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a-boca-do-inferno · 3 months

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don’t think (vincent mancini x reader)

summary: (y/n) is determined to expose the truth behind the Corleone family and Vincent... well, he’s Vincent.

warnings: angst, swearing, alcohol, blood, violence, verbal abuse (sorta), crime (duh), fluff-ish

words: 5.3k

notes: it took me a ridiculous amount of time to finish this, but at last, here i am. also this is nothing but me fulfilling my own needs for him in this robe. i regret nothing

When his eyes dart over to hers, (y/n) stares right back at him, with the glimpse of a curious gleam in her own. She knew who he was, obviously; it was impossible not to these days. Standing before her, talking to three men in black suits, was the most feared man in New York, maybe even America. His family and alleged crimes weren’t exactly secrets anymore, if they ever were. However, with the FBI constantly getting more and more informants, their reign was soon to be extinguished and, consequently, completely exposed to the public once and for all.

There is a time and a place for everything. And no matter just how unpredictable you claim or even want your life to be, every now and then, the stars align to grant us what is rightfully ours. But sometimes, what is ours isn’t necessarily something we wanted in the first place. That is Vincent’s role in (y/n)’s dull excuse of a life. And that’s why, despite being actively involved in the confabulations to his demise, the girl couldn’t help but wonder what he would do then, as it seemed his sole purpose was living like a hustler, similar to every man in his family before him. Could he do anything else with himself, she wondered.

What more could become of Vincent Corleone?

Her thoughts are interrupted by his gaze shifting to hers once again. He nodded in acknowledgement and his mouth curled up slightly at the corner, causing (y/n) to hold back an amused expression. He tilted his head and his brows furrowed in interest at the broad, causing her to chuckle under her breath. (y/n) reckoned the ladies probably weren’t so keen on flirting with a mafia boss nowadays, and with that in mind, she raised her glass in a silent invitation. Because sure, he might be dangerous; but he is still pretty interesting. It would be a good story to share in the office tomorrow, if anything.

Vincent lifts his own drink in response, his stare lingering on her whiskey-wet lips, and (y/n) snorts softly. He approaches her table, and she points with her chin, her demeanour screaming of amusement—and perhaps some entitlement—, “don Corleone, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He flashes a charming smile and hums, with a sultry tone, “I have heard a lot about you, (y/n).”

“Let’s keep it professional for now”, the girl keeps grinning, motioning for him to take a seat. She watches as he moves to the chair, holding eye contact all the time. His suit is perfectly ironed, his dark hair is neatly brushed back, and there is that damn sparkle in his chestnut orbs. It feels as if he could devour her whole by that look alone, and a faint shiver goes up her spine at the thought. “It’s miss (y/n) for you.”

Vincent clears his throat, still sustaining a smirk. “I see. Miss (y/n), it’s a pleasure. Now, what would a fine woman like yourself be doing alone at this bar? Surely you have scores of men ready to buy you drinks and offer their jackets?”

“Is this an offer?”, she glances at him playfully, sipping her whiskey. “Because while I surely love to hold men hostage over my looks to get a few drinks for free, I’m afraid it’s my night off.” (y/n)’s unblinking look remains on his figure, albeit her face stays friendly.

“And I’m usually not one to buy women drinks. Makes me look needy, you know? But I just had to ask.” Corleone offers her a genuine smile, the hint of a blush running across his cheeks. “You really are incredibly beautiful.”

“Don’t worry about looking needy, anything you do won’t change that.” She laughs quietly, leaning back in her chair. “And I’ll gladly take you on that offer, my friend. Whiskey. Dirty.”

He laughs and snaps his fingers at the bartender. “You got it, miss.” The waiter pours her drink and slides it over to her. Vincent orders himself a whiskey as well, peering into the brownish liquid as he motions for a toast. “To meeting you.”

“Salute.” She smiles cheekily, gulping her shot at one go. “So, tell me about yourself, Mr. Corleone. How’s the FBI treating ya? I heard you’re having some occasional encounters with them”, she says, perhaps encouraged by the alcohol, but she’s not really concerned he’d do anything to her for asking a few questions, let alone at a public space. Vincent looked like a gentleman first, ruthless criminal second. At least that was her impression at first glance.

“Things with the feds are... interesting”, he beams, taking another sip and then leaning on his hand, looking into her eyes as he speaks; his voice smooth, low, and warm. He’s playing his game, she is very aware, and (y/n) can admit to herself it’s working a little. Only a little. “You know, miss (y/n), when I ask myself what makes the FBI tick, the only thing I can figure out is money”, he wiggles his brows, as if to reaffirm his point. “Money buys loyalty, money buys power. And that’s why the feds are so powerful. It’s not the guns, it’s not the suits; it’s the money.”

“That’s a unique way of looking at it.” She rounds her glass with her index slowly, studying its emptiness. “I guess you could say the same thing about the mafia or are you not self-aware enough for that?”, she waits for his reaction. The broad can’t help but want to push his buttons, see how far she can go with him, no matter how unwise that might be. Powerful men just make her giddy and curious, like a child with a cat.

Corleone chuckles softly, not minding her provocativeness. “Maybe I’m not. I’m a man of many faults, my hypocrisy is one of them.” When he speaks again, his voice is huskier. “You’re perceptive. I can tell you’re smart.”

“Too smart for my own good.” (y/n) snorts, trying to hide her shudder. She then waves a dismissive hand, gesturing around the tables, “these people here, they’re living better than me. Ignorance is bliss in this world.”

Vincent laughs heartily and makes another toast. “It’s the biggest flaw of humanity, in my opinion. No one wants to think about how the world works, because thinking is hard. It’s easier to just go through life without asking questions”, he pauses, scanning her discreetly with his strong eyes. “Unfortunately, it’s the people who question things that make change in this world. People like you, princess.”

“So I assume you make a lot of effort not to stay ignorant?”, she raises her brows, crossing her arms slowly, and her cleavage flashes out to him unconsciously. “Because you don’t look like it. How could the worst man in this town be so clueless? I don’t see it.” (y/n) shakes her head a bit, letting a faint smile appear on her cherry lips.

“Now, why would I wanna be clueless, miss (y/n)?”, his eyes flicker towards her breasts for a moment before returning to her face, with a puzzled look.

