Chapter Text
December 1859
Winter had settled harshly upon Virginia. The Salvatore estate lay buried beneath a thick shroud of snow, its grounds silent beneath the biting cold. Within the manor, however, the foyer greeted its occupants with a welcome warmth, the flicker of the hearth casting amber light across the dim drawing room.
Giuseppe Salvatore stood beside the fireplace, a glass of bourbon in hand, awaiting his sons. At the sound of a discreet throat being cleared, he turned. His eldest, Damon Salvatore, had entered.
"You sent for me, Father?" Damon asked, his tone poised, cool, and detached.
"I sent for both of my sons, Damon," Giuseppe replied, narrowing his eyes. "Where is your brother?" His voice carried the expectation that Damon ought always to know the whereabouts of Stefan.
Damon drew a breath. "Stefan is-"
A voice interrupted him. "Right here."
Stefan Salvatore stepped inside, the youngest son, and in their father's eyes, unmistakably the favoured. Giuseppe regarded him with thinly veiled displeasure.
"When I summon my sons, I expect them to arrive together," he said sharply, setting his glass upon the table with a dull thud before turning fully toward them, giving them his complete attention.
Stefan lowered his gaze, exhaling softly. "I beg your pardon, Father. It shall not happen again."
Giuseppe gave a curt nod.
"I have heard," he continued, "that the Gilberts have taken in a young lady. Her family perished in a fire at their estate. She alone survived."
Damon's brows rose slightly. He placed a hand over his heart. "Poor child. I cannot fathom what she must endure."
"She is French - of the Dumont family. Wealthy. Considerable land holdings." Giuseppe's tone sharpened with interest. "The Gilberts are hosting a ball to present her to the community."
Stefan frowned, failing to see the purpose of this information.
"Forgive me, Father, but I do not understand what you are implying."
Giuseppe released a weary sigh. "Use your wits, boy. There shall be a ball. Therefore"-his gaze fixed sternly upon Stefan-"you will conduct yourself as a gentleman. No foolishness, no disappearing acts. You are a Salvatore. Behave as such. I will not tolerate another incident like the last. Is that understood?"
Stefan felt smaller than ever beneath his father's reprimand. All he wanted was to make him proud.
"Yes, Father," he murmured.
"Good." Giuseppe waved him off. "Run along now. I must speak with your brother alone."
Damon waited until Stefan had gone before he spoke, cautiously.
"You are too hard on him, Father. He is but a child. He only wishes to enjoy himself with boys his own age."
Giuseppe scoffed. "He is my son - not the son of a common man. He, like you, carries the Salvatore name. That name demands dignity. Discipline. I know what is best for him. Do not presume to question my authority, Damon. It is I who raised you. Remember your place."
Damon pressed his lips together, swallowing the sharp retort that burned on his tongue.
Giuseppe's mouth curled into a thin, satisfied smile at his son's restraint.
"I want you to make the young lady's acquaintance. Introduce yourself. Be cordial. Court her, if you must. With her fortune, our family's standing will only rise." He poured himself another measure of bourbon. "I am counting on you. This is your opportunity to prove you are not a disappointment to the Salvatore name."
Damon merely inclined his head and departed.
Once outside the study, Damon clenched his fists, rage simmering beneath his composed exterior. Of course, their father wished only for them to carry out his will. Wealth and fear - those were the only currencies Giuseppe Salvatore valued.
It did not matter that Damon was still attempting to rebuild himself after returning from the war - that sleep rarely claimed him for more than a few hours before the nightmares returned, leaving him frayed and hollow.
It did not matter that Stefan was merely twelve, a child who ought to be free to laugh, to play, to enjoy boyhood.
It did not matter that Damon walked through each day held together by little more than stubbornness and duty.
And it certainly did not matter that Stefan longed for a father who might, for once, look upon his youngest son with affection instead of expectation.
None of it mattered, not to Giuseppe Salvatore.