To my success, indeed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
GEORGE
After my forayinto the kinky and queer space of X Club, I was conflicted. I spent the next few weeks taking a lot of walks, working out in my home gym, and swimming in my pool. None of it could erase what I’d seen and felt.
Did I want to forget?
No, I didn’t want to forget. My problem was wantingmore. I’d tried looking things up online again, even downloading some queer romance with BDSM, but it didn’t help. Although, I did get hornier than I’d been in years.
My basement had a TV room my staff or children had hung out in, but a locked door held the furnace and a wall with torture devices. I kept imagining how a consenting partner would look in there, getting off on the pain and pleasure I could give them.
At dinner with the twins, Beppino called me out, “You seem so distracted, Papa.”
“What’s going on?” Angie asked. “You’re not back in the family business, are you?”
“No,” I assured her. “Nothing like that, I promise.”
As much as I tried to shelter them, my children were smart and knew who I was. Sending a cousin to prison and burying many family members over the years was a hint, but the kids at school also called them Mafia Prince and Princess. Plus, we had a staff who called me Don Giorgio and Boss.
“Good. You swore you were out,” Angie nodded and sipped her merlot.
My children had wine with dinner, the same way I was raised, but it also gave her an air of superiority. It felt weird, but also very Angie.
“And I keep my word.” I sipped my own wine and raised an eyebrow. Angie was fiercely independent, but I was still her father.
“Then what’s up?” Beppino asked softly, ever the mediator, “Something else?”
His eyes looked wet, as if he feared I was dying and worried about telling them. I couldn’t let him look so hurt. “I am distracted, but it’s all in my head. Nothing in particular is wrong.”
“Can we help?” Angie bit her lip, and I saw the worry there too.
Considering my words, I figured my children were better to ask than anyone, “If a person is attracted to people, regardless of gender identity or genitals…” I paused, unsure if my conversation starter would work, “More of an attraction to how you interact together. What is that called?”
Both of them blinked at me for a moment before Angie settled in for a mini lecture. “Pansexual is a term under the bi-umbrella, meaning attracting to a person. Demisexual means you have to warm up to a person first, or feel a connection before there is sexual or romantic attraction. Why?”
“Well…” Why wasn’t the response I wanted, but I would be honest since I started it, “I think I’m bi. Maybe Demi? Or,pans, was it?”
“Pansexual,” Beppino corrected, grinning. “Not an attraction to cookware.”
“That’s Josefina’s sexuality,” Angie quipped with a giggle. “Sorry, it’s just I’m pansexual and Demiromantic. I thought you’d been reading my journal.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that,” I assured her. I was glad my sort of coming out wasn’t a big deal, leading to Angie sharing more about her own life. “But thank you for telling me.”
“Damn, who would have thought a mafia family would be so queer?” Beppino mused. “Our family in Italy would be so confused.”
“They know what being gay is,” Angie pointed out, leaning back and swirling the last of her wine.
“Gay, yes, but not the rest. And not about one of their former bosses,” Beppino added. “What does this mean for you, Papa?”
“It means they don’t need to know.” Mirroring my daughter, who looked like a replica of her mother when we met, I swallowed the last of my wine before answering, “And my dating pool got a lot bigger.”
* * *
My children were grossedout at the thought of me actually dating, despite their earlier word about my loneliness. Still, Beppino texted me afterwards to let him know if I had questions. I didn’t want to imagine my kids having sex any more than they did for me, so I thanked him but didn’t ask.
A big part of my conflicted emotions was the mafia boss part. If I’d had this realization while still in charge, especially a decade ago, I would have been stripped of my duties and shipped off. Or worse.