“Why wouldn’t you?”, her gaze becomes more intense, and her smile fades gradually, making way for an inquiring expression. “Is there anything better than simply not worrying?”

He scowls, meeting her stare just as intently. “Ignorance is a disease, sweet cheeks. And I’m not a diseased man. I prefer to see things as they are rather than how I wish they were. If I see a problem, I fix it. That’s how I live my life and I’m not gonna change anytime soon.”

“That’s funny.” (y/n) stays where she is, unaffected by his closeness. Her eyes fall on his mouth for a second, then go back up. “You’re not a diseased man, but where you go, death follows”, she’s quiet, but the edge is there; unrelenting, waiting for him to crack. “Why’s that?”

Vincent, on the other hand, doesn’t appear at all fazed. Rather, he seems to be enjoying their banter as he takes another sip from his drink. “My family came to this country with nothing, we built our empire from scratch. People respect the power that my family now commands. And I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve killed people to maintain that power. Death is just a by-product of doing what’s necessary to keep the family safe”, he considers smoothly, casually, as if speaking of a banal transaction. This realisation makes her uneasy.

“You are crazy”, (y/n) says half-heartedly, reclining in her seat and tapping her fingers on the wooden table lightly to hide her edginess.

“Maybe”, he snickers, his frown slowly dropping. “Like I said, I’m a man of faults. My biggest one is my loyalty to my family sometimes, as that doesn’t always make me do what you might deem as the ‘right thing’. Sometimes, I gotta do the necessary thing.”

She smirks and nods. “Be that as it may, I hope the FBI does their job. People keep dying because of you, good people. And you don’t get to decide if they should live or not”, her voice is still gentle, albeit her words are piercing now.

Despite looking somewhat offended, Vincent maintains his cool, finishing up his whiskey. “Death is a part of life, sweetheart, we can’t all live happy and free. Sometimes the world needs men to do dark things, to keep their families safe. That’s just the way it works.” He leans back and glances into his half filled glass.

“You sound like Michael Corleone.” (y/n) muses, studying his demeanour with a close eye. She thinks back to the days she had to interview his uncle. Back then, he came across as a broken man and she almost felt sorry for him, were it not for her knowledge of all his crimes, including his own brother’s murder. It appeared as though the Corleones were destined to go down that route and deep inside of her, she caught herself wishing for Vincent to somehow find a way out. God only knows why. “And that’s a shame. You could’ve been your own person.”

If Vincent is bothered by her subtle jabs at this point, he doesn’t let it show. “We think alike on a few things because we’re family, I suppose.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night, beautiful”, she cackles, gazing around the bar. It was empty except for the two of them, and she sighed. Time went by pretty quickly.

“And what makes you sleep at night, miss (y/n)?”, he opens a sour, nearly venomous beam, in spite of the unchanging silkiness in his tone. “You keep throwing polite insults at me, so surely it’s no surprise that I’m curious about the state of your holy conscience.”

“I apologise if I was too honest, it’s the whiskey.” She shrugs, looking a bit tipsy indeed. “But I don’t take back what I said, not one goddamn word. I hope they catch you. You’re a bad, bad man.”

The girl rests her chin on her hand to watch him smugly, also taking the moment to admire his features. He is quite handsome, undeniably, notwithstanding all the atrocious things he’s rumoured to be doing, and the damn drinks don’t help her think rationally either. While her words say one thing, her body tells him another.

And Vincent, to his own credit, catches her flirty body language, raising his now empty glass again with a sly grin. “To bad men then, my dear.”

(y/n) can’t help but blush, rolling her eyes and getting up from her chair. “It was... partially a pleasure, Mr. Corleone.” She bows jocosely, stumbling as she takes a step backwards.

That was an exchange that should’ve never happened, and (y/n) wishes she knew that sooner. Going back home that night, she reckoned her boss would probably have her head on a plate if he caught wind of her little interaction with Vincent Corleone, since she didn’t actually get any juicy information about the Bronx killings. But, in her humble defence, he wouldn’t have given her anything anyway. Doesn’t matter how into her he looked, Vincent wasn’t one to be easily fooled by curves to the point of revealing his connections in the underworld, apart from being a very responsible drinker; at least in her company.

With a sigh, she threw herself on the bed and turned off the lights, letting sleep take over. The next day, of course she woke up with a headache. Sometimes she regretted not actually enjoying her college days, as it would probably have helped build some alcohol resistance today. The broad whined quietly before getting up and shuffling her kitchen cabinets for some aspirins. As she searched for the pills, her telephone started ringing. She winced at the loud noise, picking up.

“Hello?”, she mutters sleepily, and her boss speaks rushed in the line. “Mick, I have a headache.” She sighs and he slows down, but still sounds very anxious, and (y/n) widens her eyes when he’s finished. “I’m going right now!”

(y/n) changes in the blink of an eye and storms out of her apartment, leaving the door open. There had just been a killing at the exact same sight as the last one, but this time, they found prints. Corleone associates’ prints. Arriving at the scene, she pulled out her notepad and her pen, walking to the few officers without hesitance. They tried to tell her off until she convinced them to give her but a small clue. It appeared to be a reckoning of some kind, and they were getting sloppy, as the prints were found and catalogued only a few hours after the crime.

Now, who in their right mind would’ve been so stupid as to make a mistake like this, when the FBI was already so far up their ass? It almost felt icky to her, and it stunk of snitching into the mafia, not just arrested associates trying to reduce their sentence. The thought bothered her for some reason, because weren’t these people all about loyalty? (y/n) took a few more notes before turning around and walking to the street to get a cab. Her eyes were still on the notepad when a strong, tall body bumped into hers.

She gulps, in a mix of surprise and fear. “Mr. Corleone.”

Vincent’s eyes are sharp and intense as ever, and he examines over the area until his gaze goes back to her, with a menacingly intrigued look. He puts his hands in his pockets, sounding polite, yet not as much as the last time. “Seems you and I had the same destination today, miss (y/n). I trust this wasn’t a coincidence?”

“Surely.” She smiles, trying to walk past him, but he doesn’t let her, hardening his jaw. The girl glares at the man, despite shaking like a leaf. “Excuse me?”

