Chapter 13 – Luigi
Chapter Thirteen
Luigi
I leave the house outraged. Angela gets under my skin so easily and watching her ally with Delphine in such a short space of time only pisses me off.
Women. There’s nothing more frustrating than dealing with a woman, which is exactly why I’ve gone into my thirties peacefully without forming any attachments.
I don’t need any attachments. But now, I have this contract and something new and disturbing on the horizon.
I want her pregnant.
It’s not just how good it felt to take her pussy the first time. It’s not just the way she sucked my cock. There’s something primal about how I took her, how she feels in my arms and what the fuck is going on with my heart whenever I look at her.
It’s fucking dangerous to consider a 39 week pregnancy with this woman and all that would entail, but I can’t imagine letting her go either. What then? I start over? I don’t want to go through this again. Not when I found lips that work so well on my cock.
When was the last time I got head like that? Never.
The biggest concern here is attachment. I can’t get attached.
Which of course, I must be if I want her pregnant.
Good thing I’ll be away from the lake house tonight.
I can finally think straight without Delphine’s soft body pressed against mine.
And hopefully, she doesn’t get up to much plotting with my sister.
My first night alone passes peacefully, but I have to admit to missing Delphine’s warmth already.
I have this powerful, almost addictive drive to be with her again, but this morning, I’m alone.
I do my pushups, make breakfast, head over to my property manager’s office to pick up the checks and get updates on our latest problem tenants in the ground floor unit.
It’s standard landlord stuff until just before lunch when I meet Mikey and Peter at Iron Syndicate.
By the time I pull my Tahoe up to my spot in the gym parking lot next to Mikey’s truck, I know we have some type of problem going on.
Mikey has his little rituals and routines to calm down when something bad happens, and puffing on a cigarette right before hitting leg day has to mean a level nine problem – out of ten.
“Gambling related?” I ask him once I get out of the car and swing my black duffel over my shoulders. He turns his whole head to look at me from his one good eye.
“Worse. Peter’s on his way. I’ll let him tell you.”
“How many of those have you had?” I ask him, kicking aside two butts on the ground.
“Three,” he grunts. “You’d better start smoking too.”
“This would go a lot faster if you told me what–”
Peter’s fire engine red Camaro skidding into the parking lot like he’s in a fucking action movie distracts me from what surely would have been the shitty task of getting information out of Mikey when the man barely speaks in complete sentences.
My cousin Peter Corsini reverses into his spot across the lot from ours and jumps out of the car wearing the most God awful grey Buffalo Bills sweatsuit I’ve ever seen in my life.
He looks like a Ukrainian gangster or a wanna-be movie mobster.
The good thing about my cousins is knowing that I’m not their weird cousin.
“Did you tell him already?” Peter asks.
“No. I left you the pleasure.”
“Carmine Corsini died in Pittsburgh.”
“Give me a cigarette.”
“Told you,” Mikey says, shaking out a Camel for me. Peter lights me up and pulls out whatever he smokes these days from behind his ear.
This is bad.
“Does my father know?”
It’s a loaded question. The only thing that would surprise me about my father murdering Carmine Corsini would be that he didn’t ask me to do it.
Ever since the “situation” where Carmine murdered our aunt, the only thing stopping our families from descending into an all-out war has been an explicit truce.
“Yes,” Peter says. “That’s kind of the problem. There’s going to be bloodshed boys, and if Uncle Leo wants us to strike first, we’ll be on our way to Pittsburgh before St. Patrick’s Day.”
Peter seems sure about the bloodshed, which might mean it’s common knowledge or presumed knowledge that our family has involvement in Carmine’s death. I have my doubts. Dad would have told me.
Still, he wants a “first-strike” because Carmine’s death marks the end of the truce between our families.
We have no reason to kill each other with Carmine gone but…
we have no reason not to. There are other players in the Pittsburgh mob family who might see Carmine’s death as strictly an opportunity for personal advancement.
Dad would never let that happen. My headache intensifies.
This might become a tragedy for the sole reason that dad will use it as a reason to keep me occupied for the next few months.
I thought I would have that time to spend with Delphine now that she’s signed the contract and we’ve both come around to the fact that she’s going to have my baby.
