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melis-writes · 2 years ago

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

Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

Oneshot based in 1956, during the attempted assassination on Michael and Victoria Corleone.

"You’re delusional living in your head with all these fantasies of Victoria." / "She answered all of my questions about you with one word, you know that? Omertà."

With bullets flying over you and Michael during an attempt on your lives, the worst night of your life takes a turn for the worst as Michael's long time enemy and rival–Alphonse Ricci–forcefully has you kidnapped and held for more than just a ransom as his backup plan. Under pressure and suspicion of who betrayed the two of you, every move Michael makes in tracking your location down and bringing you back home safely is critical. With enough blackmail to ruin your life and career, Alphonse demands answers and isn't a patient man, using threats, intimidation tactics and sadism to get you to talk. Time is running out with your life on the line as you realize just what Alphonse's grand plans are for not just your future, but that of your entire family's.

[WARNINGS]: Heavy & explicit violence / Gunfire & firearm use / Depictions & themes of kidnapping/hostage situation / Ransoming / Graphic depictions of assault & battery / Character deaths / Graphic depictions of injuries & blood / Sexual harassment [groping/kissing] / Sedative usage / Sexual assault [groping, kissing] / Knife wounds / Biting / Explicit depictions of death.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The highly anticipated, next oneshot is finally here!! 😅 Thank you to the anon who requested this action packed oneshot! I hope I've done it justice with 100+ pages of thrilling content from start to finish for you guys! 👀 We see Michael in action, angst, hurt/comfort, a sneak peek of Connie and Leonardo's marriage, more quality time spent with the twins, how Michael handles the stress and pressure of Victoria's ransom and a short lived, but full out mob war too. There's a lot to tackle in this oneshot! 🙏🏻 Because of its explicit/graphic manner, please don't forget to read the warnings above! ❤

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.

[ Night of the attempted assassination at Lake Tahoe, 1956 ]

“Victoria!” Connie shouts out at you—her voice shaky with tears as she hugs her two sons close to her. “Where the hell are you going?! Sure as hell not out there—”

“Connie, it’s fine!” You shake your head, pulling open the French doors to exit the drawing room. “This isn’t the first goddamn time bullets have flown over my head before!”

“Are you insane?!” Connie hisses at you, “you know it’s not safe! Are you trying to get yourself killed after what Michael told us?!”

“Just stay put and with mama!” You point at Connie, then back at your mother weakly laying on the couch with Sandra by her side—ensuring her fresh bandages are on tight enough to stop the bleeding. “I need to find my brothers and Michael.”

“You’re insane, I swear!” Connie calls out behind you as you’re quick to storm out of the room and towards the study at the opposite end of the central family estate where your mother was hit.

“If Michael finds out—VICTORIA!” You can still hear Connie yelling out your name behind you but ultimately ignore her, knowing you’ve never been and never will be cowering back and waiting for others to finish the job.

Barefoot and keeping your steps slow and silent, you keep your eyes focused on all sides of your surroundings.

You continue to move towards the other side of the compound by getting closer to the study, realizing just how eerily quiet it’s grown on this side of the estate then suddenly being able to see the walls surrounding the study up ahead blown off in small chunks and riddled with bullet holes.

Moving through the study, you press your back against any solid wall you approach to avoid being detected out of the shattered windows now flashing over with lights from security outside.

Like a shadow, you slip out the back door of the central family estate—slipping on a pair of your kitten heels you left outside—and move towards you and Michael’s estate—just towards the front of your bedroom window where the first shots were fired.

Keeping yourself hidden in the shadows and away from any source of light, you can already make out three heavily armed guards of Michael’s lingering both inside and outside of your bedroom, checking around for any further evidence and safety compromises.

‘What the hell?’ You furrow your brows, knowing that the two bullets you fired off didn’t just go into the air and disappear, let alone reflect off of the walls of the estate, a tree, or anything similar. You heard it hit someone, not something.

Continuing to stay out of sight of Michael’s men, you take another look at the shattered windows of your bedroom from a different angle, stepping back.

You can hear Al Neri, Rocco, and their men yelling overheard, guard dogs barking and the footsteps of security roaming hastily all over the compound which easily masks out any sound you could make.

‘If I had shot more towards the right, then I would have to stand here…’ You move back further, estimating the spot you assumed your bullet must have got to before your eyes land on a small pool of blood not far from where you remain.

‘My bullet didn’t fail me.’ A slight sense of relief washes over you as you begin to carefully track the little droplets of blood that lead a pathway outward to the drains.

It already strikes you that the drains are a perfect hiding spot as they’re almost always ignored by just about everyone except for the compound’s weekly cleaning services and after sundown from a lack of any light source natural or artificial, it remains almost pitch black inside and surrounding the outside.

‘I must have hit his lower body. His side, or perhaps his thigh?’ Normally as you’d assume, if someone got immediate medical attention or at least didn’t run around and move frantically, they wouldn’t bleed this much but clearly the assassins were in an obvious rush towards the drains and nowhere else.

You’re just about to follow the rest of the blood trail when you hear two sets of unfamiliar footsteps beginning to rush towards you.

Having spotted you the moment you made your way towards the blood trail, lurking in the shadows and analyzing your every step, Alphonse Ricci’s assassins hastily approach you to ambush you from behind.

Let into the compound from an inside betrayal of the family—a thought already in Michael’s mind but without certainty to pin the blame on Frank Pentangelli, Hyman Roth, Johnny Ola, or all three—you barely have any time to react to the sudden attack, just as planned.

Overpowered by the two men grabbing you from both sides knowing that if you were out here vulnerable and alone outside, it’d be the only chance they’d get.

Had Michael been in your exact position without men and away from any source of light, he would have been shot dead on sight, as per the men’s orders said.

While remaining in the darkness to avoid a lecture from Michael’s men or Michael himself that you’d never hear the end of, now the assassins grabbing you from behind by your neck and clasping a leather gloved hand over your mouth to stifle your screams are now used to their advantage instead.

Before you can fire the pistol you’ve already been able to grab out from the pocket of your nightgown, the guard who now grips your throat roughly pistol whips you over the side of the head with his own gun.

As a direct order from Alphonse wanting to have you subdued and taken quietly if all else fails—which it has—the assassins don’t have the intention to hurt you badly or leave a mark, but that’d have to wait until you’d stir from consciousness.

In that split second where the pistol is just about to collide with your temple, you’ve surprised both the assassins and yourself in a way by aimlessly firing your pistol straight into the stomach of the other assassin standing in front of you.

Hit at such a close range that the barrel of your pistol burns into the stomach of the assassin while you stumble back and crumple into the arms of the other, passing out.

The last thing you remember seeing is a dark figure in a three-piece, full black suit and a fedora tilted over his head to mask half of his facial features—the same man you’re not entirely aware you just shot.

Immense pressure and sharp feeling hit your forehead before you almost instantly lose consciousness before everything goes pitch black.

A trickle of blood drips down your temple and you’re knocked out cold before you can hear the second assassin you shot writhe in pain—forcing himself to stay quiet almost enough to bite his own tongue off.

“Shit!” The first assassin hisses, holding your limp body tightly in his arms. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Little bitch shot me,” the second assassin grunts, immediately applying pressure to his gunshot wound.

“Fuck, look—we’ll get that taken care of as soon as we can get the fuck out of here.” The first assassin gestures back with his thumb. “The faster you do this with me, the sooner it’s all over. Man the fuck up, for now, we’ve got a job to do.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to walk if it was you, asshole.” The second assassin mutters in pain, following the first assassin scooping you up bridal style in his arms.

The assassins continue making their way through every inch of darkness and shadow they can find on the compound before carrying you into the sewer exit.

The betrayer had of course told the men whether it was deliberate or not that the sewers and the drains were not only an ideal hiding spot nobody cared much about, but it’s also filthy from top to bottom.

Alphonse strictly ordered there not to be a speck of dirt or any unnecessary injury done to you if it could be helped and even then, there’d be absolute hell to pay for orders not followed down to every letter.

The assassin carrying you remembers being yelled at well, but also thinking about the rest of his pay and making sure while he walks into the drains with the second assassin limping behind him that he’d rather be covered in mud, guck, and shit for a million dollars than get a tiny drop even on the trim of your silk nightgown.

“Fuck,” the second assassin grunts, slowly down and barely being able to pull himself into the drains. “This fucking hurts. Do you have to move so goddamn fast?”

“You’re fucking slowing me down, man, that’s what you’re doing.” The first assassin narrows his eyes. “I’m getting the fuck out of here with her one way or another, you know how this works.”

“F-fuck you.” Giving up entirely from the weakness the second assassin feels hitting every inch of his body from blood loss, the man trips down into the sewer and rolls onto his back.

The first assassin barely looks back over his shoulder at his partner in crime, continuing to carry you through the sewers and out back the way he came—knowing Rocco won’t be there to stop him from getting you into a car and out of Lake Tahoe.

Rushing towards the drains if anything had made the blood loss worse over a mere few minutes, the second assassin had that sense of hope in thinking he’d just make it is now replaced with the prospect of death which would normally strike fear in his heart as he lays in murky, filth filled waters.

Assassinations were easy jobs for experienced mobsters—buttonmen, capos, or otherwise—but the concept of near-guaranteed death was practically branded on their foreheads when they were told they’d be paid a million dollars each by Alphonse Ricci for assassinating you and Michael Corleone.

The second assassin knew he’d either die a miserably painful albeit short death or go home a rich man and as the first assassin quickly pulls open the car door out back in the forest and secures you next to him in the back seat, all the first assassin can think of is how and when his corpse is going to be discovered.

“What happened back there? You got her?!” The driver clutches onto the steering wheel tightly, looking to the backseat.

“Yeah.” The second assassin pants, out of breath as he carefully lays you down on the leather seats. “Just Victoria Corleone, her husband’s not dead—he’s not even hurt.”

The driver immediately starts up the car, looking around him frantically. “Shit, shit, shit, where’s—”

“He’s probably fuckin’ dead, just drive!” The second assassin shouts, referring to his partner assassin now bleeding to death in the sewers. “He barely got through the goddamn drains with me, now he’s drowning in shit.”

‘Nevada license plate…’ One of Al Neri’s men hunched over by the bushes sees the license plate of the car that’s driving you away just by the last moment—too far to shoot at the tires from but still left with crucial information.

What the buttonman doesn’t know from the time he was able to slip out towards the back of the woods when he made out the shape of a vehicle is that Michael Corleone’s wife is being kidnapped and taken inside of it.

“If there’s a mark on her, the boss is gonna fucking kill you.” The driver warns, picking up speed through the dirt pathway leading out of Lake Tahoe. “You knocked her out, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” The assassin rolls his eyes, glancing at the dried-up blood on your temple. “I had to pistolwhip her, I had no other choice.”

“Was that before or after Jimmy randomly fucking died in the sewers?” The driver scowls, making eye contact from the rear-view mirror.

“Yeah, he got randomly fucking shot straight in the stomach by this bitch!” The assassin exclaims. “Had that tiny fucking pistol in her hands before we could see it.”

“The boss told us.” The driver attempts to calm his shaky breathing, driving faster. “She’s fucking dangerous and you need to treat her as such. We need to keep her incapacitated until we get back—no fucking exceptions.”

“I made sure she dropped that fucking pistol of hers back there, she’s not gonna pull that shit on us again.” The assassin reaffirms.

“It doesn’t fucking matter, man.” The driver shakes his head. “Armed or not, Victoria Corleone will scratch your fucking eyes out with her own nails if she gets the opportunity to. Do you seriously not know what the fuck we just did? Who we’re fucking with?”

“Yeah, I know what we just did.” The assassin attempts to relax his tense muscles against the leather car seats. “We became fucking millionaires, that’s what. So the job got a little dirty, better someone else kiss the dirt than me. Look at her now,” he gestures to your body. “Sleeping peacefully, still breathing, just fine.”

“Wipe that blood off her forehead at least.” The driver sighs. “I’m not gonna think about that money until I know I’m still alive by the time we get back to the boss.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Ruin your own fun.” The assassin reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a handkerchief and gently dabbing it over your temple to wipe as much blood off as he can. “We got in, we got the broad, we’re out. Now when we get back, have a fucking drink to calm your nerves, and then start counting your share of the bread. You’ll feel better, trust me.”

Connie, Sandra, and Esther remain in the drawing room as Michael asked, comforting the children and frequently checking on your mother who attempts to relax against the couch in a position that won’t press on her gunshot wound.

It’s only ten minutes later that everyone inside the compound’s estates begins to realize the noise of Michael’s men and guard dogs outside has started to grow quiet and is now replaced with the faint sirens of an ambulance approaching and Michael’s footsteps.

Connie tucks her boys in on the couches nearest to her with any blankets she can find in the drawing room, sitting on the carpet next to them and attempting to calm down.

While Esther and Ludovica seem relieved to hear the ambulance approaching the estate, Connie’s anxiety only grows further neither seeing nor hearing any sign of you since you rushed off.

Connie sniffles and wipes her tears off onto her blouse, watching as Ludovica is carefully laid onto a stretcher and taken out of the drawing room with Esther and a security guard following behind.

“Yes, Don Giuseppe will follow shortly…” Connie hears one of Michael’s buttonmen murmur but is unable to pinpoint who he’s notifying.

Sandra wipes the stray tears out of the corners of her eyes, sitting on the very edge of the couch Ludovica was laying on and remaining quiet.

Just before Connie can speak out to her, she hears another pair of footsteps growing closer and easily recognizes they belong to Michael, but Connie doesn’t hear yours following his.

The doorknob to the drawing room twists and Michael pushes open the door, stepping inside with some sort of expectation over his expression before it grows stone cold almost instantly.

Sandra immediately darts her gaze down, avoiding looking at Michael entirely as if she has something to be guilty for, but with the way Michael’s already realized you’re not in the drawing room as you were told to be, he now locks his eyes with Connie directly.

“Michael,” Connie whimpers, raising up her hand to him.

“Where is she, Connie?” Michael asks once, calmly. “Where’s Victoria?”

“I don’t know.” Connie swallows hard. “Michael, please.”

“Connie.” Michael’s tone of voice grows sterner. “I’m not going to ask you again. Give me a straight answer, now.”

“She said something about finding you and your brothers!” Connie bursts out into sobs again. “That’s all I know, I swear!”

“And you just let her leave?!” Michael glares, raising his voice so sharply that it causes Sandra to flinch. “What did I tell you?”

“I know, I know!” Connie protests, shaking her head. “I told her not to go, I tried to stop her but she wouldn’t have any of it! She just up and left!”

“And the two of you just sat here.” Michael points his finger back and forth at a sniffling Sandra and crying Connie. “Waited for her to come back the entire time, yes?”

“What else could we have done, Michael?” Sandra speaks out in a shaky tone. “Go out there and look for her while it’s dangerous?”

“We had no choice but to wait for her.” Connie’s voice cracks. “I’ve been dying just sitting here and waiting.”

“Don’t wait.” Michael loosens his tie, letting out a loud sigh. “She’s gone.”

“What?” Both Sandra and Connie say at the same time with wide eyes.

“Gone, she’s gone,” Michael says through gritted teeth. “My men and I combed the entire compound in and out—she’s GONE.”

“But Al and Rocco—” Connie begins.

Michael interrupts his sister. “What do you think Neri and Rocco were doing the past ten minutes? There isn’t a trace of her here unless one of you isn’t admitting to something?”

“Don’t be r-ridiculous.” Connie whimpers through her tears. “All she said was that she was going to find you and h-her brothers. Why would she leave the compound?”

“Rocco’s outside the compound searching the entire vicinity with his men and the dogs for anything—bodies included.” Michael glares at Connie and Sandra. “At this point, both of you can consider your sister-in-law missing.”

“Stop!” Sandra cries out, “you’re not implying—”

“Victoria DID NOT disappear into thin air, Sandra!” Michael yells at her, seething with anger. “Either she was taken out of the compound or went out of herself and is dead, do you understand me? If this is such a hard reality for either of you to grasp, start blaming yourselves as to why you didn’t stop her or call out for one of my men too.”

“She’s not dead, she can’t be!” Connie sobs louder as her sons peek out from under their blankets fearfully—having never seen their Uncle Michael this visibly pissed and stressed in their lives.

“I don’t want to tell my children we found their mother’s body outside of the compound.” Michael hisses, pulling open the door again. “And believe me, if I do, I’m willing to blame some of the people in this room.”

Outside by the blood trail belonging to one of the first assassins you shot, Al Neri crouches down to carefully examine the blood over the cobblestone path with a flashlight.

In his other hand, Neri clutches a tattered piece of silk cloth belonging to your nightgown, half stained with a muddy footprint from the men who overpowered you.

Unable to see any blood or otherwise on the nightgown but not entirely sure who the blood trail belongs to, Neri stands back and gestures to one of his men around him. “Stay here, keep the lights on the blood trail and keep the area clean. I’m going to get the Don.”

“When you don’t do as I say, Connie,” Michael pulls open the door, scowling at her, “when you blame everybody but yourself for your own actions or lack thereof, you disappoint me.”

Before Michael can continue, he turns his head towards the corridor where Al Neri quickly rushes in, calling out for Michael’s attention. “Don Corleone!”

“What is it?” Michael’s facial expression immediately relaxes. “Tell me you have some good news for once tonight.”

“I don’t know what to call it, sir.” Al Neri comes up to Michael, holding up the ripped piece of your nightgown. “I found a piece of Mrs. Corleone’s nightgown torn off from a struggle.”

“Let me see that.” Michael snatches the piece of cloth from Neri’s hand, looking at it closely in the palm of his hand. “This was torn right off.”

“Yes, sir.” Neri nods, “there’s some mud and a bit of a footprint on it too. Looks like it was stepped on and ripped like that.”

“So there was a struggle,” Michael murmurs, quick to close the door of the drawing room behind him so neither Sandra nor Connie gets to hear. “Just what the hell happened?”

“That’s not all.” Neri hesitates to make direct eye contact with Michael. “Not too far from it we also found a small pool of blood, sir.”

“Show me.” Colour drains out of Michael’s face as he follows Al Neri back outside of the central family estate and over to the blood trail not far from your bedroom.

“Just here, sir.” Neri points to where his men keep their flashlights aimed towards every drop of blood, no matter how small. “This section of the compound avoids any kind of light almost immediately, yet we found both the piece of Mrs. Corleone’s nightgown and the blood here.”

Michael crouches down towards the large splatter of dried blood, staring down at it directly. “This can’t be Victoria’s blood.”

“No sir, as it gets much heavier after this point onward.” Al Neri gestures with his finger towards the corner of the estate.

Michael exchanges a glance with Neri, standing back up and immediately making haste to follow the rest of the blood trail leading to the drains.

“This kind of splatter,” Michael mutters under his breath, “it shows someone was shot at close range. It’s messy.”

“I agree.” Neri leads Michael and the rest of his men further. “It’s messy and shows signs that whoever was shot is bleeding out and could not make it far.”

Michael presses his lips down into a firm line, thinking to himself it’s either your body that gave out somewhere hidden on the compound and this is actually your blood, or it’ll be the only time Michael feels relief tonight.

Neri knows this is the only thought on Michael’s mind following his boss’ silence, and he purposefully avoids any kind of eye contact or talking until they all approach the sewers.

“It stops right inside, sir.” Rocco’s voice calls out as he jumps into the small murky puddle leading into the drains. “Whoever got in bled out very quickly and didn’t make it far.”

Neri takes a step inside the sewers as Michael waits outside surrounded by the rest of the men, and it’s only a few moments later that the sounds of a body being dragged back towards the entrance can be heard.

Michael can’t ignore the relief his heart feels to see Neri and Rocco pulling out a man badly shot in the stomach and barely conscious instead of your body of all things.

“Sir.” Rocco looks up at Michael. “This man is still alive and has a pulse.”

“Finally caught one of the assassins, did you?” Michael mumbles—disappointment heavy in his voice. “Congratulations. Fish him out.”

Careful not to manhandle the assassin too much from the state of his heavy wounds, Neri and Rocco take him out of the drains and onto the grass surrounding it—forcing the assassin to sit up.

“Ohhh, God…” The assassin groans out in pain, still insistent on clutching onto his stomach like it’ll spare his life.

“Out of state,” Michael notes, knowing this is no regular buttonman from Nevada.

“C-can’t even die a peaceful death, can I?” The assassin lazily tilts his head back to look up at Michael.

“Laying in shit and mud within the sewers is as peaceful of a death as it gets for a rat like you.” Michael pulls out his pistol from his suit pocket, aiming it directly at the bullet wound on the assassin’s stomach. “I can make it much quicker for you. You will tell me your name and who you work for.”

“I’m dyin’, Don Corleone.” The assassin lets out a hacking, bloody cough. “Does i-it really look like I’m in the position to answer your questions?”

“Answer him, now.” Rocco kicks the assassin in the side, causing him to howl out in pain.

“You can still talk, that’s obvious.” Michael cocks his pistol. “Don’t think this can be the end of you that easily. I can get that wound of yours patched up and then slowly torture you by pulling out the stitches myself. So start. Talking.”

“You’ll find o-out soon enough.” The assassin chuckles weakly. “Oh, you’re everything they s-said you were, Don Corleone. Threats and all… Can’t you see this is a-all a game?”

Drenched in the rancid scent of the sewers and completely soaked in mud, the assassin's clothes drip with waste matter as Rocco and Neri pull him up to his feet now.

“Taking my wife is some kind of game to you?” Michael furrows his brows.

“A-ah, that wasn’t me.” The assassin shakes his head. “T-that was my partner, of course. How am I gonna…gonna take out the pretty lady when she did this to me?” He gestures to the bullet lodged into his stomach. “T-that wife of yours sure is somethin’… Sure doesn’t go down without a fight but… Lookin’ at me now, I’d say she doesn’t go down without a murder.”

“If you don’t want that bullet pulled out of you right now you’re going to start confessing.” Neri threatens. “Tell us what your boss planned.”

“We were supposed to kill you.” The assassin smirks up at Michael. “But we always had a Plan B, as you can see… Take the wife if all else fails, you know? Hell of an aim that wife of yours has huh? Killing two of us.”

“I’ll take this body count off her hands.” Michael fires his pistol twice straight into the heart of the assassin as Neri and Rocco let the body drop out of their hands and to the ground.

“Sir?” Neri looks up at Michael expectantly for his next order.

“This isn’t a Plan B.” Michael holds his pistol up, examining it. “This was supposed to happen to begin with. They took Victoria.” He lowers his gun down to his side. “And unless I’m dead wrong, they have her alive and they want her alive.”

“Who?” Tom’s voice breaks out as he approaches Michael and his men, out of breath.

“Alphonse Ricci, who else?” Michael’s voice drips with venom just mentioning the name. “Get rid of the bodies—all of them. I want this place cleaned up, spotless as if nothing happened. You two—” he points at Neri and Rocco. “I want your men to search and investigate every inch of the entire compound and its surroundings. Seal up the estates with security at all times. And one more thing.” Michael specifically stares into Rocco’s eyes. “Keep an eye on your own men, just in case.”

Michael knows there’s a traitor within the compound, and he’s never going to shy away from settling for the idea that there may be more than one.

Having the dried-up blood on your temple from being pistol-whipped unconscious is the only courtesy Alphonse’s assassins give you for tonight.

While you’re still out cold and laying in the back seat, the assassin sitting next to you takes his time properly and tightly restraining your ankles together and your wrists behind your back.

None of Alphonse’s men are risking any further surprises or movements from you tonight.

Far off from Lake Tahoe now, the destination of the car is still within Nevada and the driver’s able to relax knowing for certain he’s not being followed from any side.

Thirty minutes further into the drive within the night and the pitter-patter of rain beginning to surround the car becomes full out, pouring rain.

Soft, quiet jazz music plays in the car for some peace of mind; the roads remain slick and muddy from all the rain and making a mess over the car from how fast the speed limit allows on the highway.

“She ain’t awake yet, is she?” The driver looks up into the rear-view mirror.

“No, thank God.” The assassin mutters, taking off his fedora and setting it on his lap. “I got her all tied up at last, though.”

“Good.” The driver sighs in relief. “Make sure whatever you tied on her is tight, so she doesn’t surprise us like fucking Houdini.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” The assassin chuckles, glancing down at his fedora before back at your body; his eyes begin to widen in realization at your belly. “Shit.”

“What?” The driver’s tone of voice grows alarmed. “What is it?”

The assassin pauses for a moment, placing his hand against your small—yet noticeable when looking up close—baby bump. “Shit.”

“WHAT?” The driver repeats, practically yelling. “Don’t freak me out up here man, tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“She’s pregnant.” The assassin shakes his head. “Fucking shit.”

“What?!” The driver exclaims out in surprise. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Yeah, man.” The assassin nods, pulling his hand back. “Uhhh, not far along from what I know with my lady but Corleone is definitely pregnant.”

“Did she fall when you—”

“I don’t know, man!” The assassin’s voice tightens from panic. “It all happened so fucking fast, I don’t remember! She fell right into my arms, she couldn’t have hit the ground or anything.”

“Goddamn it.” The driver hisses under his breath. “Have some fucking integrity with yourself. Pregnant or not, that’s still a woman and this is nothing but a surprise.”

“Yeah, I know.” The assassin mumbles, rubbing his face glumly. “Last thing we need is something to happen to that baby.”

“That’s Michael Corleone’s baby.” The driver clarifies. “That means more than one thing, for the boss too. She’s even more valuable now to us than you think. The boss said no harm should come to her at all unless necessary when restraining her.”

“Listen, man.” The assassin sighs loudly, getting fed up with the constant back and forth lecturing. “I KNOW. I know that.”

“Then let me remind you again, because it’s your ass on the line, not mine!” The driver narrows his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “My job is just to drive.”

“Uh-huh.” The assassin rolls his eyes. “Well, lucky you then. I guess we can’t all drive away from certain death and torture, away from dozens of security cards and Michael Corleone’s multi-million dollar home.”

“Listen, pal, I know I’m not that lucky, but that braindead brother-in-law of this broad got us in and he got us out.” The driver points out, “you wanna thank someone for being alive? Thank him. As I said, I’m just doing my job. I got a family to feed at home and we all have a part to play.”

“Don’t we all?” The assassin mutters out a rhetorical question. “My job is basically done. She ain’t hit too hard either and I cleaned up that blood. But she’s gonna catch a cold if we get her out of the car like this.”

“I have my trenchcoat up here in the front seat.” The driver gestures with his hand. “You can wrap that around her. Keep her warm at least.”

“That’ll do.” The assassin leans up, grabbing the trenchcoat off the front passenger seat. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night after all. I wouldn’t have expected her to be fully and warmly clothed in bed.” The assassin places the driver’s trenchcoat over top of you like a blanket. “She looks fine now.”

“As I said, man, we’ll let the boss decide that. Are there any visible marks on her forehead?” The driver asks, concerned.

“Well,” the assassin leans over to you for a closer look. “It’s not swollen or anything but there’s definitely a small gash.”

“Fuck’s sakes.” The driver sighs quietly to himself. “We could both get killed for this. Just keep it clean until we get there if you can. It’ll have to do for now. We’re taking two people to the boss now, not just one.”

Michael Corleone is the type of man who has both the patience, money and time to not only have his estate’s compound and the vicinity searched, but all of Lake Tahoe.

Nothing differs from the fact he got his mother-in-law an ambulance with a private doctor and Doctor Katherine for familiarity by Ludovica’s side, and repairs were done to the bedroom windows and walls at 3AM by private contractors.

While Leonardo remains inside the central family estate comforting a crying Connie and her two sons, Giuseppe, Vito, Matteo, and Alessio remain in the boathouse with their men increasing security and fully searching every dead body for clues.

Getting away from the thundering rain, Michael remains in the living room with Tom and Sonny, sipping whiskey on the rocks quietly and is on his third cigarette out of stress.

Tonight, nobody leaves or enters the compound except for the contractors who’ve been searched so thoroughly that Michael could pull out a list of their ancestry if he wanted to.

Everyone in your family and Michael’s is now aware you’ve been kidnapped. Your brother Matteo remains silent as he had been when he heard the news, while Alessio refuses to hide how distressed he’s felt throughout the night.

Giuseppe and Vito remain calm, but the distant and glum look on their faces shows that they too are concerned and deep in thought.