Vincent scoffs, clearly impatient. “You followed me here, didn’t you?”, he doesn’t move, but his look is as serious as hers. “Spit it out now and maybe I’ll have mercy.”

(y/n) lets out a fake laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I got a call from my boss”, she grits her teeth, still forcing a grin. “And you people are getting sloppy, you know? Not even a day until they found prints?” She chuckles, raising a brow, “Michael would never make a mistake like that in his day.”

Vincent stares at her, his mouth going from a thin line to an upside-down smile. His voice has lost its earlier friendliness, and he takes a step towards the woman, a look of anger on his face, “why are you following me?”

“I follow the story, not the characters.” She pats his chest, nodding once. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got work to do.”

(y/n) tries to leave again, and he grabs her arm firmly. “You don’t think you’re part of this story, (y/n)?”, his tone is low and almost threatening now. “Last chance. Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. Who sent you?”

The girl tries to shrug him off, but it’s to no use. “Let go or I’ll have you arrested right here.” She glances over at the cops standing at a distance from them.

“Those coppers would get down on their knees if I told them to, so cut the bullshit”, Vincent pulls (y/n) closer to him, his dark orbs burning. “You wanna try me, baby? I’ll make you scream”, he beams cheekily, yet it’s empty. He lets go harshly and steps back, putting his hands back in his pockets as if nothing happened. “We’re just talking here, right?”

“You don’t scare me”, she speaks with conviction, adjusting her coat, even though her voice trembles ever so slightly. “And your threats better stop right here. You might be a powerful man, but you’re not invincible. Everyone’s got a weakness.”

“You know what, (y/n)? I have a lot of respect for your courage as a female reporter, trying to cover this story”, Vincent grins and takes a step back. “It’s a shame I can’t trust you.”

“I’m flattered that a despicable criminal like you doesn’t trust me, as it speaks volumes about my character”, she fakes another smile, taking a step to leave. “Have a good day, Mr. Corleone.”

“That’s the nicest compliment I’ve heard this week!”, Vincent laughs out loud, not stopping her this time. He stays where he is, raising his voice so she can hear him from a distance. “You have a great day, sweet cheeks!”

A week later, (y/n)’s working late hours every day on her investigation into the Corleone shenanigans. Her eyes are red and tired, but she perseveres. This story could make her entire career and clean New York’s streets from the biggest mafia family in town. Nothing sounded better. She had begun taking precautions, obviously, like changing her locks and exclusively moving around in cabs. She did her best not to be alone at any given time, which sucked for her. Alone had always been her only moment of something resembling peace.

Her last encounter with Vincent left (y/n) feeling anxious, unsurprisingly, yet it fuelled her to find out more about the killing sprees inside the mafia. Her intuition rarely failed her and something in her gut said someone was trying to take out his own boss and perhaps covering his tracks. The dates were too close, and the second time was sloppier than before. Whoever he was, the guy was getting desperate. And with no proof, no sources and unsurprisingly no acquaintance with the Corleones, it was like walking into a dark room with a blindfold.

A sigh escaped her lips as she stared at the newspaper from last month, where the Bronx victims made it to the front page. Her chest tightened as her mind turned one of their faces into Vincent’s, his skull completely destroyed by a bullet. For some reason, the thought of his death bothered her to no end. Yes, he was a criminal, but he should pay for his crimes as the law states: in federal confinement. She was extremely against the death penalty, after all. But not only that, the girl still saw something in him she shouldn’t: a man. Not a monster, not the face of a bloody organisation, not his family’s last name. Just a man.

As she’s gathering her things to leave, her boss calls her. (y/n) picks up while walking towards the elevator, pressing the first floor. “What’s up?”

“You’re gonna interview Vincent Corleone in a few days”, Mick’s voice is calm and casual, as if he just told her news about a football game.

(y/n) stops in her tracks, standing motionless before the elevator doors. “I’m gonna what?!”, she exclaims, not really knowing what else to say. She couldn’t talk much about that subject, not to her boss. If he found out she’d been conducting an investigation on a mafia family by herself, and that the Don himself knew about it already, she would be out of a job in no time.

“Look, my dear, Leslie’s in Paris right now, she’s not gonna make it in time and you’re the only one who’s not gonna throw up in front of the guy”, he keeps talking like it’s the normalest thing in the world, to do a piece on a known and widely feared mafia boss like Vincent, and she has to scoff quietly. This has to be a joke. “This is big, we’re gonna get you the cover.”

“Mick, you have got to have lost your mind”, her voice sounds a little shaky as she walks into the elevator, finally getting to the ground floor. She holds the phone tightly against her ear as she strolls towards the street and calls for a taxi.

“Don’t you know him already, anyways?”, Mick asks, and a keyboard being pressed can be heard in the background of his speech. “It’s even better, he’ll open up to you.”

The girl wants to roll her eyes, but keeps listening. Suddenly she stops for a moment, getting an insight. Conceding an interview to a newspaper right after yet another public scandal? This doesn’t sound smart. Vincent’s either too desperate to think straight or he has an angle. She just can’t see it right now, but maybe asking him a few questions might help her with finding the traitor... The only problem was facing him after the polite offences—as he had called it—she offered him, intoxicated and now sober.

(y/n) gets into the cab and whispers her address to the driver, turning to look at the window as she sighs. “If you count me insulting him for two hours straight while shamelessly flirting with too much alcohol in my system as ‘knowing’, then yes.”

“You left that part out, huh?”, he says sarcastically, but appearing a little worried now.

“Look, you gotta find someone else”, the car stops in front of her building and she pays the nice man, giving him a wave as he drives off. (y/n) walks up to her apartment as she searches for her keys. “I really can’t do it. This guy… he’s a creep. I would feel uncomfortable”, she lies mercilessly, not caring that the statement sounds contradictory to her earlier confession of their encounter in the bar.

“The interview will be in his house next week.”

Mick hangs up and (y/n) looks at her phone with a stunned expression. She takes a deep breath, entering her home and slamming the door. Great. Now she just has to figure out a way of getting out of the Corleone mansion alive.

♡♡♡

“How’s the weather up there from that high horse of yours, doll?”, Vincent’s familiar tone comes from behind her and (y/n) turns to face him with a plastic smile, her legs trembly like two sticks in the wind. His smirk is almost disgusting, as he walks to her side and leans on the balcony slightly, giving her a look over his shoulder. “Sunny like you, I’d wager.”

