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Doflamingo stood at the bow of the Numancia Flamingo, hands gripping the railing.
The wood creaked under his fingers.
Vespa was behind him, mostly settled. What was left of the resistance had been handed off to the others because he no longer had the patience for it.
He needed to get back.
It had been a week since his last call. Day after day of listening to the Den Den Mushi ringing with no answer.
He had sent Baby 5. Then Gladius. Then his staff.
Nothing.
Rosinante was ignoring him.
The wood started to crack under his palms.
Petty.
Punishing Doflamingo's absence with absence of his own.
That was what this was. It had to be. Rosinante was furious about the four weeks turning into six. About the broken promises.
This had to be payback.
Because the alternative meant something had happened.
Which it could not have.
He would have been informed. The staff had confirmed it. Rosinante and Rosalia were in the room. They were fine.
Ridiculously petty.
Doflamingo released the railing. Splinters fell from his palms.
He looked up at the sky. The thick clouds hanging low on the horizon.
His strings shot out.
He pulled himself up and forward, feet leaving the deck, body cutting through the cold air.
He spotted a figure on the balcony of Rosinante's room.
A thin line of smoke curled upwards from the railing.
His eyes narrowed. For a moment he thought he had seen it wrong.
Rosinante was smoking.
Doflamingo's jaw clenched. His teeth ground together so hard his temples throbbed.
He knew Rosinante had been stressed. Unhappy about his departure.
But that did not give him the right to resume his rotten habit.
One sharp string shot out, slicing the cigarette and leaving only the filter between Rosinante's lips.
Rosinante’s head jerked up, eyes wide, body frozen in place as he searched the sky for what had struck him.
Doflamingo landed on the balcony with a heavy thud. His eyes went straight to the stub between Rosinante’s lips.
Without a word, he walked over to Rosinante.
He slapped Rosinante’s face hard enough to snap his head sideways. The loud crack echoed off the stone walls.
What remained of the cigarette flew out of Rosinante’s mouth and spun into the darkness.
Rosinante staggered sideways, grasping the railing for stability. His head remained turned to one side, refusing to look at Doflamingo.
"Have you lost your mind?"
Doflamingo's hand latched onto his jaw. Fingers digging in, forcing his head up.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, Rosinante."
The moonlight caught Rosinante's face.
Something twisted in Doflamingo's gut. Rosinante looked wrong. Hollow. His cheekbones too sharp. His skin a cold, sickly grey. His eyes swollen and bloodshot.
Doflamingo's brows furrowed. He glanced past Rosinante into the dark room.
His daughter was fine, sleeping peacefully.
Nothing was wrong.
"I'm speaking to you," Doflamingo said, facing Rosinante again. The twisting in his gut refused to settle but he shoved it down.
His grip tightened on Rosinante's jaw.
"You haven't answered a single one of my calls. Not one."
Rosinante's hand came up to pull Doflamingo's hand away.
"What were you so busy with that you couldn't answer the Den Den Mushi even once?" Doflamingo's voice rose. "Too busy smoking? Keep this filthy habit up and you'll lose the child."
Rosinante's hand stopped fighting.
"How dramatic," Doflamingo spat out. He released Rosinante's jaw and took a step back. "So I didn't call every day. So I was gone longer than I said I would be. That's why you're punishing me."
Rosinante's fingers curled into fists at his sides. His eyes fluttered shut.
"Punish me all you want." Doflamingo pointed a finger at Rosinante's stomach. "But don't punish the child. Where's the rest of the cigarettes?"
Rosinante's mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Doflamingo let out a short, humorless laugh.
"You got what you wanted, Rosinante. After your little fit, I'm back here now, aren't I?" He sneered. “Hurry up. Tell me where you’re hiding them.”
Rosinante still refused to look at him. He was trembling now.
"Like a brat throwing a tantrum," Doflamingo muttered, arms crossing over his chest.
He stepped closer.
"Rosinante," he said smoothly, smiling wide. "Lucky for you, you're carrying my child. I'm going to be very generous and assume this—" he gestured up and down at Rosinante, "—is hormones."
The tears fell.
Doflamingo watched the bob of Rosinante's throat as he swallowed back whatever he had wanted to say. His hand came up to wipe his own face.
"Well." Rosinante's voice was barely audible. "Lucky for you, I'm not pregnant."
His voice cracked at the last word.
