Page 19 of Forbidden Pregnancy (The Buffalo Italian Mob Family #2)

Chapter Fifteen

Michael

She’s gone.

I have to stop my car at the end of the driveway when I arrive home, because about a quarter mile off from the front door, I see it swinging madly back and forth, slamming into the frame.

The American flag planted in the driveway flaps aggressively, as if warning me that somebody breached my safe house.

Nobody knows this place exists except my cousin Luigi and he would have never compromised Myra’s safety.

Never.

That could have only happened if Luigi was compromised. Wouldn’t I know if that happened? Perhaps not. My stomach tightens in a knot, which I immediately stifle and replace with blind, untempered anger. Who would dare touch my woman? Who would dare take her?

My immediate gut instinct is that Myra’s been taken, but once I stop my car, I sprint all the way to the front door, running faster than I ever ran one of my several championship winning touchdowns in college.

Her absence and the lake house’s emptiness immediately contrast my agitated heavy breathing. But she’s nowhere.

I remove my emergency pistol from its holster as I search the house. It takes me less than five minutes to clear the house and confirm Myra’s absence. There aren’t any clues and the ones I find suggest a far more horrifying fate than kidnapping. I don’t know what to make of the situation.

There are signs Myra packed a small bag with the intention to escape, but I also find evidence that she might have been taken.

I walk outside with my gun and search the perimeter of my small lake house, finding even more concerning evidence.

Tire tracks and marks in the dirt where an assailant might have dragged a body.

Or a woman kicking and screaming? I can’t tell. I just know she’s gone and I only have one suspect.

My father.

But how could he have found out about her? Fuck this. My phone rings.

“Hello? Myra?”

You fool. Why would you use her name?

I hear a laugh on the other end of the line. I almost recognize the voice. It’s not Myra’s but the laugh is both distinct and male.

“Who are you? What have you done with her?”

“You disobeyed a direct order. I’m sorry, the woman is dead.”

The phone call ends, but I have something I can use.

I recognize the voice.

Renzo Taviani.

I thought I was going to call Luigi, but after identifying his brother as my next target, that won’t be necessary. I can handle that delusional Italian shit head without any assistance… and I’ll do my best to keep it all a secret.

The voice. I have to be sure about the voice, but the only way I know how to do that is by contacting Renzo’s twin brother.

It’s uncanny how they’ve changed over the years, but even more unnerving is the ways they’ve stayed the same.

In terms of their personalities, Gino has always been the friendlier of the two, although I suppose I shouldn’t compare them.

I call Gino Taviani, not because I want anything from him, but because I want to be sure. We’re hours away from Buffalo with dozens of small towns between here and there. Not just that, I have no idea who gave Renzo this order or what their intentions might be. I have some guesses.

Gino picks up after two rings and my blood runs cold at the sound of his voice.

“Mikey, ciao. Wassup?”

“Where’s your brother?”

He’s silent for a beat too long.

“Why do you ask?”

“I need a favor.”

“Can’t. I’m not in Buffalo right now…”

My heart skips. Am I risking too much by talking to Gino?

If he knew what Renzo was up to right now, he wouldn’t have answered the phone.

That flimsy thread of logic holds my voice steady as I focus on the task at hand — getting Gino on my side and getting Myra back in my custody as soon as possible.

Renzo’s voice haunts me. The woman is dead.

The woman. Purposefully distancing himself from her tells me that he means to do it and for all I know, Myra could be dead. If he did kill her, my job would be simple — a life for a life.

“Where are you?”

“Nowhere you know.”

“Try me.”

“What’s going on, Michael? You don’t call unless your other gym buddies cancel on you.”

Gino and Renzo have never been gym rats, preferring calisthenics and running to pumping iron.

“Answer my question first.”

It pays to use the seniority card sometimes.

“Ithaca, New York.”

Fuck. Ten miles away from my lake house. The safe house where Renzo kidnapped Myra. My worst fears seem to be confirmed and materializing into something right in front of me, but I can’t quite form a clear picture of what the fuck is going on.

“Are you applying to Cornell?”

“What’s that?” Gino asks. I don’t know how he’s made it this far while being this stupid, honestly.

“Never mind. I need you to meet me.”

“Bro, I’m in Ithaca.”

“So am I,” I growl — although really, I’m ten miles out. “Meet me at Personal Best Brewing in fifteen minutes.”

Thankfully, Gino’s uniform of sweatpants and a black hoodie ought to make him indistinguishable from the college kids. He’s not that much older than them, even if his education focused exclusively on courses and skills applicable to the mafia.

“Where is that? Why are you in Ithaca? What the fuck is happening right now?”

“Are you working with Renzo or looking for him?” I ask Gino. Time to cut to the chase. Every second that passes lowers Myra’s chances of survival. A gunshot only takes a millisecond to kill someone and I know that all too painfully well.

“I know exactly where he is,” Gino says. “I’m conducting soft surveillance for when he returns…”

Great. That’s one question answered, but not all of them.

“Be there in 15 or I’ll turn your balls into a necklace.” My tone is much more menacing than it needs to be, but it’s imperative that I get this point across.

“Did Luigi send you?” Gino asks. “Because this is one hell of a mindfuck if he did.”

“Be there.”

“Ciao, boss. I’ll be there.”

Personal Best Brewing is your typical college town brewery run by older millennials.

Metal seats. Despondent bearded white bartenders with ear gauges and flannel.

