Chapter 90 - 92
GIANNI POV
The glass whiskey teeters towards my mouth before I inhale the last few ounces. My eyes stray to the standing frames poised on the mantle, pictures of my son, including the one that was taken from me. Anger spikes and I hurl the glass in the maw of the flagstone hearth as it shatters on impact. I grab the whiskey from the side table to drink it straight from the bottle with my face inclined.
"Papa?"
I splutter a few drops as a few dribble down my chin. I lurch, catching a glimpse of my youngest’s small silhouette as I jerk my torso aside to plant the bottle on the other side of the armchair I’m seated on.
"What’s that?" Tommy asks.
"Daddy’s apple juice—what are you doing up?"
I narrow my eyes at him as the fuzzy shapes blur into a single form. Tommy fiddles with something taut in his small fist, barely looking at me as I can barely see him. I beckon him closer with a mere motion of my hand. He shuffles forward in his Spiderman pajamas and when he’s close enough, my hands lock under his armpits to hoist him onto my lap. I don’t even ask. My arm coils behind his back to secure my hold as I just move my other hand in front of him with my palm exposed expectedly. Tommy’s hand sways over to hover above mine as he slowly unfolds his fingers to reveal Xavier’s signet ring.
The anger, the burning anger doused by a deluge of despair that’s all too sobering. My hand still under Tommy, slides out and over with a tentative pinch to inspect the ring with his initials engraved in the gilded round face. A searing behind my eyes as my thumbs bends to graze the gold, a rush of memories flood my mind from when Xavier was small enough to fit on my lap.
"Papa."
Tommy’s small hands cup my face, turning it so I’m forced to meet his gaze. His wide eyes shimmer with unshed tears, his lip trembling as he holds back the flood.
"Crying is for crybabies," he says, parroting the mantra I’d carved into his impressionable mind. The words hit me like a sucker punch, not for their defiance, but for the revelation they carry—my mistake.
I taught my sons what it means to be a man—or at least, my flawed version of it. How to walk, talk, command respect, and crush opposition. I made Akio believe Xavier was an unloved rebel, reckless and estranged, when the truth couldn’t be further away. Xavier wasn’t the disappointment; he had the raw and unharnessed potential to surpass even me.