The words hung in the air.
Doflamingo's smile didn't move. It stayed fixed on his face like it had been painted there.
Then the words started to register and the smile faded. Degree by degree, until there was nothing left of it.
“What?”
Rosinante took out the box from his pocket and lit another cigarette. He inhaled deep. The ember flared bright in the dark, illuminating more tears streaming down his face.
The reality of it hit Doflamingo.
His child was gone.
Doflamingo dropped to his knees.
"Rosinante," he whispered. "Tell me this is a joke."
His hands reached up blindly, fingers wrapping around Rosinante's thigh to anchor himself.
Rosinante flinched violently. A broken gasp tore from his lips as he tried to jerk away, but Doflamingo's fingers had already locked tight.
Doflamingo froze.
He felt it. The thickness beneath the fabric. Something bulky and stiff wrapped tight around his upper thigh.
He shoved the fabric of the trousers up.
Bandages. Thick, heavy bandages wrapped around Rosinante's thigh. The metallic stench of blood hit him.
Doflamingo's eyes snapped to Rosinante's face.
Rosinante was already looking down at him, tears still falling.
"I can't believe you," Rosinante choked out. "You only came back because I stopped picking up."
Doflamingo's lips remained shut.
Because it was true.
If Rosinante had kept answering the Den Den Mushi.
Had kept saying I'm fine.
Had kept saying I'm managing.
Doflamingo would still be in Vespa.
He rushed back home only because the silence scared him.
Rosinante's free hand moved to the back of his neck and unclipped his necklace.
He held it out and pressed it flat against Doflamingo's chest, fist against his sternum.
Then he opened his palm. The necklace fell.
Doflamingo caught it on instinct.
It was still dark when Doflamingo entered the meeting room.
Pica’s Army Officers were already assembled. Silently seated around the long table.
They knew Doflamingo would be back earlier than the ship.
Doflamingo pulled his chair back and sat down, gaze dragging from face to face.
How dare they.
How dare they not tell him.
His fingers twitched at his sides. The urge to reach across the table and wrap strings around their throats was so strong his hands shook.
But any violence towards his own Family would only do more harm now.
"Tell me what happened."
"It was seven days ago,” Gladius started, keeping his head low. “Corazon was in the palace garden with Lady Rosalia when an intruder appeared. He was identified as Laffitte."
He took a breath.
"Corazon was stabbed in the thigh. He was unable to defend himself as he was shielding Lady Rosalia behind him.”
“And where were you?”
“Close enough to hear him call for help. Too far to stop the attack.” Gladius swallowed nervously.
"How did the intruder bypass the guards?"
"His arms can transform into wings. He flew over the palace walls unnoticed," he replied, head still in a bow. "He’s formidable, Young Master. If Buffalo wasn’t there, he would have slipped right through my fingers."
"And where is this man?"
Buffalo spoke up. "He's chained up in the execution room. We knew you’d want to tear him apart yourself."
"Good," Doflamingo said. "That was the correct move."
He stood up. Pushed his chair back and looked as though he was about to leave.
Then his fists came down on the table.
The wood split clean down the middle. Papers flew. Glasses shattered against the floor.
Nobody dared to react.
“One last thing.”
Doflamingo straightened. He smiled, looking at every single one of them.
"Care to tell me why I was not informed?"
The room fell silent.
Baby 5's hand gripped the fabric of her dress. She glanced up once before looking back down.
"BABY 5."
Her bottom lip trembled.
"Cora-sa— Corazon gave an order," she replied shakily. "He said nobody was allowed to tell you. He has the highest rank—"
Doflamingo closed the distance before she could finish her sentence. He grabbed her by the front of her dress, lifting her small body clean out of the chair.
Baby 5’s feet kicked helplessly in the air.
"I'm your Captain. You—"
"Young—Young Master," Gladius stammered. "Baby 5 is not in the wrong."
Doflamingo's head whipped towards him, tilted sideways.
His eyes narrowed, daring him to continue.
Gladius looked away, fixing his eyes on the wall behind Doflamingo.
"This rule was created by you, Young Master. Whoever is left in the palace, the highest ranking officer makes the call. Their word is law until you return."
Doflamingo closed his eyes and drew a slow breath.
Gladius was right. He had made that rule.
He had made it so that palace operations could run smoothly when he was away.
