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melis-writes · 9 months

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Mafia Wife [Sonny Corleone x Reader Multichapter, 18+ Smut] Chapter 1 – La Famiglia Giordano.

Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

“You wanted to name our first-born daughter Gabriella.” / “You’re Gabriella, aren’t you?”

“The underboss’s wife”; that’s who you are, and the whispers of enemies, family and colleagues alike know it too. You’re no stranger to the underworld of crime surrounding you including the one run by the Corleone family’s underboss; Santino Corleone. The streets run red with blood and brutality under Santino’s influence but it’s Santino who feels hit by the thunderbolt at the very sight of you—pushing away his womanizing and notorious unfaithfulness. You unexpectedly find yourself in a position of power balancing your marriage with the fate of the Corleone’s family’s future whether it be through Santino’s infamous brutality or the love he finds amidst the man he claims to be.

[WARNINGS]: Mentions of violence & death / Alcohol use / Pregnancy / Childbirth.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The very first chapter of my Sonny Corleone x Reader fic is FINALLY here!! 🥰✨ Thank you guys SO much for all of the endless support and love this fic received when it was just an idea and barely typed out! I'm so glad to finally have it up. By far the most exhausting and longest part of the fic process is planning a brand new one for me, and I had definitely been much busier than usual when planning out/writing this fic which is why it took so long to write. I had to give something for the Santino girlies as I'm one myself!! 👀❤️ Please read ALL of the tags on this fic on AO3 before diving into the chapters as it'll give you a good understanding as to what the entire fic and chapters will be like. This goes for ALL fics I write! The tags are there for a reason. This fic is also 18+ only, just like all of my other works forever and always. This is meant for adults to read only. ✋🏻

Chapter 1: La Famiglia Giordano.

[ Barzini Family Estate, 1948 ]

“Nobody wants another war,” Don Barzini states, watching the ice soaking in his glass of whiskey. “Nobody wanted another war; isn’t that how it always goes?”

Don Tattaglia gives his head a shake, relaxing in the leather armchair he sits across from Barzini. “We have Sollozzo to thank for all of that.”

Having an otherwise civil discussion between two closely allied business partners and old friends, the bond Don Barzini and Don Tattaglia’s family share has been stronger than ever since Sollozzo.

Despite successfully allying together against the Corleones throughout the Five Families War and coming together for talk over business, neither Barzini nor Tattaglia can ignore the air of tension that’s formed between them now.

Barzini can easily tell Tattaglia is unnerved as he sips his whiskey again, savoring the smokey notes of the liquid over his tongue while noticing how Tattaglia is nearly chugging back his drink.

“You’re tense,” Barzini comments, somewhat surprised by Tattaglia’s behavior. “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind or not?”

“How can I not be?” Tattaglia swallows down his drink.

“You’re looking at all of this the wrong way, my friend,” Barzini gives a reassuring smile. “You’re on the winning side. The Godfather has no leverage over either of our families or—”

“Vito Corleone isn’t my concern,” Tattaglia interrupts.

“Hmm,” Barzini pauses, taking a sip of his drink again. “Then that’s a first.”

“It’s his son,” Tattaglia adds.

“Which one?” Barzini rolls his eyes. “They’re all equally useless in their own ways.”

Tattalia opens his mouth to answer before pausing for a moment; a look of absolute defeat crosses his expression, forming into regret, then helplessness. “Does the name ‘Gabriella’ ring a bell to you?”

Barzini raises a curious brow. “Maybe. Should it? Does The Godfather have another daughter we don’t know about?”

“He has a daughter-in-law,” Tattaglia answers, “Gabriella Corleone. She’s the daughter of Francesco Giordano.”

Barzini tenses for a moment, no longer focusing on his whiskey. “I… I see.”

“You know Gabriella then?” Tattagia asks back.

“Not personally, but her name was spoken often in my household. Was,” Barzini emphasizes.

Tattaglia sighs softly, giving his head a shake.

“Emilio wanted to marry her,” Barzini continues, mentioning his eldest son. “He spoke of Gabriella fondly and often, but she refused him and his advances. Now you’re telling me she’s part of the Corleone family?”

“Francesco did well hiding the news from us for the most part,” Tattaglia points out. “Everyone else must have known.”

“No, no,” Barzini shakes his head, refusing. “I don’t think of it in that way. Francesco is a dear friend. He doesn’t ‘hide’ things. He values the privacy he can give his family.”

“If you want to put it that way,” Tattaglia mumbles. “It’s none of our business, is it? She married Santino Corleone, the underboss.”

Barzini freezes in his seat, attempting to calm himself down internally as Tattaglia immediately picks up on Barzini’s shocked expression.

Tattaglia nods grimly, “do you know what you’ve done?”

“Don’t,” Barzini mutters softly, holding up his free hand.

“She’s pregnant,” Tattaglia adds. “Do you even care? Do you know what’s going to happen now? To your investments? Your wealth? Your bank accounts with Giordano?”

Barzini suddenly lets go of his whiskey glass, watching as the glass shatters to pieces over the floor and the alcohol spills free onto the wood.

Barzini covers his face with shame, feeling a knot of heavy emotions cause him to feel nauseous almost instantly with unimaginable guilt.

A heavy silence sits in the air between the two men for a minute as they ponder, having nothing else to say to each other.

“I will apologize to Gabriella,” Barzini finally speaks, raising his head out of his hands.

“You can’t,” Tattaglia frowns. “You can’t do anything anymore.”

[ 1921 ]

“Gabriella… Little Gabriella.” You’re the first-born daughter in your family to four older brothers, and the eldest to your twin sister, born just forty minutes apart.

Although your mother went into labor knowing she’d welcome two children instead of one on June 19th, 1921, nothing could surpass the joy your mother and father felt when you were born.

Just as your four eldest brothers had been born, your mother gave birth to you and your twin sister Bella at home, surrounded by two Italian-American nurses from the community who had helped your mother through her previous deliveries.

Your parents weren’t sure what to expect when your mother realized she was pregnant with her fifth child since the last four children she gave birth to were all boys.

“Will it be another boy this time?” Your father chuckled and placed his hand over the top of your mother’s seven-month-old baby bump. “Perhaps two boys?”

“Oh, please,” your mother let out a laugh, “we have more than enough boys. I would love a daughter this time around. One boy and one girl, or twin girls even.”

“What a dream that would be,” your father grinned. “It seems like we’ve had all the luck in the world for having sons. No matter,” he leaned over, kissing your mother’s baby bump gently. “Boy or girl loved all the same. Spoiled like his or her other siblings. Only two this time…” He pulled away, looking up at your mother. “I can’t wait to meet them, darling.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” your mother blushed and laced both of her hands with your father’s. “Two more additions to the family. You know what I said when we first married? About baby names?”

“I do, mhmm,” your father nodded. “You wanted to name our first-born daughter Gabriella.”

“I do,” your mother smiled warmly. “I still do.”

“Of course. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. I still remember,” he gave your mother’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I hope this time we get to meet little Gabriella.”

“I hope so too, my love.”

Even before you were born, you were loved. The idea of you was loved, your name was loved, and everything and anything you could be from birth to adulthood to old age was loved.

Nothing compared to how overwhelmed with joy your mother felt when she smiled up weakly at you, tears in her eyes from excruciating contractions hitting her again and again to see and hear one of the nurses declare, “it’s a girl!”

Before your mother went back into labor to give birth to your twin sister forty minutes later, she held you in her arms and cooed to you through her tears of happiness. “Gabriella… Gabriella...”

She kissed your cheeks wet with tears as your father let you hold his finger with your tiny hand, looking down upon you with so much love and happiness.

You were born into this world loved and welcomed just as your siblings were, and just as you would always be.

Your twin sister and you were born to the Giordano family; a family that came from money which was no secret nor meant to be one.

Your father, Francesco Giordano, better known as “Frankie” by his friends and business partners, was born in Sicily, but your grandparents had already been living in and had immigrated to New York.

Your father came from a lengthy family history of educated individuals; spanning seven generations of university graduates and had graduated from Columbia University himself in 1912.

Your mother, Rosa nee De Luca, who was born in Long Island, New York to Sicilian parents, had met your father in that same year.

Having many connections or even just one to a crime family served to be the best for anyone’s interests, even those who didn’t want to get “involved” indirectly or directly, and then there are always individuals who wouldn’t mind the close ties with the mafia so as long as they stray from direct intervention or get too close, could always reap the benefits of work connections by having powerful friends in powerful places.

Your father and his family practiced the same mantra as many others; don’t get too close to the mafia to avoid getting burned, by maintaining a healthy business relationship and community friendliness.

Since the days of your great-grandfather, your father inherited the ownership of several small banks that his family had started; serving the local community and operating for middle-class families with day-to-day funds, support for home ownership, and loans.

The success of your father’s family business in banking was steady and promising, working out very well to attract a clientele of all kinds from the Italian-American community in particular.

Your father built his business connections where your grandfather left off but also started new ones with the Italian community in the neighborhood and area as well as being involved with all of the crime families himself, but with some more than others.

Everyone, including the mafia, knows Frankie Giordano to be an honest businessman who makes a living to feed his family. Your father also happens to be smart and witty about it too.

Frankie Giordano built a name for himself without feeding off of his father’s legacy and thus deepened the trust and bond the Giordano family already had with the mafia when it came to loans and money laundering.

One could say your father always went to the bank laughing, and the mafia made sure of that for the excellent service rendered by the Giordano banks.

Your father also knew that his future wife—your mother—would benefit greatly from that, and thus so would all of his and her children.

Your father had no intention of keeping the truth and ties of his business affairs from you, your twin sister Bella, or any of your brothers for that matter. He would only wait to tell you all in due time when you’d be mature enough to understand and process it.

Even if in the future and all grown up none of you were remotely interested in the booming world of business and finance, you’d at least benefit immensely from inheritance and the steady flow of wealth and investments.

Your father’s closest business partners were that of the Corleone and Tattaglia families, although the Barzini’s were getting close enough to join the list too.

Your family is protected from conflicting interests and possible hostilities between rival families because your father’s business is legal, public and there’s mutual respect and understanding of what your family’s banks provide with respect grandfathered in.

Despite Frankie Giordano’s wealth and success, your father was never the type of man to flaunt or brag—just maintaining his work ethic with dedication like none other; traits you would indeed inherit from him.

In many ways, your father would see a lot of himself in you as you grew older, such as the fact you too could see light at the end of every tunnel and that you also valued family and morals over money and power.

Such traits and beliefs made your father a true family man under times of turmoil and stress, and it also helped you understand the world around you better.

Your father married your mother, Rosa, in 1914 after almost two years of courtship with no intention to push or rush their relationship for the sake of tying the knot quickly.

Your mother comes from a family of wealthy socialites who built upon their wealth by investing and simply being connected to the right people.

Your parents met each other through a social outing when your mother’s family became all the more interested in investing in Giordano family banks.

“It’s one thing to believe in something such as love at first sight. Love can be so fickle, but when it happens to you, it changes you completely,” your mother had once told you.

The wit and cunning your mother showed growing up as a young woman were learned from family members around her and would no doubt pass on to you as well.

Through your mother, you also discovered your passion and love for art and botany, whereas your twin sister Bella felt the same and was more connected to architecture, nature, and the outdoors.

When your parents settled down and planned to have a family of their own, your brothers, you, and your sister would come from and be born into a family of love and respect that could never be unbound.

You knew from a very young age early on that your parents loved each other very much, and although all couples disagree and have their fights, you still can’t recall a single moment where you heard your parents raise their voices at each other in front of you, let alone fight or argue in front of you and your siblings either.

Growing up, all you knew is you loved and wished for the same peace and calm love your parents shared.

You don’t want to be “madly” in love; you want a peaceful and understanding love—the kind your mother and father share with each other with the kind of expectations they lived through and passed onto you.

Everything you’ve learned about love was through your parents, and it set your heart’s wants and needs as a young woman.

Your mother, who is not easily impressed by just anything, had taught you to be the same and explore your options with all things when you were a teenager.

“What pleases the eye once may not do so the second time. The world is filled with options. Your heart will know what’s best for you.”

While your mother was eighteen years old when she married your father, she gave birth to your eldest brother—Luca—in 1915.

Right up until your mother’s maternity leave, she was a private art teacher in New York City who specialized in teaching about painting; classical, renaissance, religious, and abstract.

Your mother would not return back to teaching part-time until 1936 when your sister Bella and you were about fifteen years old and the family could easily sustain and take care of itself throughout the day.

Your mother also preferred to teach part-time instead of full-time before she began to have children because she preferred to spend most of her time with the grandchildren she welcomed over the years.

Coming up to 1939, you and your sister were eligible bachelorettes in your family alongside one bachelor brother—Giani—but it would be you, the most eligible bachelorette considering your circumstances and your sister’s traveling abroad that would not only bring you upon him—Santino Corleone—but the Corleone family and their history with the Giordano’s in due time.

[ 1920, Hell’s Kitchen, New York ]

“There will never be come a day—” Francesco says, sketching out the outline of a small olive branch over a scrap piece of paper in front of him, “where they outlaw this, my friend. Never. The olive? They could not,” your father admires his sketch, darkening the two olives he drew hanging on the branch. “The olive provides too much—it does too much. You buy it from Vito Corleone—Genco Olive Oil—” he smiles up at Vito who returns the warm expression, popping a black olive in his mouth from the small platter in front of them.

“And you use it in your cooking,” your father continues, taking an olive and putting it in his mouth. “It’s too versatile, too much of a need for the average family to outlaw.”

“I can’t see any Italian family without a bottle in their home,” Vito chuckles quietly.

“Exactly,” your father points out, reaching into the drawer beneath him for a moment.

Vito glances over curiously, watching as Francesco pulls out a concealed bottle of unopened Jack Daniel’s whiskey before setting it on the front counter in front of him.

“You don’t have to worry about the repercussions of buying a bottle or whole barrel of olive oil. This though,” your father taps the back of his fingernails against the bottle of alcohol. “Is a crime. This bottle here.”

Vito raises a curious brow; amusement twinkling in his eyes as to how nonchalantly your father pulled out a bottle of unopened whiskey.

“My father’s favorite drink served on ice. Bought and sold everywhere, now it’s illegal,” Francesco chuckles, shaking his head. “Now, buying and selling alcohol is illegal. Just like that.”

“They could never expect to stop everyone from doing so,” Vito chimes in.

“Exactly, my friend,” your father begins to open up the bottle, grabbing two small glasses from the cupboard beneath the front counter at which he and Vito sit. “They never can, but they know they never could. I don’t know how much longer this silliness will last, but,” Francesco begins to pour Vito and himself a glass of whiskey, “there’s plenty more of where this came from. No questions asked, no eyebrows raised.”

A curious look crosses Vito’s eyes as he takes his glass of whiskey before glancing down at it. Naturally, he immediately begins to wonder how many bottles Francesco has, where he got them from, how he got them, and where they’ll go.

“You are the most resourceful friend I know,” Vito comments, “do I need to ask?”

“You can,” your father replies, knowing, of course, Vito’s curiosity is only normal and expected, “if we can come to an agreement first, my friend.”

Your father was the first man to lend Vito Corleone money; give him his first full loan just by knowing his full name and without any interest.

Your father gave Vito a chance—one of his first chances—without even knowing it, and through such a chance came one lucrative business opportunity after another.

If your father and Vito were involved in something, then it meant there was plenty of money to be made under the table without asking questions and with no risk of getting caught.

Whether your father and Vito formally acknowledged it or not, they were a duo of sorts.

Your father trusted Vito while knowing Vito was indeed settling the roots of his one crime family just as the other mafia families in New York were.

Your father didn’t care about Vito’s involvement in crime or anything of the sort; your father was and is a banker by trade and name, and money always talked.

With prohibition starting in 1920 with a surplus of alcohol to be smuggled from your father’s contacts in Canada, there was nothing but profit to be made from the business for however long prohibition would last.

Securing and solidifying a strong friendship already, the prohibition era would make both your family and Vito’s very wealthy from the moment Vito smiled and shook your father’s hand in agreement, knowing all the same.

That was hardly the beginning of the Giordano and Corleone family’s friendship and ties with one another.

That same year, Vito Corleone would kill Don Fanucci.

Despite the concept being thought of by everyone who had the misfortune to know Fanucci, many didn’t believe Fanucci would be outright killed.

It was merely something men fantasized about to set themselves free of the financial obligations Fanucci put forward and fears they would be killed, extorted, go missing, or worse.

Taking Fanucci out was a fantasy, nobody could do it except for Vito Corleone.

If it was anyone your father had faith in to stand up to a brutish man like Fanucci, it was Vito Corleone, but your father also didn’t expect Vito to murder Fanucci the way he did and so soon.

On that fateful day, your father was closing up his main bank’s branch for the day; having put up the “closed” sign on the front door and lowered the blinds more than halfway down.

He had not yet locked the front door since he was up at the front anyway, and your father would be able to see anyone coming to approach the bank’s entrance before they could even think of trying the door.

At that time, your father was counting some of the spare change in one of the last drawers quietly, noting that it was 5:30 PM and rush hour had fully kicked in.

Humming quietly to himself, Francesco put the spare change in his pocket before closing up the cash register and locking it with his key.

Only for a moment did your father look up to see the faint figure of a passerby without paying too much attention to it.

In a few moments from now, Francesco would lock up the bank and head home; your mother was expecting him with a hot meal on the table and she was pregnant with you and your twin sister Bella at the time.

In a good mood and having enjoyed his work day, your father slowly began to stop humming upon hearing footsteps from that same figure grow closer to the bank’s front door.

Your father knew it wasn’t someone out strolling or wandering, but rather approaching the bank directly and standing in front of the door.

Your father kept his hand over his pistol carefully concealed underneath an old polishing rag on the front counter while watching the figure’s movements by the door.

It was then that Francesco noticed who the figure was, seeing no cause for panic or alarm.

It was Peter Clemenza, and he was revealing himself to your father to avoid a bullet in between the eyes at this hour.

Clemenza lifted up the “closed” sign in front of the door and peeked his head in; urgency in his eyes and beckoning with his hands to be let in.

Your father moved his hand away from the pistol and gestured for Clemenza to enter since the door wasn’t locked.

Sighing in relief, Clemenza quickly entered and shut the door behind him instantly, wasting no time.

Your father could easily tell Clemenza was alarmed but didn’t have a look on his face that spelled it was his problem.

Before your father could barely blink or open his mouth to ask Clemenza what was going on, Clemenza immediately stated, “Fanucci is dead.”

Your father stared back at him in shock, pausing for a moment to take everything in. “What? Dead?”

“Dead,” Clemenza confirms, locking the bank door and taking off his fedora. “I came over here as fast as I could to tell you.”

“Who else knows?” Francesco asked quietly.

“Roth, Genco, and Tessio so far,” Clemenza answered, catching his breath. “This is gonna send fuckin’ shockwaves throughout the neighborhood.”

“My God,” your father muttered under his breath, smoothening out the sides of his slicked-back hair. “And Vito? Does Vito know yet?”

Clemenza chuckles, shaking his head. “Who do you think did it, Frankie? Vito killed Fanucci. Shot that son of a bitch right in his own apartment. Don’t worry—“ He holds up a hand, “Vito handled everything.”

“Does he need anything?” Your father offered, stepping out from behind the front counter.

“Yeah, but I have a feeling you already know what,” Clemenza shrugged his shoulders. “That bastard Fanucci took half of our dime each and every time. He still dealt with your bank, right?”

“He has an account here,” Francesco nodded.

“Good,” Clemenza put his fedora back on, adjusting it. “Because everything in Fanucci’s account needs to all go to Vito now.”

It was true that Fanucci’s death, it now meant his money and assets held at the Giordano banks had to go somewhere, and your father couldn’t agree more to it going straight to Vito.

Fanucci had been stingy and extra hard on Vito over anyone, despite Vito being understanding and gentle to counter each and every time.

Still, Fanucci took hundreds of dollars worth of cuts from Vito’s pay every single time and still threatened to have him killed at the same time.

Francesco had no pity whatsoever towards Fanucci or his family, and if Vito was going to be the one taking back the money Fanucci stole from him and everyone else, then your father would agree to let it happen.

After all, Francesco knew Vito Corleone wasn’t the kind of man to take all that money and spend it on himself.

Vito proved your father’s beliefs about the security of Fanucci’s money and assets being transferred to Vito’s accounts when he saw for himself how Vito spread the money back into the Italian-American community and only taking the exact fair share that he kept track of since Fanucci began taking it.

Afterward, Francesco closed down Fanucci’s account at his bank and erased all existence and history of it, so if the police came around to ask questions, there wouldn’t be a single answer available.

Having Fanucci killed wasn’t something your father expected to happen in 1920—not while prohibition was still ongoing—and by Vito Corleone’s hand, nonetheless.

At the time, the only exciting news for Francesco Giordano was that he was expecting his wife to give birth to twin babies in the upcoming year.

In 1921, you and your twin sister Gabriella were born.

Your family did not live in stress due to any direct involvement in mafia affairs or had any fears to worry about what the mafia and those associated with its lifestyle of crime were doing.

Nothing stopped your family from continuing to live out their lives as normal, peaceful, and lawful with the police and government as many see fit despite what your father had known, seen, and been involved with in the past year.

Your father promised himself that he would never do or say anything to jeopardize the safety and happiness of his family nor put his family in any situation where they would live in fear and become potential targets to anyone or anything.

After all, your father had been expecting the birth of you and your baby sister—experiencing fatherhood all over again and surprisingly to two daughters this time.

Nothing else needed to get in the way of Francesco Giordano when he was welcoming two little babies to his family. Nothing to stress out his wife either and Francesco made certain of this.

It was on June 19th, 1921 that your mother, Rosa, went into labor in the comfort of her own home for six hours to give birth to you and your twin sister.

The same nurses who helped your mother give birth to your brothers were at your mother’s side again as your father also sat with her and held your mother’s hand for comfort—wiping the sweat off of her forehead and making soft conversation.

Everyone involved kept Rosa as comfortable as they best could, remaining vigilant in observation and getting Rosa anything she may need.

“Ti amo,” (I love you) your father whispered in your mother’s ear. “Sei una donna forte e ce la farai.” (You’re a strong woman and you’re going to get through this.)

Your mother’s strength thick and thin always had your father in awe, and your father never left your mother’s side throughout the six hours of tedious and agonizing labor.

Neither of your parents will ever forget the overwhelming joy and excitement they felt hearing the nurse announce, “it’s a girl!” for the first time as your mother gave birth to you.

Your mother smiled throughout her tears as she reached out to hold you and your father teared up too, seeing that he now had a baby daughter.

Sobbing from nothing but happiness and relief, your mother held your tiny self in her arms for a few moments before her body would prepare again to give birth to your twin sister Bella in the next forty minutes.

“Gabriella, Gabriella…” Your father cooed softly, attempting to soothe you as you cried out in your mother’s arms. “Welcome to the world, my beautiful girl.”

If it was a shock to have a daughter after giving birth to so many little boys, the ultimate surprise was your parents realizing that they were having two daughters.

So many happy tears and laughter were shared in that room, relief washing over everyone and the exhaustion of labor beginning to kick in.

Your family welcomed you and your twin sister Bella to the world in 1921, and your mother and father held both you and Bella in their arms, whispering promises that they would love and protect you both no matter what; that they’d do anything to give you and your siblings a good life.

Your eldest brother, Luca, who was five years old at the time was ecstatic, as were four-year-old Romeo, Casio, and little Giani to welcome two baby sisters.

Truly, it was one of the happiest moments of your mother and father’s lives.

In 1922 as you and Bella were just little babies growing up, one thing had become all the more apparent to all men who lived in Long Island—particularly the Italian community and the one in Hell’s Kitchen too.

Crime families at this time had bonded and grown stronger with all the more influence now. They were too powerful to be considered Fanucci wannabees as they could no longer be reckoned with alone.

Such power and influence amidst crime families brought business and organization, but that also meant rampant crime and fear even if it was not always noticeable.

One had to be careful dealing with crime families for whatever reasons since rivalry, although relatively uncommon at the time did exist and caused enough trouble.

Your father was only allied with and close friends with Vito and the Corleone family at the time, so no rivalry concerned him.

“Let me know if you need anything else, my friend,” Francesco said, patting Vito’s shoulder. “I can find a way to get funds to you in Sicily in less than two days if needed.”

“I will be fine, Frankie. Thank you,” Vito chuckled and smiled at your father. “I’m very grateful and appreciative for all the help you’ve provided my family and me.”

“You know I can say the same to you,” Francesco nodded back. “I’m too used to seeing you down these neighborhoods. You’ll be missed, Vito Corleone, but this trip is just what you need, isn’t it? For family and for peace.”

“Exactly,” Vito reaffirmed, “I won’t put it off longer than I need to. Don Ciccio is a withered old man now but he doesn’t deserve to die from something so merciful such as old age.”

“I agree,” Francesco replied. “He is a vile and sick man obsessed with power. He always has been. Maybe once he’s finally out of the picture, the rest of us can peacefully return to Sicily for a family trip as we wish to.”

“Many have said the same to me before,” Vito frowned. “I doubt Ciccio will remember me, but that is exactly what I will use to my advantage. It didn’t have to be this way, but…” Vito stroked his chin, “I lost my entire family to that foul man.”

“You don’t need to justify it to me or anyone else, Vito,” Francesco shook his head. “His death is in your hands now. You know I would come to aid you if I could. Either way, I support you.”

“I know you would, my friend, which is why we must part ways for now,” warmth flickered in Vito’s eyes. I can’t do this to you; you just had your little girls and they need their father with them more than ever.”

“So as long as they get to see their godfather soon again,” your father grinned. “Rosa is expecting you and Carmela all ready for dinner. Mrs. Corleone is expecting now too, is she not?”

“Indeed,” Vito beamed. “And we are taking little Michael to Sicily for this time on this trip.”

At that time, Carmela Corleone was pregnant with her first and only daughter, Constanzia.

“Ah, little Michael,” your father’s eyes lit up. “No naughtiness from the little man, I hope?”

“He’s a good, quiet young man,” Vito let out a soft laugh. “This trip will give him more stories to listen to about Sicily since he won’t remember it when he’s older.”

“Of course,” your father smiled, “just keep that fiery Santino by your side.”

“Carmela says the same,” Vito pointed out. “Don’t worry, I will. He’s a good boy too, I promise, although he could benefit from learning more manners.”

“Can’t we all?” Laughing, the two men shared a farewell hug.

“Be careful and be well, Vito,” your father cautioned. “Enemies may still be lurking in Sicily, looking for you, especially if you seek revenge.”

“It’ll be as if I wasn’t even there.”

[ 1939, Present Day ]

The first to welcome their first children into the Corleone family with Carmela and Vito Corleone excited to welcome a grandchild are Tom and Theresa Hagen; expecting their first baby early next year.

It’s no surprise that at first all eyes were on Santino—the eldest son of the Corleone family—to settle down and start a family first instead of Tom or anyone else, despite Tom being the same age—twenty three.

The only difference between the two men in terms of settling down to have a family was that Tom is in love with an investing in his love life and marriage with Theresa, an American woman, whereas Sonny hardly knows what “settling down” means.

It’s only in Sonny’s best interest to switch from one woman to another, a one nightstand again and again with no care as to how others may see Sonny to be very promiscuous with no shame or intent to stop sleeping around to even think about marrying someone.

Celebrating the baby shower for Tom and Theresa planned today, the nature of the event to both Tom and Theresa is private and intimate, hence their invitations only being sent out to the closest friends of the Corleone family.

Only the Giordano’s, Barzini’s and Cuneo’s are invited today with the vast majority of the women helping with the cooking back inside and the men upstairs in Don Corleone’s office.

Despite the family history with the Giordano’s, this is the first time you’re attending a Corleone family event and the very first time you’ll be visiting the Corleone estate.

Your father and brothers have visited the Corleone’s numerous times previously and know them better than any other business partner or friend, but neither you nor Bella have had the opportunity to yourselves.

Bella is more than halfway through her first semester at the Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna however, leaving you to be the only woman of the family next to your mother.

With the baby shower celebrations ongoing this afternoon in the courtyard of the Corleone estate to enjoy the fresh spring air and sun, men seeing Vito Corleone inside present Don Corleone with gifts meant for the expecting couple out of respect first.

Connie carefully balances one gift box over another by a table reserved just for baby shower gifts, making sure the presents don’t topple over one another from solely the sheer number of how many there are.

Arriving just five minutes after your father and brother, your chauffer passes clearance at the main gates of the Corleone estate before slowly beginning to park inside.

Your father and brothers have joined Barzini and Cuneo’s sons upstairs in Vito’s office where Sonny, Tom and Fredo also remain, but Michael—the youngest son of the Corleone family—is away at Dartmouth College for study.

Once the topic at hand ends in Vito’s office, Tom will come back out to the courtyard to thank and meet all the guests at the baby shower himself.

The rest of the men are not expected to in order to keep a low profile and spend as much time discussing business with Don Corleone as possible.

The only Corleone family member you know personally is Carmella and you’ve enjoyed every bit of time you’ve gotten to spend with her in the past when Carmela came to visit and bake desserts with you and your mother from time to time.

You know you’ll be meeting Theresa—the one expecting—and Connie Corleone as well for the first time.

“Benvenuti, miei cari!” (Welcome, my darlings!) Carmela happily blurts as she rushes down to the gates to greet you and your mother the moment you two step out of the vehicle.

“Carmela!” Your mother beams, pulling her into a warm hug. “Come stai dolcezza? È da parecchio tempo!” (How are you, honey? It’s been so long!)

“Yes, it has!” Carmela lets out a soft laugh before she cups your cheeks gently. “È passato tanto tempo perché guarda Gabriella! Adesso è diventata una bellissima giovane donna!” (It has been so long because look at Gabriella! She's all grown up now into a beautiful young woman!)

“Hi, Mama Corleone,” you giggle back, giving her a hug. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“And you as well, honey—mwah,” Carmela kisses both of your cheeks again, “she’s grown up to be such a beauty, hasn’t she?”

“Very much so,” your mother happily agrees. “And I’m excited for her to meet your girls!”

“As am I!” Carmela gestures excitedly, “come on in, ladies. All the men are already inside seeing Vito, I doubt they’ll even bother to come step out but in any case—that doesn’t matter. We’re all very excited for Theresa expecting her little one soon!”

“How far along is she?” You ask, walking into the Corleone estate grounds with your mother and Carmela.

“She’s about seven months pregnant now,” Carmela answers. “I can’t wait to introduce you to her. I know all you lovely ladies will get along just fine!”

Before you can say anything else, you step into the Corleone estate’s courtyard with Carmela and your mother to be hit with awe from the beauty of the estate surrounding you.

A gazebo stands in the further end of the courtyard with the manor itself built in a classic American style but with small details to Italian architecture.

The courtyard in which you stand in is surrounded by a blossoming garden, spotless and filled with ample enough space to host over four hundred people comfortably.

“So beautiful,” you murmur in surprise; momentarily turning back to see your chauffer placing the carefully wrapped giftboxes filled with the presents your mother and you chose for the baby shower by the table with the other gifts.

For your baby shower gift to Tom and Theresa, you picked out an abundance of cotton diapers, two bibs, three different pacifiers and a baby mat.

As your mother and Mama Corleone are lost in conversation, you look up to see a heavily pregnant woman—Theresa—rise up from her seat at her table with her hand over her baby bump.

Petite frame, blonde with bright eyes and American, Theresa’s eyes land on you as another woman approaches her by her side—a Sicilian—who looks like a striking combination of Carmela and Vito combined.

You assume this must be Connie—the only daughter of the Corleone family that your mother and Mama Corleone lead you up to now for introductions.

“Here is our lovely Theresa!” Carmela gestures to the pregnant young woman. “Seven months in with her little one already. Theresa, this is the daughter of my best friend, Gabriella. Her family is from Sicily too.”

“Hello,” Theresa shyly reaches out her hand to you. “It’s nice to meet you, Gabriella.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Theresa,” you give her a polite smile, shaking her hand back. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you!” Theresa’s eyes light up.

“And this is my daughter, Connie,” Carmela introduces Connie to you next, and you immediately notice Connie is much less shyer than her sister-in-law Theresa with a sparkle of excitement in her eyes from being introduced to you.

“Hi Gabriella,” Connie grins, “are you the only daughter in your family too?”

“Not exactly,” you let out a laugh, “I have a twin sister but she’s studying abroad.”

“Ah, lucky you! I’m the only sister,” Connie gives your hand a warm squeeze.

“I know what it’s like to grow up with many brothers around you, trust me,” you giggle back, knowing from what your mother told you that the Corleone’s are almost just as big of a family as yours and with many sons.

“Tell me about it,” Connie holds back her laughter and it immediately strikes you that Connie appears to be type of woman you can easily get along with and make the best of friends with her.

Just as warm, loving and trusting as Connie seems, you also can’t push past or ignore how you pick up an explainable kind of yearning sadness behind Connie’s eyes too.

Just as you’re thinking, Connie’s yearning to make a friend with someone like you and knowing she can easily be able to do so considering how close your families are; both of you around the same age and with familiar backgrounds.

Back inside Don Corleone’s office, greetings, congratulations and humble gift giving to Vito Corleone for Tom and Theresa’s baby shower has come to an end as Tom smiles to himself and keeps the stack of guests in the corner of Vito’s office and takes his seat again near his father.

A glass of richly aged bourbon is served for all of the men and Vito’s office door remains slightly ajar to help keep the air from getting stuffy from cigarette smoke.

“But the war,” Sonny begins, unamused, “it doesn’t mean too much for us, anyway.”

“Not at all,” your father says, shaking his head. “It’s a shame with all the bloodshed going on in Europe right now, but our interests remain the same and our assets here are protected.”

“We expect a prosperous new decade of us nonetheless,” Don Barzini adds.

“As do I,” Vito agrees. “One can only be concerned so much as to what strangers abroad are doing or how they risk their lives. We must work together so there’s no war between our families and only peace.”

“I have to say,” Tom speaks up, “to have no rivalry despite working with our families and their investments is impressive, Mr. Giordano.”

“I appreciate your praise, Tom,” Francesco gives Tom a polite smile. “In this line of work, I had to be a salesman and businessman. I hope our families can continue to be civil and work with one another. I know my wife enjoys the company of our family get-togethers and it would also be good for Gabriella as well, considering her sister is in Austria.”

“Ah, how is she?” Vito’s eyes light up in interest. “Enjoying her time abroad?”

“Indeed,” your father nods happily, “Bella is taking a varieties of courses on subjects in the arts, especially music and literature It’s good for her to broaden her horizons but I miss her, and I think Gabriella does too, of course.”

“Ah, very understandable,” Don Cuneo nods.

‘Gabriella?’ Sonny blinks, thinking to himself. ‘Who is she?’

“Michael is the same,” Vito gives his shoulders a shrug. “He is at Dartmouth now and I am proud of him for entering study in political science.”

“He doesn’t wish to follow in your footsteps, Vito?” Don Barzini smirks.

“He wants no involvement whatsoever,” Vito shakes his head. “Which is more than fine with me. Michael seeks a career in politics. I say sometimes American politics can be so foolish, but Michael can also be stubborn when he wants to. Nonetheless,” Vito places his hands down upon his desk, “I’m very proud of him.”

“Indecisive, perhaps?” Your father suggests.

“Nah,” Sonny interrupts, scoffing. “Michael wants to do everything and anything.”

“He is the youngest after all,” Tom chuckles quietly. “Then my sister Connie who is the youngest child of the family.”

“Ah, the lovely Connie,” Francesco smiles warmly, “of course. Michael is a bachelor, then?”

“All my sons are, except Tom,” Vito answers, somewhat unhappy about his answer. “Perhaps that will change, won’t it, Fredo?” Vito gives Fredo a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“Sure, Pop,” Fredo says back sheepishly.

“And Santino’s a different story,” Vito continues, gesturing to his eldest son.

“I dunno,” Sonny chuckles to himself, shrugging his shoulders. “Marriage isn’t really something on my mind just yet, you know.”

“Would you like to marry in the future, though?” Don Cuneo asks him.

“I do,” Sonny nods, “have some kids, a family—settle down, yeah. Why not? I just don’t think I got any opportunity to now but I’m not the kind of man who would push it all away.”

Vito nods, staring back down at his drink in hopes the conversation about Sonny being a bachelorette will change in the next few moments, for the sake of the Corleone family’s dignity.

Vito knows everyone else in the room is just as away of Sonny’s promiscuous behaviour and lifestyle as he is, after all.

Out in the courtyard with the ladies and you, most of the conversation continues with your mother, Theresa and Carmela, all giddy about Theresa’s pregnancy.

“Congratulations again, honey,” your mother tells Theresa, “how has it been for you so far? An easy pregnancy, I hope.”

“A little difficult, honestly,” Theresa admits, sheepishly. “It’s improving though.”

“It will for baby number two as well,” Carmela chimes in.

You turn back to Connie and smile, inviting a conversation of your own that she starts.

“Welcome, Gabriella,” Connie says to you, “it’s honestly nice to put a name to a face at last. Mama has told me a bit about you and your sister but we surprisingly never had the chance to meet.”

“I know,” you pout, “I wish we could have met one another much sooner. My twin sister is in Austria right now, actually, so she has no chance at all yet. You know, touring Western Europe when she feels up to an adventure. I’m not so lucky or adventurous though,” you laugh.

“Neither am I,” Connie admits, “it’s refreshing to meet someone like you. What’s Bella in Austria for?”

“Art school,” you reply, smoothening out your shirtwaist dress. “Art has always been a passion for Bella, mostly music, literature and art history.”

“Must run in the family then,” Connie beams at you, “mama told me both you and your mother are artists too.”

Flattered, you nod eagerly with a smile. “We’d like to say so! It runs within the ladies of the family. I adore fine art like sculpture and art history, but personally, it’s not my passion.”

“Applied arts then, maybe?” Connie offers, growing further interested in the conversation at hand.

“Something like that,” you ponder for a moment, “I prefer painting, like mama. I’ve always loved doing so.”

“Wow,” Connie murmurs to herself, “do you have any inspirations for making art?”

“Maybe not the answer you’re looking for—” you chuckle sheepishly, “but I’d honestly have to say emotions inspire me, and my environment. Even the weather—small things like that. Artists like Van Gogh and Monet also inspire me.”

“That’s amazing,” Connie brushes back a curtain of her dark hair behind her ear. “Mama had actually been telling me earlier about the private art school your mother teaches at and…I was honestly thinking about enrolling to get a feel for myself but I wasn’t entirely too sure.”

“Definitely go for it,” you can scarcely hide the enthusiasm in your tone. “Mama would be more than happy to guide you along the way too. I still attend when I have the time and you could too for passion or for credentials. There’s something for everyone.”

“Absolutely,” your mother chimes into the conversation. “I would love to show you around the school as well, Constanzia. Someday, Gabriella will have to show you her paintings.”

“I would like that very much,” Connie smiles back politely. “I can tell she’s very talented.”

“Thank you,” you blush.

“She’s a nurse by trade, did you know that?” Mama Corleone adds, causing both Theresa and Connie’s eyes to widen in surprise.

“I am,” you admit, noticing how proud your mother looks next to you. “Practice and passion versus hobbies and passion.”

“Wow,” Theresa breathes, “that’s wonderful. How do you like nursing, Gabriella?”

“So far, so good,” you giggle quietly. “I’m fairly new to the practice but I’ve been tending to some injured soldiers lately. It’s practical, and I’m excited to see where the career takes me.”

“A nurse at a baby shower, how nice!” Theresa gushes.

With business conversation endlessly continuing in Vito’s office, Sonny remains to be the only one itching to get out of his seat and at least take cigarette break from the stuffy talk he has no need to contribute too.

Then again, Sonny’s more obligated to listen and consider every word coming out of Vito’s mouth wisely due to being his father’s successor and having to expect the same business talks directed towards him someday.

“You can tell Luca,” Vito gestures to Sonny, grabbing his attention. “Give him a call and let him know, since he won’t listen to Tom anyway.”

Chuckles fill the room as Sonny gives a nod, sighing in relief under his breath and beginning to rise from his seat.

You’ve just stepped into the Corleone manor for a quick bathroom break after getting some much needed directions from Connie on how to navigate the estate; unable to stop yourself from gazing and admiring the furniture and fixtures of the stunning foyer.

Remembering Connie’s words on reaching the first bathroom, you begin to head down the hallway when you momentarily stop in your tracks to sneeze.

Covering your nose, you sneeze quietly and sniffle—instantly feeling a momentary sharp prickle in your nostrils.

Blinking, you continue walking forward—albeit slowly—due to being distracted by the small throbbing pain beginning to start in your nose.

“Ugh…” You rub your nose tenderly, eyes widening in surprise to see droplets of blood over your fingers.

A split second passes before you sneeze again, realizing the culprit is the stuffy and somewhat dust filled air in the hallway getting to you.

It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve experienced something similar, but it annoys you to no avail nonetheless.

You cover your nose and continue heading towards where you assume the nearest bathroom is, being careful so as not to spill any blood on the mahogany floorboards or onto your dress.

“Found it yet?!” You hear Connie’s voice echo down from the foyer as she peaks her head inside the estate.

“Yes, don’t worry!” You let out a half muffled call back, spotting the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

“Alright, I’ll wait for you back outside!” Connie shouts, shutting the front door behind her.

The “yes, don’t worry!” you proclaimed out catches Sonny’s interest instantly; the sound of an unfamiliar, yet sweet voice he’s never heard before.

Stunned, Sonny’s unable to focus on anything else and drowns out the chatter and noise from Vito’s office before he exits out into the hallway and shuts the door of Vito’s office behind him.

You sneeze again, whimpering out of annoyance as you feel blood beginning to trickle from your nose.

Following every sound you make, Sonny furrows his brows and walks downstairs and towards the hallway cautiously—both hands in the pockets of his dress trousers.

Only a split second later does Sonny spot you; an unfamiliar woman with your back facing him, wearing a burgundy swing dress with white kitten heels, your hair curled over your shoulders and more peculiarly, how you clutch your hand over your nose.

“Are you alright?” Sonny speaks out to you, coming closer to step into your line of view.

You blink, assuming one of the Corleone family’s bodyguards or security must have heard you sneezing and walking around the manor by now, but when you turn around you can tell just by the posture and amused expression over the stranger’s face that he’s neither.

Sonny and you don’t know one another nor have you seen each other before. You’re not even aware of what the Corleone men’s names are besides Tom and Vito, and you just learned Tom’s today through Theresa.

Blush instantly hits your cheeks as you feel your skin warm at the sight of Sonny. This man is tall with a slim but lean, fit build; sharp shoulders giving Sonny a firm build, his hair in brunette curls and his jawline chiselled with a smirk over his face.

There’s an air of confidence over Sonny and you can already tell with just a glance that he’s someone important.

You assume just by Sonny’s body language across from you that aggressiveness isn’t unheard of from him, but he seems intrigued and even friendly towards you.

“Oh, fine, thank you,” you answer back, still covering your nose. “I didn’t imagine it to be so stuffy down here.”

Sonny chuckles, stepping closer to you before taking one hand out of his pocket to gesture around to the walls. “The walls in this place are older than you and be combined. Don’t mind that.”

You gaze up at Sonny, unable to stop yourself from blushing as he gets closer to you.

You lower your hand away from your face without even realizing it, revealing your bloody nose to Sonny.

Sonny barely reacts to the sight of blood over your face but the look upon his face that he gives you doesn’t appear the way one would gaze at a stranger or someone they’ve met for the first time; the look in Sonny’s eyes may as well tell him he’s known you his whole life.

Sonny wants to ask you if he’s seen you somewhere or if the two of you know each other from some time ago, but something urges him to keep quiet, knowing the answer must be no.

Sonny’s muscles tense from a rush of arousal hitting him at the sight of you, already wildly attracted to you with no intention of denying it.

“Here,” Sonny reaches into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a neatly folded, silk handkerchief before handing it to you. “Don’t let it bleed all over you now.”

You hesitate for a moment, not at Sonny’s kindness but the expensive cloth he’s just handed you to wipe your nose with.

A warm, playful smile crosses Sonny’s lips as he reads through your hesitancy. “You’re Gabriella, aren’t you?”

Sonny knows better. An unfamiliar woman in his house with Mr. Giordano visiting? He’s already beginning to figure you out. Luckily, he didn’t assume you’re Bella.

“I am,” blushing, you answer a little out of breath and take the silk handkerchief from Sonny. “Thank you so much…” Your voice trails off as you realize you don’t know this man’s name.

“Santino Corleone,” Sonny introduces himself t you. “But everyone calls me Sonny.”

‘So he IS a Corleone…’

“Sonny,” you repeat, feeling your cheeks stinging with blush. “Thank you.”

Sonny grins, extending out a hand to shake yours as you wipe your nose with your free one. “It’s nice to meet you at last, Miss Giordano.”

As you shake Sonny’s hand back, you feel the same current of arousal rushing through him go through you.

“We haven’t met before, have we?” Sonny finally asks, unable to shake off the belief that he’s more than just familiar with you.

“This would be the first time,” you shake your head, “it’s nice to meet you as well. I’ve yet to meet your whole family yet, but,” you smile shyly, “thank you for having us to celebrate Tom and Theresa.”

“Thanks for coming,” Sonny smirks, “you’ve probably met Theresa already but Tom will be out in a moment and then you can see him too.”

You don’t notice Sonny’s eager eyes gazing up and down at your figure a split second after.

“Were you looking for someone or something?” Sonny asks you.

“Just the bathroom,” you admit, sheepishly. “I…” Your nose has fortunately stopped bleeding, but you look at the silk handkerchief in your hand to see the crimson mess staining through it.

“Don’t worry about it, darling,” Sonny scoffs; he couldn’t care less about the damn handkerchief.

“If you insist,” you begin to carefully fold the handkerchief in the palm of your hand. “It’s just about the whole reason why I came in.”

“Fair enough,” Sonny forces his eyes off of yours, gesturing further down the hallway. “Unless the whole baby shower is waiting for you to get back, I’ll help you out here. Give you a tour of the estate and every bathroom you can find in here.”

“Oh, Mr—” you correct yourself immediately, “Sonny—I would like that very much but I don’t want to interrupt what you’re doing for something like that—”

“Believe me, I insist,” Sonny interrupts, smiling at you. “Guests come first. It’s really no problem. Let me give you a proper tour around here.”

“Alright then,” you accept, smiling back at him. “If it’s no trouble with you, I’d love to.”

“Alright then, Miss Gabriella,” Sonny moves next to you, leading the way out of the hall. “Stay close to me, alright?”

Blushing furiously, you nod back at Sonny who looks over at you behind his shoulder. “I’m with you.”

There’s no doubt about it; had you refused to go along with Santino and returned back to the baby shower or simply didn’t choose to communicate or see Sonny again after today, of course your life would be different. Either way, it would have changed.

What would you know now in this fleeting moment that couldn’t possibly mean anything else to you, trusting in this influential man son to a powerful Don that you just met, feeling as if he’s suddenly wanted to treat you as someone else in his home other than a guest?

If anyone asked years from now, you would tell them the truth. Yes, you would follow Santino Corleone to the ends of the earth, to hell if you had to and beyond that to meet him in whatever life awaited you next.

This is just the beginning of what destiny has spelled out for you side to side with a man like Santino Corleone.

But for now, you follow Sonny in hopes you’ll get to know this kind stranger and the Corleone family better, because your heart is bound to give in sooner rather than later.

#the godfather #james caan #sonny corleone x reader #sonnycorleone x oc #sonny corleone fanfic #godfather au #sonny corleone smut #sonny corleone x reader smut #sonny corleone #the godfather x reader #godfather x reader #santino corleone x reader #santino corleone x oc #santino corleone fanfic #santino corleone smut #santino corleone x reader smut #santino corleone #mafia wife fic #mafia wife fanfic

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a-boca-do-inferno · 2 years

Text

eyes never lie (tom hagen x reader)

summary: A little party never killed nobody, right?

warnings: cheating, swearing, smut, angst-ish

words: 2.8k

notes: the amount of time i spent on this is embarrassing lmao. this is 100% self-indulged btw and also only fiction pls do not cheat on your significant other (only with cute little mafia men <3). enjoy!

A long sigh escaped your lips for the thousandth time as you only kept nodding at whatever Connie was saying. You just couldn’t pay attention to the conversation anymore; your boredom was far greater than any other feeling you had now. Business meetings felt like a slap in the face and these type of “family fraternizations” were always a hard pass for you, as you very much preferred a simple afternoon coffee with your mother-in-law, no shady men in fancy suits whispering to each other. Still, you were compelled to accompany your husband every now and then. You had a reputation to maintain even within family, after all.

“C’mon, (y/n), I’m sure you’re gonna love it!”, it’s Connie’s voice once more, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You shake your head slightly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Connie. Michael won’t like not seeing me here.”

“Oh, please, it’s not like we’re gonna miss anything”, she waves her hand in a sneering gesture, pointing with her chin in the direction of your husband’s office. “Besides, they’re working now. Michael’s mind is clearly elsewhere, he won’t even notice you’re gone.”

You couldn’t help but sigh this time. Connie was just too persistent for her own good. You take a look at the wooden door to your side and nod briefly, giving up. “Fine. But we’ll be back before eleven, you hear me?!”

She only smiled triumphally, already making her way out the mansion while you followed her suit. A rush of excitement rushed through your body as you got in her car, driving off to God knows where. You liked Connie because she was fearless, reckless, even a little bit crazy at times. She was truly a breath of fresh air from all the tension surrounding your family, you even considered her one of your best friends. So, despite not knowing exactly what she had in mind, you trusted her. Besides, maybe what you needed was really just a quick get-away.

A little party never killed nobody, right?

Before marrying Michael, you had already been a friend of the Corleone family for many years. When Vito died, you became much closer with Carmela; they both always treated you like a daughter, after all, long afore you got engaged to their son. The boys and Connie even used to joke about you being the “female Tom Hagen”, especially Tom Hagen himself, while flashing you a warm smile whenever you were around their house. You always thought he was the kindest Corleone man — as ironic as that may sound, since he was adopted —, so you found pleasant being referred to as such, although the joke was now but a good memory from the past.

As time went on, it only made sense you’d end up marrying one of their sons one day. Don Corleone was never really subtle about wanting you to “birth him some grandchildren”, as he liked to say. Michael eventually proposed to you when he got back from Sicily, not really taking anyone by surprise, what with everyone’s revelation that his endearment to you had been no secret from the start. It was such a beautiful ceremony, you still remember Vito’s happiness to this day... But ever since he passed away, things started to change. Mostly with Michael, of course, as he was now the head of the family business.

You have no quarrel with his line of work, never had; however, you would be lying if you said it sometimes didn’t take a toll in your marriage. Most notably in the past few months, where you’d both often find yourselves in a pointless argument about the stupidest things. You liked to think it had little to do with your relationship per se, and rather his stressful job, but at times it felt as though you weren’t happy as a couple anymore. He became more possessive by the day, even going as far as ordering you around like one of his henchmen. And although you did not like that, not one bit — especially because you were raised to have dignity, something his own father had taught you on many occasions —, as his wife, you had to oblige and understand your position. And you did, heaven knows.

But God, was it tiring.

“We’re here!”, Connie announces happily, parking in front of a modest building. She glances at you briefly before getting out of the vehicle. “Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve come here. I found this place right after I left Carlo. C’mon, let’s party!”

You chuckled at her almost cartoonish excitement, accompanying her up the three steps that lead toward the door. You didn’t know that neighbourhood, and to be honest it didn’t feel very safe, but Connie seemed to be familiar with the surroundings, so it couldn’t be that bad. You trusted her, after all.

The door slowly opened and caught your attention. You were greeted by a woman in her fifties, probably, and she offered a warm, even motherly smile to Connie. They both hugged tightly and you raised a brow, still lost as to who that was and where you actually were. The lady then measured you up and down before clapping her hands in a pleased gesture, coming to give you a hug as well.

“Mrs. Corleone, what a pleasure! Welcome, welcome!”, she patted your back in enthusiasm, looking at you with content eyes. “Come on in, make yourselves at home.”

You blinked once, still taken aback by her display of affection to you when you had never seen that woman in your life, but she didn’t seem to notice or mind it. You watched as she made way for you to come inside and Connie readily grabbed your wrist, pulling you to follow her around. The door closed behind you and you were in what it seemed to be a living room of sorts. You exchanged a look with Connie and she nodded happily, unable to hold back her delight. It only got you more curious.

The smell in the air was nicotine, incense and alcohol. There were two red couches next to each other, just in the beginning of the corridor, and both looked ancient. The walls were a dark, almost faded shade of brown, and the infiltration was blatant on all of them. You all walked past the living room, towards the hallway. As you got to what it looked like an office of some kind, a chatter coming from upstairs only got louder. There were laughing and singing, so you took it the “party” your sister-in-law talked about earlier was certainly taking place up there.

“Connie, what...”

You’re cut off by the woman stopping in her tracks, urging you both to do the same. She is still grinning while staring at you. “Would you like separate rooms?”

“Yes!”, Connie says, turning to you. “You’ll be fine by yourself, (y/n), won’t you? You’re a grown-up", she has a mischievous look on her face.

You frown, bothered by all of that suspense. “Connie, what is this place?”

“The finest brothel in town, my dear!”, the woman chimes in.

Your eyes widen in panic. “The finest what?”, you gasp and Connie only chuckles at your disbelief, waving her hand. “Connie, you said it was a party.”

“Well, it is!”, she shrugs, then glances back at the lady. “We’ll take two separate rooms next to each other. Apparently Mrs. Corleone here has been married for so long, she forgot how to jolly up.”

“I am absolutely not...”

“You don’t have to have sex with anyone, silly”, Connie cuts you off. “It’s just for the laughs!”, she then giggles like a child, which only makes the situation more obnoxious in your head. Still holding your arm, she adds, “c’mon, Dorothy will show us the way.”

You couldn’t believe what was happening, but you couldn’t stop your legs from following them upstairs either. There was a sting of sordid curiosity in your chest, and with it being wrapped up in that same rush of excitement of doing something different for a change, your brain just wouldn’t order your body to turn around and go back to your husband. You tried to remind yourself it was merely for the laughs, at last. No one would ever find out anyways, especially not Michael; so, you were safe.

You arrived at the second floor only to be met with a couple of women standing there. Each one of them had some cheap, dirty dress, contrasting with their beauty. All eyes fell upon you and you felt your cheeks heat up. You avoided their gaze to look back at Connie and she bore the same amusement as she pointed to the last door in the corridor, encouraging you with a nod. You scoffed, shaking your head. This was such a stupid thing, rich and respectable women posing as prostitutes only for the jokes, but you still couldn’t deny that you liked the little feeling of adventure growing inside you.

“Have fun!”, Connie says as you walk away from her, causing you to roll your eyes in a mix of irritation and mirth.

You opened the door and everything was dark inside. You supposed there wasn’t any “client” yet, so you simply made your way to the empty bed, sitting on the edge. It was surprisingly inviting and soft for a brothel’s furniture, making you lean in on the pillows and sit more comfortably. For a moment you closed your eyes and pretended you were back at home, in your own bed, waiting for Michael to come out of the bathroom and take you as passionately as he used to, before your relationship started to struggle. You couldn’t even remember the last time you made love with him that felt really good, and not just something to get you both off for the night. He was a busy man, you knew that, but having to constantly share him with his work frustrated you to no end as of lately.

The doorknob made a sound and you jumped in your spot, sitting back on the edge of the mattress in a swift movement. Anticipation ran through your whole body when you saw a silhouette approaching in the darkness, closing the door as it was swallowed fully by the blackness inside the room. The man’s footsteps were like drums in your ears, following the same rhythm as the rapid beating of your heart.

You cleared your throat while he stopped by the bedside lamp, right in front of you, and your breath hitched as he turned on the light. You stared at each other with a rather comical shock at first, a stretching silence around you. Tom’s mouth still hung open when you got up and stood face to face with him, so close you could take in every single note of his strong cologne. It made you feel almost dizzy.

“It’s not what you think”, you are the first one to speak, widened eyes as you blink nervously at him. “But please, don’t tell anyone”, you add, and the desperation in your voice sounds too pathetic to your own ears.

Tom merely nods. “I wasn’t gonna.”

And just like that, all your worries seem to disappear into thin air. Suddenly his hot, heavy breath against your lips is the only thing there is in your senses, similar to liquor warming every inch of your body as it streams down your throat. Your hands automatically land on his chest and his reaction is instant, pulling you into an urgent kiss without another word. Initially, you’re unable to think of anything else other than the pressure his tongue puts on yours, sweeping your mouth at an agonizingly slow pace. But as soon as you need to part ways looking for air, reality comes crashing down on you. This is your brother-in-law, for Christ’s sake.

What are you doing?

“This is wrong”, you choke, shaking your head quickly as you back away from him. Tom himself doesn’t look the least distressed, but then again, you can’t remember ever seeing him out of his usual collected demeanour for any reason; even in moments of pain and panic, as they are so common in the family business. You hug your body protectively, avoiding his piercing gaze that right now is just too calm for your liking. “I’m only here because Connie brought me”, you begin, not wanting to blame it all on Connie, but it was technically the truth. “I wasn’t going to... Nothing was going to happen. It was just for the laughs”, you can’t help but let out a miserable chuckle, your last words but a whisper as if even your brain couldn’t believe them anymore.

“I’m not accusing you of anything, (y/n)”, his voice is soft as a lullaby, ironically causing your insides to turn. Tom then takes an experimental step towards you and you hold your breath involuntarily, the maddening feel of his lips still lingering on yours. He laughs lightly, probably amused by your poor control over your emotions. ��I already told you I’m not going to say anything, I would never do that to you.”

“I believe you”, you sigh in defeat, finally giving up. Your shoulders slump and Tom takes the signal as an invitation, taking another step closer to you. His face is against the light now, but it somehow highlights the design of his jaw. It’s breath-taking. “Tom...”

“You kissed me back”, he points out matter-of-factly, and you feel your cheeks burn. His fingertips touch your face and now it’s impossible to escape his dark eyes. “Why?”, comes the unexpected murmur, making you frown slightly.

“You know why, Tom”, you offer him a small smile, trying to find any lingering doubt in his orbs. You don’t. “The eyes never lie, do they?”

He shrugs, gripping your waist again as he pulls you close. “Let’s find out now.”

Then it comes again, that wave of anticipation drowning you before you can even get to the surface for air. The kiss is as desperate as the first, hard, and his weight presses you against the bedroom door with a loud thud. It hurts a little, but you’re more focused on the way your whole body tingles when his hands roam your bust, squeezing and caressing every inch of skin they find in their path. His mouth tastes like cigarettes and alcohol on yours, yet his movements are as sober as it gets. Cold, long fingers grip at your sides and you put your legs around his hips in a tight hold, reflexively.

Your dress is violently pushed up and your underwear is swiftly put to the side, exposing your core to the coldness of the room. A moan escapes your lips as Tom enters you with no delicacy and he finds your swollen mouth for another deep, wet kiss. You both wanted this, there wasn’t really need for any ceremonies. And the eyes in fact did not lie; not with his sweaty body trapping yours in such an urgent pounding, not with the way his breath mixed in with yours from time to time, making you share the same hot air. He let out a quiet groan when your walls tightened around him and you smiled briefly, not being able to hold back the loud sounds leaving your own mouth when his tongue went towards the spot between your breasts, painting it glossy with his saliva.

“Fuck, fuck!”, you blurted out, digging your nails on his shoulders.

His hips were crushing you against the wooden door now and you were sure the thud was blaring enough to be heard outside in the hallway, but you couldn’t care less. He thrust one, two, three times more and a third wave of anticipation hit your body, while you trembled in his arms before going absolutely limp. Tom came right after, splashing the inside of your thighs in white colour. You stayed with your legs straddling him for a few seconds, trying to catch your breath.

The silence between you was somewhat pleasant and you let yourself forget everything, for that moment: Michael, your marriage, the family business... All that mattered now was how tender Tom’s hands were caressing your hips under the dress mindlessly, while his face was buried in your neck. His mouth was still pressed to your skin, but it did nothing there. No kiss, it just lingered on your pores. You felt a shiver up your spine as your eyes met his again, only to find there not a single drop of regret or shame.

Tom then left a quick peck on your collarbone, seeming to be entertained by how your chest rose up and down. “Are you okay?”, he speaks softly, waiting for your answer with no rush in his bearing. This was nice, you reckoned, how so much different he was from your husband. Michael’s calmness was calculating, cold, intense; Tom’s was soothing. You appreciated that right now.

“I am”, you murmur, with heated cheeks as you remember the position you’re both still in. “Are you?”

Tom looks away for a moment, seeming to think of his reply. Then a faint smile paints his lips, and you just know. But he asks, anyway, “can’t you see it in my eyes?”

#the godfather x reader #the godfather imagine #tom hagen x reader #tom hagen imagine #the godfather #tom hagen

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fangirl-imagines · 3 years

Text

The Godfather Masterlist

Michael Corleone:

Being in a Relationship with Michael Corleone Would Include...

Going to the Chapel//Michael Corleone x Reader

Michael Corleone Having a S/O with Anxiety Would Include...

Michael Corleone Having a S/O with PTSD Would Include...

Only Bought This Dress So You Could Take it Off//Michael Corleone x Reader Smut

Michael Corleone’s S/O Having an Eating Disorder Would Include...

Going to Sicily with Michael Corleone Would Include...

Michael Corleone’s Wife Being Best Friends with Fredo Would Include...

Close Call//Michael Corleone x Reader

Having a Baby with Michael Corleone Would Include...

Celebrating Your College Graduation with Michael Corleone Would Include...

Christmas as Michael Corleone’s Wife Would Include...

Christmas Shopping with Michael Corleone Would Include...

Date Night with Michael Corleone Moodboard

Sonny Corleone:

Ride Home//Sonny Corleone x Reader

Being in a Relationship with Sonny Corleone Would Include...

Vito Corleone:

Celebrating Your College Graduation with Vito Corleone Would Include...

Christmas with Young!Vito Corleone and Your Family Would Include...

Fredo Corleone:

Your First Christmas Party With Fredo Corleone Would Include...

Tom Hagen: None Yet

Godfather Preferences:

What It Would Be Like To Kiss the Corleone Men (+Tom)

What Kind of Girl Would the Godfather Men Go For

How the Godfather Men Would Take Care of Their Sick S/O

#the godfather #the godfather imagine #michael corleone #sonny corleone #sonny corleone imagine #michael corleone imagine #vito corleone #vito corelone imagine

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 4 years

Text

Masterlist

A list of my old writing that you can request I revise

Song Prompts

Meeting and Dating Headcanons~

Pretty in Pink

Andie Walsh

Duckie Dale

Blane McDonagh

Steff McKee

Sixteen Candles

Jake Ryan

The Lost Boys

Paul

Dwayne

Poly Lost Boys

Edgar Frog

The Breakfast Club

Brian Johnson

John Bender

Andrew Clark

The Outsiders

Sodapop Curtis

Dallas Winston

Two-Bit Mathews

Rumblefish

Steve Hays

Ferris Buellers Day Off

Cameron Frye

Karate Kid

Daniel Larusso

Johnny Lawrence

Dutch

Heathers

Veronica Sawyer

Jason Dean

Fast Times at Ridgemont High

Jeff Spicoli

Brad Hamilton

Better Off Dead

Lane Meyer

Weird Science

Gary Wallace

Wyatt Donnelly

Dream A Little Dream

Dinger Holfield

Bill and Teds Excellent Adventure

Bill S. Preston Esquire

Ted Logan

Dating Poly Bill and Ted

The Princess Bride

Inigo Montoya

Interview with the Vampire

Louis de Pointe du Lac

Children of the Corn

Malachai Boardman

National Lampoons

Rusty Griswold (European Vacation)

Cant Buy Me Love

Kenneth Wurman

The Chocolate War

Jerry Renault

Archie Costello

The Mighty Ducks

Fulton Reed

Dean Portman

Adam Banks

Les Averman

Porkys

Brian Schwartz

Anthony ‘Meat’ Tuperello

Tommy Turner

Tim Cavanaugh

Mickey Jarvis

Just One of the Guys

Terry Griffith

Greg Tolan

Dead Poets Society

Neil Perry

Todd Anderson

Charlie Dalton

Knox Overstreet

Steven Meeks

Earth Girls are Easy

Mac

Combat Academy

Perry Barnett

Waynes World

Garth Algar

Austin Powers

Toy Soldiers

Ricardo Montoya

Good Will Hunting

Chuckie Sullivan

10 Things I Hate About You

Joey Donner

My Bodyguard

Ricky Linderman

Melvin Moody

Stand and Deliver

Angel Guzman

Something Wild

Ray Sinclair

Three O’Clock High

Buddy Revell

Intruder

Randy

Young Guns

Jose Chavez y Chavez

Billy the Kid

Doc Scurlock

Dazed and Confused

Benny O’Donnell

Don Dawson

Kevin Pickford

Randall “Pink” Floyd

Fred O’Bannion

Mitch Kramer

Ron Slater

Shavonne Wright

Dogfight

Eddie Birdlace

Ladybugs

Matthew

Goosebumps

Sticks

Freddy Renfield

Twister

Robert ‘Rabbit’ Nurick

Stand by me

Ace Merrill

School Ties

Rip Van Kelt

Chris Reece

The Untouchables

Eliot Ness

The Godfather

Tom Hagen

(Young) Vito Corleone

(Old) Vito Corleone

Goodfellas

Henry Hill

Little Shop of Horrors

Seymour Krelborn

Newsies

Specs

Near Dark

Severen

Friday the 13th

Jason Voorhees

Scream

Billy Loomis

Poly Billy and Stu

Stu Macher

The Craft

Nancy Downs

Hocus Pocus

Max Dennison

Thackery Binx

Beetlejuice

Lydia Deetz

Adam Maitland

The Crow

Eric Draven

Ghostbusters

Ray Stantz

Aliens

Bishop

An American Werewolf in London

Jack Goodman

Sleepaway Camp

Ricky Thomas

Re-animator

Herbert West

Silence of the Lambs

Clarice Starling

Fright Night

Jerry Dandridge

Candyman

Daniel Robitaille

The Evil Dead

Ash Williams

Sabrina the Teenage Witch

Harvey Kinkle

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Spike

Full Metal Jacket

Sgt. Hartman

Joker

Animal Mother

Pyle

Preference~ the boys with an s/o whose ex stalks them

Grease

Kenickie

Labyrinth

Jareth

Total Recall

Douglas Quaid

Requested “Would Includes” and Imagines/Fics~

Darry falling for Johnny’s sister

Allison Reynolds dating a shy nerdy girl

Starting a family with Cameron Frye

Making out with Cameron Frye

Cameron Frye comforting you when you’re upset

Getting drunk with the Ferris Bueller crew

Gary Wallace dating a tall girl

George Mcfly with a dominant flirty s/o

Comforting and being comforted by Will Hunting

Will Hunting having a crush on you

Being apart of the good will hunting gang

Armand with a virgin s/o (including nsfw)

Lestat and Louis dating a girl who loves horror movies

Making out with Duckie Dale

Duckie Dale cheering you up

Cliff having a crush on you

Making out with Cliff

Making out with Bryce

Bryce having a crush on you

The Lost Boys with an s/o having an anxiety attack + fighting depression

The Lost Boys with a sweet and innocent s/o

The Lost Boys with a curvy mate

The Lost Boys fighting with their mates

The Lost Boys dating a shy short girl

The Lost Boys taking care of you when you’re hurt

Getting drunk with the Lost Boys would include

David x Laddies older sister

Making out with Edgar Frog

Being Married to Archie Costello

Going to the beach with Archie Costello

Making out with Archie Costello

Darrys girlfriend landing a job at a local cafe as a singer

Making out with Kenneth Wurman

Being Cindys friend and Ronalds crush

Harold Sherbico having a crush

Kim Kelly dating her polar opposite

Neil Perry dating an artist

Making out with Charlie Dalton

Jealous Charlie Dalton

Jealous Knox Overstreet

A study date with Steven Meeks

Spending the winter season with Neil Perry

Comforting Charlie Dalton after he gets expelled

The dead poets walking in on Charlie and his secret, shy girlfriend

Simon Boggs having a crush on Laneys friend

Faking It-Cindy Mancini falling for the girl who paid her to be her friend

Spike having a crush on you

Steff McKee having a crush on you

Marko having a crush on you

David having a crush on you

Paul having a crush on you

Dwayne having a crush on you

Dwayne x vampire reader who dresses like Stevie Nicks

Making out with Keith Nelson

Meat having a crush on Peewees sister

Admit it- Mickey Jarvis and his future s/o having crushes on each other

Being a part of team USA and meeting Adam and Charlie

Dwayne Robertson having a crush on you

Sleepover with Bill and Ted (including nsfw)

Being pregnant with Ted Logans child

Starring in the schools Romeo and Juliet with Ted Logan

Ted Logan asking you to be his valentine

Spending Valentines day with Steff McKee

Spending Valentines day with Steven Meeks

Spending Valentines day with Keith Nelson

Spending your first Valentines day with Bryce

Wishing I Was Her (Nick Andopolis)

If You Want Out Just Say It (Ace Merrill)

Going on the Ferris adventure

Going on your own adventure with Cameron Frye

Making out with Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd

Travelling back in time with Marty McFly

Tommy Devito dating a chubby artist

Years Gone By (Michael Corleone)

Sonny Corleone dating his opposite

Phillipe Gaston x reader~ Fairy Tale

Being Fulton's sister and Dating Dean Portman

Comforting Todd when he’s upset

Being married to Bill S. Preston Esquire

Being married to Ted Logan

Spending Halloween/October with Knox Overstreet

Making out with Knox

A will they, won’t they relationship with Seth Brundle

Falling in love with Edward Scissorhands

Dwayne Hicks with an Android!Technician s/o

Private Joker dating an artist

Jareth falling in love with you

Being married to Matt Hooper and going to Amity

The way you make me feel~ John Bender

Being in a long term relationship with JD

J.D. with a chronically ill s/o

Archie with a chronically ill s/o

Making out with Ted Logan

Archibald Craven falling in love

Andy Dufresne falling in love

Nsfw Headcanons~

Group sex with the lost boys

Sam Emerson

Threesome with Obie and Archie

Armand

Archie Costello

(sub) Archie Costello

Obie

Johnny Cade

Cameron Frye

Duckie Dale

Blane

John Bender

Randy (Intruder)

Joey Donner

Kenneth Wurman

Keith Nelson

The Dead Poets Kinks

Knox Overstreet

Charlie Dalton

Steven Meeks

Todd Anderson

Neil Perry

Gerard Pitts

John Bender taking your virginity

Louis de Pointe du Lac

Dinger Holfield

The Lost Boys

Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd

Benny O’donnell

Fred O’Bannion

Cliff

Bryce

Johnny Walker

George Mcfly

Brian Moreland

(sub) Perry Barnett

Bill S. Preston Esquire

Ted Logan

Randy Meeks

Michael Emerson

Nancy Downs

Ray Stantz

Egon Spengler

Spike

Angel Guzman

Sgt. Hartman

Brad Hamilton

Douglas Quaid

Chris (night of the creeps)

Sonny Corleone with a shy, virgin s/o

George Mcfly getting jealous and being dominant

Grease Monkey (Keith Nelson smut)

Sins of the flesh and matters of the heart (David x reader + Dwayne smut)

#80s movies #80s imagine #80s movie imagine #80s movie headcanons #80s smut #80s movie imagines #80s movie headcanon #80s movie smut #90s movies #90s imagine #90s movie headcanon #90s movie imagine #90s movie headcanons #90s tv show imagine #90s tv headcanons

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melis-writes · 9 months

Text

The Other Woman [Michael Corleone x Reader Multichapter, 18+ Smut] Chapter 5 – A Part of The Family.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 4 / Chapter Masterlist / Fanfic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

"Michael cares about you, don't forget that." / "Forget Kay. This has nothing to do with her."

With the Las Vegas gala approaching, you can neither get your mind off of spending the formal evening with the Corleone's nor do you hear the end of it at the Lake Tahoe compound. Growing closer with both Anthony and Mary who've begun to open up to you and enjoy your teaching, your career as the Corleone household's governess thrives and is noticed by Michael and Kay for different reasons altogether. Kay has slowly begun to doubt her parenting skills from observing you whereas Michael is no longer waiting for you to give in but making his first move. In the meanwhile, what you've learned about the Corleone family only further convinces you Michael may be living in Vito Corleone's legacy, but is nothing like the bloodthirsty mafiosi that killed your brothers. Patience between the sexual frustration mounting between you two will take you both to Las Vegas, but Michael intention isn't to be the center of attention at a gala his family his hosting–it's to make you his.

[WARNINGS]: Sexual themes & mentions.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Another chapter is finally here and an important one marking the end of this "slow burn" between Michael and Marina. 🤭💓 Michael won't stop to get at what he wants and he's no longer waiting for Marina to give in because he knows she can't in front of everyone and peering eyes, of course. 😳 Next chapter and onwards will be scandalous and promiscuous Michael's waited until the Las Vegas gala and he's going to make his first move, if it wasn't obvious in this chapter! 😈

Hired by the Corleone family as a governess, you relocate to the Lake Tahoe family compound, looking forward to your future in Nevada until you meet your employer—Michael Corleone. Your future is then ensnared only in lust and forbidden love for Michael since the beginning, and you find yourself yearning for a married man you can never have. Desire and passion clash with one another as Michael takes you to be his mistress—only having an exclusive sexual relationship with you while his sex life with Kay dies out. Knowing from the beginning you’ll never truly be with Michael and that your place in his life is worlds apart from Kay’s as the other woman, the love you have for him consumes you until it threatens to burn out everything you’ve ever had with Michael.

“I know you’re not used to these sorts of things,” Michael’s tone of voice is low and soothing, his words velvety as he speaks them so close to the side of your neck that you can feel his soft breath on you.

Your heart thunders in your chest from arousal and excitement coursing through you as you linger by the doorway of Michael’s office; refusing to step out and away from this man for as long as you possibly can.

“You will be,” Michael continues, taking a step closer to you and standing directly behind you, “as you get to understand my family name and the hospitality the Corleones offer.”

“Yes, sir,” you breathe back, barely audibly as the scent of Michael’s cologne hits you again.

Michael gazes at your back before letting his eyes wander admiringly over your figure, the curve of your hips and the shape of your thighs clinging against your pencil skirt. “Stay by me throughout the evening and you’ll be fine—if it comes to that.”

You give a small nod, slowly turning around to face Michael as you speak to him. “As long as I’m not disturbing your evening.”

You cannot push away the idea of possibly being a burden to the Corleones on such a special evening and social gathering, seeming as if you constantly need to be watched lest you somehow act out of line or do something wrong in front of hundreds of wealthy investors and businessmen.

“Nonsense,” Michael affirms, looking you in the eyes. “You’re not a burden, you’re my governess. You’re my guest.”

You surprise yourself with how you’re able to step out of Michael’s office without stumbling over your own two feet after having that conversation come to an end.

The tips of your ears and your cheeks sting, burning with blush as all you can think is how Michael’s planning to have this evening be tailored to you and your comfort up to the point where he’s picked out your gown for the evening.

As you make your way out of the Corleone estate and back to your living quarters, you remind yourself that even if you think Kay knows Michael’s done such a thing, you’ll keep everything and anything that happens between you and Michael all to yourself.

‘Everything should be fine.’

You don’t think Kay would mind too much but then again as you think it over, the idea of having your husband pick out an evening dress for another woman stirs a bit of jealousy inside of you that you don’t think Kay is immune to herself.

Maybe Kay would look too deep into it; perhaps Kay knows her husband isn’t the type of man to just “pick” out a dress for someone and since Kay knows Michael like the back of her hand and you don’t, the possibilities are endless.

Kay’s mind may first go to Michael being generous and picking out a dress for you simply because you forgot to choose, or he chose a random one simply for the sake of saving time for the order, but if it comes to overthinking Michael’s picked out an evening dress for you because he thought about what color adorns your skin and body perfectly and what he’d like to see you in… It would mean trouble.

There’s nothing going on between you and Michael that you’re entirely aware of for the time being, but even having the slightest bit of a crush on a man like Michael Corleone must absolutely not be given away or told to anyone.

If you let your fantasies and the beat of your heart delude you into assuming something more with Michael, you may find yourself outed to people for trying to flirt and be with a married man who seems all too unattainable to you even if he was a bachelor.

Nobody can know how you feel about Michael; not now, and not ever. You know your heart would be better off if he doesn’t catch onto how you feel either.

All throughout the week, the only thing mentioned back and forth again with excitement and anticipation is the upcoming gala in Las Vegas this Saturday.

Whether you hear it giddily from Kay or Connie whose been carefully curating the perfect outfit for the evening makes no difference; there’s a thrill sparking inside you when you think of attending your first black tie event with the Corleone family that more often than not blends in with the amount of nervousness you feel about it too.

“That’s what I’m saying!” You overhear Kay excitedly exclaiming to Sandra over in the kitchen. “The family has come so far. I’m honestly so proud of Michael, he does so much for us. All that’s mentioned in Reno and Las Vegas in the business is our family name, you know that? It’s incredible how we’ll we’ve done.”

Something tells you however that Michael hasn’t and most likely won’t be giving Kay all of the details about his or the family’s business but if it’s one thing you’ve learned, it’s just how powerful and influential the Corleone family truly is.

‘Michael Corleone is a hell of a businessman and a good one at that…’

The topic of the Las Vegas gala is all the more unavoidable the closer you are to Kay which is consistent throughout the day as you teach the children, quietly mark homework, and take a break while going through some paperwork.

Sandra, Connie, and Theresa both share the excitement and anticipation for the gala, but none come near the unmatched enthusiasm of Kay.

Of course, Kay’s experience is just as incomparable as her excitement for the gala as being Mrs. Corleone has its benefits and luxuries others won’t share or come close to having

Michael and Kay Corleone together are the hosts of the gala and all eyes and ears will be on them throughout the night above all.

“Hopefully we’ll manage to enjoy a good dinner together,” you hear Kay sigh, “I just know the minute Michael arrives, all of his business partners will do anything to get a word in with him first. They won’t want to leave him alone.”

You find yourself blushing at the mention of Michael’s name, no longer catching yourself or mentally scolding yourself for it.

You wish you can be the one holding Michael’s attention consistently throughout the evening as if it was up to you, you would want him all to yourself for the remainder of the event regardless of whose desperate to talk business matters with Michael.

As Kay’s conversation with Sandra fades off onto another subject, you brush the topic out of your mind and continue focusing on your lesson planning for the day.

You ensure you’ve double-checked your planner so there’s enough time in tomorrow’s lesson for enough repetition and homework check, but also sufficient time to introduce a new unit without all of it being overbearing in one lesson.

‘A final little test for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for piano should wrap up this unit before we learn another piece…’ Distracted, you haven’t realized that the estate has gone completely quiet except for a faint giggle coming from Kay.

Blinking, you sit up straight on the couch in the living room—expecting Kay or Sandra to walk in only to see Michael enter a split second later.

Your face flushes a shade of scarlet instantly from the blush stinging your cheeks, watching as Michael himself remains distracted by adjusting his gold watch over his wrist.

‘God…’ Your muscles tense up from arousal as you eye Michael eagerly, letting a swarm of butterflies rush over you at the sight of him.

Michael’s dressed in a wine-red dress shirt with the first three buttons undone, no tie, black dress trousers, matching leather belt, and white socks.

If you’d missed the sight of him for a few seconds longer, you’d have already picked up on his heavenly sandalwood and musk cologne filling the living room only adding to your sexual tension when you see a peek of Michael’s chest hair from his dress shirt.

Michael’s hair appears slightly damp as if he’s showered recently but a light layer of gel shines through his black locks, neatly slicked back and parted from the middle.

It’s obvious Michael has no intention to be dressed for business and professionalism right here and now, but his appearance is still sharp, and cleans up very well.

Just as Michael finishes clasping his watch over his wrist, he makes direct eye contact with you.