The scent of french fries. Various groups of college alumni either tuned into the baseball game onscreen or their flights of piss-colored IPAs.

I order whatever Sam Adams they have on tap, waving off the bartender before he can describe a beer that just sounds fruity.

I expect Gino to be late, but he shows up right on time dressed exactly how I think he’ll be dressed.

The sweatpants outfit makes perfect sense, because he can still conceal a weapon.

Nobody will suspect that in a liberal hippie hotspot like this one. He barely makes eye contact with me before sitting at the bar, pretending we’re strangers. The flannel guy approaches and Gino orders… an apple martini. He couldn’t be more different from his brother.

“An apple martini?” I mutter while staring at my latest parlay on my phone. The Avalanche really fucked this one up. I had them holding up the last leg of my parlay, absolutely certain they wouldn’t screw up this playoff game against the Dallas Stars.

I don’t have time to react, but this just fucks up the rest of my money this season. Not ideal. I throw back at least half of that Sam Adams. Gino waits for his drink before talking business. It’s a family trait.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Gino asks after his first sip. “If you don’t mind me asking. Did Luigi send you here to babysit?”

“I’m here for my own reasons.”

“They must be connected to mine.” He takes another sip. I haven’t pieced it together yet either. What the hell is going on here?

“One of us has to say something.”

Gino gives me a sympathetic look. “You’re not on Renzo’s side, are you?”

“Renzo’s side?”

Gino sighs and puts his head in his hands. “I’m taking a big risk trusting you.”

“Are you?”

“Luigi sent me down here because dad’s acting all suspicious that my brother is doing a job for the Corsini family.”

The hairs on the back of my neck rise up.

The brewery suddenly feels like a small pub with barely enough seats to fit all the occupants.

Gino analyzes my face quickly. I don’t know how much he can read.

Fixing my missing eye and repairing the scar damaged several of my facial muscles.

I’m not as easy to read as I used to be.

“What type of job?”

“You don’t know?”

“No. Nobody knows I’m here, not even your brother.”

Gino knows I’m telling the truth. I’ll have to open up completely about Myra, but I need to be extra sure he’s safe first. After all, I’ll need him on my side to go after his twin brother and get my girl back.

“Everything that went down in Pittsburgh has dad real nervous,” Gino says. “He trusts you and Peter. I mean… he knows you still work out with Luigi and he gets his answers there.”

It’s hard not to feel offended that Leandro Taviani would suspect me of disloyalty. I’m forty-one years old. I’ve spent all of my adult life serving this family’s mission. Sure, I have plenty of money, resources, and power to show for my loyalty, but I would have also appreciated Leandro’s trust.

Gino gives me a quick glance and hastily senses what bothers me. “It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.”

“Right.”

“He’s just paranoid.”

“Right.”

“Renzo had a meeting with your father then disappeared from Buffalo. We don’t know what he could be doing because there’s nobody on dad’s hitlist and we don’t know anyone who has property out here in Ithaca.”

If they don’t know about the safehouse, that means at the very least I can trust my cousin Luigi. He knows about my house on the lake and never told.

“I might have a place nearby.”

“But that’s not where my brother is,” Gino says. “I’ve been watching him for the past two days. I think he’s out trying to hunt somebody.”

“Do you know who?”

“No. He’s good. But I know where he’s staying.”

“Perfect,” I answer him, finishing off my beer. “Because I think I know who he might be hunting.”

“He has her then,” Gino says. “Who is she?”

“Did I say it was a she?”

“No,” he says. “But I know the men in our family pretty damn well.”

“She’s pregnant. I need to get her back.”

“Why the hell did your dad send Renzo after her?” Gino asks.

“Because she’s black and he knows your brother would be willing to kill her for that reason alone.”

Gino sighs. “Renzo is so fucked up.”

“Didn’t you learn the same old school mafia bullshit he did? Why aren’t you out there helping him?”

“He didn’t ask me to.”

“Interesting.”

“It’s not, really,” Gino says, visibly frustrated for the first time in our conversation. “We’ve always been different from each other. Renzo has unbridled ambition. I’m just happy to be a part of this family.”

“And you don’t agree with them?”

“About what?” Gino seems genuinely confused.

“That she deserves to be put to death for her skin color?”

“Of course not,” Gino says. “My brother and I sat through the same lessons and courses, but we’re also capable of thinking for ourselves.”

“Are you gonna take me to his place?”

“Yes,” Gino says. “But only on one condition.”

“Let’s hear it.”

I’m nervous about giving anything up here, but I need Gino’s help, so I don’t want to make this too difficult. Adrenaline already begins coursing through me as I sense myself getting closer to tracking down Myra. Thankfully, it’s going to be much easier than I thought.

“If the woman you’re trying to save is still with us, you spare my brother,” Gino asks, looking up at me over the rim of his martini glass.

“Why would I agree to that?”

He sets the glass down and stares at me with the most piercing stare. “When you need it, when it’s most convenient to you and not me, you can call in a favor. I’ll whack whoever you want – no questions asked.”

“A life for a life?”

“That’s what I want,” Gino says. “I know what he’s done is unforgivable and if he takes her life, I’ll let you do what you must. But he’s my twin brother. My other half.”

“I didn’t realize you were so sentimental about it.”

Gino grins. “Just a little. Now come on. Let’s go back to my brother’s place so I have a chance to spare his life…”