So decisions could be made without waiting for Den Den Mushi calls that might not connect.
Not so his Family could hide his own brother's suffering from him.
Doflamingo opened his eyes and set Baby 5 down.
Her dress was crumpled and twisted where his hand had been. She stumbled back, gripping the edge of the broken table for balance.
He looked around the room once more.
"Get out."
The execution door swung open to reveal Laffitte in the chair. Wrists bolted down by heavy seastone handcuffs.
He looked up when Doflamingo entered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his bruised lips.
Doflamingo closed the door and crossed the room, stopping a few feet away from Laffitte.
"You know who I am," Doflamingo said, a wide smile spreading across his face.
He started walking a slow circle around the chair.
"Everyone knows who you are," Laffitte replied smoothly.
Doflamingo came back around to the front and stopped.
"You wanted to send me a message."
"I did," Laffitte said, grinning. "Umit's deal was mine and you took it from my hands. So I had to take something from yours.” He paused. "You’re not untouchable, Doflamingo. And neither are your men."
"My men," Doflamingo repeated.
"The tall one with the baby."
Laffitte chuckled softly to himself.
“I wonder if he’ll ever be able to walk straight again. Poor thing. He had quite the pretty face too.”
The room went very still.
The smile on Doflamingo's face twitched before the laughter came.
"FUFFUFFUFFUFFU." Doflamingo laughed, throwing his head back. The sound was so loud that the stone walls vibrated, pebbles rattling loose from the ceiling.
The strings burst out of Doflamingo's fingers in every direction at once.
Coiling around Laffitte's ankles and biting into his throat, threading around the chair and wrapping around his chest.
Laffitte gasped, straining against the strings.
Doflamingo crouched down in front of him.
"Pretty?" The veins in Doflamingo’s temples were throbbing. "How dare you lay eyes on what's mine."
Laffitte said nothing. Couldn't say anything. The strings at his throat barely allowed breathing.
His brows furrowed. He knew Doflamingo was a monster, yes. But this reaction was far too personal for just another subordinate.
"Let me show you something," Doflamingo said, stepping back.
New strings appeared. Finer. Almost invisible in the dim light. Threading through the gaps between the existing ones.
Laffitte's eyes went wide.
These strings weren't restraining him. They went inside the restraint. Inside skin. Working between muscle and tendon, threading deeper and deeper.
Until they reached bone.
"My strings are very precise," he said, conversational. "Most people don't know how precise." He walked behind Laffitte, resting his hand on his shoulder. "They can find things. Specific things. Ligaments. Tendons. Anything I want them to find."
He tilted his head forward, looking down on Laffitte, his grin spreading wider.
"Do you know how many bones there are in the human body?"
A choked sound squeezed out of Laffitte’s throat. Beads of sweat started to trickle down his face.
"Two hundred and six," Doflamingo said. "Give or take."
The strings tightened, starting in Laffitte's toes.
A sharp, wet crack. Then another. Then another. Each toe breaking at the joint, the small bones splintering inward, the sound muffled by his shoes.
Laffitte screamed.
A jagged noise tore from deep within him as his body registered what was happening.
The strings moved upward towards the ankles.
Each bone snapped in sequence. A slow but steady rhythm.
Laffitte's feet twisted at angles no feet were ever meant to go.
Dark red stains spread through the bottom of his trousers where the broken bones had punctured skin from the inside.
Doflamingo watched, hands behind his back.
"You had quite the nerve, stepping into my palace."
His smile remained.
"You looked at my brother. You dared to put a blade in him while he was holding our daughter."
His brother? Their daughter?
For a fraction of a second, the agony in Laffitte's eyes was swallowed by a cold wave of revulsion.
The sick, twisted reality of what Doflamingo was saying made his stomach turn far worse than the blinding pain in his feet.
Laffitte knew then that he was a dead man.
The strings reached his shins, both snapping simultaneously.
"And you have the audacity to call him pretty."
His kneecaps shattered. Laffitte's body jerked violently in the chair. The strings were the only thing keeping him upright.
The strings climbed higher.
Laffitte’s lower body was a ruin. Shapeless and hanging in the chair.
"He lost something because of you," Doflamingo said softly. "Something that was mine."
Laffitte's vision was barely focused. Tears and snot and saliva running down his face. His head lolled forward, chin hitting his chest.