Your heart races in your chest as you give him a shy smile back; hoping to yourself out of embarrassment Michael didn’t notice you gawking at him the entire time before he looked over at you.

Only the thought of what it would be like to be held in Michael’s arms, nuzzle his neck to pick up that scent of cologne so close to you before beginning to kiss his warm skin and lead down to his collarbones takes precedence over your mind.

You can’t stop yourself from fantasizing about the man right in front of you, thinking, ‘God, what I would do to…’ You picture yourself unbuttoning down the rest of Michael’s shirt to kiss and lick up his chest; gladly getting down on your knees right away to undo his belt.

Only a brief moment passes as Michael begins to button up his dress shirt at the sight of you for the sake of being professional and not coming off as sloppy although Michael himself would prefer to show you more as well.

Michael gives you an acknowledging nod back to your smile before he exits from the living room, but the scent of his cologne remains as if his presence is still in here and so does the lingering feeling in your heart.

You can practically feel your heart aching and the sensation growing heavier and heavier upon each confrontation and conversation; you can no longer stop yourself from feverishly desiring this man nor do you want to.

‘Stop, Marina. Just stop… You’re doing this to yourself.’

You squeeze your eyes shut, desperately trying to block out any thought and mention of Michael Corleone from your head for just one minute.

‘I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I did this to myself.’

[ 1 Day Before The Las Vegas Gala ]

Having wrapped up your last lesson before the Las Vegas gala, you spent the last bit of your day doing homework review with all your students to start with a new learning unit next week for everyone.

In the morning, you reviewed math and history worksheets with the Hagens and Sandra’s children, then had a private review session with Anthony as requested by his parents before now doing the same with Mary to end your day.

In the Corleone estate’s study room, you and Mary sit side by side at the center study desk, overviewing a math worksheet from earlier this week.

With the evening air setting in and light rain out, you can see the glisten of the compound’s security lights slowly rotating around the estates outside and enjoy the soft sounds of rain surrounding the estate.

“Anthony says it’s easy,” Mary pouts at the worksheet in front of her, looking at the multiplication homework.

“Maybe it’s easy for him, but not for everyone and that’s okay,” you give Mary a reassuring smile. “We all learn differently, don’t we?”

“Hmm…” Mary peeks up at you, feeling somewhat relieved. “All the homework is easy for you, right Miss Marina?”

“You think it is?” A playful grin forms over your lips.

“Maybe,” Mary giggles, shrugging her shoulders. “Because you teach math really well.”

Unbeknownst to both of you, Kay made her way down the hallway and towards the study room just a few moments prior to pop her head in and take a peek as to how the homework review is going, only to remain in front of the ajar study door and out of sight instead.

Kay thinks to herself that she’ll enter the study room at the perfect moment and chime in on the topic of homework to see Mary’s progress face to face but without interrupting your review and explanations to Mary.

“Why thank you,” you give Mary a beaming smile, “I try my best, but believe it or not, I wasn’t very good at math when I was growing up.”

“Really?” Mary’s eyes widen in disbelief, “no way! How?”

Kay smiles, gazing at her daughter between the crack of the door as she continues listening in on the conversation, clasping her hands together in front of her.

“See,” you chuckle, “when it comes to a subject like math, once you know what you’re doing step by step, all the answers start to come to you and they begin to make sense. That’s why when we do multiplication homework like this,” you hold up the worksheet in your hands, “we like to see and write down all of the steps we took to get the answers for these numbers, right?”

“Right,” Mary nods, looking back at the worksheet.

“So it’s all about understanding and learning the steps first. Then you got it,” you set the worksheet back down on the desk, “and you already did so well on this, Mary. I’m proud of you. Even for the questions you got wrong here,” you gesture to the paper, “you tried, you put in the work and all your steps. That’s why we go through them now, right? So we can see where we made our mistakes and how we can correct them.”

“Yeah,” Mary giggles to herself. “It… It was fun!”

“Oh yeah?” Your eyes light up, “it was, wasn’t it? Maybe not so much the whole homework part, but—” both of you burst out laughing in unison. “But the learning was probably the most fun!”

“Learning with you, Miss Marina,” Mary adds, nodding happily.

Kay feels nothing but joy in her heart to see that sparkle in Mary’s eyes speaking for her enthusiasm and how she’s genuinely improving in her math lessons with you then and there.

“I’m very happy to hear that,” you can’t help the growing smile on your lips. “Actually, maybe you’re the first student to say that homework might be a little fun too!”

It’s when Mary exclaims, “Miss Marina is the best!” and gleefully leans in to give you a hug that the proud and joyful smile on Kay’s face begins to fade.

Kay moves her hand away from the study door, watching as you hug Mary back and say, “and you’re the best student!”

It’s not that Kay’s unable to show her own daughter affection or receive any in return—of course, Mary hugs her mother—but it’s the snuggling and the bubbly attitude of Mary’s she consistently keeps up with you and is more than comfortable in your presence is something Kay has had difficulty keeping up with her own children.

Feeling a sharp pain tugging at her and hating herself for letting a wholesome moment between student and governess hit this close to her own struggles, Kay bites down on the corner of her lip before turning back on her heel and walking away.

Mary and you haven’t noticed a thing, and it’ll only be another five minutes until the homework review is officially wrapped up and Mary skips off back to her room to get ready for bed.

As you begin to organize and tidy up the rest of your paperwork remaining on the desk, you hear a soft knock at the door and recognize that rhythm of knocking can only come from one person—Tom Hagen.

“Evening, Marina,” you hear Tom’s voice just a moment after. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” you look back towards the door, greeting Tom with a smile as he walks into the study and quietly shuts the door behind him.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Tom says sheepishly, noticing the pile of paperwork over your desk.

“Definitely not,” you let out a soft laugh, pushing the paperwork in front of you toward the corner of the desk.

“Finishing up for the night?” Tom chuckles.

“Something like that,” you turn in your chair to face Tom.

“How do you feel about tomorrow afternoon?” Tom asks, shifting the conversation over to the Las Vegas gala as you expected him to.

Both of you exchange an understanding glance, knowing the conversation would come to this.

“Well…” You open your mouth to answer before pausing and remaining quiet for a moment as you ponder what to say back to Tom. “I can say I feel strongly towards it.”

“Mm,” Tom nods, smiling at the floor. “I thought so, which doesn’t sound like a bad thing coming from you. It is your first time traveling to and attending a gala, isn’t it?”

“It is,” you confirm. “I’m a little anxious about it but excited. You know, I’m sure that same excuse has been made a million times over, so,” you laugh quietly to yourself. “I don’t know.”

“Sure, but that’s normal,” Tom replies back. “It’s a formal gala and this one only takes place every few years, especially on the anniversary date for the Corleone family business in Reno and Las Vegas.”

“Did Michael send you?” You give Tom a small smile, thinking this may just be last-minute reassurance on Michael’s behalf since you don’t expect him to come into the study to talk with you one on one at this hour.

Only a split second later do you feel embarrassment wash over you, wondering why you just asked Tom that.

“No?” Tom blinks in confusion, “I thought I’d come to check in on you.”

“Don’t think me ungrateful, Tom,” you giggle, “I get it. I really appreciate it. I just thought Michael may have sent you because he’s essentially said the same to me.”

“Of course he did,” an amused grin forms over Tom’s lips. “Which is why he’d want me to tell you that if you do have any questions or concerns, Michael would want you to voice it to him directly, not to me or even through me.”

“That makes sense,” you blush, glancing away.

‘If it’s an excuse to see and talk to Michael, I’ll take it…’

“Michael as I can already guess,” Tom rolls his eyes before laughing to himself, “wants you to feel as comfortable and welcome at the gala as you do here. Still think he’s intimidating?”

You glance back at Tom and the two of you stare at each other for a moment before you both burst out laughing.

“No?” you say through your laughter, covering your mouth.

“I know, I know,” Tom holds his hands up in surrender. “I hate to word it that way, but I just had to ask. I know Michael can be when he wants to.”

“Maybe so,” you lean back in your seat, “but I don’t really see it. I’m getting to know Michael better and understanding the kind of man he is as I am with the rest of the family.”

“Good,” a look of relief crosses Tom’s expression. “Then that’s all you need, hmm? We take very good care of our own, Marina. You don’t have to take my word for it,” Tom puts his hands into the pockets of his trousers, smiling at you. “And Michael cares about you, don’t forget that.”

“Michael cares about you, don’t forget that.”

Tom’s words linger with you long after he’s retired for the evening, and only then do they sink in and you find yourself begging your heart not to overthink it again.

Relaxing your muscles against your seat, you let out a soft breath and gaze around the study room, feeling accomplished to have finished your work for the day, planned next week’s lessons upon your return from the gala, and have all of your paperwork in order.

You’ve had a productive day at the very least, leaving you only to think about how tomorrow will be.

You know Esther went to bed early tonight, exhausted from keeping up with the children and you don’t blame her, but it leaves you without anyone to confide in tonight.

You’re still in the Corleone manor’s study after all but until the pouring rain begins to still or at least return to a drizzle, you doubt you can make it across the compound and back to your room without risk of catching a cold and being completely soaked.

‘No rush…’ You nibble on your bottom lip, pushing thoughts of the Las Vegas gala aside to think about tomorrow when it truly matters.

Brushing a curtain of your hair behind your ear, you stretch out your arms and let out a soft grunt as you rise up from your seat—deciding to indulge in a novel for a bit as you wait for the rain to settle down.

You move towards the bookshelves, stopping in your tracks for a moment to look at the sheer amount of bookshelves and selections remaining before you.

There are well over a dozen bookshelves on both sides of the study, placed for ample room so several people can pick and choose from one bookshelf at a time and so the study neither appears looking overcrowded or empty.

On each bookshelf remains small gold engraved labels stating what genre of books are on what shelf, particularly the books labeled under “history” further specifying years leading to language guides, fiction novels, first edition classics, non-fiction, and much more.

You blink at the selection, pleasantly taken back from so many choices that you almost feel overwhelmed at the thought of picking one novel when you could very well spend an endless amount of time in this study if you wanted to.

You walk over to one of the history-labeled bookshelves neatly organized with pressed newspapers, file folders, and leather-covered books next to well-preserved documents when you notice a label on the top shelf reading “FAMILY”.

You pause, wondering if this is a private section and if you should even be touching t in the first place.

Your eyes continue to wander over newspapers and documents on the top shelf as you gently pick through them with your finger so as not to cinch or damage any of the paper.

Starting at the very left side of the top shelf, common sense tells you that if there’s anything on this shelf—let alone in this study—that you’re not allowed to access or see, it wouldn’t be here.

The first few newspaper articles you touch over mention “CRIME FAMILY” with names of mafia families you’ve heard of and those you haven’t.

The names “Barzini” and “Tattaglia” stand out to you first and foremost, with the articles always mentioning the phrases “criminal underworld”, “boss”, or “big shot” to describe what you assume to be top-ranking mafiosi or the Dons of the crime families themselves.

Many of the newspapers you come across are dating chronologically from the start of the 1930s to all throughout the 1940s, consistently mentioning crime, the FBI, cases gone cold, or how the police are trailing them but it’s not until you get to 1946 that shock suddenly hits you.

You pull out a newspaper article with the front page reading: "VITO CORLEONE FEARED MURDERED: POLICE HUNT GUNMEN".

On the left side of the front page is a black and white portrait of Don Vito Corleone—Michael’s late father and on the right side, a photograph of the police and paramedics carrying a grievously wounded Vito in a stretcher.

‘Oh my God.’ You quickly set that article aside to read before finding another following it also dated in 1946 reading “POLICE CAPTAIN LINKED WITH DRUG RACKETS” next to a third article reading “POLICE HUNT COP KILLER”.

Setting those two aside with the article about Vito Corleone, the next article dated in 1947 you take out reads “THIRD MONTH OF GANGLAND VIOLENCE”.

‘There’s a pattern here…’ Moving towards the end of the shelf, you notice the coloring of the newspapers change—lighter and newer than the old articles you picked out.

Picking out the most recent newspaper placed last on the shelf, you find a blush hitting your cheeks immediately and almost dropping the article from your hands at the sight of a large black and white portrait of Michael himself on the front page; “MICHAEL CORLEONE: BUSINESSMAN THROUGH CORLEONE LEGACY”.

Gazing at the photograph of Michael, your heart rate begins to race in your chest once more—accompanied by a dizzying wave of butterflies.

Taking that last newspaper with the others you picked out, you look out towards the window and continue to hear the thundering rain.

The study door remains closed as Tom left it and you can’t hear any approaching footsteps, but then again you aren’t doing something you shouldn’t be, even if it may be embarrassing to explain to someone why you’re reading all of these old articles.

Funny enough, the recent article of Michael dated a month back would make the most sense, but not the others in your hands that you’re curious to read and learn more about.

“I mafiosi non sono tuoi amici. Ti useranno e poi ti uccideranno.” (Don’t trust Mafiosi as we did. Mafiosi are not your friends; they’ll use you and then they will kill you.)

You remember your mother and father’s warning words to you after the deaths of your brothers as you take the newspaper articles back to your desk to read.

These articles are nothing but mafia territory and an explanation of it; you know very well who Don Vito Corleone was and the legacy behind the Corleone family, after all.

Taking a seat and leaning your arms down on the desk, you begin to read the article “VITO CORLEONE FEARED MURDERED: POLICE HUNT GUNMEN”.

The article reads that Vito Corleone was found shot five times in the chest at close range while he was out with his son Fredo Corleone at a local fruit market.

It’s mentioned that Vito fell to his suspected demise in front of witnesses and passersby near the fruit stand who fled in terror.

Fredo Corleone—Vito’s son and on scene—was reported to be terrified beyond words; in a state of shock, sobbing and helplessly wailing over what he believed to be his father’s corpse.

Fredo was found by the police covered in his father’s blood and pleading with the paramedics and police officers to help.

You clasp a hand over your mouth, disheartened by what you’re reading.

Fredo is Michael’s older brother and you’re bound to meet him tomorrow as well—hearing from Kay that Fredo’s been in Hollywood for the past two months with his wife, famous actress Deanna Dunn who will also attend the Las Vegas gala.

‘This must be Fredo…’ Flipping the page, you see a somewhat blurry photograph of Fredo sobbing on the sidewalk with his face in his hands as Vito Corleone is taken away in a stretcher by paramedics.

The rest of the article continues to describe Vito as a “hot shot underworld gangster”, although such terms aren’t unheard of to you, especially growing up in Hell’s Kitchen.

The suspected gunmen are being investigated—the article states—and Fredo was also hospitalized due to his state of shock.

Lastly, before the article comes to an end, it mentions Vito Corleone is reported to be in critical condition and it’s not certain if he will make it or not.

The newspaper ends by saying this may be the start of violence as you or anyone else reading this article could have figured out since it’s all too common for full-blown mob wars to start when someone chooses to target a Don.

‘That’s a complete declaration of war, but were the police truly investigating?’ You assume that Vito must have had the police on his payroll for that to even take place.

‘And what about “POLICE HUNT COP KILLER”?’ At first glance of the front pages, you don’t recognize any correlation from the two newspapers but from their placement alone on the bookshelf, you know they must be related somehow.

As you read through both—comparing and contrasting dates and events noted in the articles as you go—you realize the dates of each article are just a week apart.

“POLICE CAPTAIN LINKED WITH DRUG RACKETS” was almost stuffed between “POLICE HUNT COP KILLER” on the shelf and revealed all of these events occurred within a week of each other.

The articles tell you that at a small, family-owned, Italian-American restaurant called Louis Restaurant, police Captain Mark McClusky was killed.

The article details that McClusky was shot once in the neck and then in the forehead at very close range and that he had been with a businessman named Virgil Sollozzo who was dining with him.

Sollozzo was also killed alongside McClusky; shot twice in the head which is suspected to be immediately after McClusky and both perished together at the dining table.

“My God,” you mumble to yourself, blinking at the headlines.

Naturally, it makes sense to you that one of the Corleone men—most likely a buttonman considering the stakes and killings done in a public restaurant—must have done this.

‘Does it have anything to do with Vito Corleone being shot? It must be. It has to be for revenge.’

When your eyes gloss over the next newspaper article reading “POLICE CAPTAIN LINKED WITH DRUG RACKETS” immediately tells you this police Captain McClusky himself was directly involved with the mafia and the dates can only further reveal it must have been either for Barzini or Tattaglia.

Those are the only two mafia families you’ve heard of that have corrupted themselves with smuggling and selling narcotics and you can already guess what a wide-scale scandal this headline must have created.

It makes all the more sense why a man like McClusky and Sollozzo would both be killed, especially together.

If it’s one thing you know about the mafia, it’s that they will not kill an innocent person deliberately; considering the mafia family at hand upholds Sicilian mafioso traditions and customs.

Mafia families have no room to appear anything less than decent and proper, lest they risk exposing their own corruption and members to law enforcement and the public eye.

With two shots in the head a piece—just like how your brothers were gunned down—you know Sollozzo wasn’t collateral damage; he was a target just as much as McClusky was.

Picking up the article titled “MICHAEL CORLEONE: BUSINESSMAN THROUGH CORLEONE LEGACY”, you sigh in relief to see the article has nothing to do with the others you’ve read.

Dated just a month ago, the up close and personal portrait of Michael on the front page has your heart racing and begging for you to stop gazing upon it again and again.

Turning the page, you immediately begin to read the article that explains to you how Michael Corleone, son of underworld bigshot Vito Corleone is a successful businessman on his own terms and by his own hard work and gain.

Vito Corleone himself may have been infamous but was also a respected man, and aside from generational wealth, Michael further gained a positive and lucrative reputation and opportunity for the Corleone family following Vito’s death.

Unlike Vito, the newspaper states Michael does not involve himself in bookmaking, racketeering, or other forms of crime found brewing n the mafia’s hand but invests in businesses, stocks, casinos, hotels, and resorts.

The article also names that the most successful and booming hotel resorts owned by the Corleones are the biggest ones in Reno and Las Vegas and that the Corleone family plans to continue expanding.

Michael’s stated to be very successful in all of the best ways possible building off of his father’s legacy, and is also noted to be a multi-millionaire who married his college sweetheart—a woman named Kay Adams Corleone—in 1951.

With the mere mention of “college sweetheart” alone, you find yourself frowning without even being aware of it—once again feeling a sting of jealousy hit you.

Reading past the part that says Michael and Kay have two children with each other, you’re just about to set the newspaper down and organize all of them to put them back on the shelf when you notice you left one article aside without touching it.

The last newspaper you set out has a bold headline reading “THIRD MONTH OF GANGLAND VIOLENCE” and when you pick it up, it details that over three months of violence ensued between the Corleones, Tattaglias, and Barzinis but even the newspaper has worded such “conflict” in a crafty way so as not to state it explicitly.

This article appears to be the next one chronologically dated after “POLICE CAPTAIN LINKED WITH DRUG RACKETS” and stresses that a bloody mafia war has cost the families in lives and millions with no sign of stopping or being sidetracked.

It’s only when you reach the very end of the article do your eyes widen in shock as you clasp a hand over your mouth.

The last bit states the eldest son of Vito Corleone and his protegee—Santino Corleone—was assassinated by what is suspected to be the Barzini family.

“Jesus…” You remember Tom briefly mentioning Santino, his, Fredo’s, and Michael’s eldest brother but from the looks of the article, it’s very apparent to you that Santino was a full-on mafioso and completely involved in all activities of the family.

You know you should have no pity in your heart for the death of any mafioso, but you can’t help yourself but feel empathy for Santino Corleone’s death even though you’ll never meet him or understand the man he was behind his criminal activities.

‘He was a Corleone too, after all.’

Finally setting down all of the newspapers before you in a neat pile, you take a deep breath and rub your sore eyes.

Your gaze meets up with the locked door of the study once more as you mentally remind yourself that you’re not doing anything “wrong” or “snooping” but that what you just did actually benefit you in learning more about the Corleone family on your own terms.

Everything you’ve just read may have explained the bloody mafia history behind the Corleone family name amidst others, but nothing shows you Michael is or was ever involved.

The article revolving around Michael practically sings of his praises, saying Michael is a young, witty, and cunning businessman who holds the reigns of the Corleone family and leads it to success.

Yet again, you have no second thoughts about Michael, no doubts in your heart about his integrity or honesty and you believe and trust in Michael to be a good person.

You want him to be and you trust him to be, just the way you trust Michael to show you that side of him to you tomorrow.

[ Next Morning ]

With the excitement ringing through the compound coming from the Corleone women up early to have bodyguards and chauffeurs begin packing their bags, you momentarily went into a panic thinking you must have slept into the afternoon.

Recognizing it Sandra, Connie, and Kay’s anticipation put them in a rush to get packed and ready, the first thing you do in the morning after refreshing in the bathroom and pulling on a simple shirtwaist dress is putting your one piece of luggage outside and next to Kay’s three to be loaded into one of the cars.

By the time you’re out to set your luggage down, Kay and the others are back in shouting hairstyle and makeup suggestions back and forth to each other to get it all done before the afternoon.

You smile to yourself, turning around and squinting your eyes up at the warm sun soaking over your skin. You know you won’t be spending half as much time getting glammed up for a plane ride to Vegas and that you’ve got ample time in your day to get ready.

Just as you’re about to turn back on your heel and head back to your living quarters to properly begin to get ready you hear Michael’s velvety voice calling for you from behind.

“Good morning, Marina,” you hear Michael speak as you stop in your tracks and suddenly you feel almost bare and hardly semi-presentable before him.

‘Oh my God.’ With instant reaction, your muscles clench from arousal in the presence of Michael—eagerly gazing at the new tailored, three-piece, black and silk Italian suit he’s wearing; black silk tie and gold cufflinks.

Michael’s hair is gelled back and parted through the middle neatly; not a single hair loose nor a wrinkle in his suit with all the awareness you’re not able to get your eyes off of him even if you wanted to.

“I hope you slept well,” Michael’s eyes meet yours as you turn around to face him; briefly admiring your natural beauty under the glowing rays of the sun.

‘This man… I swear.’

“Michael,” you breathe back, smiling at him. “As well as I could. I hope you have as well.”

Michael gives you a nod before gesturing his hand towards a bodyguard approaching from the other end of the compound, pointing towards your luggage in specific—not Kay’s or Connie’s.

“Thank you,” you whisper to the bodyguard who gives you an acknowledging glance before taking your luggage to pack next.

“It doesn’t hurt to be proactive and pack for this afternoon, however,” Michael glances back towards his and Kay’s estate. “Rest assured we’re still leaving at our planned time; no sooner, no later.”

“Right,” you chuckle. “I was just going to head back and get ready my—”

“ANTHONY! Anthony!” You hear Kay cry out from the estate in a hurry. “Sweetheart, don’t forget your tie! It’s not put on right! Come here, please.”

“Well,” Tom’s voice chimes in as he exits from the Corleone estate. “At this rate, we’ll all be ready by the afternoon. Hi, Marina.”

“Hi, Tom,” you give him a small wave, “are two cars taking us?”

“That’s right,” Michael nods.

“We might actually be back in three if…” Tom cringes, giving a short shrug. “If Fredo is bringing Deanna back to stay with us for a bit.”

Although you can tell Tom is more than just mildly irritated by the idea, you see Michael’s expression hardens at his suggestion but he doesn’t react further.

“Not something you look forward to?” You break the momentary silence falling in between you three.

“Uh,” Tom scratches the back of his neck, “I suppose not. Miss Dunn can be a handful and well, so can Fredo sometimes. You’ll see.”

Michael takes a step closer towards you before you three look back up towards the Corleone estate to see the front door burst open and Anthony snickering, rushing out with a loose tie over his neck and a helpless Kay following after him.

“Anthony, seriously!” Kay huffs, “Anthony, this isn’t funny! Get back here!”

‘Ah, Anthony…’

You notice as Tom grins and gestures towards Anthony. “Kid’s full of energy, what can you do? I’ll get him for you, Kay.”

“Thank you, Tom,” Kay sighs in relief, looking back over at Michael who redirected his gaze to yours almost immediately.

“Marina?”

“Yes?” The scarlet blush over your cheeks deepens.

“Walk with me,” he gestures, turning his back on Kay and the estate.

Nodding, you walk up closer to Michael and remain by his side as he leads you away from his estate and further back toward your living quarters, barely having acknowledged Kay in the midst of all that.

Kay blinks in confusion, watching Michael and you walk away together but from the exhaustion of keeping up with Anthony and hearing Mary calling back to her whining a bow fell out of her hair, Kay can’t keep her thoughts straight and think much else of it.

Michael doesn’t need to pull you away or talk to you privately, he simply prefers to.

“You’ve packed everything you need?” He finally asks you once you’re both away from anyone else’s hearing distance.

“Mhmm, everything’s good to go,” you reply back.

“There will be something else when you arrive at your hotel suite in Vegas,” Michael tells you.

“Something else…?” Your eyes begin to widen with curiosity.

“You’ll see when you get there,” Michael makes direct eye contact with you. “Kay tells me you have everything you two ordered…”

‘Ordered. You were the one who picked out that dress for me…’

“It’ll be ready in your suite as well when you arrive.” Michael finishes his sentence. “That’s all.”

‘What?’

“Right,” you nod back—the smile on your lips growing. “And thank you again for that, Michael. I can’t thank you enough.”

“You can thank me by wearing it,” Michael replies—surprising you with his response instead of saying “You don’t need to” or something similar when he hears you thanking him again and again. “I want to see you in it tonight.”

“Of course…” From Michael’s words alone, the arousal pumping through you feels as if your pussy has a heartbeat of its own despite your mind begging you not to take Michael’s words the way your body craves to.

“Is there anything else I can do to make your experience more comfortable?” Michael asks, putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers as you begin to approach your living quarters.

“I’m sure there’s a million more questions I’d like to ask but none of them come to mind,” you admit, sheepishly. “Knowing me.”

“Then as I’ve requested, stay close with me tonight,” Michael comes to a stop, facing you. “And then I’ll know.”

“I…” Blushing furiously, you give your head a small shake. “I know we talked about this and—”

“We did,” Michael reaffirms. “But I’m no longer suggesting it or offering it to you. I’m asking you to do it.”

“Wouldn’t Mrs. Corleon—”

“Forget Kay,” Michael interrupts, looking sternly into your eyes. “This has nothing to do with her. I want you there with me tonight, understood?” With your heart beginning to pound in your chest, you hardly have a moment to reply back to Michael before he adds, lowering his tone to a soft, ushered one, “Knowing you, I don’t know where else you’d want to be.”

#the godfather #al pacino #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone fanfic #godfather au #michael corleone smut #michael corleone x reader smut #michael corleone #the godfather x reader #godfather x reader #the other woman fic #the other woman fanfic

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melis-writes · 2 years

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader series, 18+ Smut] Oneshot – Evenings Like These.

Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

Oneshot based in July 1958.

"And since it's so important to you, spend time with the children and the guests instead of running off to New York this time." / "I'm obsessed with every inch of you."

July 1958 marks a grand, semi-annual dinner party held by the Corleone family for closest friends, colleagues, and business partners. One to remember in terms of splendor and memories made, Michael is largely absent in his office managing business deals both illicit and legitimate–adding to the growing wealth and power of the Corleone family just as Vito once did as Don. With little Vincent and baby James growing and the twins almost 10 years old, Vito and Carmela are present spending time with their grandchildren as Michael's absence from the family grows stringent and unbearable for you and the twins to ignore. You come to realize evenings like these are nights of revelation. The Corleone family nanny Esther reveals her dirty secret during the biggest party of the year, Sandra's guilt stems from a lie, Sonny's thoughts remain with what happened in New York, a swing dance becomes the highlight of the party and your appetite for an afterparty diminishes but lust for wanting to take control of the Don in bed after days left without intimacy grows.

[WARNINGS]: Smut & sexual themes / Rough smut / Spanking / Dirty talking.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: A whopping 72 pages or 26.4k words in all its glory! You can expect drama, a sprinkle of angst, a plot twist of surprise, arguments, teasing, jealousy, even a swing dance and heated smut are all in this oneshot. We get to see Vito, Connie and Sandra again, moments with the twins, how Michael runs the family business including his wealth, and how Michael and the reader's two cute little babies-Vincent and James-are doing! Just as so much can go right at one of the biggest, semi annual celebrations held by the Corleone, so much has a potential to go wrong. Expect the unexpected when it comes to all of the plot arcs and characters this oneshot.

1949. Your name is Victoria Ferrari, and you’re the only daughter of one of the most powerful mafia families in New York—the Ferrari’s. When the Ferrari family began to gain heavy influence and power, it struck a power imbalance with the Corleone’s. To bind the families together as one in an offering of peace, friendship and business, you are to be married to their youngest son, Michael Corleone. As you ensnare yourself in the life of a mob wife by Michael’s side, what you don’t know is his old ties with Kay Adams, your best friend from Dartmouth, and that he returned from Sicily a widower. A ruthless mob boss to be, you unravel Michael’s dark past and the brutality that has changed his personality. You find yourself adapting to your new life, betrayed by those you love most, and in high profile to Ferrari and Corleone family enemies. Falling deeply in love with Michael, you enter a life and marriage filled with secrets and darkness. Bearing his children, supporting his crime empire and following him into the shadows, you’re unable to deny your passion and desire to the new Don. When it comes to Michael Corleone, you are but a moth to a flame.

July 1958 marks the semi-annual celebration and dinner part of the season, held at the Lake Tahoe compound only for the family’s most trusted and longtime business associates, investors and partners, university benefactors and colleagues, lawyers, politicians, and bankers in the Corleone family payroll and friends you and Michael have been grateful to know for the past decade.

There’s a story to tell behind the name and face of everyone attending your family’s celebration tonight; men and women all working for the Corleone family one way or another like a small cog within a machine that is efficient with or without them.

As a result of your marriage with Michael almost nine years ago now, every guest has also become acquainted or in some sort of business with your family as well. Partnerships and business have always been done well, and a sense of trustworthiness and loyalty exists amongst these men and women rather than stringent greed for money alone.

Still, even with the familiarity and business tactics, Michael has come to know from all of his guests, it’s never meant he’s actually trusted them. Michael never has and never will.

Michael doesn’t even trust Al Neri—his right-hand bodyguard and personal assassin even though Neri’s loyalty has been grandfathered in since Vito was Don.

There isn’t a bone in Al Neri’s body or a desire for all the money in the world to betray Michael or even come close to thinking it. Even if Michael was able to know and understand this, he still would not grant his trust.

Perhaps the men and women gathered today to celebrate don’t know how distrustful you and Michael truly are of them at the end of the day, but today is an exception as there’s a mix of keeping things both in business and personal.

Familiar faces and well-known guests have always graced celebrations held by the Corleone and Ferrari families alike.

Corleone hospitality at the Lake Tahoe compound is one of a kind in itself. A hired Italian band plays a soothing and relaxing melody that echoes throughout the compound, welcoming guests who walk past the dazzling lights and décor surrounding the estates.

Naturally, security is at an all-time high, but even Michael’s bodyguards and assassins are dressed like party guests—eating and making conversation to remain inconspicuous as if the only security available is by the entrance and exits of the compound instead.

The dining tables are set up elegantly to accommodate every guest without being overcrowded or too close to the next table. The finest silverware and dishes are used to grace the gourmet Italian menu and special dish selection for everyone’s taste.

Bottles of champagne and wine worth thousands of dollars are served, and the finest cocktails with low alcohol content are curated by a mixologist over by the bar. Only the best and most experienced chefs and servers that are paid very well by your family tend to tonight’s meal to leave a profound impression.

Just as all your guests were punctual when the dinner celebration began, fireworks were shown first—popping and blasting in the sky to welcome the evening of splendor before everyone. More are planned to be released towards the end of the celebration, as the dinner party starts at six and will end up at midnight.

You know well yourself that with these semi-annual celebrations, a grand party is in order as much as the continuation of Michael’s business is too. Michael’s popping in and out of his office every now and then to talk to his business associates.

Michael’s become accustomed to formality and celebration upfront but private business elsewhere. Although all business is in his favor tonight, Michael only wonders what other offers and requests he’ll have before him on Verona’s wedding day in the future.

Those who know, know. Michael Corleone is not just the head of the Corleone family—a well-known figure in New York and Nevada, but also a businessman whose dealings have always been lucrative.

It’s only 7:32 PM, and Michael has already made five million dollars worth of deals before the dinner service has even begun.

You only had a brief moment with your husband as the two of you made your initial rounds of meeting guests briefly, mostly to show your guests that the hosts would be as present and enjoying the evening as they were.

“Thank you for coming” and “how has your family been?” must have come out of your mouth at least a dozen times in the first five minutes of handshakes and hugs to old friends and colleagues.

The same sentiment is shared by your family, whose also fully in attendance, but you know all of your brothers, with the exception of Matteo (always brooding in silence) and Dante—who has never been as much of a social butterfly as his older brothers—are more than eager to greet who they know will make them the most money by the end of the night.

Lorenzo remains dressed lavishly in his best, three-piece, navy silk suit while holding a glass of champagne in one hand and his other arm wrapped around his wife Alina’s waist.

The group of guests that gather around Lorenzo gaze at your brother in awe as he continues charming them with his charisma, while Alessio stands next to another full guest’s table—stealing all the attention from the conversation.

Leonardo, on the other hand, plants a soft trail of kisses over Connie’s cheeks by the bar, causing her to blush as the two talk amongst one another at the other end of the compound.

Throughout the beginning of the celebration, Niccolò and Verona have politely accompanied both you and Michael in meeting family friends and business partners who’ve only gushed and expressed how much the twins have grown and how much they resemble you and Michael.

The squealing and “he’s so adorable!” increased tenfold when you held three-year-old Vincent’s hand and walked with him around the compound, carrying your youngest—one-year-old James in your arms.

Whether Michael was right beside you at the time or just a few feet away speaking with a business partner, his eyes were always on you and the children.

He felt the warmth of emotion at the sight of his growing family, especially when James gives his daddy a little wave from afar or when Michael catches Vincent happily beaming up at him amongst the crowd.

“Mwah!” You surprise the twins by coming through the crowd and back to the family table, springing up from behind to give their cheeks a smooch. “There you two are.”

Your eyes find Esther—the nanny—sitting just across from them at the table. She smiles back at you politely, sitting closely with Vincent and holding little James in her lap. “Welcome back, Mrs. Corleone. We’re just having a cookie break.”

“Cookie break!” Verona exclaims, holding up a chocolate-chip cookie in her hand.

“Enjoy it,” you let out a soft laugh, rubbing both of the twins’ shoulders. “And look at my little ones over here!” You move towards the babies, scooping up James from Esther carefully and planting little kisses over your youngest son’s face.

“Hi!” You beam back playfully at James, who giggles, clutching onto the front of your dress with his tiny, balled-up hands. “How’s my little cutie? Not quite old enough to have a cookie break with your siblings, right? Mhmm,” you take your seat next to Vincent, happily munching down on a small piece of a cookie.

“Hi, mama.” Vincent proudly holds up a chunk of the cookie in his hand, “I got a cookie.”

“Hi, baby! You got a cookie too?” You pepper little kisses over your three-year-old son’s cheeks. “Mwah—geez, Esther,” you glance up at her, “nobody was exaggerating when they kept saying the children were just mini Michaels?”

You and Esther laugh amongst one another as you shake your head. “It’s true! They look so, so much like their father.”

“I see they resemble you very much, too, if you ask me, Mrs. Corleone,” Esther tells you with a smile. “Both their mother and father.”

“Grandma keeps telling me I have daddy’s nose.” Niccolò grins, biting down on his cookie.

“You do.” Both you and Esther flat out state at the same time, chuckling.

“And now dressing up in tailored silk suits and gelling your hair? You’re the spitting image of him.” You smile back at your son, letting Vincent hold your hand as you gently rub James’ back up and down soothingly.

“Daddy coming?” Vincent peeks up at you.

Just as you’re about to answer him, you glance around you to find Michael nowhere in sight or near the other family tables—more than likely meaning he’s gone back to his office to speak with a business partner in private yet again.

“Daddy has business to take care of.” You plant a kiss on Vincent’s forehead. “You miss him?”

“Ya.” Vincent nods back at you, smiling shyly. “I miss daddy.”

“You and me both. He’ll be out soon, honey.” You give Vincent’s hand a reassuring, soft squeeze. “Don’t you worry?”

Although you know for yourself it’s no reason to actually worry about it, you can’t get your mind off of Michael’s whereabouts either—especially at such a celebration where the subject at every table is the hospitality of the hosts.

You let out a soft exhale and relax in your seat as you notice drink service beginning to start. Waiters and waitresses begin to spread out around the compound with large trays of champagne and wine—specifically avoiding family tables with children—and all you can think to yourself at this moment is: ‘I think I need a drink too.’

As the refreshment service kicks off in full swing, Niccolò and Verona hop from one family table to another; others occupied by their grandparents to their uncles, their aunts, and many more family members all close by to one another.

With Michael still inside his office and nowhere in sight, you join Connie and Sandra at the girls’ table with your sisters-in-law for a glass of wine—refusing to drink near the children.

It’s only when the twins spend some time playing catch with Tom and Theresa’s dogs is when Niccolò realizes his sister isn’t nearly as enthusiastic as he is.

Verona kicks a small pebble in front of her, glancing around the compound glumly as she waits patiently to see her father again.

Distracted by everything around him, on the other hand, Niccolò remembers just how long it’s been since Michael was here with you and the children the moment he sees the saddened and confused expression on his sister’s face.

“Stai bene, Verona?” (Are you alright?) Niccolò peeks up at his sister as he approaches her.

“Sì,” Verona answers, but without any confidence. “Do you know what’s taking daddy so long?”

Niccolò furrows his brows in confusion, squinting his eyes as he attempts to look past the crowd and back towards the central family residence. “I think he’s still busy in his office like mama said.”

“In his office,” Verona repeats in surprise, glancing towards the estate herself for a moment before looking back at her brother. “Do you think daddy would be upset if we went to see him?”

“Why would daddy be upset?” A grin forms over Niccolo’s face. “We just have to ask to get in to see him, right? We should ask grandpa.”

“Grandpa will let us in?” Verona giggles.

Niccolò nods back eagerly, “grandpa knows best! Come on,” Niccolò gently takes his sister’s hand in his, leading her through the crowd with a spring in his step as the two skip off towards Mama Corleone and Vito’s table.

Vito is in mid-conversation with a middle-aged couple politely standing by the Corleone family table, making banter with the old Don right up until Vito notices his grandchildren coming towards him from the corner of his eye.

“If you will excuse me for just a moment,” Vito murmurs to the couple, giving them a dismissing nod.

Niccolò and Verona don’t even notice the couple briefly saying their goodbyes before joining the rest of the crowd by the courtyard—simply filled with eager curiosity and questions to ask their grandfather.

“Ciao, nonno!” (Hi, grandpa!) The twins chime out at the same time, making Vito chuckle as he leans off of his seat to hug both of them one by one.

“What brings the two of you rushing up here so quick?”Vito asks his grandchildren, smiling at them.

“We wanted to ask a question,” Verona sheepishly admits, clasping her hands behind her back.

“And what’s that?” Vito’s eyes flicker over Verona and Niccolo’s, easily able to tell they’re both anticipating something.

“What if…” Niccolò ponders the question for a moment, “Verona and I went inside to see daddy?”

“Your father’s in the middle of a business meeting, but—” Vito pauses, letting out a soft sigh as he shakes his head. “That’s all the two of you have been hearing this evening this evening, isn’t it?”

“It’s like he’s never going to come back to the party, grandpa.” Verona pouts. “I had something special to tell him today.”

“But he is your father after all,” Vito nods at the twins. “Regardless of what he’s doing, he always has time for his family. Now that stiff bodyguard of his…” Vito licks his lips, gesturing with his finger as he tries to remember Al Neri’s name, “Neri. Yes. He may not think the same, so you’ll have to come up with a good excuse to get inside.”

“What should we tell him?” Niccolo’s eyes widen with excitement.

“The truth, of course.” Vito slicks a hand through his hair before adjusting Niccolo’s tie and the ribbons in Verona’s hair gently. “Look at the two of you—distinguished and esteemed business partners, yes? Very important people. Let Neri know that you’ve got important business to tend to, and it can’t wait. What are you going to ask him in there?”

“I wanted to see if daddy could take us on a trip to Reno on the weekend so we could spend some time with him,” Verona answers back shyly. “Or maybe some other time this month if daddy’s busy.”

Niccolo’s about to chime in but remains quiet as he frowns and realizes he can’t remember the last time Michael joined him, you, and the rest of their siblings on a trip to Reno to begin with.

“Then there’s your offer.” Vito chuckles, “go on, go tell him now before someone else gets in line. You know there’s no end to the people who want to see your father tonight.”

“Come on, let’s go!” Niccolò beams back at his sister as the two rush off together in a fit of giggles towards the family estate with only one objective in mind: get in to see Don Corleone himself.

Every corner of the Corleone family compound—let alone the various residences comfortably scattered within it—remains heavily guarded. It’s not a sight you nor the children aren’t used to seeing, but for any kind of social outing involving crowds and visitors, security is instantly tripled.

There isn’t a corner or residence where two guards don’t stand by, and the only guards who visibly appear as security are the ones at every entrance and exit, guarding and parking guest vehicles.

Every other security guard dresses to impress as if they were a part of the celebration themselves. While they aren’t allowed to imbibe alcohol on duty, other refreshments and the same meal service as the guests are provided to them by their post.

To the eyes of Corleone friends and colleagues, Michael’s elite security and assassins who would not hesitate to kill for their Don and would step in front of a bullet for the Corleone family, they simply appear to be wealthy businessmen enjoying the dinner service and walking around the compound in conversation.

Too young to notice a clear difference, Niccolò and Verona peek up at the two security men guarding the central family residence’s door. The guards don’t need to look twice or ask any questions as they recognize Don’s children and open the door for the twins.

Inconspicuous security remains on every floor but appears to the twins as other businessmen waiting to see their father. The residence is calm and tidy as usual, and nothing is out of the ordinary besides Michael’s security and sentry making surveillance rounds in the building.

As Verona and Niccolò quietly walk side by side towards their father’s office, they can make out very faint sounds of conversation coming from the room.

Just as Vito had told them, Al Neri is to be found right in front of Michael’s office door and seems somewhat surprised to spot the twins waiting directly outside of their father’s office.

“Hi, Mr. Neri.” Verona chimes up as Niccolò gives him a polite smile.

Al seems momentarily stunned by Niccolo’s striking resemblance to his father with his gelled back hair and little silk suit.

Al gives the twins an acknowledging nod. “What can I do for the two of you?”

“Is daddy busy with a meeting right now?” Niccolò asks.

“He is.” Al nods, aware that he’s going to have to tell the twins any minute now that Michael isn’t going to be coming out any time soon.

“We want to see him next,” Verona says confidently.

Al raises a brow at her in surprise, “why not wait until your father is back out in the compound? He’s preoccupied with other matters at the moment and has asked not to be bothered.”

“That can’t wait.” Niccolò shakes his head, insisting. “We have to see daddy now. We have very important business to discuss with him.” Before Al can even respond, Niccolò continues in a much sterner voice, “don’t you know who we are?”

Al knows he has no jurisdiction over what the twins do or where they go. His job has always been to protect the Corleone family with his life, but he is strictly forbidden from “parenting” or lecturing the children in any manner—let alone getting involved with anything they do.

Niccolò and Verona are quite aware of this, and while they don’t abuse their little “power” over Michael’s men, they know that they’re at a much higher priority than any business meeting.

“Of course.” Al chuckles quietly, amused by the children’s antics. “What should I tell Don Corleone?”

“Tell him we’re going to make him an offer he can’t refuse,” Niccolò replies with a faint smirk over his lips—knowing he picked up that line from hearing Michael and Vito say it.

While Al knows of the twins’ playful nature, he’s also very well aware that, if anything, he’ll be approached by the two in this exact manner but on much less friendly terms in the future.

“Alright then.” Al nods back at the two, “if you would just wait in the living room for a moment, I’ll tell Don Corleone his next business partners have arrived.” Al Neri doesn’t have the luxury to say no or argue with the twins.

“Perfect!” Verona beams, nodding back at Niccolò before the two scurry back off into the living room—giggling quietly amongst one another.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Sonny winks, letting out a deep, relaxed exhale as he plops into his seat next to you at the table—balancing a champagne cocktail in one hand and a cigar in the other. “Miss me much?”

“Santino.” You chime out, amused by his disposition as you sip your cocktail. “With you spending all that time by the bar, I thought you’d be more than a little tipsy now.”

“Not even.” Sonny rolls his eyes, setting his champagne down. “It’s just like every other time with Mike ordering around these caterers. Nothing but champagne cocktails and red wine—I think I’m going to end up pissing a mixture of both by the end of tonight.”

You burst out laughing as Sonny grows amused by your reaction, grinning back at you as he leans back in his seat. “Yeah, you see what I mean? Mm, anyways,” Sonny takes a puff from his cigar. “How’s the party goin’ for you besides our lack of drink selection?”

“As good as it can be during every dinner party and celebration. You know me.” You smile back at Sonny, picking up your champagne cocktail.

“Mrs. Corleone is quite the social butterfly,” Sonny grins playfully and wraps an arm around you, pulling you into a side hug. “Refreshments came out what—twenty? Thirty minutes ago? Are you sick of these cocktails too, or just not in the mood?”

“How about a bit of both?” You watch the bubbling champagne swish around in your glass as you give it a little wave. “After that little trick Connie, Sandra, Deanna, and I pulled with our cocktail party? I think I’m the reason why we aren’t allowed any other drinks.”

You and Sonny laugh in unison together as he gives your arm a gentle squeeze. “Here, here, mm—” Sonny puts his cigar loosely in the corner of his mouth and takes your champagne cocktail from your hand. “Maybe if you make him regret this too, we’ll get better drink service.” Sonny moves the champagne flute up to your lips, gazing at you expectantly. “Bottom’s up, darlin’.”

You place your lips on the rim of the glass as Sonny helps you drink down the champagne; Sonny’s eyes are lingering over your lips as you easily swallow down half of the glass. “Mmm…”

“And if Mike’s made sure everything here has even less alcohol content—” Sonny carefully sets down the champagne glass in front of you, wiping off the dribble of champagne by your bottom lip with his finger before popping it into his mouth. “Then you can taste…” Sonny takes his finger out of his mouth, “the drink better.”

You stare back at Sonny, momentarily stunned by not only his boldness at Michael’s absence but also what he’s done, which only amplifies Sonny’s playful mood from the look on his face.

It’s one thing to share champagne with one another and sit at the family table, but the memory of Michael almost having broken Sonny’s nose with his own hand is near and dear. That’s the only thing you remember as you shake your head and wipe off your mouth with a napkin.

“It’s sure as hell gonna take me a lot more than a few drinks to get drunk tonight,” Sonny takes the cigar out of his mouth, blowing out smoke as he keeps his arm around your shoulder. “Sandra would never let me, let alone Mike.” He chuckles to himself. “All in good fun then, whatever. I’ll lay back, have a drink or two, talk to the guests—you know how it is.” Sonny gestures around the compound with his free hand, holding the cigar in between his fingers. “Delicious food, pretty ladies—I mean damn, even Esther’s dressed up and looks pretty for once.”

Your eyes dart over to Esther—the family nanny under Corleone service—having already noticed her plum-colored, A-line dress she’s wearing for the evening.

Esther’s appearance doesn’t match the tone or dress code of the party exactly, but she’s put some effort into her look for the evening to be respectful to the Corleone family’s celebration and not particularly stand out in her regular, non-formal wardrobe.

“For once?” You raise a curious brow at Sonny.

“I mean, whatever.” Sonny shrugs his shoulders, “she hasn’t before, at least not enough for me to notice or care, buuuuut…” He clears his throat, smirking at you before gesturing to your black dress. “You, on the other hand, are gorgeous.”

‘More like ridiculously sexy, pull your panties off with my teeth if you wanted me to kind of gorgeous…’ Sonny thinks to himself.

“Thank you,” you pick up your champagne flute again—very well aware that Sonny’s eyes are still all over you and always will be whenever he gets a chance.

What remains unknown to the rest of you—including the twins—is that Michael continues to preoccupy himself with even more work to do. Making five million dollars in one night with the evening barely half over means procedure, more meanings, and lots of “legal” paperwork with Tom to legitimize it all.

Sonny is well aware of his brother’s business plans for the night and, if anything, could care less about how bold and forward he’s being by flirting with you, his sister-in-law, behind Michael’s back.

It’s Al Neri standing by the guest tables towards the back of the compound that’s noticed every single move Sonny’s made towards you, down to his body language. Neri knows that all he’d have to do is tell Michael, but he is not quite sure if Michael shattering Sonny’s jaw would be best during a family celebration like this just yet.

“Thank you kindly, Don Corleone. You won’t regret it.” Enthusiasm and out of breath excitement once again leave the lips of one of Michael’s business partners.

Now that the businessman’s dealings and interests are protected, and he knows he’s pleased the Don with a lucrative business deal that’ll benefit Michael before anyone else, it’s another six million in the Corleone family’s pocket but no end in sight to the business meetings coming in for tonight.

Michael gives his business partner a half nod of acknowledgment, much more concerned about finishing his current cigarette. Michael doesn’t bother to look up again from his desk until he hears his office door click shut.

Only when Michael hears Al Neri enter the office a moment after does he look up, only in expectation to hear the name and purpose of the next visit from his business partners. “Who's next?”

Al Neri clears his throat, not sure whether to quite literally admit to Michael that his children are to see him or to introduce the twins as business partners.

Still, seeing no harm in keeping his word to the twins, as Neri knows any confusion caused will be cleared up the moment Michael’s own children enter the office, Al Neri answers Michael’s question. “Two business partners, Don Corleone.”

“Names, Neri.” Michael puts out his shortened cigarette into his ashtray.

“Frankly, sir,” Neri clears his throat, unsure whether he should still be holding back his smile. “They chose not to be named.”

“Alright.” Michael exhales, grabbing his cigarette pack off of his desk.

Just a moment after Neri steps out of Michael’s office, he beckons for the twins to enter. Keeping their excited footsteps as heavy and steady as possible, Niccolò and Verona exchange excited glances with one another before finally entering the father’s office.

Across from Niccolò and Verona remains Michael in his dupioni silk, grey suit sitting upright in his leather seat by his office desk.

Four cigarettes remain scrunched up and put out in the ashtray in front of Michael, and the curtains behind him that would otherwise reveal the ongoing celebration on the compound cover the windows entirely.

“Hi, daddy!” The twins blurt out at the same time, barely able to keep their enthusiasm.

Michael immediately raises his head and drops his pack of cigarettes back down on his desk without taking anything out.

Surprised for a brief moment to see his children and Al Neri out of sight, Michael’s eyes warm with emotion for the first time since he’s stepped back into his office.

Michael pulls his seat back just in time for Niccolò and Verona to rush up into his arms, giggling. Hugging his children back in surprise and confusion, Michael glances down at the giddy twins with anticipation growing in their eyes.

“Niccolò—Verona, what are you two doing here? This is for business. Daddy’s doing business right now.” Michael runs his hand softly through both of the twins’ hair.

“We have business for you too, daddy!” Verona bubbles.

“Yeah!” Niccolò adds. “We have something to tell you!”

“Could it wait when I step out?” Michael asks softly, being patient with the twins.

Verona’s smile immediately sours to a saddened pout. “But daddy…”

In truth, for the past few months, Michael has been much busier than before, but at the same time, it hasn’t been unusual for him to be either.

In the past six months, Michael’s made more “friends” in powerful places from not just your father’s business partners and colleagues but also from all over Nevada and New York—including investors, more politicians, judges, and bankers in the Corleone family service and dealings.

Michael makes the final decisions on everything when it comes to Corleone family-owned real estate, businesses, investments, hotels, casinos, and anything else registered under the family name, whether it be a legitimate business or illegal mafia dealings.

It’s not that Michael’s unable to find a better time to do his business or that he manages all of it himself, but that the Corleone family’s rapid success this year of 1958 had bolstered—reminding Michael much of his father Vito when he first began his Genco olive oil business.

Even if it hadn’t been for consistent business meetings and offers made tonight, Michael nonetheless remains a busy man, to begin with, and always has since Vito went into semi-retirement. Still, Michael’s never been one to neglect his family and is aware that he’s capable of doing so unintentionally.

Just as Michael knows tonight is a special occasion celebrated by friends and colleagues, he also knows he’s not being neglectful to any of his children. If Michael can’t find a way to make it up to you or the twins the day of, he puts in an effort to do it afterward—something the twins have happily picked up on.

While little Vincent and baby James are much too young to realize this, the twins know regardless of how busy their father may be, Michael is a huge part of their lives and has never strayed away from spending a single free moment he could with his children.

On the other hand, you and Michael have both taught the twins growing up through decision-making that you two won’t simply say “yes” to every request the children make to protect them and teach them what’s good for them.

You and Michael have always considered everything the twins have said and wanted to do and worked it out as parents to see if you could—whether it be to go out, buy a new toy, try a new hobby, and so forth.

“Nooo, it can’t wait.” Verona frowns at her father.

“We’re gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse.” Niccolò beams proudly with confidence.

For what seems like the first time in many weeks, Michael chuckles in amusement at Niccolo’s response. “Did your grandfather teach you that phrase?”

“Yes.” Niccolò can hardly hold back his giggling.

“Alright.” Michael folds his hands on his lap, his expression and tone growing serious as he looks at the twins. “So you’re both business partners of the Corleone family. Who has what to tell me?”

“Me.” Verona happily takes a little step forward.

“Okay, Mrs. Corleone,” a faint smile can be seen on the corners of Michael’s lips. “Let’s hear your business proposal.”

“I was wondering if maybe you could please take us to Reno for the weekend, daddy?” Verona asks politely. “Or! Or maybe the weekend after that?”

“Reno?” Michael repeats. “How come you two want to visit?”

“Lots of reasons!” Niccolò adds, “the theater shows are so cool, and auntie Connie used to take us shopping, and mama found this lovely café we went to last time, remember?”

“Of course I do.” Michael ruffles Niccolo’s hair. “I’ll think about it, alright?”

Verona and Niccolò exchange glances with one another, having expected a much different response.

“That’s a no, daddy?” Verona peeks back at her father for confirmation.

“I’m not sure, darling,” Michael tells her. “I’m very busy with business lately, and I may be working this weekend or the next as well.”

“We haven’t been out for a while,” Niccolò glumly says.

“I know.” Michael takes Niccolo’s small hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We can all plan it together when I have more time, alright?”

“Okay.” The twins say out at the same time.

“When will you come back out, daddy?” Verona asks, gesturing out the office door.

“I’m not sure, sweetheart.” Michael looks back at his daughter. “Soon, I hope.”

“Will you see the fireworks with us, daddy?” Niccolò asks eagerly.

“I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises,” Michael replies, noticing the sad look lingering in his children’s eyes.

Michael lets out a soft, deep exhale before gesturing to himself. “Come here, you two.”

Little smiles form on the twins’ faces as they embrace Michael in a warm hug.

Michael wraps both of his arms around Niccolò and Verona equally, giving their backs a little rub before planting a kiss on each of their foreheads and pulling away.

“I love you both, and I’ll try to be out as soon as I can, alright?” Michael says back.

“Okay, daddy.” The expression on the twins’ faces lightens up as they nod back at their father, beginning to quietly exit his office together.

Al Neri gestures to one of Michael’s private security standing by in the living room to accompany the twins back to the family table outside.

Neri then glances back into Michael’s office, knowing while he doesn’t have any further guests to speak with, this doesn’t account for the amount of paperwork to be done and decisions to be made.

Michael stretches out his arms before tightening his black silk tie. “Neri, I’m taking a restroom break.” He rises from his seat, glancing at Al. “I won’t be taking in any more guests for tonight, so close off the door for me, if you would.”

“Yes, Don Corleone.” Al Neri nods back, standing aside by the door so Michael’s able to step out.

Michael runs a careful hand throughout the sides of his gelled hair, keeping it neat without any loose strands coming out while he makes his way towards the bathroom down the hallway.

After another round of small talk and greetings with a handful of colleagues, you find yourself wandering through the crowds of guests in the courtyard along with a half-full flute of champagne in your hand.

Michael is still nowhere to be seen, although the two of you are aware the

You nibble over your bottom lip, pretending as if you have somewhere to go and preferably back to the family table before another handful of guests distracts you in a meaningless, long conversation again.

You let out a soft sigh, feeling like you’re standing out of place at your own party. Your eyes glance up to see the Hagen family table near yours, where Tom and Theresa share a glass of red wine together; Tom’s arms around Theresa’s waist as she blushes and gazes up at her husband.

Their cuddling and clingy-like behavior only reminds you again how badly you wish Michael was with you doing the same. Of course, you remember Michael’s business plans and meetings take priority over something as dull (in his words) as a dinner party, and with the length of Michael’s absence, you assume to yourself that whatever he’s dealing with at the moment must be crucial.

You’re about to approach your family table when you notice Mama Corleone sitting with the children and speaking softly to Vincent and James in Italian. Esther’s nowhere to be seen either, which not only confuses you but strikes you as concerning, knowing her role as the nanny is to be with the children at all times.

At the same time, you’re not aware of the twins exiting the central family residence a distance behind you. Niccolò and Verona peek up and are the first to see Esther heading inside and taking a right turn towards the office wing with not so much urgency in her steps but enthusiasm like she can’t wait to enter.

“Mama!” You hear Niccolo’s voice coming from behind you as the twins eagerly rush up to you.

You spin back to see Niccolò and Verona beaming as they approach you with excitement, simply happy to spot you out of the crowd.

“Hey, you two.” You smile back, rubbing both of the twins’ shoulders. “Everything alright? Where did you guys go?”

“We went in to see daddy.” Verona nods, rather proud of herself for admitting so.

“You went in to see daddy.” You repeat to yourself, a little stunned. “Oh, what for?”

“We asked if he could maybe take us to Reno this weekend or the next,” Niccolò tells you sheepishly. “We miss going with you and daddy again.”

“Yeah!” Verona bubbles, “maybe it could be fun, mama, and we could take Auntie Connie and Uncle Leo too.”

“Of course, we could.” You tell her, running your hands through her hair gently. “I would like that myself very much. I’ve missed Reno lately.”

“Yeah.” Niccolò pouts, enthusiasm draining from his voice.

Verona exchanges a sad glance with her brother. “Daddy said no.”

“No?” You raise a brow. “But why? It’s not like we’re going today or tomorrow.”

“Daddy says he’s very busy and can’t plan it yet.” Niccolò can’t hide the disappointed look in his eyes. “I know daddy has work to do; I’m just… I’m a little sad, mama.”

“And it’s okay to be sad. It’s something you two are looking forward to, right?” You give the twins a reassuring smile. “It’s true, your father’s been a little busy as of late, but Reno is only an hour away, so if we can’t go on the weekend, we could maybe go for a half-day trip after your studies are done for the day.”

“After school?” Verona’s eyes light up with excitement. “I like that idea too, mama.”

“But daddy would have said so, right?” You can hear the uncertainty in Niccolo’s voice. “What if he’s too busy for that too, mama?”

“So busy he couldn’t give you two a day of the week?” You begin to realize Michael’s absence is clearly getting out of control.

“Daddy said he couldn’t because he doesn’t know when he can take us.” Verona shakes her head.

“Hmm.” You hold back a frown, “tell you what—I’ll ask, and it’ll all be okay. We can officially plan a nice trip out to Reno once I have a talk with your father, okay?”

“Yes, okay, mama!” The twins look up at you with hope.

“Good, good.” You gently pinch both of their cheeks. “Oh, and have either of you seen Esther around lately?”

“I saw her go inside.” Niccolò points back at the central family residence behind him.

“Oh.” You blink in surprise.

“Maybe she went to see daddy.” Verona shrugs, “I saw her go down that way.”

“Alright, no worries.” You hold back your concern, smooching both of the twins’ cheeks. “Be good now, alright? Let’s behave and be polite. Besides, Uncle Clemenza and Uncle Frankie want to see you two, so don’t keep them waiting.”

“Okay!” Verona giggles.

“Uncle Frankie and Uncle Clemenza are heeeere!” Niccolò gives you a quick hug before taking his sister’s hand and skipping off towards the family tables.

You can’t help but smile at the twins, all giddy and enjoying themselves. You make sure to watch them get to the family table with Clemenza and Frank Pentangelli before you turn back around to face the central family residence and decide to head inside and see Michael for yourself.

‘Enough is enough…’

It’s not that you question Michael’s business or have any suspicion of what he’s doing, but rather that you know the children don’t understand the nature of their father’s absence like you do.

It’s not like you can just tell the twins: “Your father is Don Michael Corleone, the most powerful mafia boss in the United States who controls every major hotel, resort, and casino in the state of New York, Nevada and New Jersey, including the drug trade there and in Sicily too—not to mention other illicit deals and practices under the family criminal organization.” Although eventually, the twins would come to learn it soon enough through time and when they’re much older—if they choose to join the family business.

You walk into the manor with ease, ignoring the security guards scattered over the residence. Taking a right turn down the corridor, you notice the area around Michael’s office, including the living room, is completely silent.

‘Where’s Neri?’ You furrow your brows in confusion as you slow your movements, standing just a few feet away from Michael’s office door only to notice that Al Neri isn’t even outside of it as he usually is.

Come to think of it, you notice none of Michael’s security is near his office, to begin with, and even as you remain silent and move closer towards the door, you still can’t pick up any sound of anybody being in the office—Michael included.

Met only with silence, your attention breaks from Michael’s office only to hear noise coming from further down the hallway.

‘What…?’ Listening intently, you place your hand against the wall of the hallway and make your way towards the sound, which begins to lead you directly down to the nearest bathroom by Michael’s office.

The carpet beneath you muffles out the sounds of your heels, and with each further step you take, you can make out the shuffling of footsteps and two ushered voices coming from the bathroom.

You remain only a mere few feet away from approaching the bathroom entirely, but with each step you take and every passing moment, the anxiety growing inside of you begins to triple.

‘That’s Esther. I can hear her.’ Esther was last seen heading down this hallway, and you can now clearly hear her soft whimpers coming from the bathroom, not exactly something one would hear from somebody freshening up or simply using the bathroom.

Michael is nowhere to be seen, but the side and back exits of the central family residence are off-limits for the party as the manor faces the front of the party, and you’ve even come to briefly see security standing in front of the other doors rather than beside them to let others through.

“Mm!” You hear Esther desperately attempting to quiet down what you can now clearly make out as moaning.

You can hear the sounds of two people in the bathroom without a doubt and begin to hesitate as to what to do next.

‘Michael…’ Your eyes consistently flicker back to Michael’s office door in some sort of attempt to convince yourself otherwise instead of what could possibly be the worst-case scenario.

Feeling your heart thundering heavily in your chest, you turn away from the hallway leading down to the bathroom and walk back up to Michael’s office door.

You grab the doorknob, twisting it to push open the door, only to see Michael’s office desk empty with nobody inside.

‘Where the hell is he?’ Panic begins to ring out through you as you rake a shaky hand through your hair out of frustration.

You can’t even find Al Neri, knowing he accompanies Michael everywhere at all times—except when he’s obviously spending time with his family or with you intimately, and he’s certainly not going to be in the bathroom with the Don either.

You take a few more steps towards Michael’s desk and notice a freshly put-out cigarette in the center of Michael’s ashtray, but his cigarette pack is missing, at least letting you know that he’s been here recently and just put this out.

‘No. It’s impossible. He wouldn’t…’ Ridden with waves of anxiety crashing over you, you feel as if you’re practically dragging yourself out of Michael’s door. A sense of weakness hits your knees as you walk out of the office, barely able to shut the door behind you.

‘Would he?’ Taking in a deep breath, you force yourself to go back to the bathroom with regret but a morbid curiosity inside of you.

‘This obvious? Where anyone can come in and hear?’ The tips of your ears and the nape of your neck prickle up from your anxiousness as you could have just sworn to yourself you hear a breathy moan coming from someone other than Esther from the bathroom.

‘Oh my fucking God. Esther…’ You flinch, stopping in your tracks to hear Esther now moaning loudly in the bathroom—assumingly unable to keep quiet for much longer to you.

“Yes, Mr. Corleone!” Esther moans shakily, almost instantly confirming your suspicions.

Your eyes begin to burn with tears at what you know you’re about to see next after noticing from the doorknob that the bathroom door isn’t locked.

‘Why? Why this?’ Every step further you take feels like absolute agony, and you’re unable to deny the intensity of just how distraught and nerve-wracked you feel about walking in on this.

Then again, if you choose to turn away and pretend you weren’t there but keep it to yourself, there’d be no possible way you could bring this up to Michael and “catch” him on it.

“Have either of you seen Esther around lately?”

You know your husband well, and without any credible proof, if he truly didn’t regret what he did, Michael wouldn’t react to your accusation, nor would he “believe” you saw anything either.

“Maybe she went to see daddy.”

A desperate urge to be proven wrong surges through you as you can no longer stop yourself from directly approaching the bathroom door.

“Neri, I’m taking a restroom break.”

You lightly lean your forehead against the door so as not to make a sound, reaching out a shaky hand and yet still being unable to find the courage to grasp the doorknob and burst in with it.

The idea of Michael fucking the family nanny, let alone at a party which would also explain his absence and right after he spoke to the children, is the only blow needed to tear apart your marriage and your family.

The fact that you can hear Esther now attempting to keep her moans quietly but failing miserably just like how you do pisses you off more than anything else—replacing your anguish with bitter rage.

With one swift movement, you twist the doorknob open and pull open the door as you normally would—knowing now it’s not going to matter if you burst in or make it look like you accidentally wandered in.

Your eyes widen in shock to see Esther pressed up against the sink with one thigh raised over it as Sonny slams all eleven inches of his cock into Esther from behind, tightly clutching the bunched up fabric of her dress.

If that isn’t enough of a sight to stun you, Sonny gazes back at you with a lazy look of lust in his eyes as if he’s used to getting caught like this, and it doesn’t matter.

Esther clasps a hand over her mouth, horrified that you’ve caught her like this, as utter embarrassment and humiliation flushes through her expression.

Relief should be the last thing you feel walking in on your own brother-in-law fucking the family nanny, but it dissipates every bit of worry that was eating you alive just a mere moment ago.

You clear your throat, blinking and diverting your gaze before quietly closing the door and turning back on your heel.

You let out a deep exhale, feeling a bit hot and bothered at the sight but also knowing had anyone else walked in onto it, there’d be hell to pay.

Hoping Sonny learns to lock the doors of the bathrooms he goes to fuck his next mistress in, you tenderly rub your temples and take in deep breaths to ease yourself of the anxiety.

‘Michael, just where are you now?’

Michael cleared his throat quietly and lathered soap over his hands thoroughly as he washed his hands in the bathroom sink.

Having noticed for himself that the bathroom closest to his office was preoccupied already—but by whom and for how long unbeknownst to him—Michael’s used the next closest one by the lobby to his office while you were still out in the courtyard with the twins.

Having made it clear to Al Neri that he isn’t to take any further guests for business tonight, Michael stepped out into the back of the residence and towards the pool that remained still; a private clearing protected by his security for Michael to have a breath of fresh air before returning back to the party.

Michael adjusts the cuffs of his dress shirt before reaching into the pockets of his trousers and grabbing his cigarette pack with a lighter.

Al Neri gives a nod of acknowledgment to the security standing around the pool area, distantly watching the party from the back of the residence in the shadows.

Neri remains by Michael’s side but at an appropriate distance, leaning his back against the residence wall and remaining just as silent like the others.

Michael puts a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and holds his palm against the flickering flame of his lighter—quick to light it as he sits on the edge of one of the pool lounge chairs.

Taking a deep, initial drag, Michael lets his lighter slip back into his suit pocket. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, easing off the annoyance, stress, and dullness of every business meeting he’s had for tonight.

Michael tilts his head back and gazes up at the star-scattered night sky above him, appreciative that he can at least catch his breath and enjoy peace of mind here—even if it is just for a moment.

The only thought in Michael’s mind remains to be how he wishes he could have you by his side at the moment, enjoying some privacy with one another before becoming the inevitable center of attention again at the party.

Michael lets out a quiet, deep sigh. He glances down at his grey loafers, his black silk tie dangling downward as he sits with his thoughts quietly.

Barely three minutes of peace pass before Michael’s head turns to face the back exit door he came out of, hearing disgruntled noises of a struggle and the semi-familiar voice of a man crying out.

“Please, let me see him!”

A few of Michael’s security immediately move towards the door while Neri wastes no time in standing next to Michael with another security guard.

“What’s going on?” Michael narrows his eyes, appearing more annoyed than anything else. He redirects his irritation to Al Neri, “I thought I made it clear I wouldn’t be seeing anyone else for tonight.”

“I personally guaranteed it, Don Corleone. There should not be.” A look of surprise and caution cross Neri’s face as Michael’s guards pull open the door, revealing two other security guards hauling and manhandling one of Michael’s guests by his arms.

Michael raises a curious brow but neither reacts nor says anything as a balding, middle-aged man named Alberto he’s familiar with in business and as a guest at tonight’s party, is practically thrown to the ground before him.

“Don Corleone, we caught one of your guests trying to get into the residence.” One guard harshly holds onto the man’s arm. “When he was told you were not taking any guests, he tried to get in himself and failed.”

“We’re prepared to contact authorities and have him and his family removed, sir.” The other guard says.

“D-Don,” Alberto coughs out on the ground, bewildered by the sight of Michael standing before him. “Don Corleone, please! Please, I’m begging you—I had to see you tonight, I had to!”

Michael exchanges a glance with Al Neri before flicking his cigarette ashes to the floor, appearing unmoved. “Must be something of great importance if you went to such risk to see me.”

“I would have waited as long as possible if it wasn’t, Don Corleone.” Alberto shakes his head, “I tried to reason with your men, but they would not listen to me, Godfather—”

Interrupting Alberto, one of Michael’s security guards kicks him in the stomach, which crumples the man to his knees. “We speak on the Don’s behalf when it comes to which guests he’s seeing. His safety and privacy are of our utmost importance. You do not stand before your Don as a respectful man due to your idiotic actions tonight.”

“Argh!” Alberto cries out in pain, “forgive me, Godfather! Forgive me.”

Michael raises his hand, signaling, ‘that’s enough’ before staring down at his guest. “What have you wishing to see me so urgently like this? I would have preferred to hear from you personally so I could have arranged to see you in my office sooner.”

“Yes, yes, absolutely!” Alberto nods frantically, still wincing in pain. “I tried to reach you, Don Corleone, believe me. I would have wanted the circumstances of our meeting to be different as well. I…” Alberto hesitantly looks up at Michael, unnerved by the mere power in Michael’s presence.

Michael only remains closely acquainted with Turnbull, Klingman, Senator Geary, and the other businessmen he met in Cuba, whereas everyone else may just be a familiar name on a banknote or a common face seen from time to time at a party. Alberto is no different from Michael.

Alberto’s business may concern Michael because he owns several small motels for out-of-town workers and travelers, which has proven to be a profitable business due to its affordability and scope to all.

“Speak.” Michael looks down at Alberto, continuing to smoke his cigarette.

“Don Corleone, my long-time business rival, seeks to blackmail me out of the industry completely! The madman knows he cannot get a reaction out of me, so he chooses to harass and threaten my family. I have just started my expansion, and I am being kicked out of my own business and state! I don’t know what to do, Godfather.” Alberto bursts out into tears, leaning down to Michael’s feet and bowing his head.

“And why do you come to me for this?” Michael knows the answer to his rhetorical question but watches Alberto’s distraught disposition.

“I come to my Godfather first, nobody else.” Alberto sniffles shakily, kissing Michael’s feet. “Only my Godfather can help me. I trust in you with my life—with my children’s lives, Don Corleone.”

Al Neri tenses at the sight of Michael being touched and carefully keeps his eyes on his Don and Alberto cautiously.

Michael remains nonchalant, blowing out smoke around him. “This motel business of yours—is it your only source of income?”

“Y-yes. I am not a wealthy man Don Corleone, nor do I have the mind as you do for business. I just wanted to feed my children and take care of my family, but I have death threats at my door, and I lose customers by the week. I’m afraid they’re being bought off or threatened as well!” Alberto hiccups throughout his sobbing. “I-It was my dream to own a little chain of motels since I was a growing boy, you see. I scrubbed floors and worked hard for every penny I had so I could support my family. This isn’t fair to me, Godfather.”

“I agree.” Michael nods stiffly. “This can not stand.”

“Don Corleone.” Desperation grows in Alberto’s voice as he gets back to his knees. “I come to my Godfather in my hour of need.” He clutches his hands together, “I’m always happy to provide your men mattresses and hideouts when needed. Always! Please honor a humble associate of yours with your assistance, I beg of you.”

Smoke trails from between Michael’s lips as he lets his cigarette fall to the floor, crushing it with the heel of his shoe. “I respect your honesty and integrity, Alberto. You are right. Nobody else can help you now. Stand up; let me see your face properly.”

“Y-yes, Don Corleone.” Alberto scrambles up to his feet, brushing off the dirt and dust from his suit.

“Hm.” Michael gazes back at him, clearly able to tell Alberto put himself through hell and back just to see him alone—already a good show of his character. “You assisted my father back in ’47 when we went to the mattresses with Tattaglia and Barzini. I haven’t forgotten that, and neither has he. You’re a good man, Alberto.” Michael mirrors Vito perfectly without even trying to do so. “Your rival may as well be blackmailing me. I’ll help you.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, Don Corleone! Forgive me for asking, Don Corleone,” Alberto squeezes his eyes shut, eternally grateful to even hear a response from Michael. “But how shall it be done?”

“Bribes and relocation won’t do you any good in your line of business.” Michael tightens his tie, “nothing puts out a rival from a business like killing him. This will serve as a warning for the rest.”

“Thank you a thousand times over, Godfather.” Overwhelmed with emotion and thanking Michael endlessly, Alberto takes Michael’s hand and kisses his ring, lowering his head. “Grazie. Grazie mille, padrino. Ti sono per sempre grato.” (Thank you. Thank you so much, Godfather. I am forever grateful to you.)

Michael allows Alberto to kiss his ring, remaining still and gazing down at the man in his mercy. Even as Alberto respectfully pulls away, he staggers over his own feet and chokes on his tears from how relieved he is—knowing Michael always keeps his word.

“He’s ruthless, cruel, and cunning. His silence is lethal, but his eyes speak for him. His patience and patience alone decides whether you’re even worth considering—it’s what keeps you alive. He’s the brutal side of his father incarnated; that is who Don Corleone is.”

Michael was nearing the end of his conversation outside with Alberto by the time you had entered the central family residence to look for him. By the time Michael had returned to his office shortly after, you were back outside at the party trying to find him with no luck.

You know, it would almost be downright embarrassing at this point to ask the guests where their own host is when you, of all people, should know before anyone else.

You quickly gave up on your search within the courtyard and throughout the party, knowing you’d be able to spot Michael anywhere with just the slightest clue. No individual of his build with slicked back, dark hair in a grey, silk, Dupioni suit was to be seen with the family or with the guests outside.

As soon as one of your security guards let you know, “Don Corleone never left the central family residence, Mrs. Corleone,” you made your way straight back inside now with frustration and impatience in your disposition.

Embarrassed you’ve been running around for the last ten minutes just trying to find your own husband, you feel some relief spotting Al Neri standing outside of Michael’s office as usual now.

The two of you say nothing to one another and only exchange acknowledging glances as you approach the door. Neri gives you a respectful nod which is both an invitation inside and an indication there’s nobody seeing Michael or in line to do so.

Although you’ve probably walked into Michael’s office hundreds of times, you still can’t brush off the butterflies you feel whenever you push open the door and peek inside.

Michael remains sitting at his desk, carefully signing several papers neatly placed in front of him on his desk. A freshly lit cigarette rests on the side of Michael’s ashtray to his left, and the scent of cigarette smoke and Michael’s cologne mixes—lingering in the air.

From where you stand, the light in Michael’s office gleams over his heavily gelled hair, causing both his 18k gold watch and wedding band to glisten and reflect.

You take a step inside of Michael’s office and quietly close the door behind you, and although Michael’s been aware of your presence since you approached the door, he neither reacts nor looks up.

Blush stings your cheeks at the sight of your husband, regardless of how much running around you’ve been doing to find him. You’ll never get used to the sight of him like this, let alone his presence, from how ridiculously attractive he is.

“Hi, baby.” You sigh softly in relief, finally having Michael all to yourself and right in front of you for what seems to be one of the first few times this evening.

“Hello, darling.” You hear Michael say back quietly, not bothering to look up at you.

Recognizing how busy Michael is, your eyes dart over to the paperwork scattered before him on his desk, now beginning to approach him.

‘Fuck...’ Remaining quiet, you place your hands down gently on Michael’s desk and peek over at your husband as you admire him.

Michael’s side profile, for one, is something else to behold. Your eyes dart over the shape of his Roman nose down to his pouty, full lips over to his jawline and cheekbones.

The butterflies swarming in your gut and a familiar tug of arousal is nothing new as you know when it comes to Michael, you’re insatiable—in bed with him or not.

“Do you need something, Victoria?” Michael asks expectantly. His tone of voice is neither distracted nor demanding, but it clearly tells you he’s busy and anticipating whatever you have to say will be as quick as possible.

Although you’ve practically chased around the compound for the past ten minutes looking for Michael, you find yourself a bit stunned by his question and unable to immediately answer.

“When are you going to come back out to the party, baby?” Is the only thing that comes out of your mouth as you wonder to yourself if Michael’s noticed your staring.

“Who's asking?” Michael continues to keep his attention on his paperwork.

“Me. The twins. The family. Your guests.” You stare back at Michael in disbelief. “We’re the hosts, and you’ve barely been seen out there, Michael. When will you be back out with me?”

“I’m busy, darling,” Michael answers flatly, picking up his cigarette and taking a drag out of it.

Both of you know by now that answer will neither suffice nor work as an excuse.

“Yes, I can see that.” You momentarily glance over at his paperwork, “but I’m asking you something, baby.”

Michael blows out smoke around him before putting down his cigarette. He almost seems irritated by the question but, at the same time, completely unphased. “Is my absence a problem?”

Taken back by his question, you frown and furrow your brows. “At this point? Well, yes. Is it not that way to you, or do you prefer to do work instead of spending time with us?”

Michael lets out a soft sigh, setting his pen down. He licks over his lips and puts his cigarette between his fingers before turning his head to face you and giving you his full attention. “No.”

“The twins just came up to me all excited to make plans with you and…” You shake your head, “you just refused?”

“I didn’t refuse.” Michael’s answers are short and concise. “I said I would have to consider a day.” He puts his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, inhaling a drag.

“Yeah.” Disappointment forms over your expression. “That’s been your classic answer to everything for the past two weeks. What’s going on, Michael? This isn’t like you.”

“This isn’t like me?” Michael stares back at you, deadpan. “I’m working. I have a business to handle, so how many times do I need to repeat this?”

“Stop.” You mumble back at him, crossing your arms. “You’re being much more distant than usual, and I know you know that.”

“I don’t see it that way.” Michael blows out his cigarette smoke away from you.

Frustration begins to hit you at Michael’s stubbornness, knowing it’s always been at an all-time high when it comes to his work and the “family business.”

“It doesn’t matter what you see right now, does it?” You frown at him. “Michael, I’m serious.”

“Victoria,” Michael flicks off the ashes of his cigarette onto the ashtray, looking increasingly annoyed. “What do you want from me right now?”

“Come out to spend some time with us at the very least.” You say back and insistently notice pure irritation in Michael’s eyes at your response as he keeps his cigarette loosely in the corner of his mouth. “Not just tonight but with us in Reno this weekend or the next, even if it’s just for half a day or something.”

“Not for this weekend and not for the next either.” Michael turns back to face his paperwork. “I can’t.”

“And why’s that?” At this point, you’re grasping nothing but straws by continuing to ask Michael.

