Page 9 of Forbidden Pregnancy (The Buffalo Italian Mob Family #2)

Chapter Six

Michael

Twelve years ago

M yra's lesson with Cosima begins in twenty minutes, making dad's long-winded meeting with me even more painful. At least this time he agreed to coffee instead of golf. After Cosima's stunt last week, I worried that Myra would quit and send everything in this household spiraling out of control.

"How has Cosima handled the separation lately?" dad asks. "Has she made any trouble with the tutor?"

I don't think dad knows her name. Ruby hired her, and I have more of a "management" role, if you can call sitting in on boring middle school lessons trying to calm my arousal in Myra's presence "management".

"No trouble with the tutor. But she misses Flora."

Dad doesn't blink. There's not even a flicker of emotion in his eyes.

"Hm. Flora won't have any contact with her until she settles properly. I've not heard good things from the family."

"She's in a strange country where she doesn't speak the language," I remind my father. Not to mention, Flora is smart enough to realize that she's in Italy because dad promised her hand in marriage to the very "uncle" she's currently living with when she turns fourteen.

I can't save them both, but for now, I can protect Cosima from the same fate.

My father remains unsympathetic. It horrifies me to think that one day I might become that cold.

And for what? Money? Out of loyalty to Luigi Taviani and an old backwards culture that wasn't a good enough reason for us to remain in Italy in the first place.

"I invested a lot of money bringing your sisters up to understand their responsibilities. Cigarette?"

I nod in agreement, careful to keep my eyes on my father as a pair of gorgeous women with large Afros walk past our table. The third in the group of friends has waist-length maroon-colored braids. Sexy...

I lean forward so my father can light my cigarette.

"Do you think Cosima will be ready for marriage soon?"

I don't think either of my eleven year old sisters are ready for marriage.

"She's very bonded to Myra. I suspect Myra might be able to tame some of her worse behaviors before we send her off."

"Two girls..." he grumbles. "Can you believe it? When Leandro had twins, at least he had boys. Women are worth nothing."

Strange irritation passes beneath my skin.

I understand life in the mob can make you cold, but I never understood carrying that attitude towards your own children.

Even Leandro Taviani, the leader of this family, waits until his daughters are closer to eighteen before promising their hand in marriage.

Does he even care what might be happening to Flora in Italy while she's under the care of strangers who can hide their intentions in hushed Italian whenever they don't want her to hear? She must be scared. And I can't do a damned thing to protect her.

I can only protect Cosima. By playing along. Staying on my father's good side. And keeping her focused on the lessons with Myra. If Myra leaves due to frustration, low pay, or any other reason... I don't know how much longer I'll be able to keep Cosima in the shadows.

She's just a girl without the slightest hint of what her father might be scheming for her -- or our sister. Unlike me, Cosima doesn't have the burden of knowing what's going on in this family.

"Cosima is smarter than you give her credit for," I assure my father. "If we give her time, she'll master French and have much more value that way."

"We would be better off sending her to a Cambodian brothel."

My father laughs at his own joke as I puff on the cigarette, maintaining an external cool that conceals the storm beneath the surface. Despite her trouble, I love my sister. I don't want her sent away. I refuse to let it happen to both of them.

"She'll learn French."

"She had better."

"She will."

"How's the tutor? Ruby told me she was colored."

He emphasizes the word 'colored' in a way that would make anyone uncomfortable.

"She's competent."

"Just competent?"

"Cosima likes her."

And so do I. The only thing I have to look forward to after this frustrating meeting with my father is watching Myra lean over the table to help my sister with her various homeschooling subjects.

"I'm sure she's no good with math," dad continues with disappointment. "I don't know a single Italian woman good with numbers."

I allow him to spew his bigotry until I finish my cigarette, finish my coffee and stare over his shoulder with customary blankness until my alarm sounds.

"The lesson?" Dad confirms.

"Yes."

"Go on, then. I want that girl ready for marriage whenever it's useful to me. Only thing daughters are good for."

I return home to find Cosima in a brattish and disobedient mood before the lesson.

She witnessed her sister yanked from bed in the middle of the night and dragged from their bedroom kicking and screaming.

She knows "something bad" happened to her twin, but they haven't seen each other in three months, long enough for some subconscious of her mind to suspect that Flora might be dead.

My reassurances do nothing to help her. It doesn't help that I can't be consistent in my approach.

I want to help Cosima, but loyalty to the family comes first and obeying my father's commands comes second.

Tradition keeps our families strong throughout the generations, giving us an unbroken link to the past connecting each one of our actions to a proud Italian legacy.

If we lose Myra, we lose each other. That's what Cosima doesn't understand when she lies in bed late with unbrushed hair right before her lesson.

I suspend my brutality to coax Cosima with stern gruffness instead of a violent outburst into the shower and then into appropriate clothing for her lessons.

Dad insists she wears dresses, but I don't give a fuck what she wears and bribed her to sit still last week with a shopping trip at Urban Outfitters where she can wear those wide-legged jeans and acid wash hoodies she wants to wear.

I try not to take offense to her calling clothes from my teenage years “vintage”.

I don't compromise on my standards for her having brushed hair. By the time we enter the library together, I don't have an ounce of patience left with Cosima, and she makes a last minute effort to get out of her lessons with vicious verbal attacks.

"Michael?"

"Yes?" I sigh, waiting for her next attempt at 'negotiation'.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're very ugly? I mean very very ugly."

"Thanks, Cosima."

"You're welcome."

Before I can tell her that she looks like a baboon's ass crack - lowering myself to the level of an eleven year old - Myra rings the doorbell.