Doflamingo grabbed him by the hair to pull his head back.
"He was pregnant."
Laffitte went completely still.
Even through the agony and the haze of pain that had consumed everything else, he understood now.
"That's right," Doflamingo said. "My child was in his body. And you put a knife in his flesh and bled it out of him."
Fresh strings darted forward, threading into the handcuffs and picking them open with a series of quiet clicks.
The strings in his hands shifted, no longer breaking bone.
Then, Laffitte’s arms began to rise. His hands moved on their own, dragging his fingers toward his own throat.
His eyes blew wide with horror as he fought frantically against his own muscles.
It was useless.
Doflamingo’s strings were stronger.
Laffitte’s hands wrapped around his throat. His fingers digging into the sides of his neck, pressing against his windpipe.
The strings pulled tight and his hands squeezed.
His face went red. Then purple. Then blue.
Doflamingo gripped his chin, holding him still.
Watching as the life drained from his eyes.
Glazing over slowly until they stared into nothing.
Dr. Tegata was pressing the cold metal bell against his patient's back, counting the rhythm, when the door slammed open and rattled in its frame.
He didn't need to turn around to know who would cause an interruption like this.
Doflamingo was standing there, chest heaving. His jaw was locked tight, the crease between his brows deepening with every second the patient remained in the room.
Dr. Tegata looked at him and stepped back from the examination table.
The man, lying on his stomach, shifted restlessly at the abrupt halt.
He craned his neck around and saw his King. The blood drained from his face as he scrambled off the table.
He bowed low, greeting Doflamingo before snatching his shirt and scurrying out into the corridor.
Doflamingo crossed the room and dropped into the chair across from Dr. Tegata's desk. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. He buried his face in his palms.
"You'd better have a good explanation, Tegata."
Dr. Tegata closed the door quietly. He walked towards his cabinet, unlocked it, and pulled out a file.
He placed it down in front of Doflamingo and sat in his chair.
"I believe this is what you are here for, Your Majesty."
Doflamingo lifted his head. His fingers reached out to pick up the top page.
Three weeks.
C-section scar healing appropriately. Scar tissue remains tender.
Patient had been advised to increase food intake, reduce physical exertion and avoid all sources of stress.
High-risk pregnancy due to tissue fragility.
"No stress."
He remembered the way Rosinante looked at him. The small smile on his lips and the tears in his eyes as he looked up at Doflamingo and parroted Dr. Tegata's warning.
Doflamingo had grinned back at him.
He knew stress was inevitable in their world. But right then, looking down at his brother, he had silently made a promise to himself.
He knew how miserable Rosinante had been during his first pregnancy. He wanted the second one to be different.
He set the paper down and reached for the next one.
Five weeks.
Noticeable weight loss. Elevated pulse attributed to psychological distress.
Patient again advised to increase food intake and minimise stress and anxiety. Patient had been reminded that extreme stress will induce miscarriage.
Then his eyes caught the next line.
Cardiac activity detected. Fetal heartbeat confirmed.
He read the line again.
A heartbeat. His baby had a heartbeat.
He had heard the same news from Dr. Tegata over the Den Den Mushi weeks ago.
Seeing it written in an official record hit him like a blow to his chest.
It wasn't abstract anymore. His child had a heartbeat. A life that he had failed to protect.
He swallowed the bitterness in his throat and reached for the next one.
Six weeks.
Patient's weight improved slightly. Resting pulse lowered but remains above the normal range. Patient reports decreased nausea and improved appetite.
Fetal heartbeat strong. Cardiac rhythm regular.
The next sheet.
Seven weeks.
Patient's weight improved noticeably. Resting pulse is within normal parameters. Patient reports minimal nausea and healthy appetite.
Fetal cardiac activity is progressing on schedule.
Doflamingo stared at the two reports. His eyes burned into the dates at the top of the pages.
This was when he called every day.
Rosinante's condition had improved simply from hearing Doflamingo's voice.
He hadn't realised. Hadn't even entertained the thought that just a few precious minutes on the Den Den Mushi could make such a difference.
If he had known, he would have called more.
Ten times a day if he had to. Every chance he got.
Every spare second, if it meant keeping Rosinante healthy.
Foolish. He was an absolute idiot.
He had been so convinced Rosinante was merely lonely.
His trembling fingers picked up the final paper.
Eight weeks.