“Because I have business.” Michael’s response is much more stern this time. “I expect you of all people to understand.”

“Of course I understand, but this is getting ridiculous, Michael. Seriously. You’re not even listening to me.” You scoff.

“I am.” Michael stares back at you. “But I hate repeating myself, Victoria, and that appears to be all I’m doing at the moment.”

“Getting anything out of you is like squeezing blood from a stone, you know that?” You roll your eyes. “God forbid I take you away from your paperwork to spend some time with your wife and children.”

“If you’re going to insult me out of frustration, I suggest you’d be better off spending time with our guests.” Michael glances up at you, putting the cap back onto his pen.

“You’re deflecting everything I say. How can I not get frustrated right now?” You huff. “Forget Reno and the party—do I also have to remind you that this happened again last night? All I wanted to do was snuggle up with you, but you were holed up in here until 3AM. This isn’t just about tonight, you know that.” You shake your head, tucking a curtain of your hair behind your ear. “We haven’t even had sex—”

“You want to have sex with me?” Michael asks you outright.

Your face flushes red as you blush furiously at the sudden question he’s caught you off guard with. “I—Well, yes? I mean—yeah—we haven’t had sex in days now, so—”

“I’m aware of that.” Michael cuts you off. “I don’t have to tell you why again, do I?”

“Michael, really? Do you hear yourself right now?” You raise both of your brows at him, now very much annoyed yourself. “If I have to hear that wo—”

“I’m busy, Victoria. That’s all there is to it. When was the last time I walked into your office at the courthouse and asked you to have sex with me?” Michael places a new pen in front of him.

“You—I—what?” You blink back in surprise, “we didn’t—you didn’t—”

“Exactly, I didn’t.” Michael continues calmly. “The last time was four days ago. This isn’t an issue that you need to bring up.”

“We had sex almost every single day.” You point out. “We cuddled together in the morning and snuggled at night; now I’ve been clutching a cold pillow because you’re in here until God knows when. That just happened so suddenly—am I not allowed to be upset about it after being used to your intimacy like that?”

“I never said you weren’t. All I’m saying is that it’s not a grand and drastic change like you’re making it out to be. This is beyond my control.” He tells you, “when I have business, I have business—and it comes first. Everything else can wait. I’m the Don. I have to take care of our family. And now, if you can’t already tell, we’ve surpassed the conversation of our party guests, who are most likely waiting to see you as you waste your time and my time in here, as well as the trip planning for Reno. Now we’re talking about sex.” Michael clearly doesn’t look amused.

“You sing a different tune in bed.” You roll your eyes. “All I’m saying—”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Victoria.” Michael scolds you sternly. “I told you for the last time, I’m busy.”

"Busy, busy, busy," you purposefully roll your eyes again, throwing your hands up in the air as your diamond bracelets clink against one another. "I don't want to hear that fucking word anymore! The children can't spend time with their father, and now—"

"Quiet!" Michael sharply raises his voice over yours, silencing you immediately. "That isn't remotely true, and you know it. I spend as much of my time with you and the family as possible, Victoria—"

"Why are you being so difficult with me, Michael?! It's like I'm talking to a fucking brick wall!" You scoff. "You're not exactly proving that to me right now, are you?"

"Have some dignity, won't you?" Michael narrows his eyes at you.

"For what?" You leer, "for wanting to spend time with my husband?"

"I'm not going to argue with you, Victoria, nor am I going to fight with you on this. Not here, not now, not ever! Do you understand me?" Michael tosses his pen down onto his paperwork carelessly, rising from his seat. "I've repeated myself to you a thousand times, and I've had enough."

"Oh! Look at that!" You gasp dramatically, gesturing to him. "You've suddenly decided you're not busy now, isn't that right, Don Corleone? Because if you were as swamped with business as you claim to be, you wouldn't be able to raise your head or put down your pen for one minute."

"Victoria—"

"And before I suffocate in here—" You snatch the cigarette out of Michael's mouth, stamping it out on the ashtray. "I want you to come out and spend time with the family."

"What the hell are you trying to do?" Michael glares at you, pulling the ashtray aside.

You ignore his question outright, "if not for me, then see your children at the very least."

"You sound like I never spend time with our children. What are you implying? Do you have something you need to tell me and get off your chest?" Frustration crosses Michael's expression. "Because it sure seems to me like you only came in here to argue with me."

You force a weak smile. "It's not like you're going to come back and forth to your office again throughout the evening or stay in here until the crack of dawn, right? Better yet, let me get all of your pillows and blankets, and you can fucking stay—"

"Watch your language—"

You continue, purposefully cursing. "In here all by your fucking self. If you want, you can even sleep next to your fucking paperwork while the children and I will just make appointments when we want to see you. How's that?!"

"You're phenomenal, darling," Michael says back sarcastically, staring at you with disappointment. "That's the way you choose to speak to me over this? I wonder if it's the same with the cursing and yelling in your court sessions, hence why nobody bothers to argue with the one and only Victoria Corleone."

"Wow." You stare back at Michael in disbelief, feeling your eyes sting with tears. "Who was it that needed to get something off their chest again? Me or you?"

"Could you please leave now?" Michael asks you impatiently, gesturing to his desk. "If this conversation is done, I'd like to return to my work."

"Yeah, don't worry, I'll go." You brush him off, turning on your heel as you force back your tears. "My apologiesfor wasting your time, Don Corleone."

"And since it's so important to you, spend time with the children and the guests instead of running off to New York this time," Michael adds, picking up his pen again.

You clutch onto the doorway and immediately turn to look back at Michael after hearing his hurtful comment as tears begin to pool in your eyes.

Michael doesn't notice you staring at him, only aware of your presence still in his office. He flips to the next page in his current document folder and continues adding notes and a signature before you make your way out of his office.

'Forget it.' Unable to hold your tears back for long, you storm off down the hallway and refuse to look back or even at Al Neri, who frowns at the sight of your angered disposition.

'Forget I even fucking bothered.' Anger washes over your bitterness and how upset you realize you've gotten over Michael's recently growing absence.

'And if the guests ask where their gracious host is, I'll say that the lovely, elusive Michael Corleone is BUSY. Fucking busy!' You blink away your tears and push open the front door, walking back into the courtyard.

"And since it's so important to you…"

Michael's comment stings every time it replays in your head. There hasn't been one time where he's used the fact you left for New York to separate from Michael during your first and only lengthy, nasty fight—until now.

Michael made it more than obvious that not only does the whole affair bother him when it comes to the both of you fighting, but at the same time, he doesn't take your absence or separation after an argument seriously anymore either.

You could make a dramatic exit and head off to New York or anywhere else you'd like, and it would no longer have the impact it did on him beforehand.

Tried once and done, Michael remains more so bitter about being apart from the children for a week who had no idea what was going on—let alone what happened with Sonny.

Michael knows it doesn't solve anything, and it just makes matters worse.

Michael will never forget that either, although his bitter attitude towards it doesn't show as Sonny knows better than to ever try such a thing with you again if he values every bone in his body.

Although Michael respected your decision to have some space, it still hurt him regardless of whether he expressed it or not. He had much to ponder for himself, but Michael never anticipated you actually physically leaving.

That part has never resolved any of your fights—as few as you've ever had them throughout the last eight years—and that's become apparent to the both of you.

Still, both of you have learned from the experience, especially in the sense that while you both may prefer to cool off and take your mind off of the matter, at the end of the day, you and Michael having a heart-to-heart conversation with one another in private has always mended things the way you've both wanted it.

As soon as you're out of his view, Al Neri gives a little knock on Michael's office door with his knuckles to enter.

"Come in," Michael calls out, lighting another cigarette he holds in the corner of his lips.

Neri only takes one step into Michael's office, still holding onto the doorknob. "Sir, Mrs. Corleone has just returned back to the party outside."

Michael lets out a soft exhale, taking a drag from his cigarette and paying more attention to the design over his lighter's case than anything else. "Get her a bodyguard, please. It's crowded out there, and I want to ensure her safety and comfort."

"Yes, Don Corleone." Neri gives a nod, quietly closing the office door behind him.

Stepping back out to the courtyard amidst the grand celebration and party again, the first thing you come to notice is the obvious world of a difference there is between how frustrated you've felt versus the hearty banter and party splendor your guests and family are a part of.

Brushing your stray tears off of your face, you take a deep breath and feel more annoyed by the whole ordeal with Michael's absence inside more than anything else now.

Your colleagues from Dartmouth, associates and legal team from court, friends from New York and Nevada alike, as well as other friendly faces you and your family have been seeing for years surround you

having nothing but a good time.

'I know all these people. Michael knows all these people.' Fine wine and gourmet dining being served, no disruptions or inappropriate behavior, party service in full swing, and memories that'll be talked about for years to come are all happening before your very eyes.

Pushing away any negative feelings you know aren't worth dwelling on; you know your guests and family are what's most important right now. After all, the situation with Michael's absence does need to be talked about, and it will because after all is said and done with the party, it'll be unavoidable.

The night is still young, and you've never been one to abandon a party or any type of social gathering early. Deciding to head back to your family table, you smile to look over to your side and see the band no longer playing a soft melody but an upbeat tune the guests are loving.

'Everyone's having such a good time…' You don't even need to take a seat at the table to be noticed, already giving waves and mouthing "hellos" to guests who are happy to see you walk past them again.

"Welcome back, darling." Connie raises her champagne glass up to you as you approach the table. "Much needed bathroom break?"

"Much needed." You nod, preferring to leave the subject matter there as you take your seat next to her. "Ah—" You take a quick glance around you to the other family tables surrounding yours. "Have you seen Sandra?"

"Yeah." Connie chuckles, "she's puking up everything she had to drink. I told her wine and champagne wouldn't mix well."

"Do I even have to ask where Deanna has gone either?" You sigh at first but burst into a fit of giggles with Connie.

"Not a coincidence, so it's best we don't ask." Connie can barely contain her laughter as she tries to sip her champagne. "I think they'll both be back in a bit, considering neither of them would miss the dance for the world, especially Deanna."

You force back your surprise, having already forgotten there was going to be a slow dance, let alone a dance to begin with. Anxiousness winds in your gut as you realize you're either going to have to pretend you're seriously occupied with something or disappear outright when the dance begins.

Having your guests and family see you sitting out, highlighting Michael's absence, and not being able to dance with him at your own party would be outright humiliating, to say the least.

"I look forward to Sandra's dancing skills then." Masking your own disappointment, you reach your hand up and take a flute of champagne off of a nearby waiter's tray.

"There's no way she won't be tripping over her own feet at this state." Connie savors the taste of champagne over her lips. "Bad news for Sonny."

"Since when does Sonny dance?" You grin at her.

"Oh, please don't remind me." Connie shakes her head, laughing. "I rather they all just miss it—" Her tone falters to distraction as a beaming smile forms over Connie's face.

She sets her champagne flute down immediately and waves across the courtyard to your brother Leonardo who waves back at her, gesturing to a few of his colleagues and then back at her to let Connie know he'll be joining her for the dance shortly.

'Lucky, lucky…' The smile on your face fades as you quickly take a large sip of your champagne, reveling it in and your growing jealousy.

You're about to be the only one left at the family table at this rate, taking care of a drunk Sandra and outspoken Santino when you know you should be clutching onto Michael's shoulders in both dance and in bed.

'Michael…' You let out a deep, drawn-out sigh as you rub your eyes, squeezing them shut.

No matter what you do or where you look, you're constantly reminded of Michael's absence from his own party, and now all you have is time to think about when everyone will unmistakeably notice it too.

"You know, the longer you avoid the dance, the more people will notice." You hear Sonny say to you from behind.

"I'm not—" you turn your head back to see Sonny now approaching the table, looking a little "flustered" or, as you'd truthfully say—"freshly fucked”.

"How ironic." Connie rolls her eyes, "and where have you been?"

Sonny smoothens out his tie and suit jacket, exchanging a quick glance with you. The unmistakable "Sandra-lets-me-do-this" look in his eyes peeks back at you this time, but your mind is much too occupied with how to get the burned image of your brother-in-law pounding the nanny in the bathroom out of your head.

Sonny clears his throat before he stands by you and Connie. "Bathroom break. All those champagne cocktails had to go somewhere."

"And speaking of the dance," Connie eyes the two of you. "It seems like both of you are avoiding it. Where's Michael and Sandra?"

"Drunk." Sonny answers.

"Busy." You answer back at the same time as Sonny.

Connie raises her brows at the two of you, unimpressed but also surprised to hear the answers. "Oh, okay."

"I thought you were avoiding it." Sonny glances down at you. "Considering you went back inside."

"Victoria avoiding a dance? Never." Connie chuckles in amusement.

"I went to see if Michael was finished with his business, actually," you try your best to hold back a bitter tone as you rub your temples gingerly.

"Yeah, you're gonna be waitin' forever, sweetheart." Sonny chuckles, shifting his weight to the other foot.

"And what were you doing inside?" You shoot Sonny a disapproving look.

Although you know it's technically none of your business who Sonny's fucking, you wouldn't have quite imagined he and Esther had anything going on with one another. Then again, you could have quite literally been in Esther's position back in New York with Sonny's attempts of seduction. If it's anyone's problem now, though, it'll be Sandra's.

"Usin' the bathroom, as I said," Sonny smirks down at you.

'Using the bathroom or using Esther?' "Oh yeah?" You let out a soft sigh, relaxing in your chair.

"Oh yeah. You look exhausted, Vic." Sonny's eyes flicker over you.

"I feel worse than I look," you mumble, crossing your arms. "This isn't how I expected one of our biggest celebrations of the year to go out. One gracious host isn't around to experience their own party, and the other one is well…" You gesture to yourself in annoyance, "sitting here moping about it."

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, honey, but if Michael's still not coming out, then he isn't going to make any exceptions for a dance." Connie shakes her head, glancing down at her champagne flute.

"And a dance like this?" Sonny points out to the courtyard, seeing couples joining each other for a faster-paced, upbeat dance. "With Mike?" Sonny lets out a laugh, "right, right."

Sonny looks back over at you and notices you stare back at him, completely unamused with your arms crossed. "Do I look as horrible as I feel?"

"Honey, you look fine." Connie sighs softly. "Forget about Michael. If he wants his friends and colleagues to talk about how he barely showed his face around this year, that's his problem, not yours."

"And," Sonny takes a step towards you, extending out his hand. "All eyes are gonna be on Victoria Corleone regardless of what she's doin' or not. You see all these people out there?" Using his free hand, Sonny gestures out toward the dancing couples and occupied tables.

"It'll be the talk of the season, is all I can say." Connie swishes the remainder of her champagne cocktail around in her glass.

"Exactly. So?" Sonny coaxes his hand towards you. "Care to join me for a dance, then? If Mike's not gonna come out, what's the point just moping about here, eh? This is just for fun."

You can't help the smile growing over your face as Sonny and Connie chuckle and grin at your reaction. "Alright, just for fun." You decide, placing your hand in Sonny's.

The bodyguard Al Neri assigned to you watches cautiously from a distance, pretending to sip at a champagne cocktail next to the other security guards behind your table.

"Just for fun," Sonny repeats with a playful grin, pulling you up from your seat. "I got my old man and mama dancin' but not my sister-in-law? C'mon." You feel Sonny rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand before leading you out to the courtyard—knowing curious eyes are beginning to fall over the two of you.

"Hope my dancing skills don't make you too jealous," Sonny jokes, lacing both hands with yours.

"Been practicing?" You hold onto Sonny's hands loosely.

"Somethin' like that." Sonny chuckles before looking over his shoulder back at the band, still playing an upbeat, lively tune. "You ready? Don't fall too behind."

"We're not waltzing, so how bad can it be?" A playful smile spreads over your lips as the two of you begin dancing.

"I've never seen you swing dancing, darling." The two of you begin to rock side to side on both feet. "Have your guests?"

"Depends who you ask." You say with pride as you take a few steps back from Sonny, his arm extending to hold your hand. "My colleagues from Dartmouth definitely know."

"Is that right?" Sonny lets out a laugh, pulling you back in and placing his hand around your back in dance. "Mike's missin' out, I see."

"And?" you begin, holding both of Sonny's hands as he twirls you around.

"And?" Sonny's eyes gaze over your dress, flowing over you as your hips move in rhythm with the music.

"Everyone else is watching too." You tell him with a smile, moving back and forth to the beat.

"There she goes!" Connie calls out, cheering you two on. "Wow, Vic!"

With the band coming to notice your fast-paced dance at the center of the courtyard, they happily pick up their tune to a full swing style song. Other couples and guests around the two of you begin to join in with one another, too, enjoying the lively, energetic air around you and Sonny.

"Let them. I love it." Sonny remains astonished by how quickly you can keep up with him. "Damn, you're amazing." Sonny takes a few steps back in dance before pulling you in closer to him as you repeat the same movement.

"The Don asked me to keep an eye on that one." Your assigned bodyguard murmurs to the other next to him, inconspicuously gesturing to Sonny.

"His own brother." The other comments, watching you both dance. "The Don's reasoning is always concise."

"With one-sided chemistry like that, I don't blame him." The bodyguard adjusts the collar of his dress shirt. "But Don Corleone will be out any minute now."

"Let Mrs. Corleone know then?" The other raises a brow. "Or at least have the band end the music prematurely?"

"We're not in any position to interrupt or deem authority over Mrs. Corleone." The bodyguard replies. "Her safety is of utmost concern, observations second. We'll let the Don know accordingly when he asks."

"Thank you." You gaze up at him. "It's just a dance, right?" Moving from side to side, Sonny twirls you to the right side of his body before doing so on the left.

"Hell of a dance, hell of a dancer," Sonny comments as you pull away from him to the right, swerving your hips. "What else would it be?"

"You tell me." You give Sonny the same disapproving look you did back in New York, spinning around.

"Uh-huh." Sonny lets go of your hands for you to twirl against his body before he embraces your back from your side. "My offer's always up, you know. Is that what came to mind when you saw Esther and me?"

"The only thing that came to mind is how there's no such thing—" You let Sonny dip you down as you swing your feet up. "As you and I, right?"

Sonny takes a moment to answer, almost disappointed, as he lifts you back up. "Right."

"Good." You hold one hand with Sonny's and clutch onto his shoulder with the other, continuing to dance. "You're my brother-in-law, and I love you like one, but that's all."

"You hurt me." Sonny chuckles, hiding his disappointment as you pull away from him to swerve your hips again. "But I get it, believe me. No trouble from me; I respect you and Mike."

"As I to you and Sandra, of course, but that's not what your eyes say." You two join hands again in another twirl.

If there's anything you've always been, it's certainly observational, and it's not like Sonny's made his gazing and staring unnoticeable, to begin with. You've always picked up on it, and while harmless, you know now you don't want the one-sided chemistry to get to his head again for his own sake.

"Who said I was trying to hide it, pretty lady?" Sonny chuckles, pulling you back into his embrace as you both dance from side to side. "I'm definitely not the only one lookin'."

Back at the central family residence, Michael tightens his tie over his collar before adjusting his silk suit jacket and stepping out the front entrance for the evening.

You slide over your heel smoothly, spinning around Sonny. "You know Michael charges much less for a funeral."

Al Neri remains behind him with another bodyguard to Michael's side, accompanying the Don back out to the courtyard.

"Believe me, my jaw and nose are aware of that." Sonny grins, dancing in unison with you perfectly.

Your bodyguard and other security men notice immediately, as do some of the less chattier guests. One of the first few people to spot Michael beside his own men are Connie, Theresa, Tom, and Mama Corleone, who've all been enjoying tonight's entertainment, but none stand or call for Michael just yet.

"That's why we're just dancing, right?" You both waltz around each other in a fast-paced manner. "Just for fun."

From the very moment you can be spotted in Michael's line of vision, his eyes find you first, and they find you immediately.

"Just for fun, honey." Sonny winks, blocking your way with his leg before picking you up by your hips with one hand, the other scooping up your thighs as he dips you down low. "Just for fun!"

"Oh!" You throw your head back in laughter, squealing as your hair remains almost an inch from touching the ground. "And you say I'm a dancer!"

Guests watching from their tables and even those who are mid-dance stop to applaud and cheer at you and Sonny swing dancing with one another.

'Michael's out?' Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of Michael standing by his bodyguards as he lights a cigarette—directly watching you and Sonny enjoying yourselves in the dance.

In all truthfulness, you rarely have a chance to dance at your own parties and celebrations due to Michael's strict refusal of anything besides a formal and proper slow dance. While you can understand that knowing your husband is like the back of your hand, your intentions are harmful and just to have a little fun—nothing more.

It's why you don't act caught or distraught, throwing Sonny off or trying to get away from Michael. Your intentions are clear, and your feelings towards Sonny are non-existent, other than the fact you love him as your brother-in-law and nothing more.

'The only thing missing from a would-be scandal are reporters.' From Michael's perspective, now growing somewhat irritated as he eyes the two of you, he thinks Sonny's putting on a show with you for all he cares and knows, and it doesn't sit well with Michael, to begin with.

Your hips come into contact with Sonny's as he spins you around again before you hop down and hold a hand with him. At this point, you've become aware of Michael's presence out in the courtyard and not too far a distance from you, but with the fast pace of the dance, you're unable to keep your eye on him.

Of course, it would not only mean the world to you but also be overwhelming joyful and fun if you and Michael shared a swing dance together, perhaps even on more intimate terms, if Sonny's lying at all about his intentions and feelings towards you again now, there's nothing you can do about it, but you will refuse to cater to it if it shows its obvious prominence.

Michael gives a forced, polite smile and acknowledging nods here and there to guests surrounding the family table before he takes his seat directly facing the courtyard. From the moment his eyes divert from the guests, it stays rigidly over you and Sonny dancing before him.

What others would describe simply as Don Corleone's gaze, you're one of the very few besides Vito and Carmela who can tell the look in Michael's eyes simply isn't dead of emotion but filled with impatience towards you and disgust towards Sonny.

Whether Michael has decided to sit directly facing the two of you for you to either notice or for the dance to stop is unclear to you, and Sonny has barely noticed his own brother's arrival as he remains fully indulged and focused on the energetic dance.

The band continues to play a boastful, lively tune not just for your swing dance but for the guests and couples participating in it scattered around the courtyard.

Connie tucks in her chair closer to the dining table, resting her elbows over it and placing one hand on top of the other in a completely relaxed state. Her diamonds and glistening jewelry glimmer under the illumination of the evening's décor and lighting, and it's only when Michael's eyes flicker to her with a look of disapproval, knowing that Connie's obviously enabling this, that Connie smirks back at her brother.

Unphased by Michael's reaction to begin with and never having shied away from being petty or purposefully getting on her brother's nerves in the past, Connie is also aware of the fiasco that occurred between you and Sonny in New York.

After discovering the nature of Lucy Mancini's affair with Sonny at her own wedding to Carlo, Connie gave up blaming and redirecting her anger to Sonny's mistresses and brushed off her brother's adultery and promiscuity completely.

If Sandra couldn't control it or if she simply let Sonny go on to relieve himself with the sex hazard in his pants, then it would be Sandra's problem alone—even if it happened at Connie's wedding.

Connie knows Sonny's always found you to be attractive. He may have confessed to her on more than one occasion and sober too. As a matter of fact, Connie was always under the impression Sonny would make a move on you if he could—but she didn't think something would ever occur unless he had done so before your engagement with Michael, let alone married to him.

In truth, Sonny made a move or at least attempted to when seeing he had a chance or that his behavior and attraction seemed reciprocated when he found a woman absolutely irresistible.

This notion never just implied appearance alone, but everything to do with a woman's personality from her mannerisms, her engagement in conversation, and mutual chemistry.

Sonny had been attracted to you the moment he saw you—something he shared in common with past flings and one-night stands, but you were the only woman he mistakened had hidden feelings or sexual desire towards him.

Part of the reason why is because Sonny thought you had awaited him to make a move when Michael wasn't and couldn't be present, and secondly that your relationship with him was always warm and close with a possibility it could lead to more.

Then again, any relationship could always lead to something more if two people put in the effort and desire together. One-sided was all that could be described the ordeal in New York, and it's something you don't want to think or talk about out of disgust and embarrassment.

You never knew Sonny felt for you the way that he did, and to this day, you still don't know, nor do you want to know if he attempted to seduce you out of pure sexual attraction, genuine feelings, or because that's how he consoled people.

You could be throbbing and soaking into your panties for days on end, alone with no sight of Michael or any notion of when you'd see or hear from him again; you could have all the opportunity in the world just to sneak away and have sex with someone else—not necessarily Sonny while being able to justify it to yourself and you still would never do it.

It's not in you. It has never been, and it never will. The possibility of entertaining Sonny's seduction would only ever exist if Sonny was single, and so were you, and not for any reason to be together or have sex in the first place.

Going from a sexy, stern, and dominant man like Michael to his brother—rugged, passionate, and outspoken is not a possibility or idea you want to entertain.

There isn't a single bone in your body that craves another man in any form, way, or shape. You'd sooner vomit in your mouth just thinking about it. Michael Corleone is the only man for you, and you accept nothing more, nothing less.

Your feelings have tripled and gotten deeper, more affectionate, more sexual, trusting, and loving over the last nine years of marriage to Michael, and they only intensify further, just like the way Michael feels for you.

It may have been a risk to entertain a relationship the way that you did, but Michael never forced you, nor did you both feel uncomfortable or incompatible. It was one of the best decisions you ever made in your life, one you never doubted, questioned, or regretted.

You went to bed that night in New York crying yourself to sleep, clutching a photograph of Michael in his uniform—fell asleep to thoughts of your husband even when you had all the reason in the world to ask for space and be upset with him.

Your heart has and always will belong to Michael Corleone. That'll never change. Not in New York when the perfect opportunity presented itself to be anything but faithful to Michael and not over a harmful, playful swing dance with your brother-in-law.

A nearby waiter serves Michael a champagne cocktail in front of him before moving aside to serve other guests. Michael pulls the cocktail closer to him, and by doing so, he takes his eyes off of you and Sonny for the first time in minutes.

'Pretending not to care, or does he actually not care?' Connie's aware from her brother's body language that he's expecting the dance to end and to see the two of you coming back to the table shortly after, but nothing more.

She can't tell how Michael feels at all about the dance nor how he's truly reacting to it from how well Michael always remains poised to be emotionless and intensely stern.

Michael only raises his eyes to look upon you once more as he raises his champagne cocktail up to his lips.

Rushing back into another fast-paced waltz around the courtyard, you both step away from each other again with one last twirl—arms extended as the dance is just about to come to an end as onlookers giddily clap and cheer on throughout the music.

Michael only takes one sip of his champagne cocktail when he sees Sonny pulling you in by your arm back to his embrace and dipping you down low one final time as he leans in close to you.

Knowing the dance is to end with a kiss over the lips, there's no indication that Sonny will or won't kiss you right then and now to Michael.

In a split second, as Michael watches Sonny dip your body down gracefully and lean over you, he no longer realizes how harshly he's clutching onto his cocktail.

While Michael's body language and face read no emotion whatsoever or give off any indication as to what he's thinking, Michael feels shortness of breath hit him, accompanied by the feeling of possessiveness and jealousy flooding through his body hotly.

Al Neri, Michael's bodyguards in close vicinity, as well as Tom at the other table with his wife and children, are the first to instantly notice the cocktail glass shatter in Michael's hand.

Without even being aware of it, the glass breaks in Michael's grasp, and champagne spills onto the table—getting some on his hand and soaking the remainder through the tablecloth.

Connie's eyes widen in shock, but even she remains still and quietly stares back at Michael in astonishment as tiny pieces of glass scatter over the tablecloth.

The sound is at too much of a distance for you or Sonny to properly hear and discern it. Sonny pulls away and extends out his free arm gleefully as the upbeat tempo of the swing dance finally comes to an end without a kiss.

Al Neri shoots a glare at the waiter that immediately causes the waiter to quickly clean up the mess over the tablecloth and scoop away the glass as if nothing ever happened.

"Is this another one of your hidden talents that pop up every now and then?" Sonny chuckles, letting go of your hand.

"Something like that." You joke back, "you're quick on your feet, dancer boy."

"Let's just say I learn quickly, eh?" Sonny grins proudly, smoothening out his suit jacket.

Amusement fills Connie's expression at Michael's reaction as she watches the waiter begin to clean off the mess as quickly and as best as he can. Now Connie knows if anything, Michael is certain to be jealous.

Michael simply lets the shards of glass fall out of his hand, completely unharmed and without care, as he continues to gaze back at you and Sonny.

Had this been a slow dance, things may have been very, very different indeed, but then again, so would intentions.

"Mama! Mama!" Verona and Niccolò squeal, giddily rushing up to you from their tables in excitement. "Wow!"

Sonny smiles at his approaching niece and nephew before running a hand through his curls and turning back to face the family table. Sonny's eyes spot Michael wiping off his hand with a napkin and staring at him expectantly; nothing gets through to Sonny to spoil his playful mood for tonight.

"Hi, you two!" You let out a soft laugh, hugging both of them. "What did you guys think of my dancing skills?"

Connie clears her throat and rises from her seat with her champagne the moment she sees Sonny approaching. Unbothered and rather amused by all of this herself, Connie knows better than to keep herself between Michael's irritation.

"You were so fast, mama!" Niccolò exclaims. "How?!"

"Can you teach me?" Verona giggles. "I wanna dance too!"

Heading off towards Tom and Theresa's table, Connie's out of sight from the moment Sonny stretches out his arms and plops back down on his seat next to Michael. "Well, look who it is. Nice of ya to come out for once, Mike."

Sonny's eyes flicker to the mess over the tablecloth still being cleaned by the waiter, who Michael outright ignores as he stares back at his brother with a severe look of annoyance and disappointment over his eyes.

It only takes a second to register to Sonny that Michael's broken his champagne glass, and not in a sense it tipped over or fell to the ground. For what seems like the first time in forever, Michael makes it visibly clear to Sonny—the only person now at the table—in the calmest and eerie manner that he's upset and irritated with him.

Only when the waiter next to Michael finishes cleaning up the last shards of broken glass and serves a new cocktail before leaving does Michael speak out to his brother. "I wouldn't have expected to walk back out into my own party to see my brother dancing with my wife."

"Aw, Mike." Sonny chuckles softly, glancing back to you momentarily to see you playfully dancing with the twins.

"Like this! Just like this!" You twirl Verona around as she bursts into a fit of giggles.

"We were just dancin'." Sonny shrugs back to Michael. "A swing dance here and there—ya know, nothin' harmless."

"It's unacceptable, Sonny," Michael speaks in a quiet, calm voice. "Because when has it ever 'just' been that simple to you with Victoria?"

"Mike—"

"Have some shame." Michael's eyes burn back into Sonny's. "You're a married man with four children, and this is the type of behavior you choose to showcase."

"Oh?" Sonny raises a brow in genuine disbelief that Michael's scolding him over this. "My kid brother's gonna lecture me about dancin'? I was doin' it right in front of you—you saw me. Are you gonna give this same talk to Victoria over a dance? Come on, Mike. That's not like you."

"Victoria isn't the one who tried to provoke a sexual affair." Michael points out, keeping his voice stern. "That's my wife, and if you can't control your attraction to her, then you will control yourself in public. When you don't, not only do you lack dignity and respect towards yourself and to her, but you disrespect me, and that makes me very angry."

Sonny stares back at Michael, considering his words. "Then dance with her—"

"Don't tell me what to do, Santino." Michael slowly pushes the cocktail away from him. "What I choose to do and not to do are not invitations for you to act in my place. Do something like this again, and I'll hurt you very badly."

Before Sonny can even react, Michael rises from his seat and makes his way directly towards you. His demeanor is neither bitter nor serious, but rather even after shattering glass in his bare hands like Michael's been searching for you since he stepped outside of his office.

Noticing Michael out of the corner of your eye, you raise your head and blush at the sight of him instantly. In what you would expect to be a conversation made next, you blink in surprise as both you and Michael turn your heads to hear more of your guests clapping and cheering for you two.

Just then, you see Mama Corleone step down from the gazebo the band is performing in, gesturing and whispering something to them in an excited manner before waving at you and Michael. "Dai! Dai!" (Come on! Come on!)

A soothing, slow melody fit for a formal dance begins to play, and the atmosphere of not only your guests but the twins, Tom, Sandra, and even an absolutely wasted Deanna cheer and coax you and Michael to join in the dance.

"Mr. and Mrs. Corleone!" Connie calls out, clapping her hands together.

"Don Corleone." You can't help the growing, amused smile on your face as you take a step toward Michael.

"Mrs. Corleone," Michael greets you back, lacing a hand up with yours and placing the other over your hip.

"Looks like you made it in time for the dance after all." Your cheeks burn with blush as you avoid his gaze.

"I told you I would, wouldn't I?" Michael joins you in dance as you wrap your free arm around his shoulders lovingly. "Though I may have been more inclined to come out sooner had I known my own wife of nine years as a dancer."

You giggle, shaking your head. "If only I was that talented. How would you ever find out if you don't dance yourself?"

"I don't entertain such ridiculous notions." It's just the answer you'd expect from Michael. "But I won't refuse a dance like this with my wife."

"You missed me." You point out teasingly. "Not much to look at in the office, is there?"

"If I'm not looking, it appears someone else is," Michael murmurs, immediately killing the mood.

"Oh, please." You let out a soft sigh. "Some ambiance and liveliness here are what we needed."

"You needed or what Santino needed?" Michael asks you rather coldly.

"Michael," you frown at him. "You're the last person I'd ever expect to hold a grudge like that."

"I'm not holding a grudge, Victoria," Michael tells you plainly, planting a kiss over your cheek. "I'm simply observing, and I'm telling you what I see, which is very different from what you choose to ignore."

"I feel like you and I both have better things to talk about tonight than a swing dance." Your playful disposition easily wears off.

"And where should we start? With how close you've grown to Santino or—"

"I have not." You say through gritted teeth. "Don't try to change the subject, Michael. You're the one who was absent for almost the entirety of your own party. Are we going to talk about that?"

"No," Michael replies plainly. "We already did. There's nothing more to say."

"Everyone's watching us; are you aware of that?" You whisper back to him, avoiding looking around you.

"Yes. Is there a problem?" Michael presses the side of his cheek gently up against yours in a much more intimate embrace throughout the dance.

"You're making the dance sufferable, is all." You mumble under your breath.

"Believe me, I have plenty I want to talk to you about after all of this is over." Michael reminds you, "and yes, we can start with Santino. I'm not happy about this at all, Victoria. Stop rolling your eyes at me."

"I'll walk off." You threaten. "It's not like the whole dance relies on me being a part of it."

"And do you expect me to follow you?" Michael raises a brow at you. "Because I won't. Then you'll have to lecture yourself all night for 'ruining' your own party in front of all your guests and colleagues." Michael's barely phased by your threat. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Wow, really? What are you doing, Michael?" You scoff quietly. "I mean, honestly? First the absence, now the pettiness?"

"You or me?" Michael kisses your cheek sweetly again. "I haven't done anything."

Becoming increasingly difficult to balance how you feel blushing due to Michael's affection, arousal, and anger from your last conversation with Michael. You're barely able to focus on what you're trying to say.

"I know what you're doing." Michael continues, squeezing your hand gently. "With Sonny? You did that on purpose."

"Very funny." You reply, knowing he's mentioning the dance you shared with Sonny. "One of us had to enjoy the party and entertain the guests, and that happened to be me. You're overthinking it."

"Yes, you've done enough entertaining for the night, sweetheart." Michael narrows his eyes. "It always has to be your way, doesn't it?"

You pull your head back away from him, smirking as you know you're more than capable of getting on Michael's nerves as much as he is to you right now. "Why not? I'm a Ferrari daughter. I always get what I want."

"You need to watch your attitude." Michael stares back at you. "This isn't over."

"Aw." You pout dramatically at Michael, "but the dance is, baby." You peck a kiss over his lips before pulling away from Michael just as the music comes to an end—growing more upbeat for the next dance.

"Victoria." Michael's eyes burn back into yours, a universal sign for "come here" you'd love to obey if you weren't amusing yourself by teasing Michael like this.

"There's nothing to talk about, Michael." You beam back at him, using his own words against him. "We're at a party, I'm the host, and I'm very, very busy right now. I've got work to do, guests to see. Very busy!"

Fixing up a smile and running a hand through your hair, you head off down the courtyard towards the tables reserved for your sorority sisters from Dartmouth. "Ladies, ladies! Hi!"

Michael makes it more than clear through his disposition that he's not amused. Although he doesn't see his absence as a problem or anything to remotely make a big deal out of, he does accept it's what has upset not only you but the twins as well tonight.

Had Vincent and James been a little older to understand, there'd be no doubt that they'd be asking the same questions about Michael's whereabouts.

With two more small children in your family, it's imperative now more than ever to have Michael spend as much time as he can with the babies as they grow.

Without a further glance in your direction, Michael approaches the family table once again for the sole purpose of picking up his lighter and cigarette pack off the table.

"Why don't you sit down?" Michael hears Connie's voice as he raises his head up to see his sister approaching the table again. "You haven't been here all night."

"I'm here now." Michael ignores her request, taking a cigarette out of his pack. "I'll be seeing my own friends and colleagues now."

"You have friends?" Connie scoffs, staring at her brother in disbelief.

"You sound surprised," Michael comments nonchalantly, putting a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. "Not that I understand what for." With that, Michael holds onto his lighter and slips his cigarette pack back into the outer pocket of his suit jacket.

Connie stares back at Michael, expecting him to say something more or to head off to Tom's table, but he turns away from her almost immediately after and walks over to one of the VIP tables reserved for special colleagues and friends.

"Sandra!" You call out, spotting her from a short distance near some guests. "Come on over here! Come!"

Sandra's eyes brighten when she spots you and the girls at the table, picking up her pace and approaching the table. "There you are! Can you believe Theresa has already called it a night?" She lets out a soft sigh, "I thought I was going to get lost in that crowd all by myself."

"The night is still young!" One of your friends bubbles at Sandra.

"Very true." You beam back, "I know she's more than tired from insisting on running most of the preparations for tonight, buuuut—" You pluck a champagne flute off a nearby waiter's tray, handing it to her. "It'll be just us girls now."

"Oh, thank God." Sandra lets out a sigh of relief, taking a big gulp of the champagne, which causes you and the girls to laugh. "Mm, I needed that. I'm not as tipsy as I look."

"How drunk you are may have been exaggerated by Sonny and the others." You chuckle. "You look fine."

"Not enough to get me drunk, but I wish." Sandra swishes the champagne around in her glass. "You know I feel like I've acquired a taste for these things thanks to Michael constantly having a limitless supply of champagne cocktails at every damn party?"

You and Sandra both burst out in laughter, separating your conversation from your other friends. "Well, after that little happy accident we had with a bottle of whiskey and many cocktails later…" You playfully roll your eyes, "this is our punishment."

"Has it helped you dance?" Sandra grins, gesturing at your cocktail. "I never even knew you had moves like that, Vic."

"No, no, I'm no dancer." You brush off the notion, "but I've been to enough parties to know that if I don't learn how to swing dance, I'm not gonna have any fun."

"I love it." Excitement flashes in Sandra's eyes. "I think you inspired all of us to pick up a few dancefloor moves back there. It looked so energetic and fun."

"It is!" You tell her but feel your smile beginning to fade from the obvious. "You were okay with all of that, though, right? You know—dancing with Sonny."

"Why would I be?" Sandra blinks, a little confused by the question. "I don't even know where my own husband picked up those moves from, but he's impressed me a lot too. He's gonna have to show me!"

'Oh, thank God.' You brush off your anxiety. "There's still plenty of time for a dance; why don't you join him in one?"

"Eh," Sandra shrugs shyly. "I mean, I would, but I've surprised myself today enough just by being able to walk."

"What do you mean?" You take a slow sip of your champagne.

"Um…" Sandra covers her mouth, blushing. "I mean with that health hazard in Sonny's pants."

"Oh." Your eyes widen as you both burst into a fit of giggles. "You're serious?"

"Oh yeah." Sandra bites down on her lip. "I literally feel ruined down there. Ugh," she glances down at the hem of her dress, clenching her legs. "Last night was amazing, and lately, I'm just reveling in the foreplay we have—you know, to build up arousal because—" she lowers her tone to be only audible to you, "—he's so fucking big, it'll hurt otherwise."

"Oh my God, Sandra." Not that you're all too surprised yourself from what you thought was a crowbar poking against your thigh when Sonny made that move on you back in New York.

"Lots and lots of lube too." She lets out a breathy sigh. "Oh well, we've been more intimate with each other lately but trying to avoid having another little one after four kids. You?"

"Definitely." You can't help the smile growing over your lips, hoping Sandra will change the conversation any moment now.

"All the better, I say." Sandra shrugs her shoulders. "His dick is a party favor in itself." She rolls her eyes. "Seductive and seducing every other woman and whatnot."

'Awkward…' You neither expected Sandra to talk to you about Sonny's dick or about her sex life in the middle of a party tonight.

Sandra's eyes lock over yours as her smile fades, and that familiar tinge of anxiety hits you once again. She remains quiet for a moment before frowning, "I'm sorry, Victoria. I really am."

"What do you mean?" Your eyes widen in surprise.

"It wasn't right of me to be upset with you about…" She gestures her hand back to Sonny, who jokingly shakes Tom's shoulders back at his table. "All of that." Sandra's clearly referring to the little incident in New York. "That wasn't your fault. It's not like you went along with it or even started it to begin with."

"It's okay, Sandra." You place your free hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring rub. "Really. I understand. It's all water under the bridge now."

"Still, it wasn't okay how upset I was with you at your own mother's funeral." You notice the distraught look in Sandra's eyes. "I was petty and giving you the cold shoulder when you needed love and support the most. It's my fault, Vic. I can't keep Sonny on a leash, but then again, nobody can—I shouldn't blame the women he chooses to go after, but I did, and it was very stupid and childish of me to do so. I've been meaning to apologize to you, so I'm sorry it took a while to get to that too, through…this conversation." She gives out a weak laugh.

"No, no. I understand." You smile warmly at her. "I really appreciate that, thank you. I let bygones be bygones, really. I was just as confused and upset as you by the whole thing. Uh—are you and Sonny okay between one another, though? I mean, I know it's been some time, but…" Your mind roams back to Michael's words.

"With Sonny? You did that on purpose."

"Those kinds of things tend to linger a while longer than we think even after everything is said and done." You finish your sentence.

"Oh, we're both fine, don't worry, honey." The smile on Sandra's face grows wider as she embraces you in a warm hug. "Sonny and I definitely talked about it, and I know there's going to be no more of that behavior."

You hug her back, careful to keep your champagne flute away from her. "Oh, really? That's good to hear." You force confidence back in your words as you pull away from the hug.

'No more of that behavior? He just asked me if I wanted to fuck again tonight.' The urge to smack Sonny or at least hope he was joking now hits deep.

"Did you and Michael ever talk about it?" Sandra asks.

"After I came home? No." You clear your throat. "We had one conversation about it, and everything was pretty clear. Still, what he did in return was harsh. Really harsh."

"Maybe so." Sandra shrugs. "But you may just be thinking that because Michael's reaction came out as a surprise to all of us. Sonny deserved it," she sighs, her eyes flickering back to his table. "Even Pop said so."

"I suppose." You definitely remember Vito saying Sonny was glad to still be alive after Michael rocked his jaw and nose.

"Sonny's learned from it, I can tell." Sandra seems reassured by her own words. "He's changed. And speaking of husbands…" Sandra's eyes suddenly light up. "I know all eyes were definitely on you and Michael tonight, especially with the way he was holding you during your dance."

"Oh." You blush, taken aback by the sudden change of conversation. "Thank you. I was looking forward to having a little dance with him all night."

"I bet." Sandra runs a hand through her hair with a playful grin. "The way he was looking right at you? Oh, you had to be there by the sidelines to see it. You guys are the perfect couple, honestly!"

Michael's own friends from his years at Dartmouth, as well as two private attorneys, a judge, a high-ranking detective, and two businessmen, remain at the table he takes a seat at and is warmly welcomed in response.

Connie sees Al Neri and Michael's other bodyguards approaching the table at a distance, keeping their eyes on the Don and his friends for general security purposes.

Connie's gaze darts back to you with your sorority sisters, university colleagues, and coworkers from New York and Nevada alike gathered at a table in close proximity to Michael's.

From where Michael sits, he gets a perfect side view of you at your table with your friends, and although you know the table Michael sits at is occupied by his closest friends, you're neither aware of Michael being there at the moment nor do you look around. It's Michael whose gazing at you.

Hoping to be able to spend the rest of the evening with you, Michael's getting a taste of his own medicine now as you're the one who's occupied with others.

The official afterparty the Corleone family hosts is always specially reserved for closest friends, esteemed few guests, and most important business partners.

Even the concept of an afterparty being scheduled is only known by the chosen guests alone and isn't uttered to anyone else throughout the main celebrations throughout the evening.

Since an afterparty is only held a scarce few times a year after such grand celebrations, guests rarely change and aren't just chosen by you and Michael alone but by the entire family.

As a result, the afterparty is much more private and relaxed, but the company is shared with those your family trusts the most and has known for many years, whether they be colleagues, associates, or childhood friends.

Only three of your closest friends remain to be your guests for tonight, who've also gotten along very well with Sandra and Connie since you introduced them all at your very first celebration with the Corleone family.

It's always been nothing but a relief to have everyone get along and remain distracted by the company of Sandra and Connie, who can drink and talk for hours on end, unlike you. It gives you some much-needed time to yourself if need be, such as if you need to handle something or head back inside the house.

As much as you enjoy socializing with friends and family, just like everyone else, you too have a social tolerance, and surpassing it only mentally exhausts you and does no good.

Mama Corleone sits by the garden with her childhood friend from Sicily, sharing a conversation over a glass of white wine as Vito does the same with close friend Amerigo Bonasera and family physician Jules Segal by the docks.

Tom and his fellow graduates from law school—also friends of yours—occupies himself with stories of passing the bar exam with some of Nevada's biggest hotshot attorneys at a table in the courtyard.

Michael remains in the boathouse only a short distance away from the gazebo with his friends, admiring the lakeside view of his yacht with them in deep conversation over cigarettes.

Still feeling the buzz of the evening's celebrations over you, you take the opportunity to make an excuse to go to the bathroom and pick up another bottle of wine for the girls when in reality, your mind has been on the twins instead.

Michael and you haven't spoken to each other since the dance you shared earlier on in the evening, but neither of you had a chance to with your guests and formalities getting in the way.

The twins have enjoyed the entirety of the party with the children of the guests, running around and snacking on treats while playing with Tom and Theresa's dogs until they quite literally exhausted themselves.

Esther had to take Niccolò and Verona inside for a much-needed nap, and unbeknownst to you, Michael had shortly excused himself to his friends before taking in little Vincent and baby James inside himself.

With your two youngest sons still being infants, napping, throwing toys around, and aimlessly peeking around while shaking anything that makes a rattling or crinkling noise is just part of their routine.

Still, Michael didn't take his sons back inside and put them to sleep himself to prove a point to you or to prove your point. He knows now more than ever after his third and fourth child entered the world that time spent with the babies is detrimental and prolonged absences aren't even remotely acceptable.

Michael and you both want Vincent and James to know their father is always around, to recognize him instantly, and not have to burst into tears to get some attention from their parents. So far, the concept has failed miserably, thanks to Michael's recent business ventures.

Esther remained inside for the rest of the evening once the children came in to take their naps. Your residence remained quiet otherwise, with nobody else in or around it except silent sentry and security as usual.

Keeping an eye on Vincent and James sleeping soundly, Esther took Niccolò and Verona to you and Michael's bedroom to play with their toys as you and Michael had always allowed it.

It was getting late after all, and with the afterparty about to kick in and other children heading home, Niccolò and Verona happily chose to pick out their favorite toys and spend some time back in residence instead.

You and Michael have never barred the twins from entering your bedroom or any other part of the house, for that matter.

Much of the time, you prefer to breastfeed James while bouncing Vincent on your lap as you watch the twins play with their toys in front of you in the bedroom too.

Michael's office is mostly off-limits for just about anybody, but even the twins call it "the boring room where daddy does business" because it contains nothing but Michael's desk, seats, and bookshelves along the wall.

If Michael isn't working or having a business meeting with anyone, he too doesn't spend any time in his office unless absolutely needed. Even for general peace and privacy, Michael spends time in the living room, on the balcony, by the pool, in the garden, and in the study, if he isn't in another residence on the compound.

Exhaling softly and feeling yourself relax after both the frustration and expected excitement of tonight's party, you smoothen out your black dress and walk past your security to the front door of your residence.

Stepping in, all is calm and quiet but the sound of the clock ticking upon the living room's wall.

As you let the door close behind you and slip off your heels, you walk down the corridor and towards the bedroom, where you're able to pick up the sounds of the twins talking softly and playing the closer you get.

“Mi piacciono i cavalli.” (I like the horses.) Verona picks up her wooden set of horses with a smile. “Voglio costruire una piccola stalla per loro!” (I wanna build a small stable for them!)

“E gli animali della fattoria?” (What about the farm animals?) Niccolò picks up a toy cow, peeking down at it in the pile of his other toys. “Possiamo metterli in una stalla vicino ai cavalli?” (Can we put them in a barn next to the horses?)

Approaching the doorway and resting your hand against it, you can't help but smile at the well-behaved twins happily sharing and playing with their animal toys together.

“Sì! Vuoi costruire un fienile con me? Ho dei giocattoli qui.” (Yeah! Want to build a barn with me? I have some toy pieces here.) Verona nods excitedly.

"Bene!" (Okay!) Niccolò scoots in closer to the toys near him and Verona.

Safety and security have been practically tripled since the assassination attempt on your and Michael's life in 1955.

Neither you nor Michael or the twins had ever felt unsafe or doubted security before. Coming to know it was Fredo who allowed the assassination to occur half successfully in the first place let you and Michael know that it truly had nothing to do with the security measures you two had imposed on the family compound in the first place.

Still, it was no reason to back down, especially after that life-threatening experience and your mother's death as a result of poisoned bullets raining down on the residence.

Security is always heavily prominent 24/7 but much more intensely and rigidly imposed when it comes to you, Michael, and the children especially.

"Ciao, voi due." (Hello, you two.) You softly greet the twins, walking into the bedroom.

"Ciao, mamma!" (Hi, mama!) The two chime in at the same time, looking up at you.

“Vi state divertendo con gli animali della stalla?” (Having fun with the barn animals?) You gesture down to their toys, stroking both Niccolò and Verona's hair.

“Faremo per loro una stalla e una stalla.” (We're gonna make a barn and horse stable for them.) Niccolòproudly admits.

"Molto bello. Mi fai vedere quando è costruito?” (Very nice. Will you show me when it's built?) You chuckle, crossing your arms.

"Noi!" (We will!) Verona tells you excitedly, putting another toy horse next to her other one.

The sight of the twins safe and sound playing with their toys before you remind you of how they had come peeking in by the doorway in the middle of a thunderstorm when they were just four years old, eyes wide and scared.

Michael would've been the last one to go through with the idea of having the two twins snuggled up between you and him in bed during a thunderstorm, but being a father had changed him in many ways. He wasn't even entirely aware of back then.

Changing and adapting to motherhood and fatherhood, both of your lives changed for the better as you and Michael started a family of your own.

You both knew whether you'd like it or not—accept it or not—you and Michael would always be the first and most important role models in your children's lives.

The twins—let alone Vincent and James—never saw you and Michael fighting or heard the two of you raise your voices over each other. Of course, this didn't mean the two of you didn't argue as any normal couple does, but you both made sure never to do so near the twins.

Niccolo and Verona have not only told the family but also mentioned amongst themselves how much they think their parents love and care about each other. It shows through your and Michael's actions and words towards one another, a healthy, caring love with compassion and understanding that you want the twins to learn from too.

“Di questo passo, voi due giochereste con i vostri giocattoli tutta la notte.” (At this rate, the two of you would be playing with your toys all night.) You hear a deep, velvety voice belonging to Michael come out from behind you—surprising you.

'When did he…?!' Your eyes widen as you glance back to the doorway to see Michael standing by it, his emotionless eyes flickering up to you momentarily before looking back down at the twins.

“Non possiamo, papà?” (Can’t we, daddy?) Niccolo hugs onto one of his toys.

"Se solo." (If only.) Michael takes a few steps inside the bedroom, planting a kiss on both of the twins' heads. “È quasi mezzanotte ed è ora di andare a letto.” (It's almost midnight now and time for bed.)

"Dadddyyyy…!" Switching to English, Verona extends her arms out to her father as Michael hugs her warmly. "Can you tuck us in?"

“I will,” Michael murmurs, ignoring you as Niccolo rises to his feet. “And tomorrow, you two can play again as much as you’d like.”

"Promettere?" (Promise?) Niccolo peeks up at Michael with hope, picking his toys off the ground.

"Prometto." (I promise.) Michael rubs Niccolo’s shoulder reassuringly. "Dì la buonanotte a tua madre, per favore." (Say goodnight to your mother, please.)

“Buonanotte, mamma!” (Good night, mama!) The twins ring out in unison to you.

“Buona Notte.” You beam back at the two, giving them a little wave.

Michael walks out of the bedroom with the twins, letting the door remain ajar as the three head back down the hallway—speaking inaudibly in soft Italian to one another.

You let out a deep sigh, still finding yourself flustered from Michael’s sudden presence. Clearing your throat and knowing a talk is obviously in order between you and Michael, you shake off the thought and close the bedroom door fully.

You pull apart the ribbons from your hair, letting your hair down from your updo and running your hands through it as you make your way over to the bathroom.

Combing through your soft hair and putting it up into a loose bun, you begin to wash off your makeup by the sink and cleanse your face with cream and moderately warm water.

You grab a small face cloth and soak it into the water, turning down the temperature a little bit before gently scrubbing any residue of the cleansing cream off of your face and eyes.

Once you dry off your face and hands, you hum quietly to yourself as you begin to nudge down the short sleeves of your dress off of your shoulders.

Just about to undress and strip down, you walk out of the bathroom as your dress’s sleeves cling loosely to your breasts and chest. You gasp out in surprise yet again to see Michael standing by your vanity table, leaning a hand against the chair by it and tapping his fingers against it impatiently. He remains across you, still dressed but without his suit jacket on, keeping one hand in the pocket of his dress trousers.

Blush stings your cheeks once more, especially standing before him with your breasts threatening to spill out of your dress at any moment. “Do you have to surprise me like that every time?”

Michael doesn’t answer you, simply gazing at you the same way he did when the two of you were slow dancing back at the party.

An expectant look crosses his eyes as he takes his hand out of his pocket and gestures for you to approach him. “Come here.”

‘Stop…’ You know every inch of you wants to get down on your knees and crawl to Michael no matter how irritated you were with him earlier.

Something in you desperately pulls you towards Michael like a moth to a flame with the way his smoldering, dark eyes look at you, the command in his voice, and how his slim fingers beckon.

Unable to hide that you’re blushing, you step towards Michael and approach him. Michael’s eyes dart over your dress first as if he’s admiring but cautiously analyzing the fabric quietly.

Michael’s brows furrow as he looks over at your breasts, barely covered by the dress, and you can’t help but feel disappointment in realizing that although you’ve been dressed like this for hours throughout the night, it’s the first time Michael’s actually taken a look at your appearance.

“You look beautiful,” Michael’s tone remains soft and quiet.

Your cheeks flare red with blush again at his compliment. “You clean up pretty well yourself. Didn’t get to look at me too much tonight?”

“Not nearly as much as I’d like to,” Michael softly exhales, gazing up at you. “No.” Michael reaches out his hand and touches the collar of your dress, pulling at the fabric of your breasts gently before coming to a pause.

You watch his movements, too flustered to move or react until you notice Michael furrowing his brows in disappointment. “Did you go out like this?” Michael rubs his thumb over one of your nipples, causing you to bite down on your lip.

“Of course I did. You saw me.” You tell him, looking down at his fingers.

“Without a brassiere?”

“I couldn’t exactly wear it with a brassiere, could I?” You place your hand gently on top of Michael’s. “It’s an off-the-shoulder piece, baby.”

Michael stares back at you. “You danced with Sonny while wearing this?”

‘Oh, I see what this is about. Ha.’ You can’t help but feel amused at Michael’s clear jealous disposition.

A smirk spreads over your face. “Why, what’s wrong with it?”

“Answer me.” There’s that stern look growing back in Michael’s eyes.

“I did.” Holding onto Michael’s hand, you pull down the fabric to reveal your breasts. “This is what I wore all evening.”

“I can see your nipples through this.” Michael points out.

Teasingly squeezing them together, you’re in too much of a playful mood now to take any of Michael’s reactions seriously. “Oh yeah? Then suck on them.”

“Victoria.” Michael raises his brows at you, severely unamused by your comment.

“I’m getting undressed now, don’t worry.” You chuckle, turning your back to Michael as you lean over and inch off your dress bit by bit over your hips. “Wanna watch?” You glance over your shoulders, wanting to tease him badly.

You notice the irritated look in Michael’s eyes almost instantly changes to an erotic curiously filled with interest at your movements. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“But you’re still watching.” You let your dress fall off your hips and pool to your feet just as quickly as you feel Michael’s hands grabbing your hips.

Gasping out in surprise, you feel Michael pin you up against the wall by the bed instantly but without remotely hurting you.

Only in a pair of lace panties you giggle as Michael tilts your chin up to face him roughly before squeezing your face. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this.”

“Tell me what, Don Corleone?” You let out a muffled giggle.

“Stay away from Santino, Victoria.” The possessiveness and anger in his disposition only helps the wet patch grow in your panties, severely turning you on. “Your intentions aren’t the same as his, and you know that. God, do I need to move him out of here to make you listen?”

“I didn’t do anything, baby.” You grin back lazily at Michael, tilting your head back against the wall. “If he wants me, that’s on him. I only want you. Besides—how did you even see?”

“I see everything.” Michael breathes against your lips, pressing his body against yours. “And I was very well aware you were dancing with him. So what do you want me to do, huh? I was too busy, so you went with my brother?”

“You’re so jealous that you’re spinning this into a whole different story,” you sloppily kiss Michael’s fingers. “It was just one swing dance, baby. I can do whatever I want.”

“Actually, you can’t.” Michael narrows his eyes. “With Sonny? No, you can’t. Not without justifying it.”

“I think you’re pushing it.” You smirk back, bucking your hips up against Michael’s growing erection through his dress trousers.

“I’ll push it even farther, baby.” Michael squeezes your face harshly, giving it a shake. “I’ll fucking push it.”

“Push it then.” You moan, feeling his cock brushing up against the fabric of your panties.

“Everything you did tonight was just to get a reaction out of me,” Michael tells you through gritted teeth, but even you can easily see how severely aroused he’s grown.

“That’s your jealousy talking—oh!” You squeal out in excitement as Michael clasps a firm hand around your throat, hauling you over to the balcony. “Michael!”

“What’s the matter, huh?” Michael tugs on a fistful of your hair with his free hand, pushing you down onto the lounge chair by the ledge of the balcony. “You want to put on a show? We can put on a show.”

You lick over your lips, grinning back at him as your breasts press up against the velvet of the lounge chair. “Where everyone can see and hear us, huh?”

“Who said anyone can see you from up here?” Michael narrows his eyes, quick to snatch your panties down your ass. “Hearing you is a whole other story.”

“Ah!” You quickly clasp a hand over your mouth as you feel Michael’s hand smack your ass harshly. “N-not fair.”

“You wouldn’t know anything about that,” Michael speaks to you in a low, husky tone as he spanks you again over the same area. “You don’t play fair.”

“Punishing me?” You breathe, clutching onto the sides of the lounge chair as you arch your back.

“Punishing you?” Michael gives you a disapproving look, “I’m making sure—” He spanks you even harder, his wedding band hitting your now reddened skin. “—that you enjoy this.”

“F-fuck,” you whimper, pressing the side of your face up against the lounge chair as Michael continues to spank you.

“But after this, all you’ll do is beg.” Michael presses one knee down on the edge of the lounge chair, keeping full dominance and control over you by pulling your hair back and locking your thigh between his legs tightly. “And I won’t give you a damn thing.”

“A-acting like you’re not getting off to this,” you let out a shaky giggle. “You don’t wanna fuck your frustrations out on me, huh?”

“Does it surprise you—” Michael watches as your skin glows pink from spanking you rapidly in succession, each hit harder than the last. “—that I don’t?”

“Mm!” You moan again as you feel Michael purposefully brush his fingers up against your clit. “Y-you’re bluffing.”

“I’m. Not.” Michael tilts your face roughly to face him. “And everybody can hear you.”

“Maybe I should moan louder, then.” You breathe heavily, “so everyone can hear how Michael Corleone’s spanking me naked up on our balcony.”

“I’m doing no such thing.” Michael’s hand comes down on your ass again as harshly as he can hit—the tingly, stinging pain mixing in with the pleasure of how aroused you’ve grown, especially naked out on the balcony where there’s the thrill of being seen and heard.

“If you want me—” Michael kneels off the lounge chair, pulling away from you. “then you’ll take what’s yours, but I’m not giving you what you want.”

“I don’t deserve it, huh?” Wincing, your thighs tremble as you carefully lay down on your side, spreading open your legs before Michael. “Not now and for the last few days either? Mm, Michael Corleone doesn’t want me anymore.”

Michael stares back at you, his eyes darkening with lust as he watches you teasingly slick your hands down your wet pussy lips. “Maybe it’s because I like watching you squirm.”

Michael loosens his black silk tie and begins to unbuckle his belt—acting as if he’s unphased. “Or it’s because I want you to want me.”

Michael turns away from you, letting his belt fall to the ground as he runs a hand through his hair—breaking through his neatly slicked look to casually tousled and relaxed.

‘Fuck. Now he’s the one teasing me?’ The knot of arousal only grows more in demand in your gut as you bite down on the corner of your lip in frustration.

Loving to tease but hate being teased yourself, you get off of the lounge chair and follow right behind just as Michael wants you to.

“You want me, Victoria?” Michael sits on the edge of the bed, a few buttons of his dress shirt undone to reveal a peek of his chest hair and skin.

“You have no idea...” You make sure to firmly close the balcony door behind you. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’ll do what I want.” Michael grips the bed sheets with both hands, tilting his body back.

“This is your way of making this all up to me, huh? Your absence.” A slow smirk forms over your lips as you approach Michael, placing a hand over the remaining closed buttons on his dress shirt. You keep your eyes on Michael as you begin to undo the rest of the buttons one by one. “I know what you want.”

“Seduction alone won’t suffice, baby.” Michael’s tone falls low.

“It doesn’t for you, that’s for sure.” Your eyes dart over Michael’s chest hungrily as you throw open his dress shirt, nudging it off his arms. “If you’re all mine now, then I’m gonna do whatever I want with you.”

Michael doesn’t reply back to you, knowing he’d never admit or let go of his pride as to just how much it turns him on to see you in control, taking out your dirtiest desires on him.

You’ve very well guessed the same and can feel his dark eyes watching your movements as you let his dress shirt crumple to the floor. “Fuck,” you roam your hands over Michael’s chest before quickly clasping them over his wrists. “Undress.” You gesture to his dress trousers, “take everything off.”

You easily notice how Michael’s muscles clench with arousal as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his dress trousers and briefs, inching both of them off down.

From the moment Michael’s erect cock springs free, you grab onto the fabric of his trousers and briefs, pulling them off him entirely before immediately straddling Michael.

“Victoria,” Michael’s breath hitches as you press your pussy down directly onto his shaft, his hands eagerly squeezing your hips.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” You inhale sharply, raking a hand through your hair to brush it away from your face as your let your hands roam over Michael’s shoulders and biceps. “Mm…”

Desperate to keep his mind off of your warm, wet pussy dripping onto his shaft—alone grabbing your hips, raising them up before ramming his cock into you—Michael gazes up at you expectantly.

“And I’m obsessed—” You hover over Michael, keeping your pussy angled onto his shaft as you trail the tip of your nose up from his chest towards Michael's collarbones. “—with every inch of you.”

Michael takes in a soft, shuddering inhale at your touch against his skin.

“Not that I ever had to tell you…” You press your warm lips against his torso, kissing back down while squeezing and letting your hands wander over Michael’s arm muscles. “How bad I want you all the time.”

“Mm,” a soft moan escapes Michael’s lips as you slowly grind your pussy over his cock, sliding your hands down Michael’s arms to lace both hands with him tightly.

“No more absences.” You breathe hotly against Michael’s neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses.

“Fuck,” Michael lets out another breathy moan, unlacing both of his hands from yours and wrapping his arms around your waist to press your body down onto his.

You chuckle at Michael’s reaction, more than pleased by it as you cup a hand over his cheek, tilting Michael’s face towards you as you seal a kiss over his lips. “Or I’m coming into your office and fucking you right then and there on your table.”

“Think I’m avoiding you, baby?” Michael grunts out quietly as you lean back up.

“You couldn’t if you tried.” You smirk wryly at him, slightly bucking your hips up as you position his cock against your entrance. “You can do your work that way; I don’t care.”

“Oh, fuck,” Michael moans loudly, catching you by pleasant surprise as you take his cock inside of you.

“Mm,” you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel every inch of Michael entering inside of you.

Michael’s hands hold onto your hips, keeping them in place as he grunts softly before sighing in ecstasy. “I can feel all of you in this angle.”

“Perfect, baby.” You breathe out, watching your thighs shake a little as you begin to bob your hips up and down on Michael’s cock.

“Ohhhh, yes!” You cry out as you buck your hips against Michael’s at a speedy pace, finding the perfect rhythm.

From the deep angle that Michael enters you, your pussy contracts at every sensitive spot inside of you his cock comes into contact with.

Sensations of repeated pleasure build and rock through your entire body with each thrust of Michael’s cock. Riding him fully in your control, Michael feels himself pulsating inside of you with arousal—building up an intense orgasm.

“Yes, yes—” Michael’s full lips remain pursed open, relieving shaky breaths as he watches you bounce on his cock—taking in each and every inch of him again and again.

Michael struggles to keep quiet himself—a rare occurrence that does nothing but fuel your arousal hearing his velvety voice ring out with moans as you fuck him.

“Faster, baby, faster.” Michael pants, beginning to slam his hips upward to yours.

The bedroom fills with the sounds of your wet pussy sloshing against Michael’s soaked shaft. You let out an out-of-breath giggle and glance down momentarily to see his cock easily sliding in and out of you.

“Michael,” you half-whimper, half moan as you clutch onto his chest. “Oh, fuck yes! S-so good! So fucking good!”

Michael’s grasp over your hips presses so harshly that it could bruise your skin, only amplifying your orgasm building in your gut from multiple overlapping sensations.

“H-happened to staying quiet, huh?” Michael grunts, thrusting his hips upward at an even faster pace than before. “S-say my name again.”

Filled to the brim with Michael’s cock, skin slaps against skin as Michael pounds into your pussy like a wild animal over and over again.

“Michael—Michael,” you groan out, unable to stop your thighs from shaking against his body.

Everything about having Michael submit fully to you as your hips control both of your thrusts and movement is rhythmic ecstasy.

“God, I love it when you say my name like that—" Michael inhales shakily, moving his hand upward to squeeze at your jiggling breasts as you ride him. “Because you love taking this cock in you, don’t you?”

Michael’s tousled hair sticks to sweat forming over his forehead as you continue to bring him to uncontrollable, loud moans.

“Y-yes—mm! Harder!” You press down on Michael’s hands over your breasts as you can feel your knees growing weak from your orgasm about to unwind.

Excitement surges through you in a frenzy of arousal just in the way Michael parts his lips open and rolls his eyes back in pleasure.

“Uh! Oh my God!” You squeal out as Michael’s cock slips out of your pussy.

Both of you let out an exhale as Michael props himself up on his elbows, grasping his cock and tapping the shaft against your pussy.

“C’mon, baby,” Michael locks eyes with you as he guides his cock into your pussy.

Feeling the thick warmness of Michael’s cock fill you up again, you whine as you wrap your arms around Michael’s shoulders, who now sits upright.

“G-gonna cum, gonna cum—” You groan, tugging on Michael’s dark hair as he buries his face between your breasts.

“Oh, baby.” Michael’s legs shake against yours as he reaches the tipping point of his orgasm, holding back and edging it.

Michael slicks his fingers over your dewy clit, toying with it at the same rapid pace that you continue to fuck him with.

Your clit aches to be touched and the only thing muffling out your moans is Michael’s mouth hotly pressing up against yours, now sloppily tongue kissing you.

You dig your nails into Michael’s shoulders, stealing moan after moan from his lips as your wetness begins to trickle down your thighs and onto Michael’s pubic hair.

The pressure of having all thick, eight inches of Michael inside of you is nothing short of sublime. Michael’s gaze towards you is filled with nothing but an insistent lust and desire, obsessed with the way you curve and move your hips over his cock.

Edging your own orgasm as Michael is until you know you can’t take anymore, you swear to yourself your body’s hitting new heights of pleasurably ecstasy from the way your muscles begin to tense up.

A string of spit separates as you two pull away from the full-mouthed kiss; both of your sweaty bodies collide with one another as you refuse to let your hips relent, riding Michael’s cock.

“’ Atta girl,” Michael smacks your ass with both hands, both of you dazed, gazing back at each other as Michael’s bedroom eyes burn back into yours.

Crying out and cocking your head back, Michael nuzzles your neck lovingly and holds your body against his. You gasp deeply to feel with a final thrust that Michael’s cums inside you—thick spurt after spurt flowing inside of you.

“Oh, I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” You shriek out in pleasure as your orgasm releases out of your control.

Michael’s eyes snap open as he lets out a low moan, breathing heavily. You hold your hips in place, glancing down to see your legs trembling uncontrollably against Michael’s waist as an aftermath of your orgasm.

The relief of the intense orgasm is heavenly, washing over every inch of your body in nothing but sheer, tantalizing pleasure.

“Shit,” Michael hisses out, feeling you clench around his cock.

In each other’s embrace and both panting for breath, you swallow hard as Michael presses his forehead against yours.

You give out a little gasp as Michael roughly grasps your throat, applying pressure to the sides so as not to hurt your windpipe before looking you in the eye. “I like fucking you like my personal whore in bed just as much as I do making love to you as my wife.”

Blush stings your cheeks as your face flushes red at Michael’s words, let alone how your arousal still doesn’t back down seeing his hair a ruffled, sweaty miss and Michael’s pouty, full lips still glistening wet from your kiss.

“When I tell you I’ll make something happen, I’ll make it happen. I don’t want to hear you say the word ‘absence’ again. I’m always going to make time for our family, understood?” He breathes.

“Y-yes,” you can barely form the words together to describe how erotic you find it when Michael clasps a hand over your throat.

“Good.” Michael’s eyes dart over your face and down to how his slim fingers are wrapped around your throat. “I know you’ll only ever beg for my cock,” Michael buckles his hips upward, tapping his shaft against your pussy. “No matter who you’re dancing with—isn’t that right?”

“Michael,” you look away out of embarrassment, whining softly.

“Look at me when I talk to you.” There’s a familiar, demanding sternness in Michael’s voice.

You peek back up at him shyly, unable to see any anger or sign that he’s upset.

“Or do I need to fuck the answer out of your mouth?” Michael moves his hand from your throat to your hair, giving it a harsh pull.

“Mm!” You wince as he forces you off of his lap and onto the bed, coaxing your head towards his cock, still soaked with his and your cum.

“I think I do.” Michael narrows his eyes at you. “Do I have to tell you twice?”

“Never, Don Corleone.” You breathe against the tip of his cock, clutching it with one hand.

“’ Atta girl,” Michael murmurs, guiding your head as you slowly take his cock in your mouth—looking into his eyes. “It’s my turn to have my fun with you.”

#the godfather #godfather #al pacino #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone fanfic #godfather au #michael corleone smut #michael corleone x reader smut #michael corleone #moth to flame fanfic #the godfather x reader #al pacino x reader #godfather x reader #alfredo james pacino #melis-writes

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melis-writes · 1 year

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Happy 2023 to all of my beloved followers, readers and mutuals!! 🥰❤️ Wishing you guys all the best in everything this year!

This year (like any other 😏) will be filled with more fics than ever—both new and continuing!! Here's what I plan to write this year!

❤️ CONTINUING FICS ❤️

-> Moth to Flame: Part II continues Michael and Victoria’s story. Things are getting more intense than ever. Revenge, lies, grudges, and skeletons in the closet. 😅

-> Eyes Like Stars continues Bobby and Emily’s story in Needle Park. The need for change, the impacts of addiction on their relationship, a needy and bruised love will lead the two elsewhere. 🥺

-> The Other Woman continues Marina and Michael’s story in Lake Tahoe. A governess to many, a mistress to one. Attraction, yearning and desire will overtake what’s right and what’s wrong. 🥵 Marina can’t resist Michael and he wants her more than ever.

⭐️ NEW UPCOMING FICS ⭐️

-> ??? A new canon based multi-chapter fic set in Corleone, Sicily on Apollonia (who is 25) and Michael’s brief but intense relationship. 👀

-> ??? A new canon based multi-chapter fic of revolving around Kay and Michael’s relationship from college days to marriage and everything in between. ❤

-> ??? A new multi-chapter smut fic beginning the AU story of reader Victoria Ferrari (from Moth to Flame) as a corrupt lawyer in the late 1970s beginning her intense affair and romance with attorney Arthur Kirkland. 🥴

-> ??? A new multi-chapter smut fic beginning the story of the famous racecar driver Bobby Deerfield and the Reader. 😏

-> ??? John Milton x Reader (The Devil's Advocate) rough smut oneshot.

-> ??? Pre-Don Michael Corleone x Reader smut/fluff oneshot.

-> ??? Michael Corleone x Reader smut oneshot based on Part II.

-> ??? Michael x Kay angst-hurt/comfort and fluff oneshot.

-> ??? Michael x Kay angst-hurt/comfort oneshot.

-> ??? Young Vito Corleone x Reader smut and fluff oneshot.

-> ??? Sonny Corleone x Reader smut oneshot.

-> ??? Tom Hagen x Reader fluff/romance oneshot.

-> ??? Serpico x Reader smut/fluff oneshot.

-> ??? Francis Lionel Delbuchi x Reader fluff/romance oneshot (continuing from the events of the fic My Way Home is Through You). 🥰

-> ??? Francis Lionel Delbuchi X Reader hurt/comfort oneshot.

2023 will be filled with fics, oneshots, and even more fics and oneshots. ❤ Looking forward to writing them all!! 😍 These are not necessarily in any order, just something to look forward to this year!

#melly talks #updates

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melis-writes · 2 years

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You write so wonderfully and I’m sooo obsessed with your stories!! Do you think you might do a story focused on young Vito Corleone/reader at any point? I think you could capture his character so well especially with some romantic/smut elements lol

Thank you soooo very much, kind anon!! 🥰❤️ I definitely have an idea to do Young Vito x reader with some fluff and loving smut for sure, that fic is DEFINITELY going to happen!! 😅 I love his soft and patient character so much so it can definitely get very romantic. 💞 It’s for sure on my list!

#requests

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melis-writes · 3 years

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Masterlist of Chapters.

A masterlist of all currently posted chapters both up on AO3 (Archive of Our Own) and here on Tumblr. Like/save the post! UwU! Moth to Flame continues its main storyline with Moth to Flame Part II.

18+, explicit smut read. All specific warnings available on AO3. Sexy Michael Corleone gifs only available on Tumblr chapter uploads.

Chapter 1 - Power Imbalance. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 2 - Spoken For. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 3 - Loose Ends. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 4 - Engaged. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 5 - Married. [AO3] / [Tumblr.]

Chapter 6 - Consummation. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 7 - Promise. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 8 - Mob Wife. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 9 - Prized. [AO3] / [Tumblr.]

Chapter 10 - Reckoning. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 11 - Tension. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 12 - Celebration. [AO3] / [Tumblr.]

Chapter 13 - Stay With Me. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 14 - Feud. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 15 - Revelations. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 16 - Jealousy. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 17 - Anniversary. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 18 - Power Shift. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 19 - Ultimatum. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 20 - Trust. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 21 - Nevada. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 22 - Christmas Eve. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 23 - Strictly Business. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 24 - Aphrodisiac. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 25 - Five Years. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 26 - Bullets. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 27 - The Devil’s Den. [AO3] / [Tumblr.]

Chapter 28 - Thick as Thieves. [AO3] / [Tumblr.]

Chapter 29 - Mrs. Michael Corleone. [AO3] / [Tumblr.]

Chapter 30 - Betrayed. [AO3] / [Tumblr.]

Chapter 31 - Overpowered. [AO3] / [Tumblr.]

Chapter 32 - Out of Sight, Out of Mind. [AO3] / [Tumblr.]

Chapter 33 - All Rise. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 34 - Forgiveness. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 35 - Last Goodbye. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 36 - Two Sides of The Same Coin. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 37 - (Ending 1, “happy”) Forever and Eternity. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 37 - (Ending 2, “tragic”) Till Death do us Part [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Oneshot - Obedience. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Oneshot - The Don's Kid. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Oneshot - Confessions. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Oneshot - Evenings Like These. [AO3] / [Tumblr.]

Oneshot - The Engagement. [AO3] / [Tumblr.]

Oneshot - Omertà. [AO3] / [Tumblr.]

Oneshot - My One and Only. [AO3] / [Tumblr.]

Special posts - The Making of Moth to Flame.

Special posts - The Making of Moth to Flame Part II.

Special Posts - Fanfic Playlist.

Short Ask Prompts - Smut 18+ / Non-smut.

Special Posts - Excerpt Edition! [AO3] / [Tumblr].

*New!* Oneshot - Bloodthirst. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

MOTH TO FLAME PART II.

Chapter 38 - Marital Bliss. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 39 - The Lies. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 40 - Legacies. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

Chapter 41 - The Calm Before the Storm. [AO3] / [Tumblr].

*New!* Chapter 42 - Matrimony [AO3] / [Tumblr].

#the godfather #godfather #al pacino #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #godfather au #michael corleone smut #michael corleone x reader smut #vito corleone #sonny corleone #fredo corleone #kay adams #my writing #moth to flame fanfic #Michael corleone #melis-writes

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melis-writes · 3 years

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 1 – Power Imbalance.

Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

1949. Your name is Victoria Ferrari, and you’re the only daughter of one of the most powerful mafia families in New York—the Ferrari’s. To bind the families together as one in an offering of peace, friendship and business, you are to be married to their youngest son, Michael Corleone. As you ensnare yourself in the life of a mob wife by Michael’s side, what you don’t know is his old ties with Kay Adams, your best friend from Dartmouth, and that he returned from Sicily a widower. A ruthless mob boss to be, you unravel Michael’s dark past and the brutality that has changed his personality. You find yourself adapting to your new life, betrayed by those you love most, and in high profile to Ferrari and Corleone family enemies. Falling deeply in love with Michael, you enter a life and marriage filled with secrets and darkness. Bearing his children, supporting his crime empire and following him into the shadows, you’re unable to deny your passion and desire to the new Don. When it comes to Michael Corleone, you are but a moth to a flame.

Your name is Victoria Ferrari, twenty-five years old, born and raised in Corleone, Sicily before relocating to New York at the age of ten as the only daughter to rejoin your Italian family mafia in New York—the Ferrari’s, run by your father, Giuseppe Ferrari, and your brothers.

With both a powerful and influential family and name, you always lived a comfortable and luxurious life, chasing after your own goals and dreams within your university education and staying out of the family business, much to your family’s full support and happiness.

Full Sicilian roots running through your family and blood, you speak fluent Italian as your first, native language and perfect English as your second without an accent.

Filled with connections and immense wealth, opportunity is constantly at your feet to do as you please even though you’re aware of your family’s illicit dealings and the hold they have in New York along with the other six families.

After Virgil Sollozzo’s murder in 1946, your family became the first to notice and take advantage of another taking his place, waving the opportunity of the drug trade still hanging in the balance—unabused by the other crime families.