Somehow, the girl managed not to go crazy throughout that stressful week. After a few more arguments with her boss, she gave into doing the damn interview—or rather, her need to have a job surpassed her fear of ever coming close to Vincent Corleone again. Sure, she did her part of exposing some of his dirty deeds to the public, but from behind a computer screen, everything is much easier and safer. Although, safety in that case would always be but a false reading of the cruel reality. Many of her colleagues had paid the price before her for wanting to tell on the mafia’s crimes, and that’s mainly why she persisted. At the end of the day, her life was a small sacrifice for the ultimate goal. Sooner or later, a journalist has to come to terms with that.

The car ride to the Corleone mansion was surprisingly calm, yet inevitably tense. She was taken there by their own private chauffeur. He wasn’t very talkative, but she figured he wasn’t paid to chitty chat with some terrified journalist in his backseat. Going through her notepad, she reviewed all her questions for the billionth time. Not that she had any hopes of getting any answered by Vincent, as she knew too well he had a mesmerising ability to make the conversation flow in the direction he wanted it to—by force or otherwise.

When (y/n) arrived in his house, some twenty minutes ago, she was readily greeted by Vincent himself wearing nothing but a silky red robe, which barely covered his slim yet athletic body, dark hair dishevelled like he had just woken up. A striking difference from the neat smokings he bore in public, and one that made her cheeks blush ghostly. Oh, it wasn’t that early, by the way. It was past noon and her stomach turned at that image of him even though she made a point of not eating anything before; that way, it would be harder for her to throw up eventually.

Here’s the funny thing about gangsters: they’re not usually the most well-mannered chaps and Vincent, of all people, wasn’t gonna be the exception. His charm was only extended to his good looks and often annoying boldness, which was duly noted again by his complete disregard to present proper in her presence while in his own home. From that very moment she knew that afternoon was going to be a complete disaster, starting with the raunchy outfit and the way her eyes couldn’t help but wander to his chest hair—and in her defence, his in specific would certainly be a sight to behold on anyone. Or perhaps that’s what she kept telling herself as he babbled about the architecture of the mansion, even though she had asked a question about his childhood before all of…

This.

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Vincent”, (y/n) blurts out, cutting him off when he was in the middle of describing the texture of the walls surrounding the garden. His brows lift in amusement at her words, and he holds his chin up, daring her to keep defying him. To hell with this. She could be trembling like a chicken, but that man was really getting on her nerves. “Just answer the question, or you can say no and I’ll move on to the next.” Her tone is firm, and she sustains his gaze, unblinking. “How did you start in this life?”

And like that night in the bar, Vincent’s demeanour goes from playful to mildly annoyed. He stands up straight, towering over her. “Look, sweetheart, your little investigation ain’t gonna get you far in life”, his voice is deep and nothing like the sensual one he usually uses with her. Stepping even closer, he adds, “word of advice? Just go home. This ain’t your problem, so don’t try to make it your problem.”

(y/n) scowls. “If I wanted a safe job, I wouldn’t have become a journalist.”

“I don’t fucking care”, he takes her arm, looking down at her enraged. She flinches at the pain, trying to shrug him off unsuccessfully. “You’re gonna get yourself killed and I don’t have time to babysit you, so get the hell out now while you can.” So they are trying to kill him. Point to her gut.

His hot breath hits her face like knives cutting through her skin, yet she doesn’t back down. With watery eyes, she keeps her head held high to challenge him, her ragged breathing touching his chin in the same burning heat. For a split second, she can swear he’ll grab her by the hair and take all his anger out once and for all, God knows how, but a loud noise comes from the living room and they both turn to find two masked figures pointing guns at them. Before she can even process what’s going on, Vincent drags her to the side and shots are fired in their direction, breaking the glass of the door to the balcony. She screams in horror and covers her ears.

“Fuck”, Vincent grunts as he keeps her body shielded with his, trying to peek inside the house to see if they went out of bullets. It appears so.

He swiftly stands back up and takes out a pistol out of nowhere, shooting the men in the head. They fall dead on the ground and (y/n) is in shock, but somehow grateful he did that. Blood splattered on the stupidly fancy walls and wooden floor, running toward the balcony where she was sitting in a foetal position in the corner. Watching the thick redness touch her feet, a jarring realisation came to her mind: Vincent Corleone just saved her life. Him, the very man she feared would truly hurt her only seconds ago. The man she saw behind the monster.

He crouches down again, pulling her into his arms, and her entire body is boiling hot. His hand strokes her hair delicately and the sensation soothes her nerves, causing her to cling to him pathetically. (y/n) grips his robe tightly, taking deep breaths to calm herself and maybe try and get back to her senses. But it’s useless when their eyes meet and he grabs her by the back of her neck, savouring her mouth without so much as asking for permission. Typical Vincent.

A soft, humble whimper leaves her lips, and it’s still not enough for her to try and pull away. The kiss is messy and sloppy and her legs begin to shake again. Her fingers reach his hair and pull his strands a bit, causing him to moan against her mouth. She feels a wetness brushing against her abdomen and when she opens her eyes again, they widen in worry. He’s bleeding.

“It’s just a graze, sweetheart”, he chuckles under his breath, smirking while she still looks concerned, sliding down his robe slowly to take a look at his wound. “Don’t hold your panties in a bunch.” (y/n) wants to roll her eyes, but she’s more focused on studying the bruise on his tanned skin. Vincent holds her chin between his fingertips and pecks her lips gently, nothing like the urgent kiss from before. She sighs and tilts her head a bit, unable to formulate any words yet. This was a turn of events she wasn’t expecting. He senses her hesitancy and glances at her, his eyes gleaming with such intensity that she was left breathless again. “Don’t think.”

(y/n)’s lips curl up in the corner of her mouth, and he helps her up and away from the bodies in silence. Her hand holds his involuntarily, maybe in a childish attempt at finding comfort in this new situation in which she knows, deep inside, she’s not alone. Not after today. When their gaze meets one more time, all she sees is the chestnut irises that made her stomach stir with butterflies that night in the bar with too much alcohol in her veins, except she’s never been more sober in her life. And it’s clear as day. There’s nothing but him and his annoyingly handsome crooked smile. She gives his palm a faint, yet so telling squeeze. This is what Vincent Corleone could become.

