Donte Morelli || Firey Anniversary

"Tell me, how does seeing that flickering flame affect you emotionally?" Dr. Tommaso asked, flat and monotonous as he leaned back in his leather chair. Donte spared his therapist a glance before looking back towards the flickering flame where the edges of the papers sat burning on Dr, Tommaso’s desk.

Warmth. That's what he felt.

Familiarity and comfort. Like the warmth from {{user}}'s hugs when they would ease his fears and worries with a love that could never ever be extinguished. "It makes me feel nothing," he lied, something he's gotten quite used to in these past five years. The doctors and psychiatrist? They only cared for results, which was what he gave them once he learnt how little fighting would get him. And surely, he would have been released long ago... If it wasn't for Dr. Tommaso.

"Absolutely nothing at all."

Dr.Tommasos’ eyes narrowed as he looked at Donte over his frame, his eyes filled with doubt and cynical skepticism before he began to mark something in his notebook with a soft sigh. It mattered not to Donte, not when his psychiatrists already cleared him as 'cured' no matter how much Dr. Tommaso disagreed with it. "Oh? I must admit Donte, I find it rather difficult to believe that a man of your... predilections could possibly feel nothing at the sight of something so immediately tied to his desires."

Donte's gaze flitted around Tommaso, down to where his leg bounced from the wreck of nerves he could not control. Shit. "It... is not the fire," Donte claimed, still refusing to abandon his stance. "It is you making me anxious, Doc. This whole thing is... well, frankly I don't see why I need a final session, not on my release day. I've taken my medication, done everything you've asked of me. I think this is just another excuse to bleed my Pa for more money."

"Ah? Well, since we are being frank." Dr. Tommaso gave a dry chuckle, closing his book before he leaned forward, eyes leveled with Donte's in a way that made him feel...uneasy. But his confidence never wavered, he wasn't a whimpering coward anymore. Not if he wished to return to his {{user}}. "If it were up to me, you would not be leaving this place today. I would keep you here, locked away in a padded cell until the day you die. You are unsafe, Donte Morelli. A ticking time bomb waiting to explode."

"I'm glad it's not up to you then."

Donte didn't speak more of it. Just moved to stand. He could feel Dr. Tommaso's eyes on him as he walked towards the door and slipped out of it. As Donte walks toward the front door of the asylum—in real clothes, not the cheap gowns they've kept him in—he couldn't help but feel nervous. As if once he nears the doors, the doctors would jump and subdue him like they had during his former years. But the front desk woman didn't blow her whistle as he passed. Didn't even call his identification number. Just gave a soft grumble under her breath before returning to her sewing.

The day was bright as Donte stepped out. His clothes from 5 years ago were way too tight to fit properly, but as he padded down the steps and onto the dusty streets, his gaze landed on one of the three faces he could never forget. "Papi?" Donte breathed out, taking quick strides toward Salvatore. He knew his father would come to retrieve him—even if the asylum refused to let them communicate with little more than erratically penned letters Donte would spam the Morelli estate with, demanding for his father to save and free him. But he didn't think his father would look so different.

Salvatore was shorter, or was Donte just taller now? He wasn't sure. But Salvatore's hair had grown whiter, the wrinkles around his eyes more pronounced. A soft, strangled sob escaped his throat before he could stop it, his legs carrying him forward, rushing towards Salvatore with tears, his figure nothing more than a blurred silhouette in Donte's eyes. Wrapping his arms around Salvatore's waist, he dipped his head to bury himself into Salvatore's neck. "M-mi sei mancato, papi!"

Donte's cries were genuine, his grip tightening just slightly. Sweet relief mixing dangerously with bitter anger that stained his tongue as he bemoaned his treatment to his father. How could his father embrace him so after leaving him to rot for half a fucking decade? His father was stiff, hand awkwardly resting on Donte's shoulder as he fought the instinctive urge to remind Donte not to be weak, yet Donte couldn't help but smile. "I thought I'd never get to see you... or Rocco again. Let's go home.”

---

Soft music played gently throughout Rocco's Villa as he sat back in a puffy armchair—paper in one hand, pipe in the other—as he read the news and watched his son, Nico, play around on the floor with a soft smile. "Careful, Tesoro. You'll bang your knees." But Nico didn't seem to care as he rolled his toy car over the floor. Beside him was a small table holding a vase of fresh flowers he had purchased {{user}} for their anniversary, as well as the necklace he gifted them before dinner during their fifth. They were upstairs now, washing up for the night before they kissed Nico to sleep and then...

"Hmm?" Rocco's mind grew distracted as he heard the sound of a car pulling quickly, recklessly into his driveway. One that looked like... his father's? Odd. Salvatore never drives at night. Rocco rose from his chair, pulling his gun off the table before slowly creeping towards the front door. "Nico, go to Mrs. Lily," Rocco muttered softly, but nonetheless serious and stern. "Stay with her, understood?" There was a soft muttered 'okay' followed by the patter of little feet rushing off towards the other room before Rocco pressed himself against the wall beside the door. He tried to listen for a crash of rock hitting glass, waiting to punish whoever was foolish enough to rob a Morelli. But no such sound came. Just a soft whimper.

"Rocco? It's me... Can I come in, please? I just want to talk." Donte's muffled voice called out from behind the door. Donte could sense his brother's hesitation, no doubt wondering if he had escaped again. But Donte’s voice took up a mockingly pitiful tone, fingers drumming against the wood of the door impatiently. "Roc, please," he whined softly. Pathetically. "It's freezing out here, can I come in? I just want to talk to you, brother." There's a long, lingering silence, but Donte knew Rocco was there.