Fetal cardiac activity no longer detected.
Second rhythm no longer present.
Findings are consistent with fetal demise.
Penetrating stab wound to the left thigh with laceration of the femoral vein, resulting in massive hemorrhage.
Fetal demise is most likely attributable to severe physiological trauma, hypovolemic shock, and the resulting blood loss.
The paper slipped from his numb fingers. It drifted off the edge of the table and dropped onto the floor.
Doflamingo stared at his own hands. They were shaking. Uncontrollable tremors running all the way from his elbows down to his fingertips.
He pressed his hands flat against the top of his thighs, forcing them still.
"Why didn't you inform me?" His voice was raw. Barely there. Stripped of everything that made it sound like a King.
"Rosinante gave a direct order, Your Majesty."
Dr. Tegata's face remained carefully composed.
"My priority was keeping him alive." He paused before continuing. "Rosinante—he is entirely incapable of enduring further emotional agitation in his current state."
Doflamingo's hands curled into fists. His knuckles turned white.
"How—" He stopped, his throat closing up. "How is he?"
Dr. Tegata reached for the briefcase beside his desk and pulled out the latest medical report.
He slid it across the table.
Doflamingo's fingers refused to move. He forced them to pick up the paper and turn the page.
Follow-up examination.
Five days post-fetal demise.
All remaining fetal tissue successfully expelled. No signs of retained fetal matter.
Thigh laceration exhibits severe inflammation and tissue degradation. Stitches torn. Surrounding tissue bruised with active discharge.
Patient presents with signs of severe physical and emotional exhaustion. Significant weight loss along with alarmingly elevated resting pulse.
Patient's wound disinfected and restitched.
Doflamingo felt the room tilting. He pressed his fingers hard against the bridge of his nose.
"Expelled?" he rasped. His fingers tightened, crumpling the edges of the paper. "What did you give him?"
"I administered a pill," Dr. Tegata said, taking the report from Doflamingo. "It was necessary. Without intervention, the tissue would have decomposed internally. It would have caused severe infections and ultimately killed him."
Doflamingo closed his eyes. His blood ran cold at the thought of Rosinante dying.
"And how—" His voice cracked. "How was it expelled?"
"Upon consuming the pill, Rosinante's body would slowly break down what was left of the pregnancy," Dr. Tegata explained. "Over the course of a few days, his body flushed out the tissue as waste."
Dr. Tegata took one look at his pale face and poured a glass of water, placing it near Doflamingo's hand.
Doflamingo couldn't move.
As waste.
His child. His bloodline. As waste.
"It is a very painful process," Dr. Tegata added. "Physically and especially emotionally."
He bent down and retrieved the report that had fallen earlier, stacking the papers into a pile. He slid them back into the file.
"He needs support, Your Majesty." Dr. Tegata coughed into his hand. "It is best not to leave him alone."
Doflamingo slowly raised his forehead from the desk.
The necklace sat heavy in his palm. The purple stone warm from his grip.
He wanted to stand up. Wanted to tear the palace apart. Punch holes through the walls. Break every piece of furniture until there was nothing left around him but splintered wood and dust.
He didn't have the energy for it.
His fingers closed tightly around the pendant.
Just days ago he had been thousands of miles away in Vespa. Angrily calling and assuming Rosinante was being petty when he was hurt and bleeding.
Rosinante, who had been carrying his child.
His child. The life he had put there.
Doflamingo's bloodshot eyes moved across the room.
He had noticed the crumpled sheets the moment he stepped in.
Rosinante had slept here.
He had been in such agonising pain that he couldn't even stay in his own room, beside their daughter.
He had let his brother bleed out their child alone.
Doflamingo stood up and went to his alcohol cabinet.
He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and snapped the cork off.
He tilted his head back and drank.
A quarter of the bottle was gone in a single swallow, burning his throat.
He returned to the desk and dropped into the chair.
Another swig.
He knew his part in this.
He had been so consumed by the situation in Vespa that he couldn't think straight.
Why had he signed contracts on deals he had stolen from other pirates? Deals that were almost guaranteed to draw blood in retaliation.
And he had done it while he was away, leaving his pregnant brother and their baby daughter behind.
Yes. Pica’s Army Officers had stayed behind. Stationed in the palace specially because of Rosinante.
Deep down, he knew it would never have been enough.