Hers.

#the godfather #the godfather imagine #vincent mancini x reader #vincent mancini #the godfather part iii #andy garcia #vincent corleone #vincent corleone x reader #the godfather x reader

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a-boca-do-inferno · 11 months

Text

amor, amor, negócios à parte (vincent mancini x reader)

summary: Vincent welcomes a new member of the mafia without knowing.

warnings: angst, swearing, a little fluff but not rly sry

words: 4.9k

notes: no one will read this lol byee

The night they met is still clear as day in her memories.

Her cautious eyes studied the place with a bit of curiosity and uneasiness, but she pretended to be calm on the outside, waltzing with feet as light as a feather. Mary had asked her to be there for her birthday and she was the only friend (y/n) managed to make in that short time in the city. She couldn’t just turn her down, no matter how much she didn’t like to mix business with her personal life. Her relationship with the Corleone family was merely professional, after all, and she would like to keep it that way. She knew how dangerous they could be.

Still, (y/n) entered the room full of fancy people with her chin up, and her hair bounced along with her movements as she walked past Mancini to sit at the corner table. Through her peripheric view, she could see he stayed somewhat distant from everyone else, cautiously scanning the many faces surrounding them. Soon, however, he smirked at her from afar, with the annoying confidence of a man who’s clearly had way too many women by making that simple move. She had to hold herself back from rolling her eyes, observing him come at her direction.

His steps were slow and sure as he took a seat across from her. Uninvited, might she add. “Hey there, sweetheart, you like what you see?”. She glances at him briefly, not impressed in the slightest, although he was quite handsome. But then again: no mixing up business with pleasure. Vincent raises a brow, causing her to consider it’s probably not often he sees that reaction to his goofy line, and reclines in his chair. “What, princess? Cat got your tongue?”

(y/n) furrows her brows, maintaining her scowl, “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

He gets up and extends his hand, showing off a toothy grin. “My name is Vincent Mancini, and the pleasure is all mine.” His voice is a bit louder than the necessary, and his thick new-yorker accent stands out to her. Mancini leans in and whispers seductively, “now, how about you tell me yours?”

“(y/n)”, she moves away from him gently, fake smiling. “Vincent Mancini, as in the son of Sonny?”, she blinks once, curious. “As in, the Corleone family?”

Vincent pulls out the chair next to her, sitting back down. “That’s me. You seem surprised.” He scoffs, grabbing a drink as someone walked by with a tray. “What is it? You wouldn’t think that someone like me would take time out of their busy schedule to talk with a beautiful woman like you?”

(y/n) shakes her head jocosely. “I imagined you were...”, she eyes him up and down. “Taller.” He’s amused by this and puts a hand under her chin, pulling her toward him, and she can’t contain a small laugh, “self-esteem is everything, huh?”. She stares at his dark eyes for a second, letting her smile fade lightly. “But I know your reputation, Vincenzo. You got quite the record on you.”

He snorts, “and let’s say I find you interesting, what would your record be?”

“You got me there, lover boy. I’m a ghost, it’s my charm.” (y/n) looks around the place and beams shortly at Mary. “That’s your cousin, right? I heard you two have a bit of history”, she raises her brow and sips her drink. “Or is it just gossip?”

He is shocked by the comment for a second, but his expression soon turns smug. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, doll. I’m not the guy who goes for his cousins, you know?”

(y/n) nods, finding his reaction more than telling. “I wouldn’t know. I’m a newcomer, ya know?”, she stares down at her empty glass.

Vincent reaches forward and holds her chin up once again, gazing at her deeply. “Newcomer or not, you’re still gorgeous. So, what’s someone like you doing in a place like this? The Corleone family don’t exactly welcome strangers with open arms.”

“Your uncle took a liking to me, I guess”, she snickers, watching Michael in the distance while he talks to some priest. “And I can be resourceful, let’s just put it that way", she shrugs, softly pulling his hand away from her face.

“How so?”, his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t seem hostile, merely lurking.

She can’t help but find his curiosity cute. “Wouldn’t you like to know, little Santino?”

(y/n) got up without another word and went to greet Mary, leaving Mancini alone. She makes up some excuse and wishes her a happy birthday, hugging her tight. The girl could feel Vincent’s stare on her like two hot stones burning her skin, but she managed to keep cool. Once she moved away from Mary, he waved her over as soon as their eyes met again, signalling for her to come back to their table. Instead, she simply pats his shoulder with a tiny sneer and keeps walking past him.

His scoff could be heard from the door, “alright.”

The next time she bumped into him, Vincent was visiting Michael. He found her sitting in his office, talking to his uncle closely. She couldn’t help but notice he still had that leather jacket on, as if it was some kind of signature, and her lips curved up almost involuntarily. He was annoying, sure, yet something inside of her appeared to light up whenever she saw him. Perhaps it was morbid curiosity, or but a physical attraction she couldn’t deny — the man was a sight, for all his faults... She didn’t know. And when (y/n) spotted his surprise to meet her there, that same something seeped through her body like an electrical current, causing her to turn her attention back to the Godfather in an instant.

Mancini strolls into the room casually as usual, putting his hands in his pockets with an amused demeanour. “Uncle Mike, so it’s you who’s been stealing my women?”. Her eyes roll back at this, and he gives her a wink, “what’d he promise you, sweetheart? A cut from the family business? You better have gotten more than that.”

“I see you already met her charms. She is something, isn’t she?”, Michael hums, standing up with her to hug the girl aside, and she looks bashful. He continues, taking a more serious approach, “Vincent, I need you to take her to that meeting with the Tattaglias. Can you do that?”

Vincent cackles, trying to hide his astonishment at the request, and nods. “Sure, but just how many of your meetings do you need to take a woman to?”. He then mocks, eyeing her up and down and staring back at his uncle, “do you like them watching or something?”

Michael glances at (y/n) for her response and she looks daggers at Mancini, seeming more than a tad bothered by the comment. “You talking from experience, lover boy?”, she crosses her arms, and through the corner of her eye she can see the Godfather’s smirk.