Everybody knows this kidnapping isn’t to kill or do something for the show. Everyone also knows Alphonse and his men will never get away with this, and those personal emotions must not be allowed to interfere in what must be done.

Such is true of Michael whose facial expression and body language have been unreadable to all except Connie this night. While he hides his emotions well as always, the anger swelling inside of Michael is immense.

As Michael finishes his third cigarette in silence, it’s then that Lorenzo walks into the living room—his hair still glistening wet from coming out of the boathouse and getting caught in the rain.

Nothing about Lorenzo reads ‘friendly’ or in the mood for conversation with the way he angrily approaches Michael and Tom by the fireplace, interrupting their silence. “Which one of your men do we have to kill for causing all of this, Corleone?”

“Hello to you too, Lorenzo.” Sonny rolls his eyes at the sudden show of attitude.

Michael looks up from his ashtray as if he hasn’t noticed Lorenzo coming in at all, and for Lorenzo’s sake, Michael chooses to ignore his tone of voice against him too. “If there was a quick fix to this situation such as putting a bullet between someone’s eyes, it would have happened already.”

“There’s never a quick fix with you, is there?” Lorenzo maintains his dance from where Tom and Michael sit.

“You can whine all you want, but it’s not going to change what happened tonight,” Michael says firmly as if he’s completely unbothered by tonight’s events.

“We’re not going to get anywhere if we don’t start from one place at a time.” Tom points out but is directing his words to Lorenzo. “We know who did this, but we still don’t know how or why.”

“Yeah, how the hell did they even get into the compound?” Sonny crosses his arms.

“It’s not an outside job, but those who’ve come inside physically have already been dealt with,” Michael replies plainly.

The room grows quiet as Lorenzo runs a hand through his hair. He silences himself from being about to speak out as the sound of Leonardo trying to hush a sobbing Connie comes out from the drawing room.

“Ignore her.” Michael puts out his shortened cigarette. “She’s just hysterical.”

“You know you can’t pin the blame on Constanzia for my sister’s own independence. Victoria would never make a stupid or selfish decision, even if her life was on the line.” Lorenzo narrows his eyes at Michael.

Michael pulls out a cigarette from his pack and doesn’t bother to look up at Lorenzo nor answer him until he’s lit it and put the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “You really aren’t in any position to talk about my sister when yours is missing.”

“That’s your wife too, might I remind you.” Lorenzo scowls.

“Believe me, I know.” Michael locks a cold gaze with Lorenzo. “I know. My pregnant wife was kidnapped. MY wife. An attempt was taken on my life, her life, and my children’s lives. Now your mother is injured and my wife is missing. This has more to do with me and my family than it ever has anything to do with you.”

“Lorenzo,” Tom clears his throat awkwardly, wishing to avoid another verbal confrontation between Michael and Lorenzo here and now. “What we really need to worry about now is if Victoria’s being taken out of state or not. We can narrow down our options and get this done and over with.”

“Do any of you think she’s being taken out of state?” Sonny scoffs.

“Not a chance,” Michael answers Sonny. “We have airports and the surrounding borders on high alert.”

“Everybody in Nevada knows Alphonse is in Nevada then. He wasn’t lurking around Las Vegas for no reason.” Sonny mutters under his breath in annoyance. “If he’s smart, he’ll keep Victoria there.”

“Exactly.” Tom sighs, relaxing in his seat.

“The goal has never been to take her far away, if anything Alphonse has done in the past has told us something.” Michael takes a short drag out of his cigarette.

“That rat is just doing what he can.” Lorenzo grits his teeth, attempting to calm himself down. “Anything he can just because he has the ability to do so.”

“That’s what happens when you’re a man with no real power.” Sonny snaps his finger. “And I swear if they harmed Vic—”

“There’ll be hell to pay regardless,” Michael adds, speaking in a calm and low voice. “His men were stupid enough to talk before they were killed. There’ll be a ransom as they hold Victoria hostage, no doubt.”

“Then Ricci is really as stupid as they say he is if he wants money.” Lorenzo turns his attention to the set of drinks on the coffee table. “He’s drowning in his family’s wealth as is.”

“It’s never been about money.” Michael continues smoking his cigarette. “It can’t ever be that easy for him.”

“This is all some kind of sick game to him.” Tom frowns. “Kidnapping a pregnant woman.”

“The people who orchestrated this assassination and kidnapping have no idea we know as much as we do, and I intend to keep it that way.” Michael sets his gold lighter upward on the table before him. “Death is not going to be the release they think it is. They want us chasing them down in cars and infiltrating every hideout they have for information.”

“Yeah, they’ll expect it any minute now.” Sonny agrees.

“Well?” Lorenzo raises his brows, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“We’ll wait.” Michael brushes him off.

“Excuse me?” Lorenzo holds his glass up, staring at Michael in disbelief.

“As I’ve said before, we’ll wait.” Michael gives Lorenzo a nasty glare. “We’re not about to give them what they want like an instant reaction or there’ll be more unnecessary bloodshed and civilians involved.”

“Mike’s right.” Tom nods glumly. “There’ll be a whole shootout, damage to the city, and no proposition.”

“So what? You’re going to wait for Ricci and his rats to give you a call with a ransom, then act?” It couldn’t possibly be more of a mirror opposite than what Lorenzo would personally do.

“I don’t play into anybody’s hands,” Michael states clearly. “Nobody is getting in or out of this compound tonight, including you. Nobody goes after Victoria tonight.”

[ 3:30 AM ]

With everyone else finally asleep in the estate, only Michael, Sonny, and Tom remain awake at this hour as if they’re expecting further news.

In reality, nobody’s truly getting any real rest after tonight and Michael certainly isn’t going to be one to lie to himself that sleep will resolve the thoughts buzzing in and out of his mind, still keeping him alert and wide awake.

Tom examines the documents he’s taken from the study that he and Michael’s informants had gathered about Alphonse and the Ricci family over the past seven years—specifically looking for any criminal charges on his men and the fact you prosecuted his brother back in 1949.

Tom can’t stop himself from looking up at how crowded and littered Michael’s ashtray has become, let alone the fact Michael had a small glass of whiskey tonight to calm his nerves too.

Others may not notice or even care, but Tom knows this is the pinnacle of Michael being under stress even though he handles it well.

Sonny on the other hand couldn’t be any more different from Michael himself. Sonny can’t help but showcase all of his emotions, no matter how severe they are like Lorenzo—hence why Sollozzo referred to Sonny’s anger as his “famous temper” which may as well be infamous.

Had Sonny or Vito still been Don—Sonny may as well have been ripping Michael apart for refusing to act on getting his wife back right away, and Sonny may have run off after you himself.

Still, Sonny knows better than to argue with Michael or act against him, so he keeps his grumbles and opinions to himself only.

Sonny has to remind himself as he’s done so several times before that you’re just his sister-in-law, not his wife, nor will you ever be and he needs to care about you appropriately.

“Mikey…” Tom begins with a soft sigh, looking up at his brother. “You should really consider getting some rest now. It’s almost 4AM.”

“I’m aware of what time it is, thank you, Tom,” Michael murmurs through his cigarette.

“It’s not like anyone’s getting a wink of real sleep tonight.” Sonny stretches out his arms with a grunt.

“True, but what will sleep deprivation offer us tomorrow morning?” Tom frowns.

“We can only speak for ourselves,” Michael speaks up again. “You tell me what we learned tonight, what both of you think, and only then will I consider sleep.”

“Fair enough.” Tom clears his throat, taking another look down at the documents before him. “Well, we know Alphonse Ricci is behind this whole thing but he hasn’t personally left a calling card or any kind of physical evidence proving this. No ransom either.”

“It’s too early for that.” Michael taps off the ashes from the tip of his cigarette. “For all we know, he doesn’t have Victoria where he wants her just yet.”

“True.” Sonny checks the time on his wristwatch. “Probably still on the way to God knows where the bastard wants her taken to.”

“Hopefully, Victoria’s alive,” Sonny mumbles to himself.

“What about the twins, though?” Sonny asks. “I’m curious what you told them about all this, Mike.”

“They know that Doctor Katherine is at the hospital with their grandmother and so is Victoria. Isn’t that right?” Michael shoots both of his brothers a look, expecting them to keep up with the story should the twins ask.

“Yeah.” Sonny scratches the back of his head. “Of course.”

Tom nods, knowing obviously the twins can’t be told their mother is (potentially) hurt and kidnapped and nothing must hint at that in any way. “My question is why would someone like Alphonse want to transport a corpse to him? Err—” Tom’s quick to clear his throat, noticing the poisonous look in Michael’s eyes at the concept of you being killed by Alphonse’s men. “Ahem, what I mean to say is that it wouldn’t make any sense to hurt Victoria for Alphonse.”

“True.” Sonny tugs on his curls, nodding. “That stupid bastard always has had a bone to pick with the Ferrari’s—always will, always has. Don Ferrari’s men brutalized a lot of his own back in the day or so I hear; made a damn fool out of his father at times.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.” Michael could care less about how Alphonse feels. “A man who doesn’t respect himself will never have the empathy to respect others.”

Tom shuffles the documents over the coffee table around, taking a look at a different one detailing Alphonse’s family history. “And either Alphonse knows Victoria’s pregnant already or he’s going to find out… If he has a ransom of any kind, he could double it just for that.”

“The fuck?” Sonny furrows his brows in frustration. “Why the hell does that matter to him? It’s not like they took her with the baby in her damn arms.”

“Because it means Alphonse has taken two people, not just one,” Tom answers with a frown.

A scowl twists over Michael’s expression. “If the baby or Victoria is harmed in any way, I’ll make Don Ferrari’s supposed brutalization look like child’s play with what I’ll have done to Alphonse’s entire family.”

“Damn right.” Sonny chuckles quietly. “Just like how I would. It’s the right thing to do when it comes to that fucker.”

“I get that,” Tom lets out a shaky sigh, “but maybe that’s what he wants us to do. Maybe he’s hoping we panic and overreact.”

“It’s not an overreaction, Tom.” Michael clarifies. “It would be done much after Alphonse’s own death. He will not be alive to see it.”

“You’re right, Mikey.” Tom rakes a hand through his hair. “I uhh—I hate to say this but after looking at all the facts, I don’t see how this is any different from any other business negotiation but Alphonse has taken your wife from you. That makes it personal now, Mike. So that means personal actions and personal emotions come into play with things like this. We can’t afford to treat it as business.”

“I can and I will.” Michael reaffirms. “Let the ransom come to me and I’ll decide further.”

“If there is any.” Sonny points out. “Alphonse might just be doing this for fuck all.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Tom plops back down in his seat with a loud sigh. “He isn’t beyond doing things just because he can.”

“It’s because he doesn’t follow any code of honor.” Michael rests his chin over his fist, putting out his cigarette. “There’s a reason why civilians aren’t killed or involved, for one. If he has any common sense, then he’ll know if he hurts Victoria or does something stupid, all the crime families would turn on him and not just because they fear Don Ferrari. If they let it go by them that Victoria’s harmed or killed, all of our names would be smeared. Any one of us would have to kill Alphonse unless we want another full-out war and headlines that the government needs to crack down on ‘the mafia’ again.”

“Yes, it would also mean we’d lose considerable strength with the police force and they’d have to turn on all of us for an investigation that may come from the FBI. It gets very, very messy.” Tom rubs his temple tenderly, growing increasingly stressed.

“That’s really not a fuckin’ option for us at this point.” Sonny throws his hands up in frustration. “I doubt Alphonse would dig his own grave like that—“

“He already has.” Michael remains calm and unphased. “He just happens to have one foot in it already.”

“He’s definitely working with someone else.” Tom avoids looking down at the documents again. “Mikey, there’s just no way Alphonse has that kind of power or muscle to pull off something like this by himself—let alone that attempted assassination. It’s not like the old days anymore.”

“I assumed that much,” Michael replies plainly.

“I thought those old fucks Barzini and Tattaglia knew better than to join up with him again.” Sonny scoffs.

“They’ve never known better.” Michael moves his cigarette pack closer to him over the coffee table. “We will not underestimate them either way. Someone else is involved and I know it.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Sonny turns to face Michael.

“We’ll wait.” Michael gives the same answer as earlier tonight. “We’ll wait for a ransom or whatever comes further just as Alphonse will await a reaction. If he’s expecting me to go ballistic, however, then he proves yet again he doesn’t know me at all.”

“And as for Victoria?” Tom asks quietly.

“Do you not know who Victoria is at this point, Tom?” Michael sighs, looking up at his brother. “She’s not one to overreact, to begin with. I want to protect her and bring my wife back home safely, but when she’s there and we’re here still figuring out her location, I know she can handle herself—and she must. Every move we make is critical and this could cause her and the baby harm if anyone steps out of line. I won’t abide failure.”

“Yeah, Tom.” Sonny relaxes in his chair, patting the armrests. “She’s a Corleone wife, after all, ya know? Much higher status than before. She’s a part of the two most powerful mafia families in this country and their business. So she provides as many opportunities to Alphonse as Mike’s death would if everything went in his favor tonight.”

“They know exactly who Victoria Ferrari Corleone is.” Michael nods slowly. “Victoria is much more valuable alive rather than dead, unlike me. I want my wife back, Tom.” Michael looks up at his brother before redirecting his gaze to Sonny. “I want her and our baby she’s carrying back unharmed and safe at any cost. Any cost. I’ll personally make sure I do this, and I want my brothers by my side when it’s done because there’s just going to be more bloodshed now. Are you with me?”

“Yeah, Mike.” Sonny sits up. “I am.”

“Yes, me too.” Tom nods. “Anything you need Mikey, we’re here.”

Still well within Nevada, your destination straight to Alphonse isn’t in Las Vegas, Reno, or rather anywhere most people have even heard of, but a near ghost town called Silver City—forty minutes away from Lake Tahoe.

Alphonse himself can’t be seen anywhere near Reno or Las Vegas, let alone take you there now with Michael’s men on the lookout, crawling by the borders of the state too meaning California was never an option.

Alphonse is smart in the sense that he knows nobody will think twice about taking you to a sleepy little town and even then, it’ll be all the more entertaining for Alphonse to see you try and get to this empty wasteland before figuring out where exactly you are or what to do.

The rain stretches out the drive longer as expected, but as Michael was still talking to his brothers at around 3:30 AM, you arrived in Silver City by the same time.

Depending on where and how you look at it, Silver City can resemble nothing but a near ghost town and nothing else, an abandoned junkyard within a half-empty desert or beautiful in its own way.

Where you’re taken to in specific is nowhere near the rest of the scarce population in Silver City, but an isolated, old ranch-style manor—Alphonse Ricci’s only welcome place to hide in Nevada.

As the car approaches the manor, Alphonse’s men who maintain positioned strategically around the property shine their flashlights over the car immediately—causing the driver to brake abruptly to shield his eyes.

“It’s us, come on! Get that shit out of my eyes.” The driver sticks his middle finger up to the door.

“Yeah, yeah, asshole.” One of the guards calls out from the distance as the flashlights are only lowered to illuminate the path up to the manor which would otherwise be ensnared in complete darkness.

“Hurry up and get in here already.” Another guard speaks out. “Took your sweet ass time.”

The assassin in the back of the car with you rolls his eyes, thinking it’s not worth his time to even bother saying anything back.

He scoops you up into his arms carefully, still with the driver’s trenchcoat wrapped around you to keep you dry and warm before taking you out of the car. “We’re here now, aren’t we?”

“There was a damn storm if it wasn’t obvious.” The driver shuts the car door behind him as he steps out.

“Doesn’t matter.” A deep voice cuts in as one of Alphonse’s capos pushes steps out onto the porch. “As long as you weren’t followed and Victoria Corleone is unharmed.”

“She put up a hell of a fucking fight, I’ll tell you that.” The assassin grits his teeth, holding you tightly.

“Seriously?” The capo raises his brows in disbelief and disappointment. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ joking.”

“Yeah, why?” The assassin scowls, “you don’t see Jimmy with me, do you? What do you think she did to him, invite him over for tea?”

The guards with the flashlights by the front of the porch quietly exchange a glance with one another before the capo asks another question. “What exactly happened?”

“She fucking shot him last second, motherfucker bled out in the goddamn sewers before we could even get out.” The assassin huffs, glaring at your limp body.

The capo rolls his eyes, beginning to hear his men snickering in the back. “So at about 2AM, Victoria Corleone in nothing but a nightgown and a pair of heels killed one of you?” Before the assassin can come up with an answer to the rhetorical question, a wad of spit flies in his face.

“Fuck you!” You weakly pry open your eyes, struggling in the assassin’s arms.

“Oh, whoa!” The assassin grunts, “there she is—what perfect timing.”

“Good morning, sunshine.” The capo chuckles, motioning for his men to sit down as he can tell your wrists and ankles are bound so tightly you’ll be incapable of doing anything but flopping around like a fish. “She’s not as helpless as she may want you to think. Get her to stand up, I’ll let her walk.”

“Careful so she doesn’t dislocate your jaw with a kick.” The assassin mutters, forcing you down as the driver assists him.

“Don’t worry about me, kid.” The capo takes out a switchblade from his suit pocket, showing it to you first with a wry grin over his lips before cutting the ropes around your ankles with ease. “She knows when she’s outnumbered, isn’t that right? Ah, let me take a good look at her.” The capo rises back up to his feet, looking at you with the driver’s trenchcoat wrapped around your shoulders loosely. “Mhmm.” The capo tilts your chin up but is only met with a scowl from you. “You know,” he begins, “you can spit on my face all you want but it’s only gonna make your stay here a lot more uncomfortable.”

“Is that a threat?” You hiss.

“Yes.” The capo seems more irritated with the gash on your temple than your comments.

“You’re a bad liar.” You grunt, refusing to stay still.

“Yeah?” The capo raises both of his brows, pushing you inside the estate. “And how would you know?”

“If any one of you wanted to hurt me, you would have already.” You narrow your eyes, stepping inside the estate by force.

“You’re very smart, Corleone.” The capo chuckles to himself. “You definitely live up to that mythic reputation of yours, because a ‘smart man’ would have never come to underestimate a mafiosa like you. Now, WALK.” He gives you another forceful push.

“I’m walking.” You say through gritted teeth before purposefully jerking your ankle to the side—a risk to break your ankle but only doing so to dig the tip of your heel into the carpet and break it off entirely. “Ow, fuck!”

“For fuck’s sakes, someone take those fucking shoes off of her.” The capo rolls his eyes, pulling you back by the binds on your wrist.

Pretending you neither care nor notice you left a mark on the rug, you stand still as Alphonse’s men throw off your kitten heels quickly.

“Take her inside.” The capo points at a closed-door around the corner of the estate. “The boss has waited for her long enough.”

You look up ahead of you, having already used up much of the energy and strength you had since you awoke.

Now, drowsiness and weakness hit you from all sides as you remember just how hard you were hit in the head as you’re dragged into the room.

Alphonse’s men leading and pushing you further into the estate control all of your movements so you can’t even jerk your muscles if you wanted to.

From the moment you enter, you’re able to make out a well-furnished, large office room as your surroundings. Across from you is a fireplace crackling with a warm glow and the faint scent of fresh, burning wood.

A large, crimson patterned Persian rug adorns the maple floors and the wallpaper is in an old Victorian style.

The only painting on the wall is a large portrait of Niccolo Machiavelli directly behind the office table, but small sets of black and white photographs of the Ricci crime family dating back to the 1800s are scattered around on the office desk, on the ledge of the fireplace and on the coffee table to the right of the room.

It’s more than apparent to you that Alphonse has been running his operations here for quite some time. You can’t just call it a hideout or a dump—this may as well be home.

Just as you begin to process what kind of room you’re in, you’re left to stand in the center while Alphonse’s men take their seats by two leather armchairs near the fireplace like you aren’t in the room, to begin with.

You watch them light up cigars out of a gold-plated case, relaxing as Alphonse now enters the room as well from another door concealed within the wallpaper.

You turn your head to see Alphonse Ricci facing you directly—locking eyes in a deadly gaze as a sardonic smirk forms on his lips. “The beautiful Victoria Ferarri; I’m so glad you could make it all this way to come to see me.”

Alphonse only takes a few steps towards you from where he entered, and suddenly you feel two pairs of rough hands on you dragging you by your shoulders up to him directly.

Alphonse notices the pissed expression on your face and the drowsiness in your eyes, cupping your face gently. “Was it a rough ride coming here, darling? Or was it the time?” Alphonse raises his right arm to show you his glistening, gold wristwatch—the exact same 18k model Michael wears.

Your eyes widen in realization, giving Alphonse his first anticipated response of the evening.

“Ooh, that’s got you awake, isn’t it?” He grins. “But I’m far from being a rude host. I can see when my guests are tired. Maybe we should have that heart-to-heart talk I’ve been waiting years for later—when you’re settled in.”

You pull your eyes away from Alphonse’s watch as he lowers his wrist, saying to him, “fuck you.”

Alphonse rolls his eyes and lets out a soft sigh before shrugging his shoulders. “I expected you to say as much. Sweet dreams then, honey.”

He raises his fist, striking you harshly over the gash on your forehead which instantly knocks you out again; this time making sure you fall helplessly into his arms.

Once again, everything surrounding you has become pitch black as you fade into unconsciousness.

The longest night of Michael’s life passes by agonizingly slow with Michael laying in a half-empty bed, forcing his eyes shut and “sleeping”. His security and men remain on high alert now instructed to do so 24/7 in alternating shifts, knowing there’ll be no peace at the Lake Tahoe compound for as long as you’re absent from it.

Speaking of your absence, it’s what’s killing Michael on the inside. It doesn’t matter how many times Michael tosses and turns in the bed—he hates to turn around and see your side empty and cold, but at the same time wants to do so with some silly hope inside of him that you’ll be there.

Michael feels more bitter and frustrated now left alone with his personal thoughts in the bedroom he always shared with you.

To make matters worse, Michael can still smell your perfume and favorite body wash lingering on the sheets and your pillow.

Instead of trying to forget or get his mind off of you, Michael forces himself to face the direction of your side of the bed before squeezing his eyes shut.

‘I promise I’m going to get you back here safe and sound, Victoria. This’ll all be over soon, and everyone who has a part to play will pay with their lives for what they’ve done.’

Running on barely three hours of sleep, Michael is up first thing at 6AM with the rest of the family except the children who remain guarded inside, sleeping soundly.

Breakfast is brief and quiet, filled with tension as everyone knows today’s going to be about business and nothing else—especially as Giuseppe and Michael await a ransom.

Around 6AM, you too stir in your sleep as if your body’s attempting to wake you, but you can also hear hushed whispering around you.

For all you know, you think you’re still tied up and presumably laying on the Persian rug from where you must have fallen from that blow to your head, but you’re wrong.

Your wrists were untied and your body can tell it’s laying over a soft mattress of some unknown bed.

The reddened marks over your wrists and ankles begin to bruise overnight, so tender and sore to the touch that it could cause you to cry if someone touched them.

Still incapacitated and heavily drowsy, your vision is too blurry to see anything around you and you can’t pry your eyelids open to save your life.

You do feel a trickle of some liquid running down the side of your face; your gash hit by Alphonse on purpose, now darkened and mottled.

In reality, you’re completely unaware you’re laying next to Alphonse in his bed, tucked under warm blankets and over black, silky sheets.

Alphonse lays next to you half-naked, smoking a cigarette and leaning his back up against a propped-up pillow; a heavenly sight to you when it’s Michael in this position.

“Awake already, huh?” His eyes dart over to your exposed back from your nightgown, and when Alphonse notices your body twitching as if you’d awaken, he holds his cigarette between his lips and reaches for your binds on the end table next to him.

You whimper, feeling a stinging pain from your wrists being tied up behind you again but Alphonse keeps his movements as gentle and slow as possible not to hurt you.

“Sorry sweetheart, this is just for your own safety for a little while longer.” As soon as your wrists are secured to Alphonse’s liking, an injection follows next.

You have no idea what’s happening to you when you feel the prick of a syringe poke into your arm, but it instantly drugs you into deep sleep again.

“I don’t want you awake just yet, kitten.” Alphonse brushes your hair behind your neck, slowly pulling out the syringe and noticing your body going limp. “After I’ve had a talk with that pathetic excuse of a husband of yours, it’ll just be me and you. You’ll see.”

Just as expected, putting everyone on edge but relieving them at the same time, the telephone on Michael’s office desk begins to ring.

Sitting around Michael’s office are Tom, Sonny, Giuseppe, Leonardo, Lorenzo, and Vito—all exchanging expectant glances with one another as there’s no guessing who's making the phone call this early in the morning.

Michael’s expression remains cold and unreadable, and as he picks up the telephone and holds it up to his ear, Michael doesn’t even bother saying ‘hello’. “Alphonse.”

“Good morning, Michael.” Alphonse’s tone of voice is more amused than anything now that he finally has leverage over Michael. “I see you’re smart enough to figure out the rest here.”

“Cut the theatrics and bullshit.” As stern as Michael’s tone of voice grows, he holds back his anger and any indication of the frustration and stress mounting on him from last night. “I knew it was you.”

“So you did.” Alphonse chuckles. “That was the easy part, congratulations. Though if you didn’t assume it was me, I’d be questioning your judgment. What a rough night it must have been for you, Don Corleone.”

“On the contrary, I’d say the same for you.” Michael grips the telephone against his ear so harshly his knuckles turn white. “All of your men and the assassins you sent are dead, rotting away in the sewers of my estate.”

“Ah, yes.” Alphonse doesn’t seem the slightest bit phased by the death of his own men. “All except for the one who took your precious wife to me, right? You’re not gonna include him?”

“Doesn’t make a difference, does it?” Michael's eyes glare down at the burning tip of his cigarette; his voice completely drained of emotion. “I’ll kill him too and he’ll join the body count with you soon enough.”

“Bold.” Alphonse grazes his tongue over his front teeth. “I’ll believe it when I see a bullet lodged in the back of his head with my own two eyes. For now, he has a promotion, a big payday, and is enjoying his breakfast next to me. Speaking of, how does Victoria like her coffee? Oh, or does she prefer tea?”

“Don’t fucking touch her or do anything to my wife, do you understand?” Michael narrows his eyes. “Even you know you don’t need to touch her.”

“Victoria’s a sensitive topic, isn’t she? And all I asked was about tea or coffee. You’re killing my fun here, Michael. Touching her is half the fun. I don’t just have her here with me because I can, I have her by my side because I wanted to marry her, and do business with her and her family. That hasn’t changed. I have history with Victoria, hence why I’m actually eager to catch up with her here, but don’t worry—I’ll give her princess treatment. Victoria will be as safe and as sound, as she can be with me, provided she doesn’t do anything stupid. Then of course I can’t guarantee I won’t get a little rough with her.”

“You’re a sick man, Alphonse. You’re delusional living in your head with all these fantasies of Victoria.” Michael grits his teeth.

“Please.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, looking over at you bound over the middle of his Persian rug on your stomach. “I have your wife bound like I’m putting her on a spitfire laying on my favorite Persian rug. It’s a nice view I can get used to—and I will. I have the fireplace on too, to keep her nice and warm considering she’s still in that dainty, sexy nightgown of hers. And I see you managed to knock her up again, huh? You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I owe you no such justification or insight on my private life with my wife. I would have thought by now you could come up with more elaborate, believable lies. You can stop with the bullshit, I know you hurt her.”

“Well,” Alphonse drags on his words, “it’s not like she’d go to sleep if I asked her nicely too, so maybe I had to do a little something. You know I don’t like hurting women—especially pregnant women. Were you two planning on having another little Corleone or was this a surprise?”

“I know what game you’re playing.” Michael continues to speak in a monotone, calm voice. “You don’t need me to remind you again that when I find you, I’ll put you down like a dog. If you’re half the man you claim to be, you’ll know better than to hurt her or our baby.”

“I’ll take good care of her, bigshot.” Alphonse props his feet up on his desk. “Don’t stress yourself out so much, army boy. From now on, I’ll do you a favor. Whenever I want her to be asleep and unaware, I’ll drug her. You know I won’t lay my hands on her in that state. Actually, I’d prefer to see if she could fight me equally.” He laughs to himself, “I know she’s got a hell of an aim with a gun but unarmed, even my best men are afraid she’ll scratch their eyes out.”