Word that the Ferrari’s began dealing in narcotics spread to the six families like wildfire, raising suspicion and caution all around. Within six months, your family made millions, gaining powerful allies in powerful places, immense wealth to keep whomever and whatever on payroll, protection to go around tenfold, and influence the other crime families had never seen.

It struck a deep and severe blow to the power dynamics with New York’s crime families, but specifically hit a personal nerve with the Corleone family.

It was Michael Corleone after all who shot and killed Sollozzo and the police chief, McClusky—something the Ferrari’s did not know, but was all too fresh for the Corleone’s to remember.

With friendly faces and historical ties, the Corleone’s have decided to calm the Italian mafia scene and take matters into their own hands, knowing this could mean a full-scale war between the seven families and possibly a hit on Michael if the Ferrari’s decided to investigate and take revenge for Sollozzo’s murder.

Your family already have ties with the Corleone’s in Sicily, and no bad blood has ever existed between you two. Don Vito Corleone has personally invited your entire family to his residence in New York to make peace, speak on the matter and resolve it once and for all by explaining his concerns and wishes, expecting the same from your father.

It was on that day that your life would change forever because of the Corleone’s. Vito Corleone would make an offer to you that you couldn’t refuse.

[New York, 1949.]

“Here we are, miss—the Corleone residence.”

You’re the last one to cautiously step out of one of your family’s many vehicles as you spot your older brothers, Lorenzo and Leonardo already mingling with Peter Clemenza, Tom Hagen and Sonny Corleone up ahead.

“Ah, yeah, just like the old days, right?” Your older brother Leonardo gives a laugh, shaking Sonny Corleone’s hand firmly before giving him a hug as if the two had known each other forever, following behind your father who approaches the front doors, giving hearty greetings and waves before entering inside.

You place your hand on the rim of the car door, taking in the full appearance that the Corleone manor has to offer.

With cars parked all over the street and driveway, you know today’s meeting is absolutely crucial for both your family’s business and personal relationships with the other crime families.

You've heard of the Corleone’s before of course, a few names here and there, but never met, and wouldn’t have come at all either if it wasn’t for the sake of showing appearances.

You wouldn’t be going inside to deal with business like your father and brothers would until it was time for formal family introductions, but the Corleone’s knew you, the only daughter of the Ferrari family are here too.

You let out a soft sigh, watching the handful of kids playing in the nearby yard and attempting to get your mind off of just what this meeting could mean.

As much as you didn’t want to get involved in any mafia business, you couldn’t help but worry what would happen if Don Corleone and your father couldn’t come to an “agreement” on what to do with such a power imbalance.

Your brief thoughts are suddenly interrupted by your brother Alessio calling for you across the street. “Hey, sis!”

You turn, swiftly closing the door and slapping the roof of the car to signal to the driver as you spot Alessio, holding your younger brother Dante’s hand, giving you a warm smile as they both approach you. “Hope it’s not much trouble if you spend some time with Dante while we’re here, eh?”

“Not at all.” You beam, ruffling your ten-year-old brother’s hair as he moves to your side shyly. “Everything gonna be alright today?”

“Of course, why not?” Alessio straightens out his tie, smoothening the cuffs of his suit. “We’re here on a personal basis, not business, of course.”

“Right.” You smile weakly, taking Dante’s hand. “We’ll be over there with the kids if you need us.” You gesture over to the yard.

“No problem. Take care. Lorenzo and I’ll let you know how it goes.” Alessio rubs your arm reassuringly before planting a quick kiss on Dante’s forehead and skipping off to catch up with the others.

“Are they gonna take long?” Dante peeps up at you.

You chuckle, pinching his cheek playfully. “Who cares, buddy? The longer they’re gone, the longer you get to play.”

A bubbling grin forms on his face as you two scurry over across the street and over to the yard, waving at the kids who clutch onto their toys before turning and noticing the two of you. “Hi there, got room for two more?”

“Sure!” The kids giggle, tossing their inflatable ball over to you as you give it a good rub between your hands, winking at Dante and throwing it with as much force as you can across the yard, causing the kids to screech in joy and chase after it as Dante runs off with them too.

You cross your arms and watch the kids run off to play. At least you could keep them preoccupied here and have something to do while the meeting is ongoing. 'This is gonna be a long day', you tell yourself.

“Tom, there you are.” Michael Corleone’s voice rings out as he exits the manor from the side entrance, catching Tom Hagen in the other half of the fenced yard leaning over the hedge, taking a cigarette break.

“Ah, Mikey. Hey.” Tom glances over to the side, smiling and taking the burning cigarette out of his mouth. “What are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same,” Michael approaches Tom by the ledge. “They’ve no need for a consiglieri just now?”

“Not yet, but you're a different story." Tom chuckles, shaking his head and taking another puff of his cigarette. “The old man will want you back in a second.”

“He plans to formally introduce me to Don Ferrari after their meeting.” Michael slips both of his hands into his coat pocket and joins Tom in gazing outside. “What do you make of it all?"

“Mm.” Tom blows out the cigarette smoke, looking out peacefully and enjoying the moderate silence with the muffled shrieks of the excited, playing kids towards the back.

He notices Michael’s solemn look and silence, breaking in. “All I know for now is that we'll be fine, Mikey. I don't see this turning against our family somehow.”

“Don Ferrari had business connections with Sollozzo.” Michael purses his lips. "His family's business and intentions should be directly against me since I took out his favored business partner."

“That's business, but it's not personal.” Tom puts out his shrunken cigarette, patting Michael’s back. “And until you cross that line, you're in the middle, unaffected by it all.”

Michael nods slowly, his expression growing colder.

Tom lets out a drawn out sigh. “Everyone’s here. The whole family—us and them. The Ferrari daughter is here too.”

Michael’s eyes fill with interest. “The Ferrari daughter?”

“Yeah, didn’t you see her?” Tom coughs a little, straightening up. “All her brothers and her are here. Arrived in the last car. About this tall, absolute beauty.”

Michael ignores Tom's comment about your physical appearance. "I wasn't aware Don Ferrari had a daughter."

"Neither was I," Tom replies. "We know nothing of her or who she is but considering the Ferrari's are all here, we're bound to find out. I know Lorenzo and Leonardo. Sonny and I met them way back before the war. You're bound to meet them eventually today." Tom pats Michael's shoulder reassuringly. “See you back inside, kid.” Tom turns on his heel, patting Michael’s shoulder. “Don’t take too long out here, eh?”

“I'll join the others back inside in a moment.” Michael replies, keeping his gaze fixated afar as Tom heads back inside the Corleone manor.

“Hey, hey! Play fair! That’s totally not fair!” Your laugh breaks Michael’s silence loudly from the back as you chase Dante and the kids, jumping about wildly in the pile of leaves and fighting for the ball. “Get back here, you little rascal!”

Noticing the feminine voice, Michael steps back and strolls around the house towards it, standing by the corner of the yard before peeking over. He spots you gleefully laughing in a pile of leaves as the kids begin to throw it about at each other, finally finding the ball snug in your arms as they begin to tickle you to win it over.

“Hey!” Your laugh is sweet and contagious as you give into the tickling and let the ball go, “hey, no fair!”

Michael leans against the ledge, watching how you interact with the kids quietly. Tom may as well have just pointed you out; there's nobody else who would fit the description of the Ferrari daughter but you.

You stand up, brushing the leaves off of your jacket and fixing your heels as the kids run off to the other end of the yard with their ball.

For a moment, Michael is mesmerized by the sight of you even though you stand further away, especially amused with how well you get along with the children.

Feeling a pair of eyes on you, you glance around before finding Michael Corleone gazing over at you from around the corner.

You’ve never seen this man before, but you assume he’s one of the Corleone brothers, like Sonny and Fredo.

He catches you off guard as you blink, blushing in embarrassment as you pick off some remaining leaves from your coat.

The two of you lock eyes in an intense gaze before you notice another, hefty figure coming out from behind him.

“Hey, Mike.” Clemenza places his hand on his shoulder, causing him to spin around. “The old man wants to make introductions.”

“Alright.” Michael speaks in a distracted tone, turning his back on you and heading off inside the house with him.

“What this means has nothing to do with rivalry.” Giuseppe Ferrari speaks in a calm and polite tone, sitting across from Don Corleone with his leg crossed over the other. “But I understand its implications to become one. That is why I do not wish to refer to you as my business rival, Don Corleone. I respect you. You are a wise man. You, along with the other families, are a part of my family as well.”

“I never judge a man based on how he makes his living.” Vito nods, lacing his fingers together. “I have to say I am impressed, if anything, that you took such a deal. Narcotics can be dirty business, surely you know.”

“Indeed.” Giuseppe agrees, taking a sip of his whiskey as the door to Vito’s office opens quietly—Michael slipping inside and standing by Tom, Clemenza, Fredo and Sonny. “It’s all about the connections and protection, otherwise none of it would come together.”

“You have gained a considerable amount of influence, wealth and power in a very short amount of time.” Vito purses his lips. “It’s admirable, so I wish for nothing to interfere. Our family will not.”

“And neither will ours.” Giuseppe sets his whisky glass down. “The Ferrari family comes bearing peace and gifts, Don Corleone. There is no bad blood. I understand what you are saying. I reassure you once more that it is not my intention to take advantage of this, power imbalance.” He gestures with his hands. “I deal privately and manage my business. The police and politicians are in my pocket as the bare minimum to deal in narcotics. I don’t see competition with the other families, especially in this kind of setting. I wish for nothing but peace.” He slowly rises to his feet with Vito as Giuseppe approaches his desk, extending his hand.

“I predicted such an outcome, my old friend.” Vito smiles at him, shaking his hand. “I am proud you settled the rest of your empire from Sicily to New York.”

Giuseppe lets out a small chuckle. “And it is a good thing you have no such competition from us either. I see it as fair now rather than a power imbalance."

Michael half listens alongside his other brothers, paying attention to what is generally going on as his gaze hardens over to his father’s table. The rest of the tension is relieved in the room as Sonny begins to whisper to Tom and Giuseppe’s sons smile, letting their tense muscles relax as they stand on the other side of the room.

“Please forgive me, I have barely introduced you to my family.” Giuseppe glances over at Alessio, gesturing to him. “My boy, bring in Dante and Victoria, would you?”

Michael’s eyes shoot up to Alessio who nods, quickly exiting the room before his mind wanders off to the “Ferrari daughter” that Tom had just mentioned. He exchanges a look with Tom, who has a playful expression on his face back to Michael.

“Hey, Victoria!” Alessio peeks his head out the front door, gesturing with his arms. “Dante, Dante! Come here, both of you. Father is asking.”

You look up, quickly getting up to your feet. You wave over to Dante, calling him over as you take his hand and wave back at the kids as you straighten out Dante’s shirt and head inside the Corleone manor, following Alessio. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s perfect. Father is doing introductions, they’ll want to see you.” He whispers, opening Vito’s office door and allowing them in.

Giuseppe grins, extending his hand and gesturing over to his boys first. “My sons, Lorenzo, Leonardo, Matteo, and Alessio. All intelligent, young men with their own strengths in our family business. This here is our little Dante.” He chuckles.

“Wonderful young man.” Vito smiles down on Dante who peeks back at him shyly, standing by politely.

You stand close by the door out of respect, immediately freezing in your spot as you catch Michael Corleone’s gaze on you across the room. Your face flushes red once more in embarrassment, noticing him looking at you. Michael blinks, turning his head back to face his father.

You nibble on your bottom lip, pretending none of that just happened.

You can’t get a good look at his face in this lighting and setting, but from what you can see, he’s strikingly handsome.

You make a mental note to avoid looking over at this Corleone boy and humiliating yourself in front of your family.

“My only daughter, the beautiful Victoria Ferrari.” Your father introduces you as you take a step up to Don Corleone, who extends his hand over to you.

Little did you know Michael’s eyes were on you again, eyeing you up and getting as much of a look as he could in the dim environment.

You lean over, kissing his ring and nodding politely back. “A pleasure to meet you, Don Corleone.”

“Likewise.” He gives you a warm, fatherly smile. “You have a beautiful family, Giuseppe. They’ll make a lovely addition to ours.”

He points over at his boys, “my Sonny, Tom, Fredo, and my youngest, Michael.”

'Michael. Michael Corleone.' Your heart races as you look over at him, learning the name of the handsome Sicilian at last.

“This is just what we need.” Giuseppe agrees enthusiastically, “I am a man of my word, Don Corleone, and yet I understand words are not enough to reassure a man in your state, therefore I do not wish to disrespect you. Rather, I wish to give you my reassurances through a peace offering.”

“A peace offering?” Vito smiles back at him. “What have I done to deserve such kindness from you, my friend?”

“Oh, don’t you insist, Don Corleone? What our family’s both need is a familial bond of peace.”

“Probably gonna offer up Mike or something.” Sonny snickers, joking quietly to Tom who smirks, stifling his laughter.

“He’s all we have to give up.”

Michael remains still and silent, focused on his father and Giuseppe's words.

“What a perfect idea, Don Ferrari.” Vito glances over at the boys. “My youngest, Michael here, is our eligible bachelor. I would love to have the honour of offering your beautiful daughter a husband. In return, we will gain the friendship and family of the Ferrari family both in business and personally.”

The smile falls off of Sonny and Tom’s shocked faces.

Your eyes widen, but you quickly hold yourself and your bewildered facial expression back, standing perfectly still.

Your heart races and pounds in your chest as your blood rushes, causing the back of your neck and tip of your ears to prickle in embarrassment.

A million questions with no answers whizz through your mind as you essentially begin to freak out at the proposal.

At this point, neither you or Michael can take your eyes off of each other.

'Gain a husband?'

“Michael is twenty-nine, and he has also spent time in Sicily. It would be a great act of family and peace to bond us together over.”

“I could not agree more.” You watch as your father shakes hands in agreement once more with Vito Corleone. “I know all of the Corleone boys are something to boast about. Michael seems like such an established, young man. He will be perfect for my daughter.”

“Sir.” Michael acknowledges.

“Victoria was born and raised in Sicily.” He wraps a loving arm around your shoulder, “she’s a Sicilian beauty who just finished law school here. If there is no rejection or refusal, of course…” Your father looks over at you with eyes of wonder before glancing at Michael, then Vito’s. Nobody speaks up or does anything. “We are in agreement then?”

“Michael.” Vito murmurs, giving a little gesture of his hand over to him.

Michael rises from his seat, first gazing upon your face in the light before promptly kissing your father’s ring. “I would ask to court your daughter in a traditional, Sicilian manner, Don Ferrari, with your permission and blessings.”

“You have them both, my boy, yes.” Your father gives a little pat on Michael’s hand. “Victoria, my dear? Any objections? Anything at all? It’s up to you, ultimately.”

Your breath hitches as you nod, turning to face Michael.

All eyes in the room are on the two of you as you finally get to see the details of his face and the rest of his appearance before you.

5’8, with swept black hair, intense dark eyes, and full lips. It’s impossible for you to deny the attraction you hold towards him going through you like waves of electricity.

He stares at you in the same mesmerized fashion, admiring your Sicilian features and realizing his attraction back to you.

“Will you marry Michael Corleone?”

Without taking your eyes off of Michael, you say, “yes father, I will.”

Your fate is sealed.

312 notes · View notes

melis-writes · 2 years

Text

Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 31 - Overpowered.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 30 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

With the Corleone family controlling all the gambling in the country as well as the major hotels, resorts and casinos, Michael makes his move to enter the narcotics trade within the partnership he has with your father, Don Ferrari. While Don Ferrari welcomes Michael's business, your brother Lorenzo knows the business deal has been done behind your back as Michael's intentions remain far beyond friendly limits. Unbeknownst to you, you look forward to spending the evening with your husband over dinner, unable to get your hands or eyes off of him. Seeking to usurp full control of the narcotics trade from Lorenzo when your father retires, Michael is both relentless and merciless when it comes to business over family. Potential blackmail and an inevitable mob war threatening to split apart the two families looms overhead, placing you in the middle as both a Ferrari daughter and a Corleone wife. As your brother informs of you of the deal made behind your back, you find yourself at devastating and heartbreaking odds with Michael, who no longer considers you a Ferrari but only a Corleone wife.

[WARNINGS]: Heavy smut / Spanking / Rough sex. / Heavy angst.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: A lot of tension is soon to be rising between the Corleone and Ferrari families if you can help it, and you find yourself at odds with Michael for the first time as he seeks a power imbalance that bound your marriage to him in the first place. 👀 It was a little trickier than usual to find gifs to match this chapter but I definitely love how they came out to set the scene and get imaginations going. 😳 Lots and lots of angst, but of course would be incomplete without the smut we're all looking for from Don Corleone. 🥵 There will definitely be lots of tears, lots of drama and this is just the beginning! I also just wanted to add for those who would like to be notified when the fic updates, if your @ tag isn't working/notifying you, pls message me and I'd be happy to send reminders!

[SPECIAL SHOUTOUT]: Anons for requesting: Michael "punishing" you in bed / Crawling on your knees to Michael / Michael stripping off your clothes with his teeth / Michael tells you to "have some dignity" in bed / Michael edging you /

[ 3 months later, early July 1955 ]

“If Sollozzo knew what Michael had wanted now for the family, he would be laughing in his grave.” Vito picks up his wine glass with a little sigh. “He would have said, ‘you’re foolish, old man. Look at what your sons want and listen to them’. I didn’t know it then, but…” He lets his thought trail off.

“With him out of the way, there’s more profit to be made now, Pop.” Sonny purses his lips, leaning back in his lounge chair. “It ain’t 1945 anymore.”

“Yes, I’ve considered that.” Vito nods back. “Back then, it was thinking about what all those bigshots—Barzini and Tattaglia would do. You couldn’t talk any reason into them. They’ll call Michael a hypocrite now, but he doesn’t have to worry about losing all the judges and politicians from the payroll. They’re all on his side now, thanks to Don Ferrari.”

“So then, what are you sorry worried about, Pops?” Sonny glances at his father. “Mike’s spinning this whole thing not just to make a buck but to legitimize our hold in the narcotics business. If Barzini and Tattaglia wanna talk, let ‘em. That’s all they can do now anyway. They’ll be powerless once they know Ferrari is supporting Michael.”

“It’s a habit of mine, you know?” Vito scratches the side of his cheek, his eyes gazing back up at the residence where Michael, your father, and Lorenzo are in a meeting together. “The circumstances now are so different. It’s all in his hands now as Don Corleone. All I can say as I hope he made the right decision.”

It’s as if Alphonse Ricci’s own blood greased the wheels for Michael’s leap to power. All the cogs in the machine worked for Michael’s favor, never against him. Just two days later, Senator Geary’s associates Klingman and Turnbull called Michael as if nothing had happened, simply wanting to congratulate him for his success in gaining ownership of the Tropigala.

The brothel area inside the resort was subsequently shut down, and the hotel began minor renovations and legal changes, all under the name of Michael Corleone. Alphonse was erased from the official records as if he had never existed, and the revenue began to flow like water from a river.

Michael Corleone had now successfully owned the biggest resorts, hotels, and casinos in Nevada, all directly under his grip. With ownership of the Genco Pura Olive Oil Company alongside his father, newspaper businesses in both Nevada and New York, coupled with illegal gambling, stocks in IBN and IT&T, the Corleone family networth easily now boasted of $290 million.

Your villa in Sicily with Michael as well as your mansion in Staten Island both are worth $3 million each, whereas the Lake Tahoe family complex is worth $12 million. Naturally, just as money wields power, the same applies vice versa, and with the gambling, tourism, and hospitality sectors in the hands of the mafia—Michael knows the best person to enter the narcotics trade through with is your father.

While the Ferrari “family business” did a little bit of everything, fraud and narcotics took the cake in terms of the biggest shares of revenue. Guiseppe Ferrari was the first to take advantage of Sollozzo’s death and solidify his reputation and power in the narcotics trade.

The Ferrari family never had to worry about losing important contacts over getting involved with something as notorious and nefarious as narcotics. This had everything to do with the fact that your family’s contacts were all just as corrupt and aware it wasn’t mortality that kept revenue flowing, but omerta—the law of silence.

Money bought loyalty, as it did friends. Everyone made their fair share and more when they came together, and nobody wanted to jeopardize such a delicate situation. Don Ferrari alone had dozens of buffers between him just to get one point across, so even the most damaging betrayal would never directly impact him and would be rooted out and exterminated.

The hit sent after you at Dartmouth may have been the first time you got your hands dirty, but it certainly wasn’t the last—especially when it came to the Ferrari family's long-time rivals and enemy family—the Stracci’s.

“They sent you to confront me?!” The Stracci capo snorted back up the blood dripping from his nose—moments away from death but bold nonetheless.

“Best you stop worrying about who I am and start talking.” You smiled back at him, one hand on your hip and the other moving the chain of the clamps wrapped around his ankles, hoisting him upside and down and directly above the hole to the sewers.

If it wasn’t obvious from the rancid scent and filthy aura of all of New Jersey’s waste mixing down below, it would be the alligators lurking about in the muddy waters—eager for their next meal, and a Stracci capo appears to be on the menu courtesy of you.

“I didn’t… I didn’t even know Ferrari had a daughter!” The capo coughed, hesitating to look down at the pit of alligators beginning to arise through the waters. “What the hell do you want from me, huh?!”

“Start talking, or I start lowering.” You gripped the handle of the crane, glaring back at him. “You know what I’m here for.”

“You’re gonna kill me anyway.” The capo swallowed hard. “Y-you’re the one who killed…you killed—and then you threw them off the—”

“I exercised mercy that one time, but now it’s not just your men on the hit list.” You reached into the fold of where your garter belt ends, and your stockings begin, pulling out a switchblade and springing the blade open—only an inch away from the capos eye. “Start. Talking.”

“Okay, okay!” The capo whined out, “just get that thing away from me—God!”

“Tell me who controls the flow of narcotics through this point. I know one of you bastards runs it—one of you sees everything run through here thick and thin. Give up your interests in keeping this business private, and it’ll be your golden key out of here.” You threaten, “start listing names or I start cutting.”

“G-God, you just did all this to know who runs the port?!” The capo coughed out droplets of blood landing in the sewer water. “It’s me, alright! It’s me! Don Stracci put me in charge of it—my family knows New Jersey like the back of their hand; he said this place was my territory!”

“You ate out of Don Stracci’s hand enough for him to name you as one of his capos. There’s something you’re hiding. Tell me!” You raise your voice, slashing the blade down his chest.

“Oh, God!” The capo howled out in pain, struggling against the chains. “I told you everything I know! I never leave the ports! I was paid to smuggle the drugs from Manhattan, not ask questions!”

“Wrong answer.” You pointed the switchblade directly at his eye. “Maybe I’ll start here as an early reminder of your death—you’ll never see the light of day again, let alone the precious ‘cargo’ you smuggle here on the daily.”

“You want answers; talk to Barzini about it! He’s been investing here too!” The capo panted, blood beginning to soak through his muddy dress shirt. “Who do you think controls Manhattan’s docks? The Godfather allows it!”

“The Godfather isn’t involved in drugs.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Oh, but they will be once they hear the Ferrari’s are comin’ for a whiff…that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” The capo swallowed hard. “God, you’re not going to kill me, are you?”

You tilted the capo’s face back to meet yours, smiling back at him innocently. “It’s just business. It’s nothing personal. Don Ferrari wanted me to send you his regards.” You slashed at the ropes binding the Stracci capos feet, watching as he plunged down into the sewers and his arms into the mouth of an alligator.

Without even a second thought, you rolled the cylindrical sewer gate back down to the hole, muffling out most of the capos screams of agony. You flicked your knife swiftly towards the water of the docks, watching the blood splatter and fade into the water before slipping the switchblade into your purse.

Michael, just like Vito, has always been well aware of your father’s efforts, and the history of your family is not just the drug trade but also the mafia. As much respect and love as Michael have for his father-in-law, he’s also aware now more than ever that betrayals rarely ever come from strangers or the friends of enemies. Rather, they come from your own family.

Alert, calculated, and cunning rather than paranoid, Michael knows he’d rather be one step ahead of Don Ferrari should his narcissistic son, Lorenzo, succeed him or otherwise. A necessary evil and a personal desire for the Corleone “family business,” Michael purposefully keeps you in the dark about his entrance into the narcotics trade now.

Michael has his own reasons why he hasn’t told you, nor is he planning to. Not only does he have the opportunity to do more business with your father, but he knows Lorenzo will not stand for another power imbalance in the future when he succeeds his father, whereas all Michael wants to do is overpower him.

The very meeting is set behind your back; no advice is needed, and nothing is given away. It remains to be a private business meeting between Don Ferrari, his future successor, and Don Corleone alone.

Lorenzo sits in an armchair next to his father, running his fingertips along with the buttons of his double-breasted suit jacket. Forced to hide the look of amusement on his face as his father and Michael make an official truce and business deal with the Ferrari family’s narcotics trade, he largely remains quiet but listens intently.

Lorenzo’s been keeping up the rather quiet and almost embarrassed about what he said to Michael during the attempted assassination since Michael’s birthday three months ago. He had no trust or faith in Michael and expected him to return back to Lake Tahoe from Havana with nothing but a cocktail in his hands.

He didn’t think Michael would solidify his suspicions of the traitor amongst the family or have Alphonse Ricci killed—let alone do both altogether. It impressed Lorenzo, but it also humbled him. He knows better now in the sense that if he opposes Michael in anything, he’s alone. And as Don Ferrari’s successor but not the actual Don, he has no power in his words or his threats.

While Michael has gained power, respect, and wealth in a short span of three months onto the success he’s already had for the past five years, Lorenzo has only grown even more sick and tired of Don Corleone. For the sake of you—his sister—he keeps his temper in check. After all, Michael is not only your husband but the father to the twins, to whom Lorenzo is an uncle.

Regardless of how composed and quiet Lorenzo’s disposition may remain, he’s the only one in the room who knows Michael strictly spoke of not getting involved in narcotics since they met and grows even further irritated at the sudden change of heart.

You and Michael had explicitly spoken of the matter between yourselves, and Michael had agreed then that not only was he impressed by how the Ferrari crime family controlled all major drug trading ports and traffic, but that he’d leave narcotics to the Ferrari’s and the Ferrari’s alone.

He never spoke of getting involved in the future, and much had to do with power dynamics and respect. Michael knows the Ferrari family's revenue and reputation-wise remains more powerful than the Corleone’s because of their involvement in narcotics. It’s a fact you’re very much so aware of yourself too.

The point of your marriage to Michael was to balance out the obvious power imbalance to prevent further bloodshed and war after the Five Families’ war since Virgil Sollozzo’s death. Of course, just because Michael decides to get involved in the narcotics trade doesn’t mean the power roles are reversed, and Don Ferrari is more than happy to ally himself with America’s most influential mob boss.

What neither you nor your father knows is that Michael won’t stop there. He doesn’t seek just a truce or full allyship when it comes to a messy ordeal such as narcotics. He wants full control and power over it, crushing any opposition, including the Ferrari family, at any cost.

It’s a planned repeat of the way Michael destroyed the Barzini family’s chances at ever getting involved with the tourism, entertainment, and hospitality sectors. Moe Greene was killed, loose ends were tied, and they were outcast from the prospect of ever getting involved.

If Michael can solidify his control and rule of the narcotics trade in Nevada, he can easily do the same in New Jersey and subsequently take control of New York. All he’d have to do is patiently wait for your father to pass away, and during Lorenzo’s transition as Don, he’d strike.

The Corleone family would simply never be “second best.” If there’s a power imbalance, Michael wants it to be because the Corleone’s are overbearing—not the Ferrari’s.

From a business meeting and friendly conversation of allyship alone, such true intentions aren’t revealed or obvious, but Lorenzo has always been a pessimist. He’s been one step ahead of all when it comes to strategic planning and moves, and he knows Michael is doing this selfishly for himself and the Corleone family. He’s not considering you or your family, nor the damage it will do to the Ferrari family’s reputation and contacts.

It may be a non-lethal approach for Lorenzo to strike at, but he knows he’ll be more than content if Don Corleone is aware that Lorenzo knows what he’s planning and that he’ll be strictly opposed to it every step of the way.

“Somehow, I knew this day would come, hmm?” Don Ferrari smiles, tracing his finger alongside the armrest of his chair. “And I knew then that I would eagerly welcome you into my world of business, Michael. This is what we Ferrari’s do best. Once you don’t get morality mixed up in the thick of your work, everything clicks together like clockwork.”

“You’re a wise man, Don Ferrari.” Michael gives him a small nod back, beginning to rise to his feet. “I have much to learn from you.”

“And I have learned much from you in the time we’ve gotten to know one another.” Don Ferrari rises to his feet alongside Lorenzo, smoothening out his suit. “I always knew then you would make me proud. My faith in you was never mistrusted.”

“Thank you, Don Ferrari.” A faint smile forms over Michael’s lips as he extends his hand to shake with his over his office table.

Don Ferrari returns the warm smile, shaking Michael’s hand firmly. “Clemenza and I will take some of his best men to the docks in New Jersey, where they’ll meet some of my finest business partners. Rest assured, all of this will stay private and anonymous, but you can expect your first share of the revenue next month. I congratulate you once again.”

“Thank you. I greatly appreciate this, and I look forward to working with you and your family in the future.” Michael replies, redirecting his attention to Lorenzo.

Lorenzo, forcing a polite smile and remaining professional, also extends his hand to Michael. “Congratulations, Don Corleone. I understand you’re a respectable businessman, and I look forward to working with you as well under my father’s mentorship.”

“Even after I’m long gone,” Don Ferrari glances at the two, “we must keep the peace between our families, for the sake of our children, for the prosperity of business and succession. The cost will be too great to afford a mob war between the two of us, should there be another crime family wanting to mingle in-between or offer allyship to one another. This is what Vito and I wanted for our families.”

“I agree, father.” Lorenzo nods.

“Of course.” Michael answers.

“I have no doubt the narcotics trade in Nevada will be in the palm of your hands by the end of the year, Don Corleone, but,” a playful smirk forms on Lorenzo’s lips, “always remember the Ferrari families runs it in New York. Just ask Victoria if you have any doubt.”

Michael’s amused to hear Victoria’s name, knowing he has no intentions whatsoever to tell Victoria of any of the proceedings and business deals made in this room today between your father and brother.

Whether either of them decides to keep the peace or not is utterly unimportant to Michael. The succession and power of the Corleone family is the only thing that matters. Michael barely regards you like a Ferrari anymore as is.

“I’ve heard whispers of Paul Fortunato’s desires to expand his drug trade further here myself, and I’m no fool to refuse the idea that Mario Stracci is backing him up.” Don Ferrari lets out a little sigh. “He remains nothing but a nuisance, but one that needs to be weeded out immediately. If Fortunato allies with the Stracci family and sees the Corleone’s entering the drug trade, that will guarantee a mob war. Just as he’s outlived his usefulness, Don Corleone can make do with his place.”

Naturally, as you’ve always supported Michael’s business endeavors and all he’s wanted to do for the “family business”—especially in illicit affairs—you would have no problem with his entry into the narcotics trade if he was upfront about it and told you. If it comes to Michael making enemies on behalf of your family, that may result in more than just a little problem.

It’s nothing something Michael wouldn’t consider either. As long as their not enemies of the Corleone family, Michael could care less who carries the blame.

It almost seems hypocritical to say as Michael himself was against joining narcotics up until Christmas of 1954 when it was quite literally being discussed at the dinner table. Your brothers got an earful of a lecture after that—unaware that the Corleone family doesn’t discuss business at the table as the Ferrari’s do because, quite literally, everyone in the family is involved in the “business.”

“When will the hit be placed?” Michael crosses his arms.

“Next week. Long Island.” Don Ferrari replies. “My men tell me they’ve been meeting at a local motel on the outskirts of town. Once he’s out of the way, you can secure the distribution here.” He gestures towards the door. “I’ll have Leonardo contact Clemenza right away, Lorenzo—”

“Father, if I may,” Lorenzo interrupts, glancing back at Michael. “I’d like a private word with Don Corleone myself.”

“Certainly.” Don Ferrari smiles back at the two. “Be seeing you, Michael.”

“I look forward to it.” Michael gives Don Ferrari a stiff nod, watching him leave the office and quietly close the door behind him.

Michael redirects his gaze to Lorenzo, who waits a moment longer to hear the footsteps of his father distance further from the office. Once he can hardly hear them, Lorenzo lets out a sigh of annoyance, crossing his arms and facing Michael. “Well done. Well played. I should have expected this from you.”

“Yes, you should have.” Michael smoothens out his mohair, black suit.

“Any reason why you aren’t telling my sister any of this?” Lorenzo raises his brows.

“Surely you don’t need me to answer that for you,” Michael says back.

“You’re keeping my sister in the dark about—” Lorenzo begins.

“Something that doesn’t concern her.” Michael interrupts, his stern, cold eyes gazing back at Lorenzo as he straightens out his suit jacket. “It’s strictly business, Lorenzo. Nothing personal. I don’t see a reason why Victoria needs to be involved.”

“She’ll find out one way or another.” Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “You may find she’s upset her husband hasn’t been transparent about her when it comes to entering the drug trade, against her wishes.”

“Then when she does find out, she can talk to me about it,” Michael replies plainly. “Considering you’re going to tell her, aren’t you?”

“I think me telling her is the least of your concerns.” Lorenzo scoffs, leaning against the side of Michael’s office desk. “So you spent almost four years talking about how you’d never enter the drug trade, convincing her of it only to do so now? And then hold such information back from her? It’s the same as lying. Do you honestly not see a problem with that?”

“No, because as I said, it doesn’t concern her.” Michael deflects again. “As a matter of fact, it rarely concerns you either for the time being. Your father is still Don, and you haven’t succeeded him. I don’t suppose you’d care to explain to him that you oppose me.”

“Oppose you?” Lorenzo knits his brows. “This has nothing to do with business; it’s personal. You’re married to my sister. You’re the father of her children.” Lorenzo turns to face Michael directly, scowling. “There’s no way in hell you’re simply going to use this opportunity as a side business. You’re going to take it over entirely, as you always do. You don’t need me to tell you what’s wrong with what you’re doing, right?”

“No, you’re right. I don’t need you to.” Michael pulls out his cigarette pack from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, taking a cigarette out. “It’s strictly business to me. This has nothing to do with my personal life or my family. It doesn’t concern them, nor will it affect them.”

“I guess you’re right.” Lorenzo adds sarcastically, “why do you need to listen to me about it, right? After all, if something goes wrong, you could always replace her.”

Michael places his cigarette in the center of his mouth, taking out his lighter and beginning to light it as he keeps his eyes on Lorenzo. Largely unaffected by any of his comments, Michael waits for him to elaborate.

“Leading young women to an early demise or hanging on a thread of lies only to replace them with another twice their worth, isn’t that right?” Lorenzo picks up the framed portrait of you upon Michael’s desk, glancing at it. “You might as well keep your word to her if that’s so much to ask for. I’m thinking of her when it comes to all of this, not you. I know this isn’t something she wants—”

“That doesn’t concern me in the slightest. Victoria knows about my business, and she knows not to get involved.” Michael narrows his eyes at Lorenzo. “Whatever else you’re suggesting is obscene.”

“Right.” Lorenzo rolls his eyes, putting the portrait down. “I guess your first wife just died of natural causes then, right? Or was it something else?” He makes direct eye contact with Michael. “Can’t remedy that with diamonds and yachts, can you? I’m going to be honest with you, Michael. I don’t like you. I never have, and I never will.”

“Glad to see the feeling is mutual.” Michael takes a step towards Lorenzo, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. “This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had more than a mouthful to say about me. Is there anything else I should know, or is it a repeat?”

“You think this is funny?” A frustrated smile grows on Lorenzo’s face.

“Go ahead.” Michael doesn’t answer his rhetorical question, now directly standing face to face with Lorenzo. “Get it all off your chest.”

Lorenzo grits his teeth. “Believe me when I say keeping peaceful relations with your family is of the utmost importance to me strictly because of business, not because of my sister or my niece and nephew, and certainly not because of you.”

“Don Corleone?” A muffled voice interrupts out from behind the door as Al Neri knocks on it. “Mrs. Corleone’s carpool has arrived. She’s just entered the residence now.”

“That’ll be all, Al,” Michael calls back, dismissing him but still keeping his burning gaze over Lorenzo’s.

Lorenzo upholds eye contact back with Michael as Michael takes a step past him, standing to his side as he speaks out in a calm voice, “I understand you and Victoria have always been close. She speaks fondly of you as her brother, as do my children. I know you just as well as I need to, but I never consider you a brother of mine. Regardless of whether you’re a part of our family or not, never get involved in my marriage or take sides against me again.”

With the children out in Reno with their aunts Connie, Sandra, and Theresa for the day, you let out a sigh of relief as you shrug off your blazer jacket the moment you enter your residence. You hang up your blazer over the coat hook before unbuttoning two buttons of your blouse and running a hand through your hair, tousling it past your shoulder.

Having finished an early morning preliminary hearing, the rest of the day and weekend is yours to relax and unwind. Add another three months, and you know you’ll be taking maternity leave once again, now that a little baby bump—just barely visible is growing.

You give your little barely-there bump a rub, bringing a smile to your lips as your pregnancy so far has gone with little to no morning sickness. It’s been a little inside joke of yours and Michaels to hope for another set of twins, but you’re excited nonetheless to meet the little one joining the family soon enough.

You head off towards the kitchen, fixing yourself a glass of water from the sink as you mentally plan out that you’ll be preparing eggplant caponata—one of Michael’s favorite vegetable dishes and lately one to satisfy your pregnancy craving of greens.

Preparing it into a hearty stew with celery, tomatoes, and onions, then adding olives, raisins, capers, and pinenuts with a dash of sweetened vinegar to give a tangy taste you’re planning on pairing it with involtini di Pesce Spada—baked swordfish rolls.

Setting your glass in the sink, you pause for a moment to hear the sound of the front door opening and shutting back quietly. From the sound and rhythm of the distant footsteps, you already know they belong to Michael.

Almost instantly, you feel butterflies pull in your gut, and your cheeks begin to flare pink from blush. You haven’t even seen him yet but knowing his presence is near is just enough for your heart rate to begin pounding in your chest again.

You make your way back to the living room, peeking out at Michael, who steps towards the windows—hair heavily gelled with his hands in his pockets. Looking out the blinds momentarily, Michael continues finishing the last of his cigarette before you fully enter the room—catching his attention.

“Welcome back, mio amore.” You blush, taking a few steps towards him.

“I should be saying that to you.” Michael puts out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, quick to shut the blinds. “How was everything today?”

“Same as ever.” You chuckle, running your hands down from his shoulders to his chest—feeling at the silk of his suit. “I’m preparing for a big trial in a couple of weeks.”

“Why you continue to work is beyond me,” Michael murmurs, leaning in and pecking a kiss on your lips. “You know you have everything here.”

“Only when you’re not home, and the twins are in study, I don’t.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he pulls you into an embrace by your hips. “I should just sit at home all day?”

“You can do anything you want all day.” Michael tilts your chin up to face him gently.

“I’m working for my father now.” You smile back at him shyly, “nothing I haven’t done before, but I certainly don’t miss the variety of cases. Just mobsters who got careless or hired petty criminals to do another capo's dirty work.”

“And you just make them disappear.” Michael pushes aside a curtain of your hair behind your ear.

“I make sure the law deals with them once they’re out of my hands at the courts. And now you know why all the judges and lawyers are in my father’s payroll.” You gaze back up at him, barely able to hold eye contact from how severely attracted you find yourself to him—almost growing completely shy.

“Judge DeMalco had much to say about your career at Foley Square. Consider working for me, then.”

“I couldn’t do that to Tom, could I?” You give out a little laugh, beginning to walk with him to the bedroom. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“Maybe.” Michael glances back at you, closing the bedroom door behind the two of you. “I think the two of you would do just fine. Defense law has always been Tom’s sort of thing, but you’re on the offensive, always. Why wouldn’t I want you? There are a million reasons why.”

“Want me.” You repeat, blushing deeply. “Why do I feel like that isn’t just related to my career in law?”

“Same reason why you’ve been clenching your legs this entire time,” Michael replies, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

You flush red in embarrassment, attempting to relax your muscles, but the weakness in your knees mixed with arousal and the butterflies in your gut doesn’t let you—certainly not around him.

“Just another reason why you decided to take the weekend off, isn’t that right?” Michael lowers his tone, standing in front of you by the door as he leans a hand against it. Michael takes his free hand and grazes his thumb around the corners of your lips.

Your breath hitches at Michael’s touch as you look back up at him—your shyness taking over you entirely as you give in. Knowing now he’s practically teasing you, the sound of Michael’s low, velvety voice is like music to your ears with the way he’s talking to you about your own arousal.

You open your mouth to speak but find yourself silenced with Michael’s finger trailing down your bottom lip—his eyes darkening. “I knew it the moment you walked into the room. You always give it away, don’t you?”

You can practically feel your cheeks stinging with blush, but you’re unable to deny what he’s saying.

“I didn’t do anything to you, Victoria.” Michael points out, “yet you’ve already made a mess of yourself, haven’t you?”

“N-no,” you answer back, swearing to yourself that the room has just gotten ten degrees hotter. “I just—”

“So if I ask you to show me, there isn’t going to be anything. Isn’t that right?” Michael leans in closer to you, his lips only a few inches from yours.

“You’re teasing me.” You blush furiously, embarrassed all the more now that Michael’s able to notice your arousal that fast.

Just as it had been with your first pregnancy with the twins, your libido begins to increase again late in your first trimester, and at a no small increase in that.

With an increased sex drive you wish you could ignore around Michael of all things, you find yourself much more easily aroused and wet, as well as with a hypersensitive clit from the blood flow.

Michael’s hand brushed against your inner thighs early this morning, causing you to actually awaken from the sudden jolt of arousal rushing through you.

Peeking back over your shoulder to see him half-naked and peacefully sleeping with the blankets barely covering his manhood certainly didn’t help either.

While your sex life with Michael has always been consistent, healthy, and extremely pleasurable from the way the two of you have practically memorized each other’s bodies, sex while you’re pregnant is almost one of the best kinds of sex you know you can have.

The increased sensitivity and sex drive is pinnacle to the extra pressure of pleasure you feel, and if anything, you both find yourselves having more sex than usual as Michael genuinely stops for your comfort and safety by the six- and seven-month mark.

Of course, the kind of sex the two of you have after you’ve given birth and recovered well from it is entirely something else. Michael’s wasted no time knowing this himself, and before your pregnancy going a long round or two a night—thirty minutes or so each—Michael knows now he’s not going to have you as often as he wants later on in your pregnancy.

Now going to four to five rounds a night and without any protection at that, the two of you gladly spend hours feverishly making love and fucking. Michael’s noticed your severe arousal, and in return, he’s been turned on from it himself.

Even if Michael knows he may not have much free time during a busy day filled with business meetings and calls, knowing you’re practically writhing from heavy arousal over the bed and consistently telling Al Neri to let Michael know you “want to see him” has resulted in Michael in making extra time throughout the day just to tease and please you.

“Be a good girl and show me.” Michael lowers his tone to a husky whisper, taking a step back from you.

Completely flustered and embarrassed, you clench your legs yet again—unable to ignore the wet patch growing in your panties.

You watch as Michael takes a seat over the armchairs, looking back at you with anticipation as he leans back. “Do I need to repeat myself? Come here.”

You take a step forward, but Michael gazes back at you unamused as he raises his hand to stop you, narrowing his eyes. “On your knees.”

With your knees feeling weak as your arousal continues to grow and tugs at you, you bite down on your lip and do as he says—slowly getting down on your knees.

His teasing and insistence doesn’t help as he beckons for you to crawl over to him, gesturing to his lap.

Though when it’s always come to Michael, you easily submit and want nothing more than to do so. His demanding nature and domineering disposition are more than enough for you to want to give into him—to give him anything he wants.

Now more than ever, it’s not in you to resist or tease back as your arousal practically gnaws at you, and you can feel the trickle of your warm wetness oozing onto your panties—making the wet patch grow even further.

You crawl over to him, both turned on and embarrassed by the notion, but all you can think of is eagerly straddling his lap and riding his cock for as long and hard as you can possibly take—wanting nothing more.

With your face flushed scarlet and your heart pounding in your chest from excitement, you can almost hear your pussy sloshing between your thighs with every move—sticking to your panties and threatening to soak through the fabric of your skirt as you approach Michael directly.

Your eyes dart down to Michael’s crotch as you place a manicured hand over his knee, only for him to grab at your wrist and lean down, pulling you up to him. “I don’t think so..”

You gasp, feeling his strong grip pull you up to his lap as his hands slide down from your arms to your hips, pushing them down to sit directly onto the noticeable bulge of his erection.

“Show me.” Michael gazes back at you, giving your hips a squeeze.

Oh God, is all you can think to yourself. Flustered, embarrassed, shy and aroused all at once, you pull up your pencil skirt from your knees and scrunch the fabric up in your hands until you raise them up to your hips, revealing your white, lacy panties completely soaked through.

“Just nothing, is that it?” You swear a faint smirk just crossed Michael’s lips as he looks from your panties back at you.

Your eyes widen as Michael slips a finger through the band of your panties, moving it aside as he presses his mouth onto your pussy, beginning to slobber all of your lips. “Oh!” A filthy, loud moan escapes your mouth as you clutch onto Michael’s shoulders, barely able to keep your own balance.

Michael ignores your every cry and moan, flickering his tongue around your clit and over your pussy like a man starved.

In an instant, your orgasm begins to build perfectly as Michael keeps his tongues rhythm over your clit, applying just the perfect amount of pressure to bring you a sensation of heavenly pleasure.

“Yes, Michael, yes!” You roll your eyes back with a groan, instinctively bucking your hips up to his face as he holds your hips upward—eating you out at a direct angle.

With Michael’s face buried in your pussy, you struggle to keep quiet—letting whines and whimpers spill through as you can hear him suckling and licking you over and over again.

“M-more, more…!” Obsessed with the taste of your sweetness, Michael purposefully circles his tongue over your clit in hazy circles—already seeing how enlarged it’s grown from arousal and blood flow.

Pressing his mouth down again, Michael sucks on your clit deeply. He redirects his attention solely there, watching as your hips begin to quiver uncontrollably.

Your moans become breathy and rapidly increase, growing louder as he senses you’re able to climb your orgasm.

Just as you’re seconds away from an incredible orgasm about to unwind through you, Michael abruptly pulls away and forces your stomach down over his knees.

“Michael, please—” You whine loudly, feeling your orgasm dwindle and your clit almost aching, begging for more.

Michael licks over his lips, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tilting your head back roughly as he whispers in your ear, “needy, are we? Practically dripping in my mouth.”

You clutch onto the armrest of Michael’s seat as your heels loosely dangle off your ankles, falling to the mahogany floors. “Y-you’re teasing me… Just doing this to get a reaction out of me.”

“If I was, I’d have you crawling and begging for me on your knees.” Michael pushes your head back down. “This is what you want, isn’t it? Tell me.”

“You can do anything you want to me, Don Corleone,” you whine out softly.

“Good girl,” Michael murmurs, pulling your skirt up to your stomach as he slowly begins to inch off your panties down your ass.

Pressing your lips down together not to make a sound, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment as you feel more of your wetness begin to trickle out.

Michael notices a string of your dewiness parting from your pussy lips to your panties as he pulls them down to your ankles and off your feet. “You’re a dripping mess…”

You nibble down on your bottom lip, spreading your legs as much as you can over Michael’s lap as you can already feel yourself dripping onto his trousers—only continuing to prove him right.

Michael pulls you up onto his lap, so you face him directly, making you wrap your thighs around his waist.

“The next time you want to beg for me like a whore, you’ll do so here, do you understand?” Michael spreads your pussy with two fingers, beginning to circle his thumb painfully slowly over your clit.

“Y-yes—” You begin, moaning through your words—both eager to keep eye contact with him, all while flustered and shy at the same time.

“Lingering outside of my office, waiting for me. Impatient, insistent…” Michael pulls his thumb back, licking it off.

Just the sight of him placing his finger between those full lips and licking off your wetness is enough to simply drive you crazy.

You don’t wait any longer, unable to take anymore as you quickly learn in, cupping Michael’s face in your hands and crushing your lips against his.

More so eager to match your desire than surprised, Michael kisses you back hungrily as you moan into his mouth.

With one hand over your throat and the other wrapped around your waist as Michael’s kiss grows more forceful, you can practically feel your clit throbbing as it comes into contact with the fabric of his trousers where his erection tents up.

Michael momentarily pulls away from the kiss, parting his lips with yours. He cups your face with one hand, giving it a squeeze as he gazes back in amusement at your flustered and utterly aroused state.

Michael places both hands on your thighs wrapped around him securely, quick to take you over to the bed and flip you down to lay on your stomach. He peels your blouse off of you, snapping open the hook of your bra with enough force to break it before adding them to the pile of clothes by the bed.

You let out a soft whimper, pressing your bare breasts against the covers and letting Michael do anything he wants to you as you feel his hand tugging through a handful of your hair.

“You’re going to bear my child again…” Michael brushes your hair aside from your shoulder, planting a soft kiss over the nape of your neck that causes you to shiver. “And again,” Michael trails the tip of his Roman nose down your back and to your waist slowly—pressing his hot lips over your skin, again and again, leaving tiny kisses.

“Yes, baby…” You bite down on the corner of your lip, feeling sparks of pleasure go through you as he reaches the band of your pencil skirt.

Michael grips it with his teeth, beginning to peel it off of you as he places both of his hands on the back of your inner thighs, holding you down.

Feeling Michael tug off your skirt past your legs and to the floor, you let out a soft moan to feel his sloppy trail of kisses continue up your back, massaging your sides as he goes. “God, you’re so perfect…”

The cool sensation of his gold wedding band against your skin only adds to the sensation of pleasure flowing through you. “You know I’m insatiable when it comes to you, but we don’t always get what we want.”

Gripping both sides of your hips, Michael flips you over on your back, hovering above you. Michael grunts as he unbuckles his belt and lets his erect cock spring free—the tip oozing with precum.

You pout back at him, noticing he’s still fully clothed before your eyes widen. “You’re going to tease me like this?”

“I’m punishing you. Look at yourself… You can barely stay still from how badly you want this. You’re touch starved. I’m not going to let you feel me—I’m simply going to give you what you want and only that, release.”

“I want you.” You breathe out shakily, tugging on his tie as he slicks the shaft of his cock over your soaked pussy.

“You’ll have to beg a lot louder than that, darling.” Michael spreads your legs open as wide as you can and begins to rub his thumbs over the inner crease of your thighs. “You’ll take what you can get, won’t you? Unless?” He strokes his cock, beginning to pull away from you.

“No!” You whine out, grasping at his arm. “Please… Please just fuck me already—”

“Have some dignity.” Michael tilts your chin down to face him, squeezing your face and trailing his thumb down your bottom lip. “You beg like a dirty whore.”

Only continuing to be turned on by Michael’s dirty talk, you give him a little nod—now more than eager to have all of him, clothed or not. “Yes, sir.”

Touch starved as you are already, knowing Michael’s denying you that as a form of punishment for consistently lingering around his office, almost interrupting, just waiting to see him, and then being disciplined like this is something else.

Michael keeps his grip over your chin, sliding his hand down to grip at the sides of your throat—only applying a perfect amount of pressure, not cutting off your air supply.

His eyes flicker from yours down to your pussy as he angles his hips, stroking his cock with his free hand as his precum begins to drip down his shaft. Michael locks eye contact with you, raising your thighs upward and placing your ankles over his shoulders as he begins to slowly thrust inside of you.

You moan loudly, feeling all of Michael’s length enter inside of you, pushing through. Michael’s eyes widen a little in surprise as he lets a soft moan escape his lips, gripping onto your thighs. “Fuck—you’re so wet, you know that?”

You grin back at Michael weakly, dazed in a state of pleasure as you push your hips back towards his.

You know for one that you’ve never had any troubles becoming heavily aroused when it comes to Michael. The yearning, the sexual desire, and pent-up frustration are something else entirely, even if he’s just in your presence. Your deep physical attraction to him and his sex appeal for one is enough. The two of you have never been able to get your hands off of each other—nor do either of you want to.

Michael grunts, inhaling sharply as he begins to thrust in and out of you—toying with your clit with his free hand. All you can hear is the sloppiness of his cock, now entirely soaked by your wetness, slicking in and out of you with ease.

“Oh fuck,” you hear Michael moan again as if the first time wasn’t a rarity.

He grips the bed sheets with both hands to each of your sides, leaning in closer until your thighs are pressing against his chest.

“Michael!” Moaning as loud as ever, you feel both sexual frustration and the relief of pleasure as Michael’s silk suits rubs up against your hardened nipples.

Every inch of your body craves his hot skin over yours—an intimate feeling now warded off by the friction of his suit instead.

“Harder…?” The tip of Michael’s silk tie brushes against the skin in-between your breasts, coming into contact with your hardened nipples as Michael picks up his pace—now slamming inside of you.

“Y—yes!” You dig your nails into the shoulders of his silk suit, unable to stop the soft moans spilling out of your mouth with each and every heavenly thrust.

Michael easily hits all your weak spots, rocking your body over the bed as he watches you take all eight inches of his cock in steadily.

The feeling of the fabric of Michael’s clothing continuing to rub against you instead of his skin is almost driving you mad—teasing nonetheless but a punishment you didn’t expect.

It makes you crave him even more, as all you want to do is push him to the bed and strip him down—take him inside of you again and again.

“Fuck, fuck,” Michael hisses out quietly, popping his forefingers into his mouth to lubricate them before rubbing over your hypersensitive clit—causing you to gasp out in pleasure.

“Baby, please. Please, please,�� you whine out, tugging on the collar of his dress shirt, but Michael doesn’t budge.

“A slut like you doesn’t deserve it.” He grips your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head as he continues to thrust in and out of you—dipping his cock in and out almost entirely to make you feel all of him.

Strands of Michael’s hair loosen from the friction and pace of his thrusting. Michael gazes down at you—eyes filled with heated intensity as the two of you breathe heavily against each other.

Just as you’re about to lean up to kiss him, you tilt your head back and let out a breathy, loud moan—immediately feeling your thighs quivering around him. “M-Michael—oh, fuck!”

In an instant, Michael jerks his hips up to angle his cock towards your G-spot, thrusting at it repeatedly while reaching his climax at the same time.

Your orgasm unwinds almost immediately; coaxed out by him, you shakily groan, clutching onto him tightly as the intense wave of pleasure washes over you. Michael cums deep inside of you, burying his cock fully inside of your pussy as he shoots spurt after spurt of his seed.

Your eyelids flutter shut as you roll your eyes back, feeling the orgasm in every inch of your body as your toes curl in response alongside the sensation of Michael’s cum flowing inside you.

“O-Oh—” The warm wetness of your arousal between your legs only increases as you lazily glance back down at Michael’s trousers, noticing you’ve completely soaked through the front.

You notice Michael’s bottom lip slightly tremble from the intense orgasm hitting over both of you as he lets out a breathy chuckle. A quick and fuck and release is different from how long you’re used to having him night after night.

Michael notices the playful look in your eyes, caressing the corner of your mouth with his thumb as he lets out a grunt—slowly pulling out of you.

You look up at Michael, who breathes heavily, regaining his breath from his orgasm as amusement twinkles in his eyes, seeing his cum beginning to ooze out of you. The sight of you filled with his seed is one he’ll never tire of seeing.

“Not only do you act like a whore, but you look like one now too, don’t you?” Michael gazes back at you, giving your ass a slap.

“You have to go again…?” You giggle out.

“I shouldn’t even be here, and you know that.” Michael glances down at his soaked trousers, shooting you a look of amusement.

“I could have just come by the office like I wanted to.” You blush deeply out of embarrassment, barely able to clench your legs together from how shaky they feel.

“You’ll think twice before you disobey me next time.” Michael gets off the bed, pulling off his trousers soaked in your cum. “If I wanted to fuck you in my office, I would have.”

You grin to yourself, pulling the covers over you, “think your next business meeting will have you back in time for dinner tonight?”

You watch both eagerly and in surprise to see Michael actually stripping down instead of getting changed—throwing his trousers with his briefs and unbuttoning down his dress shirt. “Nothing is scheduled for the time being—so they can wait as long as they need to.”

“What happened to ‘I shouldn’t be here?” You grin back at him, kneeling up over the bed. “Can’t get enough of me, Don Corleone?”

“With you looking like this?” Michael’s eyes dart over your body in temptation. “Come here, baby.”

You squeal as Michael pins you down upon the bed by your wrists—his dress shirt loosely hanging off his shoulders as your body embraces his.

In an instant, you feel Michael’s lips crush over yours, and you can’t help but smile through it—eager to hungrily kiss him back. “Mm!”

Only Michael could fuck you to have an incredible orgasm in ten minutes for the sake of release and all that pent-up sexual frustration, then make love to you again and again afterward.

You know if it were up to you, you’d never let him leave the bed, and you’d keep him in the bedroom all to yourself if you had the chance.

“Hope you don’t have any other plans for the day,” Michael breathes out, breaking the kiss.

“Not at all,” you moan against his lips, feeling the tip of his cock brushing up against your clit.

“Good…” Michael grazes his tongue over your lips before kissing you deeply again, angling his hips to enter you once more as you clutch your hands onto the fabric of his dress shirt.

With your body still overly sensitive from your last orgasm from mere moments ago and filled with his cum, you shudder in pleasure to feel Michael’s cock entering you again slowly, this time as he holds your body against his lovingly.

A soft moan escapes your lips as you lean your head back against one of the pillows, giving in to your husband’s embrace as he’s eager to make love to you all over again.

[ + 3 Hours ]

With dinner freshly prepared for tonight’s meal and a much-needed hot shower later, the rest of the evening is yours until the twins return from Reno with their aunts and Michael finishes his final meeting securing him officially in the narcotics business—this time with his father and brothers.

Unaware of the meeting going on in the first place as Michael neither gave you a straight answer or much of one when you asked as the two of you lay together after having sex another two times, you remain to be the only one who has no idea of your husband’s newest intentions.

Clueless about such affairs, yet relaxed and still feeling the tender soreness between your legs, you fix yourself up a fruit smoothie to satisfy your pregnancy cravings before snuggling back into bed and turning on the television for background noise.

You set down your smoothie onto the nightstand, pulling open the drawer to take out an Oscar Wilde book you’re halfway through, and place it on your lap. Adjusting the television’s volume just for soft background noise, you pick your smoothie back up in one hand and sip away—completely and utterly relaxed as you get lost within your book.

A dozen pages in and halfway through your smoothie, you peek your head up at the sound of the telephone ringing next to you upon the nightstand. You set your book down and furrow your brows momentarily in confusion, knowing that the only individuals with access to your residence’s telephone number only consist of the family.

Makes sense enough; however, your entire family is at the Lake Tahoe residence as is—why would anyone call you when they could just come by to see you? Answering the question yourself, you pick up the telephone and hold it up to your ear, speaking out, “hello?”

“Victoria.” Lorenzo’s voice rings out with an unusual, almost sarcastic tone of enthusiasm. “It’s me, little sis. I’m guessing you’re at home?”

“Of course.” You answer back, still confused. “Are you not?”

Lorenzo scoffs. “No. I’m in Reno, and I’ll be picking up the kids shortly. I thought some congratulations were in order for you, so I’m here celebrating with an early evening drink first.”

“Congratulations?” You ask. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Lorenzo chuckles over the line. “I guess I have to say I’m not surprised nobody told you. That husband of yours that spent years talking about how his family never got involved in narcotics and how he wouldn’t see a need to? That it was all good with the olive oil business, gambling, and whatnot? Yeah—a little overambitious if you ask me, but he’s securing his own reign of control with the powder. Just ask father. They made a deal earlier today. The docks at New Jersey practically have ‘Corleone’ written all over them, all in agreement.”

“What?” Your eyes widen as you almost spill your smoothie onto your lap, barely holding onto the glass as is. “When the hell did any of this happen? He made a deal with father? Nobody told me, I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” Lorenzo sarcastically sing-songs back. “And now you get to play the part of the gullible last person to figure it out. A heads up would have been nice, you know? I know Michael doesn’t trust me, but I thought he would have at least talked to you. You know father won’t tell him ‘no,’ right?”

“I don’t understand.” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Michael said he was never going to get involved in narcotics. He left it to our family—he said he’d never interfere. Why would he do such a thing?”

“I was hoping you could answer that for me,” Lorenzo grumbles out in frustration. “If he didn’t tell you of all people a damn thing…”

“Lorenzo, wait.” You bite down on the corner of your bottom lip. “Michael had mentioned this during Christmas—I mean you were all talking about it, and if father is trusting him to enter the trade within our family name, then what exactly is so wrong—”

“Are you seriously that naïve, Victoria?” Lorenzo hisses back at you, catching you by surprise at how nasty his tone of voice twists to. “He’s taking advantage of us, and you’re still making excuses for him? What the hell does the ‘most powerful mobster in the country need with narcotics? He crushed Barzini and Tattaglia in gambling, the hotels, and the resorts—Alphonse Ricci is dead for fucks sake because he refused Michael the Tropigala—do you honestly not see a pattern here?!”

“You’re talking like he threatened father to do it.” You scoff back in disbelief, “why are you blowing this out of proportion? You know the Ferrari’s and Corleone’s have been allied for years. We’re basically working together—”

“And that’s what Vito Corleone said during the Five Families’ War, and then his little war hero son took over, and what happened? No promises were broken on Vito’s behalf, but Michael sure as hell killed everyone that attended the meeting during your goddamn honeymoon, didn’t he? Don’t you get it? This family peace was Vito’s promise, not Michael’s.”

You press your lips against each other, remaining silent in a dazed state of shock as Lorenzo continues talking. “I had a talk with him myself just as he finished meeting with our father. You know damn well he’s not going to stop at Nevada and New Jersey. He feels like he’s fucking unstoppable. Once word gets out the other families, they’re practically going to beg him not to get involved in prostitution—that’s the only thing he hasn’t touched.”

You shake your head, “he knows father controls the docks and smuggling points. He doesn’t have any power over other states. The Stracci’s were running New Jersey themselves for a—”

“He’s going to get rid of them.” Lorenzo cuts you off. “He’s not risking anything. He’s going to have Stracci’s men killed and secure the port for himself. What’s standing in his way after that? Us. All of the crime families know the Ferrari’s run narcotics in this country. When did that ever stop Michael Corleone? You saw what he did to Barzini with the hotels—the resorts, the casinos. He had fucking Moe Greene killed for refusing to sell just like Alphonse Ricci. Once father steps down, and I’m in, he’ll make his move. If negotiations don’t move the way Michael Corleone wants them to, the next time he comes to talk to me, it’s going to be with a fucking gun to my head.”

“Lorenzo—”

“I know he will, and let me tell you this—I don’t fucking care if he's your husband, he’s not taking control of the ports, and he sure as hell isn’t getting into New York!” Lorenzo shouts back.

“Lorenzo, what the hell?!” You exclaim out. “Nobody even told me any of this! I’m completely in the dark! What are you going on about?! Are you seriously accusing Michael of planning to betray father—”

“Yes.” Lorenzo answers sharply, “and you’re a smart girl if you can see that much. Isn’t it just like him not to tell you?”

You remain silent, clutching the telephone so harshly your knuckles turn white as you find yourself at a loss for words. 'Why would he even want to hide something like this from me in the first place?'

“He knows you’d never agree to this, right?” Lorenzo continues. “No wonder he didn’t tell you. What’s the point, Victoria? Our father and Vito Corleone made a truce—we made a bond with each other’s families to avoid this exact thing—another power imbalance. We promised each other we’d even out the scales—that neither would overpower the other or seek to usurp. What the hell is the point of your marriage to a Corleone if he’s breaking the exact promise we made all those years ago?!”

“Are you out of your mind?!” You feel your throat tighten as panic begins to hit you.

“Then you don’t know your husband as well as you think you do.” Lorenzo adds in, “you know it’s always been his rules or nothing else. Mark my words, the moment I succeed father, we’re going to see a narcotics war on our turf, and let me tell you something else—I will not accept sharing the ports or giving them up. A whiff of powder doesn’t hit the streets until Don Ferrari says so, and it’s going to stay that way. Get Michael straight, or I’ll tell you right now, things are going to get very messy in the future.”

“Lorenzo, he’s my husband.” You feel your throat tighten as tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “I’m not going to pick between him or my family. You know this.”

“And yet you’d just let him take away the legitimacy of our family name?” You hear Lorenzo’s tone fill with disgust. “You’ve been playing on both sides since you got married—I know how this works.”

“I’m not picking between either of you!” You raise your voice as your vision begins to blur from the tears pooling up in your eyes. “I’m not, okay?! And whatever game the two of you are playing at, I don’t want anything to do with it! I’m not a goddamn kingmaker, Lorenzo—”

“Yes, you are.” He reaffirms, “you’re the only link holding our families together. You’re involved in this whether you like it or not.”

“Well, what the hell do you want me to do about it?!” You grit your teeth, “convince him to give it up for your sake? Don’t you already know Michael’s answer about that?”

“You’re the only one that can talk some sense into him, but you’ve always been my sister—a Ferrari—before you’re a Corleone. Don’t forget that. You already have a target painted on your back as is.” Lorenzo warns you.

“I’m a human being—I’m not a goddamn insurance policy.” You sniffle, narrowing your eyes. “I’m not going to let this be the one thing that breaks our families apart. I won’t allow it. He’s my husband, Lorenzo—he’s the father of my children and—”

“And you sound just like them.” Lorenzo grimaces, “you’re more Corleone than Ferrari, aren’t you?”

“How dare you?” You scowl, “you’re not exactly helping. You’re not even Don yet, and you’ve practically secured yourself as an enemy in Michael’s eyes—constantly insisting on being difficult.”

“Oh, please.” Lorenzo lets out a strained laugh. “Here’s my little sister is known for scaring the living shit out of Stracci’s men now wrapped around Michael Corleone’s finger, agreeing with his every word and doing exactly as he says. I’m trying to protect the honor and integrity of this family, Victoria. I’m not securing a bedmate.” He continues before you can add in, “those ports won’t take long to seize, and Stracci bodies will be piling up by the docks before the end of next week. You know it’s under our control until father retires—though Michael Corleone is one to kill, intimidate or buy out when he wants to. If you can’t get enough of his dick, that’s your problem, but at least think about Niccolò and Verona. When this all goes down, just make sure you’re on the right side of it won’t end well for you either.”

Before you can even fire back to his vulgar response, Lorenzo hangs up in your face—leaving you with the dial tone ringing in your ear.

A rush of emotions overwhelms you at once, with anger and hurt overpowering the rest. A feeling of betrayal hits you as you let go of the telephone, letting it drop to the floor and almost take the rest of it down the night table itself.

Almost throwing aside your book and smoothie, you sit over the edge of the bed—just about to get off. You let out a shaky sigh, taking your hands into your face and trying to calm yourself down through the wave of anxiety going through you.

You rake your hand through your hair out of frustration—a million questions swarming through your mind and your ears still buzzing from the phone call. Just like that, in an instant, all your relaxation throughout the evening drains out of you and fills you with bitterness that quarrels with your anger.

As hot-headed and impatient as your brother is, he’s not one to exaggerate. You know what Lorenzo says has merit, and it’s true—all of it. The fact that Michael had the heads of crime families—Barzini, Tattaglia, Stracci, Cuneo, as well as Moe Greene assassinated during your honeymoon with him in Sicily of all times and places are neither surprising nor upsetting to you.

It's the fact that Michael has killed when he hasn’t gotten his way in negotiations or what now seems to be killing to root out the competition in the name of the Corleone family that worries you. It’s true, Moe Greene refused to sell his hotel and was met with a bullet to the eye and Barzini with several in his back after Moe told Michael he was thinking of making a deal with Barzini instead to keep his hotels.

Michael destroyed his competition almost instantly when it came to the entertainment and hospitality sectors. It took little to nothing other than a small show of power to root out competing families and secure the Corleone family’s name over all of the gambling in the country, as well as ownership over Las Vegas finest, top hotels, and resorts.

“Narcotics is a Ferrari crime” is a phrase you’ve heard for years since your family took advantage of Virgil Sollozzo’s death and fully immersed themselves in the drug trade. Just as the Corleone family has a reach over all kinds of illicit affairs with the exception of prostitution and narcotics, in 1945, narcotics was the only thing your family wasn’t heavily involved in themselves.

Barzini and Tattaglia were the ones whispering among themselves as to the control Don Ferrari had so easily over the flow of narcotics. Your father didn’t care for morals when it came to the family business because he knew the other crime families and his associates didn’t run on morality or get paid by values—it was always all about money and power. Giuseppe Ferrari didn’t have to threaten anyone to get his way—his reputation in the trade was enough to send shockwaves to his enemies.

You’re not surprised in the slightest Michael has taken advantage of the peace your father and Vito made to bind the families as one in order to get into the narcotics trade. You’re more embarrassed that you didn’t figure it out yourself sooner. Once Michael makes a move, it’s always final.

The fact he hasn’t told you anything in relation to it, only leaving you with a bit of information from a previous Christmas, gives you a million different scenarios in your head as to why. Does your own husband not trust you? Does he not want you to know the methods in which he’s entering the narcotics trade? Does he not want you involved in this kind of business even though it concerns your family and you directly?

'The timing is too convenient.' Your father grows closer to retiring as he trusts Lorenzo further with the family business under his mentorship by the day. Michael is very well aware he isn’t the one who made the promise to keep peace and stability between the families—not to usurp, not to create another power imbalance in a business as risky as drugs. He knows the consequences will be different and easier to handle because it was Vito Corleone’s promise, not his.

With Lorenzo’s stubbornness and demand to keep the narcotics trade only tied to the Ferrari family and free from Corleone interference regardless of your status as Michael’s wife, this could start a devastating mob war over two relentless sides—and now you’re directly caught in the crosshairs.

Quite literally speaking, there’s nothing stopping Michael from blackmailing your father or killing Lorenzo if he has to. Michael can easily tear your family apart if he wants to. The question is if Michael is merciless and determined enough to do so once he controls the power imbalance.

Your entire night and mood of relaxation sour down to brimming anxiety. As you get off the bed, you grab your black, silk night robe and throw it over you—tying it around your hips to cover your nightgown underneath before slipping on your flats and stepping out into the hallway.

As you peek your head out and rub your temples tenderly, you notice the entire residence is silent as ever. Lights illuminate the quiet hallway leading down to the other rooms and the grand spiral staircase upstairs and towards Michael’s home office to the right; the door shut and the lights off.

Your eyes dart up towards the ceiling as you hear a soft creek towards the corridor, knowing it’s your bodyguard, Ritchie whose making his rounds around the house—especially now that you’re alone in this half of the family compound.

You roll your eyes at the thought of Michael’s men practically shining every flashlight at their disposal on you the moment you step out of the residence, and although you know it’s for your own safety and security of the compound, you’d rather slip into the other half of the complex without being seen, to begin with.

You slightly pull the drapes away from the curtains as you peek out the windows from the living room, glancing at the central family residence across from you. Almost all the lights are illuminated, including Michael’s main office and study.

Not only do you dread the idea of confronting him on a night that was supposed to be spent between the two of you and the children, but at the same time, you know you’ve never been able to hide how you’ve felt—especially from Michael of all people.

He can read you like a book, and the confrontation is almost inevitable. You’d rather do so with as much privacy as you can than have the twins around when it’s done or even your brothers, for that matter.

You pull the drapes back the way they were carefully before turning down to the opposite end of the hallway, making your way towards the side exit by the courtyard. Careful to listen for Ritchie’s footstep patterns, you slowly pull open the door and step out into the warm, summer evening and close it behind you.

Quick to disappear, you pick up your pace and begin moving behind the residence buildings, heading towards the courtyard entrance closest to Michael’s office.

Clutching your silky nightrobe close to your chest, you listen intently as Michael’s security guards and men make soft conversation along the gates and what seems to be almost every corner of the compound as usual.

Only the dense walkway behind the residential complexes remains shrouded in darkness but closest to broken branches and scattered leaves. The smallest sound would easily echo out, and lights would flash over in an instant to you, spotting you out.

Not that it would be a problem or embarrassment, but you’ve had enough surprises for tonight, and you’d prefer to be the unexpected one tonight—away from any unnecessary attention and the whole “Mrs. Corleone! What are you doing here so late? Are you alright?” fiasco.

You’re only a few meters away from the residence when you suddenly feel a pair of firm, toned arms wrap around your waist—a hand clasping over your mouth to silence your gasp. Your eyes widen in horror as immediate adrenaline kicks in, but before you can even react, the dark figure behind you jerks you backward and leans their body against the back of one of the buildings, keeping you close to their body.

Being able to feel the strong, male body behind you and knowing there’s no way in hell any one of Michael’s men would ever touch you or manhandle you in the way someone would trying to kidnap a person, you relax your muscles against the male figure’s body as a fake give in before swiftly pulling your ankle inward and kicking him harshly in the groin.

You hear a muffled, pain-filled grunt of an all too familiar voice that lets go of you as you spin around to spot Sonny grimacing in pain—half playfully and the other in what seems to be genuine agony.

Sonny grins back at you, out of breath, as he clasps a hand over your mouth before you can even say anything. “Shhh! Hey, you want them to hear you?”

You quiet down, a smile breaking over your face as he pulls his hand down, chuckling quietly. “Got you good, didn’t I? Or did you get me?” Sonny fake winces, placing a hand over the unusually large bulge in his groin. “God—you hit spot on, don’t you?”

“Sonny!” You hiss back at him quietly, but you’re unable to wipe the growing smile off your face either. “What the hell are you doing here?! You almost scared me half to death!”

“Couldn’t I ask you the same?” Sonny gently grasps both of your wrists, pulling you in closer to him. “You know, if it’s anyone sneaking around these parts, it’s me. You think I wanna be back there with the chandelier boys?” He points back with his thumb towards the security guards around the corner.

“Good point.” You catch your breath, “still, sneaking up on a girl like that—”

“Sneaking up on you like that.” Sonny corrects you with a wink. “You know how many times I’ve taken Sandra back here?”

“And?” You raise a brow at him, waiting for him to elaborate before seeing the grin on his mouth widen. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“Try it sometime; it can get a little kinky.” He laughs quietly, pulling you into a playful hug.

“As you can see, I’m not Sandra.” You chuckle, looking back at him as he props his chin over your shoulder with a goofy smile.

“Even better,” he jokes. “I was here taking a piss, actually. What’s your excuse? Ya know,” he pulls away, gesturing to your nightrobe. “Looking like this.”

“What’s wrong with the way I look?” It’s a genuine question on your behalf.

“Nothing, nothing.” Sonny puts his hands up in surrender, still grinning. “I’m saying you look like you should be in bed, but it’s six p.m., so…” He gestures towards Michael’s office, “trying to surprise Michael?”

“Something like that.” You force yourself not to roll your eyes. “You’re going to stop me?”

“I’d never even try.” Sonny smirks, “go on, I’ll catch you later.”

“Alright.” You smile back at him, playfully rolling your eyes back before approaching the side entrance door.

You notice one of Michael’s bodyguards lingering nearby, and it’s too late to avoid his point of view as you enter. You ignore him, pretending like he isn’t even there as you make your way directly to Michael’s office.

As you come towards the doors of Michael’s office, you’re not surprised to see Rocco standing guard by the door, but noticing Al Neri is also next to him is a bit more unusual than you’re used to seeing.

There’s almost always one of them outside his office and the other inside standing by as Michael’s personal bodyguard, and with the lights on in his office, you can tell Michael’s certainly still active in his office, but he’s left alone?

“Mrs. Corleone.” Rocco blinks at you in surprise as you stand before the two of them.

“Open the door, please.” You stare back at the two of them, but they only return their stares back to you. “Do I have to ask for permission to see my husband?” You ask again, this time with more frustration building up in your voice.

“Michael asked not to be disturbed. He isn’t in right now, but he’ll be back in a moment.” Al Neri answers you.

“Oh, great. Then you can let him know I’ll just be waiting inside for when he does come back. Now move.” A glare is enough for both men to step aside as Rocco pushes open the door for you.

The moment you fully step in, the office door is closed behind you, leaving you inside Michael’s empty office. From the scent of a fresh cigarette being put out in the ashtray over his desk and his cologne still lingering in the air, you easily figure he’s left just a few moments earlier.

'Most likely filling out paperwork before coming back for dinner' Your eyes dart to his desk, spotting various thin stacks of paperwork and neatly placed documents but ultimately ignore them—taking a seat at one of the armchairs just across his table.

You’ve never been one to pry in anyone’s business, let alone Michael’s. The temptation and nosiness doesn’t exist, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it had anything to do with the agreement he made with your father behind your back.

You’ve barely sat for a minute when you hear footsteps approaching the office door and both Rocco and Al Neri stepping aside again, this time not as fast. You can tell Michael’s just about to enter but pauses, and soft inaudible conversation is exchanged very briefly.

In an instant, the office door is pushed open, and Michael steps in—his eyes immediately darting down to yours. For a moment, his expression is soft, rather surprised, assuming you impatient to see him for the evening or perhaps something happened for you to rush over here in your nightrobe.

You suddenly feel your throat tighten and dry, your heart aching in your chest as you gaze back at him. It’s your eyes that harden first now, fixed upon his gaze. It’s in that very instant that Michael knows you’re not here about tonight’s plans or because you couldn’t resist seeing him again.

Michael can easily tell from the hurt look in your eye that it’s something else. The same look you gave him that night when he came home after seeing Kay behind your back, not much different from the sadness gathering in your eyes after finding out he hid his previous marriage with Apollonia from you.

Michael’s eyes momentarily glance down at your tiny baby bump before his pacing comes to a stop just across from you. He leans his arm over the top of the fireplace, looking back at you.

You give a small nod, distracted for a moment before you force a smile up at him—the corners of your eyes beginning to sting with tears. “I couldn’t wait until dinner, you know? I just had to come to congratulate you myself.”

Michael furrows his brows, thrown off by what you’re saying but remains quiet as you continue. “I want you to know I’m very happy for you, Michael. I really am.” The sarcasm is strong in your voice that now begins to break. “But the emotions I feel towards you right now are truly nothing compared to how I felt waiting and just knowing that you were holding back your narcotics deal from me.”

Michael shifts his weight on the other foot, pulling his arm away from the fireplace and glancing back at his desk. As if he could care less about what you have to say, he begins to slip off his black suit jacket.

Your eyes follow him to behind his office desk, continuing in a pained voice, “the fact that I had to find out from my own brother who wasn’t even involved instead of my own husband is disrespectful.”

“Don’t.” Michael raises a finger, warning you in a soft voice at first. He places his jacket over top of his office chair, grabbing his pack of cigarettes off the table.

“Didn’t think I’d figure it out so fast?” You blink back, tears threatening to blur your vision. “Or what? I can’t think of any reason why you wouldn’t tell me, other than the fact you know I’d never agree to—”

“Don’t ask me about my business, Victoria,” Michael warns you again, staring back at you as he puts a cigarette between the corner of his lips.

Feeling yourself practically ignored and brushed aside like you’re a petty housewife inquiring about why your husband is in the mafia, to begin with, you spill over. “This is my business, Michael! It concerns my family!”

“Enough!” Michael slams the palm of his hand down upon his desk, causing the ashtray and his pen to tremble. He glares back at you, “watch your tone with me, Victoria.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” You say through gritted teeth, beginning to rise from your seat.

“That mouth of yours is no different than your brother’s, isn’t it?” Michael narrows his eyes at you, instantly growing annoyed. “What did I just say?”

“Smart mouth or smart wits? Because only one of them has kept me alive so far.” Feeling a surge of anger go through you, you place a hand reassuringly over your baby bump.

Michael notices your actions, lighting his cigarette before taking a small drag. “You’re not thinking straight. You’re going to argue with me because you’re overreacting, and you aren’t thinking before you’re speaking—"

“I don’t think straight?!” You cry out, offended. “I’m not overreacting; I’m actually underreacting to all of this!”

Michael is taken aback by your deflection, scowling back at you. “What are you going to do?” He gestures to his office door. “Leave me?”