Vincent’s caught off-guard for a second, but he quickly recovers and shrugs. “Okay, I set myself up for that one.” He stops laughing, “this meeting you speak of, it’s urgent?”

“Quite urgent. I need to know what that slick bastard wants from my new selling points”, Michael squeezes (y/n) affectionately. “You take care, darling, okay? Vincent will arrange everything you need. Just sit there and do your thing. We’ll be waiting for you at dinner.”

She grunted in agreement and the old man stepped out of the office, leaving her alone with his nephew. Unfortunately. (y/n) cleared her throat and was ready to say her goodbyes to Mancini. However, when Michael was completely out of sight, he walked over to her and grabbed her hand, holding a sterner expression than before. Despite her surprise at his sudden change of mood, she made sure not to show it to him, keeping her unsmiling composure.

“You got some time, beautiful? There’s something I want to discuss with you”, his voice is playful, yet there is an edge to his demeanour she can’t ignore.

The girl takes her hand off his swiftly, looking sceptical. “You got five minutes.”

He frowns at her, with some menace to his dark orbs. “Okay, so I have this theory you’re not actually the good girl you’re making yourself out to be. But I want to be sure I’m right.” He adds a bit lower, clenching his jaw, “how do I know you won’t betray us to the Tattaglias, eh?”

(y/n) bites her lip, containing a laugh. “You think I need to prove myself to you? That’s cute”, she leans on the edge of the table, crossing her arms to him in challenge. “Michael trusted me with this for reasons which are beyond me, but he is the Don and you still owe him some respect, him and his decisions”, her words are spiteful, though her tone stays light. “That being said, it seems to me that your behaviour might suggest betrayal more than mine.”

He scowls entirely now, his lips curving down at once. “This is more than just a business, it’s a family, and we care for each other like brothers and sisters. That means loyalty is not a choice, it’s an obligation everyone has to uphold”, Vincent pauses, holding back on his intensity for a moment, although his statement is still dense. “I hope you understand exactly what I’m saying here.”

“Is this a threat?”, she glowers at him, lifting her chin defiantly. “Or is it a joke? The bastard son talking about family loyalty”, (y/n) shakes her head. “That’s fucking rich.”

Vincent balls his fists. “You better watch what you’re saying.” He grits his teeth, breathing heavily, “I might be the bastard son, but I’m also the future of this family, which means you need to show me some respect.”

The girl chuckles again, making his nostrils expand even more in fury. “Someone’s got a temper, huh? That doesn’t sound like Don behaviour to me, but...”, she clicks her tongue, standing up straight and stretching her neck slightly. “To each, their own.”

Mancini tries to control his anger, vocalizing in a softer manner, “I’ll only give you one more warning, baby, watch your tongue.” He takes a step toward her and grips at her jawbone, coming very close to her face, “do you understand?”

(y/n) harshly pulls away from his touch. “Are you taking me to that meeting now or what?”

His gives her a deadly glance. He’s clearly restraining himself from snapping and she finds it a little hilarious. “You’re lucky you’re a very attractive woman, otherwise you’d already be at the bottom of a river.” He takes her arm tightly and drags her outside, “let’s go.”

(y/n) giggled, letting herself be dragged out this one time. As they walked out the house, some curious looks followed their movements, such as his uncle Tom’s, and she only shrugged in response. Vincent seemed too furious to even notice them staring and she held back a laugh. They reached the garden eventually, and the girl lit a cigarette as they approached his car. His hand finally let go of her wrist and he watched her as she took a drag, with a hint of disapproval in his eyes.

She opens the passenger’s door and raises a brow. “What?”

Mancini shakes his head a bit, leaning his arms on the car roof. From this angle, his dark hair is illuminated by the setting sun behind him, and the view is annoyingly beautiful. “Don’t you care about your health?”, comes the question, and it’s strangely tender to her ears. Just when she thinks the boy couldn’t surprise her anymore.

(y/n) rolls her eyes in disbelief, blowing out the smoke in his face and grinning. “Let’s go, Vincenzo”, she gets in the car, shutting the door with a thud and reclining in her seat.

Vincent sighs quietly, taking the keys from his pocket and getting in too. He starts the vehicle, and they stay silent for a while, until he turns a corner and eyes her again. “So, who are the Tattaglias exactly? Is their business in any way related to ours?”

“And you claim to be the “future of the family business”?”, she’s genuinely surprised, holding the smoke in her mouth for a second as she stares forward. “Yes. They are quite important to maintain power over the Bronx and surroundings. It’s kinda their turf, now.”

“What type of business do they handle?”, he stares back at the road, stopping at a light. “I hope it ain’t drugs.”

“Well, it’s drugs. Mostly, anyway. Why? Mr. No Smoking is against drug deals too?”, she mocks, taking another drag.

He doesn’t engage in her playfulness, but remains tranquil. “Uncle Mike despises anyone involved with drugs. This kind of business leads to many murders, and the ones involved don’t care how many innocent lives are lost, as long as they get their money. So, excuse me when I think you’re being pretty naive if you wanna get involved with that kind of people.”

“You should tell Michael about that, not me. Don’t shoot the messenger, my friend. I’m only going in because he asked me to. Maybe he has an angle, maybe he doesn’t. I’m just doing as I’m told”, she takes another long drag and blows the smoke out the window.

Vincent lets out a deep breath, nodding and stepping on the accelerator again, “you’re right, I can’t judge you for something that’s completely out of your hands.” He is quiet for a moment, then asks, “so, this meeting is for some kind of agreement? Because I’ll tell ya, there ain’t no talking to these drug guys. They’re scum.”

“You’ll see”, the girl throws her cigarette away when they stop in front of the Tattaglia mansion. It’s almost dark and the birds chirp away on the trees, saying their goodbyes for today. She adjusts her clothes and turns to Vincent with a smile. “Just one more thing.”

“And what would that be?”, he stops the car and peeks outside, analysing the pompous house.

“What I do is... I like to play pretend.” She fixes his collar, and his attentive eyes track her closely, almost in a trance. “From this point forward, you’ll be my right-hand man, so they can listen to what I have to say. I mean, I know you’re just a half Corleone, but still... Your father was respected with this bunch, and I need that credibility. What say you?”, she waits expectantly.

