Page 100 of Unfettered

I clench my jaw, fury building once again, overtaking the despair. “Do you not listen? I agree, and I’m not saying you were completely in the wrong. But you cannot call yourself family only when it’s convenient.

“That little pinprick of guilt you feel? It’s nothing compared to what Sandro has gone through. He traveled a gamut, and he still punishes himself every day for it. And I don’t see you offering your support.

“Instead, he has apologized and supported each of you. He became Sandro out of necessity. From the flames of destruction, he rose again. He refused his full self because he was terrified he’d hurt one of you.

“Yet, he still provided the most support. Babysitting Cole when he could. Going as far as to put food on the table for your nourishment. He accepted the bullying, and never complained. He’s broken. Let me stress that. Broken. His mind, his soul, and his fucking heart.

“Trauma… it isn’t easy to overcome. You do not get to slap him down for not being able to snap his fingers and heal at the speed you want. You do not get to sit there and judge him, find him wanting, and then not understand why he’s so fucking terrified of letting you and others down.

“And most of all,” my voice wavers as I struggle against a sob that wants to rise. “You do not get to weaponize the word family.”

The last word—family—echoes in the room. It’s the most powerful word to these people. And yet, I’m beginning to think they don’t understand it. It works for them when the mighty Il Padrone sacrificed himself, when he shielded them, forgave them for their betrayals.

Yet, where were they when he needed their forgiveness? When he suffered?

I whirl around, darting out of the room. I can’t go any further. Not as bile rises up inside me. So many times Ely could have walked away. Should have. Yet, she refused. I fucked up. Time and time again. Hell, I couldn’t even accept Daniel. But. She. Never. Gave. Up.

I barely make it to the nearest bathroom in time. I purge the bile that rises up until there’s nothing but dry heaves. Even then, I shake, tears streaming down my face. Ely. Her child… I cry for them both.

And is it selfish? Probably. But I cry for myself. For not knowing if I’ll ever have that true unconditional love again.

She wanted me back, needed my help, and I stayed for my test subjects. I got too close. And fuck, I can’t be fixed… What makes me think I can fix them?

You cannot call yourself family only when it’s convenient.

Javi’s words seem to echo around the room, and the despair and guilt on every single face in front of me is cutting. Good. They deserve it for the pain they inflicted on my poor Sweet Boy.

While they absorb the psychiatrist’s words, I pull my phone out and send a single text before putting it back in my pocket and focusing on the men in front of me.

“I’m disappointed in you all,” I say softly, and from the way they all flinch, you’d think I shouted, but I mastered the art of mindfuckery years ago. I know how to get the best reactions out of my victims, and I am not afraid of using those tools on them. Simply because they’re family.

They’ve forgotten. Because I’ve been working with Emilio, Benjamin, and Allesandro for so long, and have been nothing but their patient and understanding Daddy…they’ve forgotten who and what I am. But I never have.

My place in my Boys’ lives only makes me that much more dangerous.

“I thought you loved him, thought you knew who he was, but I see now you never really did.”

“It’s because we love him that we’re concerned,” Ignacio argues, though there’s no heat in his voice.

I shake my head and slide my hands into my pockets. “You have a hell of a way of showing it. I don’t say this to hurt you. I say it as someone who cares, not only for the man in question, but for everyone in this family.” My honesty gets me wide eyes and I bite back a smile.

“Sandro is deeply traumatized by what he went through as a child, and as an adult. Yet, he still tried to build the family he never had. I know what that’s like. I never sought out this.” I shrug to emphasize that I mean everything we currently have. “But when Cris offered it to me at eleven? I took it, because I’m not an idiot. And neither are any of you. Otherwise, you never would have accepted his offer when he found you. You would have taken the outs you were given.” I eye Benjamin. “Or you would have kept walking when you took matters into your own hands.” I glance at Marcus. “You all fucked up at some point in time, and you were all forgiven. But you failed in showing you actually understood your lessons.”

“Are you using him?” Marcus asks.

“Only in every way he wants me to. He would have told you, had you asked rather than attacked him. I’m not inclined to discuss my life with him, unless he tells me it’s okay, because only he can dictate if you’re worthy of knowing those details about him now. So, if you’re curious, I suggest you figure out how to make it up to him.”

I can feel their pain rolling off them in waves, but my need for bloodshed isn’t quelled, so I dig the knife in a little more. “I’ll say this once, and only once. After that, I will not discuss what happened unless it’s in the context of you trying to heal from it.

“You’re right, they weren’t safe. I hate to think what would have happened had we stayed as we were. But here’s my side of the story. I refused to allow Cristian to destroy himself while I was right there, so I did what I promised I would do since we met; I protected him and everything we built.

“I do not regret walking away. I do not regret protecting Roman and Carter, and I do not regret my relationship with Allesandro. Your guilt is yours to deal with, and maybe, if you’re lucky, Javi will help match you with a therapist to deal with that. You’re allowed to feel how you want to feel, but you do not get to bully the man who’s only ever loved you. Simply because you’re scared of facing him at his most vulnerable. How do you think he feels?”

None of them look me in the eye, and I don’t bother saying anything else. Anger still courses through me, twisted and ugly, but I shove it down. Anger doesn’t get you anything but sloppy regrets, and I don’t do regret. No, let them wallow in their shame.

I don’t turn as loud footsteps echo out in the hall, nor when they enter the room, but the widening of the eyes of the men in front of me gives me satisfaction, as I can practically smell the fear and regret rolling off of them all.

“What’s going on?” Jude asks.