A Promessa

Before we get started, I wanna clarify a few things.

First, while this takes place in the Helluva Dad AU, I published it independently because it deviates from Striker and Jake, the main protagonists of the AU. You could call it a 'Spin-off' of sorts.

The main character here is Crimson's right-hand man, Alessio. 

Some of the characters were kindly borrowed from Wumbo and NodaMischief. I'll clarify which ones whenever they appear.

—*HB*—

The wooden floor of Alessio's home produced unnerving sounds, creaking and groaning under his feet.

Maybe it knew what he knew.

Perhaps it was all in vain.

Distance yourself while you still can.

Avert your eyes and let the doctor tend to her in the morning.

Save yourself the grief while you still can.

It'll hurt less that way.

This was the advice he'd received from the Family, including Crimson himself. The thought crossed Alessio's mind at some point, but he never pondered it for long.

From the first time they'd met, her sleek frame, dolphin features, and gorgeous eyes catching his gaze the moment they'd first made eye contact, he'd loved her. He always made sure she knew that every single day.

He didn't want to believe this. Sooner or later, she would get better, and she'd go back to normal. There would be light in her eyes again, and her dazzling smile would return.

At least, that's what he told himself.

What he told Pietro.

Alessio's stomach sank as he thought of his boy. He was so young, and yet he could tell something was off. He was constantly asking about his mama, asking why she wasn't coming to kiss him good night or read a bedtime story like she always did.

And he just... He didn't know what to tell him.

And Giulia... She'd just come into the world not long ago and was already losing her mother. She'd no longer rest against her mamma's chest and listen to her heartbeat as she lulled her to sleep. She would have no one to talk about girls' stuff when she grew up.

Stepping inside what used to be their room before the... incident, Alessio announced his presence by clearing his throat. He set the cup on the bedside table and sat beside his wife, his tail tenderly rubbing against hers.

She wasn't the woman she'd once been. Her skin was sickly pale, unlike the pastel pink her skin once was. Her once dark hair had, little by little, turned ashy white the sicker she became. Bloody magenta bandages were wrapped in various parts of her body; no matter how many times he changed them, they always turned red again.

Her wounds weren't healing. Injuries by angelic weaponry don't heal.

Alessio brushed hair and sweat away from her face, cursing himself for not bringing a rag.

"I brought you some peppermint tea." he gently raised her chin with his hand. "It'll help."

He lifted the cup to her lips. Bianca took slow sips as if the mere act of swallowing took a tremendous toll on her. Alessio lowered the cup to let her catch her breath.

"You'll get better soon, amore mio. Can you drink any more?"

"Ale..."

"How are you feeling? Are you cold? Hot?"

"Alessio," she spoke firmly, opening her eyes as she weakly grasped his hand. He took both of hers. They were cold. "We both know I'm not going to make it."

"Don't say that, Bianca." he squeezed her hands tightly, almost fearing that she'd go if he let go of them. "You will get better. You need to hold on a little longer. For me, for Pietro... For Giulia."

"Oh, Pietro... Giulia... I wish I could have had more time..." Bianca squeezed Alessio's hand with whatever strength she could muster and looked over to her husband. "I need you to promise me something."

"Bianca-"

"Promise me that you'll keep them safe."

"I-"

"You must protect them. Don't let them get involved with the Family. It's not safe for them...."

Alessio said nothing. Only watching as his fiore, his rock, the woman he loved so dearly, struggled to breathe. Her beautiful voice, which once reminded Alessio of a siren's captivating song, was now hoarse and raspy.

He knew that being part of the Family was not safe. Of course, he, of all people, would know. That's why his wife is in such a state.

Alessio closed his eyes shut, heart aching in his chest.

"I promise I'll keep the children safe, amore mio," he whispered, letting go with one hand to cup his wife's cheek.

"Thank you," Bianca said softly. Alessio watched as she moved her left hand to hold his, leaning her cheek into it.

The pauses between each breath grew longer and longer.

"Ti amo..."

A single tear trickled down Alessio's cheek. "Ti amo anch'io, amore mio. Per sempre." He whispered in between silent sobs.

At long last, Bianca's hand slipped away from Alessio's, her head growing heavy in his hands.

Alessio could only watch as her eyelids fluttered shut for the final time. Her final breath stayed with him even when he finally moved his hand away from her. It hung over the shark as he dragged himself out of the room, steps as heavy as his heart. Out in the hallway, he couldn't take it any longer. The tears trickled down his cheeks as he found himself on his knees. Alessio hit the wall with a closed fist and bit back a sob. A few moments later, he wiped his eyes and returned to his feet.

He can't break down. Pietro and Giulia will need him to be strong.

He peered into their... his children's shared nursery. His stomach sank at the pastel colors and décor. He and Bianca had worked on this room together.

First, he headed to the cradle on the left side to pick up his three-month-old daughter. The little dolphin looked nothing like Alessio and everything like Bianca, from pastel pink skin to dark hair. Little Giulia stirred in his arms as he ran a finger down her cheek.

"Shhh. It's okay, bambina." Alessio whispered with all the tenderness he could muster at the moment. "Daddy's here, daddy's got you."

His voice had the intended effect as his daughter relaxed and snuggled into his chest.

With Giulia in his arms, Alessio walked over to Pietro's bed. Unlike his little sister, he had a striking resemblance to his father to the point others nicknamed him 'mini-Alessio.'

As he tucked his son in, he listened to his breathing, slow and steady, unlike Bianca's. At four years old, Pietro was still innocent, full of life, and utterly oblivious to the dog-eat-dog world he'd been born in.

Alessio briefly thought of waking him up to tell him the news that his mother was dead but decided not to just yet.

Bianca was right. She always was.

He'd let his boy keep that innocence, if only for a few more hours.

He had made a promise, after all.