not much. Dinner with the old man,” I answer Ian with a smile. He’s a good guy, but not a part of our family business.
“He’s at his usual table. Yo, this job is great man, but rent has gone up in this city.”
It’s a common complaint these days. I’ve always had enough money to support myself since I was quite young, but dad always taught us to listen to the problems of our community and to use our power to help make all Italian’s stronger. Sure, we demand loyalty and kickbacks for protecting our own, but we provide the protection and support that we all need to survive any new frontier.