His eyes go wide for a second, then he bursts out with laughter. “That’s crazy, you’re crazy”, he takes a moment to calm himself and sighs. “I’ll do it. If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it. Even though I think it’s completely ridiculous.”

“You don’t like my methods, but you’ll sure love my results”, she winks at him and they both get out of the car. (y/n) extends her hand, “shall we, partner?”

Vincent rolls his eyes and takes her by the arm, walking alongside her. “As you wish, partner”, he gives her another wink, before frowning lightly. “I hope you’re right and this ridiculous plan works. If not, you might end up paying for it with your life.”

“Always the charmer”, she murmurs annoyed, fake smiling as they stop at the front gate.

They are let into the mansion and waltz into the room where all the Tattaglia family members are sitting on a table, exuding confidence and naturality in their steps. Everyone stands up as they take in (y/n)’s presence; some with confused faces, some with pleased ones, and she beams politely to all of them.

On the other hand, Vincent is looked at with suspicion, and she notices this fact immediately. It’s not the first time Michael asks her to deal with the Tattaglias, but she’s not used to working with other people, especially with someone as untameable as Mancini. A tingle of anxiety builds up in her chest and she tries to calm her nerves. (y/n) clears her throat quietly and does her best to stay in control of the situation, starting to walk towards the boss slowly.

“Well, here we are.” Vincent’s gravelly voice suddenly pulls her out of her thoughts. He’s trying to appear unbothered by their broody faces directed at him and she has to hold down a deep sigh, chewing the inside of her cheek not to snap at him right there. That damn bastard. “So, what do the Tattaglias want to discuss?”, he glances around the room somewhat impatient, waiting for one of them to speak.

The head of the family turns directly to (y/n), ignoring him completely. “Miss (y/n), we were told you’d come on behalf of the Godfather.” He kisses her hand charmingly, pulling out a chair for her to sit. “Please, make yourself comfortable. It’s always a pleasure doing business with such a tremendous beauty as yourself.”

Vincent watches the scene from a little to the side, remaining silent and not showing his annoyance at being ignored. He takes a seat beside the girl, forcing a smile. “Let’s get to the point, shall we? You’re wasting this beautiful lady’s time”, he lays a hand on (y/n)’s leg discreetly, squeezing her thigh. “Tell me what you wanna discuss, and let’s get straight to the point.”

(y/n)’s finally had enough and gives him a pointed look, as if to say, “shut up and let me handle this”, squeezing his leg back with some force. She dismisses his distasteful sigh and turns to the boss, nodding politely, “signore, I come here with a proposal from Michael Corleone himself. We have been running into a lot of trouble with your drug deals, and it’s starting to take its toll on the Don’s patience. We don’t do drugs. Period. But...”, she raises her finger, leaning into him. “We can make an exception. If you’re willing to cooperate, that is.”

The boss listens to her with interest, seeming a bit taken in by her charm as she lets him in all the details thoroughly, explaining it all like a teacher talking to the class. Vincent has a combination of relief and admiration in his eyes witnessing her work, so he stays quiet for once and lets her do her thing. (y/n) can feel his stare as she finishes up her piece and a faint blush paints her cheekbones. When the boss turns to his associates to get their opinion, she lets out a breath she’d be holding ever since they started talking.

The Tattaglias start whispering to each other, probably debating her offer, and Vinnie mutters to her ear, “do they seem inclined to accept?”

(y/n) nods to him carefully, as the man in front of them finally comes to a conclusion. “I trust your judgement, miss (y/n). If you say it can work, I’m inclined to give it a shot”, he stands up and goes to hug her, shaking Vincent’s hand firmly afterwards. “Send me one of your guys tomorrow to arrange the details.”

She kisses his cheek, making the man melt before everyone’s eyes. “Why, thank you, signore. Will sure do. Enjoy the rest of your evening, gentlemen”, she winks only for the boss to see before turning around.

Vincent snorts at her witty attitude, while the other Tattaglias observe their boss’ face with a mix of surprise and jealousy. “That’s what I call convincing arguments.” He turns to the boss one last time. “You made the right choice, signore. This kind of business takes brains, you know?”. He grins again, but keeps his tone serious, “if you ever do anything to hurt her, you’ll have to answer to me personally.”

(y/n) contained another frustrated sound from leaving her throat while she watched the scene, waiting for Mancini at the door. He finally said his goodbyes and they left the mansion in silence. She held a happy face whilst stepping outside, feeling proud of herself for how she handled everything, in despite of Vincent’s poor negotiating skills failing to back her up if she needed.

The girl almost understood now why he wasn’t any higher in the ranks at this point. Aside from being an illegitimate child, his temper obviously didn’t exactly please his uncle. It was clear they had crudely different ways of dealing with things, rather conflicting, and she wondered if that was the reason why he probably didn’t participate in more serious matters like the Tattaglias before. She hoped to at least be able to help him with that as their partnership grew, since they were sort of stuck with each other after today. She knew Michael. He’d probably keep pairing them up to any further Tattaglia shenanigans.

(y/n) takes out another cigarette, letting out a relieved sigh as they get back inside Vincent’s car. “Signore Tattaglia seemed a bit mad that you were there with me”, she muses, lighting up her smoke with a match and throwing it away. She takes a long drag and lets out the smoke, smirking, “I guess that’s why Michael wanted you to come, to keep them on his toes a little.”

“Yeah. They were clearly a bit surprised at my presence, I’d say”, he laughs, turning on the ignition. “But you didn’t miss a beat. Nice job. You know when to be sweet and when to be tough”, he becomes sterner again. “Just don’t forget that in this business, we oughtta be careful with the people we trust. You understand what I’m saying?”

“You really think I trust the Tattaglia?”, she asks in disbelief, finishing her cigarette.

Vincent grunts, tapping on the steering wheel mindlessly. “No, I know you don’t trust any of those guys, you’re not that stupid”, he pauses for a minute, considering his words. “I’m just saying, you know? We gotta be careful with everyone. There’s always someone trying to take advantage, you get what I mean?”

“You worry too much, Vincenzo”, she nudges his arm jokingly. “There’s a reason why Michael asked me to handle this, you know? You let your emotions guide you through too much”, she rests her elbow on the car window, watching the buildings passing by. “The best way to conduce this thing is the balance between heart and head. Otherwise, you’ll get yourself killed. Figuratively and literally.”

