Alessandro Moretti adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt, exhaling slowly as he made his way downstairs.
The house was quiet—too quiet.
He stepped into the kitchen, expecting at least some life. Silence.
Then—
"Morning," Luca greeted without looking up from his newspaper.
Alessandro barely glanced at his eldest, who was already dressed in a dark suit, tie knotted perfectly, posture straight. Always so put together. Always so damn rigid.
Across from him, Adrian was stirring his coffee, still in his sleepwear but already scrolling through his phone like he was preparing to sue someone before breakfast.
"Where's Nico?" Alessandro asked, heading toward the coffee machine.
Adrian didn't even bother looking up. "Where do you think?"
Alessandro sighed. "Again?"
Luca flipped a page of the newspaper. "Left at ten. Didn't come back. Probably passed out at someone's place."
"Of course he did."
Alessandro ran a hand down his face, frustration simmering just beneath his skin. Nico. The baby of the family. The most spoiled, reckless, pain-in-the-ass child of the Moretti bloodline.
Before Alessandro could dwell on his youngest's terrible life choices, Dante stumbled into the kitchen, half-asleep, hair a mess, and looking like he had physically fought his alarm clock and lost.
He squinted at the room, then at the fridge, before groaning and dropping his head onto the kitchen island.
"Kill me," he muttered into the counter.
Adrian rolled his eyes. "Jesus, do you ever sleep like a normal person?"
Dante lifted his head slightly, eyes barely open. "Not with your loud ass pacing around at 2 AM, I don't."
"I was working."
"You were having a phone war with your paralegal about whatever-the-fuck case you're obsessed with this week."
"It's called 'defending our clients,' you dumbass."
"It's called 'annoying as shit.'"
Alessandro sighed, sipping his coffee. "Must we do this every morning?"
"Yes," both Dante and Adrian said at the same time.
Luca merely turned another page. "You get used to it."
Alessandro did not get used to it.
The Aftermath of Isabella
It had been eighteen years.
Eighteen years since Isabella had walked out that door. Since she had betrayed him, betrayed their family, betrayed their sons.
And yet, the impact never truly left.
Alessandro had tried his best—God, he had tried. He had poured every ounce of energy into raising his boys, making sure they had everything.
But he was only one man. And one man could not replace a mother.
Luca had been twelve when Isabella left. And instead of crying, instead of breaking, he had simply stepped up. He became the responsible one, the leader, the one who made sure everything was in order when Alessandro was drowning in work.
Adrian had been ten. And instead of feeling lost, he became obsessed with control. With fixing things. With keeping everyone together—even if that meant nagging, micromanaging, and mother-henning the entire damn family.
Dante had been seven. He had been angry. So fucking angry. He had never grown out of it. That temper—it still burned inside him, ready to explode at the slightest push.
And Nico?
Nico had been four.
He barely remembered Isabella. He only knew the aftermath—the tension, the wounds, the broken pieces of a family that tried to pretend it wasn't broken.
So he coped the way a spoiled, rich, emotionally neglected kid would. Parties. Alcohol. Running away from responsibility.
And Alessandro?
He did what he could. He never missed an important event.
Every school play, every parent-teacher meeting, every game, every graduation. He was there. Even when work demanded everything from him, even when the weight of single fatherhood nearly crushed him—he showed up.
But he knew, deep down, that no matter how much he tried, the damage was already done.
7:30 AM – The Problem Child Returns
Just as Alessandro was about to sit down, the front door slammed open.
Heavy footsteps. A loud yawn.
And then—
"Morning, fuckers," Nico greeted, stepping into the kitchen like he hadn't just disappeared all night.
His black t-shirt was wrinkled, his jeans still unbuttoned, and there was lipstick smudged on his jaw. His dark curls were a disaster, and he smelled like a combination of whiskey and expensive perfume.
Adrian looked up from his coffee, unimpressed. "You look like you crawled out of a brothel."
"Feels like it, too," Nico muttered, rubbing his neck as he flopped into a chair. "Someone get me coffee before I actually die."
Luca folded his newspaper, sighing. "Where were you?"
Nico smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Alessandro's patience was wearing thin.
"Nico," he said, voice sharp.
The smirk disappeared.
Alessandro fixed his youngest with a look. "Where. Were. You."
Nico exhaled, running a hand through his messy curls. "At a party. Relax, old man, I'm alive, aren't I?"
"That's not the point," Alessandro snapped. "You come and go as you please, and I let you. But disappearing the entire goddamn night? Do you even understand how irresponsible that is?"
Nico rolled his eyes. "Oh please, I texted Adrian."
All eyes turned to Adrian.
Adrian took a slow sip of coffee before saying, "He sent me a thumbs-up emoji at 1 AM. That's not a fucking update, Nico."
Nico shrugged. "I was alive at 1 AM. That counts for something."
Dante, still half-asleep, groaned. "Jesus Christ, someone kill him before I do."
Alessandro pinched the bridge of his nose.
This was his life. This was his every morning.
8:00 AM – Business As Usual
Eventually, everyone settled down.
Luca left first, heading to the company. Cold. Calculated. Always in control.
Adrian left next, muttering about court cases and idiots wasting his time.
Dante finished his coffee, still grumpy as hell, and disappeared upstairs to shower the exhaustion off.
Nico was still sprawled out in his chair, sunglasses now covering his eyes. "Someone wake me when it's noon."
Alessandro exhaled slowly.
This was his family.
A mess of responsibility, anger, control issues, and recklessness.
But they were his.
And he would protect them till his last breath.
Even from themselves.
A/N:
The Morettis are a fucking disaster but we love them anyway.
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