A/N: I'm sorry if I made him sound like a whiny girl. You may bash/flame me for that. Orz

As usual, point out mistakes I missed/made, ConCrit is appreciated.

Disclaimer: KHR belongs to Amano Akira!

Honourable father,

Let me start off this letter by saying that I respect you. Being the ninth head of the Vongola Famiglia for half a century and dealing with all the problems that cropped up to efficiently maintain the smooth running of our famiglia is fairly impressive. Considering our rank and size compared to the number of other families that oppose – or would betray – us, the mere fact that you managed to keep Vongola clearly at the the top during your reign is enough proof of your capability.

A lesser man would have caused our downfall by now.

Of course, other than a ruthless Mafiosi, you have many other sides to you. Such as that of a close friend, who would joke and laugh with your subordinates, watch soccer matches and shout at the teams together, attend another's wedding and so much more. Or that of a doting father, who would take your sons out fishing on a quiet Saturday morning, indulge in their whims of owning expensive toys, and dole out praise where it was due. And, occasionally, the burdened man with bloodshot eyes that locked himself in his office when there was a new crisis, and had to send men out to resolve the conflict. All your sons and close associates have heard you mumbling to yourself in that room at least once, in a tired and weary tone of voice.

But perhaps the best would be that part of you, who is excessively soft-hearted, and takes mercy on misguided humans, trying your best to lead them back on the right path. That is a factor in why our famiglia always had so many cases of foolish cheats who overstepped their boundaries; because they heard of Timoteo's kind-heartedness. They knew that they wouldn't be punished too heavily for their crimes, and broke the rules. When you caught them, you let them off too easily. Putting them aside, let's get to my case, shall we?

During that party the other day, I broke into one of your personal rooms. Teenage curiosity isn't easy to control, you see. Guess what kind of surprise I received when I flipped through some books? The answer – the truth to my blood. I am no bastard of yours after all.

My mother wasn't any woman you had slept with; she was delusional after seeing my immature Flames of Wrath. You, who took pity on my living conditions, agreed to adopt me. I believe that is what they call killing two birds with one stone – not only would you be able to save a street rat from the depths of poverty in the slums, you had acquired another asset for the famiglia. If I was trained right, I could be a strong soldier. The other famiglias that had not heard anything of my Flames, lost out on an opportunity to own somebody who was able to fight on par with the Vongola's Dying Wills.

Not to toot my own horn, but I believe that I am a rather strong fighter by now. I can take on all three of your biological sons and hardly break out in a sweat. That applies to the rest of your Guardians. As for you, I believe with a bit more of dedicated training, I would be able to hold my own. Trumping you shouldn't be that difficult either, from your data and chosen methods of fighting styles that I have analysed thoroughly.

Here comes the problem. According to your records, only a person of the original Vongola bloodline can take over the Vongola Famiglia, in title and in practice. Just for my sake, you had tested my DNA, and my results are negative for the bloodline.

An irregular, aren't I?

So then, what am I to do? I, who have lived my whole life putting my entire trust into you, as my father? I, who have – had – whole-heartedly believed I had the highest chances of taking over the Vongola after you retired? I, who for that sake and purpose, trained and studied diligently so as to not sully your name and prove my worth, as the bastard who popped out of nowhere? I, whose candidacy has just been discovered as being null and void in the struggle for the next-in-line to the Vongola Decimo?

Am I to walk around disgraced and a laughingstock, as the poseur who ruffled his feathers and haughtily declared he was the successor to the Vongola, when in fact he was nothing more than a mere henchman? Xanxus, who for his whole life had never endured any humiliation? I wonder, father, when were you planning on telling me this truth?

Or were you thinking not to ever say a word about this, so as to retain my unwavering loyalty? No, that's bullshit, I would still stay loyal to the Vongola for bringing me this far. Ah, it's your humanity holding you back, isn't it? You don't want to tell me because you're my father, and you're worried that I'll be devastated by my not being your son. Then again, it might have been my persistence in being the Vongola Decimo that stopped you from spilling the truth. As the boss, you're considering that I might not take well to this news, and go on a rampage. Now that I have pushed my anger to one side and pondered this queer situation carefully, it seems that no matter what, you would have ended up with a lose-lose outcome.

However, instead of deliberating over this problem and growing more white hairs, why did you not just come to me and tell it straight to me directly? We're family, aren't we? Do families not work out their problems, and move on from there? Let me tell you what would have happened had you done that. I would be going through the same emotions I am feeling right now, but as a logical male, I would have accepted the circumstances, and we might be working out something, at this very moment.

Were you, by any chance, thinking about the chances of killing me and staging it to look like an accident?

I can imagine that appalled look on your face now, and it makes my blood boil. Do not think I haven't noticed the considering gleam I see in your eyes when you look at me, recently.

Yes, I am acting very paranoid right now, but can you possibly fault me? I have just learnt that my whole life has been a lie. Being tricked, and lied to by my father figure, who refuses to share with me the reality of my existence, when he preaches about the need to be truthful to your family for the bonds of trust to strengthen.

I am the fool, for putting one hundred percent of my trust in you. The father figure who runs a Mafia syndicate in this deep abyss of the underworld, where trust is nothing more than a joke and the weighing of which side would be more profitable. Were you saving me for a spectacle, when you finally decided which one among your three biological sons would be the successor?

But enough of my whining. Since we have reached this stage, I shall tell you right now that I hate you, from the very depths of my soul. Because of you, I have learnt the lesson that family bonds mean jack shit. There is only one principle to live by in the Mafia, and it is 'every man for himself'. While I am penning this letter right now, Superbi Squalo, some crazy dipshit, has started on acquiring new members for our coup d'etat.

I will continue on, as if I had discovered nothing. Now I will polish my skills, sharpen my fangs, while waiting for him to report back, and iron out the details of the operation. For this purpose, I have taken the empty seat of boss of Vongola's Independent Assassination Squad, the Varia. As much as I hate you, the oldest methods are the most effective, and I will be looking into every nook and cranny for the strongest people to fill in as my Varia Officers. One can find unexpected results in the most remote places.

Exactly like how you found me. It will not be long, before I accomplish my goal. Everything has been planned and checked carefully; all I am waiting for now is the arrival of my last member. This letter I write, is to re-live my anger and frustration, You say that pent-up negative emotions are not good for a person's health, but I am not as old as you are, and my Flames of Wrath work best with more intense feelings of hatred.

I wonder what the look on your face will be, when this coup d'etat starts, when I reach you. To usurp the highest position, one should always go for the boss, isn't that so, father? By hook or by crook, I will be the Vongola Decimo. I may have seen most of your expressions in our many years of living under the same roof, but I am especially looking forward to your look of complete and utter defeat at my hands. The last few minutes of your life, you would definitely ask why.

And when I explain the reason, the truth that I found out, what sort of face would you make? One of shock? Or one of guilt? I hope you will express something more, and feed my satisfaction. Until then, I will play my part as the father-worshipping son, as much as I feel like vomiting at that thought now.

Yours Sincerely,