He chuckles and nods, stopping by the Corleone household again. “You know, I think I started to like that about you. You’re sharp, I must say. And you give good advice”, he beams nimbly, deep in thought. “I’m gonna try to follow your words and control my emotions. But that doesn’t mean a man can’t be affectionate, right?”. He gives her that damn smug look again, and she can’t help but swallow when he mumbles, “can I kiss you?”

(y/n) sighs, but her lips are still curved up. “You’re mixing things up. I don’t date coworkers”, she gazes at him apologetic, patting his shoulder. “Scusa, Vinnie.”

Vincent’s expression drops and he stays silent for a moment, trying to deal with his disappointment. “You’re right. This ain’t the time to be distracted by a pretty face”, he amends, putting on his usual unserious face.

After this, they stepped out of his car wordlessly. The evening had just arrived and (y/n) kept away from Mancini all night while they waited for dinner. They all set in the living room, and she did her best at pretending to care for whatever Tom was talking about, unable to keep her attention off Vincent. He remained quiet throughout the whole conversation, merely making a joke here and there not to come off as too discontent, but it was obvious he was still bummed out because of her rejection. The girl reprimanded a heavy sigh as she turned back to Tom, nodding to what he said even though her mind was elsewhere.

Dinner was finally ready, and they ate in a comfortable chatter until Michael decided to talk business. He was very happy to hear about the meeting’s success, bragging about it for a whole minute, and Vincent’s face as he heard him praising (y/n)’s skills could only be described as funny. He struggled between agreeing with his uncle and acting unaffected by anything concerning her, clearly, and she found it incredibly amusing.

Vinnie conceded at last, taking a sip of his wine, “well, it seems there’s nothing but good news tonight. We got what we wanted, and we managed to get the Tattaglias to agree with our conditions. You handled that like a pro, (y/n).” He gives her a knowing look, and she shudders. “We’re gonna go a long way together.”

“Look at that. She is a Corleone at heart, this girl. You know that?”, Michael raises his glass. “To (y/n) Corleone.”

Vincent toasts with his uncle, drinking from his glass with his eyes still on her figure. She can’t hide her blush. “To (y/n) Corleone. The future of this family.”

Dinner went by quietly and although it was a good day for business, she didn’t allow herself to count her victory with the Tattaglias just yet. They were as dangerous as the Corleones, even more ruthless, and any false step could cost her newly earned place in the ranks. She didn’t talk much throughout the rest of the meal, tracing a plan in her head to arrange that agreement tomorrow.

When everyone was finished, (y/n) went to wash the dishes. She took the plates quietly from the table and Vincent followed her suit towards the kitchen. She couldn’t help but smile a bit at his persistence, already anticipating his next words.

“I can take care of that, beautiful”, he walks by her side, pointing at the plates she carried with his chin. “Besides, you done enough for today. Why don’t you go outside for some fresh air? I’ll take care of the dishes, maybe I’ll even join you later”, a small grin shows at the corner of his mouth, but it immediately disappears.

This change of mood intrigues her. (y/n) reckons he’s still troubled by her rejection from earlier, though he wants to be polite, and she feels a tad guilty about that. “What is it, Vincenzo?”, she smirks, going for the sink anyway. “You look like you got something to say to me. Go on, I’m all ears.”

Vinnie clears his throat and takes a quick but deep breath, fidgeting with his hands. “Well, it’s been a busy day. A pretty eventful one too”, he rubs the back of his neck and stares at her a bit embarrassed, with a soft chuckle. “I just want you to know that... Well, I...”, he seems to run out of words for a second, before finishing the phrase in one go. “I care deeply about you.”

There is pause, as (y/n) turns on the faucet and processes his confession. She smiles gingerly, soaping up a spoon, “I’m glad I could change your perception of me in such a short period of time. You were quite the asshole earlier, you know?”, she muses, putting the cutlery in the drying rack.

Vincent shakes his head, laughing, “oh, what a tongue!”. He puts a hand on her hip, while the other one comes to rest on her waist, and she feels her legs slightly shaky. “I’ll just say, there’s something about your stubbornness that’s pretty hard to resist. If you keep teasing me like this, I might go mad”, he comes closer to her and his eyes move from her lips to her expectant eyes, then back to her lips again. “Are you still sure you don’t want me to kiss you?”, he whispers, so close to her ear she can feel his hot breath on her skin.

(y/n) rests their foreheads together for a moment, thinking of the consequences of this thing they have going on. So much for not mixing business with pleasure... Yet, she cannot help her shivers as his touch is firm on her stomach, rubbing it gently while he waits for her answer. She sighs heavily, pulling away close enough for them to stare at each other.

“You said you don’t date cousins, remember?”, she nudges him playfully. “If I’m a Corleone now, I fall under that category.”

Vincent raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying that you would, if you weren’t a Corleone?”, he leans even closer, brushing his mouth on the back of her neck. Her hairs stand on end when his deep voice continues, “you know you’re not really my cousin, right? No one will know. And even if they did, there’s so much at stake. I don’t imagine an innocent kiss would hurt anyone... right?”

She turns her head to meet his eyes one last time before kissing him tenderly, without warning. He is taken aback, but readily invades her mouth with his tongue, ripping out a quiet moan from her. Vincent cups her face and brings her closer, guiding the kiss passionately, making her melt under his touch. His hands grip her waist firmly as he deepens the kiss even more and she decides to end it there, or else they’re going to be in trouble with Michael.

(y/n) catches her breath when they part, checking if someone saw them. “Now, go away!”, she chuckles and nudges him again, going back to washing the dishes.

Vinnie stays there for a few seconds, breathing a little faster. He then blinks and regains his composure, winking at her. “You’re a cruel, cruel woman, (y/n).”

(y/n) shook her head and watched him leave casually, strolling around like he always did. She dried herself with a cloth slowly, unable to curve her lips back down, and rolled her eyes. This was definitely not her initial plan when she came to New York to start fresh; hooking up with some loser, mobster wannabe insufferable bastard she somehow just couldn’t get enough of. Now, she almost regretted even coming there in the first place.

Almost.

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