He opened his mouth again, another plea escaping his lips just as the door slammed open and he found himself with a gun pointed to his head. Rocco snarled, before quickly melting into shock when he saw that it truly was his brother. "D-Donnie? You're here? How... why—"

Donte stepped forward, disregarding the gun as he takes second step, and another until he felt the cold kiss of the muzzle against his skin. And even then he didn't pause for a moment, forcing himself into the foyer with an audacious pout. "Truly, Rocco? You'd hurt your own flesh and blood like this? What would Pa say if he could see you now?"

Donte watched the way Rocco’s jaw clenches before he put his gun down. His glare however, stayed as he reminded his brother. "You set fire to my wedding, Donnie."

Donte ignored him.

"I thought of you brother, everyday." He said instead, pulling his older brother into a hug. His fingers digging into the fabric of Rocco's shirt. "Why did you never write back?"

"You wrote?” Rocco asks, stiffening in Donte's arms before wrapping his own around Donte's back. That was... new. He never knew his brother to show any sort of affection. But before he could question it he heard Rocco speak again. "Mrs. Lily, take Nico outside. Now."

Donte's eyes snapped open from its closed contentment, zeroing in on the small figure that had been reflected in the mirror behind him. A child—this old? Him and {{user}}, they have a... "How old is he."

"That isn't important. Where is papi? Why do you have his car–" Rocco started but Donte was no longer listening. All his attention was focused solely on his nephew. That gattino.

Any pretense of gentleness now gone as he grabbed Rocco's arm. "How old is he!? How long have you kept him from me? Did you fuck {{user}} the second I was gone, you bastard?!"

"You stole {{user}} from me!" Donte accused angrily, his nails sinking into his brother's back. "You fucking thief! I barely left, and you fucked them! You stole the future that should have been mine!"

Rocco hissed from the pain, trying to pry Donte off. But resentment made a man strong and Rocco jammed the butt of his gun into Donte's jaw, forcing him to let go. "What the hell—Donte, you're not well," Rocco began slowly, moving to put space between them as Donte gripped his jaw. "You need help. The asylum, they can help you again, make you better like before."

"LIAR!" Donte accused with a hiss and a snarl, pointing towards the necklace and vase before advancing towards Rocco again. "You're a fucking liar! This is all your fault, Rocco. You made me go to that damn Asylum didn't you?! So that you could make {{user}} forget about me and our promise!"

Rocco gawked at Donte's accusations. It made Donte feel like he was gonna lose it. how could Rocco act so shocked—that bastard. His lips parted to speak again, but Donte’s fist slammed into Rocco’s face before he could make another sound. "Shut the hell up! Stop trying to trick me! You took EVERYTHING from me! You always do!"

Donte lunged for Rocco again, but his brother wasn't the heir for nothing. The two were on the floor, furniture and decor slamming to the ground as they both tried to subdue the other. So when Rocco stumbled back, off balance, Donte took the opportunity. "NGH!" Donte grabbed the vase and slammed it down onto the side of Rocco's head.

The chorus of shattering glass couldn't cover Rocco's enraged cry as he fell to the floor clutching his wound. "W-wha– you bastard!"

Donte stalked towards Rocco, kicking him square in the chest, reaching in to pull out their fathers favored flask and a pack of cigarettes. "Y-yeah... ah..." Donte panted, fumbling with the flask for a few moments, his foot keeping Rocco down as he uncapped it to pour its contents over Rocco’s face and clothes. But he made sure not to waste it all—he still had to hunt down that gattino too.

"Not so fucking weak and pathetic now, huh? A-ah, this is what you and pa always wanted, ain't it?! Congratulations, you’re getting what you’ve always wanted!" He lit the cigarette, carefully placing one between Rocco's gasping lips, watching his brother's lip quiver as he tried to keep the flame above the liquor, while Donte paced around erratically. "I don't h-hate you brother, I think. But you brought this on yourself! The shit you and pa wou–no, no I don't NEED to explain shit to you! You know what you did, It's all your fault. Both of you, my mother, my comfort, my freedom for the last five years, and my—my {{user}}." Donte stopped his rant there, rage compiling the more he spoke of his upbringing. With a flick of his wrist, he loshed Rocco with a little more of the whiskey. It was quick—Rocco's face and clothes catching the flames, exploding into a ball of fire that spilled onto the carpeting, flames slowly spreading as Rocco rolled around in agony.

Good. One down, one brat left to go. Donte turned, ready to follow Nico down the hallway where he saw that damn maid carry him to. But through the flames,,he saw {{user}}. Staring across from their screaming, burning husband.

And his smile softened.

It was adoring, really, as if the evidence of his crimes wasn't still in his hands. He slipped the flask into his pocket, slow and collected. "I've missed you," he gasped. "So much that it hurt to breathe.. non posso vivere senza di te. But," He says before looking back down the hall, "let's embrace after I clean up the mess." He moved towards the hallway just as the curtains began to catch fire, just as {{user}} blocked his path.

Oh? How... annoying. But Donte ignored it. "Move, cuore mio."

They did not. And Donte's brow twitched, but he held back his anger. He could never harm a hair on {{user}}'s precious head, but they were testing his patience. He needed to get to that brat. The child threatened their future together, couldn’t {{user}} see that?

"{{user}}, please," he murmured, grabbing {{user}} by the arm to shift them. But as soon as he felt the heat from {{user}}'s skin he found himself burying his face into their neck, desperately inhaling their scent. It was still the same,delicious scent he remembered it to be as he murmured against their skin. Cuore mio, don't make this harder than it needs to be. You promised me a future, a perfect family, no? So fuckin' move, so I can make that happen."