“And you expect me to believe a word you say?” Michael exchanges a look with your father. “You’re nothing but a liar.”

“I’m a lot of things.” Alphonse shrugs his shoulders. “I’m a man of taste too. You know…” He grins, quick to change the conversation. “Your wife looks good in that nightgown of hers, did I mention that already? It barely covers her ass or those thighs too. Tell me—what should I do to her next, Michael? Should I cut her? Make her cry? Or should I make her moan?”

“If you’re expecting some sort of reaction for me, prepare to be gravely disappointed,” Michael tells him.

“Awww.” Alphonse frowns. “I was hoping I’d get some kind of reaction. I’m telling the truth as I know it and see it. I don’t care if you believe me or not. Also, thank you to your little friend for letting my men into your compound so easily. It’s quite unfortunate you’re still alive but I’m starting to think this backup plan of ours is worth much, much more than your miserable life. Look at you, you’re eating right out of my hand.”

“Enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame, I see.” Michael rolls his eyes. “Revel in it, Alphonse. I guarantee you it will be brief; numbered like the days of your life.”

“All bark and no bite.” Alphonse brushes off Michael’s threats. “Why not just do this the easy way? You want your wife back and money isn’t a problem. I see a solution! I want twenty million dollars sent to me in cash.”

“You’re not getting anything, Alphonse, and I will have my wife back.” Venom drips from Michael’s words. “Try again.”

“You must be really stupid then.” Irritation crosses Alphonse’s tone of voice. “Why wouldn’t you just give up the cash if you want your broad back so badly?”

“I know you too well, that’s why.” Michael answers. “You have no intention of giving Victoria up. You made this personal.”

Out of anger, Lorenzo can no longer hold back his tongue. “You know what you’re doing is against the honor code of the mafia. All seven families will come for you and hunt you down.”

“Ooh, I even got the attention of one of the Ferrari brothers! This must be my lucky day. Sorry—Lorenzo, isn’t it? As much as I admire your handiwork, I was hoping to hear from your father instead. I bet he’s there with you now, isn’t he, Michael? In that case.” Alphonse clears his throat, raising his voice louder over the telephone. “It would have been avoidable, Don Ferrari, if you even bothered to give me the time of day. Now that I have your daughter you care about me? I always knew I’d get to you one way or another. Good thing this is between me and Michael and that I like Victoria’s company. Do you all want to kill me so badly? Come and get me, wise guy. Twenty million by 3AM tomorrow night, Corleone. Make it worth my while by coming tonight and I’ll see if I can lower the offer to twelve. Time’s ticking.”

“Or else what?” Michael scoffs. “You think we’re all quaking from your idle talk? Nothing but threats from a schoolyard bully.”

“Or else?!” Alphonse repeats, increasingly growing frustrated. “Or else you can face the fact I won’t provide any mercy to that knocked-up wife of yours. I’m not fucking around, Corleone!” With that, Alphonse slams the telephone down, hanging up.

In truth, Alphonse has no intention to kill or harm you and your baby. Regardless of being a sorry excuse of a mafioso—let alone a decent man—Alphonse’s feelings for you are still there and felt strongly.

Even if Michael isn’t reacting the way Alphonse is expecting him to, there’s no doubt that there must be some sort of hatred boiling in Michael’s heart deep down—especially after this telephone call.

If in some sort of way Alphonse can get Michael emotional, then it’ll provide the perfect opportunity to catch Michael off guard and subsequently have him killed.

As a result of that scenario, Alphonse would want and have you all to himself as his wife in return for sparing your family after killing the most powerful mobster on the continent. One way or another, he’d win like that.

Alphonse’s intention behind his every word and action is to kill Michael and only to kill Michael—it’s never truly been all about you, but at the same time, you’re still very dear and personal to Alphonse too.

You overheard some of the conversation while unconscious but you’re unable to make sense of much from the drugged-up state you’re in.

Alphonse on the other hand giving away he’s taken you somewhere in Nevada and expecting a ransom is done on purpose to get this over with as soon as possible, and by that he means finally killing Michael.

Unlike you, Michael is a lot more deadly alive than he is dead no matter his brothers or his men who won’t be able to lift a finger after Alphonse has Don Ferrari’s options narrowed down with you by his side.

Besides, Alphonse has had countless days and endless hours pondering just how he was going to orchestrate the attempted assassination on both of your lives, and if all else failed, he was going to make it a living hell with you as the example.

Alphonse hasn’t even bothered to have the phone call made to Michael from elsewhere; he no longer cares if his location can be traced or not because Silver City is no short car ride even in Michael’s best Cadillacs.

Alphonse has the advantage all around. He expects Michael at every moment and his men are prepared for his arrival anytime.

With the location of Alphonse’s estate in Silver City, there isn’t a single square mile Michael and his men can properly conceal themselves out in the middle of nowhere.

Having been in Silver City now for years, Alphonse has eyes and ears everywhere now and knows the place like the back of his hand.

There are no trees let alone any buildings anywhere near his estate to conceal any kind of ambush—let alone support it.

Even if Alphonse details all of this to you himself, it’ll never change your mind about Michael. You have the utmost confidence and trust in your husband that’ll never change—in a ghost town or not.

With the time limit of 3AM either tonight or tomorrow night depending on when Michael makes his move, Alphonse wants to spend as much time with you as possible.

After putting down the phone, Alphonse takes a deep breath and calms his nerves; his huffs of frustration turning into soft chuckles of amusement.

There’s a power to be felt in Alphonse’s veins from being able to get Lorenzo Ferrari’s attention over the telephone, at the very least.

‘Bingo.’ Alphonse knows your family is going to be eating out of his hand soon enough.

Taking his feet off his office desk, Alphonse rises from his seat and smoothens out his suit jacket.

As the capo nods and begins to exit the room, Alphonse slowly paces around before approaching you—still noticing how weak you are under the influence of what would otherwise be normally used to knock a patient out for a short surgery.

“It should have always been like this.” Alphonse murmurs, clasping his hands behind him/

‘I wanted her from the very beginning.’ Alphonse approaches you, kneeling down and caressing the side of your face—noticing you don’t stir.

‘Still a little heavy. This’ll last in her system for a little while longer.”

Alphonse eyes the reddened gash over your forehead. “You’re going to be the grand prize here, aren’t you? Although I wish you’d just make your own way to me. Hope you didn’t miss me too much, beautiful.” He runs his hands through your soft hair.

Alphonse is still wildly attracted to you; his feelings had never changed from when he first asked your father for your hand in 1948.

Now that Michael knows Alphonse had you sleep next to him in his bed for the night, Alphonse expects it’ll drive him off the rails if it hasn’t already—whether Michael wants to show it or not.

Alphonse pulls his hand away from your hair, still concerned with the gash on your forehead, but never regretting his own actions.

“Get someone to look after that gash on her forehead and clean it up,” Alphonse orders one of his capos in the room without raising his eyes off of you. “Then I want her back here, fully tied. I have some questions for Victoria Ferrari when she awakens from her beauty nap.”

Your father and brothers began to immediately track down the call from the moment Michael put down his telephone; remaining occupied with finding a location or at least a close proximity to wherever you may be.

Michael’s outside of the estate and by the docks to his yacht with Tom, Sonny, Neri, and Rocco by his side; silent as they listen to their Don.

“You two are my best men and assassins.” Michael eyes both Neri and Rocco. “I don’t need to remind you of that, however, if anything, last night was a grand disappointment for both of you. It was nothing but failure. If you make any of the same mistakes, get sloppy or let yourself go, then you’ll die with Alphonse’s men. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes, Don Corleone.” Rocco and Neri say back.

“Don Ferrari and his sons are close to tracking down a location. At the very least we’ll have that by today.” Michael directs his words to his brothers.

“It sounds remote.” Tom sighs quietly, crossing his arms. “No way Alphonse could be hiding out in a big city or populous town around here.”

“That’s almost for certain.” Michael agrees. “We will have the advantage of ground if he’s isolated somewhere. Nevada is filled with ghost towns, there’s no end to them.”

“Yeah, but that’s the problem.” Sonny frowns. “We can’t be seen at all if he’s out in the middle of ass nowhere.”

“What do you think?” Michael raises a brow at Rocco, most of Michael’s disappointment and suspicion still lingering towards Rocco from last night.

“Difficult, but not impossible.” Rocco answers.

“Getting close and using the element of surprise will aid us well,” Neri adds. “It’ll cause just enough confusion for our men to get in.”

“Good,” Michael says. “Then we’ll also bring in our snipers from afar. None of our cars or men can be seen.”

“How will we know where to hold out ground?” Tom asks.

“It doesn’t matter, Tom,” Michael tells him sternly. “If we have to go in shooting still on the road, then so be it. Whether the vicinity is completely barren or not doesn’t concern me in the slightest. It’ll be done, I’ll be there to see it.”

Regardless of who this could have happened to, it’s almost completely unheard of to have the family’s Don present during guaranteed bloodshed and violence; the glances Tom and Sonny exchange with one another saying it all.

Michael’s brothers both know this can and will be dangerous for everyone involved, but especially Michael’s since he’s the prime target. Still, Michael’s word and decision are final—it can’t be argued with by anyone.

“Right after an attempt was taken on your life, Mike?” Sonny scratches the back of his neck. “Are you sure?”

“We both know Alphonse is truly after me, not the money. Even if I were to do something as ridiculous as deliver him twelve to twenty million dollars in cash, that provides us no guarantee of Victoria’s life and safety. He won’t stop there either.” Michael narrows his eyes, looking towards the dock. “Even if he did let Victoria go, we’d have thrown money at the problem. Then we shouldn’t be surprised when a knife lands on our backs or more bullets fly over our heads upon his next move. If I don’t go—” Michael’s eyes meet his brothers again. “Alphonse will kill Victoria and take the money. I’m not having my wife’s corpse dragged out of whatever hole he’s hiding in. If Alphonse wants me, then he’ll have me—but not in the way he thinks. We won’t bring any money. He’ll know why we’re there.”

“I agree, sr.” Rocco points towards the parking area towards the outside of the compound. “We’ll take our best vehicles and scatter so we won’t be pinpointed together and we won’t be heard coming at the same time either. We’ll have to go at night though to get as close to some sort of stealth.”

“You know what you have to do.” Michael nods in approval. “Handle it with Neri. Once we’re inside, everything will come to a quick end. I will personally kill Alphonse, is that understood? None of you will incapacitate him unless absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, Don Corleone.” Neri and Rocco respond back.

Michael, Sonny, and Tom’s heads turn to hear the door of the boathouse being pushed open; Lorenzo and Leonardo stepping out towards Michael and his brothers.

“Well?” Michael asks rather impatiently to the two.

“Silver City.” Leonardo looks up at Michael, shaking his head. “Alphonse has taken Victoria to Silver City. We know exactly where they are now.”

“A damn near ghost town just forty minutes from here,” Lorenzo mutters under his breath. “Just perfect. I expected as much.”

In reality, Alphonse expects Michael and his men to show up as soon as possible—no need to wait until tonight because Alphonse wants Michael to underestimate him.

Michael may have mentioned bringing his best snipers, but Alphonse already has his own positioned on the roof to ensure the best protection possible.

“Corleone and company will be here soon,” Alphonse smirks, smoking a cigar. “Instead of shooting out bedroom windows this time, we can have a lot more fun lodging bullets into each and every one of Corleone’s men—after him, of course,” Alphonse speaks loud and clear for not only all his surrounding men to hear, but you too—still tied up and laying on his Persian rug. “I’ll kill Corleone myself, otherwise where’s the fun in all of this?” He shoots a cautionary look at his men. “Disarmed at most by any one of you but not maimed, if I’m making myself clear. He deserves to be put down like a dog and I’m going to be the one to do it to him.”

Eyes squeezed shut but fully in consciousness, you can’t help but let out a giggle at Alphonse’s ridiculous comment.

Alphonse’s men exchange glances with one another before giving their boss a nod and exiting his office room—leaving just you and Alphonse alone in it.

Alphonse turns on his heel to face you laying upon the carpet, raising a brow. “I see Mrs. Ferrari-Corleone is awake now.” He speaks to you in a mocking and taunting tone as he walks over to where you lay.

Still, in pain from your throbbing gash which stings every time you move and raise your head, you can only tilt your head up slightly from the carpet—still letting out soft giggles.

“Is something amusing, sweetheart?” Alphonse stops right before you, looking down. “Or do you just enjoy being tied up like this?”

“You’re so fucking stupid.” You breathe out, surprising Alphonse with your words. “Put him down like a dog? Please.” You let out another laugh.

“I’m glad you find this funny, considering the little predicament you’re in.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, crouching down to you.

“Oh, cut the bullshit.” You glare at him, “I’ve been in worse situations.”

“Is that so?” Alphonse grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging it roughly and causing you to yelp out in pain. “I could have assumed that much, knowing you’re a Ferrari daughter and a Corleone wife, but how many times can you say you’ve been in such ‘situations’ pregnant?”

Instead of answering, you simply giggle again, smiling up at Alphonse but only meeting a scowl from him.

“I’ll have you know I’m a patient man,” Alphonse warns you, letting go of your hair. “But even I have a limit.”

“I don’t give a shit who you are or what you are.” You mutter back. “You’re a f-fucking failure to me.”

“Even though I have you here?” Alphonse scoffs. “You can downplay it all you want if that comforts you, darling.”

“If you weren’t a coward, you wouldn’t have tied me up, to begin with.” You grit your teeth.

“Believe me, baby,” Alphonse runs a hand through your hair as you struggle to pull away from him. “I’ve thought about doing that actually, but I don’t want to get into a scrap with you. I have a habit of breaking a lot more bones than I initially plan to. Instead, I’d rather see you tied up like this in that sexy nightgown of yours.” Alphonse gestures to your back where your wrists and ankles are bound together with rope.

“Pervert.” You grunt out. “You’re sick.”

“Oh yeah?” Alphonse chuckles. “Then you slept rather soundly in this pervert’s bed last night. You know you could have just woken up and run off, right?” Alphonse’s taunts are nothing but an attempt to make you feel as he’d now describe like a ‘helpless whore’.

You rest your head back against the carpet—generally exhausted from trying to strain your muscles against the ropes. “I’m not stupid enough to do things that’ll get me killed. You know, considering I was unconscious due to a head wound or maybe being fucking drugged by something. Can’t exactly get up and leave when you want to.”

“Smart girl.” Alphonse stands upright, grinning at you. “You already knew what kind of state you were in, huh?”

“Do your worst.” You glower.

“Maybe I will.” Alphonse snaps back. “You’re in no position to be talking to me like this.”

“Michael will do anything to you that you’ve already done to me,” you breathe out, “and trust me—he knows how to make it hurt a lot more.”

“Oh yeah?” Alphonse crosses his arms. “That’s nice, sweetheart. I guess we’ll have to see in about an hour or so what that pretty boy husband of yours is capable of truly doing. I have the upper hand here—I have all the men. This time he can’t attack and blow up this entire estate; not unless he wants to scrape off the ashes of his dead, pregnant wife for a second time.”

“So confident.” You mumble, “much more than the average street rat.”

Instantly pissed from the insult, Alphonse crouches back down and grabs your face roughly, forcing you to face him. “I didn’t fucking bring you here to insult me, Victoria. I can make you stop talking.”

“Do it.” Your breath hitches. “You could, but you won’t because you love hearing me talk.”

Right then and there, Alphonse’s expression warms into a smirk. “Yeah? Now you’re telling me the obvious, baby.”

“I’m not your fucking baby.” You form a quick wad of saliva in your mouth before spitting over Alphonse’s face.

“Fuck’s sakes!” Alphonse grunts, flinching and immediately raising his hand up to slap you but stopping himself.

“What’s the matter?” You taunt, having not moved a muscle. “Can't do it?”

Alphonse looks into your eyes, still noticing there are definitely the effects of the drug he injected you with still inside you. “Don’t push me, Ferrari. I still have a lot to talk to you about after I kill your husband.”

“My last name is Corleone.” You correct as Alphonse lets go of your face and move away from you. “As I s-said—do your worst. I’ll still be lying here laughing when you fail.”

“Ha,” Alphonse says sarcastically, reaching back for his cigar upon his desk. “You know you can say whatever you want now, honey. I do love a good conversation before we have to get down to business. And like you mentioned, maybe I do like the sound of your voice a little more than I should, and I certainly do love everything else about you.” Alphonse’s eyes greedily dart to the way your ass and thighs look bound up with rope.

“Yeah, I bet you do.” You scowl against the carpet. “Considering this is as close to a woman you’ve ever gotten in our entire life.”

“Have quite the smart mouth, I see.” Alphonse comments, checking the time on his gold wristwatch.

“Fuck you.” You tilt your head away from him, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Tsk, tsk. Be patient, darling, you’ll be able to do so soon enough.” Alphonse shakes his head at you, leaning back to relax in his seat.

He wonders to himself if true fear will actually hit you once the boldness of the drugs is out of your system and Michael’s actually dead. Then Alphonse knows you’ll talk and do anything to save your baby’s life and your own.

Michael watches the sun begin to set beneath the lake, melting into the hue of the orange and pink sky from the boathouse otherwise crawling with security like the rest of the compound and surrounding lake.

Day or night—security is tripled as if there’s an active threat as Michael’s insistent on finding an invulnerability within the compound itself and signs of betrayal.

While getting you back home safe and sound is Michael’s only goal and intention, it’ll mean nothing if there’s a way it can repeated at your own home again.

Michael’s seeing nothing but red just thinking about how this was done at his own home with you as one of the targets, and he hasn’t let the fact that there’s a traitor on the inside—whether it’s one of his own men or family—evade him either.

Michael can be a patient, calm and understanding man, but he despises it when his control is compromised.

Michael never came to believe he or any of his homes have vulnerabilities, but it’s not like he considers you collateral damage either.

While Alphonse believes all of this will provide him with the perfect opportunity to kill Michael and ruin the Corleone family name with it, Michael knows this will be the first major blood spill of an entire crime family and the worst since he had all of his enemies killed on his honeymoon with you in Sicily.

As a result, every action Michael takes will send shockwaves throughout the country to the other crime families, and consequences—if any—will be felt later, but devastatingly.

Now as Michael remains still with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the security boat roaming over the lake, his mind is on the twins who are with the governess and doing their daily studies for the day.

Niccolo and Verona are both still under the impression that their mother is by their grandmother’s side at the hospital and will be back soon; a promise Michael personally made to them.

Michael’s thoughts are momentarily interrupted by a knock on the door of the boathouse. He neither reacts nor moves a muscle, already expecting Sonny, Tom, your father, and your older brothers. “Come in.”

While Tom leads the way into the boathouse first, opening the door, he politely stands back and allows Giuseppe to enter first, then himself alongside everyone else.

No greetings are given nor is another word spoken; several pairs of footsteps can only be heard inside from the men as the door shuts behind them by one of Michael’s guards.

Visibly stressed and with no intention to hide it, Lorenzo’s been smoking a cigarette since before entering the compound. His only worry is about you as his sister—Lorenzo couldn’t give a fuck personally about Alphonse Ricci or any of his antics.

Lorenzo for one would like to strangle Alphonse to death himself, but he knows he has no power or influence whatsoever while in Lake Tahoe—let alone in this situation because of Michael.

All the men in the boathouse including Michael know very well that kidnapping a “civilian”—otherwise known as someone who is not involved in business—has led to devastating consequences for the mafia in general regardless of family or location and perpetrators have ended up regretting it in heinous ways.

Whether the other crime families speak out about what’s to come or verbally support Michael’s movements against Alphonse matters very little to everyone in the room; they’ll all come to thank Michael and be grateful in the end for putting the nuisance of Alphonse Ricci out of his misery.

Michael only turns back to face Giuseppe, shaking his father-in-law’s hand as Giuseppe enters.

Calm, cool, and reserved like Michael is, Giuseppe’s eyes still show he’s bitter and emotionally exhausted due to this whole sordid affair; a look Michael knows and feels well too.

As the men take their seats over the leather couches across from one another, Al Neri moves towards the bar quietly to prepare drinks.

Michael turns around to face his brothers and brothers-in-law only when he hears them sitting down comfortably. Michael’s the last to join them, taking his seat on the last remaining armchair in the midst of both couches.

“Don Ferrari,” Michael speaks softly, wanting to hear from him first.

“Michael.” Giuseppe clears his throat. “Simply put, my boys and I know what we need to do and how to do it.” Giuseppe’s attention redirects to his sons one by one. “Lorenzo will go in unseen after the initial ambush. Matteo has prepared the vehicles for all of our men, and Alessio’s snipers will take care of the rest from far. I’ll have my own men surround the place with yours on the lookout both inside and outside.”

Your brothers glance up at Michael for confirmation as Al Neri sets down a tray of iced whiskey for everyone on the coffee table.

“It’s best if we act as soon as possible—tonight before this ‘time limit’ Alphonse has given us,” Leonardo speaks up.

“We won’t,” Michael replies flatly, taking a drink off the tray.

Annoyance instantly twists over Lorenzo’s facial expression whereas Matteo and Alessio exchange glances with one another. Michael is just aware of how your father eyes Lorenzo to calm his temper, whereas Tom and Sonny haven’t spoken a single word until now.

“Mike,” Sonny raises his brows at Michael, perhaps the only one able to ask him such a question due to being his eldest brother, “are you crazy? We’ve got the muscle, the location, and the men—”

“We won’t go,” Michael repeats firmly, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Not yet.”

Lorenzo puts out his cigarette, refusing to look at Michael. “And your reasoning behind that is?”

“Alphonse wants us there, and he wants us now,” Michael explains, holding his drink above his lap. “I’m not going to eat out of his hand and give him the benefit of the doubt.” Lorenzo’s opinions in general are unimportant enough to Michael that Michael’s barely ever bothered to even face him when speaking.

Giuseppe remains silent and patient, only wishing to listen to Michael as the rest of your brothers take their drinks just as quietly.

“We’ll go on my word or we won’t go at all,” Michael adds.

“Surely you don’t need me to remind you that my sister’s life is on the line, Don Corleone.” Matteo frowns, heavily disapproving of Michael’s plan.

“No, I don’t need you to,” Michael says back casually.

Tom clears his throat and shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “Um, respectfully, Matteo, we have no reason to believe Victoria’s life is actually on the line.”

Lorenzo practically scowls at Tom’s words as Alessio adds his opinion. “She’s being used as leverage.”

“Correct.” Michael nods.

“I hate to think of it, but…” Sonny shakes his head. “If Victoria was going to be used as collateral damage to that fucker Alphonse, he would have most likely hurt her and we would have found out one way or another—on the phone or not. He would want us to know that.”

“So what, the best course of action is to just wait until that happens?” Lorenzo scoffs.

“Who said that?” Leonardo frowns at his brother, nudging him. “Come on.”

“What if Alphonse sends us her fucking ear or a vial or her blood? Make her scream over the phone? Some macabre shit Alphonse has always been into?” Lorenzo continues, narrowing his eyes. “We need some sort of gruesome proof my sister is being tortured in order to act?”

“Idle threats will be made. That’s the least to be expected from a man like Alphonse.” Giuseppe sighs deeply, “And perhaps they’ll be made so believable they would spring any man into action immediately, but that is where none of us will make that mistake.” Giuseppe specifically eyes Lorenzo as he continues to speak. “Alphonse would not have done this if he feared Michael. He does not, and he doesn’t care about his own men dying at the hands of Michael either. He’s selfish. While the may suit him personally as a Don, it would be his own undoing if he had a shred of credibility to his family name.”

“Father’s right.” Leonardo agrees. “Alphonse resents Michael. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume that’s all he’s consistently done over the past few years anyway. He wants to get a personal reaction out of Michael beyond what he’s seen already.”

Giuseppe raises his drink up to his lips. “He wants to see how Michael will react, nothing more. This is all some amusing little game to him.” He takes a small sip of his whiskey, savoring the taste on his tongue. “The real reason why Alphonse hasn’t tortured Victoria or done anything ‘gruesome’, is because of me. Our family. He fears me out of his fear and ‘respect’ that Alphonse claims to have for me despite kidnapping my daughter and more than likely hurting her in the process. I never had to say a word, I never had to raise a finger.” Giuseppe sets down his drink—his expression darkening. “Alphonse is showing me he feels this way about me because this is business with me but personal with Michael. Victoria’s his wife, but she’s my daughter. This is the truth.” Giuseppe gestures down at the table with his finger. “Alphonse has a lot on the line—a lot he can lose and he knows this. Right now, all he’s done is place himself in a limbo of instability. He can lose everything or I can guarantee his wins. He’s gambling with the life of my daughter but he shows how to make the cogs in his little machine work, otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

The room remains silent except for the clinking of whiskey glasses and cigarettes being lit as everyone continues listening to Giuseppe. “Alphonse bought Barzini and Tattaglia’s respect with money and luxury he never worked for. His father bought him the very red carpet he trampled his own dirt on years later. But after he fell out with two of the most powerful Dons at the time and with the Corleone’s shift of power, Alphonse lost everything. Right now, what he’s regained he can lose again. It’s nothing but money and his life. For as long as Victoria is Michael’s wife, Alphonse cannot lose her either. He can’t lose what he’s never had.”

“All he did was grow up the eldest son to a mobster who actually made his bones in New York and Sicily.” Matteo rolls his eyes. “His father was a real man—that I could respect.”

“But being born the son of a Don doesn’t make you a mafioso.” Giuseppe relaxes against his seat. “There’s nothing credible to show Alphonse has even made his bones. When and how did it happen? Questions I don’t personally care about.” He holds up his hand, shaking his head. “Alphonse thinks he’s in our world and that he’s one of us, but he’s never seen it. He’s never tasted what it’s like to be a mafioso. People mistake Alphonse regularly for a buttonman a con, a spoiled son of a dead man so he’s desperate to fit into a world that never had the mold for someone like him, to begin with. He behaves foolishly and erratically yet at the same time you cannot blame him because he never entered our world, to begin with. He doesn’t respect or abide by our code because he doesn’t know the code. The only thing I can give Alphonse credit for is that he’s a goddamn phoenix. He rises from his own pitiful ashes no matter how bad the last downfall was. I know men who would have killed themselves after that humiliating stunt with Barzini and Tattaglia. He carries on, however. He knows I can change his life, and bring him into my world. Only I can do that alone.”

“So then if Alphonse takes Michael out of the picture…” Sonny begins, “then I guess he’d really have ‘made his bones’.”

“That’d make him a true gangster to be feared, yes,” Giuseppe replies. “Unlike Alphonse, I have a choice. I don’t grant out mobster titles or redemption—this isn’t charity work. I’ve seen types like him before all my life, albeit much quieter and bigger failures. I’ve dealt with them all the same. I prefer they disappear. This all goes back to Michael’s plan.”

“So,” Matteo clears his throat, folding his hands on his lap. “If Victoria isn’t some sort of ‘collateral damage’ to Alphonse, then mother was certainly a target.”

“Shut up.” Alessio nudges Matteo harshly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Michael raises a brow, his curiosity growing. “I’m interested in what made you think that.”

“She was shot and now she’s in the hospital getting a poisoned bullet out of her body,” Matteo says sarcastically. “I think that’s quite obvious.”

“Your mother wasn’t targeted.” Al Neri suddenly speaks up by the bar.

Heads turn towards Al Neri who first glances at Michael, seeing approval to speak further through his eyes.

“Excuse me?” Matteo scowls. “I don’t recall anyone asking for your opinion here.”

“I’m the one who secured the study.” Al Neri continues, ignoring Matteo outright. “I found out just how your mother got shot, so I believe I have more than enough authority to speak on the matter. Your mother wasn’t targeted in the least bit, Matteo. She was the collateral damage.”

Lorenzo appears just as offended as Matteo, but both give Al Neri silence as their response.

“Is that what you really think?” Lorenzo licks off the whiskey from his lips.

“It’s what I know.” Neri reaffirms, taking a step out of the bar. “I saw and picked up the fragments of the bullets scattered in the study.” Neri specifically emphasizes the plural of ‘bullet’. “They were all shot out in a panic of trying to shoot Don Corleone and Mrs. Corleone because the assassination attempt was fixated all on the first floor. Mrs. Ferrari simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was never a target, and the bullet never directly hit her. It skimmed her side and left a fragment.”