“It’s impossible to have a personal life with this family,” I mutter, coughing after my first two puffs of the cigarette. I avoid smoking for my health, but this is worse news than I expected. Peter seems concerned at my sudden darkening mood.
“Any clue how Carmine died?” I ask him, sticking to business and relevant information rather than the fact this shit will pull me away from Delphine for at least a month.
“They think Uncle Leo set it up,” Peter admits, confirming my initial suspicions.
Impossible. If my father arranged to have the boss of the Pittsburgh mob killed, he would have sent me to do it.
While I’ve been busy, I haven’t been so busy that I would forget him setting up a job like that.
Someone else killed Carmine, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be any blowback.
Either way, we’re officially in trouble.
Peter, Mikey and I don’t talk about the Pittsburgh problems for the rest of our workout.
Gym time remains sacred, and we discuss other shit guys need to talk about.
Football scores. New bars opening up around Buffalo.
And girl problems. Mikey hasn’t had a girl in years.
His brother Peter on the other hand always seems to have some crazy girl obsessed with our family trying to get close to him.
Italians talk and everyone knows the power that comes from getting close to us.
It gets old getting used. I don’t tell either of them about Delphine while we work out and after our lift, Peter insists we head down to Belladonna’s and drink while we can. Problems in Pittsburgh could reasonably bring problems to our doorstep, and I don’t like the unnecessary risks.
Dad might even call Renzo and Gino back from Italy, but if he does that, shit has really hit the fan.
After a few hours at the bar, Peter and Mikey pick a pasta spot owned by members of our family — a couple guys that used to work for dad and retired to run the joint after a decade in prison out in Utica.
Angela makes better gnocchi than what they serve, but after the stunt she pulled, I want to see her as little as possible.
I’ll have to check on her and Delphine eventually, because it’s just as dangerous to leave Angela alone with her as it is for me to be around her.
“He’s quiet,” Peter whispers about me halfway through dinner. I grunt.
“It’s Pittsburgh.”
Mikey nods. “Think your dad will send us out.”
“I fucking hope not.”
“What’s going to happen out there, then? One of those fucking kids takes charge? The treaty is fucked.”
Finally, the quiet part out loud.
“I need more wine.”
“Amen to that,” Peter says, calling the waitress over and ordering three more bottles for our table. The waitress brings four more over.
We drink and eat until late into the evening.
I make an excuse to leave first, which surprises both my cousins again.
It’s not like me, especially when time with them means time away from Angela.
The problem is… I can’t stand the thought of Delphine alone.
I need a break from the strong emotions and the violent pull towards a woman I shouldn’t even care about.
I walk around outside the restaurant to sober up and then drive back ten minutes to the penthouse — alone.
Obsessively, my mind turns over the night with Delphine. I don’t remember when exactly Angela must have disappeared with her to drug her, but my sister did that without my permission then presented this perfect temptation to me… how the fuck did she expect me to resist? How could anyone?
I’m not a monster. I don’t want to think of myself as a monster. But the way I touched her and pumped my dick into that woman when she didn’t even want me…
If there’s a way to make it right, I’m too drunk to think about it right now. I suppose my only choice is carrying out the contract and ensuring that I don’t develop wild, untamed feelings for Delphine that I would only be forcing upon her in the future.
Emotions are dangerous, especially when there are contracts involved too. But I can’t stop thinking about Delphine. I toss and turn all night, her absence in my bed as strong as if we had been together for years.
My hand wanders over to my cock as I struggle to fall asleep at some point between three and four in the morning.
I grip my cock and picture her easily. Recalling how tightly her lips wrapped around my dick almost makes me cum on the spot.
I want to stop myself and just fall asleep, but my primal urges push me to pump my cock and live out a hot daydream about Delphine before I have a hope of getting a wink of sleep.
Fantasizing about her lips and memories of fucking her throat nearly drags me over the edge, but what really does it for me is the vivid memory of Delphine’s hot pussy swallowing every last inch of my dick.
I want to take her again and if she’s not pregnant, I don’t know how I’ll stop myself from taking another fucked up risk.
My dick finally erupts at the thought of emptying my seed inside Delphine again and the groan I make shudders deep in my chest, filling me with primal satisfaction and when that settles, this profound desire for Delphine and strange emptiness without her in my bed.