You shudder, sniffling back your tears as you stare at him. Michael continues, “or threaten to take the kids again? No, right? Because we both know that won’t work. We both know you’re not going anywhere, and you’d rather sit here and scream back and forth with me than humiliate yourself by telling your father we fought over an agreement he made with me.”

“No, I’m not going to do any of that. I’m going to do worse.” You raise your voice against his, “I’m a Ferrari and—”

“You’re a Corleone.” Michael spits back, harshly correcting you.

“Then show me some respect, damn it!” You shout back at him. “Stop trying to silence me! You know this concerns me! You know this concerns my family, Michael.”

“I am!” Michael consistently raises his voice louder than yours. “Don’t make this something it’s not.”

“Something it’s not?” You repeat, scoffing as you shake your head, “you’re not being honest with me, Michael! Why the hell do I keep having to have this conversation with you!? Telling my family and me all those years you didn’t want to get involved in narcotics, saying it’s Ferrari business and that you ‘respect’ that—how has that changed so quickly?”

Michael crosses his arms, severely irritated. “Your father agreed to it, Victoria. What part of that are you not understanding? You’re acting like I threatened or blackmailed him to.”

“You would.” You sniffle. “You fucking would, you cold-hearted bastard.”

Michael lets himself ignore your insulting comment once, “he’s my business partner as much as he is my father-in-law. My business is between him and me only. You want to know why I didn’t tell you? Because you aren’t involved, and neither is your parasite of a brother. It’s just business.”

You break into full-on tears, rubbing at your eyes as tears begin dripping down your reddened cheeks. “Just business?! You’d kill them all if they—”

“Enough of this!” Michael yells back at you. “I will not hear any more of this, do you understand me?!”

“No!” You shriek back, “you will listen to me! Nobody else is! I could care less what the hell you did with those low-life, pathetic excuses for mobsters but my family, Michael?! My family, their reputation, their livelihood—you know exactly what the hell you’re doing! Does our marriage mean nothing to you, Michael? What was the point of saying ‘yes, I do if you’re the one trying to break apart the peace our fathers promised to each other?!”

“What promise am I breaking?” Michael points to his chest, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. “Was that really my promise to break, Victoria? You’ve started every fight—”

“I’ve started every fight?” You scoff dramatically, “are you delusional?! This is the first time I’ve confronted you about anything else but your whores! Is it so wrong for me to support my brothers and my family? Why do you want to break our families apart so badly?”

“I am not breaking apart our families!” Michael glowers at you. “You’d save yourself a lot of heartaches if you stopped asking questions about things that don’t concern you. You can act like it all you want, but you are not involved in this—”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit! So you take over our narcotics trade entirely and let my family get chased out of New York by Stracci and the others, and I’m not supposed to get involved?!” Your voice cracks throughout your tears, “all I heard about this was some idle conversation during Christmas and nothing else. I’m completely in the dark about it, and maybe I wouldn’t care, but you were the one who said you were going to be transparent with me about your business! I know you’ll put a bullet in Lorenzo and my father’s head if they don’t get what you want!”

Michael flicks off the ashes of his cigarette onto his desk, staring back at you silently. You hiccup throughout your sobs, nodding back at him. “I’m right, aren’t I? You would do that, wouldn’t you?!”

“If it’s a sacrifice I have to make, yes. I’m not putting a hit on anyone who hasn’t threatened me, provoked me, or otherwise. The mafia has always run in one way in this country—the powerful families take over the weak ones. Just as my father had his height of power, he came close to losing it along with the respect our business partners had for us. It’s always been a matter of life and death.” Michael answers you. “Don’t be hypocritical.”

“Don’t call me a hypocrite.” You glare back at him, hiccupping.

“Why not?” Michael raises his brows at you. “You’re a murderer too, aren’t you? Or does that not mean anything until it’s time to tell the twins who is and who isn’t a criminal?”

Your eyes widen in shock as he nods at you, very much already in the know.

“Yeah, Tom told me that story.”

“Unlike you, I stopped pretending I wasn’t a criminal a long time ago, Michael.” You mumble, brushing off the tears from the corners of your eyes.

“Then you’ll come around when you fully understand because you’re a smart woman, and you’re my wife. You know I’m not going to be planning your father or brother’s funeral. I told you, don’t make this something it’s not. You promised me then just as you promised me at our wedding through your vows.” Michael points a finger at you.

Michael begins to approach you, but you take a step back, covering your tear-soaked face. “I can’t believe you! I’m p-put in between both of our families like a goddamn kingmaker… Why would I support my family’s public downfall?!” You raise your head up at Michael, “the children deserve to grow up without witnessing another assassination attempt on their parents—without going through a mob war between their own uncles!”

“So you admit your father and brothers would come for us if all hell broke loose.” Michael pulls his black suit jacket over his shoulders, gazing at you as his harshness beginning to melt through at the sight of your sobbing.

“That’s what we’re known for, isn’t it?!” You smile weakly at Michael. “Now you can sit there and tell me as much as you want that you’re going to make it up to me, but I think I’m still going to be waiting as we go in circles.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “What you’re doing is just an unnecessary power grab—”

Michael pulls you in closer to him by both of your wrists as you breathe out, “—when you’re already the most powerful! Don’t you ever—” you attempt to push him off of you, but he doesn’t budge, “ever do that to me, Michael! EVER!”

“You’re pregnant with our child; control yourself!” Michael gives your arms a shake to get you to regain yourself.

“I’m your w-wife—” you hiccup as Michael pulls you to his embrace, holding both of your arms. “so why d—don’t you tell me like it really is, Michael?!” You whimper throughout your tears, “why don’t you tell me you’ll do it?! That you’ll kill them all if you have to? You lied to me this entire fucking time!”

“Do you trust me?” Michael breathes out, silencing your tears.

You hiccup, helplessly gazing up at him.

“Do you?!” He asks you again, “as your husband, as the father to your children—do you have any shred of trust for me?”

“Michael, stop it!” You moan out in agony, trying to push him away.

“Answer me, Victoria—”

“Stop it, Michael! Stop it, stop it, stop it!” You wail loudly.

“Look at me!” Michael demands, pulling your chin to face him again.

“I’m going to ask you again—” Michael breathes against your lips, “do you trust me?”

“M-Michael?” Your eyes fill with fear.

“Victoria,” Michael locks eyes with you. “Do you?”

“Are you going to kill them, M-Michael?” Your throat tightens again, feeling as if you’ve swallowed sawdust.

Michael ignores your question, trying to coax you out of the state of near hysteria you’re in from the sobs that rack over your body.

“Are you going to kill t-them, Michael?” You ask out again, forcing yourself to catch your breath.

Silence fills the room as you stop struggling against him, helplessly looking into Michael’s eyes for an answer—anything. Anything that will let you know he won’t do it, he won’t go through with all of this because he knows narcotics mean an inevitable mob war.

Michael won’t put your families in jeopardy. He won’t break the promise your father and Vito made. He won’t have to come down to the decision of getting rid of your brother or father if they intervene. 'Won’t he?'

The bitter sadness welling up in your heart dissipates, knotting up with the other overwhelming mix of emotions in your gut. You swallow down the lump in your throat, breathing heavily as you face Michael.

All he has towards you is love, respect, and care—they need to protect you, the need to be by your side, but he refuses to break. He refuses to budge. What’s done is done, and Michael won’t deny what he can do and all the possibilities within it if he has to.

While you and his marriage to you means more to him than you can ever know, the promise never did. It’s that easy for him. It always has been.

“That’s right.” You whisper back to Michael shakily, “say nothing… Don’t give me the relief I don’t deserve anyway, right?”

Michael’s eyes harden out of emotion, gazing back at you. As a criminal, a murderer, and the most powerful mobster in America—Michael refuses to lie to his wife. In his silence, he tells you the truth. He tells you what he knows you don’t want to hear, but you have to.

“Your silence kills me, you know that?” Anger begins to flicker back in your eyes as you take a step back from him, glaring down at the floor in disbelief.

“Victoria,” Michael’s voice matches your anger. “Think of your next words very carefully—”

“I’m done!” You scream back at him out of frustration. “I’m sick, and I’m fucking tired—”

“Watch your voice when you talk to me!” Michael demands angrily.

“Oh, you won’t have to worry about my voice for much longer, believe me!” You point an accusing finger back at him. “’ I would have married Kay’?! And now this?! I can hardly believe you, Michael! I don’t want to fucking talk to you; I don’t want to see your face! I deserved answers, I deserved honesty! But I’m long done arguing and fighting with you about the same things—about honesty, about transparency!”

“So you’re just going to leave, is that it?” Michael glares back at you.

“Yes.” You breathe out, feeling your heart aching heavily in your chest—beginning to pick up its pace. “And when you deserve me, you’ll have me.”

Michael crosses his arms, nodding grimly at you as you scowl at his office, making your way directly towards the doors to leave as quickly as possible. “You’re still my wife, you know. You’re still the mother of my children.” Michael speaks out as you place your hand over the doorknob.

“Stop it, Michael.” Tears threaten to spill from your eyes easily again. “I don’t want to h-hear it. I don’t want to hear any of this.” Your bottom lip quivers as tears drip down your chin, and you push the door open, about to take a step out. “Just stop it; I’ve had e-enough.”

Michael stands by the doorway, holding up a hand to gesture for Rocco and Al Neri not to follow. He shoots Al Neri a cautionary look, “keep an eye on her from afar, for her own safety.”

“If she leaves the compound, sir?” Al Neri asks.

“Then keep your distance, but keep her safe no matter the cost. She’s pregnant. I’ll be the first to learn where she goes.” Michael runs a hand back through his gelled hair, smoothening it out. “Let her take the children. I don’t want them to hear a word of what happened tonight. Let them stay with their mother and think otherwise if need be.”

Al Neri nods, beginning to head off towards the direction you left in—leaving Rocco by the door. You can care less if you’ve given away what you’ll do, where you’ll go. Your family is in Long Island, and so is your first home with Michael that now remains to be your only place of solitude from your heartache, from facing the love of your life with disbelief of what’s about to transpire around you in the future.

Michael knows better than to persist after you, to demand you to stay at the compound and to give you his same old excuses—his same apologies as before. He knows what he’s done and decided is unforgivable, but he knows he’ll seek out your forgiveness anyway, just as he knows you’re the only one he’d do so to.

Michael knows you’re leaving the compound tonight, and he knows exactly where you’re going. For the sake of the twins not finding out about what just happened in his office, Michael remains silent. He holds himself together until he can no longer hear you throughout the family residence—until he knows for certain, you’ve left.

Rocco closes the door to Michael’s office as Michael slowly paces back to his office desk. Michael picks up his cigarette pack and lighter, leaning against the wall by the windows as he lights another one quickly and without hesitation.

He takes a deep drag from the cigarette, knowing it’ll take far more than one to calm his nerves for the night, and even more if he spots you leaving the compound from where he’s standing tonight.

In a way, Michael feels as if he’s lost you, and it’s a bitter defeat he refuses to accept. He tightens his wedding band over his finger, knowing he’s still yours and you’re still his—that’ll never change.

He’ll never want that to change, and he’ll wait for you. Michael will wait as long as he needs to, but he knows he’ll never hesitate from the idea of splitting mountains apart to be with you again.

Michael’s patience is thin, his nerves on edge and his anger threatening to spill over now, and yet none of it matters to him as much as you do. Michael feels his heartache just as yours does, trying to numb it out through another long inhale of his cigarette—ignoring it as he does best.

Refusing to feel his emotions at once, let alone at all, he couldn’t deny the sting of regret from what he said to you just moments ago out of anger. It’s no excuse, and he’s well aware, but to you—his wife walking out on him the way you did—delivered the biggest blow.

Michael forces his eyes off the windows, staring down at his cigarette. His eyes grow distracted in the ashes burning brightly at the tip of his cigarette, and all he’s telling himself is to take another hit and numb it out. You’re not really here, but you haven’t left him either—he knows this.

You slam the door shut to the bedroom but barely make a move in as you slide down against the door—weeping. You take your face into your hands and sob—feeling your chest ache and your hands quiver as you can barely keep yourself together.

Every step you took away from Michael felt as if it was killing you. You know in your heart, it wasn’t something you wanted to do but had to. You felt suffocated and heartbroken. You felt silenced, unheard, unloved.

Just thinking of it breaks you down all over again. Your heart aches so terribly in your chest you feel it’s about to burst out, actually causing you physical pain as your heart pounds from the dizzying rush of emotions hitting you all at once.

You touch your swollen lips with your shaky hands, squeezing your eyes shut as you remember the way he feverishly kissed you just moments back. You whimper throughout your sobs, forcing yourself to calm down for the sake of your baby.

Shakily rising to your feet, you clutch onto your dresser, moving towards your closet to grab at your luggage. Your eyes catch sight of Michael’s men at the gates—business as usual—before they land on the various framed photographs of the two of you upon the dresser.

Your wedding portrait, for one, an engagement photograph, a recent one taken with the twins, and your personal favorite—a photograph taken at Michael’s birthday party with the two of you kissing each other.

You shudder throughout your tears, hiccupping and placing all of the framed photographs facing down onto the dresser. You can hardly stand to look at them, not out of anger but out of heartache.

You can’t bear to look at Michael in the photographs as they only serve as a constant reminder surrounding you as to the state of despair and pity you’re in. Your heart practically throbs in your chest, and you feel both mentally and physically exhausted from sobbing—light-headed and borderline near break down.

Not only can you not think straight, but a million questions buzz through your mind unanswered. Michael’s always made it difficult, if not near impossible, for anyone to know what he’s thinking—how he’s feeling.

A part of you still tugs and insists on going back—to run back into Michael’s arms, to sob and flail about but be in his arms and just let go in them. Your heart begs for forgiveness, to be in the embrace of your husband—but your mind is eager to get away from it all—just to let you breathe.

You’re leaving, and this time Michael isn’t stopping you.

#the godfather #godfather #al pacino #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone fanfic #godfather au #michael corleone smut #michael corleone x reader smut #my writing #michael corleone #moth to flame fanfic #the godfather x reader #al pacino x reader #godfather x reader #alfredo james pacino #melis-writes #moth to flame fic

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melis-writes · 3 years

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 26 - Bullets.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 25 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

You and Michael find yourselves facing death directly as assassins have breached the Lake Tahoe compound, attacking in the middle of the night. Both of your quick thinking and reflexes saves you, but not everybody in your family is safe and sound. Suspicions rise as the search for the assassins goes awry, and your brother Lorenzo takes his frustrations out on Michael for endangering your life--believing you've become naïve and gullible. As your relationship with your brother dwindles, you attempt to protect your family and gain more than you bargained for, finding yourself split between being the daughter of Don Ferrari and the wife of Don Corleone.

[WARNINGS]: Violent themes / Minor alcohol use / Graphic descriptions of injury.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Ended up finishing this chapter early, and it sure has been anticipated!! 😳🤞 Since this chapter is only focused on one scene from the movie, I was unable to use as many suggestions as I would have liked (I only go to use one 😭). Can't have smut during a time like this of course lmao, so I look forward to using tons for the next chapters! ❤ I also make my own gifs now, so expect quite a few to help paint out the scene!🤩 Since Vito and Sonny are alive in this AU, we get to see their reactions during the assassination attempt as well! Victoria's cunning and badass side has always been highly requested, and there will be plenty next chapter, but also quite a bit in this one as her quick thinking and intuition come into play! Lots of drama to expect as well, enjoy! 🤣

[SUGGESTIONS]: Anon for requesting: Vito and Michael bonding.

In one moment, you were gazing back at Michael—confused as to why the drapes were completely drawn back to practically expose the entirety of your illuminated bedroom. A split second after, your eyes widened in horror to see Michael immediately duck down and onto the floor.

Michael had made out two shadowy figures engulfed in darkness, standing at a distance across from him to keep their identities hidden well but at enough of a length to shoot directly into the bedroom and at all sides.

From your angle in the bed, you weren’t able to spot out or even see any figures, to begin with. From the texture of the glass to the pitch black in the compound, Michael was unable to make out any features of the two assassins either—unknown to the both of you that they’re hired hitmen for the Ricci family.

Without any time to process or question what’s happening, bullets begin to fly at a rapid pace into the bedroom. Dozens shatter the windows completely, hitting the walls and trailing along to hit every angle of the bedroom as much as possible—all in an instant before your very eyes.

Your reflexes immediately kick up with the first few bullets breaking through the windows. You throw yourself off the bed, grabbing the blankets over top of your back to protect you from falling debris as you lay down as close as possible to the frame of the bed.

Michael lunges himself down to the floor, army crawling as quickly as he can without raising a muscle upwards. The next pair of bullets destroy a vase of flowers over your dresser and shoots out both of your lamps to pieces.

Twelve bullets fire over the mirror just across from you, shattering it to smithereens as you stare back at Michael in shock as he makes his way over to you in mere seconds.

The next hail of bullets begins firing at every other angle of the bedroom, hitting your nightstand just above you, the post of your bed, and over the back walls. Michael grabs at your arm, pulling you into his embrace and bracing you with his body.

Chunks of your bed frame fly off in contact with the bullets as parts of the walls crumble from the concentrated hit over several bullets over one area. You throw your hand back into the lower drawer of your nightstand, reaching inside to grab your handgun.

Michael hugs your body tightly, completely covering you as the bullets continue. You raise your head up in between Michael’s arms as he holds you down further to the floor, knowing that the next dozen will over your bed and towards the floor again.

You cock back your handgun, quick to raise it up to the gaping, jagged holes in the window as you fire back twice. Michael stares back at you in surprise, now noticing and processing the fact you shot back as the rain of bullets stops almost instantly.

Dropping your handgun but keeping it close to you, you shudder as you clutch at Michael’s dress shirt. You bury your face into his chest as he pants out, listening intently for another wave of bullets.

Silence kicks in as the last chunks of broken glass fall to the floor, confirming the end of the hail of bullets. Michael grunts, kneeling backward as he pulls you up to him, shaking you by your shoulders.

“Victoria—are you alright? Are you hit?!” He hisses to you in a hushed tone.

Michael’s hair now loosely dangles off his forehead as you shake your head back at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “N-no!”

Michael breathes, planting a quick, reassuring kiss over your cheek as he hugs you tightly in his arms. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Your hand brushes past his silky hair as you attempt to steady your breathing, nudging the handgun closer over to him. You swallow hard, nodding back at him frantically. “I think I may have hit one of them, Michael, I—”

“Shhh, shh, it’s alright.” Michael rakes a hand through the back of your hair, attempting to calm you down. “It’s over. It’s over now.”

Michael rubs up and down your arms tenderly, quick to pull the blankets off of you as he trails a hand down your sides, checking to see if you were hit or even skimmed by a piece of glass. Seeing you thankfully unharmed, he let out a shaky sigh of relief.

“Oh my God, the twins!” You whine out in panic, hearing alarms begin to blare and go off at every corner of the compound.

“It’s alright, come here.” Michael pulls you up to his feet with him, slowly beginning to rise as the sirens of his alarms and security grow louder and insistent. “Take the children and immediately go to the drawing room with the rest of the family, do you understand?”

You nod back at him, grabbing your handgun, “Michael, you know I could help you.”

“Not a chance in hell.” His eyes flicker down to your stomach as he shakes his head, “do as I say and make sure nobody takes a step out until I confirm it’s safe. Okay? Go!”

You swallow hard, quick to grab your nightrobe off your now tattered, bullet-ridden vanity chair and burst out of the bedroom without another word—Michael following from behind and out towards the front door of the residence.

Voices begin to break out into the night as various lights flash and angle towards every inch of the dark compound, illuminating everything in a blinding, white light. Sirens only continue to grow louder as Michael’s security and private hires scurry out of the compound, loading their firearms and racing to secure every entrance and exit.

“Mama!” The first cry you hear out through the hallway as you approach the bedroom of the twins across from each other is Verona’s.

You glance down at your firearm momentarily, quick to slip and conceal it between the pocket of your nightrobe as you shrug it on. You quickly push open the door to Verona’s bedroom, seeing Niccolo protectively hugging his sister, huddled in a corner—less fear in his eyes than Verona’s.

“Oh, Niccolo, Verona! It’s okay, I’m here!” You’re quick to notice the twins’ room hasn’t been affected in any manner as the children shakily rise to their feet, embracing your waistline. “Are you two alright?!” You kneel down, tenderly rubbing both of their shoulders.

“Yeah!” Verona pouts back.

“Mama, we heard everything!” Niccolo frantically glances around. “Where’s daddy?”

“Daddy’s dealing with it, alright? Don’t worry—Al and Rocco are with him. Come here, you two. Come quick, we have to get to safety.” You plant a quick kiss over both of their cheeks.

You scoop up Verona in one arm, holding Niccolo’s hand with the other as you race off down the hallway and towards the drawing-room.

“Victoria!” Your mother exclaims on the other side of the hallway, wrapping her nightgown around her. “What’s going on?!”

“Mama, come! Quick!” You gesture to her, not noticing her staggering movements. “Where’s the girls?!”

“We’re in here, Victoria! Come quickly!” Connie’s worried voice shouts out from the drawing-room across the residence.

“Come on, come on!” You nod back to your mother and the twins, avoiding as many windows as possible as you all enter the drawing-room—quick to throw the door shut behind you.

Two of Michael’s guards, heavily armed, race to the front gates that remain loosely open, quick to push them back in place, locked shut as another vehicle of security quickly pulls up. Several more rays of light begin to shine over the residence building, boathouse, and yacht deck.

“Secure the compound immediately! Double-check all entrances and exits!” Sonny shouts out to security by the gate, quickly loading his pistol. “Don’t let those bastards escape at any cost!”

Michael steps out to the front of the residence, raking a frustrated hand through his now tousled, floppy hair as his eyes quickly examine the damage done through the windows.

He turns his head at the sight of Rocco quickly rushing his way over with two other men approaching Michael.

“They’re still on the property.” Rocco breathes out, placing a hand upon Michael’s shoulder. “Please, Michael, please stay inside.”

Michael grits his teeth in frustration, gazing out towards the gate before he turns his attention back to Rocco, pressing his finger over his chest to warn him. “Keep them alive.” Michael turns back on his heel towards the entrance.

“We’ll try.” Rocco nods, catching his breath.

Michael stops in his tracks instantly, spinning back angrily and pointing a finger directly at Rocco. “ROCCO, ALIVE!”

The sound of the first bullet firing through your bedroom window is heard from the other side of the compound—muffled as it is, easy to confuse as fireworks or even a loud thud.

Lorenzo was the first to practically leap out of bed and grab at his pistol off the nightstand, attempting to pinpoint which direction the shooting was coming from before comforting his startled wife and taking her out into the hallway with him.

Joined by his brothers, Matteo stayed behind with Dante and the Ferrari wives to secure their end of the residence. Lorenzo immediately stepped out with Leonardo and Alessio—nightrobe or pajamas—it mattered not. All of your brothers were armed and spread out over the residence, signaling to each other in silence.

Leonardo was concerned with where and who the assassins were, refusing to waste time trying to understand why it happened, whereas Alessio was thinking how. It only became clear to Lorenzo in an instant that the bullets hadn’t entered Michael’s office but his bedroom, where he was very well aware you were vulnerable.

Lorenzo’s concern for your safety and well-being fuels a burning anger inside of him, separated towards both Michael and the unknown assassins. His growing, apparent dislike for Michael takes over the other, leaving him with one thought in his mind: 'Michael Corleone endangered my sister.'

It was no longer about coincidences or being in the wrong place at the wrong time, nor could it be excused by “she’s his wife and sleeps in his bed.” It was strictly about the fact that Michael had placed his wife in danger when he could have done it for himself. Lorenzo wouldn’t have cared half as much if bullets began flying in Michael’s office if you weren’t physically present yourself.

While Leonardo and Alessio had joined up to secure the main gates and entry points with Al Neri and Rocco, Lorenzo went straight for Don Corleone himself.

Michael lingered by the front door—a hand over his hip with the other raking through his hair as he gives out a frustrated huff. Naturally, the Don’s notorious brutality came from giving orders in the dark to seal the fates of others—sending the same methods of assassinations that had turned on him and you tonight.

Whether the shooting failed or succeeded meant nothing for Lorenzo, who believes he already has enough reasons in the world to dislike Michael. You only serve as a buffer for respect and good relations, but now your relationship and “interference” will only cause it to sour further.

Lorenzo storms over to Michael from across the compound residence.

Michael only has a split second to turn his head to face Lorenzo, who grabs at Michael’s dress shirt angrily, beginning to shake him.

“You son of a bitch.” Lorenzo scowls at Michael. “You couldn’t get yourself killed, so you had to drag my sister in it too?”

“How you ever got so comfortable with thinking you could touch me—” Michael throws off Lorenzo’s grasp with ease, shoving him off. “I’ll never know, but you have thirty seconds to explain yourself and your unwarranted hostility before I assume it was you who did it.”

“Me?” Lorenzo points his gun at his own chest, “are you out of your goddamn mind? You know my wife and kids are back there, fearing for their lives! As is yours, my fucking sister.”

“You like being difficult.” Michael pulls out his handgun from his back pocket, tapping it against the palm of his hand. “In the real world, you get killed for that kind of foolish behavior."

“You’ve got better things to worry about than what I hold in my hand.”

“You’re right, I do, and unfortunately, I’m here dealing with your childish outburst than the matter at hand.” Michael rolls his eyes. “What do you want, Lorenzo?”

“Where’s my sister, Michael?!” Lorenzo raises his voice.

“She’s inside.” Michael’s tone grows to match with Lorenzo’s. “Inside with the rest of the family, safe as she should be.”

“You better fucking hope she’s safe. I know this isn’t the first time you’ve endangered her life, isn’t it?” Lorenzo points an accusing finger back at Michael. “You want to make enemies? Fine, but make them alone. She doesn’t deserve this.”

“You think I do?”

Lorenzo scoffs, glancing off to the side. “I could care less because that isn’t any of my business.”

“Neither is Victoria.” Michael maintains stern eye contact with Lorenzo, his expression harshening.

“She’s my sister.” Lorenzo spits out.

“And she’s my wife and the mother to my children—not to mention a grown woman who can make her own decisions and fend for herself.” Michael asserts.

None of Lorenzo’s insults even come close to phasing Michael, who continues to maintain his collected, stern manner.

“She’s my wife and does as I say for our family.”

“You think you intimidate me…” Lorenzo glares into Michael’s eyes. “But that’s all talk and no action from you. You underestimate how my sister would feel—what she would say if she saw you like this.”

“She’s a Corleone.” Michael holds his eye contact with Lorenzo, “and she does and acts like a Corleone.”

“She’s a Ferrari, and you should know better by now that she won’t refuse her own blood first.”

“Since you’re ever so insistent, I’ll prove it to you.” Michael gestures his arm out towards the gates where Rocco and Al Neri are. “Find Rocco and ask for Victoria. He’s already under my orders to make sure she stays inside. We’ll see who she chooses to go to if that’s good enough for you.”

“Hope you aren’t too disappointed, Don. Wouldn’t want any harsh feelings between either of us, especially tonight when we should be looking out for our families.” Lorenzo replies.

Michael crosses his arms. “For as far as I’m concerned, the assassins are still on the compound.”

“It’s so like you to get others to do your dirty work, ‘Don’ Corleone.” Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “Maybe it’s not tonight, but one day you’ll see you actually need to act.”

“It’s alright, it’s okay—” Your heart thunders in your chest as you take the twins over to the couch, grabbing a throw blanket and quickly cuddling it over them.

“Daddy’s going to kill all the bad guys!” Niccolo exclaims out, completely certain of himself.

“Your father and all of your uncles—they just rushed out there without even thinking about it!” Connie huddles by an armchair with her two boys sitting by her side.

“Oh, God, Sonny’s out there too!” Sandra huffs, worry crossing over her eyes. “He just up and left!”

“What the hell is going on out there?!” Theresa shudders, rubbing at her arms.

“Someone’s breached the compound.” You rub at your temple gingerly, shaking your head. “It was supposed to be a hit—it came from the bedroom, and—” Your eyes grow wide at the sight of your mother shaking and struggling to breathe by the couch, a small pool of blood soaking through the side of her nightgown. “Mama?! What—”

“V-Victoria, I’m fine, I’m just—” Your mother shakes her head, pressing her hand down over the wound. “It just skimmed me. I-I didn’t even notice.”

“Grandma?!” Verona’s little eyes pool up with tears.

Sandra leans over to the couch, hugging the twins and blocking their view over to your mother. “Hey, hey! It’s okay, grandma is going to be alright! Come here, you two. Come here.”

“Oh my God, oh my God…” Connie takes her face into her hands, beginning to panic.

“Mama, quickly, let me see! Theresa—get me the first AID kit!” You gesture back at her in a hurry, helping your mother carefully push aside her nightgown to reveal the wound.

Your mother winces, biting down on her lip as she reveals a small, chestnut-sized but deep gash on her side—oozing with fresh blood and in desperate need of stitches. Feeling tears sting at your eyes, a wave of anger washes over you at the sight of your mother’s injury.

You practically tear open the first AID kit when Theresa hands it to you, rummaging through the kit to clean around the wound. You notice now that Sandra has picked up both the twins in her arms and heads off towards the end of the room, humming to them.

“Victoria—” Your mother grunts, gripping onto the arm of the sofa.

“Mama, I need you to stay as still as possible, okay?” You glance back up at her—eyes filled with urgency. “I need to stitch this up—Theresa, grab me that lighter over there. Breathe, mama, breathe!”

Your mother takes deep breaths, tilting her head back onto the sofa.

Theresa hands you the lighter within the first AID kit, cleaning the blood gently around her gash. You pick up a suture needle, flickering the flame over it to sterilize it.

“I’ve got you, mama, stay still for me. Don’t move an inch.” Quick with your fingers and familiar with the first AID kit that you’ve worked with before on numerous occasions, you prepare the suture without letting your hands shake or drop anything throughout the process.

“Alright, mama, take a slow, deep breath for me—I want to make this as painless and quick for you as possible, okay? I need to get your wound closed up. Bear with me!” You force yourself to ignore your mother’s distraught whimpers of pain as you use your fingers to pull the wound together.

You stick the first suture from the needle through the skin, out the wound, and back through it from the other side and out of the skin as your mother winces in pain. Theresa watches in utter surprise to see how you pull the skin together, tying it off with a double knot and clipping at the excess.

“Easy now…” Not too tight nor too loose, you secure the first suture, working back with the next halfway between the end of the wound and the last stitch. You only repeat the process two more times before the wound is completely sealed in just a few minutes.

“Oh, thank God!” Theresa sniffles, handing you a roll of gauze as you begin to carefully wrap it around her side, sighing out in relief as Connie kneels her way over to the three of you.

“Victoria, sweetheart—oh, oh, God, how? How—” Your mother croaks out, steadying her breathing as she gazes back at you in shock. “How…how did you—”

You shake your head at her, rising to your feet, “it’s nothing I haven’t taught myself. Don’t worry about that right now. Stay put, okay? Lay down as you are, don’t lay a finger on the bandages.”

“Where are you going, Victoria?!” Connie frowns back at you. “Sure as hell not out there; you know it’s not safe!”

“This is nothing, Connie! Bullets have flown over my head before!” You pull open the door, glancing back at the three. “Just stay put and with mama—I need to find my brothers and Michael!” You brush off the two, quick to storm out of the drawing-room and towards your study as fast as your feet can take you.

“You’re insane, I swear! If Michael finds out—” You hear Connie shout back behind you. “Victoria!”

“Stay by the door.” Rocco cautions one of the guards by the front entrance, quickly rushing back off towards the gate as five other guards make their way over to him, covering ground. “Move out and release the hounds!”

With the entirety of the compound completely surrounded and secured, a private hire by the hounds' cage quickly pries off the locks and throws them open. Five German Shepherds sprint out, barking as they separate onto different sides of the compound, with one going into the drain tube.

You tighten your night robe around you, holding your handgun upwards with both hands carefully wrapped around it and off the trigger. Slipping out the side entrance, you immediately lean your back against the wall, analyzing your surroundings and keeping your breathing and movements as quiet as possible.

Rotating lights flash all over and around the compound, leaving not an inch to succumb to the night’s darkness. Everything around you is perfectly illuminated, and you easily make out Michael’s security and private hires arming themselves and roaming around with their guard dogs.

You keep your eyes focused on your surroundings as you keep moving towards the other side of the compound, where you and Michael’s bedroom remains on the ground floor. From the corner of your eye, you can see three heavily armed guards just outside your window and one inside the bedroom, checking around for any signs of struggle or evidence leftover.

You furrow your brows, knowing you didn’t hear the two bullets you fired off go into the air and disappear. T'hey must have hit something or someone, but what?' Out of sight from Michael’s men, you take another look at the shattered windows from an angle, stepping back.

'If I had shot slightly from the right, then I’d have to stand here to get a perfect view of the bedroom…' You move back a bit further, finding your hypothetical spot as your eyes land onto a small pool of blood not far from where you’re standing.

'My bullet didn’t fail me.' A small sense of relief washes over you as you carefully begin to track the trail of blood droplets leading outward to the drains—a perfect hiding spot as no lights shine directly over or inside of it.

'I must have hit toward his lower body. His side, or leg perhaps?' You’re just about to continue following the rest of the blood when you hear footsteps rushing towards you, coupled with a familiar voice.

“Mrs. Corleone!” You hear Al Neri calling out from behind you.

You rise to your feet, pointing your firearm downward as you turn your head to see Al make his way over with two men, bewildered to see you. “Mrs. Corleone, it’s not safe here! You shouldn’t be outside.”

“One of them is hit.” You ignore Al’s warning, pointing down at the fresh blood over the pavement.

“Hit?” Al glances down, his eyes widening.

He looks back up at his men and gives them a small nod. “Track it down immediately; we might still be able to catch them alive.” Al’s men waste no time as they begin to track the blood trail with one of the German shepherds, leaving the two of you alone.

“Mrs. Corleone—”

“Victoria. Call me Victoria, please.” You correct back quickly, shaking your head. “Where’s Michael?”

“He just went inside to find you, Mrs—Victoria.” Al gestures back to the residence, “please, you really shouldn’t be out here. Michael explicitly forbad it. The intruders are still on the property—it’s dangerous. They must have struggled to escape after—”

“I shot one of them, Al.” You interrupt him again. “I fired twice, and I know one of my bullets hit them. This blood trail is all that you got, so make use of it, and let me—”

“I can’t let you do anything, Victoria.” Al frowns back at you, “I know who you are, believe me, but Michael will not allow it. He’d have my head if he knew I let you stay outside this long. Please, we don’t want anything to happen to you, and he’s looking for you inside.”

You sigh out, putting your handgun back into the pocket of your nightgown. “At least tell me where my brothers are.”

“They’re with Rocco and I back at the gates.” Al points behind him, “Don Ferrari is there as well. They were one of the first to arrive before security even made clearance.”

“Alright, good, let them know immediately about this, do you understand?” You point a finger down at the bloodstain. “Hounds tracking or not, they’re going to want to see this.”

“Lorenzo is also looking for you,” Al mentions, a look of discomfort crossing his face knowing it directly intervenes with Michael’s orders. “He’s back by the gates with Rocco.”

You glance behind Al for a moment to make out the armed guards by the gate before glancing back at Al with your quick decision. “Tell him to come find me once this is all over. I’m heading inside to find Michael.”

“Will do, and one more thing—Victoria?” Al glances back at you as you’re just about to head back around to the side entrance.

“Yes?”

Al’s eyes dart from the distance of the bedroom window before they land back on the droplets of blood, in disbelief himself before he faces you again. “Your aim is incredible.”

“I’m aware, thank you.” Without another word, you turn back behind the residence building again towards the entrance you came out of.

Against Michael’s wishes, you had stepped outside just as he had made his way back in with a handful of men. The living room and your study, as well as other consequent areas surrounding the bedroom and your residence’s half were immediately covered by security continuing to roam around.

Clearance was given over the bedroom foremost, more so concerned with the surrounding area and the fact a separate shooting—albeit a short one—was also fired into the library where your mother was by herself.

Initially, the hit and targets made sense to Michael. Naturally, he assumed they were for him, though it could have also been for the both of you out of convenience. While you weren’t really considered “high profile,” you were known with your status and name for the past five years, consistently and publicly by Michael’s side as well. None of that rules out the possibility of a planned, double assassination.

Confusion hit at the target of your mother in the library where the drapes were drawn back as well. Bullets didn’t begin to fire through until well after you and Michael had ducked, meaning the hit over either one of you came first, which would signal the next.

It was when your mother noticed the drapers herself and the light peeking through that she went to close them and saw a figure looming right against the window. Quick on her feet, as you had learned from her, she had ducked too, shielding herself with the various bookshelves between her, but not before a bullet had grazed her side.

Out of adrenaline and fear, she hadn’t even felt it hit her or knew where the bullet landed. She had ignored the pain and sensation entirely until she began to regain her senses with you and the girls in the drawing-room, then feeling the burning and stinging of her gash.

What Michael didn’t know was that he was the only one targeted, and it had nothing to do with you. Alphonse Ricci’s terms were clear—you weren’t to be harmed at all costs, and if Michael was injured, he would need to be killed immediately, and you would have to be taken.

Had you gotten injured or killed yourself or alongside him, you would have been considered nothing but collateral damage—much to Alphonse’s fury, but that would seem to be an unavoidable one.

Of course, Alphonse had not planned for his men to simply come in and out looking for you and Michael. Instead of keeping his backup plan for another planned shooting that would most likely not be guaranteed to ever take place, he decided to go through with it on the same night.

His instructions were clear to Johnny Ola, who orchestrated the shooting with the remaining few men loyal to the Ricci family: “Fredo had made it very clear Victoria’s family stays on both sides of the compound—residence or not. Regardless of who, find out who remains the closest to the Don’s living quarters, whether it be a child, her brothers, or someone else. Michael is your ultimate target, but you are not to leave the Lake Tahoe compound until you’re certain you’ve killed one of the Ferrari’s.”

Don Alphonse Ricci’s planned hit had failed miserably, to say the least, but it succeeded on other fronts besides death. Was it truly safe to be affiliated with the Corleone family? To stay with them, to begin with, if their compound was susceptible to a breach? Michael wouldn’t waste his time pondering such questions, but Lorenzo Ferrari would and did.

A shooting in the middle of the night with both family’s children around—one bullet fired, unmissed, matched with two in return from you. You hadn’t lied when you told Connie this wasn’t the first time you had bullets flying over your head—nor was it the second or the fifth.

Your attention to detail played out well, although you would have never guessed it to be followed by an assassination attempt. You had trained yourself well growing up, constantly involved and around the mafia and its rivaling families.

If it’s one thing you know better than the back of your hands, it’s bullets, assassinations, and death. The first one flew over your head when you were sixteen, and your reflexes alongside your quick thinking, ability to stay calm and focused only emphasized your desire to fight back just as it did tonight.

Your adrenaline took over you in a way like none other. You were able to ignore the tender, sore pain in your feet from a night of dancing with it, and it only bolstered your courage to step out and hunt the assassins yourself. You didn’t even have to think twice about it.

Engulfed in anger and shock from the assassination directly after the celebration dinner, Michael was initially unable to let it all sink in. His wife did not just come with the title of being Don Ferrari’s daughter, but with the same skills as her father that made him feared throughout New York and Sicily.

“She said something about finding you and her brothers, Michael!” Connie protests out, gesturing to the door in frustration.

“And you just let her leave?” Michael glares back, “I thought I made myself very clear when I said—”

“Michael!” You push back to open the door to the drawing-room, stepping inside. “I’m here; it’s alright.”

Michael’s eyes immediately dart over to yours, flicking up and down over your body for any visible signs of harm—even a scratch over your nightrobe. His expression is filled with both relief and frustration in that split second before he makes direct eye contact with you.

Blush immediately fills your cheeks as your eyes meet his. With his suit jacket shrugged back on, Michael has one hand in his pocket and the other holding a half-smoked cigarette. His once brushed and lightly slicked back hair now remains parted from the left and tousled, waved over his forehead.

Just the sight of him as such with his signature stern look is enough to cause the butterflies in your stomach to twist and turn about at the most inappropriate time and setting you could think of.

Your eyes briefly break from his, much to your own surprise to see Connie standing a few feet away from him, sighing in relief to herself quietly as she takes her seat upon one of the armchairs again.

Theresa sits upon the corner of the couch where your mother was, now nowhere to be seen. The brief look of confusion in your eyes is relieved by Michael’s reassuring ones, telling you all that you need to know. 'He must have called for Doctor Katherine. So does that mean the assassins are…?'

Michael’s expression twists into a scowl as if he’s read your very thoughts, all occurring in a manner of mere seconds. “Victoria, where were you? Did I not tell you to stay here with Connie and the others for your own safety?”

“Michael, I’m fine!” You protest out, “I was just around the property—”

“Still not listening to me.” Michael narrows his eyes as Connie gazes back down at the floor. “Did you go out to see your brothers?”

“No, I didn’t even see them out there. Al told me they were by the gate with my father, but…” You blink back at Michael in confusion, now beginning to head up towards him. “I stepped out because I knew I had hit something or someone—there’s a blood trail right outside the windows, Michael. I got Al to track it down with his men.”

Michael’s eyes soften at your response, secretly pleased with your decision to return to him without seeing your brothers, and specifically Lorenzo, but mostly at your safe return without going elsewhere in the compound against his wishes.

“Leave it to him now and him only.” Michael brushes you off. “I’m aware of what you did, but it’s not apparent to you that you could have put yourself in harm's way? There’s a pair of assassins out there—it’s unacceptable you leave the compound even for just a moment, do you understand? If you were hurt—”

“But I’m not.” You pout back at him, “I’ve been through this before, Michael, just ask my fa—”

“Your father would be disappointed in you just as much as I because you’re a mother and potentially expecting.” Michael’s eyes cautiously glance over your stomach.

You frown, your eyes meeting with Theresa’s. “Is mama…?”

“Alessio’s fiancé—the nurse—is with her in the other room.” Theresa eagerly nods back at you. “She’s doing just fine. She just wanted to rest.”

“Thank God.” You rub at your temples gingerly.

You peek back at Michael, who clears his throat quietly to catch your attention. He carefully sets his cigarette over the ashtray, gesturing you to approach him with his finger. “Come here.”

Deepening blush returning to your cheeks, you walk up to Michael, who slips his hand out of his pocket, gazing over at you. He places both hands over your shoulders, rubbing them tenderly before letting out a sigh. He knows he can’t stay mad at you for long or have a longer scolding in front of your sisters-in-law.

Michael slides his hands down your arms and to your sides as he gives your hips a gentle squeeze. Looking into your eyes, he asks, “are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You breathe out as his arms embrace your waist as he pulls you in for a loving hug.

Your heart begins to race as your chest is pressed up against Michael's, feeling his warmth as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. The scent of his cologne lingers back up to your nose as the comfort of his embrace melts the worry and fear in you almost immediately, granting you a sense of safety by his side.

“Don’t ever disobey me again, understand?” Michael murmurs quietly, only audible for you to hear as he pulls away from you. Before you can even answer him, he trails his fingers down your lips, never leaving his eyes off of you for a moment. “Ever.”

“Yes, Michael.” Flushing red, you nod back at him.

Your little moment is interrupted by the door clicking open again as you turn to see Sandra carrying a sleeping Verona in her arms. Esther, the nanny, remains behind her, holding Niccolo, giving you and Michael a polite smile before she enters in front of Sandra, gently laying Niccolo over the couch next to Theresa, snuggled up in a blanket.

“There they are, all asleep…” You whisper, pulling away from Michael.

You carefully take Verona from her arms, sitting next to Theresa and Niccolo as she stirs from her sleep in your arms. Planting a little kiss upon her head, you lean your back against the couch and wrap your arms around her, letting her sleep over your chest.

Esther sits quietly by Sandra and Connie as Michael picks up his cigarette once more, keeping his distance from the children as he smokes the last bit of it. One hand back into his pocket, the room falls to silence as he slowly makes his way around, lingering by the sofa and armchair for a few moments.

Gazing at his sleeping children, you keep your eyes down and your ears keenly listening to pick up on anything going on outside. One of the first things you notice about the windows is how tightly drawn back the curtains are now.

Keeping your flustered disposition to a minimum and eyes upon the floor, you hear Michael slowly walking around the couch, now approaching the center of the room as he takes a final, long drag of his cigarette.

Michael drops his arm to his side after taking the drag, coming closer to the ashtray as his eyes land back on you again. Unnoticed by you, you remain quiet, stroking Verona’s hair gently as your mind buzzes with a million unanswered questions.

Michael puts out his cigarette, only pulling his eyes away from you for a moment before his gaze returns. Before him doesn’t remain a frightened or unnerved woman, but a daughter and wife of the mafia that made it easier for Michael’s assassins to be hunted down without batting an eye.

Michael had the utmost confidence in you, as much as he won’t admit to your face. The mere facts lie at hand to prevent him from doing so: you could be pregnant again with his child, and you’re a mother of two, not to mention he would never forgive himself, let alone have your family do so if there was even a slight risk of you getting hurt.

He believes and is very well aware of your prowess even before tonight, but his mind doesn’t lay in how you or he can react to an assassination. It lies with who did it, how, and why—all questions Michael knows he won’t have straight answers to by the end of the night.

You peek your eyes back up to Michael, only causing you to blush further as you realize he was gazing over you the entire time. Intricacies of the assassination aside, the look you give him is one of concern: none of this would matter if it didn’t involve the family, but it did.

Your mother got injured, and it could have been worse. The twins could have been harmed or killed in the hail of bullets themselves. A million other ways for this night to become a complete tragedy play out in your head, only reflected in your eyes back to Michael.

Noticing your expression, Michael purses his lips, turning his head away from you. Without another word, he straightens out his suit jacket, leaving to meet with his father and brothers with one thought on his mind: the assassins are already dead.

With both family residences officially secured, Michael makes his way down the hallway and to the other half to the private living room used by the Corleone family—often filled with his brothers lounging about or Vito and Carmela relaxing together.

Such casual relaxation and any notion of a carefree attitude are practically non-existent as Michael approaches the door, quietly pushing it open to see Vito sitting across from him at the table.

Michael takes a step in, closing the door behind him as he makes eye contact with his father. Vito gazes up into his son’s eyes—his expression softening as he gives out a little sigh of relief. He rises to his feet as Michael walks up to him, coming to face to face with one another.

“Michael.” Vito places both hands over his son’s shoulders, rubbing them gently.

“Father, how are you?” Michael murmurs back to him, his voice low and filling with concern.

“I’m fine.” Vito nods back at him, “your mother and I are fine. We heard everything—the commotion and all. Your wife and children—are they alright?”

“They’re doing okay, pop.” Michael replies, “Victoria’s mother was injured, but it’s all under control now.”

“Dear God,” Vito mumbles, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s as if it was over before it even started. Look at you.” Vito pats Michael’s shoulders, glancing up and down at him. “They caught you by surprise—whoever they are, but they didn’t catch you at all. Did they teach you that quick thinking in the military?”

“They did.” Michael nods.

Vito cracks a small smile, always having avoided the topic of the war or Michael’s days in the army due to years of his continuous disapproval of Michael fighting for strangers—a country that wasn’t his blood.

Before him remained many versions of his son that reminded him of his youth in New York. Michael was not only his youngest son, but a war hero, a Don, a father, and a husband. The family and the mafia’s characterized solely by his principles and cunning.

“Come here,” Vito whispers, pulling Michael into an embrace.

Michael hugs his father lightly, relaxing his muscles as Vito pats his back, relieved of the tension and unease the evening carried over him as he feared the worst for his son and daughter-in-law. Michael could sense his father’s worry and concern from just the look in his eyes, let alone a father-son hug Michael hadn’t felt in months.

Two muffled pairs of footsteps break out from down the hall—coming from Sonny and Tom as Michael and Vito pull away from each other. Vito pats Michael’s cheeks with both hands lightly, giving him another nod as he takes his seat with Michael.

Michael shifts in his chair as he sits down, intertwining his hands together upon the table as his father speaks up.

“Michael,” Vito rests the side of his face against his fingers, speaking softly. “I’ve always wanted you to carry on the legacy of the family and our business, but I’ve always supported you either way—even when you went against my wishes. I retired to our family a long time ago, so tonight, I cannot offer you advice the way a Don would, as I no longer am one, but I will offer aid as a father and as a businessman.” He gestures his free hand towards the door, knowing Sonny and Tom are to arrive at any moment. “You know your enemies far better than I.”

“I know, father. And I’m grateful for your insight.” Michael is briefly interrupted by the sound of knocking over the door. “Yeah, come in.” He raises his voice louder for his brothers to hear.

The door pushes open to reveal a rather flustered and irritated Sonny attempting to steady his temper with a solemn yet concerned Tom behind him, still in his nightrobes. The two waste no time shutting the door behind them quietly, making their way over to the table to take their seats.

“Santino, you’re a mess.” Vito points out to him, noticing his disposition and how his dress shirt has crinkled and loosely buttoned-up, hanging loosely off his shoulders. “You couldn’t let Michael’s men do their job?”

“Michael’s men.” Sonny scoffs, slouching back in his seat. “Michael’s men my ass—no offense, Mikey, but they haven’t been able to do shit so far. We can’t find ‘em.”

“So what’s Rocco been up to this entire time?” Michael raises a brow, keeping his tone calm and collected. “He has all of our men with Neri at his disposal.”

“He’s got nothing but his own dick in his hands,” Sonny mutters, clearly agitated. “I went out there to see if I could find them myself. Fuckers are either dead or hiding to only postpone the inevitable.”

“Mikey, are you alright?” Tom’s eyes flicker onto Michael’s.

Michael gives a small nod, taking out his pack of cigarettes from inside his suit jacket’s pocket. “Everyone’s fine, Tom.”

“And Victoria’s mother?” Sonny rakes a hand through his curls. “They caught that poor woman in their line of fire.”

“They did it on purpose.” Michael cuts in, slipping his cigarette in between the center of his mouth and lighting it. “We weren’t their only targets for tonight.”

“But what’s the significance of shooting Don Ferrari’s wife? She isn’t involved in the mafia anymore, is she? I mean, I knew she helped with smuggling operations back in the day, but…” Tom shrugs to himself, unable to make sense of it.

“She may not have been chosen specifically,” Michael answers, taking a small drag of his cigarette. “But I assumed they weren’t going to go down without some form of terrorization or at least one body.”

“But they failed,” Vito adds.

“They failed, but we still can’t find the bastards,” Sonny grumbles, pulling the bottle of Courvoisier cognac towards him from the table along with one of the shot glasses.

“What can you tell us, Mikey?” Tom sits up straight.

“There’s a lot I can’t tell you, Tom.” Michael leans in, eyeing both of his brothers. “That goes for the both of you. I know that’s upset you in the past, Tom, but up until today, I’ve had my reasons, and I had to make sure.” Michael holds his cigarette between his fingers, “I had to make sure I could protect both of you.”

Sonny pours himself a shot of cognac, listening with Tom, who nods back intently at Michael.

“Don’t take it the wrong way. It has nothing to do with a lack of trust or confidence, but it’s because I admire you two. You’re my brothers, and I love you.” Michael affirms, “and it’s because of that I had to keep things secret from the family. At this moment, you’re the only three that I can completely trust.”

Vito purses his lips, knowing Michael purposely excluded Fredo out but for an abundance of reasons even clear to him when he was choosing one of his sons to succeed him years ago.

“Fredo?” Michael looks back towards Vito. “Ah, he’s got a good heart, but he’s weak, and he’s stupid. This is life and death.”

Sonny grimaces, knowing he loves his brother deeply, but Michael doesn’t have to confirm to him his beliefs about Fredo because he was already under the impression himself.

“Tom, you’re my brother.” Michael places a hand over Tom’s arm. “You are. I’ve always considered you one.”

Tom takes a deep breath, troubled by the events of tonight and in a mix of emotions himself. Tearing up a little, he swallows hard. “I’ve always wanted to be thought of like a brother to you, Mikey—to the family. A real brother.”

“You’re my brother,” Michael repeats back at him softly.

“And mine, Tom.” Sonny gazes back over at him. “Since the day you came home with me."

Tom makes eye contact with Vito, who gives him a warm, reassuring smile of agreement. Sonny slides over another shot glass, this time pouring in cognac for Tom and moving it over to him.

“Sonny.” Michael redirects his attention to his older brother, taking another drag from his cigarette. “You’re gonna take over. You’re gonna be the Don.” Sonny raises his brows in intrigue as Michael continues, “if what I think has happened, has happened, I’m going to leave here tonight. I give you complete power, and with Tom—” Michael’s eyes dart over to Tom. “Over Fredo and his men, Rocco, Neri, everyone. I’m trusting you both with the lives of my wife and my children—the future of our family.”

Tom glances back down at his drink, “if we catch these guys, do you think we’ll be able to find out who's backing them up?”

“We’re not going to catch them.” Sonny shakes his head.

“He’s right.” Michael agrees, flicking off the ashes from the tip of his cigarette. “Unless I’m very wrong, they’re dead already. They were killed by somebody close to us.” Michael nods back to his father. “Someone on the inside whose very, very afraid they’ve botched it.”

“You think it’s one of your people? Neri or Rocco having something to do with it?” Tom clears his throat.

Michael exhales deeply, setting his cigarette down. “All of our people are businessmen at the end of the day, so their loyalty is based on that. One thing I learned from pop—” Michael redirects his attention to Vito “—is to try and think as the people around you think. On that basis, anything is possible. Anything.”

“What about…” Sonny grazes his teeth over his lips, uncomfortable at the very suggestion. “Victoria’s brothers? Do you suspect them?” The very question piques Vito’s interest.

“I suspect everybody at all times, Sonny,” Michael answers plainly. “As hot-headed and overzealous as Lorenzo Ferrari maybe, he would never do something so stupid. He’d never endanger himself or his own family. His thoughts are with his sister tonight, and he has enough blame to pass over me.”

“That’s ridiculous, Mikey.” Tom frowns. “Why would he accuse you of anything? Weren’t all of us potential victims, or could have been if we were in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“You’re right, Tom, but an assassin wouldn’t have to target my bedroom if he wanted to kill me.” Michael continues smoking his cigarette. “It’s clear Victoria is involved somehow. That makes it very personal to me. It’s a separate conversation I’ll be having with her father as well.”

“Victoria?” Sonny raises a brow. “What about her?”

“She’s proven more resilient than anything.” Michael grazes his tongue against his teeth. “She fired back at them mid shooting, which you can thank for leaving that blood trail.”

“Holy shit,” Sonny mutters to himself, clearing his throat. “I mean, I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but still.” Sonny pours himself another shot, taking a cigarette for himself.

“Even if she had a target painted on her back, she could handle it like the rest of us, but she won’t. I won’t allow her.” Michael’s expression falls stern. “And I certainly don’t believe I need to get into the reasons as to why not, but I’m not having the mother of my children doing Neri or Rocco’s work for them. I’m leaving it up to the two of you to let them know that as well.”

“It’s this Ricci business that keeps coming up.” Vito sighs quietly. “He would surprise us all if he wasn’t involved somehow.”

“If he’s involved, then he’d only confirm my theory that this was an inside job.” Michael’s eyes harden at the very name of Don Alphonse Ricci.

“Are you going to have him killed?” Tom takes a small sip of his cognac.

“Soon, after I know enough.” Michael nods back. “I’ll kill him myself.”

An hour has passed by since the shooting, leaving only shattered glass and chunks of drywall and furniture lying in a wake of dust. No bodies, no suspects—nothing. Michael’s men don’t falter their search, now roaming the entirety of the compound in groups of two or three with hounds, flashlights—heavily armed.

All entrances and exits to and from the compound are fully secured, including the surrounding pathways and road, yet nothing has come out of it still. Michael’s men keep their eyes now both in worry and suspicion at Rocco Lampone, who continues to lead the search.

With each passing moment that the assassins are not apprehended or found in some way, the same thoughts trickle into everyone’s minds: Someone let them out, or it’s an inside job—both very dangerous thoughts to spill out knowing that if Michael shared the same sentiment, Rocco wouldn’t see the light of day without a doubt.

Your father came in to comfort you, then his grandchildren, reassuring them about their grandmother briefly before Doctor Katherine arrived on the compound grounds. One of Michael’s private hires accompanied her for the sake of security as well as on grounds for cautious suspicion. With the Ferrari residence heavily guarded, Doctor Katherine provides your mother medical treatment and antibiotics as your father remains by her side.

Leonardo’s your only brother that didn’t nearly spend as much time with security as the others. Instead, he accepted that Rocco had failed Michael and consequently the Corleone and Ferrari families together with the inadequate search party. Whether Leonardo would tell Michael what he thought of it and his own suspicions this evening completely relied on whether Don Corleone figured enough for himself already.

Matteo had remained behind in residence, only speaking with the guards surrounding it before ushering his nieces and nephews back to sleep. He assured they were sleeping soundly and wouldn’t be disturbed before he briefly stepped out for a breath of fresh air, making small talk with the guards on updates of what was going on.

Matteo didn’t lose faith in Michael, as did neither of your brothers except for Lorenzo. Matteo, Alessio, and Leonardo believed in the wit and cunning of Don Corleone, not just as a business partner but as a brother-in-law. Whether Michael found the assassins or not mattered very little to the three; they knew Michael would easily figure out who to blame for the lack of apprehension, and so far, all eyes were on Rocco Lampone—including Al Neri’s.

Leonardo entered the Corleone family residence to ensure Niccolo and Verona that all was fine and everything was back to normal—somewhat half lies. The twins both remain defiant in that they refuse to go to sleep until they see their parents head back inside to do so, so the least Leonardo can do is remain by their side alongside Connie, whom he comforts with her head over his shoulder and a hand wrapped around her waist.

Alessio continues the patrol with Al Neri by the boat club and Michael’s yachts, leading the search over a raft by the lake. Lorenzo is the only one who remains in the center of the courtyard, just by the Corleone residence, taking a well-needed cigarette break.

Having not seen Michael for the past twenty minutes and still remembering Al Neri told you Lorenzo was looking for you, you’ve stepped out into the courtyard as well—reassured of no danger.

“Lorenzo!” You call out, approaching your brother from around your residence building.

Lorenzo turns his head to face you, surprise and disappointment sinking into his eyes at the late encounter. Lorenzo takes a small drag out of his cigarette, holding it between his fingers as he lets his arms fall to his sides.

You let out a soft sigh of relief as you stand face to face with your brother, who wastes no time wrapping his arms around you in a protective hug. “Victoria—where have you been?”

“What do you mean?” You peek your head up from his chest, hugging him back. “I’ve been with the children and Michael, just trying to sort this all out.”

“Did Michael tell you to?” Lorenzo keeps his cigarette away from your body, furrowing his brows.

“No?” You blink back in confusion.

You’re unable to say anything as else as Lorenzo sharply cuts in, nodding sternly at you. “Then don’t. This isn’t something for you to figure out. Leave it to him and his men to clean up this mess.”

“Has there ever been a mess?” You frown back at your brother, almost certain he’s not going to give you the answer you’ve eagerly been waiting for all night.

“No.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “No bodies, nothing. I can’t tell if they’re dead, sinking into the bottom of the lake, or made their way out. Either way, it doesn’t look good.”

“I know, I was—”

“No, you don’t know.” Lorenzo lowers his tone, almost scolding you in a sense. “You don’t know anything, Victoria. This is out of your area of expertise, and you shouldn’t have gotten caught up in it. Either those pieces of shit are still out here buying their time, trying to find some way to escape once they memorize the patrols’ movements, or worse—this is all an elaborate plan that got fucked up from the inside, and the assassins are walking among us. Either way, how the hell could I let my baby sister get involved?”

“You blame Rocco and his men?” You pull away from Lorenzo’s arms.

He turns his head to the side, taking another short hit from his cigarette before facing you again. “No, I blame Michael. Whether you were targeted or not too doesn’t concern me because I know damn well you wouldn’t have been if it wasn’t for Michael.”

“Lorenzo, you know this isn’t Michael’s fault.” You protest back, “do you honestly blame him? How could any of us—”

“How did anyone breach this—this fucking palace?” Lorenzo extends out his arms, scoffing loudly. “This goddamn compound makes the Godfather’s manor look like Verona’s dollhouse. He’s got men crawling in every inch of Lake Tahoe, and you still mean to excuse the fact not one but two people just casually found their way in and still weren’t noticed? They shot at you two, then our mother, and nobody noticed? Don’t you see how that doesn’t make any sense, Victoria?”

“Lorenzo—”

“No, listen to me.” Your brother shakes his head. “This whole dinner party was a farce too. A celebration of five years—five years of what? Peace? Prosperity? Happiness? Safety? That piece of shit promised me on the day of your engagement ceremony he would protect you with his life—” Lorenzo points a finger at your chest, “—keep you away from the idea of these very things. Why am I celebrating five years of his incompetence over shitty wine and chopped liver?”

“Lorenzo!” You exclaim, sharply raising your voice.

The attitude and absolute venom spitting through your brother’s voice normally would not surprise you had it not been directed specifically at Michael and Michael only. In a state of shock from how much he pours out to you in frustration and bitter hatred, you can scarcely believe the words coming out of his mouth, much less that he actually believes what he’s saying.

You scowl back at him. “Not only are you better than this, but you know better than this. That’s my husband you’re talking about; that’s the father of my children you’re talking about! What would father think if he heard this coming from you? Are you not aware of your father’s successor? One day, you can’t just come up to me mid-assassination and tell me your woes about Michael Corleone. You’re going to have to tell them to his face—”

“Then I will!” Lorenzo narrows his eyes.

“No, you won’t!” You hiss back at him, completely unaware Al Neri is listening to the entire conversation between you two. “You won’t because you’ll have gone and ruined everything father spent his entire life doing! Running molasses into Canada with the Godfather, helping him establish his olive oil business back in Sicily—they’ve been childhood friends, keeping this peace, avoiding mob wars, and strengthening our families! This personal relationship, this bond, and peace we have between each other is the only thing keeping us at each other’s throats because at the end of the day, mafia is mafia, and mafia demands blood—mafia wants power and money. It doesn’t share. It competes—it kills, and it flays alive. How much longer can you tolerate one another if the other family has more resources—more wealth and political protection than you?” You grab Lorenzo’s arm harshly, causing him to drop his shortened cigarette.

“You can’t, and you don’t, because the nature of our business—the nature of our family doesn’t allow it. Cosa nostra, Lorenzo. This is the most powerful our family has ever been, and we haven’t had to spill blood between the families in five years—not here, and not in New York. I thought you knew that was what we were celebrating tonight. That has no meaning to you? You’re so caught up in hating Michael—bickering with him—attempting to get a reaction out of him that you’re embarrassing the family! You’re no better than Santino, and there’s a clear reason why the Godfather refused him as heir. You’re not going to do this, Lorenzo.” You press your finger at the center of your brother’s chest. “Because I won’t let you. It won’t be Michael Corleone standing in your way to destroy father’s legacy because of your temper tantrums—it’ll be me.”

A painful silence fills the air between the two of you as both of you lock, bitter gazes of anger and defiance against each other. It doesn’t mark five years since Lorenzo and you had a disagreement of any nature or like this, but the first time ever.

You always had a close and warm relationship with all of your brothers equally, and you can’t remember the last time you fought or screamed at any one of them because you simply never did. They remained protective over you in a way you did over them in return. None of your brothers ridiculed or mocked you, hurt you, or doubted you.

It was Lorenzo who dropped you off on campus on your first day of law school. Lorenzo helped ease your nerves on your first day of court. Lorenzo taught you how to drive. Lorenzo bought you your first automobile the day you came home with your license. Your eldest brother supported you thick and thin through everything, as you did to him.

You supported your father’s decision to name Lorenzo his successor. Not only did you go to your father about the family business, but you held your brother to his honor and respected him, asking him next as if he was another Don. You selflessly offered to be your brother’s consigliere, or at least a personal lawyer if he saw a need to, but what you didn’t see or anticipate was his hatred towards your husband—Michael Corleone.

It feels as if the two of you stabbed each other in the front at the same time, Lorenzo’s eyes filling with disgust and disbelief. He slowly shakes his head at you—an immense disappointment sinking into his expression. “You’re just like them now, you know that? And this is what I feared. Losing my sister to the Corleone’s—having her forget whose daughter she is. Who she really is. Why do you even keep the Ferrari name, Victoria?”

The tips of your ears and the nape of your neck prickle hot as a wave of shock washed over you at his question. You purse open your lips to reply back, only to find yourself speechless.

“You’re a Corleone now, aren’t you? Michael Corleone’s lover, Michael Corleone’s lawyer. You took the idea of creating peace between the families for father so far, that what we have now isn’t peace between the families, but we’re stuck in your love triangle, and now the lines of loyalty to whom seem blurry to me. You could argue with me over a million things, but I’ll be damned if I say I expected to disagree with my baby sister about Michael fucking Corleone. What is all this, huh?”

Lorenzo’s words sting, and they hurt. It doesn’t occur to you to say anything back, not knowing how to counter the blatant disrespect to your face from the future Don Ferrari. It’s as if he spat in your face like you were his enemy, someone he looked down upon. In nothing but a brief second, Lorenzo downplayed and mocked at every moment you spent with Michael—everything you did with him and for him.

Your eyes harden to an emotionless, icy gaze that would cause Lorenzo to do a doubletake if he wasn’t so infuriated with you.

“AHHH!” A blood-curling scream cries out, causing the two of you to immediately turn your heads to where the sound is coming from—Fredo’s side of the residence.

'Deanna.' Without another word nor a glance to your brother, you turn on your heel, sprinting as fast as you can over to the sound of Deanna’s shrieking. “There’s blood on my window!!”

Seeing a couple of Michael’s men now begin to scour over Fredo’s residence like an army of ants, you notice Fredo and a security guard struggling to hold Deanna, who now wildly flings herself around.

“Deanna! Deanna, stop!” Fredo grunts, trying to catch his wife, who runs in circles around the trees.

Deanna continues hollering out for help as loose leaves cling onto her revealing, silk nightgown, threatening to slip down her shoulders. “Right—right there!”

“Deanna?! What’s going on?!” You approach her as Fredo shakes his head at you—humiliated at the sight of his wife throwing another scene in one night.

“Right out my window!” She howls back to you as Fredo and the guard grab onto both of her arms. “There’s bodies by the window! I wanna get the hell out of here!! They’re dead!”

You take a step back and grimace as Fredo hauls her back into the central residence, barely able to cling onto her as is. “GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

“Get her back inside!” Fredo calls out, and you notice him make eye contact with a figure behind you.

Spinning back, you see Lorenzo only a few feet away from you, startled by Deanna’s screams as well, but it’s not who Fredo is staring at. Turning your head to the side, your eyes widen to see Michael walking across the courtyard and over to Fredo’s residence.

When you look back, Fredo is nowhere to be found, and Lorenzo freezes into place—the nasty scowl on his face only continuing to sour at the sight of Michael. Peeking back at your husband, you find your heart beginning to race in your chest at the very sight of him, mixed with the adrenaline of Deanna crying out about bodies.

With two heavily armed bodyguards walking in front of Michael but to opposing sides and another two behind him in the same way, you notice Alessio, Leonardo and Matteo stand next to each other, a few feet of distance behind Michael—holding their firearms upward as they accompany him.

Michael’s approach is slow and lethal. He walks with one hand in his pocket, his head tilted down, and his eyes filled with vengeance and anticipation. It doesn’t take you long to figure out he’s going directly for Deanna’s bedroom window, where she proclaimed to have seen bodies and blood on her window, but not before coming right towards you.

Michael’s domineering presence remains persuasive, dangerous, intimidating like divinity in motion. His guards surrounding the area stand down, lowering their heads in allegiance and respect to the Don as he passes by them.

Niccolo and Verona peek out the window from the drawing-room, having slipped right under the curtains to take a look for themselves. Their eyes widen to see their father accompanied by their uncles—mobsters surrounding mobsters.

Niccolo watches in awe as his father makes his way by you, admiring his cool temper and determined spring in his step. “Daddy’s gonna get all the bad guys.” He whispers back to his sister, equally as surprised at the sight.

Feeling Lorenzo’s eyes burning onto yours as Michael ignores him outright, you make your way over to Michael just as he comes, joining his side much to confirm to your brother that everything he thinks of you is true.

Rocco and Al Neri join ahead with a dozen men shining their flashlights over as you all come to approach Fredo and Deanna’s bedroom window by the drains—picking up a steady pace while walking.

“Over here, there’s two of ‘em.” Rocco gestures as you all come to a stop by the sewer drains leading out to another part of the lake.

You blink to see two bodies floating in the muddy water, dressed in black suits, now drenched and still armed. As the flashlights shine over the corpses, you notice both of their thoughts are slit deeply from ear to ear, still bleeding red. It doesn’t look as if they’ve been killed that long ago, suspiciously enough.

“Looks like they were hired out of New York.” Rocco continues, making sure his men keeping shining light over the dead men. “I don’t recognize them. We won’t get anything out of them now.”

You notice Michael’s bitter expression only growing more irritated as Rocco continues to speak. He exchanges a look of annoyance with you before turning his head back to the corpses. “Fish them out.”

Two men hop in the water, first pulling the firearms off the body and tossing them aside over the dry grass before hauling up the soaked bodies. You remain still as your brothers, Tom, and Sonny take a look at their faces themselves, shaking their heads and remaining quiet.

“Hired out of New York,” Tom murmurs to himself, glancing up at Michael, who now glares at Rocco.

“And you say you just found them here?” He doesn’t even take another look at the corpses.

“Yes, sir. Fredo’s wife had been—”

Michael raises his hand to silence Rocco, refusing to hear any more. He lets out a stiff sigh, brushing him off with a gesture. “See if you can find any piece of identification over them—anything for the investigation.”

You glance back at Michael with concern growing in your eyes but notice a growing scowl in his expression as he stares back at the corpses. You remain quiet as your brothers begin talking amongst one another in hushed tones and examining the bodies up close.

Michael squeezes your hand, whispering in your ear, “see if your brothers notice anything. I want you back at the residence immediately after.”

You give Michael a quick nod back, watching Al Neri accompany him back towards the Corleone family residence without another word.

Entering the residence quietly, Michael pushes open Niccolo’s ajar bedroom door, seeing his son curled up next to his sister in two beds pushed together. Verona’s bedroom remained close to the study where your mother was shot at, and for the sake of security and safety, the nanny—Esther—had the twins spend the night in Niccolo’s bedroom further up the hallway.

Hearing it from the nanny himself as Michael had entered the residence, his eyes softened at the sight of his two children snuggled up between their blankets—only half asleep.

Assuming they’re fast asleep, Michael approaches the beds and pulls up Verona’s blanket over her before doing the same to Niccolo. Just as Michael tucks his son in, Niccolo stirs and slowly turns over on his back, waking his sister as well.

“Niccolo, Verona,” Michael whispers softly, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Verona lazily rubs her eyes, extending a small hand towards her father. Michael takes her hand into his, holding it as he gives a smile to his children, now safe and sound.

“Everything’s going to be alright.” Michael keeps his soft tone as he continues speaking with the twins. “Try to sleep, okay?” He runs a hand through Niccolo’s ruffled hair, caressing the side of Verona’s cheek next as she nods back at her father.

“Daddy…” Verona croaks quietly, her voice laced in sleep.

“It’s okay.” Michael leans in, planting a kiss over Verona’s cheek and forehead, then Niccolo’s before he pulls away. “Did you two like the dinner party?”

“We got lots of presents.” Niccolo peeps back quietly. “And food.”

“I know.” Michael runs a gentle hand through his son’s hair again, squeezing Verona’s hand lightly. “Did you like them?” He glances back at Verona.

“Yeah.” She smiles back sleepily. “I got lots of toys. But daddy, I didn’t know the people who gave them to us.”

“They were friends.” Michael nods, smoothening out their blankets. “Friends and family who love you two very much.”

“Daddy, did you get a present?” Niccolo whispers out.

Michael chuckles quietly. “Why would I need presents when I have you two?”

Verona shifts in her bed to get comfortable. “Because we can give you lots of presents too, daddy.”

Michael murmurs back to her—the smile on his face growing. “How about you two draw me a picture? It can be of anything you want. Can you do that?”

“Mhmm.” The two nod back at their father.

Michael gazes at both of his children before letting out a soft exhale. “Niccolo, Verona—I’m going to be leaving very early tomorrow, alright?”

“Can you take me with you?” Niccolo offers.

“Me too, daddy,” Verona adds.

“No, I can’t.” Michael shakes his head, holding both of the twins’ hands in his. “You both know I would if I could, but this is a little different.”

“Is mama coming with you?” Niccolo yawns, covering his mouth.

Michael rubs a thumb over his son’s hand. “Your mother’s going to be here with the two of you, and I promise I won’t stay long. It’s just going to be for a couple days.”

“Why do you have to go, daddy?” Verona asks. “Why can’t you stay with us?”

“I have to do business, sweetheart.” He answers her. “Just for a few days.”

“I could help you.” Niccolo lazily shrugs back at his father. “With the bad guys too.”

Michael gives out a soft laugh in response. “I know, and one day you will. Both of you will.” He raises the twins’ hands up to his mouth, giving them both a small kiss. “You can do something for me while I’m gone, Niccolo. Take care of your sister, alright? Take care of each other while I’m away.”

“And mama too?” Niccolo asks quietly. “Mama can take care of one hundred bad guys.”

“That she can.” Amusement twinkles in Michael’s eyes. “But everyone looks out for each other in the family, no matter what. It’s important. Bad guys or no bad guys. I want you both to try and get some sleep now, alright? It’s late.”

“Daddy.” Niccolo clutches his father’s hand. “I love you.”

“Me too, daddy.” Verona smiles, hugging her blankets. “I love you and mama.”

“I love you too, as does she.” Michael murmurs softly, kissing the twins’ forehead again as they begin to curl back up into their blankets.

Niccolo and Verona’s eyes flutter shut as their breathing relaxes, steadying as they try to drift off to sleep. Michael remains by their side, stroking both of their hair gently. Unable to get the image of bullets flying over his and your head, a wave of anger washes over him, only remedied by the sight of his children.

Vowing swift vengeance for himself and his family, Michael’s family buzzes with unanswered questions and growing suspicions. Two names cross his mind repeatedly as suspects he simply can’t ignore: Hyman Roth and Lorenzo Ferrari.

Before him, Michael sees the future of his family. He sees his two children, resembling both him and their mother. Niccolo may not know his father has noticed, but Michael’s aware of his soft imitation of his father, looking up to him as a role model, wanting to be just like him in the same way he notices his daughter’s intelligence and selflessness.

Traits Michael and you both know will aid the family business, let alone their own personal lives. Ensnared forever in his heart, Michael knows his wife and children remain to be his only weakness. Such a weakness that’s been tested tonight will be returned tenfold in pain, promised by Don Michael Corleone.

As you gaze upon the soiled corpses laid out before you without a clue as to who sent them, nor who they are, a shiver goes up your spine. Had you just remained a moment longer in bed, you’d have joined the body count, riddled with bullet holes and dead in an instant.

Once again, you’ve grazed your lips against that of death’s, but remained off of his doorstep. It’s been far longer than five years, but what about the past five years now?

'Five years.' Yet everything changed in an instant. The promises of safety, security, happiness, a fresh start from it all with the children, and expansion of the Corleone family business were only celebrated a mere few hours ago.

“Victoria?” Al Neri’s voice breaks your line of thought.

You remain crouched down, your eyes burning back at the lifeless ones of the corpses. You don’t answer Al for moments, indulging in your silence as crickets chirp around you, and you easily filter out the soft conversations your brothers have behind you.

The thought of someone only anticipating your deaths after the grand party doesn’t surprise you; rather, it intrigues you. Five years gone, five years waited. All of Michael’s enemies were wiped out one by one all that time ago—leaving only one struggling to maintain what remaining power and legitimacy he had.

'Five years too late.' You wonder if the same name has crossed Michael’s mind or even that of your brother’s. Of course, it would have. The question doesn’t lie at who did it, but rather who did this.

The blood trail left over the courtyard and outside your bedroom window is evident from the two gunshot wounds almost right next to each other on one of the men’s thighs. The cuts upon both men’s throats are almost down to the bone, completely slashed open. It looks as if one swift move sliced everything open instantly, but for someone to do the same to a second individual almost at the same time?

Your gaze flickers up to Al Neri, then Rocco’s, only carrying distrust and suspicion towards him.

“Get rid of the bodies.”

129 notes · View notes

melis-writes · 3 years

Text

Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 16 - Jealousy.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 15 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

Mending your aching heart from last night’s fight in a conversation with Connie and Mama Corleone, you come to a realization within yourself about how deeply you've fallen in love with Michael--just shy from your one year anniversary. Choosing forgiveness, Michael is as protective and sensitive as ever from your first fight, keeping you by his side at a business dinner with the Barzini's. Finally coming across Don Alphonse Ricci, you realize the mobster is anything but unfamiliar, fueling Michael's fiery jealousy with Alphonse's intentions directly pointing towards you. Finding yourself swept away in the crowd, Michael's protective jealousy flares out, only sparking an erotic desire in you from how he reassured you last night in an evening to remember.

[WARNINGS]: Bondage, squirting, hard smut, spanking.

[SUGGESTIONS]: Anons for requesting: Jealous Michael / Reader sucking on Michael's fingers / Almost getting caught having sex / Mouthing over Michael's pants in seduction / Tugging on Michael's tie only to have it around your wrists a moment later / Michael making the reader squirt for the first time / Going on a business dinner with Michael and not getting enough attention / Michael spanking the reader. 😳

[1950.]

The air in Michael’s office transforms to that of tension, confusion, and frustration, mixing in with the strong scent of cigarettes—Michael on his third in an hour. Moments ago, Clemenza delivered the news of the revelation that the Barzini family is fully sponsoring and backing up Alphonse Ricci and his title to Don—directly adding and impacting the tension and power struggle between the Barzini and Corleone family.

Don Ferrari keeps himself out of it on purpose, knowing the two families respect him and the power your crime family has deeply. He has never been interested in the politics or dynamics of it all, recognizing the family’s power and influence, but similarly to Vito Corleone, only doing what benefits his family and business—not what the other families wish to see of him.

In many ways, it’s clever of Alphonse Ricci to side with the Barzini’s, knowing they believe the Corleone’s are weakened with Vito’s semi-retirement and Michael still gaining his legitimacy. The Ricci and Barzini family are well aware the Ferrari’s are untouchable, so they strike like a viper from an unseen angle—a threat to Michael’s reputation.

Sonny rakes his hand through his curls in stress, giving out a frustrated sigh and hectically bouncing his knee as he shifts in his seat. “It feels like it was all for nothing! We killed so many of the bastards—and for what?” Sonny remains in his white beater and a loose pair of trousers—droplets of sweat beginning to form at his forehead from stress.

“It was planned, most likely.” Tom folds his hands in his lap, poised and calm as always, exchanging a look with Michael, who appears unmoved, adjusting his suit jacket. “It’s solely for a feat of power and to get back at us. He knows we’ve always been tense with the Barzini’s.”

“He’s not as stupid as he had us all believing.” Michael slips out a cigarette from his case, putting it in the corner of his mouth. “It’s the only way for him to get back at us without directly involving Don Ferrari.”

“And?” Sonny rests his chin upon his fist. “Couldn’t we technically get him involved?”

“He already knows as much as we do, Sonny,” Michael answers calmly, lighting his cigarette. “To involve him is to involve Victoria. That’s the little game Ricci is playing.”

“So, what do we do?” Sonny’s eyes look to Tom for answers. “You got anything planned, Mr. Consigliere?”

“No.” Tom purses his lips, “but we could. The best way to handle this is through diplomatic means. If we can set up an official business meeting, somewhere public, somewhere off of both of our territories and owning, it might be our only decision before we have a full-scale mob war on our hands.”

“I agree.” Michael takes out a long drag, gesturing to Tom. “In any case—can you handle it by tonight?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Tom nods, standing to his feet and smoothening out his suit. “I’ll make contact.”

