Forever Changed

Chapter 26: Memories and Mistakes

Mattia POV

(6 Months Married)

T/W Discussion of death of a parent, Discussion of violence

Henry hadn't spoken one word to me on the drive to my father's estate. He barely made eye contact when I told him where we were headed. I knew my behaviour yesterday was out of line. That my leaving the hospital and getting pass out drunk instead of handling what needed to be done was not acceptable. But what nobody understood was the constant pressure I was under. The expectations my father had for me. The never ending duties of my role. The number of people depending on my decisions. Being unable to trust anybody but my three brothers. The only person who'd ever shown me any kindness without an expectation of anything in return was my mama. And now she was dead.

I had never wanted this life. I had told my father on my tenth birthday that I wasn't right for this role. That I wanted a normal life. It was the first time he'd backhanded me. The first born son in the Dicembre family had held this position for five generations and he refused to even consider allowing one of my brothers or cousins take my spot. The violence I was exposed to from that year onwards, both directly from my father, and by witnessing it first hand was immeasurable. Alessio Dicembre was as old school as they came. He lived by the creed that men were men and emotions were for the weak. His sons were expected to be ruthless, emotionless and when required deadly. I had killed my first traitor at the age of fourteen. My father handing me the gun and instructing me to put a bullet between his eyes. The man had begged for his life and when I'd hesitated, my father advised that he would beat my younger brother Nico before having him pull the trigger. I pulled the trigger.

My teenage years were spent witnessing torture, then partaking in the same torture. Seeing men have their throats cut, then learning how to work with a knife to inflict the most pain. Seeing dozens of men shot and then becoming someone who could accurately shoot without thought. All of my muscle memories related to violence. While my friends at school were playing baseball on weekends I was learning about money laundering and the most effective ways to get a prisoner to talk. I had sheltered my brothers from the side of the Family I never wanted them to experience for as long as I could. Nico knew that our father regularly beat me, but for years Dante and Antony thought I was getting into fights at parties. Once Nico started his training I didn't feel quite so alone, but neither of us wanted this for our future, sadly leaving was never an option.

The sound of a horn blaring brought me out of my memories. We were getting closer to my father's home. I wasn't sure what I was walking into. My mother was the only thing that kept my father somewhat grounded. He was a volatile man but kept a facade of calm when she was around. Despite his infidelities in their marriage I do believe he loved her. She was the only person, apart from my little sister, who I ever saw receive any affection. His face would light up when she entered a room, and anyone dare slight her would quickly receive a bullet from his gun.

When I'd asked him about being unfaithful to mama after a boy in second grade told me his mama was fucking my papa, he'd laughed then told me "These women I fuck do not matter, they are there when I need release and nothing more. Nothing more than a hole for my use. Tell your friend his mother is a whore. Your mother understands our world Mattia. She might not like it, but she understands. She is the only woman who wears my ring."

He had many mistresses until just after Antony was born. It was then, even at seven, I noticed a shift in my parents marriage. My mother had stopped all the displays of affection we were used to seeing between our parents. She was still the model wife in public, but her adoration of my father was gone. She spent just as much time with us four boys but I rarely saw her with my father like I used to. No more movies on the lounge, cuddling in the kitchen. Nothing. When the two year mark came and went after Antony's birth without another child, I heard staff whispering, wondering if they were still even together intimately. At nine I knew some arranged couples no longer shared a room once an heir was produced, and my mother had provided four sons, but my parents had always seemed to have a loving marriage before Antony's birth.