Page 38 of Forbidden Pregnancy (The Buffalo Italian Mob Family #2)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Myra

Baby Due Date

I sit in the garden patio alone early in the morning before Michael wakes up. I can’t sleep. The baby woke me up and Michael didn’t move when I slipped out of bed. The doctor gave us this due date so every cramp and movement from the baby makes me wonder if I’m going into labor.

The orchard has come along nicely since Michael and I began work on it after his father’s funeral.

I still don’t know the truth about what happened.

One night, over a month ago, Michael stayed out late with CC.

Delphine came over to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid, but I still wanted to wait all night for them to get home.

They arrived home shortly after four in the morning.

My eyes burned with exhaustion, but I swore that Michael walked into the door with lighter energy than I would expect.

CC was bubbly and hugged Delphine, revealing that they met each other at Delphine’s wedding.

CC did seem a little drunk, but they never explained where they were honestly.

I don’t think I’ll ever get the truth, but they were so committed to their story, that I knew it was what I had to believe happened that night.

Delphine called her husband, Michael’s cousin, and drove herself home while on the phone with him. She didn’t seem as tired as I was, and I appreciated her gentle patience and stamina while I was anxiously and impatiently waiting for Michael’s return.

CC’s explanation for their mysterious disappearance was half-hearted at best.

“Michael took me out to celebrate,” she said. But she never really explained what she meant by that. Michael held me close that night and all he said was, “I will always keep you safe.”

Four days later, police officers showed up at Michael’s front door.

They found a body in the Old Harbor and needed him to identify it.

CC calmed me down when he left with the cops.

I made her promise to me that Michael didn’t do anything stupid and she told me that there was nothing I had to worry about.

Michael didn’t return for two hours. When he did, he came with an announcement.

“I’m sorry, CC. Our father has been killed.”

Her face fell, but as I watched both of their reactions, I could read nothing.

I didn’t expect to read Michael, but I expected to read CC.

She didn’t exactly seem sad, but she wasn’t elated either.

If I had to guess, they both appeared… relieved.

I can’t prove their emotional state and I have no evidence beyond my emotions, but they both seem relieved.

“I have to leave to plan the funeral,” he said. “Stay and look after Myra for me.”

CC was solemn the rest of the day, but she didn’t cry and she didn’t appear too severely bothered by her father’s death. I thought maybe it just didn’t hit her and she was in denial over it, but then she tried to wear red to the funeral, which Michael shut down.

I didn’t know his father and Michael didn’t want me to come, which I was just fine with. Who likes funerals? Plus, I was pregnant enough that leaving the house for very long was just out of the question. I got tired far too quickly.

After the funeral, I told myself that I was wrong for suspecting Michael and his sister of committing any illegal acts.

CC didn’t end up wearing red to the funeral.

She returned home, and both she and Michael were laughing when they walked through the door.

I never got an update on what was so funny, but there was nothing truly out of the ordinary.

If they were suspects in a murder, they would be nervous, not happy.

Also, the cops would be treating them like criminals, not victims. I heard in passing that Pino Corsini died of a heart attack while drinking heavily and he happened to be near the harbor the night he passed away.

I have no evidence to prove or disprove the story.

I shouldn’t let the what-ifs haunt me, but I guess it just seems so… strange. For it to all be over.

Just when I quell my suspicions, a couple weeks after the funeral, two new headlines cross my path – two more men wash up on the harbor shores – or more likely, they were thrown to shore in pieces. The stories drop one day after another, with no connection presented between the two.

Several years of graduate school to get my dual masters degree in French and Economics, I don’t need a news anchor to add up the pieces of evidence.

Both dead men have Italian names and one connects so strongly to Michael’s family that I know instinctively this is more than a random tragedy.

The first man dead is named Salvatore Amato, known as “Sal” to his friends.

The journalist shows footage of him at the finish line of a 5k run he hosted for cancer, and mentions his longstanding membership with a local biker club before moving on to another headline about a black bear seen eating donuts out of a trash can behind Tim Horton’s.

The second man washes up a few days later, from Pittsburgh.

I don’t immediately recognize the connection to anything connected to Michael’s family until the newscaster identifies the victim.

When I hear his name, my blood runs cold.

Michael is busy in the gym and CC has been taken up with searching for an apartment ever since her father passed, so I watch alone with goosebumps running up my forearm as the newscaster names the latest “victim” – Dario Corsini.

Again, she calls it a suicide and not a murder. This man, Dario, shot himself in the head, allegedly, and I guess he dumped himself in the harbor too.

Local news doesn’t bother asking that follow up question and I watch the rest of the story desperate for details and unsure of what would bring me more comfort to believe.

Michael had nothing to do with this. He was home and when he wasn’t, he was with CC and despite all he’s done, Michael would never get his younger sister caught up in a murder.

I spend so much time in the garden watching the sunrise and ignoring physical sensations as I turn over the possibilities in my head. I don’t hear Michael coming up behind me, but I can tell from the hand on my shoulder that he’s behind me.

“You’re up early.”

“Yup.”

“Hm,” he says. “It’s our due date. Worried?”

I might be worried, but it’s less about the due date than the future.

Am I really about to pop out a baby for a murderer out of wedlock?

I know that Michael isn’t exactly a stranger and that what we feel for each other is real, but now that the baby’s almost here and this is all getting even more real than before, I have to question if this is smart.