“Yes, all of that is correct.” Giuseppe glumly agrees. “It’s tragic, but it’s separate from what’s happened with Victoria. Believe me,” he shoots a look at Matteo. “Those who were involved with your mother’s injury will pay dearly regardless. For now, we can only hope she heals and recovers well with the best doctors in Nevada looking after her. Now, if you would excuse us.” Giuseppe gestures for his sons to leave the boathouse.

Matteo puts his arm over Lorenzo’s shoulder as they rise from their seats, making their way out of the boathouse in silence. No further words are spoken until the door shuts yet again.

“Michael,” Giuseppe faces his son-in-law. “You’re a smart, young man. I trust you as my son-in-law and as my favorite business partner. I always have. I know you won’t ever let any harm come to my daughter and you don’t trust that viper’s words when it comes to her either.”

“I knew you’d seen it my way, Don Ferrari.” Michael forces a small smile at his father-in-law. “This is no longer just about Victoria, but our baby too. It’s two people we’re protecting; my wife and the future of this family. So we’ll wait.”

[ Afternoon Hours ]

Time, silence, and lack of inaction all speak for themselves. The afternoon is halfway over and Alphonse is more than aware he’s heard nothing from Michael or his men whatsoever, let alone have him rush into Silver City to come to get you.

Michael’s not coming for you. Nobody is, no matter what you keep assuming.

Your lack of appetite doesn’t surprise Alphonse who offered you numerous gourmet meals periodically throughout the day, but you’ve accepted water as the only kindness from him.

Still, while you weren’t thinking about hunger for yourself, you were for your baby. As disgusting as it was to basically have Alphonse literally spoon-feeding you, at least it was a brief moment in time where Alphonse wasn’t irritating you with the sound of his voice.

You’re still relatively unharmed except for a bloody gash upon your forehead which only appears more prominent and fresh looking after it's cleaned; something that only pisses Alphonse off further with his men.

After leaving you bound up on the carpet to enjoy lunch with his men, Alphonse enters his office room with a refreshed look on his face—stretching out his arms.

Appearing very relaxed and content, Alphonse turns his attention to you upon the rug almost instantly. “Hello again, darling. Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

“Leave me alone.” You grumble, forcing yourself not to move as much as possible from how heavily the ropes dig into the bruised rings around your wrists and ankles.

“Ah, come on, sweetheart.” Alphonse pushes an armchair over to where you lay, sitting down on it and folding one knee above the other. “Mm, that’s much better. You know, last night could have been so much more fun if your husband just showed his face.”

“Fuck you.” You scowl up at Alphonse.

“Nice to see you too, baby.” Alphonse chuckles. “Relax. Everything’s going to be all over soon.”

“If by ‘all over’ you mean with your death, then by all means I await it.” You rest your cheek against the Persian rug. “Otherwise I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Alphonse gazes down at you, fake pouting. “Don Corleone was supposed to be on his way to rescue you and ‘exact revenge on me. How tragic.” He bursts out into laughter, “yeah, for him it is at least. It’s a no man’s land here, baby. All desert. Empty. No trees or anything for miles and miles, and I know this place like the back of my hand.” Alphonse points at the back of his hand, giving it a pat.

“Of course you do.” You roll your eyes back at him. “I can tell this place is a forgotten wasteland without even having to look outside, so who would be surprised you’re here?”

“Please.” Alphonse scoffs. “I could say I’m not surprised by your attitude either but it’s fine, I’ll let it slide because you’re going to become a widow tonight.”

“Funny joke.” You speak against the carpet. “Too bad it’ll never happen.”

Alphonse gives you a wink, smiling warmly. “I like your optimism, baby. It’s going to turn me on a little bit breaking your heart tonight.”

‘And if this disgusting bastard’s plans actually worked out? Then what…?’ You think to yourself, staring up at him. ‘He’s so confident.’

“Word will spread like wildfire that your husband is dead, first of all.” Alphonse pats the armrest of his seat. “That’s going to be a hell of an afterparty we, unfortunately, don’t have too much time for. Your father will want to see me negotiate business that’ll now be completely unavoidable to him, so,” Alphonse pushes his seat back, crouching down in front of you. “You won’t have to worry about a thing, baby. I’m going to take very good care of you.” He brushes back a curtain of your hair behind your ear. “Just like how I would have if you married me back then. It’s okay, though.” Alphonse gently rests his index finger against your lips to silence you. “We all make stupid decisions, but at least you won’t regret this one. For starters, never will your life be in danger ever again.”

You jerk your head away from Alphonse, sneering. “My life is in fucking danger right now because of you, asshole.”

Alphonse laughs, shaking his head. “Aww, baby. What danger? You lying on the ground on my favorite Persian rug is called ‘being in danger’? You and that little baby growing inside of you are just fine, protected by all my best men. If I know you well—and I do—” Alphonse leans in closer to your face, “you like danger. And that was all last night.”

“What are you going to do then, huh?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, nothing.” Alphonse shrugs his shoulders carelessly. “Just that first you’ll marry me and I know your father will be supportive—if not extremely eager to do so. Then I’ll adopt those twins of yours from the goodness of my heart and erase that Corleone name off of you three. It’ll take some time but the twins will call me their father soon enough.”

You force yourself not to headbutt Alphonse directly in the face, almost shaking with anger now. “That’ll never happen, you sick fuck.”

Alphonse rolls his eyes, pulling back. “Where’s your optimism now, darling? You’d rather I put a bullet in you and Michael’s heads and let your children become orphans?”

“Yes!” You snap back.

Alphonse stifles back a laugh, grinning at you with wild amusement. He cups your face forcefully before directly kissing your gash—causing you to cry out and pull your head back. “You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, Victoria, but with a big bump like that on your head, I know you can’t think clearly. It’s okay.”

Alphonse nudges your head back down to the carpet. “It’ll all make sense to you in a few days. This is pretty big, I understand, and as for that baby of yours…” Alphonse slides his hand underneath your stomach, forcing you to flip onto your back. “Uh huh…”

You tense up from the sudden movements but for the sake of your baby’s safety and health, you don’t bother to fight or move back; your lack of response is noticed and approved by Alphonse.

“He or she will grow up knowing I’m their father, but the next time you get pregnant, it’ll be our child.” Alphonse smiles, admiring your tiny baby bump. “And well, we’ll have a few more too. One big happy family, as they say.”

“You’re a sick fucking bastard!” You snap out, squirming back down onto your stomach. “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole even if my life depended on it.”

“It just might if you keep talking like this.” The smile fades off of Alphonse’s face as he nudges your gash harshly.

“Ahhh!” You cry out in pain, trying to pull your head away from him.

“Be nice to me, Victoria.” Alphonse’s voice begins to grow low and demanding. “I won’t have to hurt your feelings and break every bone in your body if you’re nice to me. Now.” Alphonse pulls back to sit back on his armchair. “We have much to talk about, you and I, and you’re going to give me the answers I want, right?”

“And if I don’t?” You grit your teeth, still squirming in pain from your throbbing head.

Alphonse sighs loudly, crossing his arms. “Baby, you already know what’s going to happen to you yet you ask me to repeat it. You like hearing my voice, huh?”

“Nothing about you is clear or certain.” You shudder over the carpet. “Considering your repeat history of failures.”

“Yeah?” Alphonse raises both of his brows. “I guess I don’t mind repeating myself to you about what I’m going to do if you don’t talk. Let me put it this way, sweetheart.” Alphonse pulls out a switchblade from his outer suit pocket before kneeling back down in front of you, aiming it for your face.

You neither flinch nor react when the blade snaps out and almost brushes up against your face—impressing Alphonse tenfold. “Uh-huh, I see. Father taught you not to be afraid of knives either, huh? Well, how about like this, then?” He points the switchblade to your baby bump, causing you to flinch.

“Bingo,” Alphonse smirks, moving the switchblade back up to your face. “Now, you start talking and giving me answers, and in return, I won’t make you cry and carve up your baby or that pretty face of yours. Shall we get started?”

As you feel the side of the cold, sharp blade pressing up against your cheek, true fear hits you from the possibility of Alphonse quite literally harming your baby and killing you in the process with his sick mutilation teasing.

‘Where are you, Michael?’ A single tear rolls down your cheek out of fear as you swallow hard. ‘Where are you, my love?’ But what you don’t know is that Michael isn’t coming for you.

Seeking comfort and solace from last night in the garden with her husband, all Connie can do is bring herself to tears again and again—unable to stop herself from crying.

Connie sits on the rattan garden bench she’d always share with you while the two of you tended to the garden, now next to her husband Leonardo comforting her.

Leo holds Connie in his arms, rubbing up and down her arms to comfort his wife but letting her release her emotions and cry out without stopping her.

Tears spill down Connie’s cheeks as she clutches onto Leo for comfort, feeling his warm lips kissing her forehead. “It’s alright, darling. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“B-but it’s my fault.” Connie hiccups, still unable to live with her guilt. “It’s—”

“Nobody’s fault, baby.” Lorenzo gazes at Connie’s red, splotchy face from sobbing as he shakes his head. “Absolutely none of this is your fault. We’re going to get through this together, and Victoria’s going to be back safe and sound before any of us even know it.”

“But I-I should have tried harder to keep her there!” Connie cries out, unable to push out the blame on herself after Michael practically embedded it in her with his shouting.

“Baby, baby.” Leo cups Connie’s face gently, looking into her eyes. “Listen, sweetheart. I know my sister well and when Victoria has something on her mind, nobody can stop her. Not me, not you, and not even Michael no matter what we’d be inclined to believe. Nobody’s words would hold her back.”

Connie sniffles, pausing for a moment as tears roll down her cheeks. “Sounds like Victoria, alright… She’s a f-fighter.”

“She is.” Leo agrees.

“I just hope…” Connie lets out a weak sigh, “I just hope Victoria’s fighting now and that she’s okay.”

“Believe me, honey,” Leo wipes off a stray tear from Connie’s cheek with his thumb. “If anyone’s fighting, it’s her. Victoria’s going to be okay and all of this will be over soon. I know how you feel—I’m much too impatient myself and I can’t stop thinking about it, but we’re going to get Victoria back. No exceptions.”

“Y-yeah but Leo,” Connie hiccups, “Victoria’s pregnant too.”

“I know, but so are you.” Leo places his hand over Connie’s month-old, small baby bump. “And I hate to have you and our little baby too stressed. I want to comfort you both.” He leans down, kissing the bump.

Connie smiles weakly at her husband, lacing a hand on Leo for reassurance. “Theresa was saying the same thing all morning.”

“How’s she taking it, baby?” Leo leans back up, holding Connie’s hand.

“Not well either.” Connie shakes her head, clearing her throat. “You know… That Sollozzo guy took Tom back in 1946? Theresa…she thought she would never see Tom again. And well, you know what happened to Sollozzo after.”

“Same thing is coming for Alphonse and is men,” Leo murmurs, planting a soft kiss over both of Connie’s hands. “Trust me.”

“That relieves me, strangely enough,” Connie admits glumly. “I really don’t want to be a part of whatever Michael’s doing, ever, and I didn’t want the same with papa either. But maybe I’m too harsh on Michael.”

“What do you mean exactly?” Leo continues gently rubbing over Connie’s baby bump.

“Sometimes I think of Michael as insufferable.” Connie shrugs her shoulders, glancing down at her baby bump. “Because of the man he’s become but I think he’s just trying to be strong for all of us, you know? It’s not easy. And now… Michael’s pregnant wife is kidnapped and as much as I don’t want to think about it, they probably hurt her, Leo. I know she wouldn’t just let anyone lay a finger on h-her without putting up a fight.”

“Exactly, I know.” Leo nods, frowning.

“I’m just worried for Michael.” Connie’s eyes meet up with Leo’s. “I-I don’t know what all of this will do to him. He’s… He’s always so cold and serious, so stern. Nothing gets past him, he refuses to be any other way. Now, this is getting too personal. I don’t think it matters if Victoria’s alive or not at the moment, Michael’s never going to recover from this. His humanity’s never going to recover from this.” Connie’s voice begins to shake as her throat tightens. “Because t-that’ll be three women in Michael’s love life that are dead or hurt in some sort of way because of him.”

[ Lake Tahoe Estate Docks, Early Evening Hours ]

With a perfect view of his yacht docked by the boathouse and the beautiful, glistening lake before him, Michael watches as the last of the sunlight begins to melt into the sky from his patio table.

Since Verona had an accident where she slipped off the deck in the past, Michael’s made sure now that both the docks and the edge of the lake are properly secured for safety.

Michael remains alone, drinking a cup of black coffee as best as he can “enjoy” it—only doing so to push aside how physically and mentally exhausted he’s been for the past two days.

Michael hasn’t diverted his gaze from the lake since he’s sat down, raising his coffee cup to his lips then back down again and again—completely unhappy and numb of any emotion.

Verona steps outside of the central family estate—just having finished her one-on-one studies with the governess.

The sight of her father just across by the docks, dressed in a three-piece navy suit is one Verona will always be able to happily spot.

While Michael doesn’t notice Verona’s presence out on the estate grounds, Verona excitedly makes her way over to her father and calls out for him. “Daddy, hiiiii!”

Michael turns his head at the sound of his daughter’s voice, noticing Verona waving at him as she skips up to the docks.

Michael waves back at Verona, watching now as she slows down her pace as she approaches the docks and begins to walk the rest of the way over to her father—remembering the little accident she had there before.

“Hi, daddy.” Verona greets Michael again, happily standing by the table.

“Hi, darling.” A faint smile forms over the corners of Michael’s mouth as he sets down his coffee cup. “How were your studies?”

“Good, goooooood.” Verona tightens the silk ribbons in her hair. “I just finished!”

“Done for the rest of the day?” Michael rests the side of his face against his fist; his elbow propped up against the armrest of his seat.

“Yeah.” Verona lets out a soft sigh, still smiling at her father. “I miss mama. I wish I could see her for my break time.”

“Me too, honey. Me too. But she’s with a great doctor and your grandmother right now.” Michael lies.

It’s not that Michael hates lying, but he prefers not to do so to his children unless necessary. He’s so used to lying at this point that he doesn’t feel anything towards it anymore—it doesn’t even feel wrong.

Verona nods back at her father, completely understanding. “I bet there’s a lot of great doctors just like Doctor Katherine there.”

“Without a doubt.” Michael straightens his posture over his seat, gesturing to his lap. “Come here.”

Giggling, Verona eagerly gets up on Michael’s lap as he wraps a protective arm around his daughter—seeing how interested Verona grows in Michael’s coffee cup upon the table. “Ooooh, daddy is drinking that coffee stuff again.”

Michael chuckles quietly. “Yes, but there’s no need to wonder about the taste.”

“Why not?” Verona asks curiously. “Is it not that…aaaah, ‘decaf’, no anti-sleepy time coffee?”

“Not this time.” Michael shakes his head.

“Why, daddy?” A frown immediately breaks over Verona’s face. “That stuff in coffee is bad for you, and this too!” She points at Michael’s cigarette pack on the edge of the table. “All very, very bad!”

“True, you’re very right. My apologies.” Michael pushes aside the cigarette pack, gesturing to the coffee. “What about my coffee? Can I still have it?”

“Hmm…” Verona ponders the question as Michael takes another sip of his coffee, looking at her for approval. “Daddy works too hard and looks kinda sleepy.” Verona giggles, facing her father. “Today you can have some of that coffee stuff.”

“Thank you for your concern.” Michael hides his smile behind his coffee cup, taking another sip.

“I wanna make sure everyone’s happy and healthy.” Verona snuggles up to Michael’s chest, hugging her father. “Allll the time.”

Michael puts his empty coffee cup down, kissing Verona’s forehead. “Looks like we definitely have a future doctor here, don’t we?”

“Maybe one day.” Verona gives her father a beaming smile. “Would you support me, daddy?”

“Of course, I would. Your mother and I will always support both you and your brother without a doubt.” Michael tells her.

Verona giggles to herself and hugs Michael again. “Daddy, I have a secret to tell you.”

Michael can sense the eagerness in his daughter’s tone of voice. “Hmm? What is it?”

“I’ll tell you.” Verona whispers, leaning up, but before Michael can wait to hear her say anything in his ear, Verona smooches her father’s cheek instead. “There. A kiss for daddy.”

A rare, full smile crosses Michael’s lips as he looks back at Verona. At the very least, Michael knows his children are still safe and happy, and he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t think Verona’s optimism—whom she very clearly got from you—isn’t giving him a semblance of hope.

“I love you lots, daddy.” Verona hugs Michael’s arm, resting her head against it. “Lots and lots!”

“I love you too, honey,” Michael tells her as he tilts his chair to fully face the view of the lake with Verona.

“Lots and lots?” Verona’s eyes wander over the beautiful, glistening waters of Lake Tahoe before her.

“Lots and lots.” Michael nods, relaxing his muscles against his seat and watching the flow of the lake.

Verona enjoys the view next to her father for a few moments; feeling a warm breeze flowing through her hair and giving a sense of pure relaxation to the two of them who can’t possibly feel its full effects considering the circumstances at hand.

The gentle grasp Verona has while hugging Michael’s army begins to grow shaky a few minutes later, and six-year-old Verona can’t stop her eyes from tearing up while thinking about just how much she misses you, and how she’s worried for the health of her grandmother too.

Without having to look down and see her tears, Michael can already sense his daughter growing upset in his arms.

He neither blames her nor does he call it out, knowing Verona’s feelings are valid and if anything, he’d prefer her to cry and express her sadness than keep it all inside like Michael does personally.

Michael strokes Verona’s hair gently, soothing her until her tears come to a stop. Being in her father’s presence and looking out onto the calming view, Verona feels safe, protected, and comforted by Michael—watching the day slowly come to an end.

While Michael can think of nothing but you, especially from Verona’s resemblance to you, his heart remains firm in decision that he’s not going to come to get you just yet, nor has he sent out the men for tonight. He will continue to wait for as long as he feels necessary.

[ Silver City, Alphonse Ricci’s Manor]

Aware of the time himself, Alphonse cuts to the chase by revealing one of his main intentions and priorities for kidnapping you in the first place; questions he demands answers to that only you can give.

“Hell of a mafia wife, aren’t you?” Alphonse chuckles to himself, once again sitting before you and admiring the way his switchblade looks up against your skin.

You shudder from the touch of the cold metal over your cheek, not in fear for yourself but only for your baby.

You think to yourself that a sick fuck like Alphonse will no doubt only try to scare and threaten you with his switchblade, but then hit your actual vulnerability—your unborn baby inside of you or at least around it; a fear tactic your father taught you.

Had you not been pregnant, Alphonse may have just already stabbed you in your back or somewhere you’re neither expecting nor able to protect from how you’re tightly bound.

You know these types of intimidation tactics well—basic mobster wannabee actions that are mostly talk and the rest hope.

You already know that if a real, powerful Don actually wanted answers out of you, you would have already been severely hurt by now and how is another question of gruesomeness you don’t want to think about right now.

“Is that supposed to be a question or what?” You force yourself not to roll your eyes back.

“It’s a good thing that your pretty little mouth is moving so I don’t have to do things the hard way,” Alphonse replies with a smile.

“I thought this was the hard way.” You eye the blade held against your cheek.

“You flatter me, honey.” Alphonse smirks wryly, “but I’ve gotten a little too used to teasing you with my favorite blade, and since you’re being such a good girl and cooperating…” He pulls back the switchblade.

“Don’t call me a ‘good girl’ or any of that shit.” You narrow your eyes.

“Maybe I won’t as long as you can keep that attitude to yourself.” Alphonse cautions you. “Now, you know how this works. You answer my questions and—”

“Yeah, yeah.” You grunt out, “save your speech. I know what you want.”

“Do you?” Alphonse raises his brows. “Must have been waiting then, huh?”

“The element of surprise really isn’t your advantage here.” You scowl.

“Ah, that’s funny.” Alphonse stretches out his arms with a grunt. “The last time I checked, you were taken here in the blink of an eye before you could suspect anything. Seems like a hell of a surprise if you ask me.”

“Sure, if we think about the technicalities.” You tilt your head up to look at Alphonse. “But everyone knows you did it, so where’s the fun in that? Was your intent really to get caught so quickly? Or did you think we’d blame another mobster?”

Alphonse sighs dramatically. “I’m going to be the one asking the questions, darling. This is about you, not me.”

You roll your eyes at Alphonse’s response out of irritation, but he notices immediately. “You know I can make things a lot worse for you right here, right now.”

“I find it amusing that you think you have the power to ruin my life.” You snap back.

“Oh, don’t I?” Alphonse points at his chest. “I’m a walking blackmail machine, baby.”

“Great.” You reply, “then you must know just about everything on anyone, huh?”

“That’s right.” Alphonse grins.

“That’s a fantastic way to get yourself killed.” You tell him. “What mobster would want someone like you alive?”

“I’ll tell you exactly why.” Alphonse tosses his switchblade up in the air, catching it back upright before pointing it between your eyes. “Because the Barzinis and Tattaglias gave up on me a long time ago thanks to your fucking husband. What he doesn’t know however is that he actually did me a favor. Let’s hope all that power hasn’t gotten into Michael’s head because the crime families fear him more than they admire him. Nobody’s going to rush to Michael’s rescue if something happens to him. Everyone will be sitting tight and watching just as they’re all going to do so tonight. Nobody’s going to kill me, Victoria.” Frustration grows in Alphonse’s voice. I have the upper hand here, otherwise, you’d be dead already.”

“Oh yeah?” You raise your head up shakily, revealing your gash between peeks of your hair. “Why the hell am I not dead yet?”

“Honey, if you have a death wish, that’s your own personal problem.” Alphonse tosses his switchblade up in the air, catching it upright. “If I want to kill you, I’ll do it my way; fast or slow, and not when you request it. You’re more useful to me alive than dead right now but I have been known to change my mind.”

“Not a generous man, are you?” You say back sarcastically.

“I’m many things.” Alphonse gazes at you. “And you can get to know me all you want right here, right now.”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” You spit out.

“No, you don’t.” Alphonse smiles sardonically at you. “And the more you learn about me, sweetheart, the less I need to learn about you because I know exactly who you are. You’re not just a mafia wife, you’re a whole lot more than you give away.”

“You don’t even know where to begin to figure me out.” You say through gritted teeth.

“You’d be surprised as to how much I know about you.” Alphonse leans in closer, lowering his tone to a husky whisper. “I’ve had pictures of you all over my walls since 1949.”

“You’re sick,” you hiss, trying to pull away from him.

“You call it sick and depraved, I call it admiration.” Alphonse reaffirms. “You’re a beautiful woman, you know that? You haven’t even aged a bit. I know you take care of yourself very well, even after two kids and now on your third… Yeah.” With his free hand, Alphonse tilts your face to the side, but his eyes land on your baby bump instead.

You pretend you don’t notice Alphonse’s steady gaze, fearing you’ll only give him the reaction he’s looking for to harm your baby in any kind of way.

“You have that motherly glow,” Alphonse murmurs quietly. “Barely pregnant, but it’s there.” He pulls back his hand. “We’ll see it again when you carry my child. That’s when you’ll be the most beautiful, you know. As beautiful as any cold-blooded killer can be.” Alphonse’s eyes flash with amusement. “That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“Couldn’t I ask you the same question?” You breathe out.

“Maybe.” Alphonse shrugs his shoulders carelessly. “I can call myself a lot of things but you’re too cocky to admit you’re a murderer. You’re not just a killer, but you’re a corrupt lawyer. You negotiate in deals men don’t expect you to be in and then you get them all killed. You make damn good blood money and you move all the chess pieces around without anyone suspecting a thing. Nobody can do or say anything about you. I’ve already figured how well you play this role of supportive wife and dedicated lawyer, but you’re a true gangster.”

You keep your eyes locked on Alphonse, neither confirming nor denying the truth.

“It runs in your blood.” Alphonse rises up to his feet, clutching his switchblade and moving behind you.

You remain as perfectly still as you can and shiver yet again to feel the cold metal of Alphonse’s blade pressed up against one of your veins on your wrist.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Alphonse asks, running his hands over your skin.

“I’m nothing like you.” You wince, feeling your gash beginning to throb once again.

“Oh, of course, you aren’t.” Alphonse lets out a laugh, walking back over to face you directly. “I’m not the one with Ferrari blood running through my veins now, am I? Our children will be lucky in that regard since they will. All I’m saying is that your little secret is out, Victoria. I’ve seen you in the pictures.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” You swallow hard, trying to ignore how badly the ropes tied around your wrists and ankles practically burn into your bruises.

“Like hell I don’t.” Alphonse scoffs, sitting on the carpet right in front of you. “The photographs speak for themselves, honey. I’ve seen them. You’re all dolled up next to that Corleone, then hidden just as Don Ferrari’s daughter, or so they say. You’re seen one day, then never again the next. I call bullshit on that. I recognize you like the back of my hand.”

“And what the hell are you going to gain for it?” You raise your voice, thoroughly sick and tired of hearing his.

“Everything. I have all the facts and information to not only bring your career to a fucking end but to imprison you for life. You’d never see your children again and you can give birth in a cold, shitty prison for all I care. Better yet, be put in the worst prison Nevada has to offer, like the shit hole you locked my brother up in.”

You burst out laughing, unable to take any of Alphonse’s words seriously. “Your brother was a dirty fucking street rat. He was messy, he got caught and I prosecuted him. It was nothing personal, you entitled piece of shit. Is his incompetence my fault?”

“Better wipe that fucking smirk off your face before I do,” Alphonse warns you, holding out his switchblade.

“Poor little boy.” You pout, mocking him. “You keep flaunting around that tiny shaving razor to threaten me but won’t MAN THE FUCK UP AND USE IT!”

In one swift movement, Alphonse pulls his hand back and slaps you across the face—causing you to squirm onto your side with a grunt.

“I can hurt you in a lot of other ways before giving you a painful death if you don’t do what I tell you to fucking do!” Alphonse shouts.

You crack a smile, laughing weakly. “Oh, you’ll have to do a lot more than that, I’m afraid. Did you really just bring me here to reminisce about the successes of my life and the failure of yours?”

“No, you know what you’re fucking here for!” Seething with anger, Alphonse is in no further mood for games.

“Yeah, yeah,” you force yourself back onto your stomach. “Fucking enlighten me then so we can get this over with.”

“I want to know about the Tropigala.” Anger flashes in Alphonse’s eyes as he slows down his speech, making sure you hear every word carefully. “I want to know who made the deal, who signed it, and why that hotel was taken from me without a single word even though my family’s name was all over it. I want to know who paid off the license, where the money went, EVERYTHING! I want to know the shareholders name by name.”

You remain quiet for a moment, unphased by Alphonse entirely. Your eyes dart back down to the carpet out of disinterest as you simply say, “omertà.”

Alphonse raises both of his brows at you, repeating, “omertà? You think this is some kind of fucking joke?”

“Omertà,” you repeat, louder.

Omertà is the cold silence amongst Mafiosi; a code of honor. No questions or information of any kind about the family business is ever uttered, no cooperation with outsiders, authorities, or men like Alphonse for that matter.

Nothing is given but silence, and you will never give Alphonse the answers about what Michael did with the Tropigala even if it means your death.

You swore the code of silence to yourself and your family when you made your bones as a mafiosa and you understood it far before you were even involved in the family business.

“You know about Michael’s deal, Victoria.” Alphonse scowls down at you.

“Maybe.” You smile up at Alphonse innocently. “But that’s really none of your business, is it?”

“Won’t talk, huh?” Alphonse eyes the reddened mark growing over your cheek from where he slapped you. “Maybe that Corleone slaps you so much in bed you actually enjoy it. I’ll have to try something else.”

“’Cause, you’re a wife beater?” You scoff. “All that talk about marrying me and putting a baby in me but all you want to do is bruise and hurt me. How’s that going to look in any publicity photographs?”

Alphonse blinks at you in confusion, shaking his head. “You’re the one making me do this.”

“I’m doing no such thing.” You gesture down to the carpet with your chin. “I’m laying here on your favorite Persian rug. I’m exhausted, starving, my body aches all over and you’ve bruised and hurt me. I’ve been like this since you brought me here, so tell me what I’ve honestly done to you from down here that’s intimidated you so much?”

Alphonse lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. He gazes at you momentarily, noticing your expression has softened from bitter to exhausted once again.