It wasn't his first day as a pirate. He knew better than anyone how filthy the Underworld got.
How fast a stolen deal could turn into a knife in someone's back.
Except the knife hadn't gone in his back.
It had gone in Rosinante's flesh instead. And it had killed his unborn child.
Doflamingo stared at the necklace resting in his palm.
He had stained his family with his insatiable greed. His ambition to be the greatest. His need to take and take and take until there was nothing left for anyone else to grab.
He had stolen Laffitte’s deal. And Laffitte had stolen his child.
“An eye for a fucking eye,” he muttered bitterly into the silent room.
Another swig. The bottle was half empty now.
He traced the smooth purple stone.
He knew that he shouldn’t be sitting in his room drowning himself in liquor. He should be with Rosinante.
Rosinante needed support, just as Tegata had said.
But Doflamingo had never known how to be that.
Supportive. Soft.
He had no concept of how to love gently.
Another swig.
How could he look Rosinante in the eye knowing he was the reason their child was gone?
A sudden pain flared behind his sternum. Like a hand reaching into his ribcage and squeezing the life out of his heart.
He dropped the bottle onto the table and gripped his chest, gasping for air.
It physically hurt. Like the organ itself was being crushed slowly.
He had never felt anything like this before.
The closest he had ever come was when he had returned to the alley as a child and found his brother gone.
The second was when he had realised Rosinante was a marine and had been working for Sengoku for two long years.
But both of those times, he had found someone else to blame.
His father. The Celestial Dragons. Sengoku. The world that had cruelly taken Rosinante away from him.
This time there was no one else.
This was his fault.
He had chosen Vespa. He had chosen to stay. Week after week. Even as Rosinante kept asking him to come home.
And the very first thing he did when he came home was to strike his brother across the cheek.
As if Rosinante hadn’t already been hurt enough.
Two bottles were empty by the time Doflamingo gathered the courage to find him.
He walked down the corridor and stopped at the doorway.
The door was wide open.
Inside, two servants were changing Rosinante’s bedding, stripping off sheets that were stained a dark red.
Rosinante was in the chair. Rosalia was standing on his lap, bouncing slightly.
It had to hurt. Doflamingo could tell from the stiffness in Rosinante’s posture. Yet Rosinante had the softest smile on his face as he looked at his giggling daughter.
"Young Master," the servants stammered, bowing low the moment they noticed him.
Rosinante’s eyes flicked to Doflamingo for a split second before returning to Rosalia. Like he simply didn't exist.
Rosalia turned her head at the greetings, letting out a loud, delighted screech when she recognised her father.
She bounced harder and Rosinante couldn’t hide the wince this time.
Doflamingo remained standing at the door, unable to take a single step forward.
The servants looked back and forth between them. Suffocating under the tense atmosphere.
They smoothed the linens and quickly left after dusting the new sheets.
"Why are you here?" Rosinante asked, rubbing his thigh to ease the ache.
"I came to see—" Doflamingo looked at Rosinante, who kept his gaze fixed on Rosalia. "My daughter."
Rosinante held Rosalia to his chest and stood up, placing her on the mat.
"I'll be back in an hour," Rosinante said, limping past Doflamingo. “Be careful with her. You’re drunk.”
As he turned, the light caught the dark, blooming handprint on Rosinante's cheek.
Doflamingo sank slowly to the floor.
Rosalia immediately began crawling towards him with the biggest smile on her face.
A hot tear slipped out and he wiped it away with the back of his hand before it could reach his cheek.
Right. His daughter could crawl now.
She crawled into his lap and Doflamingo held her up high, looking at her from below.
She had grown so much heavier. Her hair had grown longer and curlier.
Rosalia squealed loudly, kicking her feet excitedly.
That was when he saw them.
He brought her closer.
Too close. She fussed slightly and pushed at his face with her small hands.
Two lower teeth. Tiny and new.
Doflamingo stared at them, his vision blurring.
He couldn't hold it in this time. He held her tight against his chest and pressed his wet face into his palm.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
The words tasted unnatural. Foreign on his tongue.
Doflamingo had never said them once in his entire life. He thought he would die before ever uttering such nonsense.
He didn’t even know who he was apologising to.
He didn't know if he was saying them to the daughter in his arms, whose milestones he always seemed to miss.
To the unborn child he had failed to protect.
Or to the brother who was so hurt he couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as him.