Page 41 of Forgive Me, Father

At the far end of the room, my father sat in his usual seat, elevated, centered, unforgiving.Behind him, where we always stood, were my two brothers, Roberto and the youngest, Luca.Their expressions were stone, unreadable, as they flanked the chair like sentinels.I moved toward them, my footsteps swallowed by the thick Persian rug stretching beneath the massive oval table that filled the room like a scar.

On either side, the next generation waited behind their fathers, silent heirs to old rules.Some watched me.Most didn’t.It didn’t matter.I wasn’t here to be liked.I was here to be obeyed.

Jason was seated directly opposite me.His posture was perfect, too perfect, spine straight, shoulders back, the polished mask of a man who had something to hide.He froze the moment I entered, pen hovering mid-signature above a fresh document.His eyes flicked up, meeting mine across the expanse of mahogany.I didn’t blink.

No one said a word.Not even my brothers.Their silence was louder than a gunshot.

Father kept his voice low, even.“So I guess that’s it then, Jason.”

He cleaned his throat, trying to find a foothold.“Thank you for your understanding,” he said, with the same syrupy diplomacy he always used when cornered.“And I apologize again for my daughter’s behavior.I will handle it.”

A slap on the wrist, just as I thought.

My father was so weak.Predictable.The man had no spine.

They shouldn’t exist.And if my Nonno were still sitting in his chair, they wouldn’t.They wouldn’t have seen this new year.

Then came the ask.

“I do, however,” Jason continued, “wish to speak with Alfonso.Privately.”

The room shifted subtly.A few glances exchanged.No one else moved.

Before I could open my mouth to shut it down, my father gave a single nod.

Of course he did.

He didn’t even look at me.Just nodded like my opinion didn’t matter.Like he was still the only voice in this room that counted.If he knew what was good for this family, he would’ve let me speak first.

But he didn’t.

Chairs pushed back in unison as the Elders rose, each one placing a closed fist to their chest with the weight of tradition behind the gesture.In deep, solemn voices they spoke the words that had bound this family for generations:

"Con il sangue e la volontà, scolpiamo il futuro nella pietra."

(By blood and will, we carve the future into stone.)

The mantra echoed off the vaulted ceiling like a judgment.

Then they turned and filed out, coats sweeping behind them, leaving the scent of old cologne and unspoken truths in their wake.All but one.

Jason remained seated, the ever-patient vulture.

Once the last Elder crossed the threshold, the heavy doors shut with a resonant thud.The only people left were from our parties.

Father stayed seated in his chair at the head of the room, back straight as ever, spine like carved granite.Without looking at me, he gave a sharp nod to my brothers.They didn’t question it.They turned and walked out, leaving only me behind.

I stayed where I was, my eyes on the back of Father’s head.When he finally turned, he met my gaze and gave me the smallest nod, permission.

I stepped forward, pulled out the chair beside him, and lowered myself into the cool leather.The seat was familiar, too comfortable for the conversations that usually took place here.

The side door creaked open.

Theo entered first, silent as a shadow, his presence like steel drawn slowly from a sheath.My father’s head of security didn’t need to speak.He never did.

Behind him came Celeste, draped in a black shawl that looked more ceremonial than necessary.Her eyes, as always, were unreadable.And trailing them, red-eyed and trembling, was Simi.

She looked like a fallen icon, makeup streaked, lips trembling, voice caught somewhere between apology and performance.I didn’t bother to stand.I didn’t even acknowledge her.