Page 34 of Forbidden Property
“Black women. I don’t get it, man. I don’t think I could be in the position to tame one,” Gino says, possibly thinking of the situation his brother got into with Delphine. I would say Delphine must have come to him pretty tame or she would have scratched his eyes out.
I chuckle and correct Gino’s misguided opinions. “They’re not animals, Gino. They’re women. They’re the same as other women.”
Gino can’t contain his doubt.
“Have you ever had a white girl hustle you out of fifty dollars for a simple comment on politics?” Gino says with very real offense and confusion at the situation. I won’t pretend I have some special understanding of women either. They just happen to all be equally confusing.
I change the subject from the missing money. “Where’s your brother?”
He somehow knows I mean his twin brother and not Luigi. They pretty much came as a pair most of their lives. Pretty sure they resent it but… It makes it easy for me to keep track of Renzo without having to talk to him. I keep hearing stories about a situation with Nicki that sounds a lot like what Michael had to put up with when dad put him in charge of CC.
Gino shrugs and then dramatically tongues out the last drop of tequila from the shot. The bartender shakes her head and pours us new shots without us needing to ask.
My cousin finally kills the slow suspense. “He’s up at his place with Nicki. She’s gone off the rails, last I checked. Why?”
Nicki crashing out doesn’t surprise me. All the women in our family are crazy. I internally debate the situation we find ourselves in all the time. Did our fathers make them this way, or did the Italian men in our family become this way as a reaction to the scheming, conniving women who share our blood…
“Your father wants me on a job and I thought your brother might be a good option to take with me to Pittsburgh.”
It’s not the complete truth. Renzo might be better at cold-blooded murder and purely logical calculations, but I might enjoy pushing Gino to a more complicated task than whateverMichael has him working on these days. Gino seems surprised that there’s more work for us to do across state lines.
“I thought Pittsburgh was quiet,” he says, considering it thoughtfully, and not entirely disinterested. He studied finance and politics in Italy just like his brother, and while he might not make any outward grabs at power, Gino certainly understands thebalance.
“It was quiet,” I respond. “Then my father died.”
It should make me more emotional to acknowledge that, but to this day, acknowledging my father’s death only provokes a total-body numbness. I sought no further information than what my brother told me, and I ignored any rumors to keep my knowledge minimal.
What I know is this – My brother Michael had a hand in our father’s death. I don’t know how much he did, but I understand why he did it. Gianna Rae is a delightful little girl. I love my niece. I would have never gone as far as Michael did, but considering Cosima drugged him… I don’t think he had much of a choice. Dad expected to be killed at some point in his life. He would have appreciated his son being his executioner. If the rumors are true.
Our father lived with such a violent edge that he couldn’t have expected to live into old age. It’s better to have your son put you down than a stranger. I see mercy in Michael’s choice.
“What does your father have to do with Pittsburgh?” Gino asks. “Yes, he’s dead. But… the families are completely separate and they wouldn’t try anything over here.”
He doesn’t know that for a fact now, does he? It might be a fair assumption if human beings were purely logical. They aren’t. While it might seem logical to us for a broken family with divisions and a missing patriarch to focus on healing their wounds, they might still seek war.
“People don’t always operate logically.”
Gino nods, considering my words quietly. I can’t tell what he thinks of my words, and in that sense, he’s eerily similar to Renzo. And so different from Luigi in a way that scares me. Gino is not to be underestimated, but not constantly in command the way his older brother is so naturally. He’ll grow up to be a lot wiser than his twin brother over time, perhaps.
But he’s still young and doesn’t see how all of the politics now will affect our lives and our old age. You choose the wrong allegiances or the wrong spouse and life will really fuck you.
I press forward, “The Pittsburgh Corsinis are family too, Gino. They trace their lineage back to the same violent enforcement of Italian ghetto rule that we did.”
Luckily, we don’t live in the ghettos anymore.
Gino shakes his head like I’ve misunderstood him, “What I mean is… peace wasn’t contingent on your father’s life. As far as I know. There’s more keeping the balance of power in check.”
Our eyes flicker to meet each other and for a split second, I wonder if we all underestimate Gino more than I even realized. But there’s nothing behind his cool eyes. He’s like if Renzo smoked weed instead of popped Zyns. Utterly unreadable without the anxious energy that accompanies men more prone to angry violence.
“You’re right. Peace wasn’t contingent on my father’s life,” I say to my cousin, desperate for a damn beer instead of a shot. “But Pittsburgh is an unstable place. Mallory Corsini returned after her father died, Dario left to work for Uncle Pino for a while, and that left a gap.”
“Someone made a bid for power?” Gino asks, taking a casual tequila shot without wincing. Italy made him much better at handling his liquor.
It’s a good guess.
“Exactly.”
“Whose side of the family?” he asks, taking another tequila shot before I answer.