“All really good questions.” Alphonse reaches out his hand towards you, caressing your face gently. “I have the time to answer them, you know. No point in trying to make this quick, and you know why?” A smile breaks out on Alphonse’s face before he bursts out in laughter, startling you a little. “Because!” He throws his hands up in the air, “that husband of yours isn’t coming here for you after all! My men have this place cornered and he’s still nowhere to be found, baby. Don’t you know what time it is?”

“What?” You shudder out, feeling dread beginning to trickle inside you from realizing Alphonse is right.

“I’ve given him a deadline and he didn’t even bother to show yesterday.” Alphonse pats his gold wristwatch. “No sign of him today either on his last day, so Michael is most certainly not coming to get you, honey. So, what do you say?” Alphonse snaps his finger, gesturing to one of his capos.

The man who mocked you at the front door and shoved you in here in the first place rises from his seat by the fireplace, pulling the telephone off of Alphonse’s office desk and over to him.

“Let’s give Don Corleone a courtesy call, shall we?” Alphonse takes the telephone from him, setting it down. “He forgot to pick up his own wife!” Still laughing, Alphonse begins to dial the number. “Maybe I’ll even let you talk to him.” Alphonse winks at you. “We’ll give him a call to remember.”

[ Lake Tahoe Estate Docks, Evening Hours ]

“Soooo many fishies in the water, daddy!” Verona points towards the lake, spotting the silhouette of a lake trout not far from the docks. “Look!”

“That’s right.” Michael looks over into the water with his daughter sitting on his lap. “Now you know why your uncles don’t go anywhere else to fish.”

“There’s no need.” Verona giggles. “Not with this many fishies! What kinds are in there, daddy?”

“Well, lake trouts for sure, like that one right there.” Michael points out one of the fish. “But there are also rainbow trouts and brown trouts—”

“Rainbow trouts?!” Verona gasps, her eyes beaming with excitement. “Are they really colorful like that, daddy?”

“Not exactly.” Michael chuckles, “but up close you can definitely discern them from other trouts.”

“Wowie.” Verona claps her little hands together. “Uncle Fredo always goes fishing here on the docks, daddy. He says it’s his lucky spot.”

“Mhmm.” Michael relaxes back in his seat, taking a deep breath. “Do you have any interest in fishing, sweetheart?”

“Hmm.” Verona ponders the question, shrugging her shoulders. “Maaaaaybe. I like watching Uncle Fredo teach Niccolo because he really likes fishing, but the fishing stick thingys they use look so heavy!”

“It’ll be easier to get a hold of them once you two both grow older,” Michael tells her. “They’re very durable.”

“For the best of the best fishing trips!” Verona exclaims. “Maybe when I’m done my swimming lessons I’ll go fishing with them.”

“That sounds like a plan, darling.” Michael’s eyes wander to one of the boats his security pace along the lake, still on the lookout for any potentially suspicious activity.

“Do you fish, daddy?” Verona peeks back at her father.

“No.” Michael shakes his head, “I don’t really have an interest in it.”

“But daddy, you like seafood, right?” Verona pokes Michael’s arm.

“I do.” Michael gives Verona a faint smile. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Verona nods, “fishies can be very tasty. I bet those fishies there are tasty.” She points again at a different fish disappearing into the depths of the lake.

Just as Michael redirects his attention back to the lake with Verona, he already hears a pair of very familiar footsteps behind him, and an instant annoyance settles into Michael. “Considering everything, Santino, could you not leave me to a moment of peace with my daughter?”

Verona’s eyes widen, surprised Michael heard Sonny approaching them in the first place. As she turns around, she immediately smiles at her uncle. “Hi, Uncle Sonny!”

“Hey, kiddo.” Sonny forces a warm smile at Verona before raking a hand through his curls.

Michael can already tell Sonny’s very stressed by his body language alone, and can already guess what the premise of this conversation is going to be about.

“Sorry, Mike.” Sonny clears his throat. “But A—” Sonny cuts himself off, knowing he can’t be giving away any detail of what’s really happening to Verona or any of the children for that matter. “Uh, Mr. Ricci is on the phone and he says it's urgent.”

Michael doesn’t budge, still keeping his gaze over the lake. “Alright. I’ll be there. Keep him on the line.” Only then does Michael glance over at Verona. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Daddy’s got some business to attend to again.”

“It’s okay,” Verona says, completely understanding as she hops off of Michael’s lap. “I can go wait inside, daddy. Maybe you can teach me to play chess again?”

“Absolutely.” Michael leans over, kissing his daughter’s forehead. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay, daddy. See you inside!” Verona happily rushes back off towards the estate as one of the security guards follows her at an appropriate distance just for the sake of safety.

While Sonny’s already halfway back towards the boathouse, Michael follows behind calmly with both hands in the pockets of his dress trousers.

There isn’t the least bit of concern or visible stress over either Michael’s facial expression or his body language; rather he appears more numb and unhappy than anything else as he follows Sonny back inside the boathouse.

From the moment Michael enters, he sees Tom across from him in the room holding up the telephone to his ear appearing unnerved and in a state of distress.

Even as Michael makes eye contact with his brother, Tom isn’t relieved in the slightest but looks all the tenser and burdened.

“Look,” Tom gives out a sigh, “he’s here. You can talk to him now.” Tom holds out the telephone to Michael, almost desperate to let go of it.

Michael walks up to Tom and takes the telephone from him, holding it against his chest to silence any outgoing sound first. Michael doesn’t say a word to Tom but looks at his brother with expectant eyes that read: ‘is Victoria alright?’

Tom understands the look in Michael’s eyes, but he shakes his head and mouths back, “this is getting worse.”

Michael raises the telephone up to his ear, remaining silent a moment longer before finally speaking out. “This must be the only social interaction you’ve had all day. Why are you still calling me?”

Alphonse bursts out laughing on the other end of the phone, completely relaxed and even overjoyed in a way. “Did business get in the way, Don Corleone? You forgot to come get your precious wife.”

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” Michael says back sarcastically. “Who said I ‘forgot’ to do anything?”

“So are you aren’t coming then?” Alphonse’s irritating laughter comes to an end as he angles the telephone over his ear in such a way that you can also hear everything being said on both sides.

“You’re a dead man either way.” Michael reminds him. “And you’re not getting anything you want. The sooner you accept this, the easier it’ll be for you.”

“Rather confident for a man who can’t reach me.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, speaking in a taunting tone.

“You’re not untouchable, Alphonse,” Michael replies calmly, unphased. “You went through all this trouble to reach the line just to tell me you miss my presence after all.”

“Oh, please.” Alphonse snorts, sitting cross-legged on the Persian rug. “I’m just getting bored is all. You hear this, Corleone?” Alphonse flicks open his switchblade again, grazing the tip over the wooden floors next to him. “I know all sorts of ways to get your attention, and that’s a lot more than anyone else can say.”

“You thought wrong,” Michael replies, listening as keenly as he can to make out any sign of your presence next to Alphonse.

“Well then, let’s see when you come out of your little lair and face me like a real man. Since you’re taking your precious time, I might just have to show you how much fun I can have with your pretty life wife laying on the ground here next to me. She’s in that sexy nightgown, might I add—it flatters my switchblade.”

“Petty threats still aren’t beyond you, I see.” Michael rolls his eyes, still unmoved as he expected you to still be secured with Alphonse.

“I’m a man of my word and I’d hate to look like I’m all bark and no bite—unlike you—so I thought I’d give you a call and prove how serious I am.” Alphonse lets his switchblade drop from his hand and onto the floor. “When I have you dead, your wife will be widowed and then with the great Don Ferrari’s blessing, I’ll marry her right away so she doesn’t have to spend one day grieving over your sorry ass.”

Tom rubs his temples gingerly, lowering his gaze as Sonny stares down at the ground, listening to the phone call as if they’re both still recovering from something else they heard on the telephone before Michael arrived.

“But for that to happen,” Alphonse continues, “I need you to actually be here so I can kill you. I’m not a fan of damaging my favorite things, Corleone, but unfortunately, my future wife here has a pretty nasty gash on her forehead, and this is all your fault of course. If you had just died last night, she wouldn’t have to be roughed up.”

Michael narrows his eyes, beginning to glare down at the telephone. “You were the one who made the choice to hurt her, Alphonse. Nobody else made that decision for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just collateral damage.” Alphonse brushes Michael off. “You know she put up a hell of a fight, so getting her here was like wrestling a goddamn grizzly bear with your own hands. That’s what I’ve been saying to her too, you’re a hell of a mafia wife, aren’t you baby?” Alphonse roughly grips your face, giving it a shake.

You cry out in pain from how violently Alphonse shakes your face, applying pressure to your cheekbones and jaw on purpose just to hurt you.

Your voice immediately alerts Michael and gets his blood boiling from anger in a split second; Michael’s knuckles turn white from how harshly he grips the telephone. “Don’t fucking touch her, Alphonse. I hate repeating myself.”

“What’s that? Hmm? Huh?” Alphonse lets go of you, continuing to taunt Michael. “I don’t think I heard you, Corleone. I don’t think Michael heard you say goodbye to him loud enough either, darling. Use your words.”

“Fuck you!” You spit out to Alphonse.

“Ah, there she is.” Alphonse sighs deeply.

“You’re never going to get away with this, you bastard!” You shriek at him.

“Mhmm, you’re talking, baby, but you’re not saying what I want you to say.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, picking up his switchblade again and pressing the tip of it against your gash.

“Ah!” You wince, bursting into tears from the stinging pain as blood begins to spill from your gash once again.

“Yeah, don’t like that, do you?” Alphonse grips your face so tightly as he continues to poke the tip of his switchblade over your gash that even if you tried to jerk your head back or move away, you’d end up having your entire forehead deeply cut into.

On the verge of frustration and pure rage, Michael begins to see nothing but red—speaking through gritted teeth. “Stop. It.”

“Should I?” Alphonse chuckles. “Yeah, maybe I should. She’s bleeding all over my favorite Persian rug.” Alphonse lets go of your face but not before slamming it down on the rug to hit your gash once again.

You burst into tears from the pain but force your body to remain steady on the carpet to lessen the pain.

Tom takes in deep quiet breaths, knowing that Michael’s not going to be able to hang up or brush aside anything Alphonse is saying or doing now over the telephone as he’s practically torturing you.

“Ah, I do applaud you on one thing though, Michael.” Alphonse sets his bloodied switchblade down. “Regardless of how all of this is going to go, you’ve benefitted my future so much. My future wife here definitely doesn’t talk; she doesn’t give away anything. A Ferrari alright… She answered all of my questions about you with one word, you know that? Omertà.”

‘Omertà.’ The word buzzes in Michael’s mind as a familiar one.

“She still won’t budge,” Alphonse mutters. “Giuseppe taught all his children not to talk, huh? I’ll have to ask my future father-in-law more about it. It fascinates me. Unfortunate for Victoria though, considering she’s still your wife at the moment. I’m going to have to rough her up real bad since she won’t talk, Michael. But don’t worry.” He adds in quickly, “she’ll heal from everything in my arms. I always kiss and mend after I hurt.”

“You’ve nothing but an agonizing, slow death waiting for you and every one of your little hired mercenaries, Alphonse. Never forget this.” Michael hisses.

“Is that so? In any case, don’t try anything smart now, Corleone. Stay on the line, won’t you? Unless you want me to really hurt her, that is.” Alphonse sets the telephone down facing upward so Michael can hear both you and Alphonse clearly.

“Listen closely now.” Alphonse crawls behind you, hovering over top of you; his knees around both sides of your body. “I’m going to make her purr like a kitten.”

Michael slams his fist down against the table with such force that the telephone almost shakes off it completely. “What the fuck are you doing to her, Alphonse?!”

“Listen closely and you’ll know.” Alphonse chuckles, still hearing you whimper quietly in pain. “Once more chance, baby.” Alphonse hikes your nightgown up towards your ass, letting his gold-adorned hands roam down your inner thighs. “Answer me. Who sold the Tropigala to Michael Corleone? Tell us both, darling. Michael’s listening.”

“Omertà.” You groan out.

Michael presses his lips down together, seething with anger and barely able to keep still anymore.

“Still nothing?” Alphonse squeezes your thighs. “That’s a shame. You’re lucky you’re so beautiful, more so than in those photographs. The camera doesn’t capture your real beauty. You better tell me if that Corleone ever even bothered to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” He leans down, giving each of your thighs a warm kiss. “With everything you’ve done and with who you are, you deserve to eat on diamond plates.” Alphonse continues to let his hands wander around your legs and thighs. “Dinner parties, meeting politicians. You’ve got all of Nevada eating out of your hand and New York kissing your feet. I don’t have to tell you Corleone doesn’t deserve someone like you. Now…” Alphonse rests his hands over your ass. “Tell me, was it Senator Geary who sold Michael the license to the Tropigala? Who was behind that deal? Tell me.”

Instead of bothering to answer anyone, you jerk your leg back up swiftly and kick Alphonse directly in the face; the heel of your foot colliding over the bridge of his nose.

“FUCKING BITCH!” Alphonse grunts, clutching his bleeding nose.

Sonny grips into the leather armrest of his seat so hard that his fingernails almost rip through it entirely.

Tom gasps a “oh my God” to himself and immediately looks towards the door of the boathouse—needing some air.

“YOU NEED TO LEARN YOUR FUCKING PLACE WITH ME!” With blood still dripping down his nose, Alphonse pins both of your legs back down and leans right over, biting as hard as he can into your thigh.

You let out a howling scream of pain—feeling your lungs burn and blood dripping out of the bite wound from Alphonse’s teeth breaking your skin.

Alphonse’s breath hitches as he pulls back, wiping a mixture of his and your blood off of his mouth—tasting your blood off of his teeth.

“MICHAEL!!” You shriek again, clutching weakly onto the fibers of the Persian rug as your thigh twitches from the pain.

Just as Alphonse leans over to speak onto the phone once again, Michael grabs the telephone—his hands shaking violently with anger as he throws it across the room and lets it smash to pieces against the wall.

“We’ve got to fucking go.” Sonny springs up to his feet, out of breath from his own anger.

“Get up!” Michael gestures to Tom, Neri, and Rocco. “Completely disregard our previous plan, there’s going to be no snipers, no speaking in. Alphonse is fucking torturing her. We’re going to Silver City now and we’re going to kill every single one of them on sight, instantly. DO I MAKE MYSELF PERFECTLY CLEAR?!”

Leaving you whimpering on the floor, Alphonse scowls down at you as he moves off your back. “I’ve been real nice and considerate with you, darling. I could have let your fucking throat dry up or hooked you to the wall like a piece of meat.” Alphonse rises to his feet shakily. “I let you sleep in my bed comfortably and I didn’t knock the sense out of you every time I had the chance, did I? But you…” Alphonse snarls, rubbing the bridge of his nose cautiously. “You weren’t considerate at all. I can make your life a miserable fucking hell in here, darling, and the fact I have to keep reminding you tells me a lot.”

“Go fuck yourself.” You grunt out against the carpet. “You don’t even have the ability to make my life a ‘miserable fucking hell’. You already live in one.”

“Good thing I’m going to share it with you then.” Alphonse glances at the smeared blood over his hand. “You did this all to yourself, you know.”

“Yeah, and you deserve everything that’s come crashing down upon you since your father was put down like a pest.” You hiss. “Ever heard me cry out for mercy here?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Alphonse grit his teeth, pointing an accusing finger at you. “Don’t you ever talk about my father like that again.”

“Your father was a fucking miserable little weasel obsessed with money and whores.” You raise your head up, glaring at Alphonse. “Your family stood out from the others since your father’s time and I see you’ve changed nothing.”

“You’re not the least bit intimidating to me, I hope you know that even though you try to fucking piss me off.” Alphonse scowls down at you.

“Funny.” You let out a weak chuckle. “Your men shit themselves in my presence, why don’t you talk about that?”

“That’s because these men respect you.” Alphonse gestures back to his capos who have otherwise been practically invisible in the room from silence and their backs turned to you. “One day you’ll respect them because they’ll be protecting you with their lives.”

“How worthwhile is that protection if I can take them all down by myself?” You scoff.

“Is that why you cried like a little slut when I put you in your place?” Alphonse kneels in front of you. “Hmm?”

“Please.” You ignore Alphonse’s eye contact with you. “I’ve felt worse pain, but it didn’t mean I enjoyed having your nasty mouth on me.”

“Felt worse pain, huh?” Alphonse watches your thigh still trembling and trickling with blood from his deep bite mark. “Made your bones like crazy, but you and that baby inside of you are going to go out real sad if you don’t start talking.”

“You can do whatever you want to me.” You breathe out, “but you leave my baby the hell alone.”

“You think you’re special because Michael came in you?” Alphonse rolls his eyes, sighing loudly. “I’ll be doing that to you tenfold myself. That ‘baby’ inside of you—it’s like what? Not even the size of a grain of rice yet? If anything ‘happens’ to it, it’ll be your fault. But it won’t be much of a loss at this point anyway, you can always try again.”

“You know there’s one thing about all of this that I’m really going to enjoy.” You let out a deep breath, trying to avoid the vicious pain in your thigh.

“What part?” Alphonse rests his back against the leg of his armchair. “The part where you marry me or I impregnate you?”

You ball up a wad of spit in your mouth before letting it land on the Persian rug. “It’ll be part where you die. I’m no sadist but I think I’m going to enjoy watching it happen.”

“Long time coming, huh?” Alphonse leers at you.

“You have no idea.” You grunt.

Ignoring your comment, Alphonse reaches into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, taking out the handkerchief and wiping your forehead with it without taking extra care around your gash.

You grit your teeth in pain and silence yourself, taking it as Alphonse smiles at the blood stain over his handkerchief when he pulls it back. “There, there, pretty baby. I’d think you’d come to be exhausted from talking like this all day, hmm?” Alphonse trails his thumb over your bottom lip; admiration replacing the otherwise pissed look in his eyes. “Beautiful lips… Hate to see them shaking like this in pain.”

You remain completely still, fearing that if you attempt to move out of the way or try anything against Alphonse again, this time he won’t hesitate to hurt your baby directly even if it doesn’t look like it.

In reality, you could practically vomit over Alphonse’s face from how nauseous and disgusted you feel from him even laying a hand on you, but you force it all back.

Acting as if you’ve given in to him, you remain quiet and calm which only pleases Alphonse further.

“Easy, baby.” Alphonse tilts your head up with both hands gently, causing you to whimper. “You know, I’ve always wanted to do this to you.” Alphonse leans in; his nose tracing around your jawline and neck as he inhales the faint scent of sweet, floral perfume over you.

From the way Alphonse has your body raised against his, pressure is applied to your legs and the bite mark over your thigh practically feels as if it’s on fire.

You hold in the pain but cannot manage to stay completely silent. Alphonse hears your soft whimpers and takes them as a sign of weakness before pressing his forehead against yours.

Without saying a word, Alphonse inches closer and closer to your lips, and all the “don’t do this!” screaming in your head stops nothing as his lips collide with yours.

You squeeze your eyes shut in disgust so as not to look directly at him as Alphonse gives you a full-mouth kiss. You don’t return it nor do you part your lips against his, simply remaining completely still and hoping for the kiss to come to a quick end.

“God,” Alphonse murmurs softly as he pulls away from you. “That love bite will heal, baby. I want to almost forgive you just from that kiss alone. Does Michael make good use of that mouth, I wonder.”

Tears sting your eyes as you stare down at the carpet, knowing it’ll be no use to tell him to let you go or do anything else.

“You’re very beautiful, Victoria.” Alphonse strokes your hair gently, noticing your glassy eyes filled with tears. “Even when you cry. You’ve always had that Ferrari fire in you, but it’s unfortunate it got you hurt today. It’ll raise the Ricci family to newfound heights, and on a personal scale…” Alphonse caresses your face with the back of his hand. “I can’t wait to start a family with you and sleep next to you every night.”

It's that comment that sends you over the tipping edge, and you can no longer hold back the disturbed look on your face.

“What?” Alphonse chuckles. “Don’t act so surprised, darling. Isn’t that what happened to your sister-in-law?”

“W-what?” You say weakly.

“Constanzia Corleone,” Alphonse tells you. “Married one street rat mobster wannabee, right? That Carlo Rizzi or whatever his name is. That didn’t work out, so what did she do? Well, I hear she was a very, very smart girl to go and marry a man like Leonardo Ferrari. One doesn’t work out so onto the next, real mobster it is. She secured her future with a very powerful man whose also fathering her sons, right?”

“D-don’t talk about Connie.” You narrow your eyes at him. “Never talk about my sister.”

“Relax, baby.” Alphonse gives you a playful grin, “my eyes are only for you, but you know what I’m talking about. If anything happens to that brother Lorenzo of yours—who I’ve no doubt will finally meet with me today—then Leonardo will become the Don. What’s going to be the difference between you and Constanzia then? She’ll be the wife of the second most powerful mobster on the continent, after me.”

Before either of you can speak further, you notice Alphonse’s eyes instantly widen in shock, and in a split second, he pins his body down to the floor.

Immediately after, a hail of dozens and dozens of bullets making the attempt on your life look like child’s play begins to hail through the mirror—hitting every corner, every angle, every wall and shattering the windows to smithereens.

There isn’t even time for Alphonse’s capos to respond as their bodies can barely drop to the floor with constant gunfire riddling holes through them.

“That motherfucker finally came, huh?!” Alphonse keeps himself flat on the floor.

You burst out in hysterical laughter, no longer able to control yourself or hold back. You know Michael and his men are here and that this has all come to an end; it couldn’t possibly be more amusing than how it already is to you right now.

“Go to hell, go to hell!” You say through your laughter as Alphonse pulls you up into his arms, attempting to protect you.

All you can hear are the sounds of men hollering outside, bodies falling, and screams of pain accompanied by consistent, rapid fire.

“I’m taking you with me, darling.” Alphonse’s eyes glance up to the ceiling as he keeps you up against him, hearing the sound of a heavy thump before watching the body of his sniper falling right off the roof. “SHIT!”

In truth, Alphonse’s men have grown lazy and sloppy after realizing Michael neither came yesterday night nor at the time Alphonse expected him to today either.

As a result, a vast majority of his men drop dead from being unprepared, unable to shield themselves from the bullets fired against them.

Alphonse grunts, struggling to pull out his pistol from the inner pocket of his suit. “They know what they’re shooting at, huh?” Alphonse yanks a fistful of your hair, pulling you up onto his lap and pressing the barrel of his gun up to your temple. “Then they won’t get to you or me now.”

“Do your worst if you can.” You breathe out, grinning at the window.

It wasn’t hard for your father to have all the roads leading to Silver City cleared and kept that way an entire day before, sending assassins in the best cars available with no exceptions.

Your brothers went sent off to Silver City with Michael and your father’s best men, but Lake Tahoe isn’t left unprotected either.

Giuseppe himself stayed back with his capos, Alessio, Tom, Fredo, and tight security both in and around the estate complex including every pathway and road leading up to it.

Neri and Rocco have personally accompanied Michael who drove himself, surrounded by the cars of his security on every side of the road for protection should Michael approach any vehicles of Alphonse’s men or have bullets littered over his trail.

Neri sits in the back seat with Rocco next to him, fully armed. Ritchie Nobilio is in the front passenger seat by Michael, aiming out the window with two pistols in both hands—ready for anything.

Michael is armed to the teeth himself, calm but ready to kill. Everyone knows blood will be spilled today, marking a new mob war between the Corleone and Ferrari families versus the Ricci’s.

Michael will not rest until he personally kills Alphonse and confirms his death and he will only consider you safe when he sees you unharmed in person unless it absolutely can’t be helped; the last resort Michael has made sure all of his and your father’s men are very well aware of.

The vehicles surrounding Michael’s that drove up front shot off the snipers with silencers and any of Alphonse’s men scattered around the vicinity of Silver City, so neither Michael nor any of his and your father’s men were even heard approaching Alphonse’s Estate as nobody was alive to raise the alarm beforehand.

Neri was the one who took out Alphonse’s sniper and one of Michael’s men easily took his spot, blending into his surroundings.

Michael and Giuseppe’s men parked their vehicles on every side of Alphonse’s manor to surround his men completely, relentlessly shooting and circling around.

Although taken by surprise, Alphonse’s men snap back into action and prepare to shoot back—taking as much cover around the manor as they can find.

Michael’s vehicle is hidden behind a blockade of others, and he easily steps out without being seen and crouches against the car next to Ritchie.

Both Michael and Ritchie glance up towards the roof of the manor, seeing Matteo perched up top and taking out the remaining men outside the front. After firing another shot, Matteo signals the area is clear for Michael and Ritchie to enter.

If you knew it was your brother hiding up on the roof and picking off Alphonse’s men like mosquitos in the vicinity, you’d neither be impressed nor surprised.

Matteo was always skilled with firearms, and he was the one who taught you all about accuracy, aim, and bullets all those years back.

Lorenzo and Sonny remain with their men towards the back of the estate, back to back, and move towards the garden as stealthily as possible while taking out Alphonse’s men.

“Fucking bastards.” Sonny hisses, firing a bullet into another guard’s chest and watching him topple into the swimming pool—seeping blood into it.

“That’s the last of them.” Lorenzo huffs, moving towards the entrance of the garden and reloading his pistol. “I like your fire, Corleone. They never had it coming.”

“These assholes don’t stand a chance with us, brother.” Sonny gives Lorenzo’s shoulder a pat as both men press their backs up against the entrance door. “Ready to give ‘em hell?”

“Never been more ready in my fucking life.” Aiming his pistol toward the door, Lorenzo kicks it down and doesn’t hesitate to fire a few rounds in immediately.

“What’s wrong now, huh?” You breathe out, noticing the storm of bullets has come to an end, leaving no intact door or the protection of windows. “Nothing to protect you anymore.”

“Nice sudden, but will be short-lived confidence, Victoria.” Alphonse keeps his pistol on you, firmly holding you in his arms. “I’m a lot smarter than you think. If they want to come here and corner me, they’ll have to do so knowing your life is now on the line too, darling. I can shoot out your brains and redecorate my Persian rug with another shade of red whenever I want.”

‘Michael… Michael, where are you?’ You let out a shaky breath, keeping your gaze to the windows in case one of Michael’s men or Michael himself spot you and know your exact location within the estate.

Rocco moves to defend around the back where Lorenzo and Sonny’s men begin to rush in after them, and Neri remains close to Michael at all times.

Michael stands by a pile of bodies by the front door, examining the blown-out windows around him but keeping his back away from it just in case.

From where Michael and Neri stand, both of them can clearly hear shouting and gunshots coming from the side entrances and almost exclusively upstairs.

It’s never once eluded Michael that one of the men he’s brought here to protect him and subsequently secure you back home may be the very traitor who helped Alphonse orchestrate the attempt on his life in the first place, hence why Michael couldn’t care less now if either Neri or Rocco dies tonight.

‘This is life or death.’ Michael thinks to himself, keeping completely still as he can hear one of Alphonse’s men now rushing towards the door he’s standing by.

As soon as the front door pulls back, Michael takes a lunging step back and fires his pistol directly into the head of the assassin.

Brain matter and blood splatter over the shattered pieces of the windows, other dead bodies, the front door, and Neri; narrowly missing Michael with the mess but still staining his navy suit with droplets of blood all over.

Michael exchanges a glance with Neri before nodding at him, beginning to move inside the estate and take cover underneath the closest staircase.

Neri shakes his head, seeing the other set of stairs on the opposite side of the room leading up to the same place upstairs; dozens and dozens of rooms. “There’s too many to infiltrate all at once, Don Corleone.”

Michael holds his index finger up against his lips, ushering for Neri to remain quiet. “Listen.”

The two remain silent for a moment, listening so keenly that Michael would be expecting to hear bugs crawling in the corners of the estate at this point.

Sounds of a struggle and gunfire only come from some of the rooms upstairs and downstairs, but others remain completely quiet.

“Soundproof,” Neri whispers, figuring it out.

“Exactly,” Michael whispers back.

“Our men can go into each room, but we can’t,” Neri tells Michael. “Mrs. Corleone could be in any one of these rooms.”

Michael’s eyes dart from the doors upstairs over to a piece of something he spots over the carpet on the other side of the foyer.