“Good.” Michael leans back in his seat, watching Tom exit the office quietly.

He glances down at his burning cigarette, tapping off the ashes and taking another long drag. His eyes find a small photograph of you propped up on his desk as smoke escapes from his lips.

The black and white image of you taken a month ago remains to be the only portrait over Michael’s desk—showing you beaming happily, your head cocked back and eyes on the camera—perfectly capturing your smile and features. It provides a much needed relief and distraction to a consistently frustrated Michael, who's not forgotten the fight between the two of you last night.

“Trouble in paradise?” Sonny speaks up, noticing Michael’s disposition.

Michael pauses for a moment, his eyes landing on the corner of his table before he spins his chair to face Sonny directly, holding his cigarette between two fingers. “I need you to be honest with me about something, Sonny.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

Michael’s eyes glaze over with sternness as he spins his chair to face his older brother. “Someone was in here—whether it was recently or not doesn’t concern me.”

“What? In your office?” Sonny raises his brows in curiosity. “I don’t see anyone hangin’ around your office but you and Tom, Mike.”

“That’s exactly what I thought you’d say.” Michael takes another drag from his cigarette. “I don’t have a timeframe to work with, but this?” He nudges his bookshelf behind him with his elbow. “They went through this—my own personal belongings, things that were supposed to be thrown out, kept private.”

Sonny’s eyes scour Michael’s sour expression before he comes to an understanding. “Damn, Mikey—what the hell did they take that’s got you like this? Surely not some goddamn junk in there or a book?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Michael’s eyes focus on the knob of the drawer upon the shelf. “My old wedding photographs with Apollonia—someone took them.”

“The fuck?” Sonny knits his brows, looking over to Michael’s bookshelf. “And for—” He stops himself, glancing at your smiling portrait upon his desk once more.

Michael narrows his eyes, never leaving them off of the knob as he runs every possible name and face through his mind who could have had access to his office and knew where to look with the intent.

‘It would have to be someone who not only had access to the office but stayed here. Perhaps even came by, but also was close enough to Victoria to put it in her belongings yesterday. Could it have occurred all in the same day, or were the photographs deliberately taken beforehand?’

“So, you can imagine how my wife would have reacted to someone slipping her my old wedding photographs from Sicily, yes?” Michael faces Sonny once more—his temper still growing and fresh from last night.

Sonny shakes his head in disbelief, “you know it wasn’t me. I didn’t even know those were in there.”

“You weren’t here.” Michael muses, smoking the rest of his cigarette. “But it was someone who was—someone who knew.”

“Have you talked to Kay about it?” Sonny suggests back.

Michael scoffs quietly, putting out his shortened cigarette. “Kay doesn’t even know herself. Had she found out, don’t you think her reaction would be entirely something else? I refuse to see her.”

“Wish she could say the same about you, eh?" Sonny shrugs. “Why not?”

“I have work to do.” Michael rests his arms down upon the sides of his seat. “It would be inappropriate for us to see each other now, to begin with. I want her completely out of my life.”

“You gotta admit, though…” Sonny scratches the back of his head, “it’s like every time she’s been her or trying to see you, you can’t help but sometimes wonder if she has some sort of ulterior motive or an underlying factor about why she acts the way she does. I mean, she’s a grown woman—she needs to see what she’s been doing is wrong.”

“She’s a homewrecker, Sonny.” Michael hears footsteps beginning to approach his office door. “I’ve nothing more to say about her on the matter.”

With that, Tom pushes open the office door. “All done, Mike.” He puts his hands up with a sigh. “I was able to arrange a business dinner for tonight with the Barzini’s. They definitely want to see you. I knew the day would come where we’d inevitably cross their paths—but not so soon.”

“This could be a good idea, though.” Sonny looks over to Tom for confirmation before switching his gaze to Michael’s.

Tom nods slowly. “But have no doubt the Barzini’s will bring Alphonse Ricci with them—mentioned or not.”

“They want to talk diplomacy on their terms with Alphonse Ricci present?” Michael pushes aside his ashtray. “And they won’t think for a second that I wouldn’t hesitate to kill him?”

“They know you could, but you won’t.” Tom points out. “That’s why it’s a good idea to get a truce in before it’s too late. You must be careful in terms of betrayal and tensions. If anything, all are hostile, but they would be incredibly stupid to pull something off there.”

“It’ll be a public meeting too,” Sonny comments.

Michael remains unmoved, pondering his father’s words for a brief moment as his mind goes back to the twins and you before he comes to a nod. “I suspected as much. There’s nothing else we can do. Let them play their little games, and I’ll join in. The Barzini’s are using this as leverage against me.”

“The question is if you’re going to continue the family’s criminal enterprises or are you going to turn strictly to business.” Tom counsels. “That will tell them everything.”

“I’m going to do both.” Michael decides. “I’ll buy them out, and I’ll kill them out if I have to. They’ll have nothing over me. I can legitimize the Corleone name through business and gain power over the Barzini’s as long as I have Ricci fooled I’m on his diplomatic terms.”

“And as for Carlo?” Sonny gets off his seat, waiting for approval.

“He dies. We’ve kept him alive for far too long to begin with.” Not an inkling of remorse or sympathy remains in Michael’s tone, marking Carlo’s death. Michael rises to his feet—his eyes cold without emotion. “Kill him. Tonight.”

“And…Connie?” Tom blinks back as Michael stands before the doorway, turning his head to the side.

“As I told you before, Connie will be my problem, so as long as you keep it clean.” Without another word, Michael makes his way out of the office, turning to the spiral stairs as he smooths out the sides of his slicked-back hair carefully with his hands, heading towards the foyer of the manor.

“Sometimes what a girl needs is one on one time, hmm? Red wine or champagne, dear?” Mama Corleone holds up two different bottles.

“Champagne, please.” You pick out, raising your empty glass.

“Even your alcohol choices have taken after Michael, huh?” Connie takes the red wine from Carmela, gladly pouring herself a full glass.

You giggle back quietly, “what can I say? It’s been a while—thank you, mama.” You pull back your glass, raising it up to your lips.

“Oh!” Carmela blinks at you, watching as you take all of it down immediately, placing your empty glass back down on the table.

Connie stares at you in shock, exchanging glances with Carmela before pointing at the empty glass in disbelief. “That quickly, huh?”

“Don’t ask.” You murmur, holding your hand up. “That’s my limit for tonight. I don't even think Michael has an entire glass for himself.”

“Says the guy who smokes, smokes, and smokes.” Connie playfully rolls her eyes, taking a small sip of her wine. “Does that bother you at all?”

You pause for a moment, considering it before giving a loose shrug of your shoulders. “Honestly, I think I’d be lying if I said it didn’t.”

“I agree.” Carmela shakes her head in disapproval. “But with the stress the boy is under, I can’t say too much. I’d rather that than a worse habit to pick up on—like alcohol, or worse.”

“Like?” You tap your fingernails against the rim of your glass.

“Whatever Sonny and Fredo are on.” Connie carefully sets her glass down. “Am I right?”

“Oh, no.” Carmela frowns at Connie, “not prostitutes.”

“Yeah, I’ll let him smoke.” You mutter under your breath, resting your chin upon your fist.

“Honey, what’s gotten into you?” Connie reaches over, shaking your arm a little. “Don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise.”

'Paradise.' You almost cringe at the thought, knowing you left home this morning with a maid waiting by the door—having made your home, your piece of paradise, into a mess from last night, sprawled and covered in glass.

“Unless…?” Her eyes widen a little as she glances at your bandaged hand, “that is…?”

“My own stupid doing, like I said.” You groan back in annoyance, beginning to unravel the bandage over your cut. “I’m sorry—I don’t know. I don’t want to drag everyone down in this conversation.”

“No, no—darling, don’t think like that!” Carmela pouts, her eyes also growing at the sight of the fresh, healing cut on the side of your hand. “What happened to you, my dear? You can talk to us about anything you’d like! We’re not here to judge.”

Tears threaten the corners of your eyes as you shrug back at her, resting your hand upon the table gently. “I fought with Michael.”

A frown forms over Carmela’s lips as Connie’s face falls, hoping to herself the cut is just an accident of some sort, not inflicted during the mentioned fight.

Your voice breaks as you struggle to explain, tears spilling. “Why did nobody tell me about Apollonia?”

“Apollonia…?” Carmela glances over at a saddened Connie for a moment before sighing softly to herself.

“Oh, he told you?” Connie lowers her voice, placing her hand gently over yours. “Is that why?”

“No!” You cry out, shaking your head. “I did! I found out—by…by their wedding photographs. Somebody put it in my bag—and I—”

Carmela looks appalled, remembering seeing the photographs herself when Michael returned from Sicily years back along with the news of her death; the photographs never to be seen again.

“Somebody put it in your bag?” Connie knits her brows. “How would they even--"”

“Yeah, I’m not worried about that part, ironically.” You sniffle, forcing yourself not to cry. “Because I’m too busy trying to accept that my own husband kept his previous marriage away from me—I had to find out like some dirty, second whore of his—”

“Victoria!” Carmela gasps, “don’t ever refer to yourself like that, darling! I thought Michael would at least have—”

“Would he, though?” Connie squints her eyes, holding her wine glass up to her lips. “Would he really, mama?”

Carmela sighs loudly, rubbing reassuringly at your arm. “I’m sorry, my dear. We should have—“

“It wouldn’t make a difference.” You interrupt, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I had to hear it from him, mama. Only him. And he didn’t tell me.”

“Please tell me he actually sat down and talked you through it.” Connie cringes, waiting eagerly for your answer. “That he at least found some way to make it up to you?”

You nod, covering your face with both of your hands—showing a perfect view of the deep, reddened cut on your arm. “That’s why I hate this. He completely lied to me! He told me after we married that he wouldn’t lie to me about his past—that he explained everything already! I hate it. I shouldn’t feel this way, b-but my heart still hurts. It hurts!”

“Then let it.” Carmela comforts, pulling your hands down and holding them within hers. “If it hurts, let it. Why hold yourself back on how you feel? Did you really expect yourself to get over something like that so quickly, my dear?”

“I don’t know what I expected—not your son to be a liar, for starters.” You hiccup back, refusing to look her in the eye.

“Michael is a lot of things, but unloving is not one of them.” Connie consoles back, “at times, he can be very reserved—secretive almost. Sicily hardened him—”

“I bet it did.” You almost spit back, feeling anger growing over your heartache. “I bet Sicily did a lot of things.”

"Do you doubt how he feels for you?” Carmela raises a brow at you. “You’re comparing yourself to his previous marriage, aren’t you?”

You look her in the eye, refusing to answer as your bottom lip quivers.

“Victoria, listen…” Connie takes a deep breath. “Even I struggle to read my brother—my own brother. I’ve known him my entire life, and yet even I can see clearly see the love between the two of you. He’s enamored with you, whether he admits it or not.”

“He actually asked to see you several times before you two were engaged, you know?” Mama Corleone grazes her thumb ever so gently across your cut. “Everyone felt the chemistry between you two, Victoria. Everyone. Michael’s love can be unconventional at times, but it’s unconditional. He has a different way of showing it, but if anything, it’s genuine. It’s genuine for you.”

“I love him…” Your throat tightens as a single tear slides down your cheek, soaking into the tablecloth. “I love him so much, I don’t even…I don’t know what I would do without him. It hurts. It hurts to love him this much. Just the thought—as wrong as it is, just the little thought at that moment—to think I was the other woman, a second option—was unbearable.”

Mama Corleone squeezes your hands, fighting back tears of her own. “I know, I know…”

“I can look past it—I can.” You grab at your napkin, wiping at your wet cheeks. “I can forgive him—I will, it just…it hurts. I never thought he’d lie to me or keep anything from me. No, I still don’t understand it, and that’s why it hurts.”

“Victoria…” Connie begins, her expression growing serious as she lowers her tone. “You’re his wife, his family, the mother of his children. You have no idea what place you hold in his heart. Forget Sonny and Fredo—he’d never do anything like that to you.”

“You need to be patient with him, sweetheart.” Carmela agrees, nodding. “Michael’s never been good at expressing his emotions. He never opens up. He never reveals his vulnerable side to anybody, so I believe he retains what he can to avoid doing so. He hates nothing more than looking back at his past. Do you believe he loves you?”

You nod shakily, coughing into your napkin. “I do. I just like hearing it from him—I don’t know. It’s something about the reassurance… You see, he’s always like this.” You put the scrunched-up napkin down, pointing at your lips and making an emotionless expression.

Connie giggles before glancing at Carmela’s concerned expression, quieting down.

Your mind flashes back to how his dark eyes had almost burned into you with a fiery gaze during your fight, demanding you listen to him.

'It’s like not only have I fallen in love with him, but also his violence.'

“You were going to leave?” Mama Corleone covers her mouth, her eyes matching yours in sadness.

“With the rest of my dignity, yes.” You squeeze your eyes shut. "Yes, I have places to go, then I would take the babies and leave him.” You inhale shakily, your eyes fluttering open. “I remembered everything. The way it felt when he touched me for the first time, how he slipped my engagement ring over my finger… How I got lost in his eyes and voice when he spoke to me, down to the way he looked at me at the aisle. So if I was the other woman—I most definitely had to have been blessed to experience all of that.”

“What did you tell him?” Connie chews on her fingernail, listening intently to you.

“I told him he broke my heart.” You gaze longingly at the tablecloth before you. “I blamed him for everything—the whole time I was scared of the possibilities those photographs held. I didn’t know what to think. I overreacted, as usual. I demanded every answer in the world—I didn’t even get a chance to let him speak.” You place your hand over your heart, “I can’t even explain the pain I felt… I swear, I thought my heart was going to rip out of my chest.”

“For a heartache like that, he needs to spend the rest of his life making it up to you.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what he said.” You crack a smile at Connie. “He reassured me, he did. We spent the night in each other’s embrace—he told me everything and more. That’s why I feel awful—I should have gotten over it, but whenever I still think about it, my heart just swells up. I’m sorry.” You take a deep breath, cleaning up your face. “I just wanted to enjoy a drink or two with you, and I just went and ruined it anyway.”

“Stop apologizing!” Carmela exclaims, smacking at your arm. “This is what we’re here for, my dear! To listen to you, to help you. Please—be open with us! We’re always here for you. I love you like a daughter of my own—I really do. I don’t need to see Michael smiling and laughing to tell you happy you make him, you know that? The relief that’s off his shoulders to know he has someone like you unconditionally by his side?”

“Why don’t you ever give yourself some credit, Victoria?” Connie adds. “You honestly think your love is one-sided? That he doesn’t love you as much as you love him? You’re his world. You’re his escape from everything.”

You bite down on your lip, letting the warmth of your memories with Michael begin to wash over your thoughts. “I love him…” You breathe out, “I love him so much, I do. That’s what I know.”

“Victoria Ferrari, do you take Michael Corleone to be your husband?” .

Your heart yearns and aches for Michael Corleone—his presence, touch, voice—all of him. You can think of no other, crave no other, and want no other as much as him. You give in completely, wanting to get lost in him, wanting every inch of him selfishly to yourself. Drawn to him like a moth to a flame, the passion behind your desire and love for him is unmatched, almost inconceivable as to how strong it is.

His eyes, dark as obsidian, how they scour over your body—a demanding possession behind them. The beckoning—the tease behind his voice, laced with love and seduction. The touch of his skin against yours—fire flowing through your veins as your body begs for his affection.

”Although your heart hurts, it demands to know him more, to love him more than you ever have. It accepts forgiveness, and it seeks the answers that remain upon your ring finger.

“You two make a beautiful couple, sweetheart.” Carmela croons softly at you, Connie nodding in agreement, “the love between you two is the clearest thing I’ve ever seen, but love on its own is not enough. It never is. Without trust, communication, understanding, and forgiveness, love doesn’t matter. I’ve seen many couples on the brink of failing their marriage—having children to fill the empty gaps of their relationships and then ruining their lives as well. I don’t see that with the two of you—I see clarity, I see compassion. My son, if anything, is straightforward. We as women often think we have to chase after the answers we want, but we don’t. I know things have changed for you, my dear. I know you entered a completely different world—prepared or not. You may be living in Michael’s world, but it’s yours too. Why do you hesitate?”

You clear up your face, taking a deep breath. “The love and attraction I have towards him sometimes takes over me—intimidates me. If anything, I’m the speechless one. My emotions get the better of me sometimes. I’ve never experienced anything like this, mama.”

“Forgive him, Victoria. Let your heart heal—choose to forgive. Choose to understand, to resolve. Forgive him. I know my son well. He will never do this to you again. Take his word for it—take his promises to heart. And if you need to cry, then so be it. Cry, and let him know you’re hurting. He’s your husband—it’s your pain, but it’s his to mend.” Mama Corleone sympathizes.

“Victoria!” Connie whispers urgently, gesturing with her head over to the Corleone manor as you notice the light to the foyer by the courtyard’s entrance has been turned on. “Think he’s here!”

You blink, quickly rising to your feet and brushing off your evening dress, cracking a smile at the two. “I’ve been waiting—thank you. I don’t know why but…” You let out a shaky, relieved breath, “I feel my heart a little at ease. Thank you, Connie—and mama.”

“You’ve got it.” Carmela gives you a reassuring wink. “You’re a strong woman, Victoria. Things will only start to look up from here.”

“You bet they will.” Connie grins back at you, gesturing her hand towards the door. “Go on! Go see him!”

“Okay, okay!” You can’t shake off the sudden jolt of excitement going through you, no longer feeling the persistent, heavy aching of your heart inside of your chest as the last of your tears have dried up and the redness in your eyes faded.

Stepping into the foyer and quietly closing the door behind you, you catch Michael walking off the last few steps of the spiral staircase, only remaining a short distance from him. You find yourself biting on your lip once more, your heart skipping a beat as he raises his head to spot you.

Dressed in an impeccable, sharp, black suit—a favorite of yours—with the matching tie that both compliments and brings attention to his dark eyes. The silence of the Corleone manor breaks with his footsteps with his approach to you.

Your eyes find Michael’s looking right back at you, causing you to immediately blush.

“Michael.” You step into the center of the foyer, noticing much to your surprise how his stern expression breaks, softening a little.

He wraps his arm around your waist, pressing a kiss upon your cheek. “Darling.”

“Everything went well?” You smile shyly at him. You notice his ever-stern expression now returning to his face.

Michael purses his lips. “We won’t know until later tonight. Get dressed; Tom was able to secure us a meeting tonight with the Barzini’s.” He gestures at you, “business calls, and they’re expecting full Corleone hospitality tonight.”

“What?” You blink in surprise. “Already? Why are you taking me?”

“Because you’re my wife—why wouldn’t I?” He answers plainly, merit in his voice. “And you will let me know if you like the hotel we’ll be at tonight so I can buy it out for you.” He motions at you, insisting. “I already have something picked out for you.”

“Nothing provocative then?” You flush red at the suggestion, feeling his hand squeeze down on your hip as he gives your figure a cautionary glance up and down.

"I know all eyes will be on you regardless, as beautiful as you are.” His eyes momentarily gaze over your breasts. “Get dressed, darling. You have thirty minutes.”

Feeling flustered and embarrassed, you give him a nod, watching as he swiftly turns on his heel and continues off towards the front entrance of the Corleone manor. You notice Michael's men already by the door making quiet conversation and smoking as the headlights of the carpool flash through the window, pulling into the driveway.

Quickly making your way up the stairs, you walk off down the hallway, hearing the faint sound of Tom making a phone call from Michael’s office with Sonny by his side.

You enter your shared bedroom with Michael in the manor, barely able to close the door as the dress laid upon the bed immediately catches your eye.

It appears Michael’s been paying attention to your wardrobe as of late. The gown across from you is anything but plain to blend into the crowd. A satin piece, as many of your favorites are, the crimson dress flatters in its ravishing shade of red, affixed with a v-neck in its off-the-shoulder style that wraps around the back.

Approaching it, you run your hands down the smooth fabric, pleasantly surprised. It reminds you of a similar black gown you wore to your engagement ceremony almost a year ago. You can’t wipe the appreciative smile off of your face as you strip down to your bra and panties, carefully slipping into the dress.

Glancing at your figure in the mirror, you smoothen out the front and adjust the gown over your shoulders. It hugs your breasts, stomach, and hips perfectly, flowing down your legs in a perfect mermaid style.

You snap off your hair tie, keeping your hair in a Bohemian bun as you give your head a little shake, letting your tousled locks free. You take a seat at your vanity, grabbing at your hairbrush and running it along with your fingers through your hair, styling it down your shoulders.

Keeping an eye on the time, you pop open your jewelry case, picking out the dazzling gold set of jewelry Michael gifted you during your engagement without hesitation. It adorns your neck perfectly, matching with the scarlet color of your gown.

Garnet red lipstick to match and a dash of dark eyeliner to bring out your eyes, you pull open your wardrobe lastly, finding a matching set of stilettos from your other evening gowns as you slip into them. Feeling refreshed and ready, you peek momentarily out the bedroom window, providing you a perfect view of the front of the Corleone manor.

Sonny leans his back against the carpool, making some kind of expressive conversation with his hands to Tom with Michael nowhere to be found.

You waste no time exiting the bedroom and cautiously walking back down the hall to the stairs. The feeling of five-inch stilettos upon your heels and the tips of your toes is a little foreign at first after months of flats and comfort. With Michael’s gift of the gown, you feel a rush of pleasant confidence returning to you, spotting your husband remaining by the end of the staircase.

Hearing your heels click upon the steps, he turns to face you—his dark eyes immediately gazing over your dress in approval. “There you are.”

“You got this for me?” You blush, taking his hand as he extends it to you.

“Surprised?” You almost catch a faint smile upon his lips. “An early anniversary gift—you haven’t been out with me like this for months.”

“Thank you, baby.” You gush back, clutching onto his arm. “I love it. Though I’m not sure if this is what I had in mind when you said nothing too flashy.” You giggle.

Michael's eyes find your matching earrings and necklace—a hint of amusement crossing his expression. “As a Corleone wife, you wear nothing but the finest.” He leads you out towards the entrance.

“I’m surprised anyone there wants to see me.” You peek at him, lacing your arm with his as your chauffeur opens up the passenger door to the car.

“Lately, all everyone wants to do is see you.” Michael lets you sit in and get comfortable first.

“What do you mean?” You peep back, carefully gathering at the fabric of your dress as the door closes.

“It means I want you close to me tonight, understood?” Michael places a protective hand over your thigh as he glances over to the chauffeur, signaling for him to start driving.

Your breath hitches at his touch, finding his thumb grazing the side of your thigh, both possessing and demanding.

“Now, I’ll give you a rundown as to how everything is going to go tonight.” Michael begins, leaning in closer to you. “The Barzinis aren’t here to gamble a little and enjoy conversation over a sip of wine.”

“They never are.”

“They’ll leap at the opportunity to get your opinion, and I don’t want you in harm’s way. It's paramount you keep everything at a formality, and all will be fine. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You nod back shyly.

“Good.” For a second, his eyes warm back to yours as he pecks a small kiss upon your lips, resting his head back against the car seat. “Then the evening will go as smooth as possible.”

“Stressed, baby?” You place your hand over the top of his.

Michael leans his elbow against the car door, gazing out the window as he gives out a slight nod. “Not about tonight. It’s irrelevant.”

“Why?” You question on, “how could that ever be irrelevant? If you’re stressed, you’re…” You pause as he glances back at you.

Caution remains behind Michael's eyes as he examines your expression against his. “I just want you to be alright.”

You feel your heart sink into the pit of your stomach, coming to a realization as to what he’s talking about.

“He’s your husband—it’s your pain, but it’s his to mend.”

“I’m fine, Michael, really.” You smile back up at him, feeling a rush of warmth from his concern towards you, only bolstered by the conversation you had with Mama Corleone and Connie.

“I appreciate that.” Michael raises your hand up to his mouth for a kiss. “But what I can’t appreciate is you lying to me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Ti ho detto di non mentirmi, Victoria.” (I told you not to lie to me.) You feel your heart race as he gently sets your hand down, staring back out the window without another word.

You clasp your hands together in your lap, forcing your eyes down and trying to get your emotions in check. l?

The rest of the car ride remains utterly silent between the two of you—not another word exchanged. Michael keeps a steady gaze on the road, often looking at the window and glancing at his watch.

Even in silence, you can tell something is clearly bothering Michael, but it’s more of a hidden agitation rather than the sadness you feel deep down.

With Sonny, Tom, and Fredo following in the vehicle behind, the cars pull up to the side entrance of the hotel, heavily guarded with security. You notice by looking out the window as the chauffeur parks that another two black vehicles are parked ahead, surrounded by a few bodyguards.

'The Barzini’s must be here, but the second car…?' Based on his temper, Michael appears fixated on business matters only—there isn’t an ounce of friendliness to rub off on him.

Michael steps out of the car first, taking your hand to aid you out with a protective arm around your waist as the two of you enter the hotel. You turn your head back as you hear Sonny and Tom making quiet conversation; Tom’s eyes catching yours as he gives you a warm smile, calming your nerves.

Fredo lingers by the two, an emotionless expression over his face and his eyes almost looking through yours as you accidentally make eye contact.

As soon as you all enter through the lobby and into the grand dining room, music and an air of liveliness hit you all at once as your eyes examine the massive space in front of you.

Hundreds of guests remain seated at private tables, chatting and dining away—luxurious chandeliers hanging over their heads and waiters at every corner ready to serve champagne on trays.

“Fucking Johnny Fontane is here too?” Sonny groans, pulling your attention to the male figure softly singing “I Have But One Heart” to the swooning group of females by the front tables.

Tom chuckles quietly, nudging him with his elbow. “Where he’s wanted, he will be found.”

Michael largely ignores the conversation between his brothers, leading you all up to a rather sizeable empty table marked with the Corleone family name on one side and the Barzini name on the other.

He pulls out a chair for you, gesturing down as you sit, scooting in as you watch Tom and Fredo do the same.

“Hey! What’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?!” Sonny waves over at a nearby waiter, snapping his finger and skipping on over.

Energized by the crowd and light-hearted air around you, you find yourself relaxing as you look upon Michael—who matches his brother Fredo in coldness. His eyes are narrowed as he carefully looks upon the room, his body language staying poised and calm.

You exchange a look with Tom, who still smiles back at you, giving you a little shrug of his shoulders. In a way, he reminds you it’s just business, and Michael isn’t here to play.

You’re about to put your head down and focus on the waiter coming over with Sonny filled with a tray of drinks until you see Michael straighten out his suit jacket, taking a few steps forward to the men that approach him from the other side of the room.

“Che bello vederti, Don Corleone.” (Good to see you). Emilio Barzini, along with his consigliere and younger brother Ettore arrive, fake smiles upon their faces as they take turns shaking hands with Michael and exchanging brief greetings.

Sonny sips at his champagne, exchanging looks with Fredo as he quietly takes his seat.

“Allo stesso modo, Emilio.” (Likewise). You notice Michael’s tense muscles beginning to relax strangely enough at the sight of Emilio Barzini and his men. He no longer keeps looking around them or behind his shoulder, almost as if he’s expecting someone else.

“Don Barzini, prego si sieda.” (Please have a seat). Tom speaks out, his Sicilian catching you by surprise.

“Signora Corleone, è un piacere.” (Mrs. Corleone, it’s nice to meet you). Emilio extends a hand to you as his men sit on their side of the table. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Ciao.” (Hello.) You politely shake his hand, feeling Michael’s protective eyes lingering over yours as Don Barzini finally takes his seat.

“Ah…” Emilio Barzini grabs a glass of champagne off the waiter’s tray, giving it a long sip before he smiles at everyone. “I hope you don’t mind we were only a few moments late, Don Corleone. I’ve looked to have this meeting for quite some time now.”

“Not at all.” Michael remains completely unbothered, keeping direct eye contact as he takes his seat next to you. “The Corleone family has been anticipating it.” In reality, Michael feels relieved at the lack of Alphonse Ricci’s presence, still keeping his ground and paranoia to a minimum.

He fakes his calm disposition and business mannered talk, knowing he wants nothing more than to end this dinner by firing a single bullet between Emilio’s eyebrows, then repeating the same favor to the rest of his men. Michael decides to squeeze out as much as he can from the Barzini’s before he inevitably calls the order for Emilio’s execution. ‘For the sake of business…’

“Our—shall I say—mutual friend is just making his rounds up with Johnny Fontane, so he will be a moment.” Barzini looks rather pleased with himself at the statement.

You feel as if the air around you becomes almost suffocating—noticing how not only Emilio Barzini himself but his brother and consigliere’s eyes continuously fall on yours, primarily mixed with curiosity and admiration.

Michael takes a small sip of his champagne as Tom gestures for the waiter to pick up the letter at the center of the table reading their names—also having their special reservation and orders upon it for dinner.

It doesn’t take you long to notice a wave of familiar anger growing in Michael’s eyes, his muscles tensing up once more.

In an instant, Michael glares at something behind you, pressing his hand over top of yours rather harshly. You grip your hand over your glass of champagne, remaining still as he rises to his feet, greeting somebody.

“Scusate, ho dovuto occuparmi di una cosa, così sono arrivato un po' tardi.” (Sorry, I had to take care of something, so I arrived a little late.) You hear a deep voice chuckle out.

Michael’s eyes remain ice-cold as he shakes the mystery man’s hand. “Mi fa piacere che tu ti sia unit a noi.” (I’m glad you joined us.)

“Alphonse! Welcome.” Emilio grins, extending out his champagne glass to greet him. “Dealing with that rich kid Fontane, eh?”

'Alphonse Ricci.' You feel your heart pound in your chest at the sound of his name and voice, reliving some faint sensation of déjà vu.

“I’ve commissioned him another song, at last, Don Barzini.” He jokes, taking a step to the side—revealing himself to you. “And who's this?”

You raise your head, locking eyes with the Sicilian man before you. He seems utterly familiar as if you’ve seen his face not once but several times—perhaps likening his features to someone else. His voice is nothing you recognize, but the way his eyes gaze upon you is as if you’re nothing but a pleasant surprise to him.

“My wife, Victoria Corleone,” Michael speaks out for you, clasping your hand underneath the table tightly.

“Mrs. Corleone… The prosecutor, and daughter of Don Ferrari, isn’t that right? Pleasure.” He takes your free hand off the table, planting a kiss upon your knuckles. “And Don Corleone, please forgive my tardiness. It has truly been too long. I wished to see you much earlier, but ah, business calls.”

“Speaking of business…” Michael pushes his champagne glass aside, pausing as the waiters return to serve at the table.

You shiver at the touch of his lips against your skin, pulling your hand back as he takes his seat—relatively relaxed and confident about himself in front of both Michael and the Barzini’s.

Michael's eyes are filled with nothing but venom as he stares back at Alphonse Ricci—months of built-up rage and intense detestation inside of him, concealed with an empty, stern stare you know he masks everything with.

The waiters serve the table with a variety of Italian delicacies for the evening. Bottarga—Sicilian style caviar, a hearty lasagna, and Fiorentina steak lay out upon everyone’s plates, an extra glass placed by each of you—filled with a finely aged Italian wine.

“Yes.” Alphonse folds his hands upon the table with a nod towards Michael. “Let’s talk business.”

You’ve never felt yourself this disinterested in a formal evening in your life, having gone to plenty since you could walk with your family. The air around you seems stiff and calculated, while guests sitting around and behind you appear to be having the night of their lives.

It’s an uncomfortable and confusing environment. You block out the conversation Michael, Emilio and Barzini have—relatively uninterested by mentions of the drug trade, Italian territories, and the Corleone olive oil business.

Michael speaks out as if he’s reading from a script, merciless in how he forms his words. He’s quick to speak back and stand his ground, defending his point of view and clearly raising his concerns across with Tom and Sonny.

At any given chance, you notice Alphonse’s eyes landing on you over and over again. It’s as if he’s examining you rather than a lewd, greedy gaze, and his expression constantly turns to that of confusion. He seems as if he’s about to ask you something each time his eyes return to yours, and he makes it obvious he enjoys your presence at the table.

None of it goes unnoticed by Michael, who doesn’t take his eyes off of his rivals for a moment, not even while he’s cutting into his steak.

“It’s rather simple.” Alphonse clears his throat, coming to his conclusion. “We want to get into the narcotics business just as the Ferrari’s have. As you know, Virgil Sollozzo was rather…unsuccessful with his efforts towards the Corleone family.”

“You may do as you wish, but don’t expect support from me,” Michael replies plainly.

“You seem largely disinterested in what appears to be a large gain, Don Corleone. Surely this is not hypocrisy?” Emilio Barzini raises a curious brow. “Surely, Don Ferrari has made you a lucrative offer.”

You knit your brows, picking up on the conversation. “My father has done no such thing.”

All eyes fall upon yours, the table growing silent as Tom presses his lips together, picking up on the tension about to unfold. You can almost feel Michael’s disapproving gaze upon you as you continue to speak out.

“If you want to do such business, I recommend you take this matter to him, not the Corleone family, but you’ll ultimately be wasting your time.”

“Oh?” Emilio glances at both Alphonse and Michael. “Don Corleone, it appears you’ve found yourself the perfect, Sicilian mob wife. Unavoidable, as Don Ferrari’s daughter, of course.”

Michael takes a cigarette out from his case, lighting it and ignoring Emilio’s comment. “She’s right, you know.”

“Please elaborate, Mrs…Corleone.” You feel Alphonse’s eyes land upon you expectantly again.

“You’re at a dead-end, it seems.” Michael takes a drag of his cigarette. “Don Ferrari controls all the major ports for smuggling. Nothing gets in or out without a word from him, and the first and only time he came looking for allies was when he partnered with my father.”

“So you’re business partners?” Alphonse presses on.

“Yes.” Michael taps the ashes off of his cigarette and onto his ashtray, “and you can consider this…” He gestures his hand out to the room, mentioning the hotel specifically, “new expansion of Moe Greene’s reputation from Nevada bought by the Corleone family.”

You immediately notice Fredo’s face turning to a scowl.

“This shit hole of a hotel for the Corleone family?” Alphonse chuckles, shaking his head. “Why on earth would you want to make such an investment?”

“He has no true power in New York. I do. My father bankrolled his business in Nevada. We made him who he is. I’ll be the one to control it now.” Michael states.

“Well then…” Emilio snaps his finger to the nearby waiter, holding up his empty wine glass. “All the best to you Don Corleone. You convinced me today that you’re a cunning businessman. Your disinterest in narcotics only pleases me.”

You nudge at Michael under the table gently, attempting to grab his attention. The tension between everyone, now adding Fredo’s apparent disinterest and disapproval feels almost unbearable. You want to tell Michael you wish to excuse yourself, but no matter how much you tug at him, he refuses to look over at you.

“Excuse me.” You mutter quietly, rising from your seat without so much as looking back at the table as you make your way off towards the crowd, unable to take any more of the stuffy conversation.

Just a few steps away from your table results in you getting lost among hundreds of guests who make their way over to chat with one another, take to the bar, and join each other in dance as Johnny Fontane remains on the microphone dragging out a love song.

You spin around, trying not to bump into the dancing couples as you catch Sonny from the corner of your eye. Having gotten up from the table as well, he fixes a broad smile upon his face by the cocktail waitresses, placing a hand over Carlo’s back and grabbing his attention.

Surprised to see him here as well, you watch as Sonny fake laughs, grabbing two bottles of champagne from the bar and leading a clearly drunken Carlo out to the side exit of the hotel, leaving your sight.

“I have but one heart, this heart I bring to you…” You hear Johnny Fontane’s voice growing louder towards you as you struggle to find space within the packed crowd. “I have but one heart to share with you…”

You gasp, feeling a hand tugging on your shoulder as you spin around, finding yourself swept up in Johnny Fontane’s arms, causing a nearby group of women to squeal. “I have but one dream that I can cling to…”

Using his free hand, he takes yours and spins you around in a dance, serenading out, “you are the one dream I pray comes true…”

“Is he bothering you, darling?” The deep voice rings out again as you find a different pair of hands pulling you away from Johnny Fontane.

You gasp, finding yourself chest to chest with Alphonse in a slow dance—his grip maintaining over you as he gives you a friendly smile. “My apologies—you look like you truly got swept away for a moment there.”

“Don Ricci—” You struggle.

“Alphonse, please.” He corrects you, taking you in dance.

“Where's Michael?” You attempt to look over his shoulder, drowned out by the height of the crowd amongst you, trying to free yourself as his dance partner.

“No doubt trying to find the two of us, don’t you think?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You scoff, pushing him off of you in disgust. “I’m married.”

“Don’t act like you don’t remember me, Victoria,” Alphonse smirks wryly, grabbing at your cut hand. “You’re just as beautiful as I remember.”

“What are you talking about?” You scowl, attempting to take back your hand as he refuses to let go, only tightening his clasp over it. “I’ve never seen you in my life.”

“Dartmouth.” He insists, “think about it. You know me.”

“I don’t—” You freeze, staring back at his features.

'Dartmouth…? Law…? No, I don’t know an Alphonse Ricci. I knew an Alphonse De Luca, but…could it be?' Your eyes widen in shock as you wince from the stinging pain of his harsh grip over your cut.

“Yes. Now you remember.” Alphonse winks back at you. “From Dartmouth, all those years ago.”

“Alphonse—”

“De Luca.” He finishes your sentence. “No longer, but you know me. I can’t believe you’ve forgotten me so quickly.”

Now you realize how helpless you are—surrounded by hundreds of strangers utterly unaware of your predicament and could care less. Alphonse has you exactly where he wants you, in the middle of a crowd, in public, somewhere you can’t run, somewhere there is no place to hide, and where a scream cannot be heard.

“Failed the bar, of course. Ironically, criminal enterprises have been much of my family’s expertise since I landed on Don Ricci’s door. You see, he owed my father a favor, but was quick to kill him after he took me in. He realized he could use my talents—you know how many times Dartmouth suspended me before I left.”

“No, I don’t.” You jeer back, shooting him a nasty look. “And I don’t care either. Why the hell are you telling me all of this anyway?!”

“Tsk, tsk…” Alphonse shakes his head at you disapprovingly. “You’ve changed from the law student I remember. I have to say, it’s a shame you left your life behind to become a…Corleone.”

“The hell would you know?” You spit back. “Michael is your business rival—our personal lives have nothing to do with you.”

“Or so you say.” A playful look flashes in Alphonse's eyes. “How is Kay Adams, by the way? I have to say, I didn’t know what to think of when I found out you didn’t invite your own best friend to your wedding.” He hints at their contact.

“I’m sure you could ask her yourself.” Michael’s voice cuts in. You feel an immense ease of pressure to spot Michael stepping in from the crowd, standing next to you and pulling you away from Alphonse’s grasp by your hip. “After all, I’m under the impression the two of you are constantly in contact.”

“Don Corleone.” Alphonse grins back, “right as ever, aren’t you? I have to say, you should be careful…” His eyes gaze over your body, admiring your dress. “You leave a pretty Sicilian thing like this alone for just a second, and you might find her swept away.”

Michael stares daggers at Alphonse, clear hostility between them. “I certainly hope you value your life as much as your business—since you claim you want no war or agitation with the Corleone’s.”

“On the contrary, Don Corleone, you will never be able to rival the Barzini family’s strength. I see you’ll hold your ground either way.” Alphonse insinuates. “I hope the next time we meet is just as friendly.”

“You may hope as you wish.” Michael signs his death wish, watching him walk off like nothing happened within the crowd, disappearing in a matter of seconds.

“Oh my God.” You shudder, sighing in relief. “Michael—”

Michael glares down at you angrily, tugging on your arm as he pulls you out of the crowd, pushing his way through. “What was that about, Victoria?”

“What are you talking about?!” You whine, struggling to keep up with him in your stilettos. “He just pulled me away and—”

“Who are we talking about?” His voice is laced with a mocking tone, “Johnny Fontane—a spoiled brat who ate from my father’s hand or Alphonse Ricci—a mob boss? Which one of them just swept you away?!”

“Michael!” You protest as he leads you out into the lobby and up to the elevator. “I needed a minute to myself! I couldn’t stand being there, and Fredo—”

“Fredo?” He rolls his eyes at you, pulling you into the elevator with him. “Forget Fredo. What did I tell you in the car?” He pushes a button to the tenth floor.

“No!” You cry out. “I had no idea! He just came out of nowhere, and—”

Michael's voice and body language are possessive and protective over you, not aggressive and controlling. He ends every sentence with a hint of regret, hating himself for shouting at you again, but the image of Alphonse crooning over your body and clasping his hand by your waist sends him into a jealous fury like none other.

'He’s jealous. He’s so jealous…' You bite down on your lip, refusing to talk back as you stifle a hint of amusement.

“What were you thinking?” Michael immediately locks the door behind you, throwing his keys up on the coffee table.

You gather up your dress, kicking off your heels frantically. “Michael, I promise it wasn’t my intention—”

“What did he say to you?” He grabs at your wrist as you almost stumble back onto your shoes. “Did he touch you?”

“He tried to dance with me.” You cringe back, “he just… He kept talking to me about Dartmouth, saying he saw me there! He said he knew Kay! He was trying to convince me he was studying there—that he changed his last name and everything!”

Michael’s eyes grow cold at your words. He immediately releases your wrist, a look of pure disgust forming in his eyes. “You knew him?”

“No! No!” You exclaim back, shaking your head. “I heard his family’s last name, that’s all! I’ve never spoken to him in my life.”

There’s no hostile or anger-filled tension between the two of you—only concern, only deep jealousy towards the idea that any man could think he’d have a chance with you, to be able to touch you and admire you.

If anything, it seems to be amplified since your fight last night, as if there’s actually a chance you’d quite literally be “swept away” from him, whether in the lands of Johnny Fontane, Alphonse Ricci, or someone else in any manner.

'Very jealous.' A small giggle accidentally escapes from your lips. You immediately clasp your hand over your mouth, watching him notice.

“Oh, you find this amusing?” Michael raises his brows at you. As serious as he sounds, he struggles to keep his stern disposition on you—softness beginning to breakthrough.

“No, not at all.” You half-lie, pressing your lips down firmly.

“Alphonse is a dead man walking.” Michael lets out a frustrated sigh, shrugging off his suit jacket. “And if he could get his intentions in order, he’d actually be doing Barzini a favor.”

“What do you mean?” You ask quietly, watching him hang his jacket up on the coat rack.

Michael shoots you a look of disbelief, smoothening back his hair. “He doesn’t want business—he doesn’t want to get into narcotics. Don’t you think he would have gone to your father with some lowball offer if that was the case?”

“I don’t understand, then what does he want?” You blink back in confusion.

“He wants you.” He answers, placing his hands in the pockets of his dress pants—his gaze sternly over yours. “That’s all he wants.”

“Michael—”

“And I don’t care whether it’s for your family, for your father’s name, for money—for whatever he thinks he can get.”

You hide your grin behind your mouth, watching him rub at his temple in frustration as he makes his way over to the other end of the suite.

“I’m glad to see you find this funny.” Michael sits down before the suite office table.

“Because you’re still jealous.” You have to admit, the sound of jealous Michael is more arousing than you initially thought.

“I am no such thing, don’t be ridiculous.” Michael pulls open the drawer attached to the desk, taking out a fresh notepad and pen. “I’m protective of you, and you know this. You can wash up and get undressed.” He gestures at you, changing the conversation and clicking open his pen. “I already had your suitcase brought up here in the bedroom.”

“What? Why? Don’t we have more meetings to attend to?” You frown, approaching the front of his desk.

“I do, not you. I’ll handle it from here through the phone.” Michael gestures to the telephone with his eyes. “We’ll both be up here for the remainder of the evening, where you’ll be in my line of sight and not another Don’s.”

“How long will you take?” You pout back, clearly unhappy with the idea of going to bed without him tonight.

“An hour or two—it depends.” Michael purses his lips, placing his hand over the telephone.

“I don’t want to end the night like this!” You whine out—his jealousy just having sparked your playful side.

“Go on.”

“I can wait.” You huff, plopping down upon the armchair next to the office desk. “Even if you’re punishing me like this.”

“Strange idea of punishment.” Michael glances over at you, picking up the phone. “Maybe it’ll do you some good. I have work to do, Victoria.”

“And I said I’ll wait. I’m not going to bed without you.” You insist, crossing your arms. “It can’t take that long.”

“It can and it will.” Michael begins to spin up a number, ignoring you completely. “Connect me with number…”

You rest your cheek upon your fist, slouching upon the armchair as you listen to him connect a call. He remains calm and focused, beginning to chat away with a business contact—scribbling little notes here and there upon his notepad, completely indulged in the call.

“I’ve already come to a decision about it, and I want to hear your price…”

If anything, you want his attention more than ever, knowing what kind of frenzy his fit of jealousy put him in tonight. You felt nothing but disgust at Alphonse Ricci’s unwanted advance towards you, and you still don’t understand—no matter how Connie explains it—what the hype with mediocre Johnny Fontane is about.

“Yes, I’m aware he and Fredo have made contact. Personally, I’d like to meet this Moe Greene…”

Never for a moment in your life would you even picture yourself with those men or the likes of them. You admit to yourself you’re aware of the attention, but up until recently, you were convinced it was because of your family name and ties. Being the only daughter of a powerful Don isn’t hard to spot out when the right eyes are looking, after all. The right eyes almost always mean the wrong hands in this line of business. Alphonse Ricci’s attraction to you is clear, and it’s fatal.

Still, from a mixture of last night to his reactions today, you know he’s treading on the cautious side when talking to you. He’s not so much walking on eggshells but instead still determined to make it up to you without repeating his actions from last night. You’ve never given him a reason to be jealous before, and certainly not on purpose. It sparks arousal to see how possessive and desiring he is over you, mixing with your amusement and a hint of playfulness at his evident jealousy—no matter how he tries to deny it.

“My offer is this…”

You struggle to focus on his boring phone call, your mind only continuing to wander to the possibilities as to how you’d like to wrinkle and ruin the fresh bedsheets in this suite with him instead. But I want to… I want his attention.

“$100,000… I want it cleared to my name, license and all.”

“Michael…” You whine out softly to him, grabbing his attention for just a split second as he continues writing down something.

You’re tired of the tension and seriousness, wanting an escape from it all like last night, now unable to deny yourself the growing arousal and libido returning to you after your birth with the twins who remain at your mother and father’s villa for the evening.

“Run it by Tom Hagen. I want the confirmation mailed to me with the license and proper certifications…”

“Keep me informed as soon as possible.” He hangs up, jotting something else down.

'If he won’t talk back to me, then he can at least look at me.' You gaze over at him, slowly wriggling down your dress, completely sliding it off your shoulders so it just barely hangs off of your breasts as you clutch it down.

“Michael…” You chime out again, unable to deny your playful tone towards him.

Michael sets his pen down—his eyes glancing at your alluring suggestion as you tease to let go of the fabric entirely. “I’d rather you do that up here than downstairs.”

You sigh out loudly, holding back your whines. “Michael, come on, please! You can’t be this mad at me.”

Michael picks up the telephone again, “you’ll learn from being defiant. I told you, I have work to do that cannot be interrupted.”

You grumble quietly, letting go of the fabric as your breasts slip out from the dress without Michael noticing. He dials a number again, speaking out. “Yes, get me…”

You gaze back at him, finding no fun in undressing yourself. You picture his arms wrapped around your waist from behind instead, tugging at your gown and demanding it off. Just the idea of him pinning you against his desk and fucking his frustration out on you until you cry out his name sends a tingle between your thighs.

“This is Michael Corleone speaking…”

You rise to your feet, holding up your dress with the rest of your dignity as you head into your bedroom, surprised to see two large suitcases propped open by the side of each bed, as Michael mentioned earlier.

You grab at the one on the left as that is your usual side of the bed you sleep upon and prop it open upon the nearby dresser. You notice it’s filled with five days worth of fresh, new undergarments and dresses, including nightgowns—no doubt packed up by your maid at the villa.

You peel off your satin dress, careful not to crinkle at the delicate fabric as you let it rest over the other half of the drawer. You deliberately take your panties off, setting them aside and slipping into a short, white, lace nightgown only held up by thin straps.

Slowly making your way out of the bedroom and back to the center of the suite, you sit upon the edge of Michael’s desk, now growing desperate for his attention as arousal only continues to build inside of you. You begin inching up the rest of your nightgown above your waistline, watching Michael unable to take his eyes off of you.

“You will tell him to double his offer, or he won’t hear from me…”

His dark eyes watch as you rest the fabric of your nightgown slightly over your stomach, exposing your clenched legs and sex before him in attempts of seduction. I need him… You search his eyes for any response, but he forcefully peels his gaze off of you, staring back down at the notepad as he continues to talk.

“I’ve already got an offer on my mind. Get him on the line…”

You whine loudly this time, nudging at his arm. “Michael…!”

“Yes, what was that?” He clutches onto the phone tighter.

You grumble, pulling your nightgown back down and hopping off the desk with no other reaction from Michael, who still remains committed to his phone call.

Out of undeniable arousal, you notice how Michael's muscles tense and relax in his dress shirt, the way his slim fingers wrap around his pen, and how his full lips remain just slightly parted as he speaks through them. A few loose strands of his hair dangle before his forehead as he shifts a little in his seat, bucking his hips upward.

A wave of heat hits you as you swear the room only continues to grow hotter with each erotic thought climbing through your head. You nibble on your lip, refusing to give up as you take into account the empty space beneath the office desk.

Kneeling down with Michael still ignoring you, you notice there’s enough room to crawl down there and reach up into his lap perfectly.

Crawling up, your knees slide up on the cold floor of the suite as you place both of your hands on Michael’s knee caps, leaning towards his waistline. Michael furrows his brow, sitting back in his seat on the call as his eyes land down on you, peeking up at him expectantly.

“Michael…” You breathe back, inching your head as close as you can get to his crotch, mouthing hotly over the tent in his dress pants. “Get…off…the…phone…” You hover your mouth over his groin.

Michael grazes his teeth against his lip, growing frustrated by your new advance but at the same time turned on by it himself. He forces himself to stare back at his notepad and ignore you yet again, but the sensation of your mouth over his cock only continues to persuade his erection to grow.

Your eyes widen, noticing his growing bulge as you trail your hands upwards slowly, pressing your lips down against his erection and giving it a breathy, hot kiss. “Michael…”

Michael lets out a small huff on the phone as you flick at his belt, teasingly playing with it with one hand and rubbing your palm down sensually over his erection—feeling how rock hard he’s getting.

'Imagine that in me…' You bite down on your lip, desperately wanting to rip off his belt and take him in your mouth by surprise, seeing if he can still retain his composure then. “Michael, come on…” You pull yourself up, carefully getting onto his lap.

He grunts softly, placing a hand on your back for support so you don’t tip backward as you wrap your legs around his office chair. You press your sex over his erection—feeling hot and bothered as a trickle of your dewiness oozes onto the fabric of his pants.

Michael feels each and every bit of it, pretending he’s annoyed by your advances, but in reality, he’s barely holding himself down—having never seen you act this way out of arousal. Horny as can get, the feeling of his hardness hitting against your mound that practically writhes for him only influences you to beckon for his attention further.

You grab onto his tie, looking him in the eye as you begin to tug on it. His eyes immediately turn to yours, “yes, that would be the final offer…” You tug, again and again, whining softly, which causes him to continue moving the phone away from you so as not to hear.

“Michael…” You pout back teasingly, giving another pull at his tie.

His chest tenses up as you notice him clutching so hard over the telephone that his knuckles turn white—still ever so perfectly poised in his conversation while attempting to balance a business call with you pushing your wetness down on his crotch and playing around with his tie at the same time.

“Yes, thank you…”

You tug harder this time, searching his face for another reaction as he sets the phone down with one swift movement, catching you off guard. He immediately swats your hand off of his tie, loosening it from his neck with a huff and pulling it off over his head.

“Victoria—”

Your eyes widen in excitement, finally believing to have caught his attention fully, only to find his burning gaze back onto yours—his eyes darkening with lust and pent-up frustration. He pulls his chair into his desk, picking you up by your thighs and waist as he gets up, putting you right back onto the armchair.

“What do you think you’re doing, hmm?!” Hovering over you and clasping onto your wrists, he blocks any way for you to squirm free from underneath him. Teasingly attempting to fight back and wriggle free from him, he continues to press his body down upon yours to get you to stay still—the tent in his dress pants brushing up deliciously against the tip of your clit and stealing a moan from your lips.

You squeal out in delight, far too in a playful mood. From one moment to the next, Michael wraps his tie around your wrists, tying them above your head together, over and around the creased top corner of the armchair.

“You don’t think I know what you’re doing here?” Your hands and arms remain completely helpless and unable to move before him; his eyes gaze upon your body before he gestures down to his belt. No doubt you’ve seen his mixed look of agitation and arousal before, finally grabbing his undivided attention.

“Is it so bad I want my husband’s attention?” You give out a breathless giggle.

The sight of you helpless, bound, and with your legs spread out in a delicate nightgown is impossible for him to ignore with his erection tugging at him. You’ve never felt such a bold rush of confidence bolstering your arousal before, and you could care less what work you just interrupted—wanting to see the full extent of his jealousy physically.

“Couldn’t get enough from last night?” He furrows his brows, caressing the side of your cheek and grazing his thumb down over your lip. “I told you I had work to do—”

“Meetings in the hotel or not, it was going to be another boring, stuffy evening with all those big shots in their silk suits—I wanted it to spend it with you. I thought that’s what we were doing.” You teasingly roll your eyes at him, extending out your leg and placing your foot gently on his crotch. “Now, what are you going to do? Leave me tied up here and go on another phone call?”

“If I untie your hands, I know you’re going to be sitting here playing with yourself.” Michael lowers his tone, moving even closer to your face. “When I tell you to wait, you wait. You need to learn discipline.”

“I’m beyond that.” You shrug your shoulders at him, trying to fuel more of a reaction from him. “As you can tell.”

“You don’t always get what you want…” Michael pauses for a moment, watching you stroke your foot down his crotch before clenching your legs and raising them up, exposing a perfect view as to just how aroused and soaked you are between your legs. “Not appropriate for a married woman, is it?” He gladly takes in the view, unbuckling his belt and throwing it off to the side. “But if you’re so impatient…”

“So much for a punishment, huh?” You purr back, watching as he grasps your thighs in his hands, holding them up as he sits underneath you, pulling you to your side and throwing back your nightgown to reveal your bare ass.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he speaks out in a low, husky tone, “you don’t know punishment…but it’s clear you need it.”

“Ah!” You gasp out softly as his hand comes down on your ass with a loud smack—the cool metal of his wedding band coming into contact with your skin.

“Again, in my office—” He spanks you again harshly, “acting like—”

“Oh!” You squirm, unable to move your arms at all as your ass begins to redden—the sensation of pain mixing with pleasure as he keeps his stern gaze over yours, entirely in control and power over you almost too much to bear all at once.

“A dirty little slut—” Another hard slap comes down, spilling more moans from your lips as your thighs rub against one another, pressing upon your clit.

“And then the stunt you pull tonight—” Michael looks over, gritting his teeth and rubbing at your ass. “What am I ever going to do with you?”

You whimper softly, almost begging to be spanked again. “Michael…”

“Stop. Talking.” He breathes against your lips, continuing to spank you over and over again.

You jolt up in Michael's lap, moan after moan spilling from your mouth as he takes his free hand, slipping it between your legs and spreading your dripping sex. With each smack upon your ass, the knuckles of his fingers come into contact with your throbbing clit.

He rubs his fingers down your dewy pussy lips in hazy circles, his breathing deepening as he watches you squirm underneath him helplessly—completely and utterly under his dominance.

“Michael…!” You moan, but Michael stifles your speech by putting his fingers in your mouth, making you taste your sweetness as his spanks gradually become harsher and quicker.

“What did I say…?” He growls back.

Whimpering and unable to speak, you suckle upon his fingers, keeping your eyes over his dark gaze, watching him utterly control every part of your pleasure with ease. His hand comes down harder and harder upon your ass with each smack, sending vibrations through your body.

“You love this, don’t you? This is nothing for you…” Michael breathes upon the side of your neck.

Without as much as a warning, he pulls out his soaked fingers from your mouth, wet with your saliva, before rubbing the tips of his fingers down tenderly upon your clit until he reaches your entrance, applying just enough pressure to cause you to gyrate your hips upward.

“Ohhhh!” You cry out, feeling Michael's fingers snake inside of you and curl up to your G-spot, coaxing out for an orgasm. Michael is relentless, keeping his eyes on you hungrily as he watches your body shake and quiver against him.

With each spank, he thrusts his fingers in and out of you at different angles, watching your juices spill out and trickle down your thighs as you lose control over the wonderful sensations hitting you from all sides.

“Y-yes—I’m—” Your mouth hangs open, moaning louder and louder as Michael uses his thumb to stroke your clit, only adding more pressure with each smack.

Michael’s erection threatens to burst from his fly as your wetness easily soaks through the fabric of his pants. Watching you about to hit the peak of your orgasm, he lets go immediately, leaving you a flustered, horny mess upon the armchair as he rises to his feet.

“W-wha…?” You pant, desperate for more as you feel your orgasm winding away from you with the sudden stop.

“I could just leave you here like this…” Michael begins to unbutton half of his dress shirt. “Teach you a lesson, but that’ll only leave you wanting more.” He set his watch aside on the corner of his desk, pulling down his briefs just enough to let his fully erect length spring free.

You let out a shaky exhale at the sight of him—his hair beyond tousled and a mess, his cock drenched in his own precum.

“Why should I give you what you want…?” He tilts your chin up forcefully, pressing his shaft against your wetness.

“B-because I…” The sensation of his warmth against you sends sparks of arousal and excitement flying through you, only causing your body to writhe almost painfully over his. “I’m yours…”

“That’s right.” Michael's breath hitches as he cups your ass, raising your hips up to meet his and pulling on where his tie is wrapped around the armchair. “Who do you belong to?”

“M-Michael Corleone…” You moan out loudly again, hearing how his shaft slicks up and down against your clit.

“Will you defy me again?” Michael rests the tip of his cock over your clit, gazing back at you for an immediate answer.

“N-no, never!” You shake your head frantically, attempting to helplessly tug at Michael’s tie restraining your wrists. “P-Please, I—”

“Tell me what you want.” Michael demands an answer, ever so slowly grinding his cock against your clit, now growing overly sensitive.

“I w-want…” You writhe in pleasure, barely able to form a word out or think straight. “Y-you, please…I want you! I want you!”

“Louder.” Michael reaches one hand down, keeping his gaze firmly over yours as he begins to pump himself. “Beg louder.”

“I want y-you! I want you!” You cry out in desperation, gasping out loudly as he jerks his hips up, deeply thrusting his cock inside of you.

“Ohhh, my God!” A filthy, loud moan comes out of your mouth in response as Michael spreads your legs open as far as they can go, placing them on both sides of the chair.

He kneels into the armchair, fucking you viciously, shaking the armchair as your clench your fingers, feeling ecstasy hit you with each and every thrust.

“Fuck…” Michael grunts, his once slicked and parted hair now clinging to the beads of sweat upon his forehead.

He’s unable to deny himself to you as he takes out all of his frustrations from this evening as he pounds you like an animal. Satisfying your every craving of arousal towards him, the angle he fucks you in upon the armchair hits at a completely new spot, causing your pussy to convulse around him in response.

Every thrust inside of you is hard and pace, keeping a perfect rhythm of sloppy fucking. You can barely hold a proper kiss back as his lips crush over yours, full-mouthed and with tongue.

You groan back into his mouth, sliding further down on the armchair with your thighs almost up to his back as he curls your body up against his. Hot skin on skin slapping against each other fills the room—the scent of your perfume mixing with his cologne.

“You moan like a slut.” Michael grunts against your neck. “You love this, don’t you?”

“I—” Your breath hitches as he harshly slaps your ass again.

“Begging for me—” Michael buries his face between your breasts, suckling and pressing rough kisses upon your skin, trailing back up to your collarbones and neck. “Like a little whore—”

“Michael!” Your legs begin to shake as a feeling of pleasurable numbness begins to hit you in waves, dangerously threatening your orgasm.

“Sprawled over my desk—” He picks up his face even faster, slamming in and out of you.

You helplessly gaze down, watching as his cock rams into you, sliding in and out of you in rapid succession—being blissfully fucked like a ragdoll. You’ve completely soaked the armchair underneath you, feeling yourself painfully throbbing against him about to explode in orgasm as you notice he tilts his head back from your neck, immediately noticing something.

“Yes, he said he would be on the tenth floor…” You and Michael pick up on the sound of a pair of footsteps out from the hallway, hearing Tom’s voice.

“M-Michael—” You whine out underneath him, being muffled as he clasps a hand over your mouth, continuing to listen.

“Quiet.”

You groan against Michael's hand, barely able to be heard as he slows his thrusts, pulling out completely before thrusting in as deep as he can each and every single time.

Hitting your G-spot with every jerk of his hips, you roll your eyes back in pleasure, stopping your struggle with your bound wrists and letting your orgasm consume you.

“Michael?” Tom knocks on the hotel door. “Are you in here?”

Michael bites his lip, continuing his deep and forceful thrusts throughout your orgasm as he clears his throat, calling out, “yes, what is it, Tom?!”

“Fredo has just let Sonny and I know Moe Greene has flown in from Nevada—he wants to personally meet you down at the casino. Can I come in?”

He lets out a strained, shaky breath, cumming deep inside of you. “I’m a little preoccupied at the moment, Tom. I’ll be down in twenty.”

“Got it. We’ll be in the lobby.” Soft murmurs of his chatter with Sonny fade off down the hall as Michael pulls his hand off of your mouth and thrusts back out.

“Oh, my—” Your eyes widen in shock as your hips twitch, the last of your orgasm squirting out of you and onto the floor. “Oh!”

Michael blinks at the mess you’ve made onto the hardwood floors, having completely soaked your inner thighs and down to your pussy as you remain before him, fucked into a new height of ecstasy and orgasm altogether.

“Huh…” He runs his hand back through his hair, a smirk forming over his lips. “So not only do you fuck like a whore, but you cum like one too?” He slips off your bound arms from his tie, setting your wrists free.

“Michael!” You flush a shade of red, clenching at your legs. “W-what…? A girl can’t…” Your eyes flicker over the room, blushing at the wet floor.

“Oh—Mi—” You almost shriek out in pleasure, feeling his cock impaling inside your pussy once more.

Michael lets out a shaky deep breath, running a hand through his messy hair and pinning your hip down with the other. “Twenty minutes.”

“O-oh…” Your eyes widen, feeling another tug of arousal in the pit of your stomach and yourself full to the brim once again with his length.

“But I can’t have you making such a fuss here, can I?” He takes his silk, black tie, tying it tightly around your mouth. You don’t fight against it, instead erotically surprised as you peek back at him.

His dark Sicilian eyes, now filled with a growing desire, scour over your half-naked body, finding you remaining perfectly submissive and gagged before him. “I’m not done yet with you.”

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melis-writes · 2 years

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 36 - Two Sides of the Same Coin.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 35 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read. Read chapter 36 below!

“I’m sure you’d know a lot about what has to be done with Fredo, don’t you? Considering you helped him.” / “Who is really the victim here? Is it me or is it you? You’re the homewrecker.”

With Ludovica's death, relations between the Corleone and Ferrari families are at an all time high in tension. With the Ferrari family now involved amidst Michael's enemies, Don Ferrari has avenged his wife's death tenfold in the notorious manner of Ferrari brutality and has come face to face with Michael, reminding his son-in-law he's aware of everything and expects an immediate end to the series of betrayals and violence. Michael spends some much needed time with you and the twins, aware his children are still grieving over their grandmother's death. Determined to settle all family business, Michael roots out two traitors in his family--letting you deal with one personally. Refusing to forgive Fredo and continuing to hide the truth from Vito, there's no changing Michael's mind as he's signaled his own brother's execution. Witnessing it yourself, the string of tragedies is not over as Kay Adams pays you a last, unwelcoming visit with intentions you never could have imagined.

[WARNINGS]: Minor character death mention, smut & heavy intimacy, depictions & mentions and graphic violence, major character death, minor character deaths, injury mentions.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: There's a lot going on in this chapter from smut, to drama, to tension, to angst! 😳 Alas, all good things must come to an end and unfortunately this fic is too. 🥺 Next chapter will be the endings in which I will be writing two; a happily ever after and a tragic ending. Which one is canon? It's up to you to decide! 🥰 Of course, now with this chapter the endings will be more anticipated than ever considering the major plot twists added. You may be shocked with the turn of events in this chapter as it's full of surprise, hence the warnings! 👀

[ + 1 Day – Corleone, Sicily ]

‘L'amore della mia vita.’ (The love of my life.) Giuseppe Ferrari’s eyes strained as he squinted at the rays of the hot, Sicilian sun beaming down upon him. Holding up the upper left corner of Ludovica’s coffin with his sons hoisting the other sides, Giuseppe joined his family, relatives, and friends in quiet prayer as he carried his wife to her grave.

‘La ragazza con i fiori.’ (The girl with the flowers.) The sense of grief Giuseppe has been feeling since he first learned Ludovica’s gunshot wound was infected and growing worse coupled with feelings of anger and now betrayal.

Giuseppe laid his wife’s coffin next to the burial ground by the two orange trees where they had first met. Giuseppe could still remember the date he met Ludovica as if it was just yesterday; August 2nd, 1920.

Amongst the hum of prayers and soft weeping as a Sicilian priest would read the last funeral rites before Ludovica would be laid to rest in the spot where she and Giuseppe met as she had always wanted, Giuseppe’s eyes hardened as Ludovica’s casket was opened for the last time.

“Ci riuniamo qui oggi per piangere e addolorarci per la perdita della nostra amata, Ludovica Ferrari.” (We gather here today to mourn and grieve over the loss of our loved one, Ludovica Ferrari.)

With her body embalmed and her body beautifully preserved, Giuseppe had to fight every urge in his body to shake her back to consciousness—knowing that although Ludovica appears to be in peaceful sleep, she’s departed from this world and subsequently his life forever.

“Madre, sorella, moglie e amica amata di molti. Nato e cresciuto a Corleone, in Sicilia. Un'infermiera che ha curato la salute dei malati e dei deboli e una donna premurosa e forte che ha condotto una vita lunga e bella.” (Mother, sister, wife, and beloved friend of many. Born and raised in Corleone, Sicily. A nurse who nurtured the sick and frail to health and a caring, strong woman who led a long and beautiful life.)

Ludovica remains resting in her coffin with a small, neat bouquet of plumeria flowers while surrounded by red and pink roses, snapdragons, and broom flowers in her hands neatly placed over her stomach.

“Possiamo piangere per la sua partenza da questo mondo, ma possiamo anche celebrare la sua vita e tutte le cose meravigliose che ha fatto per gli altri nel corso degli anni.” (We may cry over her departure from this world but we can also celebrate her life and all of the amazing things she had done for others throughout the years.)

Giuseppe held back his tears and grew somewhat agitated at the sight of plumerias in Ludovica’s hands. Standing in front of his sons, who remained with their hands clasped in front of them, dressed in black and gazing upon their mother’s lifeless body, Giuseppe stepped out of line and towards the small patch of vegetation surrounding the orange trees mid-prayer.

“Ludovica ci mancherà ma non sarà mai dimenticata. Sappiamo che oggi ci sorride. Oggi ci riuniamo qui per salutarla nella sua ultima dimora.” (Ludovica will be missed but she will never be forgotten. We know she smiles down upon us today. Today we gather here to say goodbye to her in her final resting place.)

Neither concerned nor caring if anyone had noticed or begun to look at him, Giuseppe leaned over and carefully picked a handful of brightly colored, pink, and red carnations.

“Questi giardini sono davvero belli. Tuo padre si prende molto cura di loro. I fiori hanno sempre un profumo così delizioso e, naturalmente, sono anche molto belli.” (These gardens are truly beautiful. Your father takes very good care of them. The flowers always smell so lovely, and of course they look very beautiful too.)

“Lo penso anch'io. Quali fiori sono i tuoi preferiti?” (I think so too. Which flowers are your favourites?)

Giuseppe moved towards Ludovica’s coffin, leaning in and gently taking the plumeria flowers out of her hands. He placed them next to the other flowers surrounding her before tucking in the small bundle of carnations in Ludovica’s hands instead.

“Garofani. Sono così belli, vero? Bellissimi fiori dai colori vivaci.” (Carnations. They're so beautiful, aren't they? Brightly colored, gorgeous flowers.)

“Plain flowers never suited you,” Giuseppe murmured down to Ludovica, taking one remaining red carnation and snipping it off its stem with his hands. “You deserve to be surrounded by nothing but beauty.”

Dante’s lip quivered as tears stung his eyes at the sight of his father tucking in a red carnation in his mother’s hair. He began to weep, burying his face in Alessio’s chest as his older brother hugged him tightly and lowered his head.

Lorenzo swallowed hard and exchanged a glance with Matteo, whose throat began to tighten from another wave of tears approaching him.

Leonardo took his face into his hands, unable to continue looking as he silenced his own tears again.

“Prometto che vendicherò la tua morte. Coloro che hanno recitato una parte e sapevano che saresti stato ferito, subiranno un destino peggiore della morte a causa mia. Li farò implorare per la loro vita, poi lo prenderò da loro lentamente e agonizzante proprio come ti hanno fatto sentire.” (I promise I will avenge your death. Those who played a part and even knew you would be harmed will suffer a fate worse than death because of me. I will make them beg for their lives, then I will take it from them slowly and agonizingly just as they made you feel.) Giuseppe murmured, lowering his head as his eyes of grief now flashed with anger.

As Giuseppe pulled away from his wife’s body amidst the last of the priest's prayers, he turned his head slowly to face his sons. Lorenzo, Leonardo, Alessio, Matteo, and Dante looked back at their father with anticipation and a familiar sadness behind their eyes.

Giuseppe’s right-hand man and capo—a stoutly built Sicilian named Catalano stood by close to his boss, accompanying him back to where Giuseppe’s sons stand.

As Giuseppe made his way back towards his sons and his men began to carefully shut Ludovica’s coffin, preparing to lower it to her dug grave, Giuseppe stood next to Lorenzo and Catalano and placed a hand over his Capo’s shoulder.

Giuseppe glanced back at his son first and gave him a stern nod before speaking in a low, husky tone only audible between the three, his first words directed towards his son. “The Corleone family failed to avenge your mother’s death, and each passing moment without spilled blood of the last perpetrators remains a testament to this. They may have found the men who pulled the puppet strings to make the assassination happen, but they did not find the ones who orchestrated the hit from the inside. They failed, Lorenzo. Michael Corleone not only failed us, but he failed my daughter, and now we have paid the ultimate price.”

Giuseppe then directed his next question to Catalano. “Hai fatto quello che ti ho chiesto di fare?” (Have you done what I asked you to do?)

“Sì, Don Ferrari,” Catalano replied sternly.

“And what have you discovered?” Giuseppe glanced down at his men, beginning to shovel back dirt into the grave.

“Al Neri, Rocco Lampone, Ritchie Nobilio, and a man named Bussetta from a nearby village here in Corleone were and are known to be Don Corleone’s personal bodyguards,” Catalano notes.

“Bussetta.” Giuseppe nodded slowly, pondering the name. “I have met with his family before. Of course, he is of no use to us because he’s dead.”

Lorenzo’s eyes flashed with amusement. “He took down Johnny Ola but was caught before he could snuff out Roth.”

“Hmm,” Giuseppe rolled his eyes, “In any case, Bussetta’s family is of no use to even himself or us now. One can presume the news of his death crippled his family enough.”

“And Nobilio is your daughter’s personal bodyguard, sir.” Catalano added, “he also protects the children. From what I’ve discovered, he’s nothing but a bodyguard. Not an enforcer and certainly not an assassin anymore.”

“Mm, he may be the only man Corleone has hired that has a bit of personality to him. His skill in firearms is unmatched but no longer a required skill as he isn’t pushing any buttons.” Giuseppe pursed his lips.

“He was fired for a short while from your daughter’s personal service as a direct order from Don Corleone,” Catalano replied. “He was then sent back to work under Don Corleone’s capo, Peter Clemenza, until his return. I believe the nature of his dismissal was not explicitly stated to him.”

Giuseppe chuckled quietly. “Yes, it became quite apparent to me afterward. It appeared that Mr. Nobilio got a bit too hands-on with Victoria by accident, hence his quick dismissal.”

“Well,” Lorenzo crossed his arms, “at least I can give Don Corleone enough credit for respecting his wife.”

“What should we do about Nobilio?” Catalano straightened out the cuffs of his suit’s sleeves.

“His position does not matter to me. Put his family on the list.” Giuseppe affirmed. “The same goes for Neri and Lampone. After that night, I would have had them torn limb from limb for their incompetence.”

“I don’t understand Don Corleone’s patience, father,” Lorenzo muttered. “He’s notorious for it, but it doesn’t make sense for me.”

“It’s always something new with the Corleone family.” Giuseppe appeared unmoved. “Vito Corleone was the only Don in his time that could be reasoned with without harm coming to either party. His son does not have an inkling of that, but he does not have a temper either. Rather, he waits like a viper and strikes when it is least expected. I can understand that much, but it has run its course on me, and I grow weary of his methods once they begin to affect my family personally. Boys, I believe it’s time we teach his men a little lesson in getting even. Catalano, let the rest of our enforcers know and have Lorenzo accompany you.”

“Yes, Don Ferrari.” Catalano agreed.

“You would have me join them, father?” Lorenzo’s eyes widened.

“Yes, I would.” Giuseppe turned back to face his son. “I expect nothing but success from the future Don of Ferrari. Do not fail me, Lorenzo. The brutality of the Ferrari’s is unmatched, and retaliation is a promise to those who fail us. I will speak with Don Corleone myself about his lack of aptitude. He is still my daughter’s husband after all.”

“He’s disappointed you.” Lorenzo started out more than happy to.

“He has, but it would be his first.” Giuseppe glanced back at his son from the side. “And potentially his last. I do not intend on making my daughter a widow, Lorenzo. You are to show Don Corleone the respect he deserves should you ever interact with him. He is the Don; you are not. Don’t embarrass this family more than you already have. I want no mistakes or loose ends with this. Do this with my men and prove to the family you are ready to succeed me. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes, father.”

[ + 1 Week – New York, Ferrari Manor ]

With Giuseppe Ferrari’s orders set in stone, irreversible and to be fully and swiftly carried out, the following three days after Ludovica’s burial in Sicily marked that of bloodshed unseen between two families, yet just as unknown.

The Ferrari family’s owned media outlets played it all out well, creating a scare tactic that there’s a killer out on the loose in the streets of New York who “knows what he’s doing” and is murdering defenseless women in cold blood.

Naturally, the public ate up every inch of the news, believing and falling for the elaborate lie created by the Ferrari’s. It’s all an attempt to pull away from the fact the other crime families have recently been in the newspapers and the topic of heavy discussion over the radio for petty reasons and lack of discretion.

In order to avoid another battle of the mafia versus the mainstream media, Giuseppe Ferrari was successfully able to convince the entire city of New York as well as the police force that one serial killer was behind the murders of Al Neri, Rocco Lampone, and Ritchie Noblilio’s mothers and sisters as direct retaliation for Ludovica’s death by the incompetence of Michael’s men.

While the media and police still believe “the killer” is out there, lurking and planning his next murder, Giuseppe Ferrari knows it’s nothing but an elaborate lie, perfectly weaved out and believed in—only fueled by the public’s fear.

It was certainly a viable choice than having mobster-related crime on the news and in the reach of the police again. Not only that, but Giuseppe wants to confront Michael himself about having his capos kill off the family members of his closest enforcers and bodyguards rather than have Michael figure it out already.

For what may be the first time in history, the Ferrari family’s assassins leave absolutely no trace or clue that it was the Ferrari crime family who committed the murder—not even for show. Throats slit, bodies thrown out balconies or shot in the back of the head while sleeping—all clean methods of death that Giuseppe still considered “light” when compared to how heavily his own wife suffered.

Giuseppe knows there’s no reason to continue, but he has more than enough reasons to confront his son-in-law face to face and not alone, but with you by his side. The topic of discussion lingering in your father’s mind isn’t just the fact he got involved in the Corleone family business, but the fact that Giuseppe is very much aware of how Michael had treated you in the past few weeks.

Today, Don Giuseppe Ferrari settles all family business, and he starts and ends it with Don Michael Corleone. Refusing to keep you out of it or lie to you as Michael had done so before, Giuseppe’s intentions are to remind Michael who he’s married to and what family he’s a part of just as much as Victoria is a part of the Corleone’s.

“Don Corleone.” Giuseppe fixes a polite smile upon his face, rising from his seat as his office doors open to reveal his son-in-law and daughter. “Benarrivato.” (Welcome.)

“Don Ferrari.” Michael gives his father-in-law a stern nod, extending his hand over to shake his. “Grazie per averci.” (Thank you for having us.)

“Papà.” You smile warmly, embracing your father in a tight hug.

“Come stai caro? Come sta il bambino? Facendo bene?” (How are you, darling? How's the baby? Doing well?) Your father hugs you back, gently patting your cheeks.

“Sì, per fortuna.” (Yes, thankfully.) You nod back happily, taking a seat across your father next to Michael.

“Bene, bene.” (Good, good.) Giuseppe clears his throat, returning back to his seat. “I would prefer to hear nothing but good news after everything our family has been, as you know.” His statement seems more directed towards Michael than speaking in general to both of you. “I have just returned from Sicily after laying your mother to rest,” Giuseppe gestures out with his hand to you. “And neither her death nor her funeral has been no small burden of grief on anyone’s minds, hence why I wanted to talk to you, Michael.” Giuseppe’s eyes land on his son-in-law. “But my daughter as well, because this also concerns her, and I’m afraid you have a repeated history of holding things back from her, do you not?”

The expression on Michael’s falls stern as he gazes back at your father, his hands folded in his lap. “Sir.” Michael can already sense what kind of conversation this is set out to be.

What? Your eyes widen at the sudden change of tone and conversation from your father as you remain quiet, holding back on staring back at both of them back and forth cluelessly.

“As you know, Michael, my wife of thirty-five years, passed away a little over a week ago. Do you know how old she was? She was fifty-four years old. Never had anything more than a cold in her life. A healthy woman who took care of herself and others. She was a nurse by profession. Her death should not have come so soon, surely you understand.” Giuseppe places his hands upon his office table. “It shouldn’t have happened to begin with. I think you both know just exactly what happened.”

“Papà…” You frown back at your father, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Victoria—sweetheart—the bullet that hit your mother was poisoned. This is confirmed now.” Your father gazes back at you, noticing your saddened disposition before looking back at Michael. “Ludovica may have not been an intended target, but I will not have my wife referred to and disposed of as collateral damage.” Before any of you can speak out, your father continues. “I lost my wife, my best friend, and the mother of my children. Surely, Don Corleone, you would know by now that I would not allow this to settle like dust without swift retribution on my behalf.”

Michael remains unmoved and listens intently to your father as he speaks on. “I’ll tell you my reasons why. I find it quite ironic after celebrating five years of peace and prosperity, moving to Nevada, and successfully bolstering your father’s business empire that a hit would be placed on the two of you so soon. I can anticipate these things often as some assassinations had been planned on me when I was a young man, especially with a new and growing family. Tuttavia…” (However…)

Giuseppe reaches for his gold-plated case of cigars, popping it open. “Michael, I do applaud your ruthfulness and insistence on getting the job done by heading directly to Cuba. I see your manipulation skills work out well for you in almost every instance. Not only did you take advantage of the business meeting in Havana, but you killed off your enemies. Well, almost all of them.”

Giuseppe picks out a cigar and begins to light it, pausing for a moment through his words. “Take Johnny Ola, for example. Roth’s Sicilian messenger boy and nothing else. All talk and pretend charm, but a useless man. He will not be missed by any account, and personally, I’m glad he’s dead and out of the way. He was like a bug that needed to be crushed, but a smaller one amongst the infestation we’ve been dealing with for decades now. Your father and I in particular.”

