Page 30 of Forbidden Pregnancy (The Buffalo Italian Mob Family #2)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Michael

Present Day

L uigi convinced me to take Cosima again and considering Myra’s mood lately, I thought her presence might boost Myra’s spirits.

I don’t expect my sister to emerge from Myra’s bedroom in tears after she puts the mother of my child to sleep for the night.

I feel a strangely protective surge over CC when I see her crying, even if I know she’s a devilish woman without any hesitation at all to use manipulation to get her way.

But I know how she grew up and how much she loves Myra, despite the strange way she seems to have shown it.

“Why are you crying?”

CC gazes up at me with wide, unforgiving eyes. “Did Myra tell you what happened?”

“Be more specific.”

CC shakes her head. “I think I screwed up, Michael.”

I stand there stunned to hear her taking any accountability, quite frankly. Maybe Luigi had some impact on her, or maybe she saw how Angela Taviani’s life turned out and learned that there’s really no escaping this family. We all have to find a way to live with each other.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

If she’s going to take accountability for something, I want CC to be more specific. Apologizing for sucking Myra into our family drama would be an excellent start.

“I’m going to get Myra killed.”

“Why?” I ask with immediate suspicion and terror rising in my chest. “Did you reveal our location to someone else? Explain to me exactly what you mean. Now. ”

CC’s nose wrinkles with temporary scorn that her sadness quickly washes away. This must be serious. It takes quite a bit to reduce my sister to this sniveling state – and I don’t enjoy her at all in this vulnerable position.

“I didn’t say anything,” she says. “Luigi and I had a heart to heart a few weeks ago.”

Fierce jealousy knocks around me. I shouldn’t envy the relationship between the two of them, but it’s hard not to feel some resentment at how easily Luigi gets along with CC, despite the fact that I’ve put my ass on the line for her repeatedly throughout her life.

I don’t get much credit in CC’s world… She views me as my father’s ally, and I see myself as playing a far more complicated role.

“I see.”

CC hesitates to say the next part – the meat of what she really means. “And I spoke to Myra about what happened between you twelve years ago.”

My heart sinks into my stomach. Twelve years ago, Myra disappeared from my life without a trace.

The two incidents of trying to contact her led to a bitter, cold rejection without a hint of an explanation, and without a hint of remorse.

She ran. I thought we had a special bond, that taking her virginity meant something to her.

Then she disappeared. I thought it better not to press her for an explanation, so it’s hard not to react with immediate outrage and jealousy to learn that Myra opened up to my sister – the person who drugged her, I might add.

“Do you know who he had beat her up?” CC asks with a hint of accusation in her voice. She can’t be suggesting that I had anyone beat up Myra. I love that woman. I loved her the minute I laid eyes on her and my romantic feelings for her only deepened when I saw how gently she treated my sister.

My heart stops. I can’t bear the thought of anyone hurting Myra, but CC’s emotions are very much real – she’s in distress.

And Myra has always been suspiciously closed off about the past and why she disappeared.

She made it clear she blames me. I need to know more and it takes every ounce of self control not to hold CC against the wall by her neck to drag the information out of her.

“What?”

“Dad must have done it. Her story has dad written all over it,” CC says, her voice turning into a high-pitched babble. She bursts into tears again and covers her eyes before whimpering, “I am so naive…”

CC comes towards me for a hug and I act like a responsible older brother, despite believing that my sister is downright crazy. I hug her, and for a moment, I forget that she’s a demented banshee and not a little girl born into a fucked up world.

“What happened? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what happened.”

CC has the wisdom to pour me a drink before unpacking Myra’s story. I – of course – never texted Myra that night. I never knew that she got dressed up to meet me at the bar. I didn’t know she ended up in the hospital with a black eye, a broken rib, and specific instructions on how to act next.

As a working class graduate student, she didn’t have the money, the time, or the energy to fight what happened to her. She submitted to the attackers demands and carried the trauma with her for years. CC tells me that it took Myra six years of untreated PTSD before she could see a therapist.

I represent everything painful in that woman’s life. The attack nearly destroyed her and this major event in her life never even registered in mine. I didn’t even know. The sickness and shame that I feel courses through me.

“More whiskey.”

CC silently tops me up. She’s had her fair share to drink tonight. After refilling my glass, she sips from the bottle.

“What are we going to do, Michael?”

“You’re not going to do anything.”

This is my problem to solve. I don’t know who hurt Myra, but I can make it my life’s mission to find out who it is. There’s also one piece of this puzzle that has clearly fallen into place. My father ordered all of this. CC doesn’t know who participated in the attack twelve years ago.

She understandably didn’t want to press Myra for more details than she wanted to share.

Her memories from twelve years ago couldn’t possibly be clear enough.

I know Renzo – my first suspect for any creepy bullshit in my family – was too young twelve years ago to have committed the attack outside the bar.

But it’s very likely that whoever did continues their affiliation with the family. And dad knows who it is, because he ordered the hit.

“We have to do something,” CC says to me pleadingly. I can hear her voice filling up with disgust as she prepares for me to sink to her low expectations of me.

“I agree. Something must be done. But you won’t be the one to do it.”

“I don’t think you’re going to do anything,” CC responds with apathetic disdain that would hurt if I didn’t understand viscerally how many times I’ve disappointed her in the past.

“I’m going to do the obvious.”

“Which is?”

CC’s eyes meet mine. I hate the way she looks at me with so much doubt.

“I will protect the mother of my child to the fullest extent of my abilities.”

“So nothing.”

“Fuck, CC. I’m going to kill dad.”

Her eyebrows raise. She thinks I obey my father out of weakness, but I don’t.

I obey him because I understand that our world exists in a delicate balance.

We all have a role to play in this ecosystem and as Michael Corsini’s eldest son, it has typically been in my best interests to play the role of protector and occasional disciplinarian.

My father has gone too far in toying with Myra.

I have never asked him for a damned thing.

I never stepped out of line. I didn’t even seek his permission or involvement.

He crushed her and took her from me simply because he could.

Simply because he couldn’t stand not having control over this one area of my life.

After I sacrificed everything for him. My football career. My life.

“I’m not joking. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll kill you too. Make no mistake, Myra is my woman to protect. Mine. And if anyone tries to take her from me, I’ll put them in the ground without a second of hesitation.”