Michael stealthily moves to the other side of the room, noticing what looks to be a snapped-off piece of a high heel.

Crouching down, Michael points out the piece to Neri, watching his eyes widen.

Michael reaches his hand down to pick up the broken piece of your heel, but not before analyzing the way it’s scraped and dragged over the carpet—pointing to a specific direction down the hallway.

“Victoria’s high heel.” Michael holds up the piece in his hand. “Make no mistake about it.”

“And the mark.” Neri murmurs, following it on the carpet. “This was done on purpose.”

“Victoria left us a little message.” Michael’s eyes fixate on one of the soundproof rooms the marks lead to. “Unless I’m dead wrong—” Michael cocks his pistol, pointing it towards the door. “Someone in specific is armed to the teeth in that room.”

“The angling of the room, Don Corleone.” Neri reminds Michael. “From where our men shot, that was one of the first rooms to be cleared with initial fire.”

“Regardless,” Michael glances back at him. “Going into that room without knowing what exactly we’re facing is suicide.”

“Wait for my signal, sir. I can confirm it from the outside since the windows are completely shot through.” Neri says, beginning to move back.

“Fire a warning round if it’s just that fucking rat in there. Two if it’s fully armed.” Michael orders, beginning to make his way to the door as Neri exits out front.

Neri army crawls over the trail of dead bodies by the porch, remaining out of sight from any of the rooms and windows regardless of whether there’s sound coming from it or not.

Neri’s able to raise his head just a little bit towards the window pane to make out you being forcefully held in the corner of the room in Alphonse’s arms with a gun pressed up to your head.

Although Alphonse remains highly alert and still alarmed, he manages to keep calm with you as the bargaining chip for his life.

Neri also notices both of Alphonse’s capos have bled out to death; the cause being quick shots to the heart with the other holes in their bodies as décor from Michael’s men.

Neri angles his gun towards the inside of the room and holds his breath, firing the one shot to the corpse of one of the capos right by Alphonse.

“There you are, fucker!” Alphonse grunts, firing his pistol three times in the direction of Al Neri.

Narrowly missing, Neri still fakes out a loud cry of pain and throws his body down with a thud onto the other corpses beneath him as a tactic to show Alphonse he’s dead, but in reality, Neri will be waiting there to kill Alphonse himself if anything happens to Michael.

You wince from feeling the heat of Alphonse’s gun firing close to your face, but Alphonse had surprisingly shielded your ear closest to the pistol just before he fired.

As soon as Michael hears a single gunshot, he kicks open the door and aims his pistol directly at Alphonse’s head.

Alphonse is quick to aim his gun right back to your forehead, bursting out in laughter—bordering near insane. “Welcome, Don Corleone! We missed you.”

Your eyes widen in shock at the sight of Michael standing in front of you; his suit dripping with fresh blood.

Your semi-relieved, partly stunned expression is immediately noticed by Alphonse. “Ooh, finally the reunion we’ve all been waiting for, huh? Missed this pretty little thing?” Alphonse pulls harshly on a fistful of your hair, causing you to wince in pain.

Michael makes eye contact with you only for a split second, but it’s all that takes for you to tell that behind those cold, emotionless eyes of his that Michael’s more than just relieved to see you.

Alphonse or anyone else for that matter making you cry would be more than enough reason for Michael to kill everyone here, but he’s also noticed your tear-filled eyes and the bloody gash over your forehead with just one, brief look.

“Let her go and face like a man, coward.” Michael places his finger over the trigger of his pistol.

“No, I don’t think so and you won’t persuade me otherwise. I have leverage, can’t you see?” Alphonse gives your face a rough shake. “I had a lot of fun with this pretty wife of yours, but you already know that.”

“You talk too much.” Michael takes a step closer, keeping his gun aimed directly between Alphonse’s eyes.

“I’m already loaded and ready.” Alphonse runs the pistol over your head and through your hair. “And I’ll kill her faster than you can put me out, I guarantee you that.”

“I could have made your death much quicker if you did what I said.” Michael scowls.

“Ha.” Alphonse snorts. “I could say the same for you but here you are, blood on your new suit and no ransom money. I should just kill Victoria because I can—take her to hell with me. Look, seen this yet?” Alphonse pushes the hair out of your face aside, revealing your gash clearly to Michael.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You grunt out.

“I played with her a little too hard and made a bit of a mess, but don’t worry,” Alphonse smirks sardonically. “I kissed it better, see?” He lets his free hand roam up your bare thigh, revealing a peek of your panties in the process to show Michael the bite mark.

“I’m going to enjoy putting you down like a dog just like I did to your own men.” Michael keeps himself calm and steady despite the pure rage he’s never felt before growing inside of him like a wildfire unchecked.

“You don’t even know who you’re talking to!” Alphonse spits out. “I could kill this pregnant bitch and still find a way to take the rest of your family down with you.”

“What I find more amusing is that you expected me to believe you’d give all of your sickest fantasies up for twelve to twenty million dollars?”

Alphonse laughs again out of breath, continuing to hold onto your hair. “You know me so well, Don Corleone. I want Victoria so fucking bad you have no idea. So,” Alphonse aims his pistol back at Michael’s head. “Maybe I should kill you instead, then fuck her in front of your corpse to celebrate!”

You scream and attempt to jerk around in Alphonse’s arms, but it’s much too late. He squeezes his finger around the trigger and fires his pistol…only to hear it click empty.

“What the fuck?!” Alphonse tries firing again and again, but the pistol still clicks empty.

Out of fear, Alphonse’s face drains of color as his hands tremble and the pistol falls to the floor. “You were lucky!”

“I don’t believe in luck.” Michael fires his gun at one of Alphonse’s kneecaps, causing him to let out a blood-curdling scream and let go of you.

Even with a completely shattered kneecap, Alphonse attempts to crawl towards the fireplace after practically throwing you off of him.

Michael quickly pulls you up to your feet by your arm, exchanging a glance with you that shows his relief again, but this time mixed with his own fear that Michael was under the belief he could have lost you.

You can’t even begin to fathom the relief you feel in your heart seeing Michael again, and although there’s never been any doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t, you feel as if with everything you’ve gone through these past two days without Michael’s love and safety is enough to cause you to faint on the spot.

The split second of horror you felt breaking your heart the moment Alphonse attempted to fire his pistol is now replaced with a horrible wave of anxiety as you could have just possibly witnessed your husband’s own death in front of your very eyes.

Without a word spoken to one another, Michael’s quick to throw off the ropes from your wrists—not struggling the least bit with the ties and refusing to take his full attention off of Alphonse now clutching his bleeding knee and attempting to move towards the fireplace to grab the fire poker.

“I had unfinished business with you, Alphonse. Face me when I fucking talking to you.” Michael turns to Alphonse once again, this time shooting his other kneecap and causing Alphonse to scream out and burn his hand in the process.

With your hand binds off, you quickly work the ropes off of your ankles—gritting your teeth and taking in sharp breaths from how badly bruised both your wrists and ankles are; sickening shades of mottled violet.

“E-even if I was going to die from the start, it was all worth it.” Alphonse pants out, unable to move any farther from his broken kneecaps. “J-just to… Just to get you like this is worth my life any day.” He weakly points up at the pistol in Michael’s hands. “And whose the coward now? Facing an unarmed man with a gun. W-where’s your honor, you dog?”

“What the fuck would you know about honor?!” Michael shouts, his voice resonating throughout the room in bitter anger. “Man to man is the way you want it? That’s never been a problem with me.”

Michael tosses his firearm towards you and you quickly reach your hand up to catch it mid-air, clutching it to your chest and still trying to catch your breath.

As you weakly move towards the smashed window before you, you still aim the pistol steadily in case of any further threats or danger.

“Then who would I be if I denied you the opportunity to have your bones broken with my bare hands?” Michael speaks through gritted teeth, pulling Alphonse up to his feet by his shirt.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Neri pretending to play dead on top of the bodies of Alphonse’s men, and you sigh out in relief seeing he’s personally fine.

“Y-yeah, you’re nothing to me but another fucking army punk.” Alphonse coughs, sneering at Michael.

You can’t nor would you ever distract or stop Michael now, but you know you’re not going to remain in this God-forsaken room any longer like a helpless hostage still.

“Bold words from someone who will never walk, let alone see the light of day again. You were going to kill me and marry my wife? Shame I wouldn’t be able to come to the wedding, right?!” Michael snaps back sarcastically.

Before you can even turn back on your heel to look back at Alphonse and Michael, one of Alphonse’s injured assassins makes a break towards the porch but not before you aim and shoot directly at his throat.

“Nice shot.” Neri grunts, leaning up against the house wall.

“T-thanks.” You say back shakily. “No excuse.”

“I’m going to kill you just for thinking about her, you know that?” Michael snatches the fire poker out of Alphonse’s loose grip, raising the pointed edge up to his throat.

Alphonse can barely breathe from the pressure Michael holds over his body, only needing him to make one wrong move to squirm free and kill himself in the process if Michael doesn’t plunge the fire poker into Alphonse’s throat already.

Although Michael doesn’t pay direct attention to it, you, him and Neri are aware gunshots have grown completely silent in the house.

“Jesus fuck!” You hear Sonny’s voice as he and Lorenzo burst into the office room. “There he is! Mike’s got the bastard at last, huh?”

“Victoria!” Lorenzo’s eyes widen when he spots you by the window and his eyes only continue to grow in worry at the sight of your injuries.

“I’m fine, Lorenzo. Really.” You swallow hard, showing Lorenzo the pistol in your hand.

Your brother scowls at Alphonse practically being crushed under Michael’s hands before he runs up to you but hesitates to embrace or touch you. “God, you’ve no fucking idea how glad I am to see you alive and well.”

“Need privacy, Mike?” Sonny smirks at the sight of Alphonse whimpering and wincing under Michael’s grasp.

Michael doesn’t take his eyes off of Alphonse for a second, drawing blood from his throat by continuing to push the tip of the fire poker up into Alphonse’s neck—listening to him grunt out in pain. “Watch me do this and you’re not going to smile for a long time.”

“There isn’t a thing this motherfucker doesn’t deserve and we’ve made this place a house of corpses.” Sonny signals out the doorway for his men to start following out. “By all means, do what you need to do. I’m going out to bring the car over.”

“Make it quick, Mike.” Lorenzo forces himself to stay back, wanting nothing more than to tear Alphonse to shreds with his bare hands if he had the chance to. “Then we’re blowing this shit hole to pieces. We’re leaving nothing behind.”

All Michael demands back is, “take Victoria out. I don’t want her seeing this.”

“Victoria,” Lorenzo gently takes your arm, wrapping it over his shoulder to support your weight and help you get out of the manor considering how deep the bruises are welted over your ankles and with your thigh still quivering from the bitemark it sustained.

You clutch onto your brother like your life depends on it, utterly and completely exhausted but still holding onto your pistol and insistent to get the hell out of here.

“Nobody will bother to even utter your name because they’ll remember what I did here.” Michael watches as Alphonse’s blood begins to drip down the fire poker. “I hate repeating myself, but I’ll never tire of repeating how much I’ve enjoyed taking every single one of you out like flies.”

“Y-you would have never even gotten here if it wasn’t for me.” Alphonse smiles weakly. “I’ll f-face my death like a man if it’s coming to me. Who turned y-you into a bloodthirsty sadist? I did. You’ll have to thank m-me sometime—tell your kids sometime.”

“Give Luca Brasi my best in hell for me.” Michael grunts, gripping the fire poker as tightly as he can in his hand and impaling Alphonse through the eye with it, killing him instantly.

Out of the manor and having seen nothing but heard enough, you almost collapse of exhaustion by the front porch before Lorenzo scoops you up into his arms carefully.

Alphonse’s body drops to a thud as Michael lets go, only pushing the fire poker further through his head.

Alphonse’s corpse remains sprawled out on the floor by the fireplace—his suit jacket wrinkled and turned over revealing a small photograph tucked within the inner pocket.

Michael leans down to quickly take it out of his pocket, examining the photograph to see it’s a recent one taken of you at the Tropigala last month.

The photograph shows you sitting on the edge of a grand piano, wearing a draped, short white dress that hangs off your shoulders, giving a peek of sexy cleavage and flattering your figure.

You had one matching white stiletto loosely dangling off your right foot and barefoot on the left; your hair styled in loose curls, soft smokey makeup over your eyes, and scarlet lipstick.

Michael glances back at Alphonse’s body in disgust, although not the least bit surprised he’d be holding a photograph of someone else’s wife in his pocket.

Michael keeps the photograph for himself, tucking it into the pocket of his dress trousers and walking out of Alphonse’s Silver City manor like he just came out of a dull business meeting—not a massacre leaving over fifty people dead.

“Daddy, daddy!” Michael can already hear the voices of his children ringing out in his head, desperate to return home and reunite with his family safely. “Daddy’s my hero!”

“Where are you going, daddy?” Michael remembers Niccolo asking as he was just about to drive off to Silver City. “Are you going to get mama?”

“I love you, daddy, be safe! Drive super safe!”

The peace and serenity Michael finds in remembering his children’s voices and the memories you and he have made with them is interrupted as Michael can’t get the sickening sound of Alphonse’s hysterical laughter chiming in his head like a broken record.

Michael’s distressing thoughts and remorseless bitterness only fade off his expression once he sees you safely laying in the back seat of his Cadillac; your thigh carefully propped off the seat so as not to touch the bite wound.

“Michael!” You cry, extending out your hand as he approaches the vehicle you’re in.

Michael notices Al Neri is sitting in the driver’s seat next to Ritchie, starting up the car and waiting for him to get in.

Michael pulls open the door and gets inside swiftly; the car takes off amidst the others as soon as Michael shuts the door behind him.

“She’s gonna blow, boss.” Ritchie glances back, opens the window of the vehicle, and gestures with his hand once you’re all at a safe distance to detonate the dynamite set up inside.

Michael cups both hands over your ears tightly as explosions go off in the estate, swallowing it up in raging flames.

You can’t hear Michael speak to you, but you can read off his lips that he says, “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

Michael holds you tightly in his arms, careful not to touch any of your bruises or the otherwise horrific-looking bitemark over your thigh—just relieved to have the love of his life back in his arms relatively safe and sound.

Not once did you think about your own life and safety while held ransom with Alphonse. Your mind always went back to the children and the unborn baby inside of you—even Michael, but never yourself for one moment.

The very thought of having to live without Michael or your children for one kills you and as much as you want to stop thinking about it, you know the idea won’t stop haunting you until you’re out of this Godforsaken ghost town.

As Michael holds you in his loving and protective embrace, you can’t help but burst out sobbing in his arms.

“Easy, baby. It’s all over now.” Michael murmurs, slowly pulling back and examining the gash over your forehead before placing one hand over your baby bump. “My God.”

You whimper, feeling your knees grow weak from exhaustion as your thigh continues to tremble from the insisting, stinging pain around the bitemark.

“Jesus Christ, he’s a fucking animal,” Michael mutters under his breath as he notices just how badly Alphonse bit you. “How bad does it hurt baby? We’re going to get you medical attention immediately at home.”

“It’s…” You hiccup, trying to stop yourself from crying. “Not the worst thing in the w-world, believe me.”

“Whole place is on fire.” Al Neri glances at the rear-view mirror, noticing the bellowing smoke trailing behind them back at the estate.

“Let it burn.” Michael scowls, his expression only softening when he gazes back at you. “Baby, you have to tell me what happened in there—not now, but I have to know.”

“Nothing.” You sniffle, looking up at your husband and clutching onto his arms for balance. “Nothing happened.”

“What?” Michael furrows his brows in confusion. “What do you mean nothing—”

“Omertà.” Your voice quivers.

Al Neri and Ritchie stare at each other for a moment, remaining quiet after hearing you utter the word.

“Omertà,” Michael repeats softly.

“I’ll never talk.” You wipe the tears off your eyes with the sleeve of your nightgown. “And I never did, even if it would k-kill me.”

Once you arrived back at the Lake Tahoe compound surrounded by dozens of guards and security both in and out of cars, you had no intention of upcoming any of the lies Michael had told the twins other than you were at the hospital with your mother who is still recovering.

The fresh, throbbing gash on your forehead, the deep aching bruises over both your wrists and ankles let alone the deep teeth marks over your badly bruised thigh would never live up to some sort of fantasy-based tale about what “happened” in a hospital.

You’d be upfront with the twins, telling them you and Michael “got rid of all the bad guys” and you got hurt in the process, but that it was nothing serious and you’d heal over time.

You didn’t want the twins to worry about you and just the thought of seeing their little eyes water up as they cry seeing their mother injured would be enough to break your heart for two lifetimes.

You’d have to convince the twins just like how you convinced yourself that you're fine, and all gashes, bruises, and injuries of any kind heal with time and care—something you desperately need.

When Michael scooped you up into his arms gently to bring you inside the compound, you refused to be anywhere else or with anyone else but your husband.

Since you also didn’t want anyone at home to see you before getting medical treatment, your arrival was kept a secret from everyone except your father.

Michael took you inside the boathouse—a pinnacle of privacy—and brought Doctor Katherine in to clean and tend to your wounds. It was a relief to hear from Doctor Katherine after a full examination that your baby was fine too.

You were given some painkillers to help subside the pain from your head; the gash on your temple was now bandaged along with your thigh.

You felt fine, mostly numb with achy muscles just grateful to be free of those tight bounds after being forced to lay down tied up like an animal being brought to slaughter.

It was the bitemark over your thigh that hurt the most because you thought Alphonse was going to tear a chunk of your flesh off of you from how hard he was biting.

The gash being poked open with a switchblade was agonizing enough, but the feeling of having someone’s entire mouth over your thigh biting in with full force is a different type of pain you never want to feel again.

As soon as Doctor Katherine left the boathouse to give you and Michael some privacy, your husband pulled you up on his lap gently where you cried in his arms until you physically couldn’t anymore.

Michael knew what you needed then wasn’t reassurances, but his presence and him alone. He remained quiet, he gently caressed your skin, gave you little kisses, and let you sob your heart out.

“Michael,” you croaked out as you wiped the last bit of tears from your eyes. “You know I could have l-lost you today.”

“Baby, do you hear yourself?” Michael frowned at you. “We could have lost you. Don’t think about me—”

“How couldn’t I?!” You hiccupped, your eyes glassy and filling with tears again. “All I could think of was you and our babies! Our babies…” You put a shaky hand over your baby bump. “Forget me, but not our family—not you.” You narrowed your eyes at Michael and cupped his face weakly. “You scared me half to death back there! Michael, he had a gun held up to your face! How could you approach him like that?!”

“He didn’t have any bullets left in his gun—” Michael began to tell you before you interrupted him.

“But what if he did?!” You burst into tears yet again. “He would have killed you—WHAT IF?!”

“Baby, listen to me.” Michael placed both hands over your shoulders firmly. “I already thought of all that before I came in there to find you. The first thing I looked at was the pistol in his hands—Al and I listened to him firing shots. I would have never approached Alphonse the same way if I knew he even had one more round in that pistol.”

“S-still.” You shook your head and hugged your husband tightly. “I w-was so scared, I don’t even want to think about it. I-I had to at that moment and I just—I can’t. I can’t!” Sobs rack through your sore and aching body. “I was so scared that I would lose you and our babies.”

“I know, baby. I know.” Michael embraced you tightly and comforted you. “I’m here with you and our children. Everything’s going to be alright. That is never going to happen to you ever again.”

Your tears soaked into Michael’s dress shirt and as much as you believed everything he told you and how Michael and Michael alone could relieve your heart of any pain and suffering, you still could not get past the fear of losing your husband forever.

“I-I don’t know what I would do without you. Never being able to see you again, or seeing you d-dead.” You dug your fingernails into Michael’s suit jacket and raised your head up to face Michael. “Never scare me like that again, never! I don’t care what’s h-happening, never do that to me.”

“Never again, darling.” Michael cupped your cheeks and gave your lips a gentle kiss as he felt you whimper against him. “I promise you this. Just the way you want it to be. You know I love you too much to ever think about a day where I can’t be with you anymore, Victoria. Do you know how I felt since you were gone?” Michael’s eyes darted over yours. “I’ve had no peace, not a single moment’s rest and I lied to our own children to protect us but I promised myself I’d get you back and I have you now back with us, safe. I made that bastard pay for what he not only did to you but to all of us.”

“A-always the hero.” You sniffled and weakly smiled at your husband. “I-I knew you’d come. I never doubted you, my love. E-everything you do has a purpose, that’s why I love you, Michael. That’s why I trust you with my life.”

“And I trust you with mine.” Michael lowered his tone to a whisper and spoke softly to you. “I love you and only you so much, Victoria. That is never going to change. Anyday, anytime, I would take a bullet for you and our children gladly. I would die for you, never forget this. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you and our children. The rest of the world can burn for all I care, but they will not have you.”

“I love you, I love you.” You whimpered out weakly and kissed Michael’s lips. “C-can you please just hold me? Everything hurts and… And I just want to be held.”

“Yes, baby, of course.” Michael rubbed up and down your arms, letting you snuggle onto his chest. “For as long as you want, you can lay here in my arms.”

‘This is the life I’ve chosen, the life I’ve lived and continue to live with no regrets, no remorse.’

The last of your silent tears escaped your eyes as you felt the strength, love, and trust in your husband’s embrace; one of the only moments of peace you’ve felt since you returned home knowing everything is finally over now.

‘This has always been about life or death.’

You’re safe, you’re loved, and you’re back home with your children. You’re right where you want to be and nowhere else and you wouldn’t want it differently.

‘Omertà.’

#the godfather #al pacino #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone fanfic #godfather au #michael corleone #moth to flame fic #moth to flame fanfic #the godfather xreader #alfredo james pacino #melis-writes #michael corleone x reader smut #michael corleone smut #michael corleone x oc smut

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melis-writes · 3 years ago

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 23 - Strictly Business.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 22 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

Michael's business relationship with Don Alphonse Ricci continues to sour as the Corleone family maintains ownership of all major hotels, resorts and casinos in New York and Nevada. Finding himself against his rival once more on seeking ownership of the Tropigala, what Michael doesn't know is during your trip to Las Vegas, Fredo has taken you to see Alphonse himself. Alphonse gives you a lucrative offer behind Michael's back, but it matters very little to your husband whose defensive and protective side is revealed to the fullest after finding out what you did behind his back. Michael notices not only is his old business rival beginning to approach you again, but you've unintentionally gotten too close with your bodyguard. Confronted by a jealous Michael over your actions, he's quick to remind you that you don't always get what you want and punishes you by making you squirm and beg for his forgiveness.

[WARNINGS]: Extremely detailed sex/smut, oral sex, some spanking, spit, squirting.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: I didn't anticipate this chapter to be as long as it is (60 pages/21.k words) but oh well, no regrets! 🤣 A long chapter is the perfect pair to the much awaited anticipation of this chapter!! 🤞 Life got very busy this week so that's why it was delayed, but it also has lots of dialogue and detail that I worked very hard on, so enjoy! More to come soon, and thank you all so much for the support and feedback!! 🥰❤ Please reply to this chapter (or any for that matter) if you would like to be added to the tagslist to be notified right away when a new chapter is posted! Enjoy!

[SUGGESTIONS:] Anons for requesting: Your bodyguard getting too close/friendly with you @loveilovetoo / Having a platonic relationship with your bodyguard / More jealous & angry Michael (requested X2) / Surprising Michael during a meeting goes wrong @kathlacroix / More emphasis on Michael's arms / Michael ordering you to sit on his face.

In Nevada, Michael Corleone’s Lake Tahoe compound is a sight to behold in such a secluded, beautiful location fit for America’s most powerful mobster. An endless expanse of a piece of paradise for the Don and his family living in the hands of luxury and security never ceased to amaze their business contacts, family, and friends—keeping them entertained.

Those experiencing Corleone hospitality felt their breath taken away at the sight of the lake surrounding them—glimmering waters, a broad scenery of nature, and security in all corners of the estate for protection. Business partners of the Corleone’s felt intimidated yet alert, knowing that business discussed on the compound remained on the compound, and Michael’s men were constantly waiting for the signal to kill.

Their eyes were on the cold-hearted Don who left no mercy in his dealings and never had second thoughts. Personally seeing Michael Corleone was a difficulty on its own, but wanting to deal with business against his wishes was the equivalent of squeezing blood from a stone.

Michael Corleone is and was always ten steps ahead of his associates, partners, and friends. He remained poised, focused on his own wishes to solely benefit the family business and nothing more. He left no inkling of emotion or sentimental value in his dealings and made sure he was heard above all. Michael Corleone would always have his way—no exceptions.

With Tom as both his lawyer and consigliere and Sonny as underboss, the years of running the family business in Nevada have left Fredo as a weakened caporegime. Out of Michael’s mercy for the sake of his brother, Fredo was put in charge of running Corleone casinos, resorts, and brothels with little power compared to Clemenza, who rules over Corleone territory in the Bronx.

A majority of Michael’s mercy came from his mother and father, who attempted to have Clemenza counsel him after the move to Nevada as Fredo and Michael grew increasingly estranged from each other. Michael had little to no trust for his brother but knew at the same time he was as he believed him to be—stupid and weak. Fredo could simply not be trusted in major business dealings. Still, Michael recognized his usefulness as a charismatic mouthpiece who loved to drink, chat away, and entertain business partners and guests alike.

Fredo had taken more of a liking to spend his time running casinos, resorts, hotels, and brothels, which both kept him occupied, being able to do something he was actually capable of, and away from what he thought were “stuffy business meetings” Michael, Tom, and Sonny had.

He was not entirely written out of the family business, much to Vito’s wishes, and had been able to remedy his relationship with Michael over the years. Michael loved his older brother, but he did not trust him. He neither trusted him on a personal front, and his patience had worn thin on what he could do for the family business. All could be remedied, but trust.

What Fredo was able to hide was his malicious intent. When it became clear to Michael that he had shown you his wedding photographs in Sicily to Apollonia, Fredo appeared good-natured. Regardless of his intentions to get you to question your marriage and sever your trust towards Michael, Fredo made himself out to be an honest person who only wanted you to see the truth, as did Kay.

When Fredo arranged for you to speak on the phone with Kay, it looked like he was doing you a favor. After all, what was your husband doing alone during the evening with his ex-girlfriend behind your back? Wouldn’t you want to know after everything you’ve been through?

When Fredo questioned Michael about Kay, he saw himself as thoughtful and caring. If the promise ring upon Kay’s finger reassured her about Michael and their relationship, what wouldn’t reassure Fredo? With Michael’s marriage to you, Fredo easily saw himself being written out of the family business and cast aside as the Ferrari family would take over Michael’s concerns.

Five years had passed since Michael’s past ties with the women in his life, and his secrets caught up with him. His relationship with Fredo improved, even if Michael knew nothing would ever be the same. For the sake of family and good spirits, he largely ignored it, but he never forgot.

Fredo had begun to interact more with the twins as they got older as well. He was the one that piqued Niccolò’s interest in fishing and went on trips with him all season round. He began to actually act like an uncle, slowly warming up to it. He warmed up to you and showed you his charismatic personality, which was easier to do than suck up to his brother and be in his good graces. After all, you were only off-put by Fredo’s strange behavior during the first year of your marriage—you didn’t blame him for anything because he hid his intentions well. It took little to no effort, and neither you nor Michael questioned it.

After all, Fredo knew he was nothing like any of his brothers. His inferiority complex coupled with his personal insecurities, inabilities, and vice of womanizing reminded him he could be replaced. When people thought of the Corleone family, they thought of Vito, Michael, Sonny, and Tom.

Nobody thought about Fredo, and the lack of his presence wasn’t even questioned by Michael’s business associates—consisting of Senator Geary, a long-time associate of your family and, more specifically, your brother Leonardo and Alphonse Ricci. Unlike Leonardo or Senator Geary, Alphonse is not present—neither wanted nor needed, only retaining information through Michael’s buffers as a form of humiliation and a sign of the disrespect Michael continues to feel towards him.

“Senator.” Michael reaches his hand out to Geary, giving it a firm shake behind his desk. “This is my lawyer, Tom Hagen. He had this meeting arranged for the two of us. You already know my brother-in-law, Leonardo.”

Already sitting with one knee across the other, Leonardo gives a warm smile back to Senator Geary, knowing he’s the only friendly face in this room he trusts so far.