Giuseppe leans back in his seat, reading the cold expression in Michael’s eyes as he puts the cigar in his mouth. “One of the parasites amongst the infestation was Alphonse Ricci, and now he’s dead too. It amuses me all the more to hear he died by your hands directly. Did you know Michael killed Alphonse himself, Victoria?”

“I—” You blink, a little shocked at the revelation as you exchange a glance with Michael. “No, I didn’t know.”

“Well, it’s certainly something to be proud of.” Giuseppe chuckles, nodding at Michael. “The Havana police, of course, discovered his body only an hour later, right where Michael left it. Photos were taken on-site, and an autopsy was even done, but then the police discovered Alphonse Ricci was a gangster and hated in the United States, so they covered it up immediately.”

Giuseppe flips open a folder to the left of his desk, pulling it in front of him. “Not before I got my hands on it, however. See this?” Giuseppe holds up two glossy black and white photographs of Alphonse—one of his face close up where he died in Havana and the other during the autopsy.

Your eyes widen to see a bullet etched into his partially blown-off skull as his body laid in his own brain matter and a pool of his blood. His face is bloated, lip torn and puffy with two black eyes and a broken nose—hardly recognizable in both photographs.

“Reminds me very much of Luca Brasi.” Amusement flashes in Giuseppe’s eyes as he sets the photographs down—again, with Michael unmoved by everything. “I remember his enforcement with the Corleone family like it was just yesterday. Michael, your right-hand hook definitely seems to be something to be concerned about. That aside, however, I’m not going to give you too much credit because Hyman Roth, the root cause of this infestation, is still alive, and we both know this. Your newest bodyguard there—Bussetta—I didn’t doubt his skill in protecting you, but clearly, he isn’t a very good assassin if he can’t kill an old man lying unconscious in his own bed. Why did you take a stranger from Sicily to guard and kill for you rather than your own trusted men such as Neri or Lampone?”

“Because after the hit on Victoria and I, it became more viable to trust strangers than my own men,” Michael answers calmly. “Bussetta is involved in my family business. He doesn’t know me personally or my family. He’s never met my men. He came straight from Sicily to listen to my orders and carry them out without question or complaint. He did so well, even if he was gunned down before he was able to put Roth out of his misery.”

“Interesting.” Your father begins to smoke his cigar. “And do you trust Neri and Lampone now?”

“No.” Michael shakes his head. “Most of their loyalty has been grandfathered in my father’s time, but that doesn’t give me any reason to trust them.”

Giuseppe remains amused. He knows all the possible answers Michael can give him for his questions, yet continues to ask just to have you hear it with him.

“Most of my men are businessmen, Don Ferrari.” Michael continues, “I have to think like others around me if I want to retain control of my family business and stay alive. I know their loyalty is about business and nothing else. It’s nothing personal, but I never expected it to be either. That’s why I treat them accordingly. I don’t trust anyone. That’s business.”

“I like that.” Giuseppe grins back at Michael. “You are your father’s son, after all.”

“I know what you’re going to ask me next, Don Ferrari.” Michael tightens his silk, black tie. “And you can rest assured as I know this hit happened because of someone on the inside.”

“Oh really?” Giuseppe raises a curious brow.

“Yes. It was my own brother, Fredo.” Michael nods.

You bite down on your lip, staring down at your hands. Your father isn’t really surprised, but his facial expression somewhat pretends to be. “How did your father react to that?”

“I don’t care how my father reacts because he isn’t Don anymore.” Michael’s eyes harden. “I’m the head of my family now, and if I looked at and considered everyone’s feelings around me, then my family would be torn apart by betrayal and conflict of opinions. Betrayal is betrayal, brother or not. It’s nothing different.”

“I agree.” Giuseppe lets out a drawn-out sigh, holding his cigar between his fingers. “And as a result, my pregnant daughter has been through a lot. And now, one of her brothers-in-law is a traitor. My question to you is, what will be done?”

“What must be done,” Michael answers flatly. “Fredo will be killed for what he’s done to the family.”

“It’s clear you’ve made up your mind.” Giuseppe locks eyes with Michael.

“After seeing bullets fly over my wife’s head and with the prospect of my children being harmed or worse—killed—I already made up my mind regardless of who it would be. This wasn’t a hard decision for me.” Michael glances back at you.

“I’m pleased to hear that and agree with you.” Giuseppe slips the photographs of Alphonse back inside his file folder. “Unfortunately, you’re acting a bit too late, Don Corleone. You see, I don’t take well to these sorts of things, and I lack the saintly patience that you have. I don’t have a temper, but I have no patience when it comes to getting even. About this, ah how would you say—murderer—on the loose in New York—attacking sisters, mothers, and so forth—I see some of your men were impacted.”

“Them, yes, but not me.” Michael couldn’t possibly care less.

“You don’t care, do you?” An amused smile forms on your father’s lips as you glance back hesitantly at Michael.

“No,” Michael answers flatly. “I don’t have a reason to.”

Giuseppe can clearly tell how selfish Michael is. He knows at the same time if it was Michael’s mother who was targeted and simply brushed aside as a “victim of a serial killer on the loose,” it would certainly be different.

Then again, killing Carmela Corleone would be the icing on avenging Ludovica’s death Ferrari style, but for the sake of his own daughter and the twins, it’ll remain the last resort but a viable option for Giuseppe nonetheless. It’s simply business—nothing personal no matter how it’s perceived, and Giuseppe certainly won’t care to spare Michael’s feelings now.

“It’s a shame as to what’s happening.” Giuseppe comments, pursing his lips. “Though it’s nothing out of my jurisdiction. I could easily make it go away.”

Michael’s eyes begin to narrow at Giuseppe. He’s more than well aware as to what your father is trying to say to him—knowing he practically controls every high-profile killing and assassination in New York. There’s no “serial killer”—there’s just him and the media on his payroll, and this strikes an interesting revelation.

“I would advise you to deal with your brother quickly.” Giuseppe continues, “but then again, there is the matter of who killed those assassins on that night because I believe we all know Fredo certainly didn’t.”

“I’ve dealt with that already,” Michael replies, but Giuseppe is quick to express his disapproval.

“I doubt that. You’ve disappointed me thus far by waiting. I could care less about how your patience works, Mr. Corleone, but when it involves my family and subsequently me, I start to grow a little irritated at the lack of action. You really shouldn’t do it again.” Your father’s voice grows stern. “For the sake of the peace between our families. I’m sure you understand because I would then have to get involved, and I already have as much. My methods aren’t very appreciated in this line of business.”

“I’m aware, Don Ferrari.” Michael reaffirms.

“Good.” Giuseppe smiles back a the both of you, gesturing out with the cigar in his hand before looking at you. “Victoria, you should do the honors of putting down the bastard on the inside who supported the hit—besides your husband’s brother, of course.”

“I’d be happy to have her do it.” Michael’s eyes dart back over yours.

“Yes, well,” Giuseppe shifts in his seat, taking a puff from his cigar. “It’s a shame your brother of all people was the grand reason why all of this happened. Jealousy is truly murder.”

“He has an inferiority complex.” Michael barely seems bothered by the fact. “Always has, though it had mainly affected his own personal life until now, for all I know. It makes no difference to Victoria or me.”

“I don’t know how you held that hot-head of your brother Santino on a leash but not Fredo.” Giuseppe chuckles, taking a puff of his cigar as he notices the look of surprise growing on your face but not Michael’s serious expression.

“Yes, yes, I do know about Santino and Victoria’s little incident, by the way. Nothing escapes my eye, naturally. I saw the bruises too. You certainly did a number with your own brother’s jaw. I have to say, if we aren’t looking out for your cutthroat business tactics, Michael, I should advise everyone to watch out for that right hook of yours.” Your father then gives you a small nod—still amused. “I do think it’s disappointing you kept our narcotics deal from your own wife. That may be the only time you truly disappointed me.”

Before Michael can respond, your father continues and directly speaks to him. “I don’t want it to ever happen again, Corleone. Your father is old-fashioned and doesn’t involve himself in even rumors of his children’s marriages, but marriages that families don’t look out for or care about end up like Constanzia and Carlo Rizzi, don’t they?” Giuseppe points to his eye. “They end in bruises, miscarriages, and violence. I’m not accusing you of such, Michael, but I will always be involved, and so will Victoria’s brothers long after my death. You don’t think I know what you did to my daughter?”

Shock hits you as you stare in silence back at Michael. Michael notices your gaze from the corner of his eye but remains quiet and continues to face your father, listening.

“You lied to her, kept our narcotics deal from her, which she had the right to hear from you of all people, then you got her upset to the point where she physically left you. She couldn’t get a piece of mind before the media came for her, not to mention Santino’s lustful advance. I saw how you dealt with all of that. I don’t quite like dwelling on the past, but I just want to tell you that you’re not married to a normal woman. Keep in mind she is a Ferrari—always has been, always will be.”

“You’re trying to tell me you’re getting involved in my marriage to your daughter?” Michael raises his brows.

Giuseppe chuckles, shaking his head. “I like your sense of humor, but no. I’m not involved in that sense, but I am observant, and I know everything. I’m voicing my opinion, so my daughter isn’t led astray and hurt. I’m sure what happened that week was a couple’s fight between the two of you—a clear misunderstanding mended now. When I get involved in things, people die.”

“I want to make it clear to you, Don Ferrari, that I respect and love your daughter. I care for her deeply.” Michael states. “I always have. I promised her and you that I’d take care of her and our children no matter the cost. She comes first to me as she and the twins are my priority. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between the two of us in that regard.”

You blush, gazing down at your hands as you can sense your father’s disposition warming and relaxing towards Michael.

“Well, well.” Giuseppe grins, beginning to slowly rise to his feet as Michael does the same. “That goes well with me in any regard. I’m aware. She and my grandchildren always speak very highly of you. You are still my son-in-law after all, and I have great expectations for you.” He extends his hand out to Michael. “I trust you’ll have all this business with your brother sorted out very soon for the sake of both of our families. Understood, Don Corleone?”

Michael shakes your father’s hand firmly, locking eye contact with him. “Understood, Don Ferrari.”

[ Evening Hours ]

With the soft, summer breeze flowing through the chiffon curtains and into your dimly lit bedroom, you take in the splendor of the evening through a sensual, intimate moment spent with Michael; the two of you sprawled over top of each other naked in bed after sex and amongst the crinkled bed sheets and blankets.

With one hand tracing lazy circles over Michael’s chest and your chin resting in the palm of your free hand with your elbow propped up on the bed, you remain over top of Michael with your bare thigh over his—feeling his erection against your little baby bump.

The taste of Michael’s kiss still lingers over your lips as you run a hand through the middle of your hair, brushing it out of your face to see Michael’s tousled, lightly gelled hair now relaxed and loosely clinging to the sides of his face.

The soft illumination of the lamp upon your night table glows over the two of your naked bodies—bringing attention to Michael’s dark eyes as he lazily gazes back at you, one hand to his side upon the bed and the other caressing your cheek.

“I love you,” you whisper to Michael, leaning a little upward before planting a kiss over his lips.

“I love you more,” he murmurs back against your lips—raising his free arm to embrace your waist lovingly and press your body gently against his.

You press your forehead against Michael’s, blushing. You notice a small smile form over his lips as you cup his cheeks, your hands beginning to roam through his silky, dark locks of hair. “And to think you would have gotten my pregnant ten times over if I wasn’t already.”

“Gladly, baby,” Michael says breathily—his voice still low and husky as he runs his hands down from your back to your ass. “You know I’m a little impatient when it comes to these things.”

“Just about six months left or so,” you giggle, feeling his erection pressing dangerously close to your entrance.

“My point exactly.” The tip of Michael’s Roman nose brushes against yours as he steals a kiss from your lips. “And what do you want to name our next child?”

“Well,” you kiss both of Michael’s cheeks, “I was thinking if we have another girl that we could name her Maria?”

“Maria.” Michael repeats with a small nod, “it’s a beautiful name. I like it.”

“And as for a boy?” You peek up at him, trailing your fingers down his jawline and feeling at Michael’s freshly shaven face.

“Maybe an Italian name, or not?” Michael’s hand trails down to your thighs, rubbing them up and down tenderly. “I have a few ideas.”

“Up to you.” You smile back at him shyly, lacing a free hand with Michael’s tightly. “What do you think?”

“How about Vincent?” Michael suggests, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss upon it.

“Vincent. It’s perfect.” You whisper back, gazing down at him. “It’ll be a surprise until then.”

“More so if we had another set of twins.” Michael chuckles, “that was a perfect surprise.”

“I can remember it as if it was just yesterday.” You give out a little laugh, resting your head upon Michael’s chest. “I was so shocked, honestly. It was amazing. We expected one and got two. Niccolo and Verona…”

“Our children.” Michael kisses your forehead gently. “Parenthood has changed both of us for the better. You know I’d like to be a father after this again.”

“Really?” You grin, “I know we talked a little bit about having more children in the future, but I wasn’t sure you’d be so certain about it now.”

“It’s up to you at the end of the day, darling.” Michael slides his fingers in and out of yours loosely as you place the palm of your hand against his. “I would love to have a fourth child.”

“You know I think the same.” You nod against Michael’s chest, watching your wedding band come into contact with his. “One big family. It would be beautiful. I’d like that very much.”

“Mhmm.” Michael places his free hand over the side of your baby bump carefully. “And until then, my priority is keeping you and the baby safe and healthy. I’ll wait however long I have to—as long as you’re happy.”

“You know I’m always happy when I’m with you, regardless of whatever my father says.” You plant a kiss over his knuckles. “He can be more than harsh sometimes, so I’m sorry for today, baby.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, darling.” Michael strokes his free hand through your hair. “I understood what he was trying to say, and he’s right in that regard. He’s looking out for you in a way my father didn’t for Connie and Carlo at the time. There’s a lot I admire about that.”

“I think so too. I’m glad you see it that way.” You gaze back up at him. “And Connie deserves some good in her life after all she’s been through. I’m happy for her and Lorenzo, honestly.”

“Your brother makes her the happiest I’ve seen in years.” Michael agrees, tilting his head to the side to face you. “And I’m sure your father won’t object to another Corleone marrying into the family—I know mine won’t.”

“Of course not.” You giggle quietly, “Leonardo’s already talking about wanting to marry her, so it’s only a matter of time.”

“It’ll be good for the family and for them, that I believe.” Michael covers his mouth as he yawns. “It’s similar to what I thought of once I knew we’d be getting married; I wanted you badly then as much as I want you now as my wife.”

The blush on your cheeks deepens as you lean your body upward, hovering over top of him. “I’m lucky to have you myself. You’re perfect, you know that?” Your eyes dart over Michael’s naked body as you bite down on your lip—feeling another surge of arousal rush through you.

Michael’s eyes dart over to yours, filling with both amusement and lust towards your naked body above him and your words. A faint smile forms over the corners of his lips as he trails the back of his hand alongside your cheek to your jawline, tilting your chin down to face him. “I’m perfect?”

You don’t answer him—letting your needy gaze do the talking. Michael’s already heard your breath hitch and can tell from the burning blush over your cheeks that you’re aroused all over again—unable to get enough. The sight of you against Michael, beckoning and aching for his touch and body against him, pleases him more than over.

“You are…” You murmur softly, cupping his cheeks in both hands. “And I intend to revel in it.”

Michael rubs his hands up and down your sides tenderly, laying sprawled upon the bed underneath you as you trail your fingers to the shape of his full lips and against his cheeks as you pepper soft kisses all over them.

Feeling the warmth of your skin against his, you plant another kiss over his forehead and run your hand through his tousled, sexy hair. For what seems like the first time in forever, Michael submits to your affection and dominance entirely—curious to see what you’ll do to him next.

The sexual tension and built-up frustration of arousal speaks for the two of you in heated silence. You lean in, brushing the tip of your nose against Michael’s before tilting your head and sealing a kiss over his lips.

Michael kisses you back at first gently, but as you part your lips and deepen the kiss, he gladly joins you. The kiss is as greedy as it is passionate—both of your wet lips collide against each other as your hands slide down to Michael’s firm shoulders.

You give his shoulders a squeeze, feeling at his arm muscles before you continue to trail your hands down to his wrists and to lace both hands with his. His slender fingers intertwine with yours, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze as he begins to sloppily kiss you with his tongue.

Out of reaction, you moan softly in Michael’s mouth and buck your hips down onto his cock—letting your pussy press up against the shaft of his erection. Feeling your wetness against his cock, Michael grunts and keeps his hips against yours.

He almost seems disappointed when you prematurely part your lips from him, keeping him wanting more. You chuckle breathily, pecking his lips once more before you begin to leave a sloppy trail of kisses around the outline of his jawline.

Michael inhales deeply, feeling surges of pleasure rush through him. You take your time with teasing and pleasing him, knowing very well you’re unable to get enough of every inch of him as is.

You continue your kisses downward and all over his neck, only further motivated and welcomed by Michael’s reactions and need to be touched by you. You breathe hotly against Michael’s skin, adoring every bit of him as you gaze over his body possessively. “You’re so sexy, you know that…?”

He’s mine. You press a kiss over his chest, roaming your hands all around his torso and feeling at his chest hair before moving further and further downward. Michael runs his hands through your hand, almost guiding you as you purposefully tease him by brushing your wet lips against the tip of his cock.

“Victoria…” Michael grunts, watching you grip his cock with one hand as you swirl your tongue around his tip—licking off his precum. “You’re really going to tease me like this?”

You grin back at him playfully, about to take his cock into your mouth. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

Michael parts his lips open—letting out a breathy moan as you take his cock down your throat. Slowly, you ease him into your mouth as much as you can without overdoing it—steadying yourself as you begin to bob your head up and down.

Michael props himself upon the bed with his elbows—his eyes half open and glazed with lust as he watches you eagerly continue to suck him off. You slobber over Michael’s cock—tasting his precum, beginning to slowly ooze out of his tip as you pump his cock in your hand at the same time.

Never having been able to keep quiet over such, Michael doesn’t hold back on his groans—deep and velvety as his voice rings out and breaks through the silence. “V-Victoria, come on…”

Your eyes flicker up to Michael in curiosity as you lick up and down his shaft quickly, only momentarily interrupted when he pulls you up to him by your arms swiftly in one motion. You squeal out playfully as Michael grunts, quick to position his cock over your entrance and press your waist down against his.

You moan loudly in surprise, feeling his cock enter you as you clutch onto his chest—beginning to ride him for the second time tonight. Michael grabs your face with one hand, giving it a little shake as his lips remain a mere few inches from yours.

“What did I say about teasing me like that?” He breathes against your lips.

“What can I say?” You lick over your lips, “I can’t get enough of you.”

Michael thrusts upwards in you, filling your pussy deep with every inch of his cock as he pulls you into a rough kiss down onto the bed. You roll your eyes back in pleasure, giggling out of breath as you wrap your thighs around his waist—yearning to feel him again and again.

[ + 1 Day ]

Sonny runs a hand through his curls in frustration, unbuttoning his waistcoat with the other as he follows Tom out of the central family residence and towards the boathouse. Tom attempts to keep a calm and cheery disposition on his face, although even he knows the nature of the conversation he’s about to have with Michael, you, Rocco, and Al Neri is anything but something to be happy about.

Tom firmly holds onto his paperwork and folders, leading the way past the pool and into the entrance of the boathouse with Sonny. The grand building boasts of luxurious décor and splendor with massive windows letting in natural light from all sides—a perfect view of what Tom now sees to be Fredo and Niccolò sitting by the edge of the lake together, setting up their fishing rods.

Tom lets out a soft sigh, stopping in his tracks to look out at the two in which Fredo will inevitably be the topic of the conversation. He can’t help but feel pity towards his brother, shocked but now in acceptance of what he’s done against the family.

Sympathies for Fredo aside, Tom has barely been able to pull himself to have more than small talk with Fredo since your mother’s funeral. He respected Michael’s decision not to speak to him or involve himself with Fredo ever since Michael told Tom and Sonny the truth.

Connie, Vito, and Carmela remain the only ones unaware of the truth. Both Sonny and Tom can understand why as much as you. Michael intended to tell his father but came to a conclusion himself that it would break apart their families far more than if Fredo’s death was made to look like an accident.

Michael is also very well aware—especially since his last private conversation with his father—that he values family above all, including loyalty—or so Michael assumes. Fredo may as well have slaughtered your mother himself, and Vito may still have something against the idea of having his son killed. He could never bear it, but Michael can, and he will.

“Move, Tom,” Sonny mutters, nudging at Tom’s shoulder as he refuses to look back out the window to Fredo. “He’s not worth your pity.”

Tom glances back at Sonny, about to say something but nods—pressing his lips into a firm line before the two push through the door and begin to enter inside the boathouse. Only a few steps in, and the both of them spot Michael standing by the fireplace with anticipation of his brothers’ arrival in his eyes.

Michael remains dressed in dark navy dress trousers, a matching suit jacket, and a wine-red, open neck-dress shirt. Hair heavily gelled back, and without a hint of emotion in his expression, Michael doesn’t need to explain the nature of the conversation he’s about to have with you and his brothers.

You peek back at your brothers-in-law, sitting upon one of the armchairs with Al Neri to your left and Rocco to your right—leaving three empty armchairs across from you meant for Tom, Sonny, and Michael. Everyone else remains seated except for Michael.

Michael pats the shoulders of both of his brothers, easily able to pick up on their mood from their gloomy and disappointed dispositions. “Have a seat.”

He gives them both a nod—harboring no further harsh feelings towards a bruised yet healing Sonny who takes his seat next to Tom upon one of the armchairs. You smile back at the two of them, noticing their tense body language and how Tom and Sonny ease up as they notice you.

Michael lets out a soft sigh of frustration, picking up a rolled newspaper off the top of the fireplace before approaching Tom with it. “Our friend and old business partner Hyman Roth is on the news.”

Tom sets his documents down upon the coffee table before him, taking the newspaper from Michael. Tom reaches inside his cardigan, pulling out his reading glasses before noting, “I hear he tried to leave to Israel.”

“Mhmm.” Al Neri nods, rather relaxed in how he practically slouches against his seat. “The high court turned down his request. His passport is also now invalidated except to return back to the United States, which he obviously can’t do. He landed in Buenos Aires the other day and offered a million dollars if they’d allow him to live there. He was refused.”

Tom exchanges a glance of confusion with Sonny before looking down at the newspaper. Sonny leans over Tom’s shoulder to read as Tom speaks out, “then he may try Panama.”

“Panama won’t take him.” Michael slips his hands into both pockets of his trousers, beginning to pace around the fireplace. “Nowhere will. He’s finally aware that he’s surrounded.”

“Isn’t his medical condition terminal?” Tom raises his head up from the newspaper, handing it to Sonny. “He can only live—what—another six months?”

“Does it matter?” Sonny scoffs, practically throwing down the newspaper upon the coffee table. “He doesn’t deserve to breathe the air he’s breathing in now. Who gives a shit whether it's terminal or not?”

You bite down on your lip, remaining silent as you notice Michael gingerly rubbing his eyes in frustration. “Like I said, he’s been dying of the same heart attack for twenty years.” Michael agrees with Sonny. “It doesn’t matter to me. Victoria—” Michael’s eyes land on yours, surprising you. “What do you think?”

“I’m not exercising mercy to him because of his health.” You shrug back.

“Exactly.” Michael nods, looking back at his brothers as he picks up an orange from the fruit display over the coffee table. “Where would you assume he’d go?”

“Miami, then,” Sonny suggests as Michael peels off a small section of the orange. “He has nowhere else to hide now.”

“Correct. That’s exactly where we want him.” Michael sets down the small chunk of orange peel.

Tom notices the dead-set look of murder in Michael’s eyes, responding. “Mike, I know what you’re thinking, and that’s impossible. Roth will be turned right over to the FBI the moment he returns back here. He’ll be heavily protected—”

“It’s not impossible.” Michael interrupts him, placing his mouth over the top of the orange. You blush, blinking at the sudden sight of Michael practically sucking over the orange as he speaks out again, “nothing is impossible.”

“It would be like trying to kill the president!” Tom exclaims, shocked at how nonchalant Michael is about all of this. “There’s no way we can get to him.”

“Tom, come on. Seriously?” Sonny scoffs, “don’t push it. You’re exaggerating. He’s an old man, and he isn’t going to be surrounded by men willing to protect him with their lives but rather men who are willing to take it if he does something stupid. How hard can it be?”

Tom looks back up at you in worry, but you shake your head at him in disapproval. He’s always been the moral compass of the family, but you disagree entirely with Tom’s objections.

“Tom—you know you surprise me.” Michael sucks upon the orange again, lapping up its juices over his tongue as you attempt to force your eyes off of him in such a serious situation. “If history has taught us anything, and if we can be certain about anything, it’s that you can kill anyone you want.”

You have to say, there was little to no difference between you and the orange last night on Michael’s mouth after all.

Tom frowns, giving a slow nod and staring down at the coffee table. Michael redirects his attention to Rocco, who munches on a piece of fruit himself. “Rocco?”

“Difficult.” Rocco gives a small nod, “but not impossible to do.”

“Good.” Michael licks the juice of the orange off his lips, now biting off a chunk before he takes his seat by you.

“This has to be done one way or another.” Sonny pulls at his curls, pursing his lips. “This is business.”

Michael reaches for a napkin, wiping off his mouth as he looks back at Sonny and relaxes in his seat. “Then let’s do business.”

Tom gives out a small sigh of disappointment, quick to pick up his documents from the coffee table. “Okay then—consider this. Just consider this for me, Mike. Roth and the Rossato brothers are on the run. Are they worth anything? I mean, they’re dead men anyway. You won. Is it really worth it anymore?”

“Tom,” you speak up as Rocco, and Al’s eyes gaze over you. “I know you’ve always been the moral compass of the family, and I appreciate that. What you’re saying does make sense, but they have to be killed. All of them. They shouldn’t be on the run because we ‘won’; they should be dead because we ‘won.’”

Michael points back at you with an agreeing nod.

“So we have to wipe everybody out?” Tom furrows his brows in disapproval.

Michael lets out a huff in frustration, clearly growing irritated with Tom’s antics as he leans his back against his armchair. “I don’t feel I have to wipe everybody out, Tom. Only my enemies. That’s all there is to it.”

Sonny glances back over at Tom, shaking his head as even he’s surprised at how lightly Tom is taking all of this. Tom purses his lips, nodding in defeat. He knows there’s no changing Michael’s mind or even attempting to dig down into his intentions.

“Are you two going to agree with me on these things I have to do or what? Do I have to hold your hands through everything?” Michael directs his question to both his brothers. “Because if so, you can both join Fredo on this list of incompetence in this family.”

Ouch. You graze your teeth over the bottom corner of your lip as you notice Tom taking the comment into offense. Tom frowns, “Mikey, come on. What is this? I’ve always been loyal to you, you know that. Why do you hurt me like this?”

“Hmm.” Michael’s eyes dart back from Sonny to Tom—noticing Sonny is all in and approving regardless of the comment Michael purposefully made to the two. “That you have. I’m just asking you a simple question, Tom.”

“Sì, ti aiuterò.” (Yes, I will help.) Tom answers back in Sicilian.

“Buono.” (Good.) Michael replies. “Non preoccuparti, Tom, perché sai perché siamo qui.” (Don't let that bother you, Tom, because you know why we're here.)

A sense of discomfort falls into the room as you notice Sonny’s shoulder tense up. “I can’t believe any of this… Our own fuckin’ brother.”

“Your brother.” Michael corrects, his tone falling stern. “He’s nothing to me now.”

“You could kick him out, disown him.” Tom is quick to suggest, looking unnerved. “Even make him change his last name.”

“Those are awards for being stupid, Tom.” Michael shakes his head.

“If we’re hunting down a dying man with six months left to live, then this is nothing.” Rocco clears his throat. “This has to be done too.”

Michael blinks for a moment as if he’s surprised Rocco even had a voice, to begin with. He slowly turns his head to face Rocco, looking both impressed and disgusted with him at the same time. “Yes, Rocco, I’m sure you’d know a lot about what has to be done with Fredo, don’t you? Considering you helped him.”

The room falls dead silent as you feel a tinge of anxiety hit you. Instantly, your heart begins racing in your chest as you swallow hard. The sensation of anxiety is quick to dissipate fully to anger as you stare back at Rocco with hardened eyes—hatred and frustration pooling into them.

Rocco appears confused, furrowing his brows. A look of shocks falls onto his face, but whether it’s because of what Michael said or the fact he got caught is not clear. “What? Don Corleone, there’s no such thing. I’d never do so. That night, Al and I were trying—”

Michael holds up his hand, silencing him. “I gave you and Neri one job that night; to find the assassins and bring them to me alive. Fredo was near Tom and me the entire time. He didn’t slit their throats, so who did?”

Al Neri remains silent and just as relaxed as he was when he first arrived at the boathouse. He knows he’s not to blame, nor has he done anything wrong, and he’s had concerns about Rocco himself ever since that night too.

Sonny and Tom eye both men, unsure of what to think, but the growing annoyance in Sonny’s expression is unavoidable by all.

“Still to this day, I don’t know what happened to them.” Rocco continues lying to save face, appearing a little panicked. “I didn’t do anything myself, Don Coleone. I was and am loyal to you, always. I was looking for the assassins with my men, and we didn’t catch a break until Victoria—”

“Mrs. Corleone.” Michael sharply corrects.

Rocco swallows hard, “sorry—Mrs. Corleone—shot one of them. I can swear to you it wasn’t me, Don Corleone.”

“Then who was it?” Michael asks, unconvinced.

Rocco is, of course, unable to answer, and Al remains unmoved, nor does he even bother to look over at Rocco.

“I know it was you.” Michael locks eyes with Rocco.

You let out a quiet, deep breath—feeling your muscles clench as blood begins to pound in your ears. You practically grip at the arms of your seat with your fingernails as you force yourself to sit still and listen.

“I’m not surprised. I’m disappointed. You were loyal to my father and me for years. You had nothing deprived for yourself or your family.” Michael states out, “you were one of my highest paid enforcers.”

‘Were?’ Tom thinks to himself, staring in shock at both Rocco and Michael.

“And what did that amount to?” Michael narrows his eyes. “You were in on a hit against my life and sloppily covered up your tracks as if I didn’t know. You played the innocent part very well, Rocco. I waited, however. Not for you to crack or fess up and show one of us you did it in some way, but to corner you like this—to have you helpless. Everybody knows, Rocco. You don’t have to lie to me any longer. You’re a dead man to me anyway, but what about my wife?” Michael gestures his hand out towards you. “Because of you—indirectly but nonetheless—Victoria’s mother died. How do you feel about that?”

“Don Corleone, please.” Rocco swallows down the lump in his throat, looking back at you. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Corleone, but I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t involved at all. That must have been an accident—”

“I don’t believe in collateral damage or accidents.” You cut in—your tone of voice filled with hatred. “There’s no way those assassins could have gotten inside without the help of you and Fredo. You were there. I would stop lying if I were you, Lampone because I know you did it. She was a target as much as Michael and I were.” You point to your chest, “the only difference is that you’re a coward. You don’t have what it takes to come face to face to me with a knife or a gun but to a defenseless woman.”

“No, Mrs. Corleone, please!” Rocco shakes his head, “it’s not true, none of it! I’m begging you, consider this, that night—”

In an instant without second thought or delay, you pull out your pistol from the band of your pencil skirt behind you and aim directly for Rocco’s head—pulling the trigger mid-conversation.

The bullet lodged into the side of Rocco’s skull in a split second, causing blood and brain matter to splatter all over his seat, over the coffee table, and onto Tom and Sonny’s chest as Rocco’s body falls limp and slumps over.

“Shit!” Tom lets out a shuddering gasp, lunging his body to the side.

Sonny only flinches on the impact of the blood landing over him—waving off his hand to splatter it as he grimaces at the sight of Rocco; the blood from the gaping hole in his head begins to seep into the fabric of the armchair.

Al Neri rubs the bridge of his nose, remaining silent and still slouched over in his seat as if he’s seen this happen every day or couldn’t care less—barely reacting.

Michael purses his lips, glancing downward to see the crimson mess almost landing towards him. Seeming rather impressed with your shot and disappointed from the mess all at once, his gaze is redirected back to you as you smear off the droplets of blood from your cheek, lowering your smoking pistol.

“Victoria—” Tom’s eyes bulge in shock at you as his muscles tense up, unable to even begin to comprehend what you just did.

You frown, setting your gun down on the armrest of your chair as you stare back at Rocco’s corpse. “He deserved worse for how he made my mother suffer.”

“Well, I’ll be damned—what a fuckin’ surprise that was.” A wry smirk forms over Sonny’s face as he straightens his posture over his seat, noticing some of Rocco’s blood over his waistcoat. “Yeah, Mike—your wife is a hell of a shooter, I’ll give you that.”

Michael shrugs back at Sonny and Tom, hiding both his surprise and how impressed he is himself by the shot—of course having expected it to come from you, but not so suddenly or in front of his brothers.

“Tom, instead of sitting there staring, you could get someone to clean up this mess,” Michael speaks out calmly.

“Y-yeah…” Tom gives a shaky nod, just glad to have an excuse to get up. “I’ll… I’ll go get Ritchie and the o-others.” He scrambles to his feet, rushing out of the boathouse.

Sonny stretches out his arms, rising out of his seat. “That’s one way to ruin a new suit, but I have to say it was well justified.”

“I hadn’t planned to make it so public.” You let out a soft sigh, glancing down at your pistol. “Then again, there’s something to gain from that too.”

“Forget him.” Michael gestures with his hand. “He’ll join the corpses of the assassins in the sewers far from here—almost too late if you ask me. Al.” Michael turns his head to Neri, “you know what to do, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Al Neri nods. “Miami tonight.”

“Perfect.” Michael straightens out his suit jacket, getting up from his seat. “And as for Fredo, I don’t want my parents or children to be around when it’s done—understood? Handle it by the end of this week when Connie takes the family out to Reno. Victoria—that includes you.”

“Y-yeah.” You let out a soft breath, feeling a sensation of nausea pulling in your gut from both your pregnancy and the fact you can barely stomach the idea of knowing almost the exact date of Fredo’s death this week.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, taking in a deep breath as you hear Tom rushing back into the boathouse with a few more of Michael’s men, including Ritchie.

As you peek your eyes open, you notice Michael’s men don’t react to the grisly sight of Rocco or the blood-stained furniture at all, simply beginning to move the body as the others set aside the soiled furniture.

“Forgot a lawyer doesn’t see too much of the real action, huh?” Sonny chuckles, joking around with Tom, who rubs up and down his arms—still rather shaken from the site.

Michael extends out a hand to you, which you gladly take as he pulls you up—wrapping an arm around your waist as he gives it a squeeze. “Are you alright? That was quite the bold move.”

“I’m fine.” You murmur, swallowing hard. “I just hate the fact either of us has to go through this.”

“Oh, Sonny, please,” Tom grumbles, rubbing his forehead as he stands aside for Michael’s men to carry out Rocco’s body. “This isn’t funny.”

“When did I say it was?” Sonny clasps an arm around Tom’s shoulder, pulling him in as he makes a gun with his fingers and presses it up to Tom’s temple. “It was all over in a second! She went bada-bing! Blew his brains out all over your suit, huh? That’s what you’re really upset over!”

“It’s fine, Victoria.” Michael glances down at you. “It’s just Fredo and Roth now. All of this will be over soon. Neri will handle it.”

“You’re going to have Neri kill Fredo?” You whisper back up to him.

“Well, yes, did you think I was going to do it myself?” Michael furrows his brows.

“No.” You quickly answer, shaking your head and avoiding his eyes.

“I’m not going to have you become a part of this, Victoria,” Michael murmurs back to you—his voice soothing and calm. “This is between my brother and me, and the last thing I need is for you to witness such a thing. Look at me,” Michael tilts your chin up to him, “look at me when I talk to you.”

You blush, gazing back up at him as he asks you, “do you trust me, Victoria?”

“I do.” You answer back quietly, only audible to him.

Michael gently strokes the sides of your chin with his fingers, looking you in the eye. “Then let go, and let me.”

[ + 1 Week ]

Having settled down towards the end of the afternoon earlier than expected because of the waves of nausea and fatigue hitting you from your pregnancy, you sleep soundly snuggled within your blankets upon the bed—curled up to a pillow by your side.

If anything, Michael’s always had a dislike for how you work so hard throughout the day—insistent on getting everything done by yourself. Time and time again, he’s urged for a maid, but you’ve refused, seeing no need to have one for your residence as you handle the daily chores of the household, the twins, and work all at once.

It’s almost refreshing for you to have something to do throughout the day, seeing that Theresa, Sandra, and Deanna do not, and if they aren’t talking over tea, sipping champagne and watching television, or out shopping several times a week—they’re bored out of their minds.

The residence is clean, laundry is hanging dry, Michael’s suits are being dry cleaned, dinner is freshly prepared, and the twins have the rest of the afternoon to enjoy for themselves after finishing their studies early. Truly not a bad way to spend the day to keep yourself busy, then take a much-needed nap.

Michael’s well aware of your efforts and as appreciative as he is to have you running the household as such, even he knows you have a limit even if you choose to ignore it. By the six-month pregnancy mark under careful supervision, he refuses you to do anything to tire yourself out regardless of what you think or have to say.

You know Michael has a weak spot for you and the twins—keeping a sense of compassion and thoughtfulness towards you three that warms your heart when it comes to mind. Everything he does for you and the children is out of love and protectiveness, and that kind of emotional vulnerability from Michael is explicitly for his wife and children.

With just about two hours or so before the sun begins to set upon the horizon, Michael takes it upon himself to enjoy a breath of fresh air outside of his office and by the docks.

With his navy suit jacket hung up back in his office, Michael rolls up the sleeves of his wine-red dress shirt to his elbows. He slips his hands in both pockets of his trousers—revealing a glimmer of his gold watch in a bit of a more relaxed fashion than usual.

Strolling side by side with Tom whose just stepped outside of the residence after receiving a phone call from Al Neri in Miami, Michael is ready to be notified of the fate that awaited Hyman Roth for long enough.

“He landed in Miami just as expected.” Michael glances over at Tom, who grips loosely onto his briefcase.

“That he did.” Tom gives a small nod. “Surrounded by the FBI as usual. It almost looked like they had him cornered. The media caught wind of it as if someone had tipped them off, and they began swarming Roth with a million questions.” Tom sees the inquisitive look in Michael’s eyes, continuing. “Asking him why he returned and whatnot.”

“Not that he had a choice.” Michael comments.

“Exactly.” Tom clears his throat. “He made up some lie saying he was a retired investor returning back home—that he lived on a pension. He repeated that every time someone asked him about the nature of his business or the fact the old man is worth about three-hundred million dollars.”

“How did Al approach him?” Michael raises a brow. “I presume everything went fine on his end?”

“Without a scratch,” Tom confirms, kicking a pebble in front of him. “All he did was lean in as if he was going to ask a question. The reporter disguise worked out very well in his favor. Either Roth didn’t know, or he was just slow because Neri pressed up his pistol right to his chest and shot him twice. Ran off before the FBI could even react.”

“Good.” Michael muses, raising his head up to spot the twins stepping out of the central family residence with Esther, their nanny. “So Roth is officially dead.”

“He’s dead.” Tom nods grimly. “Neri will be landing back in later tonight. No doubt Senator Geary will be hearing all about it tomorrow, but he seems preoccupied with Miss Rita Duvall.”

“What about her?” Michael knits his brows.

“She’s gone missing.” Tom states, “has been for almost a week now I here. Geary’s been looking for her like mad.”

“She wasn’t with him in Nevada before she disappeared?” Michael asks.

“No, they say the last time anyone saw her, she was in New York.” Tom shrugs his shoulders loosely.

“She’s dead.” Michael nods, hiding back his surprise as his mind wanders back to you—brief amusement flashing in his eyes. “There’s no doubt about it.”

“But her body…?” Tom frowns.

“They won’t find it.” Michael brushes off his question. “In any case, we’re close to finishing all of this now.”

“I’d like to say it’s all over, but…” Tom mutters rather glumly.

Michael begins to slow down in his tracks by his yacht before he comes to a stop—looking back at Tom sternly. “You’re more like Pop than you like to admit, Tom.”

“It’s just going to be too hard for me to accept, Michael.” Tom swallows hard, avoiding eye contact. “Fredo’s my brother too. Now he’s acting as if nothing ever happened, and that’s killing me too. I feel like I’m living in a state of denial now.”

“And you are.” Michael replies, “you’re looking too deep into this. You’re seeing it as a family member who made a mistake which is not the case. Fredo knew what he was doing, Tom. He wanted something out of it, so he helped Ricci, Ola, and Roth. He was selfish.”

“Surely he knew that by doing so, it would mean they’d attempt to take your life?” Tom rubs the nape of his neck hesitantly.

“Fredo gave them information on how to get their assassins into the compound—where to stay, where to shoot. He knew what he was doing.” Michael narrows his eyes. “The sooner you realize this, the better it’ll be for you, Tom.”

“And the kids?” Tom glances over to the twins, who now begin to excitedly skip towards their father eagerly. “What will you tell them about their uncle?”

“The same thing our mother and father will hear.” Michael takes his hands out of his pockets. “That their uncle’s death was nothing but an accident while he was on a fishing trip. Tragic, but an accident nonetheless.”

“Daddy, daddy!” Verona and Niccolo giggle, running over to Tom and Michael before hugging their father’s legs. “Hi, daddy! Hi, Uncle Tom!”

“Hello, you two.” Tom smiles back weakly at that, patting their shoulders. “Back so soon from school?”

“We finished early today.” Niccolo grins proudly. “And Esther said we could go out and play for the rest of the day!”

“Is that so?” A faint smile forms on the corners of Michael’s lips as he notices Verona still quietly hugging him tightly. “Well, in that case, what are you two planning on doing?”

“Can we play with you before dinner, daddy?” Niccolo peeks up at Michael innocently. “We were waiting to see you all day! Oh—if you’re not busy, that is.”

Tom gives out a laugh, “this is your lucky day then. Your father’s not busy for once.”

Michael kneels down to the twins’ height, hugging Verona back as he nods up at Tom. “But unfortunately, you are, hmm? Go on, I’ll let them tire me out before dinner.”

“You got it.” Tom smiles back at Michael, “I’ll see you guys at dinner. Be good to your father, kids; he’s not used to running around.”

Michael rolls his eyes at Tom, who grins playfully before making his way off to the central family residence. While Niccolo looks eager to play and awaits his father’s confirmation before anything else, Michael redirects his attention to Verona, who continues to latch onto him.

“Verona—tesoro, va tutto bene?” (Verona—sweetheart, is everything okay?) Michael murmurs quietly, gently rubbing her back.

Verona peeks her head up, looking back at her dad with her wide, dark eyes. “I just wanted a hug, daddy.”

“You just wanted a hug?” Michael glances at her as she nods back. Michael hugs Verona back, joining in Niccolo as he embraces his children. “I haven’t seen you two since breakfast—missed me much?”

“Very!” Niccolo nods eagerly. “Uncle Sonny said he was busy, so he couldn’t come to play with us.”

“Is Uncle Sonny okay, daddy?” Verona frowns, clutching onto Michael’s arm with her tiny hands. “He’s…” She pouts, gesturing to her face. “He’s got a lot of bruises.”

Michael, of course, can’t answer the curiosity and sympathy the twins have towards their uncle by telling them he beat the shit out of Sonny for kissing and attempting to have sex with their mother of all things, but if it’s one thing Michael has mastered consistently doing over the years—it’s lying, and doing it well.

“Did you ask him if his bruises hurt?” Michael asks the two calmly.

“Well…” Niccolo ponders the question before shaking his head. “Nope. We just saw it.”

“And so does he seem alright?” Michael raises his brows.

“Yeah.” Verona peeps.

“Then there’s your answer,” Michael clasps both of the twins’ small hands within the palm of his own. “You could always ask him, of course. You know your Uncle Sonny is always getting himself into trouble. Who knows what he did? He was always like that growing up.”

“Really?” Niccolo giggles, “and grandpa didn’t get mad at him?”

“Sure he did.” Michael chuckles, “and now you can tell he hasn’t learned from it at all. He’ll be fine, believe me. As for the two of you…” Michael gazes back at Verona, noticing the look of sadness growing in her eyes. “I’m more concerned as to how you both are doing.”

“She’s a little sad, I think.” Niccolo frowns back at his sister.

“I am sad,” Verona admits, her voice breaking. “B-because I miss grandma.”

“Because you miss grandma…” Michael repeats, murmuring back as he scoops Verona up in his arms, carrying her over his shoulder. “Alright, alright—I think we need to all sit down for a while. Come here,” Michael takes Niccolo’s hand with his free one, leading both of them over to the boathouse.

Michael can tell Verona’s holding in her tears as she clutches onto Michael’s shoulder, hiding her face in his dress shirt as her hands begin to shake.

Niccolo remains quiet, lowering his head and holding his father’s hand as the two head inside. He knows the topic of his grandmother’s death is touchy and sensitive for him too, but lately, he’s noticed his sister becoming a lot more emotional from it.

“Va tutto bene, Verona.” (It’s alright, Verona.) Michael whispers into Verona’s ear.

Michael lets go of Niccolo’s hand, gently patting a hand over his shoulder to gesture for Niccolo to sit down by the grand windows.

Michael rubs Verona’s back gently in lazy circles to soothe her, already hearing her sniffle quietly as he sits upon the leather chesterfield couch by the windows next to Niccolo.

The moment Michael takes his seat, Verona wraps her arms around her father’s shoulders and bursts into tears—muffling out her crying into his shirt. Michael frowns, holding her tightly with one hand as he strokes through Niccolo’s hair with the other.

Niccolo lets out a quiet, sad sigh at the sound of his sister crying. He curls up to his father’s side as Michael leans his back against the couch, speaking out quietly in Sicilian to them. “Va bene piangere. So come ti senti. Va tutto bene.” (It's okay to cry. I know how you feel. It's alright.)

“Mi m-manca tanto la nonna, papà.” (I m-miss grandma so much, daddy.) Verona hiccups, unable to hold back her crying.

“So che lo fai. Lo faccio anch'io.” (I know you do. I do too.) Michael plants a kiss on top of Verona’s head, holding both of his children. “È questo che hai in mente ultimamente? Non ti vedevo sorridere da un po'.” (Is that what's been on your mind lately? I haven't seen you smile in a while.)

Verona sniffles, slowly pulling away to face her dad as she nods shakily. “S-sì.” (Y-yes.)

“Listen to me, both of you,” Michael speaks in a soothing tone, taking both of the twins’ hands into one of his. “No matter what it is, you two can tell your mother and me anything. Anything, alright? And I’ll understand if you don’t want to. I was like that growing up too. You can talk to grandma Carmela, grandpa Vito, grandpa Giuseppe—all your uncles and aunts, whoever you want. They’ll always be here to help and just listen if that’s what you want, as well as your mother and I.”

Niccolo nods back at his father as Michael bats away fresh tears over Verona’s reddened cheeks—noticing her crying has stopped. “I miss your grandmother just as much as you do, every day. Your mother does too. It’s hard, Verona, I know. It’s going to hurt for a little bit because it’s too soon. But with time, I promise it’ll pass, and you’ll feel better. You’re grieving; it’s normal. You loved your grandma, didn’t you?”

“Y-yeah.” Verona swallows down the lump in her throat.

“Yeah?” A rare smile crosses over Michael’s face as he brushes aside a curtain of her hair behind her ear. “You look like her, you know?”

Verona smiles back weakly at her father and Niccolo, giving a little shy shrug of her shoulders.

“She loved you too. She loved both of you very much. Everyone still feels this way. Your mother, me, your aunts and uncles. Of course, we were all upset, so I don’t want either of you holding anything in.” Michael gives the twins’ hand a reassuring, soft squeeze. “You don’t have to pretend like it’s not bothering you. That goes for both of you.”

“But I ruined everything.” Verona pouts.

“Ruined everything?” Michael raises his brows. “Don’t say such ridiculous things. You didn’t ruin anything.”

Verona shakes her head, “but daddy, Niccolo, and I were going to come to play with you, and then…” Her voice trails off as she rubs her eyes, sniffling. “And then I got really sad.”

“Nothing is ruined! We can still play, you know.” A hopeful look crosses Niccolo’s eyes as he suggests to his sister, “Right, if you want? It might make the sad go away.”

“It might.” Michael kisses Verona’s forehead lightly. “But there’s no shame in taking a break for yourself either. You tell me what you want to do today.”

“I want to play…” Verona peeps back quietly, nodding.

“How about on the yacht?” Michael offers, seeing both of their eyes immediately light up. “Oh, there’s an idea you both like, huh?”

“Yeah, on the yacht! On the yacht!” Niccolo exclaims excitedly. “Please, daddy, please?”

“Pretty please, daddy?” Verona giggles; refreshing for Michael to hear after her crying.

“As long as you two promise to stay safe and follow the rules on deck, I’m fine with that. Alright?” Michael gives the twins a cautionary look. “We can stay on it until dinner time.”

“Okay, okay, yes!” Niccolo scrambles off the couch to his feet. “Fancy yacht, here we come!”

“Thanks, daddy! You’re the best.” Verona beams back.

“Feeling better already?” Michael’s expression warms at his daughter’s smile as he gets up from the couch, setting her down.

“Yeah, I am because I have the best daddy in the world!” She exchanges a playful look with Niccolo. “I’ll race you the docks, Niccolo!”

“Oh, I’ll get there first! Ooh—look, daddy, Uncle Fredo is already there!” Niccolo points out the window.

Michael raises a brow, spotting Fredo taking a stroll by the docks next to Ritchie Nobilio, making small talk over cigarettes with a rather cheerful expression over his face.

Before Michael can even react, the twins giggle and race off out of the boathouse with Michael following behind—already noting to himself how his mood has soured by the sight of his brother.

Slipping both hands into the pockets of his trousers and keeping the twins in sight, Michael continues to follow as he sees Ritchie noticing the children—tilting his head up and beginning to greet them.

From where Michael stands, he can’t make out what the twins are saying to Ritchie, but Niccolo happily points back at Michael, which grabs the attention of both Ritchie and Fredo. Michael’s eyes confirm it to Ritchie, who nods back, leading the twins towards Michael’s luxury yacht.

Fredo smiles over at Michael, who begins to approach him—not in the warm and beaming sense but with some hesitation and politeness as if Michael is unfriendly or would outright ignore him.

For the most part, Fredo’s come to believe Michael has actually forgiven him—and the very presence of him face to face with Fredo now is all the assurance he needs.

“Hiya, Mike.” Fredo greets his brother, walking with Michael towards his yacht. “Taking the kids on a little ride?”

“They seem more concerned with playing on board than going anywhere,” Michael replies rather coldly—avoiding Fredo’s friendly gaze and keeping his eyes on the yacht. “It’s just until dinner.”

“Good on you.” Fredo nods. “I was thinking maybe later on tonight you’d like Niccolo and me to go fishing again? He’s only six years old and learning so fast—he wants to try and catch a fish himself.”

“I don’t think so, Fredo.” Michael side-eyes him. “The twins are going out to Reno tonight with Connie. Niccolo can join you another time.” It’s a lie for the time being, but a deliberate planned out one Michael intends to go forth with. He knows he doesn’t want Fredo near or interacting with the twins at all, to begin with.

“Oh, well, that’s alright,” Fredo admits sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I was planning on going ahead and taking out the boat with Neri tonight anyway if that’s alright with you.”

“That’s fine,” Michael answers coldly, his eyes flickering from his brother back down to the glimmering, blue waters of the lake.

Michael knows that tonight will be the last time you and the twins see Fredo again—let alone anybody else. Having kept himself composed this far, Michael knows he sheds no forgiveness or sympathy towards his brother’s actions and barely considers him family anymore as is.

Ludovica’s death may have been the final straw for you, but Michael accepted the fate he was going to prepare for his brother the moment Fredo gave it all away that he had worked with and told Michael’s own enemies how to enter the compound and very well have taken Michael and your life that night.

“Everything alright, Mike?” Fredo glances back at Michael, noticing his unusual silence and brooding stare.

Michael speaks calmly in a smooth voice, staring back at his brother and knowing that his fate is sealed tonight. “Everything’s fine, Fredo.”

[ Evening Hours ]

You stir in your sleep, weakly blinking as you slide your hand down to your baby bump. Taking a deep breath, you force your eyes open and gaze at the other end of the dimly let bedroom lazily.

Still all warm and snuggled up between the blankets, you feel the wave of nausea and fatigue that washed over you heavily hours ago, well gone by now. Well rested, you brush aside loose strands of hair from your face and grip onto the pillow you curled up to for support, hoisting yourself up in bed.

Letting out a little sigh of relief, you rub your eyes before staring at the empty bedroom before you. It’s just as it was when you came in to rest and remains as silent and undisturbed as ever.

Your eyes dart to the grandfather clock by the corner of the room, reading out that it's 6:34 PM already. The time is a bit of a concern knowing you slept for that long since you came in during mid-afternoon, but also a relief knowing you needed the comfort and relaxation.

An hour ago by now, you would have had dinner with twins and Michael—so where are they, and why hasn’t anybody come to check up on you or wake you?

Furrowing your brows, you carefully get out of bed and reach for your black, silk night robe hung over your vanity table’s chair. Shrugging it on and tying it around your waist, you kick on your matching pair of slippers before heading over to the bathroom first.

Brushing your hair back neatly and washing your face with cold water, the continuing silence around you begins to grow almost unbearable. Your curiosity grows alongside your worry as you know Lake Tahoe is never this quiet—and definitely not towards the evening and after dinner.

It strikes you as unusual since you’re so used to hearing the twins play with Sonny and Tom’s kids, and now that Fredo is back, so is Deanna and her shrill shrieks are nowhere to be heard either. What once may have irritated you is now a spot for concern.

It’s quiet. Too quiet. You rub your eyes tenderly before exiting your bedroom, peeking down both ends of the hallway. Not a sound or person in sight, meaning your residence is empty, and neither Michael nor the twins are to be found.

Wait. You stop in your tracks as you’re about to approach the twins’ bedrooms across from each other. The realization hits you that Michael must have been serious when he mentioned taking the family out to Reno for the evening, but you only assumed the twins, Sandra and Connie at most—so where is everyone else?

Unlocking the front door of your residence, you step out into the warm, evening air and examine your surroundings only to see Michael’s men and security, as usual, patrolling the residence.

You hear a pair of footsteps approaching you from around the corner of the porch as you spot out your bodyguard—Ritchie—looking at you expectantly. “Good evening, Mrs. Corleone. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah.” You answer him with a soft sigh, relieved to see somebody you know at least. “Where is everyone, Ritchie?”

“Don Corleone had the family sent to Reno for a visit earlier. Only Don Corleone and his brother remain at the residence for the time being.” Ritchie explains.

“Which brother?” You ask and notice immediately that it appears as if Ritchie wasn’t expecting such a question.

“Frederico Corleone,” Ritchie answers, taking a step towards you. “He’s currently preoccupied on a fishing trip while Don Corleone remains in the boathouse.”

You shake your head, raking a hand through your hair. “I see. It’s getting late, though—surely Fredo’s not out there by himself all evening?”

“He’s accompanied by Mr. Neri,” Ritchie assures you, but his assurances fall on deaf ears and only cause a surge of anxiety to surge through you.

“I need to go see him.” You murmur, about to step down before Ritchie stands in your way.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Corleone.” Ritchie frowns at you, only continuing to build on your anxiety and worry. “Don Corleone had explicit orders to make sure you stay inside for the remainder of the evening. He was very insistent.”

“Oh, really?” You scoff. “I can’t go see my own husband?”

“I may be able to let him know you wish to see him, but he is also preoccupied and wishes to stay undisturbed,” Ritchie replies.

Of course, he does. Of course, he does! Because he’s preoccupied with Fredo! “Listen—can you just get Rocco’s men to tell him?” You swallow hard. “It’s urgent; I have to see him now.”

“I apologize, Mrs. Corleone, but Mr. Lampone’s men are disposed of,” Ritchie says back.

“Disposed of? Where are they, in Reno?” You furrow your brows, beginning to grow frustrated with Ritchie and his straight-cut answers.

“No, Mrs. Corleone.” Ritchie shakes his head. “They are all disposed of, permanently.”

You stare back at Ritchie with an empty gaze momentarily before your eyes begin to widen. You notice his disposition doesn’t change, but even he appears somewhat unnerved and disturbed to give you the news, meaning Michael has had all of Rocco’s men killed too after you put a bullet in his brain.

“Ritchie,” you begin, sternness growing in your voice, “get out of my way.”

“Mrs. Corleone, please.” Ritchie sighs, gesturing back to the residence. “It’s Don Corleone’s orders. I insist you don’t break them.”

“Ritchie, don’t give me that bullshit. Move, or I’ll be breaking fingers.” You narrow your eyes back at Ritchie.

In defeat, Ritchie steps aside, letting you by before commenting back, “Don Corleone has advised me to let him know if you do leave the residence, Mrs. Corleone.”

“No need.” Your eyes land back onto the boathouse as you pick up your pace, beginning to make your way towards it hastily. “I can tell him myself.”

Insistent on seeing this through for yourself, you can scarcely believe Michael is going to have Fredo executed at home of all places and now. It registers to you as a shock even though you know nothing can be done, nor would you object in any way.

Still, Michael’s kept you in the dark about all of this since the beginning. What will he do with Fredo’s body if he has him killed now? Is he going to make it look like an accident? Is Fredo going to “disappear”? Does Vito know? Who else is aware that this is happening?

It makes sense that Michael wouldn’t wake you, tell you, or even want you out of the house. The very thought of this confirms to you he’s serious—he’s actually going to do it.

Your eyes flicker to the docks where you can spot Fredo a short distance from Michael’s yacht with Al Neri sitting next to him in what seems to be nothing but a peaceful fishing trip—not the last moments of Fredo’s life.

Feeling sick to your stomach at the sight, you let out a shaky breath. Your mother’s dead, you’ve killed Rocco, Michael’s wiped out Rocco’s men entirely, and now Fredo’s death is at the Lake Tahoe residence’s door. Surrounded by nothing but loss, betrayal, and death time and time again—you’re not sure how much more you can take of this while emotionally distraught and pregnant.

You reach for the doorknob of the boathouse, finding the door completely locked. You grunt, struggling with it before trying the side entrance and finding it jammed as well. What the hell is going on here?

Neither aware of your presence or even able to hear you, Michael remains at the front of the grand windows of the boathouse. Hands in his pockets and staring directly out with a clear view of Fredo and Al Neri’s boat, Michael awaits for Fredo to grow distracted and place his bait in the water before giving Al the killing signal.

You frantically knock on the windows, calling out Michael’s name to no avail. Nobody hears you or approaches the entrances—keeping you locked out.

Michael remains unmoved by his decision. He neither doubts himself nor has second thoughts and has never been more convinced than ever that this is what he has to do. He could care less about what anyone could possibly or object to it—including you or the twins. Fredo betrayed the family, and now he must be killed no matter the cost.

Shit. Shit… Where is Michael? Where is he? You spin back to notice Ritchie beginning to directly approach you from behind, aware of the signal himself. Now, if anything, he needs to restrain you away from the docks as far as possible before Al Neri fires his shot.

“He’ll be an expert fisherman in no time, trust me.” Fredo chuckled and patted Niccolo’s shoulder as the two stood before you and proudly clutched onto their fishing rods. “And if he doesn’t want to go into the family business someday, he can always go into the fishin’ business, ain’t that right, buddy?”

“Whatever you say, Uncle Fredo.” Niccolo laughed back out. “He’s a real expert, mama! He knows how to catch the biggest fish! He showed me all of his cool tricks and tips! One day, I’ll catch a really big fish for dinner and show daddy too!”

You step back out onto the docks to avoid Ritchie, rushing out as far over to the edge as possible. You remain on the lefthand side of the docks and out of Michael’s sight on purpose, noticing Neri beginning to reach for his pistol quietly from inside his suit jacket.

“Congratulations to the bride and the groom!” You chimed out happily and approached both Fredo and Deanna. You wrapped your arms around your brother-in-law dearly and pulled him into an excited hug. “Oh, I’m so happy for the two of you, Fredo! Congratulations again! This is so wonderful!”

“Thank you, Victoria. Thank you.” Fredo grinned back proudly and put an arm around Deanna’s waist. “Seems like we saved the best wedding for last, eh?”

Oh my God. You feel tears begin to sting in your eyes as you clasp a hand over your mouth. Fredo hums himself a tune quietly as he lowers his bait in the water, only quietening down as he begins to focus on reeling in a catch.

“I’m sorry, Victoria.” Fredo’s voice quivered. “I had to tell you everything. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I was wrong about you. I really was. I’m sorry for everything, and I always will be. I wronged you since the day we met. I didn’t even have good enough reasons to dislike you. You’ve been nothing but an amazing sister-in-law to me, and I don’t even deserve that.”

Fredo adjusts his fishing hat and shifts slightly in his seat, gazing down at his reflection in the water. He begins to murmur softly to himself in prayer, saying a “hail Mary” as he’s always done for good luck in catching a fish.

“I wanted to help, and I just wanted you to see the truth for what it is, but I think I damaged our relationship more than ever. I don’t even know if it’s appropriate to ask for your forgiveness, so I just want to ask you for your patience. Have patience with me, and I promise I’ll make this all up to you. I want to start our relationship anew, you know? I want to put this all behind us—but it’s up to you.”

You can’t hear Fredo from where you stand, and he doesn’t notice you back at the docks either because of the distance. You quickly turn your head up to the front of the boathouse, noticing Michael’s ominous presence standing by the windows.

“No more of this nonsense. I want to get to know you better as my sister-in-law. I trust your family. I didn’t then, but I know better now. I know this is the best decision for you and Mikey. I’m sorry I stood in your way, to begin with. I know I just made things hard. I know you’re mad at me, and you have the right to hate me too. I would if I were you.”

Your heart begins to pound in your chest as the tips of your ears and the nape of your neck prickle up in heat. Every stage of grief hits you all at once as you can practically count the last seconds of Fredo’s life—about to watch it end before you.

”I don’t hate you, Fredo; I never did. I think we didn’t understand each other when we met. I’ll admit, I didn’t know why we got off on the wrong foot, to begin with. I think we need to establish honesty and trust between one another. You’re my brother now, after all. I don’t want any harm done to you or our relationship.”

Tears begin to spill down your cheeks as your breath hitches. Your heart feels as heavy as ever, aching in your chest as a knot of emotions pulls at your gut. You can neither call out nor reach Fredo—neither forgive nor forget what he’s done to the family but you can barely come to terms with what he did either.

“I don’t deserve your kindness, you know that? You’re an amazing woman, Vic. You do what’s right for your family and for your family. Mike’s lucky to have you, I know. I just… I envied him for so long, you know? I hate myself for letting my emotions take me that far. I hated my own brother because I was jealous of him. I thought he had everything and was everything that I couldn’t be. I thought I was a disappointment to the family.”

Unbelievable and unforgivable. For the past five years, you and Fredo patched up your relationship with one another and got to know each other better as time went on. You were the maid of honor at Fredo and Deanna’s wedding too, and took it upon yourself to forgive Fredo for the strained relationship the two of you had when you first married Michael—moving past all the hardships and growing close together as a family.

“Michael’s being strong for us, Fredo—for the family, just like your father was. He has more than just a great responsibility to bear on his shoulders. I know you try to impress him and live up to his standards, but don’t make that the central point in your life. Don’t enclose yourself off in the space you think your brothers have molded. You’re your own man, I understand that. Let Michael be Michael—he’s still your brother, and he loves you too.”

He was a fantastic, involved uncle to the twins thereafter and the relief of humor you needed when you felt your worst. It was truly as if there had never been a rift between you and Fredo, and neither of you mentioned or thought about it again over the past five years.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who feels that way about me, you know? I’m so scared of failure. I always have been. I guess I wanted to live up to everybody else’s expectations before my own. I kind of got lost within myself doing that. What I did to you and the family wasn’t right, though. I can never justify that, no matter how I feel.”

Sure, Fredo had always been the womanizer and party animal of the family, but he was a warm-hearted brother-in-law who was always supportive, in a cheerful mood, and entertained the family. He ran the hotels well, and his charisma between shareholders and clients became a Corleone classic.

“The apologies you give and the shame you feel are a testimony to how much you love and appreciate your family, Fredo. I know this. You’re capable of making mistakes. You’ve learned from them. It’s not easy being Vito Corleone’s son. You were practically born with expectations looming over you. You don’t have to be like everyone else—you can be you. You can still be a part of the family.”

You knew Vito cared deeply for Fredo, too—knowing that he’d refuse to have Michael, Sonny, and Tom talk down on Fredo no matter how involved or not Fredo was with the family business. He, too, was aware his son was not as competent or even close to being so like his other sons, but Vito became protective of Fredo in that sense that he loved his son and still had faith in him regardless.

“I’m truly sorry for everything I’ve done, Victoria. All the harm I’ve caused and the stress I’ve put you and Michael under. I know neither of you deserved that. I’m ashamed of myself. I apologize again. I just hope that as time goes on, you’ll come to forgive me in the future—even just a little bit.”

Accident or not, execution or not, nobody can fool Vito Corleone. Michael has completely ignored the concept of telling his father that Fredo was the one who betrayed the family because he finds it more convenient to do so after having his own brother killed while being completely unaware his wife is about to witness it all.

You shudder, gasping out as Al Neri aims his pistol directly to the back of Fredo’s head. Your hands begin shaking uncontrollably as you stumble back, hitting your back against Ritchie’s chest.

Out of shock and surprise, you glance back at Ritchie, who frowns at you and shakes his head in disappointment. He firmly wraps his arms around you to hold you back from moving further on the docks but is unable to pull away your gaze or distract you from what’s about to happen next.

Just as your eyes flicker back to Fredo, you see Al Neri pull the trigger. The gunshot is distant but rings out in your ears as the bullet lodges itself into Fredo’s skull in the blink of an eye.

Out of reaction, you reach your arm out weakly and scream with the last bit of your energy, “FREDO!” Your eyes widen in horror to see blood splatter out over Neri, and the boat as Fredo’s body falls limp onto the boat—having finished the last words of his prayer.

Michael watches sternly from the boathouse, momentarily lowering his head as he inhales sharply at the sight. Fredo is dead, and Al Neri has made sure of it.

Your throat tightens, and your voice breaks as you croak out through your sobs, fighting against Ritchie’s protective embrace. Ritchie lowers his head in shame as he holds you in his arms to prevent you from losing your balance and falling, helplessly watching as you flail and begin to sob uncontrollably.

Feeling as if you’re drowning in your own sorrow from the pain, you clutch onto Ritchie, who quietly begins to pull you away from the docks entirely and back towards the residence. Hiccuping and barely able to breathe, you feel a sense of weakness and numbness hit your body as you come to the realization you’ve now witnessed the execution of your brother-in-law.

“I can accept your apology. That’s what family is for. A family’s about forgiveness, Fredo. We’ll always forgive you. I forgive you.”

[ + 1 Week ]

Fredo’s death and the reason behind it may have been what laid the warmth and forgiveness in your heart to rest—permanently. A piece of you died the moment Michael had told you who the betrayer in your family was behind the hit on your lives, and it might as well have been buried with Fredo in his casket.

At the funeral procession and before his motionless, cold body upon the casket, you often couldn’t find yourself to even gaze near him. Moments would pass by where all you could do was stare at him and wonder to yourself: why?

Simply blaming an “inferiority complex” doesn’t even come close to explaining all that has transpired. It’s personal, it’s deeper than that, and it’s rooted in Fredo’s relationship with Michael and Michael alone.

You may have been on Ricci, Roth, and Ola’s hit list that night, but you weren’t the main target, and you and Michael both know that. All the better if you had gotten out of the way alongside Michael, as the three assumed Don Ferrari would blame the Corleone’s and not Roth or Ricci for both of your deaths.

You have to admit, it’s an elaborate plan and well thought out. It could have never come to fruition with Fredo, and the very realization of that kills you to think about it. Now, of course, you’d never know Fredo’s true intention with him lying dead before you and both of your families.

Was Fredo truly stupid in thinking he was helping the family by trying to get involved in a business deal negotiation that should have remained between Roth and Michael? Or did he know “closing off the deal fast” meant a bullet flying into Michael’s skull? Would Fredo truly want his own brother dead for personal gain or for money?

While you wonder alongside Sonny and Tom, Michael does not. It could matter less whether Fredo was the most gullible and naïve person in the world or the most insecure and spiteful. What’s done is done, and the damage is there. It’s irreversible, and it’s unforgivable.

You and Michael both took it upon yourselves to contact Doctor Katherine’s colleagues after the shooting so Niccolo and Verona would have a child psychologist to be able to talk to. You were worried the children may have been traumatized by the event and all the more spiteful that the person who planned the hit knew not only your children would be in harm’s way, but so would Sonny, Tom’s, and all of your brothers’ children too.

Fredo betrayed the family, and he betrayed you. Everything he had told you—promised you—and apologized to you about was a lie. All of it was a lie. Instead of confessing to you or trying to make things right in some sort of way, he fled like a coward to avoid Michael and you—knowing very well he was guilty while playing the innocent role.

Your brothers and Michael’s brothers all know and think the same thing before Fredo’s casket. When a family member turns a traitor, their father is the one who puts them down or their brothers.

Because Michael believes and always will firmly believe business comes before family, he could care less about telling Vito the truth of what happened and the real reason behind Fredo’s death because Vito could never take his son’s own life—let alone allow someone else to.

From the moment Michael disowned Fredo, this became business to him—not personal. Fredo was not a brother or a friend, and he was less than a stranger. He was nothing and didn’t mean anything to Michael any longer. Michael felt no remorse watching Al Neri execute his brother, and he didn’t care what anyone else thought either.

Naturally, he knew the news of Fredo’s death would be painful to everyone—whether they knew or not. It was not something worth laughing or celebrating over. It was simply business.

Even grieving over Fredo was difficult. You either drowned in your own tears or struggled to form any. You felt every stage of grief go through you in mere minutes, shaking you to your care.

Michael was right in the end. How could Fredo not know Michael would be killed? What else would Roth and Ricci send their men to Lake Tahoe for—to have tea with you and Michael? The assassination attempt alone indirectly caused the death of your mother, and you placed that blame over Fredo well.

Loss after loss is beginning to change you in ways you notice and don’t. You can’t find yourself grieving or trusting the same anymore. You hesitate, and you feel anger before trust—the infamous duo that a mafiosa or mafioso would feel after “making their bones” in the family.

Fredo will be buried on Lake Tahoe residence grounds for the sake of family ties and Michael remaining inconspicuous. Bonasera patched the hole in the back of Fredo’s head so well that it would almost be ridiculous not to believe Fredo had drowned during his fishing trip. After all, Al Neri made sure he had enough water in his lungs after the fact.

You gazed up at Vito and Carmela, who clutched the edges of Fredo’s casket, weeping softly. You had never seen your father-in-law so emotional, completely entrenched in his emotions as he grieved over the loss of his son—completely oblivious that the roles could have been reversed to you, Michael, and your mother in a casket.

Tom lowered his head as he sat quietly next to Sonny. He covered his face with his hand over his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to make sense of the deserved tragedy of his brother before him.

Sonny drank his denial away, refusing to even look at the casket as Connie and Sandra sat together by the end of the room—wiping the fresh tears off their eyes in soaked handkerchiefs.

You held both of the twins’ hands as they hugged your sides. They shed no more tears, but the quivering of their little bodies against yours told you everything you needed to know. Death after death is too much for anyone in this family—let alone you.

Michael saw and heard how you reacted, and although he could truly care less about it, he still cares about you, and if anything is upset, the twins shed tears over the death of their uncle, who almost got them killed too.

Michael knows one day both Niccolo and Verona will be old enough to know the truth, and so will your third child growing inside of you who very much could have been killed alongside you that night too. It’s that which he aimed to remind you of again when you approached his office hours after Fredo’s death.

[ - 1 Week, 5 Hours After Fredo’s Death ]

You stand in the doorway to the entrance of the boathouse—keeping one palm pressed to the door to keep it open as Al Neri patiently waits for you to enter and grant your conversation privacy between you and Michael.

Michael stands by the window once more as you had seen him gaze out towards the lake where he firsthand witnessed Al Neri executing Fredo. Almost as he’s been unmoved for the past five hours to you, Michael’s gaze continues to linger at the empty boat now docked—empty and stained in Fredo’s blood.

Aware almost instantaneously that you not only disobeyed his direct orders to stay inside and uninvolved, Michael already senses your presence behind him, one that lingers in sadness, confusion, and anxiety.

Michael waits just a few moments longer for you to enter, but when he notices from your reflection upon the window that you don’t, he slowly turns on his heel to face you. Hands in both pockets and eyes filled heavily with expectation to you, you lower your head and swallow hard—beginning to walk into the room.

Al Neri closes the entrance door behind you immediately, which prompts Michael now to fully turn his body and face you directly. You take a few more steps towards him before picking up your pace—now fighting tears as you embrace your husband tightly.

Michael hugs you back as tightly as ever. He lovingly and protectively wraps his arms around your waist and your back as you sniffle over his wine-red dress shirt, barely even noticing from the rush of painful emotions surrounding you that Michael has gently tilted your chin up to face him.

Your eyes filled with a longing sadness begging for answers gazes back into Michael’s stern and cold dark ones. Michael leans in slowly, planting a deep kiss over your lips before cupping your face with both of his hands gently.

Kissing Michael is a seal of death itself, a poison you welcomed to readily rush through your veins. A type of venom you were gladly addicted to that you let take over you since you met him in 1949.

Michael’s eyes speak of nothing but murder—the look of cold death and emotionlessness never fading, even upon you now. If looks could kill…

“When I tell you to do something, Victoria—when I warn you and advise you against something—I expect you to listen to me,” Michael speaks softly, but his tone of voice is almost harsh and cold in a way. “It’s so I can protect you from seeing these things—from being a part of them. You understand that now, don’t you? So that it will never happen again?”

“Yes.” Your voice cracks. “It would have been better if I did…”

“You understand now.” Michael nods at you, sliding his hands down to your sides and squeezing them. “Fredo couldn’t be trusted, and now he’s dead.”

“What are we going to tell everyone?” You speak out—your voice barely a whisper.

“I am going to tell them it was an accident.” Michael corrects you, “a tragedy during a fishing trip. He drowned; it’s as simple as that. There’s water in his lungs, and Bonasera will work the rest of his magic before the funeral procession.”

You nod back in understanding, numb to what Michael’s telling you. “And can we say the same for Roth?”

“Yes,” Michael replies. “You see Neri with me now in one piece. He handled everything perfectly in an instant. Roth is dead.” Michael gazes back at you, attempting to read the expression in your eyes that doesn’t change from how worried and pained they appeared when you first approached him. “How do you feel?”

You shudder, clutching onto both of Michael’s arms. “Numbed. It’s just too much, Michael. Too much loss back to back. Too many blows to our family, but…”

“But?” Michael raises a brow.

“But that’s mafia.” You give a small shrug of your shoulders. “This is the life we chose, that we live in. I have to say I’ve never been this up close and personal with deaths—not the ones I indirectly sentenced or the ones I did with my own hands. I never knew them personally, so it’s different.”

“Betrayal often comes from your own family first,” Michael murmurs back to you. “It has to be rooted out like a weed before corruption can spread. But you… You’re a strong woman who knows better now, don’t you?”

“Yes.” You swallow hard.

“Tell me.” Michael insists. “I want to hear it from you after all of this time. What do you truly think of all of this now?”

You take a deep breath, knowing all this time that Michael’s been truthful and strong for the family, protecting you, the twins, and the life he built around you, no matter the cost. “You were right, Michael. You always were.”

A long, lingering silence interrupts your soft-spoken conversation with Michael for several minutes. The two of you look upon each other as if it’ll be the last time you see one another. Michael strokes your hair gently, his eyes beginning to fill with a sliver of warmth and emotion towards you.

You take soft and quiet deep breaths, pushing back your emotions and fighting off your tears. Being this close to Michael—against him and in his embrace is comforting in more ways than you can explain. He soothes you. He melts away your worries and every concern you have without even trying.

“It’s over now, darling.” Michael breaks the silence as he pulls you into his arms. “It’s all over. All of our enemies are dead, and we can finally put this to rest. Just you and me.”

A rush of sudden emotions hits you tenfold as you tightly hug around Michael’s chest—pressing the side of your face against his torso. You squeeze your eyes shut, giving in to this man who married you, who has children with you, who led you down paths of both darkness and light; loss after loss, gain after gain.

“And that’s what’s important.” Michael continues speaking in an ushered, soft tone. “What’s important is that we have each other—that we continue to live a life together. That our family grows and thrives, that our children do and will continue to do.” He gently rubs over your baby bump. “Victoria.”

You slowly raise your head up to peek up at Michael from his chest—anticipation in your eyes as he leans down towards you—only inches away from your lips. “I trust you. I need you, and I love you.”

Nothing has changed between the two of you, and nothing will.

[ 1 Month Later ]

You take a deep breath of the fresh, summer air around you—relaxing in the warmth that the August weather has to offer you as you spend some much-needed time alone and curating your residence’s garden—just outside your home.

Not straining or stressing yourself out in any way in your fourth month of pregnancy now, you hum quietly to yourself as you slip off your garden gloves and take a seat upon one of the lounge chairs.

With Michael in the middle of a business meeting between his brothers and Clemenza at the central family residence and the children amidst their private studies upon the compound, you enjoy the free time you have to yourself this mid-late afternoon.

You reach for your tall, iced glass of orange juice, taking a long sip from it as you peek out at your newly potted arrangement lining the edges of the garden now. Mariposas, bush poppies, buttercups, and purple nightshades, just to name a few, are the newest flowers you’ve potted in small bunches around each other for a pop of color and new addition to the garden.

The garden has just been a little peace of mind you’ve been able to enjoy since you, Connie, Theresa, and Sandra had begun to collectively work on it a little over a year ago. It’s bloomed, thrived, and became as beautiful and healthy as you all had in mind—of course, kept in maintenance by a professional gardener from time to time.

You found yourself escaping to the garden more often for some peace and quiet, especially due to the hassle of your busy days or stress from work. It’s a place of escape from the world and life a little bit, but just as wonderful to spend with Michael, the twins, or anybody else by your side.

With summer to end in just a few weeks, you know neither the garden nor the weather will be as vibrant. It’s worth spending the extra time to admire—taking a load off your mind. It’s a welcome distraction to Fredo’s death and funeral last month, now seen as too painful and too soon for others to talk about, which relieves you from thinking about it.

Life has returned back to just the way it was before the assassination attempt on you and Michael’s lives. With Roth, Ricci, and Ola dead and the news of it spreading like wildfire to the other crime families—all have come to a deadly yet serene calm.

Michael’s enemies are wiped out, and not a single threat remains to the Corleone family. With the Ferrari family still under your father’s leadership, their relationship with the Corleone’s has remained unchanged—with the exception that your brothers personally refuse to see them and wish not to carry on any sort of personal relationship with the Corleone’s.

Thinking it’s both ridiculous and overdramatic, you’ve brushed aside Lorenzo’s antics, knowing it’s his idea, but if you want to see your family and spend time with them, it’s you that has to make the trip to New York now. Most personal relationships, with the exception of Dante and, of course, Leonardo, now in a relationship with Connie, have been severed for some time.

Everything has come to a still but at the cost of your family, your mother’s life, and Fredo’s—a mafia classic tragedy story. Nothing ever plays out well without the death of loved ones or betrayal from the inside. At this point, nothing can ever get to you again.

As you set your half-full glass of orange juice back down, you flinch at the sound of something shattering nearby—resembling glass or a garden pot being thrown or knocked over.

You pause for a moment, listening intently for any further noise but hear nothing else. Curious and acting out of caution, you slowly rise to your feet and peek around the garden. You know the noise certainly hasn’t come from around here or from your residence—but rather seems to hint towards the outskirts of the residence.

