Page 89 of Unfettered

I take a deep breath and continue, “I embraced the lie of Il Padrone. The belief in a motto born of hatred and intolerance. I learned my lesson to force those around me onto their knees, to show no mercy, and…I didn’t need to, because I have people who actually understand family. Who…love.”

The wonder when the word drops from my tongue lingers in the room. Love. I thought after meeting Lio I knew what that meant. Yet every moment of my life seems to have built up to this. I have to face the falsehoods and the man who stole my beginnings from me.

“And fuck, it’s more than that. When Aldo called it a date? I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. I…I want to embrace it, but how sad is it that someone my age has never been on a date? How fucking pathetic is it that I finally went on a date and it wasn’t with the man who once had my ring on his finger—who I desperately wish still did—but another man who I’ve gone and fallen for in ways I didn’t know was possible? Who makes me question everything about myself?

“So, tell me, please, because I’m on the edge of a cliff. I hear my father’s voice, he taunts me. I live with the shadowy memories of the horrors I’ve inflicted. The blood on my hands pales in comparison to the wrongs I’ve done to those I care about. How do I accept that I’ve lived a lie this entire time?”

Brannigan takes a deep breath, focusing, before he replies, “You accept it the way we accept all things in life. Just like with grief, with regrets, with trauma. You recognize it, acknowledge the difference it could have made, but instead of dwelling on it, you celebrate the fact you have a second chance here. You can connect with this Aldo. Learn about the family you thought you didn’t have.

“And as for the date… I’d encourage you to incorporate that into your life with all of your partners. It doesn’t need to just be romantic partners either. You have friendships that are important. Your relationships with your Boys. These are all things to celebrate and cultivate. The time you give, that’s what matters in life.”

I spend time thinking about it, and while he’s right, I don’t know where to start. It seems overwhelming. The doubts that creep inside my mind mock me, reinforcing everything I lack… And everything I don’t deserve.

“I don’t know how to do that. I…don’t deserve that chance.” My heart shatters as the dam finally breaks, tears spilling over as I struggle to remain composed, only to fail. Like I always do.

His eyes remain kind, even though I’m sure he’s tired of my complaining by now—fuck knows I am as well. Instead, he touches on the part I hate the most, the part I’ve tried to hide for so long.

“When you say you hear your father’s voice, what do you mean by that?”

I struggle against the pain, the flashes of memories, and the overwhelming self-disgust. The fucking weakness. It’s embarrassing, and worse, it undermines the very real chance I have of ever making it back into this world with a slightly reputable position. After all, how can I be a Master when I’m a slave to the past?

Grinding my teeth, I push back against the assault on my psyche, and the dissociation that runs through me, even as I tremble. Eventually, I break the coldness seeping through my veins. Although I can’t meet his stare, as I'm unable to face the truth that's reflected back at me.

“It…started…when we came back—uh, meaning after Cristian and I were rescued. I’d heard the words of my father before, of course. He was never shy at voicing his disappointment in me. But his actual voice? That was more recent. It seeped into everything. Breaking through my dreams. And eventually, even when I was conscious. I couldn’t escape it—escape him.”

“And how often do these episodes happen?” Brannigan’s calm voice does nothing to soothe me, even though that’s what he’s trying to do. Personally, I’m just waiting to be taken away. Or fuck, put down.

Blowing out a breath, I roll my shoulders back, trying to alleviate some tension. It fails. But fuck, at least I tried.

“It was worse right after we got back, when things were out of control. What Luca did… It brought it sharper. Added more to it. And since then, it ebbs and flows. On good days, I don’t hear anything. If I’m stressed personally? It’s higher. Like, not job-wise. Fuck, I’m not sure how to explain it. But…it seems to be more about my relationship with people.

“Like last time I was nervous about making sure Sarah was safe, and not embarrassing myself in front of Tennant. From what I can see, those make it worse. Even if my father uses how I failed as a leader against me the most, it doesn’t seem dependent on actual work. When we went to burn things down, he wasn’t there.”

I shrug. Not sure what to think. Just…afraid. Like always.

Brannigan taps his finger against his lip before leaning back. “I’ll be honest with you. You need to talk to Javi about this. Because while I can help you with grief—the loss of your position, etc—I don’t generally specialize in this type of trauma. Most therapists handle several disciplines, but Javi gathered specialists. It’s good in the sense that we are very good at what we do, but at the same time, you will likely need to speak with a few people.”

I shudder, distaste rolling through me. Shit. I’m that much of a fuck up that I’m going to need even more help? Jesus. What’s the point? I keep fighting, but fuck… Maybe I shouldn’t.

“Let me stop you. I can see you’re spiraling.”

I glance at him, startled, only to notice that I’ve curled in on myself, and my breathing is faster. Forcing myself to relax, I mutter, “Sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I just have a feeling you’re beginning to shift into negative self-talk, and we’ve discussed this before. So, tell me what the thoughts are, and let’s strategize, see how we can reframe them.”

I wince, not wanting to be on suicide watch again. Huffing out a breath, I say, “First, I want to make it clear. I’m not suicidal. I just…had an initial reaction. That basically I’m so fucked up that I should just give up.”

He nods thoughtfully. “That’s fair. You have habits that you have to unlearn. Give yourself grace on that. You need to remember, you’ve undergone significant trauma. Not just with how you were raised, but then the kidnapping, and from the sounds of it, what happened to the Martelli Family was a direct assault of essentially a psychotic break. And your mind hasn’t recovered—yet. We’re getting there. You are getting there. One step at a time. I wouldn’t suggest you see others if I didn’t feel you weren’t strong enough to do so.”

I inhale sharply, shock overtaking me. “You think I’m strong?”

He smiles at me, even though it’s tinged in sadness. “What else would you say to someone who lived through a very traumatic childhood. Based on what we’ve talked about, that trauma includes emotional, physical, and sexual abuse. You then were thrust into a position of power without being ready.

“And while you replicated some of what you were taught, your relationships with your Boys were all genuine. Enough that they’ve all continued a relationship with you—and still defend you. Some even refuse to call you Sandro. Not as a slight, but because they recognize that in your heart, you are worthy as Allesandro.

“You dealt with those same Boys being attacked. Some of them betraying you. And if you were your father, you would have killed them, but you didn’t because you do know love and mercy—you’re just struggling to give it to yourself.”

A sob catches in my throat as I shake my head, wanting to defend why I don’t deserve love or mercy, but he pushes on, refusing to let me yield.