“Yes, yes.” Senator Geary nods, shaking Tom’s hand. “How do you do, Mr. Hagen?”

“Well, thank you. Please, have a seat.” Tom gestures as he, Sonny, and Michael do.

“Ah…” Senator Geary lets out a deep exhale, keeping a polite smile fixed over his expression as he hikes up a bit of his dress pants, getting comfortable in his seat. “Well, Mr. Corleone, you are just as elusive if not more than your brother-in-law here. Mr. Ferrari’s family is incredibly difficult to get an audience with as well, but, ah…” His eyes dart to Tom, who rests his hands atop his suitcase. “I was under the impression we would speak alone.”

Senator Geary glances behind him to the doors where Michael’s bodyguards, Al Neri, Bussetta, and Rocco, linger in silence—their eyes deadpan and focused on the setting of the room.

“I trust these men with my life, Senator.” Michael folds his hands in his lap. “It would be an insult if I asked them to leave, you understand.”

“Well…” Senator Geary smiles back, “It’s certainly alright with me. I just wanted to let you know I happen to be a very blunt man who speaks quite frankly.” He shrugs his shoulders loosely, “you may not be used to such blunt talk.”

Keeping his eyes on the Senator, Michael lights a new cigarette up to his mouth, relaxing back in his seat. Leonardo maintains his gaze on the two of them, already rather amused based on his expression at how intimidated the Senator seems against Michael’s physical presence.

“I have to say, the Corleone family has done very well here in Nevada. I’m aware you control and own all the major hotels in New York and Las Vegas.” Senator Geary gestures his hand up, “no problem there, not with licenses or the gaming commission. But now my sources tell me you plan to make moves to the Tropigala.”

Michael takes a long drag out of his cigarette, smoothening out his grey suit jacket as he exchanges a look with Tom. Tom purses his lips, already hearing the discontent and unnerve in the Senator's voice as he remains quiet.

“Within a week, your reach will be there too, which is quite an expansion, but it leaves you with some technical issues. The license will still be in Ricci’s name.” Senator Geary reaches into his suit pocket, pulling out a small bottle of pills.

“You came all the way here to tell me this?” Michael rests his cigarette against his ashtray.

“Yeah, well…” Senator Geary pops a few pills in his mouth, swallowing it down with his glass of water. “I don’t want to spend any more time here than I have to. Ricci doesn’t protest, so you can have the license. The price will be 250,000 dollars, and he requests a monthly payment of 5% of the gross of every hotel, Mr. Corleone.”

“Is this Ricci’s proposal or yours, Senator?” Leonardo speaks up.

“It’s directly in his wishes.” Senator Geary redirects his attention to Leonardo. “Since he isn’t—how would you say—physically allowed—to attend himself, he would have it done through me as a trusted business partner.”

Michael remains unmoved as he expects the disappointment. “The price is less than $20,000, so why would I ever consider paying a dollar more than that?”

“Because we intend to squeeze you. Let me make it clear when I say I don’t like your kind of people.” Senator Geary rests his hands upon his lap. “You come to this clean country with your—” His eyes dart to Tom’s balding head, “—oily hair, all dressed up in three-piece silk suits. You’re trying to pass yourself off as a decent American, but I see you all for what you are.” Senator Geary’s disgusted expression doesn’t spare Leonardo as he turns his head to face Michael directly.

Michael raises his cigarette up to his lips, keeping his emotionless eyes on Senator Geary as he lets him continue off with his insults.

“I’ll do business with all of you, but I personally despise it. You all pose yourselves in dishonest ways.” Senator Geary gestures his hand over to the portrait of you and the twins over Michael’s office desk. “You and your whole fucking family.”

Michael pauses for a moment as if he’s considering the Senator’s words before he shifts in his chair, pulling himself in closer to his desk. “Senator, you know by now that we’re both a part of the same hypocrisy. Never think it applies to my family.”

Senator Geary scoffs quietly to himself, brushing off the notion as he slowly rises from his seat. “Well, alright, alright… Some people have to play their little games…” He sighs out, reaching over to the corner of Michael’s desk and turning around the portraits to take a complete look at them, leaving them in that position.

“And you have to play yours. So, let’s just say you’ll pay Alphonse and me because it’s in your best interest to do so for the sake of business. But I’m not as patient as Alphonse is, so I want your answer and the money ready by noon tomorrow. After that, I don’t ever want to be in contact with you again.” He points a threatening finger back at Michael.

Unphased, Michael momentarily glances at Senator Geary’s finger before locking eye contact with him, waiting for him to finish.

“I’d rather only do business with the Ferrari’s—even my tolerance has its limits.” Senator Geary turns on his heel, gesturing for Al Neri to open up the door.

“Senator, I can give you my answer now if you’d like.” Michael takes a long drag of his cigarette as Geary turns back around, straightening out his suit jacket and waiting for his response.

“My offer is this,” Michael blows out his cigarette smoke—his voice monotone, “nothing. If you’re as smart as Ricci says you are, you’ll get him to change his mind, which I would greatly appreciate.”

Senator Geary’s eyes fall upon Leonardo’s for a separate response, but he brushes him off, declining to put an offer in himself on Don Ferrari’s behalf.

Geary chuckles quietly to himself, shaking his head as Al Neri begins to open the door. “Well, have a good afternoon, gentlemen.”

As soon as the door shuts back into place, Leonardo straightens out his posture in his seat, clearing his throat. His expression remains amused, but even he can’t hide his blatant disappointment. “In this world, you’ll only ever find that politicians aide the enemies of their friends, or as I like to call them, dead men walking.”

“Is he even allowed to do such a thing?” Tom glances up at Michael, referring to Alphonse’s business strike-through Geary.

“Yes.” Michael puts out his cigarette, a look of annoyance crossing his eyes. “It’s the last of his family’s holdings and his prerogative. Naturally, he will be crude about it, but he’s heard my offer, so it no longer concerns me, for now.”

“Ah.” Leonardo nods, a wry smirk forming on his lips. “Now I see why you’re still keeping him alive, Don Corleone.”

Don Alphonse Ricci’s five seconds of fame had run him into the ground of irrelevancy and generation's worth of embarrassment. As once the other crime families saw him as a cunning businessman by seeking support from the Barzini family, favor towards him quickly turned sour after Michael swiftly ordered the deaths of all of his enemies—Emilio Barzini included.

Alphonse was partially blamed for the death of his associate, and the other families were left scrambling over the sudden power shift. Completely outcast and disbanded from his only remaining mafia ties, the crime families left him to the wolves, knowing Michael would signal to kill again when he’d find out Alphonse was being protected or sponsored again.

It was always a matter of when and not if. When would Michael see fit to do something to Alphonse, when would Michael decide what use he might be of, and when would Michael kill him.

Alphonse’s charade and desperate cling to criminal relevancy were not entertained by the Ferrari family, but it was noticed from the beginning. Your family was well aware of who Alphonse Ricci was, but you were invincible to his reach from your family’s power, contacts, and influence. Alphonse didn’t even stand a chance to attempt to contact Don Ferrari out of fear of being killed outright.

Your father left it to Michael as he was pleased with handling what Don Ferrari referred to as “the minor inconvenience of mafia.” Much to his dismay, your father purposefully remained inconspicuous towards the matter because you were involved in it, otherwise meaning he would have been more direct. However, Don Ferrari saw the opportunity to leave a threat as the family enjoyed their vacation in Sicily.

Alphonse Ricci’s front door was covered in a bloody handprint, and all of his enforcers and capos had been murdered. Their bodies were mutilated and slain violently to shed as much blood as possible—leaving the Ferrari family’s classic signature and first warning.

Sonny and Tom had only seen the sight only through photographs. Still, they had decided it would be better off for the both of them if they were just a little nicer to your brothers, especially Alessio and Matteo, who were relatively quiet compared to Lorenzo and Leonardo.

Alphonse had taken the reality of his failures and the warning well. He immediately surrendered to the Corleone family out of fear for his life and was put under the watch of Clemenza, who remained in the Bronx. Michael kept Alphonse alive solely to use him to his advantage for business. He refused to maintain a personal relationship with him and disrespected him on purpose. He neither wrote nor spoke to him, always using buffers and strict deadlines with death threats to keep him in line. It worked.

Clinging onto his remaining dignity and family name, Alphonse only lived because Michael wanted him to. He only continued to breathe because Michael allowed him to. He only worked for the Corleone family out of his own expense because Michael made him.

Alphonse kept his head down and heeded Clemenza's warnings to avoid unexpected or expected forms of death at his door. He handled very low and mundane work for the Corleone family. Still, He attempted to redeem himself in front of his family’s previous contacts, such as Senator Geary, who took a liking to him because they shared the same dislike towards Michael.

You’re aware of the situation with Alphonse yourself, especially through your father’s very clear and explicit warning, but not to the fullest extent. It remains the only thing Michael has not been thorough with you and for his own reasons.

Michael would rather you believe he was using Alphonse to his advantage for the sake of business than for you to get involved and understand the intricacies of the manner of business they delve in and how. You had only ever asked if and why he was still alive back during your honeymoon in Sicily, and then you neither uttered his name nor Kay’s ever again for the past five years.

You let go and let Michael—something you knew he was very fond of, and all the more as he didn’t need to ask you to do so. You just did. Michael knows Alphonse did not just use you for the sake of power or relevancy in the mafia, to the other families, or to get to Don Ferrari, but because Alphonse made things personal.

Family was business, and business was family for Michael, but it was never personal. Alphonse may have been able to reap endless opportunities of wealth and power had he actually married you, which was the obvious outcome. However, he still clung to the idea of having you in general and alone even when he knew the idea was strictly an impossibility.

Not only had he insulted the Corleone family through business means, but he specifically targeted his disrespect to Michael through his lewd taunts towards his wife—you. Had it not been for the Ferrari warning, he would not have seen himself stopping either. After all, to him, you were also very personal.

The boldness of Alphonse’s business decision to squeeze any and every dollar from Michael came from the courage he had in terms of distance. Alphonse Ricci was not in the Bronx with Clemenza as he was supposed to be. He was in Las Vegas, Nevada, with Fredo Corleone—another business partner with which he had not fallen out of grace.

Alphonse Ricci knew Michael Corleone would never personally see him or utter a word to him, even if they stood face to face in the same room. Michael would look straight through him and cut off the blood flow to his heart as a result.

Alphonse knows being in Nevada alone is the equivalent of signing his death certificate with his own blood and handing it to the Corleone family, but it all leads back to the same thing he’s always known. Michael Corleone won’t see him, but perhaps Victoria Corleone will.

The Tropigala is the last and only major hotel in Las Vegas that isn’t under the direct control or ownership of the Corleone family but rather laced with its influence. Grandfathered into the last of the Ricci family’s holdings, Michael knew for as long as Alphonse Ricci had any legal or mafia holdings under his own name, he would retain them with his life as a personal affront to Michael.

As much as Michael would have liked to think, Don Alphonse Ricci isn’t stupid. Surely come sooner or later, the Corleone family would make a move towards the Tropigala itself, but Alphonse was the only one expecting Michael to do so. And so Michael let him run with the thought as he sent his brother Fredo over to handle it for him.

Fredo is the critical buffer piece between the two for Michael to use to his advantage. Using his remedied relationship with his brother, Michael knows Fredo’s only talents come from his charisma and social skills. Fredo is the relief from business and the life of the party, after all, in charge of entertaining the Corleone family’s guests and business partners, planning luxurious stays and warm greetings, and sweet-talking signatures onto contracts before papers even hit the table.

Fredo quickly cast aside his dismay towards Moe Greene’s murder when he was put in charge of running his hotel-casino in Las Vegas as the family made the relocation to Lake Tahoe. One by one, like the Corleone family, firmly gripped over the hotels, casinos, resorts, and a mix of all three within the grip, Fredo began to feel respected and useful—a part of the family just as Vito had wanted him to be.

Michael was just as aware Fredo had his own personal and business ties with Alphonse, making him a trusted partner that seemed relatively detached from Michael. Through Fredo, the Tropigala expanded from a hotel to a resort and a casino under Corleone influence. It was Fredo’s influence that the resort part operated as more of a private brothel than anything.

Talks about the Tropigala had always been brief, and nothing was firmly known other than Michael having been satisfied enough with Fredo’s interference to Alphonse’s business. This is all you know and have known, marking today to be the first day you’re entering the Tropigala in person.

Business was quick and brief at the other hotels you had reviewed with your father and brothers, who signed their own agreements and business contracts with Michael’s partners in the entertainment and tourism industry. Your family didn’t have a solid interest in the Tropigala because it was under Alphonse’s name and control—marking the end of their business in Las Vegas for the time being.

Don Ferrari and Don Corleone’s personal and business interests had nothing to do with you directly, however, and that’s something Fredo eagerly picks up on—being the first to take you in there himself.

“Alright, alright! Now, you’ve just got to be kidding yourself if you think you can leave Vegas without visiting a place like this!” Fredo gently clasps at your arm, beginning to lead you through the revolving entrance door.

Barely able to keep up with Fredo’s enthusiasm in your four-inch pumps, you stumble forward, unable to protest out as the bustle of loud chatter and a live band surround both of you. You raise your head up, catching your breath as you spot waiters serving several dozen groups of guests, others dancing or heading off towards the casino to gamble.

The Tropigala remains vibrant and flashy through its theme, serving businessmen and wealthy patrons with names that speak for themselves only. It remains very similar to the other nightlife-themed hotels the Corleone family owns but with a clear distinction over the entertainment it provides.

As you and Fredo push out through the doors and enter in, one of the first things you notice is the half-naked showgirls by the band, adorned in sequin and provocative costumes performing. Cocktail waitresses replace the majority of normal waiters and waitresses you’ve seen, and plenty more accompany single men by the bar, at tables, and scatter themselves throughout the casino area.

Fredo matches the atmosphere of the hotel himself, dressed in his favorite tan suit and black dress shirt—a baroque patterned, silk scarf neatly tucked around his collar sported with a pair of brown aviators.

“Welcome to the Tropigala, eh?!” Fredo grins back at you—the dazzling lights of the casino reflecting off his sunglasses. “The best in the city, I tell ya! Or soon to be anyway, you understand!”

“Fredo, why are we even here?!” You blink in surprise, unable to take the sight of everything hitting you all at once as you attempt to maintain your balance.

“Aww, come on! Don’t I owe it to my sister-in-law to help her relax once in a while?” Fredo picks up his pace as if he’s purposefully trying to avoid your bodyguard—Ritchie Nobilio—following closely from behind.

“Yes, but—”

“But what?” Fredo can’t wipe the ecstatic grin off of his face as he leads you off towards the casino, gesturing all around him. “We came here on business, didn’t we? And now it’s over, so why not celebrate with a drink or two?! You’ve never been to the Tropigala before, have you?”

“This would be my first time.” You admit, shyly glancing around you as Fredo picks up a glass of whiskey off the tray of a waitress nearby.

“First but definitely not your last! Here.” Fredo stops in his tracks by an empty hallway by the end of the casino, chugging down the iced glass with a loud exhale. “You know, there’s been business here and business there, but the Tropigala is basically untouched. You’ve heard Mikey talking about it, right?” Before you can even answer, Fredo continues talking over you, his voice raised in excitement, “well, if we want to get the ball rolling for our family, the next best thing is to strike a business deal ourselves, eh?!”

“A business deal here?” You raise your brows, glancing off to your side as a group of Vegas showgirls giggle about, accompanying a businessman into the casino.

“Not just any business deal!” Fredo places a hand on your shoulder, redirecting your attention to him. “You remember my good friend, Johnny Fontane, right?! He comes here over five times a year to perform—it’s his favorite place! Now, it’s not Fontane who's cracking the deal but Johnny Ola instead—my favorite business partner. He needs an investment, you see, and while we’re both here, I thought to myself, why not?”

“And have you told him to contact Michael directly?” You knit your brows, growing more concerned over Fredo’s sudden interests in business to Michael’s partners seeing only you.

“Ah, come on now, Victoria.” Fredo tilts down his aviators, “that’s exactly why they want to see you, not Michael! You can put an investment in either or three ways! You can sign over the Ferrari name, Corleone name, or both—why wouldn’t they want to talk to? Ola wants two million to continue expanding this place to a little…something, something, you know?” He winks back at you.

It takes all of your willpower not to cringe back in return at the idea of a brothel being established inside of a hotel and resort with the Corleone name over it, but Fredo interrupts your line of thought, continuing to attempt to persuade you otherwise. “Yeah, yeah, Mikey can make decisions, investments, all that—but don’t you forget your own name and power! Wouldn’t you rather partially own the Tropigala right before it hits the pinnacle of its success? I know I would! Look, give it a chance, okay?”

Fredo clasps his hands together, nodding back at you. “At least see them and consider it for me—you know Mikey wants the Tropigala anyway, imagine if he found out you already secured him a piece of the pie! Not so bad, huh? Come on, this way, this way!”

Fredo leads you up to a closed-door at the end of the hall, giving it a knock. “Plus, I know these guys like the back of my hand! They’re basically family, none of that stuffy, intimidating business talk we know Mikey loves. They even asked for you by name, Vic! They already know who you are! Isn’t that great?”

Is it? With the continued expansion of the Corleone family’s business and criminal enterprise, not only has your family been playing an active role through business negotiations with Michael, but the vast increase in territory, wealth, and influence has come full circle into power for you as well.

Being the daughter of Don Ferrari and the wife of Don Corleone comes with its own privileges and powers, much to your recognition but lack of use. For one, you maintain full power to be able to order deaths and remain untouchable. As powerful of a position as you’re in, you have the luxury of being thought of as innocent and unperceived as a dangerous threat, even if it comes to being the exact opposite.

A heavy sense of respect was and is placed on your name, honoring your position. Michael had a habit of making sure such a rule was strictly enforced, as he had warned against exactly what Fredo was coaxing you now to do. Placing you in a business meeting with men who refused to see Michael for their own, selfish gain was the equivalent of putting a piece of steak in between starved wolves.

You had the influence and power of two of the most powerful families in America, and your opinion was the most valuable after Michael’s. If anyone believed they could contact you and you alone for business, they would also assume you were vulnerable and within reach.

You know you’re not supposed to be at the Tropigala, to begin with, and you know Michael doesn’t know that you are either.

Hearing the door Fredo knocked upon click unlock, you suddenly feel a wave of anxiety wash over you. Your eyes immediately dart around you, finding the crowd in the casino beginning to grow without an easy way to refuse and simply slip out.

If anything, Fredo’s “reassurance” has ironically caused you to grow even more cautious and unnerved than before. Much of it has to do with all of this being done explicitly behind Michael’s back.

The door pulls open, revealing no figure behind it or anyone coming out, simply allowing access inside. Fredo grins back in response, taking the first few steps in.

You turn your head back, feeling another presence behind you only to spot your bodyguard, Ritchie Nobilio, standing close by. Relief immediately soothes over you as he gives you a reassuring smile, silently accompanying you inside of the room.

As you were always used to doing, having grown up in the mafia, you keep your head up and posture stiff but not tense, making your body language unreadable. Ritchie remains behind you, only mere inches away as the door begins to close, now revealing the inside of the plain, white room to be fairly small—only enough to hold a table and chairs for six or seven individuals and nothing else.

Had it not been for the presence of your bodyguard readily available, the horror of your sudden realization would strike you as your eyes now locked into a gaze with Don Alphonse Ricci. Alphonse sits at the head of the table with his hands intertwined upon it, taking you by clear surprise as Fredo never mentioned him, nor are you under the impression he ever left New York, to begin with.

An expectant and amused smile remains upon Alphonse’s lips as another Italian man around the same as your father—Johnny Ola—lingers to his side alongside a bodyguard of their own.

“Johnny! There you are!” Fredo beams out, pulling him into a hug, “I never thought I’d see you here for once, huh?”

“It’s good to see you again, Fredo. And you, Mrs. Corleone.” Johnny’s eyes land upon yours as he addresses you in a polite tone, extending out his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met. I’m business partners with Hyman Roth—a long-time associate of Michael’s.”

“How do you do?” You say for the sake of being polite as you shake his hand, ignoring Alphonse’s eyes on you from the table.

“I’m just as surprised as Johnny is, believe me.” Alphonse chuckles, adjusting his watch over his wrist. “I have to admit, I didn’t think she’d show, but that just teaches me not to doubt her brother-in-law any more than I have to, isn’t that right, Fredo? I’m impressed.”

“Ah, don’t mention it! Anything for a friend! It’s good to have you here with us.” Fredo chuckles back, fueled by the positive reception of both men as he looks back at you. “You’ve met Don Ricci, right, Victoria?”

Unfortunately, you want to say out as you stand by the other end of the table to at least avoid touching him.

“I have, many years ago, but we aren’t acquainted well.” You’re able to stifle any hint of shock from seeing him so suddenly well from your expression.

“Hello to you too, Victoria.” Alphonse smiles back at you, gesturing down. “Please, have a seat. Fredo, you as well.”

“Thank you.” Fredo gives out a sigh of relief, a smile still plastered over his face as he pulls up a chair and plops down.

You take a seat yourself, feeling Ritchie directly behind you as he places his hands behind his back, staring lifelessly back at Alphonse and Johnny Ola.

Johnny Ola doesn’t share the same curious, almost hungry disposition as Alphonse does. His posture remains affixed in politeness, and he appears to be more interested in Fredo rather than you.

Having five years gone by, Alphonse, however, certainly makes the most out of seeing you—his eyes beginning to gaze over your face and down to your dress, almost as if he wants you to know he’s eagerly looking.

Alphonse Ricci is the same as you remember him, his physical appearance barely having changed from how he was over five years ago. His hair remains gelled and slicked back through the middle but poorly replicates and compares to Michael’s. With his family’s ring upon his finger, he’s dressed in a dark grey, three-piece silk suit with absolutely nothing about him that attracts your attention.

You’re somewhat unnerved by his presence and wish to see you, but you combat the tension of his stare back with your own, never letting your guard waver. Much of your immediate dislike to a man you barely know comes from his snarky expression; he looks at you as if he knows something you don’t, or he has you right where he wants you. It’s a look you were very pleased to have forgotten in the five-year time span.

Alphonse breaks the momentary silence, glancing up. “Shall we have something to drink? I’ve made you all come this way as my guests; it’s on the house tonight.”

“A gin and tonic for me, please.” Fredo stretches out his arms, turning his head to face you. “And how about a little vodka for you, Victoria? Eh? Something strong?”

“She’ll just have a champagne cocktail.” Ritchie firmly speaks out for you, much to your agreement.

“One for me as well then, if you will.” Alphonse gestures back with his hand as his bodyguard nods back at him, exiting the room. “Although I believe that kind of drink doesn’t suit a mafia wife.”

“It’s Mikey’s favorite. Naturally, she loves it.” Fredo adds back with a chuckle, setting down his sunglasses.

Alphonse raises his brows up in curiosity, relaxing in his seat. “Is it? Speaking of, I never would have thought I’d see the day Miss Victoria would be without Michael Corleone at her side, bella come sempre, although I suppose her bodyguard settles that matter…” (Beautiful as always).

Alphonse’s eyes fill with attraction at the sight of you before him, taking into note how red—the color of mafia, symbolizing blood split—adorns your body. You’re not dressed in typical, flashy clothes seen as casinos or high-end hotels such as the Tropigala itself. Instead, you wear a long-sleeved, satin, double-breasted, crimson jacket-dress that just barely over your knees—semi-formal yet expressive as the wife of a Don.

Alphonse doesn’t restrain himself in letting you know through his eyes as to how attracted he is to you and how he can still barely believe for himself that you remain across from him, alone on matters of his own business.

Johnny Ola glances at both Fredo and you before taking a step forward, but Alphonse stops him in his tracks by raising his hand. “I know Fredo’s clean, don’t worry about it, and…” He lets out a soft chuckle, “don’t bother patting her down either. Michael Corleone is known to kill a man for even thinking about those types of things.”

“You can talk to me, you know. I’m sitting right in front of you.” You snap back, instantly annoyed by his antics.

Fredo purses his lips as his excited demeanor begins to settle down at the sudden growth of tension between Alphonse and you across the table. It’s only slightly relieved by the door opening once more as Alphonse’s bodyguard puts down the tray of drinks upon the center of the table, returning to his spot in the corner of the room.

Ritchie doesn’t hesitate to grab your champagne cocktail before anyone can reach for their drinks. He puts it in front of you immediately, clasping his hands behind his back again.

Alphonse pauses for a moment, a wry smirk forming over his lips at the strong response he got from you just moments ago. He shifts in his seat, grabbing his drink as Fredo does—now fully focused towards you with amusement continue to grow on his face. “Alright, Mrs. Corleone. Let’s talk.”

“I’m here for Fredo’s sake; let me make myself perfectly clear.” You place your hand over the rim of your champagne cocktail. “I’m not interested in whatever antics you have in mind, so name your business, your price, whatever it is and be upfront with me as I don’t want to spend any more time here than I have to.”

With that, you shoot a disappointed glare back at Fredo, but much of your anger is directed towards yourself for letting him talk you into this in the first place.

“Straight to the point.” Alphonse nods back at you slowly, “I like that. It’s nothing I’m sure you haven’t already assumed, of course. I need an investment, plain and simple, and I need it from you alone. The Tattaglia’s and Barzini’s are avoiding the gambling and tourism business as is because of your husband, you see…” Alphonse raises his cocktail up to his lips, taking a small sip. “So, what better than making business with someone who has a say in two families?”

From the moment Fredo mentioned a business deal and investment of some kind, you knew you were immediately disinterested. There’d be no way he could ever persuade you into signing something without Michael’s knowledge or explicit permission, and it wasn’t personal towards Fredo either. The same response would be given to Sonny or Tom had they also been here.

Michael’s deals in business were always cut clean out and didn’t cheat anybody. If a business partner was refusing to go to him even with a proposal and attempting to get into contact with other influential members of his family that could make the same deal, it’d only lead you to believe there’s a loophole they’re trying to get to through you, or it’s a deal you might agree on, but Michael would never. Either way would come with disastrous consequences, the least being the legal issues and paperwork.

But there’s very little you know about Alphonse yourself. The act of reaching out to Fredo in order to get to you only showed how much he disrespects Michael’s wishes, and even though he’s at a clear disadvantage in terms of his honor, power, and wealth, he’s come to you for a business deal with the last of his remaining dignity.

“When you remain disadvantaged, listen. Listen to those around you, and think as they would.” You remember your father’s words, sipping from your bubbling drink.

“My thoughts exactly.” Fredo smiles back at the both of you as if to remedy the tension.

“Name your price.” You state out flatly.

Alphonse gives out a little exhale, setting his drink down. “Two million. I’ll be able to expand the resort indefinitely and hit a peak with the tourism industry. The casino will thrive, and private bidding will also be held. It will remain to be a hotel for private patrons and businessmen alike. Businessmen like your husband.”

“What’s in it for me?” You swallow down your champagne, still completely disinterested in the offer as you attempt to pick up on his true intentions behind it.

“Thirty percent of the earnings will be yours, paid by the end of every month respectively. You’ll be able to own your share, have your name on it, and everybody walks out of here happy.” Alphonse shrugs his shoulders loosely, smiling back at you. “It’s a lucrative offer if you consider it.”

“An offer Michael won’t agree to had you come to him instead?” You raise a brow, pushing your cocktail back. “Because if you look at it from my perspective, it seems that you’re trying to undermine the Corleone family by redirecting your business wishes to me. You know I’m a lawyer, not a businesswoman.”

“You’re a mafioso just like I am.” Alphonse chuckles, pointing to his chest before gesturing back at his bodyguard, Johnny Ola, and Fredo. “Just like we all are. I’m very well aware of just who you are, Mrs. Ferrari-Corleone, believe me. The daughter of Don Ferrari, who I can say without hesitation holds Sicily in his own iron grip and reigns over New York and the wife of the most powerful mafia boss in America. To be able to offer you such a profitable business deal with merit, let alone see you, is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Please, don’t assume I’m ungrateful; I want you to gain just as much as I do.”

“Answer the question.” You furrow your brows in irritation. “I know there’s a clear reason for why you’re avoiding him with this offer, and it has nothing to do with me.”

Alphonse exchanges looks with Johnny Ola and Fredo, chuckling once more as if he’s almost mocking your demeanor.