Quietly, you rise to your feet off of the lounge chair and slowly make your way towards the gate before you, leading out of the garden and towards the edges and outside of the Lake Tahoe compound.

Not even remotely making a sound, you momentarily pick up on the sound of footsteps briefly scuffling, noting to yourself they’re light and, if anything, seeming confused.

You want to brush it off as one of Connie’s boys just playing a prank on you or letting one of Theresa and Tom’s dogs out, but you know it’s beyond a case of accidents or jokes.

You rest your hand against the cobblestone wall fenced around your garden as you look out towards the edge of the compound.

You take a few steps forward, stopping in your tracks to see a broken flower pot split from the middle with soil and one of your newly planted purple nightshades crushed.

Frowning, you cautiously continue to make your way forward before stopping entirely—sensing someone’s presence. You let out a soft sigh, standing still. “You made a very big mistake coming here, Kay.”

Silence surrounds you before the scuffling picks up again, and you hear the faint sound of heels against the carved path leading up to the compound’s entrance. Kay steps aside, now fully in your line of vision and only a few feet away from you.

Looking ashamed to have been caught but at the same time anticipating it—you notice a deep look of worry, lack of sleep for days, and bloodshot, slightly swollen eyes from crying over her expression.

Kay shakily holds onto her purse as she gazes up at you—almost dreading to do so. “You think so?”

“I know so.” You reply, having picked up a trick from Michael in refusing to allow Kay to see how shocked you feel from coming across her again at your home of all places. “How did you get past my security, to begin with?”

“I went through the woods.” Kay swallows hard, gesturing back with her finger. “I had to see you.”

“You went through the woods,” you repeat slowly, stunned by her insistence. “No, you shouldn’t be here, and you know this. The fact I’m standing before you even telling you this is a much better outcome from any of Michael’s men spotting you and—”

“If you wanted me killed, I’d be dead already,” Kay answers, her throat tightening.

“Kay,” you shake your head, “you need help.”

“No, I don’t need help, Victoria—I need to talk to you.” She deflects, sniffling. “I needed to see you, okay? I’m not here for anything else, I just want to talk to—”

“Are you insane?” You furrow your brows in frustration. “Talk to me? Where were you six years ago, Kay, when I wanted to do the same? You wedge yourself between Michael and me—try to ruin our marriage on and off for months—take my husband to court over some ridiculous accusations of blackmail, arson, what have you—and now you’re trespassing on my property trying to play the crying victim because you want to talk to me? You do need help.”

“I don’t know, Victoria.” Kay’s eyes begin to harden. “If you tell this story to someone else, they may ask how it all started… And then you’d have to tell them you took your best friend’s man from her. Whose really the victim here? Is it me, or is it you? You’re the homewrecker.”

You huff out in frustration, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, Kay. Sure. Say whatever you’d like. I’m beyond fighting with you about this. Do you know why? Because Michael’s mine. He’s always been mine and always will be. You can say whatever you’d like and do whatever you want, but that’s never going to change. Now, if you thought you could come here and guilt trip me or get a reaction out of me, you’ve wasted your time.”

Kay lets out a scoff, clutching tightly onto her purse. “I wouldn’t have come to do any of that to you in the first place, Mrs. Corleone. You haven’t even heard me out yet. You’re already screaming at me.”

“I’m doing no such thing.” You narrow your eyes. “What the hell do you want with me then?”

“I came here to say goodbye to you, for good. Not as your enemy, not as someone you hate, and certainly not as a homewrecker. I just wanted to say goodbye.” The harshness over Kay’s expression fades. “I used to be your best friend, you know. Maybe this possessiveness you feel over Michael has really clouded your judgment, but I’m here to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” You raise a brow. “What are you on about? You said your ‘goodbye’ to me in 1949. The fact you’ve sprung up in my lifetime and time again after that is a surprise, to say the least.”

“You know what I mean.” Tears begin to sting Kay’s eyes. “You think there’s anything left for me out here? Alone or with my family? I’m sick of all this, Victoria. And I thought out of everything, you should be the one to know. There’s nothing either of us can do for each other anymore. You’re different—so different. I can reach you physically, at least for now, but you’re so far away from me. I don’t recognize you anymore.”

“I don’t think you ever knew me.” You look back into Kay’s eyes.

“Yeah.” A single tear slides down Kay’s reddened cheek. “Just like the way I didn’t know Michael. Maybe if the two of you told me you were mobsters, I’d have thought differently then. Both of you are corrupt and come from wicked families. I don’t know why I expected better from either of you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Kay.” You lie to her. “Michael and my father are longtime best friends from Sicily. They’re businessmen and investors. They’re only powerful and well known because they’re responsible for other people. I don’t know anything about this mobster business you’re talking about. You tell me what went wrong.”

“Oh, please, Victoria.” Kay brushes you off, “don’t give me that bullshit. What went wrong? Letting Michael into our lives went wrong. Imagine if you found out you were the other woman. That’s what happened to me. And what about this Apollonia girl? What if Michael really had her as a wife waiting for him in Sicily? Or has it ever crossed your mind if he took another mistress in Cuba? Maybe it did because you’re not as stupid as I think you are. Everyone knows Rita Duvall is missing.”

“That’s a shame.” You comment back plainly, “I don’t even know her. Your point?”

“My point is, put yourself in my shoes. You’re so selfish; you only think about yourself.” Kay accuses. “You just excuse everything Michael does, as long as he warms your bed at the end of the night. You have no idea who he truly is.”

“And you do?” You sigh deeply. “I love, and I trust Michael, Kay. Nothing you say is ever going to change that or bother me. The only thing I can pity is you now—the state you’re in, the life you’ve been living obsessed over a married man. That’s pitiful.”

“That’s pitiful?” Kay smiles weakly at you, taking a few steps toward you. “You know what’s actually pitiful? The fact you’re pregnant again.”

“What?” You frown back at her. “What’s wrong with you? The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You think you’re just thriving and living life—carrying his child again. You don’t deserve it, and that child deserves a lot better than you.” Kay points at your baby bump. “Michael’s just using you. You’re nothing but his baby-making machine—just like that Apollonia girl was going to be! He only wants you to carry his children and bed you because that’s all you’re good for! He could never love you.”

“Some goodbye this is.” You grit your teeth. “You must have saved all your insults you made for me over the years. You have some fucking nerve. Now I see why Michael wanted nothing to do with you—why he never married you.”

“You think you deserve Michael?!” Kay spits back at you. “You would never know!”

“I wouldn’t have to fight for what’s already mine, Kay.” You hiss. “You hate me, don’t you? Get it off your chest already!”

“Don’t you get it?!” Kay bursts into tears, raking her hand through her hair. “I have to hate you! I have to! I can’t do this any other way! I’m sorry, Victoria, I’m sorry! I just—I want you to hate me too. I can’t change this. If you hate me, it’s better!”

“Kay, what are you talking about?” You stare back at her in confusion, watching a completely different emotion take over her.

“This is the only way I can ever forgive myself, okay?!” She shakily places a hand over your shoulder. “I’ll only be able to do so if you hate me. I’m dead anyway! Tell me you hate me!”

“Kay, stop it!” You attempt to take a step back from her, but she lunges at you.

“Tell me you hate me!” Kay shrieks, sobbing hysterically. “Just do it, please! Do it!”

“No!” You cry out, noticing a flash of anger flicker in Kay’s eyes before gasping.

Kay holds on tightly to you, pulling you towards her as you shudder in horror. Every bit of strength and energy drains out of you in an instant as the two of you lock eyes with one another.

Kay’s expression wavers from enraged to regretful as she pushes in the switchblade. She stabs you in the stomach fully with all her might, never letting go of the handle of the blade.

Your eyes dart down to the switchblade in horror, seeing your own blood soaking through your blouse and trickling down. With each shaky breath, you take in a state of helplessness; a heavy shot of pain spikes up in your stomach.

With the adrenaline coursing through your veins and shock registering through your body, you can only describe the sensation of the pain now beginning to sink in and feel like being prodded with a thousand hot needles pricking against your skin.

Only mere moments pass as Kay ensures her blade cuts inside of you deep—aiming to hit your baby. Every breath you take as you attempt to pull away from her is shortened and feels impossible to do. Your body lacks the very energy to take in a deep breath and regain yourself as your legs threaten to give in completely.

“In time, you’ll feel differently. You’ll understand why I did it. I gave her an ultimatum, and she’s out of our lives for good, Victoria.”

With your heart thundering in your chest, you manage to shove Kay off with your shoulder blade and grasp onto the handle of the knife, so she loses her grip over it entirely and isn’t able to pull it out of you.

With your remaining might, you act quickly—reaching behind you and snatching out your pistol you concealed in the band of your skirt before pistol-whipping Kay on the side of her head as hard as you can.

Kay stumbles against the fence and loses her balance as you collapse on your side, feeling a searing, sharp pain prod at you again and again from the knife wound. You grit your teeth as Kay clutches onto her bleeding forehead, attempting to scramble back up to her feet.

With your hands violently shaking, you cock the pistol back and grunt out in pain as you take in a deep breath and hold it, firing at Kay’s back.

“I didn’t raise a finger, and it didn’t cost me anything because I told her it would cost her life. You’ll be glad I spoke to her.”

The gunshot echoes throughout the compound as Kay screams out and collapses—the bullet lodging to the left side of her back. She hits the grassy pathway with a thud face first, unable to move or even attempt to crawl away.

Gritting your teeth, you grab onto the nearby trunk of a tree, hoisting yourself up weakly and taking small, disoriented steps towards Kay with your gun still pointed at her. You’re able to see her struggling and still alive as you approach her, stepping down on her wrist.

“When we leave for Nevada, you’ll forget about this—this Kay business. We’ll forget about all of this, and we’ll move on, and our family will thrive and grow as it always has.”

Kay cries out loudly, attempting to thrash her arm from under your flats as you firmly keep it pressed down on her wrist.

“Y-you little bitch…” You grunt out, steadying your aim with your pistol. “You really thought you could come to m-my home and kill me?” You kick at her wrist, stumbling back. “What’s the matter with y-you, huh? Can’t get up?!”

You notice Kay sobbing, hopelessly clutching onto the grass and dirt beneath her fingernails as blood seeps out from the back of her dress. She attempts to hoist her entire body forward with just her arms as your eyes weakly gaze at just where your bullet landed in her spine.

Paralyzed from the waist down…

Alarms begin to blare at the compound from the sound of the gunshot as you hear Michael’s men beginning to holler and rush towards every end of the compound to secure it. Knowing it’s only mere moments before they find the two of you, you grip onto Kay’s hair and force her head up from the ground, threatening her with your pistol.

“W-why!?” Your breath hitches, “answer me!”

“Wouldn’t you like to k-know…” Kay’s breathing begins to slow as she weakly looks up at you. “That the late Alphonse Ricci t-told me to send you his regards…should anything happen to him…” She pauses for a moment, about to lose consciousness, “I could n-never l-let you give birth to another child to M-Michael… It should have been me. Couldn’t let this Sicilian thing continue for the past two thousand years—”

You let go of the fistful of Kay’s hair and immediately fire your pistol at the back of her head—killing her instantly. The second gunshot resonates loudly, causing the crows in the trees to flutter off by the dozen—heard by all and everyone in the compound.

“We’ll start anew and leave our past behind—nobody else will know. We’ll forget them. We’ll even have another child, and we’ll go on—you and I. Just you and I.”

“Mrs. Corleone—” Ritchie turns the corner as he rushes to approach you with a dozen of Michael’s men surrounding him, absolutely appalled by the sight of both Kay and you as her blood splatters all over your clothes and face like a massacre.

You drop the pistol instantly from your hand—having neither flinched from firing your gun or the crimson mess both on you and surrounding you. Little difference remains between you and Michael in how nonchalantly he murdered Sollozzo and McClusky years ago, specifically with the lifeless, emotionless look in your eyes towards Kay’s lifeless body.

You let out a shuddering breath, taking one step back as you clutch onto your baby bump. Ritchie and Michael’s men immediately rush to your side, signaling the others on different sides of the compound for help and medical assistance.

Don Alphonse Ricci may have lost all the credibility, influence, and power his family name used to bear in the criminal underworld but retained his wits and cunning until the very end. Dead now for months and buried with a cheap tombstone near his family’s graveyard in Sicily—long forgotten and taken care of, Alphonse had always known that either your family or the Corleone’s would strike back if all else failed and that it could have been fatal.

Dead now and proving himself right, Alphonse had made sure to have one last talk with Kay Adams before giving the go on the hit meant to take you and Michael’s lives. Having already convinced her to take the blackmail matter to court, which bolstered Kay’s confidence to do so but nonetheless wavered mid preliminary hearing and came out to nothing, Kay knew if she couldn’t channel her anger towards Michael, she could at least do it to you.

Perhaps going against Michael would be the biggest mistake she’d ever make in her life, or at least she thought so. The look of absolute anger and disgust in Michael’s eyes during the preliminary hearing confirmed this for Kay, and although there was never a way to go back clean, Kay knew she had options.

Kay would get you out of the picture one way or another. If his words wouldn’t work, her actions certainly would. Depressed, bitter and regretful after losing everything and spiraling out of control from one emotional meltdown after another, Kay could never hesitate to hurt you.

Although it seems that she’s followed the same path as Alphonse has in terms of her death, your wit and reflexes have kept you and your baby as safe and well as can be. To Michael, he felt as if he just witnessed his world comes crashing down upon him the moment he rushed out of the family residence to see you covered in blood, unconscious, and with a knife stuck in the side of your baby bump.

You squeeze your eyes shut, only being able to feel reassured in a sense the switchblade stabbed inside of you has hit the side of your abdomen, and only a trickle of blood has escaped from keeping the blade in. Kay’s aim failed her, but yours did not.

Hoping to yourself your baby is alright, that your baby is alive and wasn’t hurt is all your mind can think of as you can practically feel blood pounding in your ears. As if you’re being held underwater, your hearing begins to fade out, and you can barely make out what anyone around you is saying, as if they’re whispering or mumbling.

Voices begin to echo around you hollowly as your eyes flutter shut and you lose consciousness, slipping into black the moment Michael rushes out of the central family residence and sees your bleeding body with a knife wedged into your side, giving in to the demanding pain.

Michael was just about to light another cigarette when he heard the first gunshot go off. Sonny, Tom, and Clemenza froze in their seats, and their conversations abruptly cut off as they began to listen.

Alarms began ringing immediately, and it was the bodyguards and security in the other half of the residence that secured Connie, Theresa, Sandra, and the children to make sure they wouldn’t leave the building nor have anyone unauthorized enter it before a full investigation could be done.

“What the hell is going on?” Michael furrows his brows, storming out the front door of the central family residence with his brothers and Clemenza following from behind.

“Don Corleone, it’s Mrs. Corleone!” Ritchie calls out.

Michael and his brothers turned their heads to spot Ritchie and his men carrying you in their arms—careful not to touch anywhere near the knife or your sides.

Michael’s eyes widen, his expression turning appalled as Clemenza nods at one of Ritchie’s men—rushing off towards them where they stand by Kay’s body.

Tom winces as Sonny grits his teeth—a wave of anger hits him as he follows Clemenza. “Who the hell did this?! The fuck is going on here?”

“Get her to a hospital immediately.” Michael’s eyes dart over your body, watching your breathing and attempting to note out just about anything that can tell him you’re alright. “She’s bleeding.”

“Yes, sir,” Ritchie nods, immediately rushing to the front gates of the residence with a handful of his men.

“Tom, go follow.” Michael’s eyes harden as he gestures him off. “Get Doctor Katherine with her, do not leave her side until I arrive. Understood? Go!”

Tom nods back frantically without another word, picking up his pace as he runs off towards Ritchie and his men.

Michael lets out a quiet huff of frustration, raking a hand through his lightly gelled hair as he glances to the side and sees one of his bodyguards give him the all-clear signal on the other end of the building where the children are.

“Mike!” Clemenza waves towards the gardens, urgently coaxing him over. “You’re gonna wanna see this.”

Accompanied by Al Neri, Michael wastes no time in making his way across the other end of the compound and towards the fenced garden area just outside his and your primary residence.

Taking a step out, Michael notices a grisly look of dismay over Sonny’s face as he kneels cautiously over a body Michael knows he’d recognize from anywhere.

Clemenza purses his lips, exchanging a look with Sonny before avoiding eye contact with Michael entirely. He remains quiet, simply holding up his hand to signal to his men not to go near the body or tamper with it for the time being—waiting for Michael’s response.

All emotion drains out of Michael’s face as he gazes down to see Kay’s body lying face down dead in blood-stained grass. It becomes apparent to him very quickly that you weren’t covered in your own blood just moments ago while being rushed to the hospital, but it was Kay’s.

Neither Sonny nor Clemenza can read Michael’s deadened expression or body language, making the tension in the air that much thicker and uneasy. Michael stares at Kay’s body, examining the gunshot to her back and head—both disgusted and disappointed by the mess before him.

He prods at Kay’s wrist with his shoe, turning it over and noticing dirt and grass underneath her fingernails and over the palm of her hands from struggling to pull herself away from you—now making sense with the entry point of the bullet in her spine.

“I’m not going to ask how, but I’m going to ask why.” Michael gazes back at Clemenza and Sonny.

“Good God, Mike.” Sonny lets out a deep sigh, running a hand through his curls. “This is a fucking mess; I can barely make sense out of it myself. How the hell did she get back here?”

“We don’t own all of Lake Tahoe, Sonny,” Michael replies coldly, noticing the broken potted plant nearby and a small splatter of blood a few feet away from Kay’s body. “If someone is determined enough to scour through a forest and get behind here, that’s another matter entirely.”

Sonny mutters. “Shit. So she came in here for Victoria and…? Tried to stab a pregnant woman only to get killed herself like this? Fuck, this is a mess.”

Clemenza shakes his head. “My men told me that when they came out here, they saw Victoria fire the second shot right into her head. She was still alive before that.”

Hiding how both shocked and impressed he is, Michael brushes it off—gesturing away with his hand. “Get rid of the body and clean this place up. Neri, security will be tightened around the borders of the lake. I’ve had just about enough. We have children here.”

“Yes, Don Corleone.” A slight look of hesitation crosses Al Neri’s eyes. “And about Miss Adams, sir…? We can presume her family will come looking for her if they know her to be in Nevada or declare her as a missing person in this state.”

“She’s right, Mike.” Clemenza frowns. “Can’t make this look like an accident.”

“I couldn’t care less.” Michael snaps back, anger growing in his eyes. “Get rid of the body. I’m not going to make up a story about how my previous partner got what was coming to her after she tried to murder a pregnant woman—my wife of all people. Do you understand? This is beneath me. Clemenza—” Michael gestures, beginning to pace back towards the entrance of the compound. “Bring the car around. I need to see my wife now.”

#the godfather #godfather #al pacino #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone fanfic #godfather au #michael corleone smut #michael corleone x reader smut #my writing #michael corleone #moth to flame fanfic #the godfather x reader #al pacino x reader #godfather x reader #alfredo james pacino #melis-writes

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melis-writes · 3 years

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 25 - Five Years.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 24 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

Five years have past since you and Michael moved to Lake Tahoe, Nevada with the Corleone family. With all of Michael's promises and more held true, the twins have grown and both the Corleone and Ferrari families have grown in influence, power and wealth--easily crushing the crime families in New York. In celebration of a period of peace without mob wars and tension, both of your families come together with friends and business associates, celebrating the prosperity of the years behind you. The Corleone family partners with the Ferrari's as Michael continues to choose not to legitimize, pondering his relationship with your brothers. Taking a chapter out of Vito's book, tonight Michael has set aside all notions for business and come to spend an evening of splendor with you and the family, seeing to what extent he's brought peace in the mafia.

[WARNINGS]: Smut/oral sex, fingering, tit-fucking, swallowing.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: This chapter is based off of Anthony's first communion party! Neither of the twins are old enough for one, nor did I want to include any religious aspects, so this chapter is a celebration of the five years spent at Lake Tahoe with the height of the Corleone and Ferrari family's power. 👀 Rita Duvall is also a real Godfather character (though not "canon", just in the spinoff books)! Things are getting pretty heated and the plot is coming to a major twist. Prepare for lots of angst and lots of smut in the next ones! 🤩🤞

[SUGGESTIONS]: Michael has a moment with the twins in front of his brothers / Trying to get dressed but Michael won't take his hands off of you / Your brothers teasing and asking you about the married life with Michael / Being flirted with at dinner, cueing defensive Michael / Michael giving you a foot rub but his hands end up elsewhere / Michael making sure you swallowed all of him down / Michael praising you for being a good girl / Tit-fucking / Michael's intimidating/"badass" presence as Don Corleone in front of your family / Openly making Michael laugh in front of his family / Michael having a wholesome moment with your little brother / Michael rolling his eyes @kathlacroix @sanguinedreamqueen / The Corleone and Ferrari family having a good time together / An entertainer gets touchy with Michael in front of you / Your jealousy when another woman touches Michael. 😳

March 1955 marks a full five years since you’ve moved to Lake Tahoe with the Corleone family, leaving all that you’d known for the last twenty-one years back in Long Island, New York. Five years that passed by like a breeze, each year better than the last, coupled with prosperity and continued success for both your families.

Out of sentimental value, you and Michael had both chosen not to sell the estate in New York. Kept under Clemenza’s close watch, the bittersweet memories remained of the first year of your marriage with Michael, where the twins were first raised and at close to your family’s manor in Long Island.

Although the Lake Tahoe residence could hold both your full families five times over with ample room to spare, your family had not permanently relocated like you did. Instead, a separate residence was kept for them on the compound as your father, Don Ferrari, had maintained his property and holdings in New York. Your family occasionally spent periods of time at the compound, though not always as a whole family.

Holidays were spent together with both families, but a couple of your brothers would visit every now and then otherwise for business matters and stay for a few days. At the very least you got to see your entire family for a week once every three months besides holidays.

If anything, the family had grown on both parts—something you loved about staying all together at the compound. Sandra, Connie, Theresa, and Deanna also lived at the compound, bringing together all of the children and both of Tom’s dogs.

Connie settled after Michael’s disappointment over her prospect to marry Merle Johnson, keeping him over her shoulder for the sake of company as she knew she was riding out her last days with him and couldn’t care less about it either. The good that came out of it was that she began to spend more time with her children instead of solely on weekends, but not with an entirely perfect track record either.

You can tell she still reserves a lot of hatred for Michael. Not in the sense that you’d despise an enemy, but as a sibling that disregarded much of his rules, lecturing, and lifestyle altogether. Her behavior, attitude, and even choice of words and dress are a direct defiance to what she describes as Michael’s “perfect little rules,” and you know much of what she does against him is out of pure spite, trying to grab some sort of negative reaction so she can convince herself Michael hates her too.

With twenty-one people on the compound on just the Corleone family side altogether, your family added nineteen more. Your eldest brother, Lorenzo, heir to your father, married a Sicilian woman named Alina in 1948, birthing five sons; Enzo, Bruno, Claude, Gabriel, and Hugo.

You picked up on the obvious hint when you and Michael had heard the news of Alina giving birth to her fifth baby boy. Of course, Michael would like the same from you, obviously hoping for a third baby to join the Corleone family, and the two of you had most certainly been eagerly trying to conceive again during your ovulation days.

Your second eldest brother, Leonardo, wasn’t as lucky. Out of his own choice, he remains single, though you know with the way he eyes Connie whenever they have a chance to see each other that something is bound to come out of it—with or without your influence.

Alessio and Matteo, who are in relationships themselves, are in ones with Sicilian women as well. Alessio recently got engaged to a woman named Bianca, and Matteo married a Sicilian girl named Cecilia in 1950. Four more Ferrari babies joined the family; Arnold, Giani, Donna, and Eliana.

Dante, now fifteen, is the same age as Sonny and Tom’s sons, both named Frank, and second eldest to his twin daughters Kathryn and Francesca, who were now eighteen. If anything, even though Dante is just a teenager, you know he’s been growing closer to the family business now as well. Everyone in your family is involved, your mother included.

Today is unlike any other family celebration as it also includes private invitations to the Corleone and Ferrari family’s friends, colleagues, and business partners to take part in the hospitality and festivities both families had to offer.

The evening is young and illuminated through glittering lights wrapped over the docks, gazebos, pool, trees, and the roofing of the entire compound. A full band plays a soft, flowing melody welcoming the guests who make their way through the compound, chatting about with one another, gathering in groups, and sipping at the free-flowing champagne fountain as dinner is being prepared.

The night remains ecstatic and eager to celebrate with all, only missing two of its most esteemed hosts—you and Michael. As your family begins making its rounds with the guests, thanking them for attending the usual dinner party small talk, they’re anticipating the arrival of you and Michael, who everyone is yet to see.

With half an hour left until the celebration officially begins, giving all the guests time to arrive and make themselves comfortable, Michael and you take advantage of what you both know to be the only time you’ll have alone together for the night, and nobody comes to question it either.

Due to the busy nature of organizing the celebration and making all of the necessary arrangements, you had little to no time to spend it intimately with Michael. You both sneaked in quick kisses and tender touching here and there, which only added more sexual excitement and tension between the two of you.

Kneeled up over the bed in nothing but your white, lace panties and your bra hanging off the bed, you let out a shaky exhale, pressing your breasts together against Michael’s cock.

Michael bucks his hips upwards—his cock coated in your spit and slicking up in-between your breasts. “Fuck, fuck…” You hear Michael hiss out as precum continues to ooze off the tip of his cock, smearing onto your breasts.

You gaze down, grinning lazily to yourself to see all eight inches of his length sliding up and down, pressed against your skin as you push your breasts inward as much as you can.

Arousal tugs at you from your gut, knowing you’d rather take all of him inside you and call it a night instead of such teasing, but being able to gaze up at Michael lost in a haze of his own ecstasy—his face twisted in pleasure and carefree submitting to you is entirely different erotica you never knew you’d crave this much.

Pressed for time and for the sake of keeping appearances for tonight’s party, Michael hasn’t pinned you upon the bed or against the wall and taken his sexual frustrations out on you—preferring something quick before the evening begins.

Michael grunts—knowing he’s dangerously close to approaching his orgasm—and thrusts his cock sloppy into your mouth again. Michael’s low moans a welcome sound to your ear, reminding you how little he can hold himself back whenever you perform oral on him.

You begin to bob your head back and forth over his shaft in a quick rhythm, long used to taking his length down your throat. You keep eye contact up with him, flushing a shade of scarlet to see Michael’s expression twisted in full lust and arousal.

“I’m—I’m going to cum—” Michael licks over his lips, grazing his teeth against them momentarily as he breathes out shakily, reveling in the sensation of his orgasm continuing to build. “I’m close…”

You drool over his cock, sucking and slurping as you grasp it in one hand—knowing Michael is close to hitting the peak of his orgasm. You begin to flicker your tongue alongside his tip, opening your mouth as wide as you possibly can to allow him to steadily fuck your mouth.

You moan out against his cock, flustered and sweating from the heated session. Michael grasps a fistful of your hair to hold you still, letting out groans throughout his entire orgasm as he cums into your mouth—spurt after spurt. “Oh, God!”

“Oh—oh…” Taking his hot cum in your mouth without spilling a drop, you lazily gaze up to Michael, noticing how he licks over his lips—little breathy moans escaping out of his mouth as he squeezes out the last of his seed onto your tongue.

“Swallow.” Michael’s voice remains husky and demanding.

Slowly pulling his cock out of your mouth and squeezing at the tip with his hand, he gazes at you as you swallow all of his cum down, breathing out. “Mm… Yes, sir.”

Michael tilts your chin up, grazing his thumb over your wet lips as he eases your mouth open again, taking a look for himself. “Good girl.” He praises back, amusement over his eyes. “Wouldn’t want to make a mess over that pretty little face after you went through all that trouble to get ready.”

“They’re expecting us already, aren’t they?” You whisper back out to him as he silences you by tapping the tip of his cock over your lips lightly.

“Let them wait a little longer.” He murmurs back to you, admiring your flustered, submissive state before him. “They’ll have all the time to see you for the remainder of the night, but for now…”

Michael runs his hands through your soft hair, massaging gently at your scalp as his hands work their way down to your shoulders tenderly. He reaches your sides, rubbing them up and down as his hands caress over your breasts—stealing a quiet moan from your lips. “You’re mine.”

In an instant, Michael pulls you up into his arms and pins you against the wall in surprise, squeezing your breasts. You gasp out as his lips collide over yours in a crushing, heated kiss, easily giving into him.

“Give in to me, darling.” He breathes out throughout his heated kiss, “let me—”

You moan in his mouth, melting in his arms as you tightly wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“M-Michael—”

“Have all of you—” With one hand cupping your face, Michael runs his free one down your chest, squeezing back at your hips and toying with the waistband of your panties.

Shivers run up your spine from his hot touch, only continuing to excite you further as you slide one hand back, tugging on Michael’s tie. “You’re just doing this to tease me…”

“Maybe I am.” Michael plants a sloppy kiss over your lips. “Or I’m eager to get you pregnant again.” Michael tugs on the waistband of your panties. Noticing your blushing and surprised expression, an amused look flashes in Michael’s eyes as he slides his hands off of you—taking a step back. “Tonight is not the night for that, however. Your father is here after all.”

“So that’s it? Michael Corleone grants mercy?” You grin back as he tightens his tie, carefully smoothening the gelled sides of his hair.

“Interesting word—mercy.” Michael grabs his grey Dupioni suit jacket and shrugging it over his shoulders. “We can call it that, until later, of course. But for now,” he turns his head back to face you, “don’t let it look like you just took me down your throat. Our guests are expecting us.”

“Yeah, right. Easier said than done.” You whine back out playfully, quick to scurry over to your closet. “If I’m late, it’s on you, Don Corleone.”

Michael chuckles quietly to himself before pulling open the bedroom door. “Either way, all eyes will be on you. Don’t keep me waiting long, Victoria.”

You make brief eye contact with Michael’s softened expression as you peek back out at him from the door of your closet, watching him step out into the hallway. A flustered grin forms over your lips as you blush to yourself, touching at your lips where his kiss still lingers.

You let out a soft exhale, knowing the only thing that’s going to fully relieve you of your arousal tonight is either an orgasm or a cold shower at this point—both of which will have to wait.

You take a step back to fully examine your closet—your eyes light up in excitement at your evening dress hung up before you, a champagne, glimmering sequin dress, fitted with a sweetheart neckline for a bit of sultry cleavage, just above the knee.

Matching underneath is the pair of new heels you picked up in Reno with Sandra last week—kitten heels with a nude color fabric in a fish scale pattern.

Carefully grabbing at the hanger and scooping up the heels in one hand, you set your outfit gently over your bed, glancing over to the clock over your night table. Fifteen minutes left to go.

You quickly making your way back to the bathroom as you stand before the sink, placing both of your hands over the rim. Your cheeks are flushed rosy pink, and you can’t wipe the “freshly fucked” disposition out of your face even if you tried, but at the least, you’re glad you weren’t wearing lipstick during your dirty session with Michael.

Turning on the tap and grabbing some mouthwash, you begin to prepare yourself for the full glam the evening demands, drying off your washed face and Michael’s precum off your breasts as you begin to work through your hair with your brush.

Your hair dangles off your shoulders in perfect, loose curls. You graze your cherry red lipstick over your lips carefully, keeping it neat over the corners of your lips for a pouty look. A brush of a soft nude eyeshadow smoked out over your lids emphasized with your mascara, you complete your evening look with a few sprays of your signature, powdery perfume.

Heading back over to your vanity table, you clasp on the six-karat diamond necklace set Michael gifted you over your neck before slipping into your dress and heels for the night. Feeling a burst of confidence from the glamourous party look fit for tonight, your emotions are coupled with shyness, knowing Michael will be one of the first to see you like this.

As you affix your diamond earrings on and step towards the bedroom door with five minutes left to spare, you take your first steps out not as Victoria Ferrari but as Victoria Corleone—mafioso, daughter of Don Giuseppe Ferrari, and wife of Don Michael Corleone.

Stepping out into the foyer with their caregiver, Esther, the twins’ attention is raised at the sight of the flashing lights shining through the curtains, coupled with the sounds of guests laughing and chatting away as a reminder for the big evening about to start.

Esther ushers the twins by the door, gently squeezing at their shoulders as she gives them a reassuring smile. Already hearing their uncles Tom and Sonny approaching from the hallway, Esther makes her way off, knowing Michael is to arrive at any moment.

Verona’s dressed in a lilac, frilly chiffon dress with her in pigtails, affixed with matching bows. She smiles to herself, patiently standing next to her brother Niccolo, who wears a dashing little grey tailored suit to match Michael’s for the evening.

With Verona momentarily distracted as she glances back at the windows, Niccolo peeks his head up with a quiet gasp, spotting out his father beginning to approach the two. Michael straightens out the hem of his suit jacket—his stern disposition only softening in his eyes as he approaches his children at the foyer of the estate.

“Daddy!” Verona turns her head back, beaming up at him.

“Hi, daddy!” Niccolo exclaims out as the two rush up to him.

Michael chuckles at the sight of their excitement as the twins hug at his legs—unable to have seen their father all day from the final preparations and planning for tonight’s dinner party.

“Come here, you two.” Michael leans down, scooping up both twins up in his arms as they squeal happily, hugging their father.

“Daddy, do you like my hair?” Verona bubbles back at him. “Esther made the bows look like mama’s!”

“I certainly do.” Michael glances at her as Niccolo rests his head over Michael’s shoulder. “Did Esther tell you that you look a lot like your mother too?”

“She did.” Verona beams proudly.

Michael’s moment with the twins is only momentarily interrupted as Tom and Sonny walk into the foyer, wearing matching black tuxedos as they spot out the joyful disposition of the twins.

Michael turns his head back at the sound of their dress shoes hitting the marble floor as he makes eye contact with both of his brothers—his smile immediately fading back to sternness as he sets the twins down carefully.

Michael clears his throat, nodding back at Tom and Sonny as he places both of his hands on the twins’ shoulders. “Ahem—ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Sonny runs a hand through his curls, pulling on them.

“Is Don Ferrari here already?” Tom asks.

“First to arrive.” Michael’s eyes fall upon the twins as they exchange giddy glances with each other, quickly heading out the door to greet their grandparents. “Where’s Fredo?” Michael makes his way over to the door with the two.

“He’s out already, couldn’t hold back that fine piece of ass his wife is.” Sonny chuckles to himself. “Pop should be too.”

Michael ignores Sonny’s comment as Tom shoots him a look—not sure if he’s amused or should scold him as Michael pulls open the door and stepping out to the grand courtyard.

Warm evening air brushes over the Corleone men as Michael glances off to the side; a quiet signal for Al Neri and Rocco to join Michael’s side as they lean their backs off the estate’s wall, remaining close by.

With Sonny and Tom following from behind, Michael faces forward and spots Don Ferrari and your mother, Ludovica, side by side as the twins chatting away with their cousins just nearby.

Michael locks eyes with Don Ferrari in a cold, emotionless gaze, beginning to approach his father-in-law. Your mother glances up, unable to share the same, proud, welcoming smile that her husband does towards Michael, but rather has a look of surprised intimidation over her face.

Your mother loves Michael as a son-in-law but is the first to notice his tender, quiet disposition has all but vanished after he married you—the attitude during your courtship hardening into his true personality as Vito’s successor. Whether Michael stands to remain intimidating on purpose or not, he carries the title and looks of what it means to be a mafia boss well—something your mother immediately picks up on again after not having seen Michael for so long.

Michael’s demeanor remains to be demanding and cold in nature, completely unwelcome with unreadable body language. Neither you nor Michael had been able to see your parents for three months, let alone spend much time in private family settings besides holidays. Surrounded by equally monotone bodyguards, Michael’s presence is enough to notify that Don Corleone has arrived.

Don Ferrari is the first to notice how Michael’s demeanor remains to be nothing like his father’s. Where Vito is welcoming, proud, and charismatic, Michael stands as if to strike fear in anyone’s heart who looks upon him the wrong way. He holds himself as anyone would expect a cold, merciless Don would be in power.

“Ah, Don Corleone!” Don Ferrari reaches his hand out, shaking it firmly. “It’s good to see you and the whole family again. Sonny, Tom.” Don Ferrari shoots both the brothers warm smiles.

“Don Ferrari,” Michael notes back, shaking his hand as he gives your mother a welcoming nod. “Welcome, it’s been too long.”

“Welcome, sir.” Tom smiles back politely.

“Don Ferrari!” Fredo’s voice breaks out as all heads turn to see Fredo emerging from the crowd, dusting off his plaid suit jacket with a beaming smile over his lips. Coming to approach your father, he eagerly shakes hands with Don Ferrari and your mother, greeting them. “So glad you could join us, Don Ferrari, and Mrs. Ferrari. Welcome!”

Michael shoots Fredo an inquisitive look from his abrupt entrance, knowing that if he’s at least out, then you shouldn’t be far off. Almost as if he’s read Michael’s mind, Fredo gives his hand a clap, pointing back. “—and there’s Victoria just now! Perfect timing! ”

Blushing from Fredo’s sudden announcement, all eyes land back on you as you step into the courtyard, immediately grabbing the attention of Michael, whose eyes begin to dart down at your sparkling dress.

“Oh, Victoria! There you are!” Your mother exclaims eagerly, in awe of your sequin dress.

“Mama! Father!” You beam back, flustered from arriving late and knowing Michael’s eyes all over you as the cause. You join your mother and father in an embrace, hugging them warmly. “You’ll have to excuse me for being late, I was held up momentarily.”

“Nonsense, darling! We were the first to arrive, after all!” Your mother gives you a reassuring smile as you stand next to Michael, now noticing Sonny and Tom are gazing at you as well. “Oh—you look so wonderful! This dress is simply gorgeous, sweetheart!” Your mother’s eyes gaze up at you and Michael, taking into her sight the couple before her. “Ah, you two make such a beautiful couple.”

Don Ferrari nods back, smiling to himself. “I know Don Corleone takes care of our daughter well—I have no doubts about that.”

Having his daughter married to the most powerful mobster in America and a part of two mafia families was not only matrimony resulting in a bond of deep love but a strategic power move as well. Don Ferrari wouldn’t have it either way and with the festivities laid out before him and hundreds of guests at the compound, it only reassures him further that he’d never regret having his daughter marry Michael Corleone.

The welcoming, eager look in both of your parent’s eyes reminds you much of how your parents had both formally met Michael back in 1949 when he asked them for their permission and blessings to traditionally court you.

Nostalgia tugs at your gut as you feel your heart race, remembering the moment as if it just happened yesterday.

“And you two had all the time to enjoy our wonderful service and champagne, I’d hope?” Fredo grins back. “We’ve got a fountain after all and the best view for our seating arrangement!”

“Oh, now you’ve got my attention.” Don Ferrari points out, sharing a laugh with Fredo. “Corleone family hospitality never disappoints.”

“That’s a given, I promise you that, Don Ferrari! Please, if you will!” Fredo begins to lead everyone over to the family dining table.

You clutch onto Michael’s arm, gazing up at him happily as you notice his eyes melt through his stern disposition with a mere look at you. “Hello, Don Corleone.”

Michael gazes back down at you—amusement flickering in his eyes. “Hello, Mrs. Corleone. Not as late as I believed you’d be.”

“Next time, you may have to occupy me a bit further.” You tease back with a playful grin, “I was only fashionably late.”

“You look beautiful.”

“Oh, thank you, mio amore.” Your cheeks flush red at the sudden, sweet compliment.

You glance down at your wedding band and engagement ring—both of which you always wore together—before heading off with Michael to your table, unable to wipe the cheerful smile off your lips.

Heading up to the center of the courtyard, where the dining service continues at its busiest peak, Fredo leads everyone to the largest table reserved in the center for the family—already occupied by the girls, your brothers, and Vito and Carmela.

Surrounded by your family, Vito rises to his feet, greeting Don Ferrari warmly as Carmela does the same with your mother. Fredo pulls up Don Ferrari and your mother’s reserved seats back as he snaps his finger to the waiter, signaling for service to the table, and out of the rush of sudden conversation and family from all sides, your eyes light up in surprise to see Theresa, Sandra, and Connie rushing over to you, waving and calling for your attention.

You give Michael’s arm a reassuring, quick squeeze as you two briefly make eye contact. He redirects his gaze to your eldest brother Lorenzo; you let go of him and skip off towards the girls who greet you heartily.

“Victoria, Victoria!” Sandra throws her arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug.

“There you are! We’ve been waiting all evening for you!” Theresa and Connie do the same, all huddled together with you.

“Mwah—welcome, darling.” Connie pecks a kiss on your cheek, fluffing up her fur scarf. “You know Merle, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She gestures back at Merle Johnson, who remains by the side of the table, giving you a small, polite smile, rather out of place compared to the rest of the mafia men amongst one another.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Michael, Tom, Sonny, and Fredo approaching your brothers, all dressed in matching three-piece navy silk suits. Mafia across mafia, you can almost feel a sort of lingering tension between Lorenzo and Michael, who both remain to be in the center, surrounded by their brothers.

“Well, well, Don Corleone.” Lorenzo extends his hand out to Michael. “It’s been three months too long.”

Michael doesn’t reply, simply fixing up a signature, fake business smile as he shakes Lorenzo’s hand back. Between the rest of your brothers and Michael’s, the air between them is light and friendly as Sonny and Tom get right along with Leonardo and Alessio.

Fredo is quick to spark up a conversation about tonight’s dinner service with Matteo, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Are you a red or white wine kind of guy, my friend? I’m telling you, tonight will be one for the books—it’s all about choice!”

“Girls.” You beam back at them happily, giving Merle a polite nod back. “Should I even ask where Deanna is?”

“Right here, right here!” Senator Geary calls out with a tipsy Deanna wrapped around his arm as he heads up to the table in a hurry. “Almost got lost in the crowd, she did—she’s quite the dancer!”

“Oh, there you are, Victoria!” Deanna lets go of the senator’s arm, latching onto you with a clingy hug. “Where were you all evening? I wanted to at least share a drink or two with you before dinner!”

“We’ll have plenty of time for that after, I promise.” You chuckle back, hugging her and looking back at Senator Geary. “Hello, Senator.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Corleone.” Senator Geary grins, quick to scoop up a flute of champagne off a waiter’s tray—now properly pronouncing your last name. “Good to see you this tonight at last—and you’re quite the eyecatcher if I do say so myself.”

“Oh, thank you, Senator.”

Michael’s eyes gaze back at Senator Geary from the side, now noticing his rather cheery disposition and carefree attitude as expected aftermath from Tom’s blackmailing trick from one of Fredo’s brothels last week.

“Mr. Corleone, Mr. Ferrari—ah, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure!” Senator Geary raises his champagne flute, heading over to meet your father.

You notice Deanna redirecting her gaze onto Michael as well, admiring him from to bottom with a look of amusement over her face. “Oh, now there’s a real man.”

Michael doesn’t have to dress in a three-piece suit or do anything to his hair, let alone host a party with his name all over it to get the attention he does from women—something you know personally. His looks alone are strikingly handsome in any way he composes himself.

Cold eyes or not, there’s something alluring about his solemn disposition that makes a woman want to keep gazing at him—let alone admire his facial features down from his Roman nose to his full lips, chestnut eyes, and the shape of his jawline and cheekbones.

You clear your throat, smiling back at the girls to interrupt Deanna’s outspoken fantasy. “Ladies? Shall we join the family for a drink before dinner?”

“You had me at drinks, darling.” Deanna flips her hair back, heading over to the table to take her seat next to Fredo. “Fredo—what’s on the menu tonight?!”

Connie places her arm around your shoulder with a smile, walking you to your seat. “Tonight is all about us—the family, darling. Come on and let loose a little.” She pokes your cheek, “and don’t let my brother see you all jealous.”

Blushing, you take yours next to Michael, settling in with the rest of the family. You remain to be the only one at the table that sits on the Corleone side next to your husband—Michael directly across your father and Lorenzo.

As you sit and tuck your chair in, Michael runs a gentle hand over your thigh, gazing back down at you with softened eyes before he redirects his attention to the table.

With your cheeks stinging red in blush, you straighten your back, noticing as the waiters return to serve tonight’s three-course meal, everyone at the table makes conversation amongst one another before the grand toast over dinner.

“Not one, but two.” Sonny snickers back to Lorenzo. “Two cocktail waitresses at a time, isn’t that right, brother?” He nudges playfully at Fredo. “I’m telling you, this guy—”

“Hey! All I did was get a little carried away there!” Fredo admits sheepishly, but even he’s a little proud of himself over how Sonny glorifies his sex life.

Tom shakes his head in disapproval at the topic of Sonny’s story, exchanging an amused glance with Leonardo, who also listens in. “You’ll have to excuse Sonny.”

“Aw, come on, Tom!” Sonny exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. “Let me tell you a little something about performance—”

With the sight and presence of your brothers with the Corleone brothers, it strikes you that two of the most powerful mafia families are sitting across from each other—carrying the Corleone and Ferrari names, mediated with you in-between.

Every single one of your brothers is involved in the family business and has been since they came of age. All eyes were on Dante to want to do just about anything else, but as he became a teenager, the “family business” piqued his interest as well.

Rather than something to be concerned over, your father remains awfully proud of his sons for their involvement and carrying of family traditions. You know well to yourself that Lorenzo could run it just as well even if Alessio, Matteo, and Leonardo chose never to get involved.

Naturally, the topic of legitimization never existed within the Ferrari family mafia either. Your father and all your brothers owned their fair share of stocks and various stakes in businesses as well, but the actual “family business” itself was almost completely illegitimate and illegal.

The Ferrari family mafia from your grandfather’s days in Sicily ran off embezzlement, extortion, murder, gambling, prostitution, and narcotics—not a thing had changed since. The Ferrari’s gained a crude yet powerful and influential reputation from their dealings and how stringent they were with it.

Narcotics was the last of what your father had entered into handling in 1947 after the murder of Virgil Sollozzo, but even before your family had no open enemies or quarrels with the other families in New York for very obvious reasons—the Ferrari’s didn’t need to be involved in narcotics to send a message of fear.

While your father shared a mutual understanding, appreciation, and respect with Vito and Michael, the same certainly can’t be said about how your eldest brother and soon-to-be successor to your father—Lorenzo—feels about Michael.

You can already sense some tension between the two, but Lorenzo had always made competition with his business partners and even his own friends. Naturally, Michael never told you of the conversation he had with Lorenzo on Christmas, which ultimately serves as more of a favor for Lorenzo.

Michael is well aware had he told you or expressed in any manner the nature of his unsteady relationship with Lorenzo, that you’d directly get involved. He certainly wouldn’t choose to do so unless he knew he could strike you in between in such a manner that you’d side with your husband, not your brother.

That in itself serves as a form of blackmail. Michael believes he and the Corleone family’s influence, in general, is stronger over you and would expect nothing less than for you to side with him, not Lorenzo, without hesitation. Michael remains confident about his belief simply because you married him to uphold peace and good relations between the families, to begin with.

If Lorenzo had decided to break off that peace in any manner, it would be nothing but a personal insult to not only both your families, Vito and your father but specifically to you. Simply put, it would be unacceptable to everyone and stifle Lorenzo’s influence altogether. He would be powerless and humiliated against the Corleone’s—just another card Michael is ready to play.

“So, Victoria,” Lorenzo’s voice cuts in, grabbing your attention. Your brother sits up in his seat, gesturing his glass of negroni towards you. “It’s been a long five years now, hasn’t it? How’s the married life been treating you compared to New York?”

“Well, one thing is for certain.” You crack a smile, sliding your glass of water towards you as soon as the waiter is done pouring. “I have twice the amount of brothers now.”

Your brothers give out a laugh, joined by Fredo, Tom, and Sonny as Michael remains straightfaced, sipping at his water but paying attention to the conversation.

“You know how it is.” Lorenzo takes a small sip of his cocktail, exhaling deeply before raising his index finger curled around the glass and pointing to Michael. “Too bad I never got to give you the ‘if you hurt her, I’ll hurt you’ talk down, right, Mike?”

“I don’t recall.” Amusement laces in Michael’s voice as he sets his glass down. “Care to walk me through it?”

“In all honesty, though, it’s been amazing. Michael’s been amazing.” You place your hand over top of Michael’s, giving it a warm squeeze as you look back at him. “We’ve had nothing but an amazing five years here in Nevada. It’s more than I ever could have dreamed of.”

“And there you go.” Leonardo smiles back, “that’s all anyone could want.”

“Mhmm.” Connie joins in, swallowing down her wine. “Michael’s quite the family man.” You know her comment is sarcastic in nature, but Leonardo doesn’t catch onto it. “Are you married, Leo?”

“I am not.” He answers back to her, his eyes softening. “And yourself, soon to be, I assume?” His eyes land on Merle’s.

“Well—” Merle begins but catches Michael’s death glare from the side before pressing his lips down and silencing himself.

Connie brushes off the thought. “It’s a wait-and-see sort of affair at the moment.”

“I see.” Leonardo keeps his gaze over Connie’s, noticing her disappointed body language next to Merle as he continues a small conversation with her.

“The family just grows and grows.” Lorenzo leans back into his seat, setting down his drink and reaching into his inner suit pocket for a cigarette. “And naturally, so does the business.”

“So you are officially named your father’s successor, Lorenzo,” Michael speaks up, entering the conversation.

“I am.” Lorenzo puts his cigarette between his lips, keeping his eyes over Michael. “And I’ve got five healthy boys I know will carry on the legacy of our family far after my time.”

“Five boys?” Vito’s eyes light up as he smiles warmly at Lorenzo across the table. “I have to congratulate you, as a family man myself. Nothing more beautiful than that. You spend a lot of time with your children?”

“All the time in the world I can spare, Godfather.” Lorenzo leans his arm over to shake at Vito’s.

Michael’s gaze hardens at the usage of his father’s title, and you pretend not to notice, beginning to take a bite out of your lobster thermidor. You know your brother’s nature has always been prideful, outspoken, and confident, but only now do you realize how little it resonates with Michael or compares to his personality.

“Waiter!” Alessio calls out, raising his finger. “What do I have to do to get another whiskey sour, hmm?”

“Haven’t had enough just yet?” Sonny grins back at him, wrapping a friendly arm around his shoulder.

“Has anyone…” Alessio pauses, hiccupping. “Got enough of you?”

“Alessio.” Matteo shoots a disappointed glare at his brother. “We’ve barely started dinner, and you’ve already had too much to drink?”

“Not at all.” Alessio shakes his head, “I was just asking a legitimate question after all—right, Victoria?”

“Hmm?” You peek up, now feeling the effects of the second-hand embarrassment hitting you. “About?”

“What do you think, eh?” Alessio points at Sonny, poking his cheek playfully. “You’ve got all these Corleone boys surrounding you every moment of the day, and I can understand why you picked that one, but what about him? Pretty good looking, eh?”

“Oh.” Fredo begins to chuckle, holding back his laughter.

“That’s not…” Leonardo covers his smirk with the back of his hand as he clears his throat.

“Appropriate.” Matteo points back at Alessio with his fork. “Not appropriate.”

“Hey, she never answered the question!” Sonny laughs, winking back at you. “Aw—come on, Mike, you’re the only one who isn’t laughing.” He notices Michael’s stern disposition, completely unmoved.

“Tell me the joke, and I’ll laugh.” Michael flatly states out.

“Michael.” Don Ferrari’s voice rings out as the waiters return, beginning to pour glasses of champagne. Your father shifts in his seat, now directing his attention solely to Michael. “I had enough to say the moment I walked in here and now…” He chuckles to himself, “I find myself at a loss for words. I have to say I’m impressed, son. Everything you and the family have been doing here in Nevada is nothing but a consistent success I was only used to seeing back in my day with your father—” Don Ferrari gestures to Vito, “how we ran molasses into Canada with Roth and expanded your father’s olive oil business to Sicily—those were the times. However, you managed it all tenfold in a time span of five years. How did you do it?”

“Corleone family success.” Michael swallows his sip of water, setting his glass down before him. “I kept it strictly about business. Whether it was ‘legitimate’ or not concerned me.”

“You must consider your home here to be the spitting image of your success then.” Don Ferrari nods back at him, impressed.

“Very much so. Not just for me but my family and business associates. This is what five years has brought us to, Don Ferrari.” Michael gives a small shrug of his shoulders. “Hotels, resorts, and casinos are nothing but child’s play. It’s as simple as that.”

“I knew my daughter made the right choice.” Your father chuckles to himself as your brothers gaze back over at you. “And speaking of with your lovely growing family, have the two of you begun to think about having children again?”

“Of course,” Michael answers for you, catching you pleasantly surprised. “We’ve been trying for our third.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful news!” Your mother bubbles back, “a third baby to the family! When did you two come to a decision?”

“We thought it was time after the twins grew up a bit.” You blush, nodding with Michael. “Raising two infants is one thing, but three at a time is another.”

“The twins have grown up so fast—they’re so much like the two of you. Especially Niccolo,” your mother exchanges a glance with your father in agreement, “he has a stunning resemblance to his father already!”

Michael smiles back politely. “They’ve had a wonderful mother to raise them, after all.”

“How many more are you two thinking, if it’s not too soon to ask?” Your mother peeks back at you—her eyes wide in curiosity.

You laugh back softly, lacing a hand with Michael’s over the table. “Perhaps two or three more.”

“Absolutely.” Michael raises your hand up to his mouth, planting a small kiss over it.

As you attempt to listen in, you catch Senator Geary’s gaze over you from the corner of your eye.

You peek back, only expecting a brief look and nothing more before he gestures at you with a grin. “Mrs. Corleone! We’ve only just met, and I—” He makes an astonished expression towards you, “I have to say, I am stunned myself to know Mr. Ferrari had a daughter, but nonetheless it’s been a pleasant experience to get to know you and your family.”

“Oh—thank you, Senator.” You force a smile back at him, confused at the nature of his comment and attempted compliments.

“And of course,” he chuckles, giving his head a shake, “I’d assume Mr. Corleone is a protective man, after all. You’re quite the stunner if I say so myself.”

You're not quite sure how to respond to the statement. You feel Michael’s hand brush up against your thigh before resting on it, beginning to trail down to where your dress ends. “Thank you.”

“Pardon me.” Senator Geary glances down at his empty cocktail glass, now eagerly eyeing his full glass of champagne. “I’ve had a bit too much to drink, but I’ve always been a very blunt man.”

Michael makes it seem as if his attention is focused on the conversation at hand with both of your father’s as he places his hand over your bare knee, now rubbing inward at your skin and trailing up to your panties.

Michael’s jealousy or “protectiveness,” as he liked to call it, went through changes of its own in the past five years—in Nevada or elsewhere. He had always been defensive over you, promising not only your family but himself to keep you safe.

He knew he was neither the first nor the last to admire you and somewhat surprised himself at the extent of his protectiveness. You were his, after all, having said so many times yourself, but the idea of having other men ogle at you or make comments didn’t just sour his mood but killed it instantly.

Michael would never be okay with either and strived not to put you in any such positions. While you ignored looks and comments while largely unaware of them, it flattered you if anything to see him jealous—no matter how much he loved to deny it.

Michael remains to be largely emotionless and cold outside of his personal and private life with you and the children. You’d be lucky if you could see him relax, let alone smile outside of spending time with you and the twins, so for him to express an insistent emotion such as jealousy was both intriguing and a turn-on for you.

The furthest extent of Michael’s jealousy went as far as firing Ritchie Nobilio—your personal bodyguard. While Ritchie had been grandfathered in the Corleone mafia well before you had ever even heard of them, it was true that he and you had grown close. To you, however, it was strictly platonic. You thought it would be convenient to get to know your bodyguard so things wouldn’t be awkward.

Ritchie, of course, was friendlier than any of Michael’s men that you ever met. You even overheard Al Neri and Rocco talking about how well known Ritchie was for his cheery, enthusiastic disposition, hardening when he needed to, but still being a breath of fresh air amongst all those stiff button-men.

Ritchie still worked for the Corleone family but no longer at the Lake Tahoe compound or as a bodyguard. What you thought might have been a misunderstanding certainly wasn’t for Michael. He had personally seen how “friendly” Ritchie had gotten with Connie before, attempted to with Sandra and even Kay.

Still, quite literally “jealous” or not, Michael refrained from revealing those details to you simply because he hated the label. He saw jealousy as a weak and childish emotion—all he knew was that he didn’t want to share you, and he certainly believed you’d have a similar expression if a woman had been touching his chest or placing her hands around him in any manner.

Now almost all of the time, Michael would interrupt flirty conversations towards you and lead you off elsewhere. He’d roll his eyes and make a sarcastic comment or two, and you’d never see that guest or business partner again. They’d still remain in contact with Michael, but not in the same setting as you.

Michael did this both to protect and respect you. You pretended not to notice, naturally, but if anything, you knew Michael had always been a thoughtful and caring husband and father. You had no objections to it. You let go and let Michael, and the two of you were more than satisfied.

Vito raises his champagne glass as Michael, and you do the same alongside everyone, celebrating with the grand toast. “Cent'anni.”

“Cent'anni!” You all repeat together, raising your champagne glasses.

Deanna blinks in confusion; her glass only raised half as high. “What’s chendanay?”

Fredo swallows down a bite of his food, gesturing out and correcting her. “Cent'anni. It means a hundred years.”

“Mm.” Connie chimes in, smiling sarcastically. “It means we should all live happily for a hundred years—the family.” She takes a small sip, glaring back at Michael. “It’d be true if my father was still Don.”

“Connie…” Carmela scolds quietly, glancing at Vito, who frowns at her.

Michael gives out a small huff, ignoring Connie’s comment and her gaze. You bite down on your lip, pushing away your champagne to alleviate the secondhand embarrassment beginning to trickle back.

“Merle, have you met my sister-in-law?” Connie glances back at him, tilting her head towards Deanna. “This is Deanna.”

Merle extends out his hand, briefly touching Deanna’s fingers. “How do you do?”

“My pleasure.” She grins back, checking him out before sitting back down.

“Questi due sarebbero perfetti l'uno per l'altro.” (These two would be perfect for each other.) Carmela grumbles to you and Tom, waving her finger in gesture.

You cover your mouth, stifling back a little laugh as Tom chuckles, speaking back in Italian. “Hai ragione su questo.” (You’re right about that.)

“Michael.” Alessio takes a long sip of his champagne, glancing at him lazily. “Is it true you were in the army, hmm? I hear a lot about such from your brothers.”

“Drunk man asking drunk questions.” Matteo rolls his eyes at his brother. “Ignore him.”

“No, no, I’d personally like to hear the answer to this myself,” Lorenzo smirks. “You were, weren’t you? In World War two?”

You let out a small sigh of relief, grateful that various conversations have picked up amongst the table as not to focus on whatever ridiculousness a near-drunk Alessio is trying to get Michael into.

“I was,” Michael answers plainly, taking a gulp of his water. “I enlisted shortly after Pearl Harbour.”

“Huh, and here I thought a man like you would serve your country instead. You could have done some service after the war.” Lorenzo taps his fingers against the rim of his champagne glass—clearly referring to Italy.

“I did serve my country.” Michael purses his lips, “I enlisted as a marine and finished my service as a captain—surely you know well enough.”

“Fighting against your own blood for a country that isn’t your own means nothing to me.” Lorenzo rolls his eyes.

“I wasn’t under the impression Michael was trying to get you to admire him with his military service.” You speak up, an annoyed expression crossing over your face.

Lorenzo chuckles, leaning back in his seat. “It’s nothing his own brothers haven’t told him, right?”

Tom looks away, separating himself from the conversation completely as Sonny nods back. “I told him the same thing, and so did Pop. My opinion still stands.”

“And that didn’t change anything.” Michael cuts into a piece of his food.

“And now we see a veteran made businessman, eh?” Lorenzo nods back at Michael.

'He’s doing this on purpose.' “Lorenzo—” You attempt to cut in.

“Impressive enough, I’ll give you that.”

“Can we not do this right now, please?” You glare back at Lorenzo, digging into your food.

Your brothers glance back up at you as Matteo shares the same annoyed disposition, shaking his head as he quietly returns to his meal. You exchange a look with Tom as he gives you a reassuring smile back, taking a sip of his champagne.

Michael laces his hand with you under the table as the two of you continue eating in silence, rather amused at how you silenced your brothers so quickly and picked up on Lorenzo’s irritation antics against Michael.

The other half of the table remains distracted, making pleasant conversation for themselves, contrasting your silence. You let out a small sigh, relaxing your muscles as you focus your attention back onto your meal, wondering how you’ll get through the rest of the night like this at any rate.

Dinner service officially comes to an end an hour later as waiters begin to serve refreshments and finish up the last of their catering. The night goes on as the band has picked up their soft, melodic tune to an upbeat rhythm for dance—couples and friends joined together at the center of the courtyard to enjoy themselves for the night.

It only leaves you, Michael, Tom, Theresa, and Michael’s bodyguards left at the table sipping over anisette and champagne. The senator and his wife linger around the table, making small talk with your brother’s wives and business associates, leaving Connie and Leonardo dancing amongst the crowd together with your brothers next to Sandra and Sonny.

Vito, Carmela, and your parents had made their way off to greet old family friends and associates separately before they’d retire inside for the night, leaving an unfortunate sight of Merle and Deanna rather intimately dancing together only a few feet away from you.

Your eyes wander over to Sandra and Sonny dancing together while attempting to balance a glass of champagne—Sandra throwing her head back in joy as Sonny embraces her, taking a sip of his drink.

All around you, couples dance together, twirling each other around and enjoying the band’s upbeat song. You notice Tom gazing off as well, relatively distracted as he raises his cocktail up to his lips—Theresa now grabbing his attention in conversation.

You pout, looking over at Michael, who seems as if he could care less, simply drinking away at his glass of water. He doesn’t notice your insistent gaze over him either, rather enjoying the view of the night illuminated by the splendor and lighting décor spread around the compound.

You place your hand over Michael’s, looking back at him. “Aren’t we going to dance?”

“Is it a slow dance?” Michael sets his glass down.

“Well, no—” You begin, noticing it’s obviously a lot more upbeat and fast in tempo.

“Then no.” He shakes his hand. “That would be inappropriate.”

“Michael…” You whine quietly, “you can just dance with me. We don’t have to be around my brothers or yours.”

“Victoria.” Michael shoots you a disapproving look. “No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Disappointed that you can’t join the dance with him rather than disappointed at the obvious response you knew you were going to get, you cross your arms in annoyance and lean back against your seat, now noticing a female singer joining the band nearby.

Michael wouldn’t be caught dead in such a dance, especially in front of a crowd of hundreds the same way you’d never do so alone, surrounded by your sisters-in-law and so many lively couples enjoying themselves.

You wrap your hand around your champagne flute, glancing down at your alcohol-free mimosa as the dance continues, now coupled with the singer’s voice. “If I knew this love I had for you…”

“Now there’s a beauty, eh?” Senator Geary points out to one of his associates, gesturing over to the singer, who slowly begins to descend from the stage and over to the tables.

Raising your head up, you notice the dance has gotten even livelier with the singing added—more couples now joined together upon the courtyard. “Would have gotten this sweet…”

“Ah, that’s the stunning Rita Duvall—is this your first time seeing her perform?”

Rita, who almost seems as if she’s noticed the senator and his associate’s comments, begins to dance her way dangerously close to your tables, swerving her hips as her loose, silk, red gown hangs off of her hips—glistening in the light.

“First time but perhaps not the last, huh?” The senator’s attention is now fully focused on Rita, who runs a hand through her dirty blonde curls, winking over at another nearby table before moving over to yours.

Knowing the rich patrons when she sees them, and that of just exactly whose hosting the grand party, Rita trails her hand alongside your table, singing out almost as if she’s directly serenading Michael. “Simply unable to avoid your gaze and your touch…”

Michael hadn’t even noticed her until she moved in closer to him, now watching her over a stern expression as she gestures her hand out to him, continuing to sing sweetly.

You narrow your eyes back at her, although she ignores you completely as if you weren’t even sitting next to Michael. Rita continues her singing, turning around momentarily to gesture out to the crowd and run her hand slowly down her hip before facing Michael again. “I’d ache all over for you…”

A spike of jealousy shoots through you as Rita directly approaches Michael, swaying about the entire time. She remains so close to him that her dress touches the fabric of his suit; Michael is still seemingly largely unamused.

You shift in your seat, slowly beginning to sit upright as you shoot her a glare, watching her place her hand over Michael’s shoulder, now very much serenading him face to face. “They say I have a touchy kind of love…”

Rita’s next lyrics are about a “touchy” love as she physically shows Michael, still keeping her hands over him. Just as she’s about to trail it down his chest, Michael raises his arm in a way that swats her hand off before he flashes her his wedding ring, gesturing to his hand.

Your eyes widen at the gesture, feeling your jealousy begin to dissipate at how clear Michael makes it in front of Rita’s face that he’s married and uninterested in her touching him.

A look of disappointment crosses Rita’s eyes, and for the sake of avoiding embarrassment in front of a crowd, she quickly moves her hand away from him and picks up the tempo in her dance.

She begins to slowly move away from your table but finishes her song with the band before she can get back up to the center of the courtyard. “But I’m just a woman in love.”

The crowd cheers as some couples stop to clap, and others shout for an encore. Taking the brief moment in time where Rita basks within the applause of the crowd, you make eye contact with Rocco standing behind you.

Picking up on your signal as you dart your eyes back from Rita to his, Rocco steps forward and smiles at her, whispering something in her ear before gesturing her over to you.

Rita lets out a breathy laugh, flattered that she “has” your attention. She makes her way over as the band begins a similar, upbeat tune, approaching you. “Hello, Mrs. Corleone—”

“What’s your name?” You interrupt her, now rising from her feet.

“I’m Rita Duvall from Las—”

“Rita.” You place a hand over her wrist harshly, forcing a fake smile at her. “Can I tell you something?”

Rita’s expression falls, and she looks back at you as if she doesn’t have a choice to even tell you “no”. She simply gives a hesitant nod as you lean in. “Your song was about a ‘touchy kind of love,’ wasn’t it? Did you write that song yourself?” You peek back at her, softening your expression.

“Yes, I did.” She relaxes, beginning to smile at you. “Did you like it?”

Your eyes dart over to Michael whose indulged in a conversation with Tom before you quickly face Rita again. “If you touch my husband like that again—performance or not, I’ll help your band search for your body.”

A look of shock and horror crosses over Rita’s face as you abruptly let go of her wrist. She stumbles back from you before lowering her head, staring back at the ground as she scurries her way off back to the stage with the band.

You let out a small huff to yourself, the pressure of your built-up jealousy alleviating. Glancing back at Michael, you press your lips down, knowing it’s not the conversation to have in the middle of a dinner party.

You take your seat back with him, now noticing his conversation with Tom is dying out as they both exchange a confused and disturbed look, glancing over at Deanna dancing with Merle. You feel Michael’s hand laced with yours again, and you look up as well to see how ridiculously touchy the two have gotten.

With Connie nowhere to be seen, Deanna continuously brushes her body up against Merle’s—her breasts threatening to spill from her dress as she grins back at him devilishly. She runs her hands through Merle’s already tousled hair, kissing him over the mouth as the two enjoy a very “touchy” and intimate dance themselves.

Your eyes widen in surprise as Merle gasps, watching Deanna slip on her heels and plop onto the floor. Michael exchanges a look with you and Tom again, this time his eyes gaze also falling over Rocco’s. His expression clearly states second-hand embarrassment, seeing if anyone has either noticed her fall or any of her promiscuous dancing, to begin with.

Michael tilts his head back, and you peek over to see him whispering a quick order in Rocco’s ear. “Deal with her.”

From the corner of your eye, Fredo immediately storms over from the side where he was silently standing by with Matteo, keeping watch. Having noticed Michael’s glare, he grabs Deanna by her arms, hauling her away from both the center of the courtyard and from Merle’s grabby hands.

Stumbling all the way over to the table next to yours, Deanna struggles against Fredo’s grasp, whining. “What’s the matter? I-I just want to dance!”

“Dancing is one thing, but you’re falling all over the floor!” Fredo scolds, trying to keep their conversation only audible to each other to avoid humiliation.

“Oh, I know what’s the matter with you.” Deanna scoffs. “You’re just jealous because he’s a real man, like Victoria’s brothers, like Michael!”

You notice that both Michael and Tom are staring back at the two—a severely unamused look in Michael’s dark eyes. Not that she’s wrong, of course, but still completely uncalled for.

“I swear to God, Deanna, I’m gonna belt you right in the cheek!” Fredo hisses, grasping her wrist.

Deanna snorts in laughter, pushing him off of her. “Oh, you couldn’t belt your mama!”

You quickly pretend to be more interested in your mimosa as you begin to drink it in an attempt to ignore the second-hand embarrassment returning to you for what feels like the millionth time in one night.

Michael makes brief eye contact with you, giving out a small sigh as you giggle quietly before taking a sip—no way you could remain as stern as him with such a public outburst right by the table.

“These dagos are crazy when it comes to their wives!” Deanna flips her hair over her shoulder, proclaiming loudly as she makes her way back to Merle.

You frown at the slur, noticing Michael tensing up in his seat as the outburst has just begun, if anything. Rocco approaches Fredo, glancing back at Deanna, who can barely carry herself to the dancefloor—flustered and tipsy.

“Michael says if you can’t take care of this—” Rocco points back at himself, “then I have to.”

Fredo cringes, gazing back at Deanna before he gives out a small sigh of relief. “Yeah, it’d be better if you did, actually.”

“Never marry a wop!” Deanna shouts another ethnic slur, pulling the attention of nearby couples. “They treat their wives like shit!”

Michael’s eyes fall over yours as he squeezes your hand again, now placing his free one over the table. You can clearly tell he’s growing irritated with Deanna’s antics and foul mouth quickly, tensing up once more at the continuation of her making a scene.

“Except maybe that one!” Deanna clutches onto Merle, pointing back at Michael and then you. “Just look at Victoria! Victoria?! I mean, look at her face! It’s glowing because she’s with a real man! She’s practically covered in his cum—”

“DEANNA!” Fredo shouts back in hopes of silencing her, utterly humiliated.

“Oh.” You flush a shade of red, immediately looking away as Michael blinks back, unmoved by the comment for the sake of denying Deanna the attention she wants but taken back by the comment himself.

Rocco rolls his eyes, grabbing onto Deanna and beginning to haul her off of Merle once again. “I didn’t mean to say wop! Ow! Oh! Rocco! Ah! What are you doing?”

Fredo rubs his temples in frustration, now taking his seat next to Michael on his right as he attempts to cover his face in embarrassment.

“Let me go! Fredo!”

“I can’t control her, Mikey,” Fredo murmurs back, his eyes giving you an apology of their own. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, that was completely uncalled for. She’s drunk and—”

“You’re my brother, Fredo. You don’t have to apologize to me.” Michael brushes off the apology, rubbing Fredo’s shoulders in reassuring. “It’s fine.”

“It’s really not.” Fredo lets out a shaky sigh, gesturing to one of the waiters. “I think I need a drink—um, Victoria, you too?”

You glance down at your champagne flute to refuse but notice you’ve already finished your drink down to the last drop. “Ah, sure, why not? It has to be alcohol-free, though.” You nod back at Fredo, who begins to give the waiter the order.

“You have anything harder than a cocktail, and you’re going to spend the rest of the evening giggling over me in bed again.” Michael takes a new cigarette out of his pack upon the table. “But you haven’t been drinking for a few weeks, haven’t you?”

“Can’t drink if I want to conceive. You know I’m a few days late.” You’re referring to your period.

“That you are, and Dr. Katherine’s report will have something for us to look forward to.”

You give Michael a beaming smile back. “Mmhmm! But with the way tonight is going, I think you should have a drink yourself.”

“An hour longer, and I’ll never be more glad to call it a night.”

“Are you saying that because you’re going to bed with me?” You tease back, playfully.

“I feel you already know the answer to that question.” He glances back down at you—his eyes softened and a teasing tone in his voice. “But I’ll have to remind you when we’re dancing tonight.”

Unable to hold back a grin, you lean your head up and steal a kiss from his lips, tasting champagne as you curl back up to his side and gaze back out giddily at the courtyard.

You wrap an arm around Michael’s back as he does the same for your lower waist—a free hand intertwined with yours as you press the side of your cheek against his, lost in the bliss of a slow waltz.

The band plays a soft and slow tune as Michael, and you share the intimate dancing amongst the other couples in the crowd—lights twinkling over you and illuminating the courtyard as Michael twirls you around in his arms.

You let out a soft exhale, knowing that although your feet are sore from standing on your heels throughout the night that you wish you could find yourself locked in this moment forever.

The music flows perfectly and with the air at a still, dancing underneath the stars with Michael in such a sensual intimacy—understanding each other’s body language and love in silence—is all you could ever ask for. You’ve never been one to shy away from classic romance.

The scent of Michael’s cologne hits your nose as the two of you continue slow dancing, letting the rhythm and tempo of the music guide you. Butterflies twist in your gut as you feel the warmth of Michael’s cheek against yours, coupled with the occasional little kisses he gives you.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight, darling?”

“Mhmm.” You blush at the sensation of his stubble brushing against your cheek. “It was everything I could have hoped for and more with the family.”

“All for the family—our family.” Michael agrees, speaking to you in a soft tone.

“You’ll have to excuse my brothers, though.” You apologize sheepishly. “They’re much more outspoken than what anyone can be used to.”

“It’s not a problem for me.” Michael replies, “I’ve become a part of your family as much as you’ve become a part of mine. Though I will have to say, it’s become increasingly clear to me Lorenzo dislikes me.”

“I’ve noticed as well.” You give out a glum sigh. “It’s in his nature, mio amore. He’s always been competitive, sarcastic.”

“It’s no wonder he gets along with Sonny so well.” Michael muses.

“He takes after my grandfather.” You explain, “he had quite the temper himself, but my father…he’s much more reserved, strategic. Mafia with a bit of class.”

“I see what you mean. Your father is a good man, and I won’t doubt the decisions he’s made to have Lorenzo succeed him. I see Leonardo as an excellent successor too.”

“Does it surprise you my entire family is involved in the ‘business’?” You ask back.

“A little, but not in a bad way.” Michael kisses your jawline. “It’s more of a pleasant surprise. A strong family is the backbone behind business. Your brothers carry it crude and well, and so do you.”

“So you got more than what you bargained for with me, hmm?” You grin back at him.

“I got everything I wanted and more, let’s say that.” Michael kisses the tip of your nose.

The blush in your cheeks deepen.

“It’s true, darling.” Michael murmurs softly, pressing his cheek against yours once more. “

You gasp a little at his comment, and he remains pleased to see your flustered and flattered disposition. You lean in and kiss his lips, smiling through it as he tightens his embrace around you.

Spinning you around once more, you notice Michael beginning to pull away again—a wide smile over his face that causes your heart to skip a beat.

Michael glances at your stomach momentarily, “how’s the baby?”

You can’t help but smile back at his eagerness to conceive again. “If it’s there, then sleeping soundly inside of me.”

“Do you think we’ll have a boy?” He continues dancing with you.

Blushing, you nod back at him. “Yes, I feel like it will be.”

Michael leans back up to your cheek, pressing a kiss upon it. “Mm… Victoria?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about all of the people today.” Michael gives out a soft sigh. “The senator and all of his businessmen. Tonight was supposed to strictly be about family; bad timing. It couldn’t be helped, though.”

“There isn’t really a time of day reserved for the mafia, mio amore. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m just glad I got to spend it with you and everyone regardless. Things like that happen all the time.” You whisper back in his ear.

“It made me think about what you once said.” You slowly pull away from Michael again, placing your hand lovingly over his shoulder. “The Corleone family will never be legitimate. I agreed with you then, just as I do now, supporting you through it. It’s just business, and business can’t be helped.”

If anything, your answer pleases him to no avail. The smile over his lips grows as he nods back at you, leaving a lingering kiss over your cheek as you lean back in to continue dancing with him. “I know, darling. You don’t know what that means to me. I’m forever grateful for you and your support.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be wearing these again.” You groan out in pain, clutching onto the sides of the ottoman as you gaze down at your heels. “I’ve been nothing but sore all evening.”

Michael closes the bedroom door behind the two of you, turning around to face you as you extend your feet out, touching at the tip of your pumps and wincing.

“Let’s get those off of you,” Michael murmurs softly, shrugging off his suit jacket and setting it aside over the armchair before he approaches you by the ottoman.

“I’m so tired.” You mumble back, peeking up at him. “And to think some were still dancing at this hour.”

“Some including most of your brothers.” Michael chuckles, sitting next to you upon the ottoman and clasping a hand over your thigh to raise your leg.

“Well, they can stay on their half of the compound then.” You wave off, gesturing. “Let them continue their party elsewhere so the kids can sleep at least.”

“They’re just as exhausted.” Michael nods back, carefully pulling off your heels as you give a little whine. “I’ve never seen them fall asleep so quickly.”

“I’m just about ready too.” You sigh in relief, glancing down at your feet. “Just sore, so sore.”

“Let me, darling.” Michael pulls your legs up, placing both of your feet onto his lap.

You peek back at him shyly as he runs his hands over your feet, rubbing gently before moving his fingers over to your heels. You let out a soft grunt, watching him apply pressure around your ankle as he massages your feet deeply.

Michael holds up eye contact the entire time, only causing your blush to flare up a shade of scarlet over your cheeks. His hands work their magic over your feet, rubbing tenderly as you exhale softly, feeling relieved.

“How’s that?” Michael presses his palm against the soles of your feet, massaging some more.

“Perfect, mio amore. Oh, thank you…” You smile back at him sleepily. “Is there anything you can’t do?” Your eyes widen as Michael places both of his hands over your feet, running them up tantalizingly slowly to your inner thighs.

“Michael…” You whimper, only remembering how he had his hands up your dress earlier during dinner. “Again…”

“Not once did your clench your legs back there,” Michael responds as if reading your mind. “As a matter of fact…” His chestnut eyes burn back into yours as his hands reach the waistband of your panties. “You only spread them further.”

“Like I wasn’t supposed to, or something?” You whine out quietly. “You know how much I love those hands of yours—how you touch me…”

“Amusing coming from someone who doesn’t like being teased.” Michael chuckles back quietly, causing you to gasp as his thumb brushes over your clit, now pushing your panties aside.

“Oh, you’re not going to do this to me now, are you?” You bite down on your lip.

“Well, I did say I’d be merciful just from earlier…” Michael slicks his finger up and down your pussy as your arousal causes you to grow wet already. “After all, you obeyed me perfectly. Swallowed every last drop, didn’t you?”

“Don’t remind me…” You blush deeply, moaning out through your words. “Y-your hands always end up much further…”

“I like to touch and admire what’s mine, that’s all.” Michael pulls his hand back, licking off his fingers. “But I’ll have you get into bed before I do anything.”

“That’s a good idea.” You giggle breathily, “let me just get cleaned up…”

You’re more than eager to push your hair behind your ears and wash off your makeup, cleansing off your face and brushing your teeth before slipping on a silky, loose nightgown.

Completely exhausted from the toll of the evening, you glance at your sleepy disposition in your vanity mirror before crawling into bed, letting the warmth of your blankets take over you as you get snuggled in. “Mm…”

Michael loosens his tie, approaching your side of the bed as he extends his hand out, caressing your cheek. “Tired, are we?”

“Very much so…” You yawn, covering your mouth. “Come join me?”

“In just a moment, darling.” Michael gives you a small smile, heading back over to the dresser as he grabs a cigarette out of his pack, lingering by the window.

“Michael?” You rub at your eyes, sleepily peeking out back to him.

“Hmm?” He turns his head back to face you, putting his cigarette between his lips.

“Why are the drapes open?” You murmur, glancing at the curtains completely pulled back, exposing the window and revealing the inside of the bedroom completely.

Michael furrows his brows in confusion, looking over at the window and curtains himself for a moment. Just as he turns his head back to look outside the mirror, Michael spots out two blurred, shadowy figures at a distance from him—their firearms pointed directly at his face.

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