39. Sandro
The stress I thought left me in the kitchen slowly starts to pile on again the closer I get to Brannigan’s office.
If it weren’t for the promises I made, I’m not sure I’d have the strength to face this time after time.
Therapy… Fuck. It seems as if every session merely uncovers another truth—and yet more pain.
I knock on the door, patiently waiting for Brannigan to let me in. Instead of calling for me to enter, however, he opens the door himself. His bodyguard leaves the room with a nod toward me. It’s honestly the friendliest a guard has been in a while, and I almost stumble in shock.
Though I shake it off and gather myself, entering the den of pain, aka the therapist’s office.
It doesn’t escape my notice that Brannigan’s cheeks are slightly flushed.
I briefly wonder if the bodyguard did or said something, but it’s not my call to interfere.
Not anymore. I’m…me. Though, really, I have no fucking idea what that means.
“Come in, please. Take a seat.”
He waves me toward the sitting area and I go easily, used to this by now. When he hands me a bottle of water, I take it with a nod of appreciation. He sits down opposite of me, clasping his hands in his lap as he studies me with serious eyes.
“Thank you for seeing me,” I croak out, my palms sweaty as anxiety starts to twist its vines around me.
His gaze softens, and a small smile graces his lips. It makes him far more approachable, and the tight bands around my chest loosen slightly—enough for me to breathe, at least.
“It’s what I’m here for. How have you been doing? Is there anything you’d like to focus on during this session?”
“Things have been…hectic. I’m not really sure where to begin.”
He nods, his hands unclasping so he can stroke his chin. I note the stubble that's grown in, and I wonder if he’s not getting enough sleep. Still, it’s not my problem to solve.
“The beginning is usually the best place. But pick wherever you’re comfortable and we can go from there.”
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, trying to untangle the mess of emotions and thoughts inside. Without giving myself time to second guess, I whisper, “Do you think my entire life can be based on a lie?”
The silence is absolute, and I force myself to look at Brannigan. I’m not surprised to see the shock in his eyes, though he covers it quickly. Tilting his head, he gently asks, “What do you mean?”
I clench my hands into fists, trying to keep myself from falling apart as I crack myself open for him. “It turns out…I have family. Family who cares about me. That…I never expected. I mean, I knew they existed, but I never recognized that they actually wanted to know me.
“My father was a cold-hearted bastard who did everything he could to turn me into a perfect replica. Hell, my mother was in some ways worse, though she at least killed him eventually, even if it wasn’t to protect me.
No, she’d rather I was dead too. But…it turns out, my grandmother’s family, despite what my grandfather did, actually cares about me. How do you rectify that?”
“What do you mean? What did your grandfather do?”
I shake my head, forcing myself to slow down. Of course, he doesn’t know the details. That’s the only problem with Javi’s empire. Even the ones slightly touched by darkness… They’re still pure. At least, in comparison.
I briefly describe the partial fuckery of the familial sins that haunt me to this day. And then I try to make Brannigan understand what I don’t. “We were at the restaurant that Aldo runs, although it technically still belongs to me, and…”
“And, what?” Brannigan asks gently, leaning forward.
I take a shuddering breath. “Fuck, I just realized, I don’t even know how to refer to Aldo.
Is he my cousin? All I know is that he’s my paternal grandmother’s family.
And they always ask after me. That I join them.
And sure, I go to the restaurant fairly regularly, wanting to make sure they have whatever they need, because they refuse to let me just sign the damn thing over to them…
But I was there, having dinner with Tennant.
It’s the first time I’ve brought a man with me.
“And Aldo… He gets all excited. For me. Enough to bring out a dessert to celebrate our ‘date’. It hit me. All at once. That this man actually cares. This whole time, I thought I only came from people too cold to even have feelings. But I don’t, do I?”
He makes a noncommittal noise, his gaze sharpening on me, and I struggle to breathe. Because once I say the next part aloud, I have to face it. And fuck, I’m not sure I’m ready. Then again, when will I ever be…
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.