Just because it feels good to be with Michael doesn’t mean it’s a good decision for my future. Except…

He bends his head to kiss my neck. I can’t help but lean back and allow him more access to whatever parts of me he wants to kiss and touch.

His hand reaches for my cheeks after he kisses me and the warmth spreads.

Our baby will know this man’s love – but they will also know the truth about his family.

Especially if that baby is a little boy.

Michael takes my hand and lifts me to my feet. Our warm embrace highlights how cold our garden really is. Michael’s body soothes me instantly and the warmth makes me hesitant to pull my body away from his. The muscular arms wrapped around me feel like home.

Even if he’s a killer – and the more time that passes, the more that explanation for everything makes sense.

“You’re cold,” Michael whispers. “How long have you been out here alone?”

“Not long.”

His thumb brushes my lips and he brings my gaze to meet his. After twelve years, I still find his face incredibly beautiful. The angles of Michael’s jawline, the crystalline blue color in his iris and even the scar slashing into his brow add character to the face I first fell for twelve years ago.

I want him – badly. The baby flips when Michael’s thumb brushes over my lips, as if our child can sense him from the slightest touch. I press my baby bump forward, allowing Michael to feel the soft kicks.

“Would a walk around the property feel better?” he asks. “I want to see the new apple and cherry trees.”

Nesting has taken over both of us since Pino Corsini’s funeral.

The watermelon-sized being currently inhabiting my womb occupies most of our thoughts and plans have unfolded beautifully.

Michael’s fingers interlace with mine and even if I can’t say for sure how a walk will make me feel, I want to stay in this moment with Michael as long as possible.

While we’re both excited to welcome new life into the world,we don’t have much longer, just the two of us.Michael’s thumbs rub along the inside of my palm as he both soothes me and assures me that even if we won’t have much time together just the two of us anymore, his love and attention will always be present in my life.

Our walk takes me through all the new landscaping.

Hedges. Pine trees. Little alcoves with stone benches and then a long cobblestone path that leads to a giant pond Michael had installed.

The big brick mansion and the increasingly landscaped gardens surrounding us reminds me of the house Pino Corsini owned where I taught CC lessons all those years ago.

We don’t have a guest house and our home certainly feels a lot happier, but it’s hard for me to look across at the rolling hills or at our growing orchard and not remember the place I lost my virginity to Michael over a decade ago.

My heart flutters reminiscing on those first confusing emotions.

Did Michael always see a future with me?

Was there really no one out there in the whole wide world for us but each other?

“You’re too quiet,” Michael says. “Makes me nervous.”

“I’ve never heard you say you’re nervous before,” I respond.

The only thing Michael gets nervous about might be his football parlays.

He has plenty of money to fund his gambling habit, and he doesn’t seem addicted to the high, just a casual enjoyer.

Still, it’s hard to think that my silence makes him nervous when $5,000 on James Cook’s passing yards barely causes this man to bat an eye.

Not to mention his family business, which I would imagine to be a lot more nerve wracking than a walk through the garden.

“There’s a lot on my mind,” Michael says. “The baby… You…”

I rest my head on Michael’s shoulders. We walk down the cobblestone path into the thicket of trees at the orchard’s entrance.

Our apple trees are organized by variety with Pink Lady apples, Cortland apples and Macintosh apples in the front and three cherry trees towards the back of the orchard, separated by enough grass that the trees don’t have to compete for light or resources.

The home and gardens we constructed are gorgeous and for weeks now I haven’t worried about anything except how I’m going to enter the workforce again after having the baby.

It’s the only part of the original contract I have any interest in.

I didn’t spend all those years studying just to pop out a baby and sit on my ass the rest of my life.

There needs to be some balance. Still, I didn’t think that would be anything to worry about.

Michael understands my intellectual and spiritual needs just as well as he understands my physical needs.

“We have nothing to worry about, right?” I ask him, running my thumb along the outside of Michael’s. I want to hear the truth, but I also want the truth to be comforting.

“Nothing to worry about,” he says. “Except… This tree.”

“Which tree?”

I don’t have a clue what the hell Michael means. I let go of his hand and turn around, searching the orchard for a fucked up tree. When I whip my head back around, Michael is… kneeling?

“Michael, what are you doing?”

He cups my hand in both of his. I feel something weird like a tarantula leg brushing against my palm and flinch, trying to jump away from the possible bug attack. Michael opens his hands up and reveals a velvet box – not a gross spider.

“Myra,” he says, staring me straight in the eye while he holds this box. “I need you to listen closely before you answer, okay?”

“Okay…”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I want to marry you. I need us married as soon as we can. So please… please… can we just agree to this. Please. Will you marry me?”

He opens the box and lets the ring speak for itself. When I look at it, the realization hits me, along with an even deeper understanding. Diamond. Pink Diamond. Sapphire. The notes from Michael’s notebook had nothing to do with some murderous mafia code.

It seems so obvious now.

“Yes!” I say, so stunned into silence that the word has to force its way out of my mouth. My heart is just beating so damn hard that I can barely talk. But the “yes” makes its way out – and I mean it. Michael’s hand closes around mine.

“YES!” I repeat.

We grin at each other and Michael takes the bejeweled engagement ring out of the box to eagerly slip it onto my finger.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing the top of my hand.

This man, this mafia man loves me and I know that even if he might not be perfect, he will burn the whole world to protect me. Of course I love him and of course I said yes. I love Michael as much as he loves me – and I know we’re going to share this love forever.