"MYRA!" Cosima screams with excitement, entirely forgetting her mission to get out of her homeschooling lessons now that she remembers her obsession with Myra. I don't blame her.

Myra pushes the door open and walks into the school room wearing... a turtleneck. I struggle not to smirk. If she wants to prove to me that she doesn't give a shit about my comments from a couple days ago, she would dress normally, not exaggerate her efforts to hide her chest.

Not like Myra could hide her breasts if she tried. They're enormous. The kind of tits your dick could get lost in.

"Ready to learn today, Cosima?"

"Not really."

"What if we did ten minutes of watercolors at the end?" Myra suggests. "Would that make it better?"

Cosima pulls away from the hug, one hand still idly grasping Myra's skirt. Her attachment to Myra sends a little pulse of guilt through me. There's a little admiration for Myra too. I don't have the patience that she does for my sister's tantrums.

"Fifteen minutes might help," Cosima says after some consideration.

"Okay," Myra says, barely acknowledging my presence. "Can we make an official deal, then? You stay focused and no swearing throughout the whole lesson... then you get watercolors."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

I sit next to Cosima as Myra continues to ignore me and takes her seat.

I can't stop staring at her, despite her clear efforts to take my gaze away from her.

Was I too forward when I complimented her last week?

I desperately wanted to see her in something low cut but Myra's teaching outfit today sparks my imagination far more.

She looks like a sexy librarian and what makes watching every bit of her jiggle in that outfit even better is knowing that she doesn't want me to see her. Or fantasize about her voluptuous body.

But she can't stop me from thinking about her.

Their lessons continue for another two hours before Cosima has to take a break to attend her riding lesson at the stable on dad's property from noon to 2:15 p.m.

I convinced our father eventually to allow Cosima the pleasure of riding. She always loved horses and giving her something with emotions to bond to will improve her character far more than spending all day with me. Her noon lesson also gives me the perfect opportunity to actually talk to Myra…

Maybe if I show her I’m not just a sadistic brute and I have a very real interest in Cosima’s continuing education, Myra will stop looking at me with nothing but the occasional disdain. If I’m going to be here throughout all of Cosima’s lessons… we might as well have fun.

Once Cosima says goodbye and leaves us alone, Myra glances up at me from her thick black binder.

“You can leave now, Michael, until the next lesson.”

Her voice is firm, yet grips me in place rather than compelling me to leave. She reminds me of my first grade teacher who inadvertently caused my first sexual awakening when she bent over to correct Luka Pullano’s spelling of the word ‘their’…

I remain still, eyes fixed on Myra’s tits.

“Why are you here, Michael?”

“Looking after my sister.”

“You don’t seem to enjoy these lessons and Cosima won’t settle down in your presence.”

“My father wants me to observe.”

“Grown man like you does everything his daddy wants?”

“Teasing me won’t piss me off. I doubt you could get under my skin if I tried.”

Myra’s eyes flicker with disappointment. She has pretty eyes that highlight her face’s heart-shape. Her body has curves in all the right places and she has similar facial features to the actress Gabrielle Union.

“I’m not trying to get under your skin,” Myra says haughtily, clearly desperate to get the last word and some slight edge over me. “I’m trying to grade Cosima’s homework.”

“Grade away. I can be quiet.”

I pull out my phone, ready to check on my latest football parlays. This Josh Allen 45-yard (or more) pass almost guarantees a win for the first leg, but the next two are far more uncertain…

Myra clears her throat disapprovingly.

“What?”

“Those lights are disruptive,” she says. “Couldn’t you grab one of the books from this enormous library?”

“Those aren’t decorations?”

“You have a first-edition signed copy of Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon ,” Myra responds breathlessly. “It’s not a decoration. It’s a rare treasure.”

“Really? Where is it?”

Myra rolls her eyes like she couldn’t be bothered with my levels of ignorance, but she gets up out of her teacher’s chair and for the first time since she entered my sister’s life, she pays attention to me.

I don’t care if she wants to call me a big dumb idiot all day.

Getting her attention gives me a surge of raw power that feels better because of how hard to come by it really is.

Maybe she has a boyfriend. Not like that would stop me from trying anything with her.

Especially after watching her ass sway towards this alleged treasure.

I reluctantly leave my seat, following Myra to one of the center bookshelves in the library.

Her finger travels along the board of one wooden shelf and she stops beneath a copy of a very old looking book.

This is her treasure? Myra must have been huffing whiteboard markers while I wasn’t looking. Excitedly, she pulls out the book and flips to the copyright page with a large, black signature.

“Nice…” I mutter with desperation to hide my disinterest.

“It’s special,” she says.

The words spill out of my mouth before I have the time to question them. “You can have it. It’s just a book. These all belonged to my grandmother.”

“Michael!” Myra gasps, looking up at me with wide, appreciative brown eyes. My dick lurches aggressively against my pants as I earn another crumb of attention from my younger sister’s private tutor. “You can’t be serious. Are you allowed to do that?”

“Why not?” I mutter, allowing my eyes to soak up Myra’s excitement and how strangely good I feel knowing that she feels that way because of me. “I want you to have it.”

She holds the book against her chest. Myra’s breasts swell as the pages press against them. That view alone makes the moment of generosity worth it.

“Thank you,” she says. “This was my favorite book in college. It means a lot to me.”

A smile comes to my face that seems to startle her.

“You’re welcome. You may return to your grading. I’ll… try this one.”

I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking. I want to impress her. Kiss her. Push her up against the wall and take every last inch of her…