Sometimes, you can't fully understand some of your parents' choices until you become a parent yourself.
As he got home late in the evening, Alessio found Pietro and Giulia reading something.
"What do you have there, figli?" he asked as he hung his coat on the rack.
To his surprise, they were looking through a photo album. And the photos inside weren't of them or Bianca. They were of Mother, Cecilia, himself, and…
Alessio's heart skipped a beat. How had they found that one? Giulia shifted slightly to the side, giving Alessio space to sit between them.
"Papa, who are these people? Why am I in these photos? I don't recall taking them."
"That's not you, Pietro. It's me when I was your age," he clarified with a chuckle. "This album is your Nonna's." Giulia pulled on Alessio's sleeve and pointed at Cecilia's far younger self in one of the photos. "Yes, bambina. That's your zia Cecilia when she was a child. See the pretty lady she's with? That's Nonna."
Pietro's jaw dropped. "Really? Wow, she was beautiful."
"Hey, hey. She's still beautiful, figlio."
His son looked down at the grown male shark demon in the photos, eyes widening in realization. "Does that mean…?"
Alessio took a deep breath. "Yes, Pietro. That's my father. Your Nonno Bruno."
"For a moment, I thought it was you."
Alessio couldn't blame his son for the mistake. He'd heard from many people that he was the spitting image of his father, just like Pietro was his.
The consigliere found himself looking through the old photo album. He'd been reluctant at first, not wanting to reopen old wounds. Soon, though, he found himself enjoying the memories it brought, Some of them, at least. In particular, his stomach churned as they saw some photos of Cecilia and Garet, their mutual childhood friend and GaGarret's late father. He was present in most of their family pictures, given he was pretty much part of it.
"How was Nonno like, papa?"
"In short, he was quite gruff but kind-hearted. He… He never took shit from anyone…." Alessio hesitated. "Sometimes, he… He'd drink a little too much. When that happened, he got a little violent…" he read the look on his children's faces. "Don't take me wrong, figli. He never lay a hand on Nonna, Cecilia, or me. Instead, he'd pick a pick with outsiders. I remember Mother had to go pick him up from the police station a few times. She'd give him a big scolding when they came home.
"You see, back when I was a child, our family lived in a small house in Toothfin Cove. It's a port town not far from Notamafia. Father had to work long hours in the nearby chop shop factory to bring food to the table. Sometimes, he and the other workers were forced to stay overnight when the quote for the day wasn't met. Under those circumstances, he… Well, he occasionally needed to vent. He was aware of how he got whenever he drank a little too much. He never did it at home."
"What happened to Nonno?"
Alessio stiffened. He remembered asking Mother the very same thing one night when he found her crying in the kitchen. Father hadn't been home for a week. He had the feeling that something was wrong.
"Mamma? Where's Pop?"
"Oh, figlio… Your father, h-he…"
"...He died in an accident at his workplace," he whispered sadly.
His stomach sank. He'd been angry at Mother for concealing the true circumstances of Pop's death, but now that he was a father himself… Now that he has his own secrets to keep for his children's safety… He understood why she did it.
The doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of the pizza he'd ordered for dinner.