He takes a long sip of his champagne cocktail before placing both of his hands down upon the table. “Michael Corleone tends to make offers you can’t refuse; surely you understand why I won’t sell to him? He wants my last holding entirely to his name. I can’t do that, but you could gain from it.”

“I don’t want to gain anything from you, Alphonse.” You scoff back. “I hope this isn’t the entirety of the reason why you’re in Nevada, to begin with. Your honesty is one thing, but your intentions are another. You already know my answer. Fact is, I don’t know you, and I don’t trust you. Do you trust me?”

“Yes, I do,” Alphonse answers back plainly, leaning his back against his seat. “I do trust you. After all, the room isn’t painted red, is it?”

Fredo glances back at you, a somewhat confused look upon his face at the expression he doesn’t understand. “To paint the room red” is an expression directly attributed to the Ferrari family’s brutal and crude manner of sending warnings, threats, and killing off enemies personally—specifically referring to the blood left in Alphonse’s home years back from your father.

Alphonse raises his cocktail, smiling back at you. “I don’t think you’re like your brothers or Michael.”

You stare back at him, pressing your lips into a fine line. “Think again.”

“Victoria,” Alphonse smirks, “darling, I know you could have had me easily killed at any moment in time if you wanted to, so I have to express my gratitude towards you. I am very aware of what you’re capable of—perhaps more so than most. Maybe then I had misunderstood you, but even then, you weren’t a force to be reckoned with—this I know. So, you won’t come to terms with me on business, but you still sat here and spoke with me, did you not? At least we understand each other a little better now.” He gulps down half of his champagne cocktail, licking over his lips. “Hopefully, that eases off a little steam for the Corleone family. Isn’t that right, Fredo?”

“Of course.” Fredo puts his hands up in surrender, shaking his head. “No harsh feelings on my behalf, you already know!”

“Mm, he understands.” Alphonse shoots Fredo a warm smile before his eyes land on you again. “I’ll be the first to say the Corleone family has been at my throat for the past five years, so to be able to have negotiation like this is refreshing. We’ll see where it ultimately goes, and I’ll always be looking forward to seeing you again if I ever get the chance. However, I’d like to hear a clear, final answer.”

“My final answer is no.” You reply back plainly. “I won’t entertain this offer. It’s not in my interest at the least, and frankly, I find your invitation to be disrespectful.”

“Sweetheart, please.” Alphonse sets his glass down with a chuckle, “think of it this way. You didn’t need a man like Michael Corleone to enforce who you were even all that time ago, but now I see he’s made you his perfect mafia wife. Any other man can dream, I suppose. Why wouldn’t I want you here? There’s mafia running through your veins, after all. It’s in you forever, so you’ll have to excuse me if I’m in awe.”

Alphonse leans into the table, straightening out his posture as he makes direct eye contact with you. “I’d appreciate it if this stayed between the two of us, for obvious reasons. I feel it would serve you better as well.”

'He’s right.' There’d be no way you could simply walk up to Michael and tell him you were at a private meeting with Alphonse Ricci of all people and at the Tropigala of all places, even though you know you have to let him know somehow.

Michael wants complete ownership of the Tropigala, and if he knew Alphonse was offering a share of it to anyone else, let alone you, there’d be hell to pay consequently.

“I agree.” You glance back at Fredo, taking another sip of your drink as you rise to your feet. “Fredo, we’ll be by the car.”

“O-Okay, I’ll catch up with you in a second, Vic!” Fredo clears his throat, watching as Ritchie leads you out of the room, pushing the door open as you leave without another word.

As soon as the door shuts behind you, Alphonse gives a long, drawn-out sigh of disappointment. He can’t hide that ultimately the highlight of his meeting was being able to see you face to face without Michael’s intervention, but you ended up becoming nothing but his mouthpiece—repeating just about everything he’d expect Michael to say and shutting down negotiations before they even started.

“Fredo…” Alphonse rakes a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I know you still operate under your family, so out of the prospect of embarrassment, you need to keep this little ordeal between the two of us. If Michael finds out—”

“I won’t tell him.” Fredo blurts out, “I mean, why would I? Even if you made the deal.”

“Good, good…” Alphonse impatiently begins to tap his fingers against the table, scowling down at his champagne cocktail glass. “And for the love of God, somebody get me a real drink instead of this.” He snaps his fingers, gesturing to his bodyguard. “Get me hers first, though.”

“Alphonse?” Fredo swallows hard, coming to a sudden realization.

“Yes?” Alphonse takes your glass, placing his mouth over on the rim where you drank from.

“I won’t tell Michael. I won’t tell anybody, but…” Fredo hesitates, his eyes darting around the room and over to Johnny Ola, who raises his brows inquisitively.

“What, Fredo? What are you trying to say?” Alphonse chugs down the remainder of your drink.

“I can’t promise Ritchie won’t tell Michael.” Fredo shrugs back, “I-I mean, I don’t know…”

“Ritchie?” Alphonse repeats, clearing his throat. “Her bodyguard, you mean?”

“Yeah…”

“It doesn’t matter.” Alphonse lies to Fredo, although telling himself the truth. “Our old friend Senator Geary offered Michael a similar deal because I had already suspected Victoria might tell him otherwise. He won’t be surprised. He won’t be happy either, but at this point, I could care less.” He lets out a deep sigh, “I could care less about what Michael Corleone wants.”

Alphonse tilts his chin back up. “But like I told you, Fredo. There’s something in it for you whether they make the deal or not, so don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter. We’ll think of something soon. For now, though, don’t keep her waiting. You two have a flight to catch, don’t you?”

“Ah, right, right.” Fredo slips his sunglasses into his pocket, standing from his seat and shaking Alphonse’s hand, then Johnny Ola’s. “In that case, gentlemen, it was good seeing the both of you again. Don’t be a stranger, you know. I can always come on down to New York if anyone needs me.”

“We’ll let you know, Fredo. Thank you.” Johnny Ola pats his shoulder as Alphonse’s bodyguard opens up the door for him. “And you know you’re always welcome at the Tropigala anytime. You’re our favorite patron.”

“That he is.” Alphonse stretches out his hands, grinning back at Fredo. “You’ll hear from me soon, Fredo. I’ll be seeing you.”

The moment Fredo exits the room, and the door comes to a close, Johnny Ola locks it, taking a seat next to Alphonse himself. The smiles fade off both of their faces almost immediately as Alphonse rests his chin upon his fist, covering his mouth and gazing across the room and to the wall.

Johnny Ola shifts in his seat, getting comfortable and sitting in silence as his eyes remain on the faint, red lipstick mark of where you drank from your champagne cocktail—now emptied by Alphonse.

Alphonse’s eyes are filled with a returning malicious intent as he begins to nod slowly towards Johnny Ola, breaking his train of thought. “It doesn’t matter.”

“So, we do it anyway?” Johnny asks back, lowering his tone. “It’s your decision.”

Alphonse gives a shrug of his shoulders. “It matters little to me if Michael finds out I met with his wife today—deal or no deal. We both know neither of us can keep this up any longer, someone will eventually have to relent, and you can’t control your little crime empire if you’re dead.”

Alphonse gestures his hand back to his bodyguard, firm on his decision. “Send word to my men, and let’s finish this before it completely gets out of hand. Since we know Fredo is staying with him, we already have the location secured.”

“We need to get in and out quickly,” Johnny Ola places his hands upon the table, gesturing out his idea. “I can send two of our best men up with Fredo by the compound to scout it out first, then they’ll be able to walk past security seeing that a Corleone let them in.”

Alphonse taps the back of his fingers against your empty cocktail glass, nodding back at him. “With any luck, we may be able to position them to Michael’s bedroom, provided Fredo will give us the details of its specific location. They can take care of the rest, but one more thing.” He raises his finger up, locking eyes with Johnny. “Take care with casualties. I don’t want Victoria harmed at all costs.”

“And the children?”

Alphonse shrugs, “Michael Corleone’s children, Michael Corleone’s problem. This isn’t the type of situation where one bullet seals the deal. Ensure every inch of where they are is covered and shoot to kill, not injure. Can’t miss him anyway, always dressed up in his fancy, Italian silk suits…”

His voice trails off into a murmur as he rolls his eyes. “There’s no room for failure, Johnny. We’re not assassinating his old man and ending up as spaghetti garnish with a bullet to the head.”

“Understood, Don Ricci. I can personally guarantee you my men can handle it, especially with the location of their residence and Fredo’s assistance. Is he aware there’s going to be a hit on his brother?” Johnny asks.

Alphonse chuckles quietly to himself, amused by the question. “Fredo won’t know what’s happening until it’s happened—no. Don’t give too much away. He’s already eager to see what we can do for him. This is my favor in return for seeing Don Ferrari’s daughter at last. I’ll kill his conniving little brother off for him. That’ll be the biggest blessing he’s ever received in his life.”

“When do you want to send out the hit?”

Alphonse ponders the question for a moment, his mind roaming back to earlier when he was on the telephone with Fredo, who had been blathering on about the Corleone family’s grand celebration of five years at Lake Tahoe upcoming with the invitations and reservations already sent out and made.

With such a celebration and gathering in order, it would expose any vulnerabilities in security and catch Michael off guard, but a larger problem would approach Alphonse instead—Don Ferrari would be there without a doubt. Even if he was on the hit list, he and his men would be able to end the assassination attempt without it even beginning. It would be an instant failure and suicide mission for the hitmen and Alphonse alike.

“Fredo mentioned their celebration and get-together…” Alphonse muses, “there’ll be crowds and hundreds of guests for as far as I’m concerned, but we aren’t there to put on a show or instill fear. It’ll already be a struggle to get in and especially out, so we’ll have to plan it during the evening hours after the party has come to an end. That is our best bet, and we can work out the intricacies tonight, but for now…”

Alphonse begins to rise to his feet as he straightens out his suit jacket. A smirk forms upon his lips as he glances back at both his bodyguard and Johnny, placing the palm of his hand flat against the table. “Michael Corleone will die.”

Two hours passing from the duration of your flight with a glass of white wine for comfort, you finally arrive at the gates of the Lake Tahoe compound in the vehicle behind Fredo’s, rolling up towards security with your bodyguard next to your chauffeur in the passenger seat.

Having simply assumed you were disinterested in the deal for quite literally being a lawyer and not a businesswoman, Fredo easily shrugged off any tension he thought he felt during your meeting with Alphonse back at the Tropagala. A few tropical drinks with the flight attendants on your private jet, and he had already regained his charm and wits, ready to finally get back home.

Ritchie had kept you company over your side of the private jet, avoiding the topic of Alphonse and the Tropigala altogether, but making comforting small talk with you over wine and playing a friendly round of chess throughout the flight.

With the warm, spring weather settling in and the soft buzz of the white wine hitting you, you rush up to the front entrance of the main residence, housing Michael’s office, the drawing-room, and where security operations room are before it stretches out to several residential quarters for the family.

You squeal in delight at the sight of your children, kneeling down as the twins rush towards you, jumping in your arms and hugging you tightly.

“Mama’s back, mama’s back!”

“Hey, you two!” You grin back, rubbing at their backs and pulling back for a moment to smooch each of their cheeks. “Missed me already?!”

“L'ho fatto!, l'ho fatto!” Verona peeps out. (I did, I did!)

“Anche io!” Niccolo beams back. (Me too!) “We missed you lots, mama! Where did you go?”

“Did you have lots of fun?!” Verona adds.

“Sure did.” You gently pinch at both of their cheeks. “I went to see all of the business hotels we own.”

“Oh, no more, mama, please.” Niccolo whines out, “daddy’s been doing business stuff all day too! We’ve been waiting for him to come out!”

Verona nods back eagerly, “and auntie Deanna is no fun. She’s been napping all day and didn’t want to take us fishing!”

“Oh?” You raise a brow, chuckling as you rise to your feet.

“I don’t even think Auntie Deanna knows how to fish.” Niccolo shrugs, murmuring to himself. “Maybe Uncle Fredo can take us now.”

“Aww, sweetheart.” You pout back at Niccolo, taking both of your children’s hands. “Uncle Fredo is exhausted from the trip, I don’t think he has it in him to fish today, but we could always ask your daddy, couldn’t we? He can’t possibly be doing ‘business stuff’ all day.”

“But that’s what the Frowny Man told us,” Verona whispers back to you, squeezing your hand.

“Frowny Man?” You’re just about to head up the steps to the door as Verona pulls at your arm to grab your attention, shaking her head.

“The Frowny Man is there!” She gestures upwards to Al Neri, checking his watch as he remains guarding the front door, indeed signifying Michael is still in for business.

You furrow your brows, knowing the office is where you last saw Michael in the morning before you left, aware of his schedule. If he’s still in there by the late afternoon, he must have had more meetings, filling up the rest of the day as the twins eagerly waited.

“The Frowny—” You stifle back a laugh, gently nudging the kids to walk up in front of you. “That’s Al, you guys!”

“He never smiles!” Niccolo points out. “So, we call him the Frowny Man! Like daddy, sometimes.”

“But daddy smiles!” Verona points out.

“When does daddy smile?” You ask her, glancing back at you to see your bodyguard, Ritchie emerging from the vehicle with both of your suitcases.

“When we give him drawings when we see him in the morning…” Niccolo begins to list out, pondering the question.

“When he sees mama.” Verona giggles out, “daddy always smiles then.”

A wave of blush hits your cheeks as you smile down at her, surprised even your children have noticed Michael’s body language and disposition towards you. It gives you no small amount of joy to know your children are aware at affectionate Michael is towards you.

“Maybe we should draw Al some pictures to make him smile too, then?” Ritchie speaks out, smiling at the children. “That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, does it?”

“Hi, Mr. Ritchie!” The children ring out, peeking at the suitcases he’s carrying. “You went with mama too?”

“Of course, I did.” He nods back, glancing down at the suitcases.

“Why does Mr. Ritchie always go with you, mama?” Niccolo tugs at your sleeve.

“Because he’s my bodyguard, sweetheart. He keeps me safe.” You chuckle, watching as your chauffeur pulls the car back out, driving towards the private lot.

“I thought daddy kept you safe.” Verona knits her brows in confusion. “Daddy keeps me safe!”

“Frowny Man—” Niccolo cuts himself off, giggling nervously, “Mr. Al protects daddy, though. Right? Right! Mr. Al!” He calls out, skipping up the porch ahead of the three of you. “Let us in. We want to see daddy!”

Al Neri looks back down at the children, giving a small sigh but ultimately a look of refusal. “Sorry, little guy. Your father is still in a business meeting. He can’t be disturbed now.”

“Oh, nonsense.” You scoff, gesturing for Ritchie to hand the suitcases over to Al. “Let the kids in, Al. They want to see their father.”

“Mrs. Corleone, I will, however, the Don is still in meeting with—”

“With my brothers, I know.” You finish Al’s sentence for him with a smile. “It’s okay, really. We won’t be interrupting anything.”

Al opens his mouth as if to protest or say something, but he immediately gazes back down and blinks in surprise at the angry expression over Verona’s face as she crosses her little arms, giving an exact glare as her father does back to him. “We want to see Don daddy!”

Ritchie gives out a soft laugh behind you, carefully setting the luggage down. “Come on, Al, let the kids see their father, huh? You’re ruining all their fun.”

Al shakes his head at Ritchie, beginning to push open the door. “Don Corleone had told me he did not want to be disturbed during—”

“Shhh!” Niccolo scolds him, holding his finger up against his nose in an ushering gesture to Al. “Daddy’s in a meeting!”

“Right,” Al murmurs to himself as you burst into a fit of giggles with the kids, barely able to catch your breath from the laughter as all of you begin to rush up inside.

Niccolo and Verona are the first to enter, skipping off towards the office as you attempt to keep up. As you push open Michael’s office door, you gasp out softly as your ankle wobbles from your heel against the carpet, only a second from a fall.

Ritchie’s hands are quick, immediately grasping at your waist as you let out a breathy laugh, completely unaware Michael sits directly across from you at his desk. Michael’s head is already raised at the sudden, loud commotion from the children.

Now he sees your bodyguard’s hands grasped over your waist as he grins at you—Ritchie’s chest almost brushing against your back from the closeness.

The office falls to a sudden silence, interrupting the conversation that your brothers Alessio and Matteo were having across Michael, Tom, and Sonny as the realization of your interruption sinks into you.

Niccolo and Verona are the first to notice before you that their father’s expression softens when he spots them momentarily, even out of surprise during a business meeting, but immediately hardens at the sight of another man—bodyguard or not—touching you.

You notice the cold look in his eyes, completely unimpressed with a hint of confusion and irritation as Ritchie leaves one hand over your hip, coming to a stop in his tracks with you and the kids.

Verona and Niccolo immediately quiet down, noticing their father’s emotionless expression as your brothers’ eyes dart back and forth at the four of you, confused themselves at the sudden interruption as they weren’t expecting to see you or the children either.

Michael locks a gaze with you that practically repeats what Al Neri said at the door. He immediately lowers his hand holding his cigarette under the table for the children not to see as he shifts in his seat. His expression kills your mood instantly.

Al Neri steps in from the side, clearing his throat to make it clear he couldn’t stop you all from rushing in, regardless of Michael’s wishes. He clasps his hands behind his back, quick to approach Michael by the side of his office.

Verona and Niccolo remain silent and still, another show of the discipline their father had taught them as soon as they could walk or talk. Instead, their eyes remain upon you expectantly as the smile fades off your face, knowing you had indeed interrupted something important all too suddenly.

The mere sight of Ritchie’s hands over you causes Michael’s muscles to begin to tense up as his protectiveness and jealousy flares, especially seeing how low his hand remains over your hips. His eyes fill with disgust, only flaring up his growing irritation—completely avoiding eye contact with you.

After all, Michael had no protest in hiring Ritchie to be your personal bodyguard instead of one of his private security hires, having had him under Clemenza’s orders back in New York.

As the wife of a Don and the daughter of one, high profile or not, you naturally needed your own bodyguard, and it was one of the first priorities and quickest decisions made on Michael’s behalf to keep you safe no matter where you went.

Ritchie’s disposition was much more welcoming, warm, and outspoken compared to the other private hires. He was a charismatic individual and an arms enthusiast, keeping wherever he was lively with his joking and friendly demeanor. He remained professional at all times to you, accompanying you anywhere and everywhere you were without Michael, who only ever brought Rocco Lampone and Al Neri with him personally.

Still, charm and friendliness or not, you never saw Ritchie as anything more than what he was—a bodyguard trusted by your family for years to keep you safe. He asked more questions and offered more advice than most, but he never bothered you or made you feel uncomfortable in any way, nor did you think he harbored any attraction or romantic feelings towards you—not that any of it matters now to Michael.

Al Neri leans his head in as Michael whispers, inaudible to the four of you, “get them out of here.”

Al gives a nod, gesturing with his hand at the four of you to exit the room. “Mrs. Corleone?”

You notice a smirk grows upon Sonny’s face as he exchanges a glance with Tom, clapping his hand and rising up from his seat. “It’s alright, it’s alright. I’ll take it from here, Al. We were just wrapping up anyway.”

Sonny approaches you and the kids, gesturing with his hands off towards the hallway as he leans back to shut the office door, leading you all out.

“Sonny—" You pout back at him, but his eyes tell you ‘not in front of the kids.’ He fixes up a smile on his face, picking up his pace and walking in front of the kids.

“Hey, hey! Didn’t think you were just going to pop by without saying ‘hello’ to your favorite uncle, did you two?!” Sonny exclaims, crouching down and extending his arms.

The cheery disposition of the children returns as the twins giggle about, rushing to hug their uncle on both arms as Sonny kisses both of their cheeks. “Mwah, mwah! Look at the two of you—beautiful! Just filled with energy today, eh? So, what’s going on? Are we not going fishing or what?”

“But Uncle Sonny, don’t you have business with daddy?” Verona peeks up at him.

“Oh no, I’m all done now! You guys came in at the perfect time, you know?” Sonny chuckles, a wide grin forming on his face. “But we’ve only got an hour or two before dinner, so I need you guys to get ready fast if we want to head out by the lake!”

“Mama, can we?!” Niccolo turns to you, eagerly bobbing up and down. “Can we go see the fishies?”

“Absolutely, you can, but you two have to be back in time for dinner, alright?” You rub at Niccolo’s shoulder.

“Can Mr. Ritchie come too?!” Verona peeks back at him, asking Sonny.

“Oh, Mr. Ritchie can’t because he has some business to do now with your father, but I’ll see if your uncle Fredo is really as tired as he is so he can join you guys, alright?!” Sonny rubs the palm of his hands against each other. “Go on and get your fishing gear and meet me back here, okay?”

“Okay, we will!” Verona gestures at Niccolo as the two rush off down the opposite end of the hallway in a fit of excited giggles.

“Alright, I’ll be waiting here, kiddos!” Sonny calls back, rising back up as he brushes off his crinkled dress shirt.

“I could go with them, sir.” Ritchie offers with a polite smile.

“Oh, I’m sure you could, but you have more important things to look after, huh?” Sonny crosses his arms—a look of wild amusement growing in his eyes.

You raise your brows, exchanging a look with an equally confused Ritchie as Sonny waves him off. “Go on, go on. I’ll walk Victoria back to her room. You can stay by her residence for now.”

“Yes, sir.” Ritchie gives the both of you a polite nod as he makes his way off down the hallway.

“Sonny, what was that all about?” You mumble, nudging him and gesturing back to Michael’s office with your hand.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Vic.” You and Sonny follow behind Ritchie at a distanced pace as he rakes a hand through his curls. “You know how Mikey can be when he’s stuffed up in meetings all day. A business offer here and there, things don’t go as well over there—you know, the usual. Don’t mind him. He’s just in another one of his moods.” Sonny glances over at you, “We’re just about done anyway.”

“What exactly were you discussing, if you don’t mind me asking?” You lower your voice for Ritchie not to hear.

“The Tropigala deal, of course.” Sonny gives out a sigh, “you’ve heard anything about it? Or at least from your trip today?”

“Two million. I’ll be able to expand the resort indefinitely and hit a peak with the tourism industry.”

“Um—” you nibble down on your lip, feeling the tips of your ears and the nape of your neck begin to prickle up and sting. “What do you mean? It isn’t one of the hotels Fredo and I were supposed to be at.” At least that’s not a lie.

“To be able to offer you such a profitable business deal with merit, let alone see you, is a once in a lifetime chance.”

“Ah, see, you’re lucky then. You don’t have to hear it about back and forth all day, eh?” Sonny wraps an arm around your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as he walks you up to the door of your bedroom.

“Please, don’t assume I’m ungrateful. I want you to gain just as much as I do.”

You notice Ritchie down the hallway, gazing out the window with his hands clasped behind his back as your belongings and luggage remain neatly stacked by your bedroom door.

“Even your brothers made an offer, which I’m not surprised at this point.” Sonny puts his hands up in surrender as the two of you come to a slow halt. “But that fucker Ricci refused. Can you believe the nerve on the guy? He knows he’s not allowed to sell it to anyone outside of our families either, and here he is refusing offers left, right, and center! Now your brothers—Alessio and Matteo? Yeah, they got far more patience than me.” Sonny huffs dramatically, “they even put down a nicer deal than I’d ever offer my own best friend. Now you see where Michael’s at?”

“Thirty percent of the earnings will be yours. You’ll be able to own your share, have your name on it…”

“What does that mean for him and Michael?” You cautiously ask, now experiencing the lingering aftereffects of guilt beginning to crawl inside of you.

“Well, you tell me, sweetheart. Mike’s only keeping the guy alive because he’s useful for business, believe it or not because I had a hard time trying to. I think the hotel is the only thing keeping him alive, you know? Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to sell it.” Sonny scoffs, “beats me, though. Hey—don’t let me keep you up all day, though. I know you just got back from your flight so, take it easy, eh? Let us handle it, and let me tell you—take advantage of that peace of mind. You got nothing to with Ricci. You don’t have a care in the world. As it should be, am I right?”

“I’ll be the first to say the Corleone family has been at my throat for the past five years, so to be able to have negotiation like this is refreshing.”

“Right.” You chuckle back, hesitantly laced in your voice.

Sonny beams back at you, adjusting his tie. “Alright, sis. The kids and I will see you after dinner, and at this rate, with how well they’re advancing with their fishing rods, we might bring home extra dinner. Wash up, relax, and take care, okay? I’ll tell Mike, so he knows where to find you.”

Before you can say anything, Sonny pats your shoulder reassuringly with a grin, in a rush to get back to Michael’s office as he picks up his pace back, waving his arms out and calling out to a figure by the end of the hallway that you can’t quite make out. “Ey—Matteo! You out for a cigarette break already? Better wait for me!”

Picking up your luggage, you almost lunge yourself into the bedroom as you immediately shut the door behind you, exhaling deeply in relief. It’s like every time someone mentions his name, I suffocate over it.

Part of you wants to blame Fredo and even go out to find him to be able to tell him yourself, but it’s only a moment’s flash of anger with much of it directed at yourself. You simply wouldn’t have thought about the whole ordeal from earlier until you got to properly see Michael later on, but with Sonny mentioning it as the tension of their business meeting today, accompanied by Michael’s telling body language, it’s as if the world has found reasons for the guilt you had earlier to return back to you tenfold.

You prop up your suitcase by your vanity table, running a hand through your hair as you use your free one to unbutton your dress, beginning to shrug it off your shoulders as you attempt to relax.

You can’t rid yourself of the almost lustful, craving-filled eyes Alphonse had all over you as he spoke, now unable to properly think if that’s just as bad, if not worse, than the glare in Michael’s eyes from earlier. You can’t pinpoint whether it was from you and the twins barging in or if it was the tension from his business with Alphonse, but either way, it helped form the perfect recipe for anxiety brewing in the pit of your gut from the entirety of your day.

You draw back your curtains as you slip out of your dress and attempt to brush the thoughts aside, knowing you could definitely use some fresh air and a glass of wine. The aching sensation in your feet from rushing about in your heels and the overall trips introduces exhaustion, however, checking off both those ideas as a ‘no’ for the day, knowing you still have dinner to look forward to with the family.

Only in your bra and panties, you ruffle your hands through your hair, smoothening it behind your hair as you grab the hanger for your dress, being careful not to wrinkle the fabric as you put it back into your closet. Your muscles ache at the thought of taking a relaxing, hot bath after dinner as you grab a black, satin night robe, shrugging it over your shoulders.

Loosely tying it over your waist and feeling the clash of your emotions begin to fade, you take a deep breath, humming softly to yourself and gazing upon the mirror of your vanity. You take the time to yourself to brush through your hair, throwing it back over your shoulders as you wipe off your red lipstick, touching up on your eye makeup.

You raise your mascara brush up to your lashes, combing through them again for an extra lift as you spray your favorite, floral-scented perfume over your collarbones, almost lost in the moment of relaxation.

It’s Michael’s footsteps growing louder towards the bedroom door from the end of the hall that catches you off guard. You abruptly stop humming, listening in keenly as by now you’ve essentially memorized the footsteps of your entire family from the sound to the pressure and the frequency.

You set your makeup down, pushing it away just as you see the doorknob twist and pull open from your mirror. The first thing you notice is Michael’s cologne, a faint scent of cedarwood, tobacco, and vanilla hitting your nose.

Instantly, a swarm of butterflies kicks up in your stomach at the recognition of his cologne. You remain still, watching him enter the bedroom and immediately shutting the door behind him. His body language nor his actions seem agitated or rushed as he slips his hands into the pockets of his grey dress pants, turning to face you, so you have a perfect view of his face from the mirror.

The light from the bedroom lamp glimmers over Michael’s dark hair parted slightly in the middle and brushed back, only slightly gelled and swept back in one of your favorite styles on him—irresistible and sexy without even trying.

His expression, however, is anything but as pleased as you’d be to see him any other time. Straight-faced with a brooding expression and little to no emotion in his eyes, Michael stands a few feet behind you, waiting for your undivided attention.

His chestnut eyes appear darkened from where the light hits him, and they’re filled with a flaring sense of protectiveness and disappointment all at once, directly over you.

“Michael?” You peep, your face flushed red as you turn around in your vanity seat to face him.

The sight of him before you in his gray Dupioni silk suit with a stern expression both spikes at your anxiety, curiosity, and arousal all at once.

Michael slips one hand out of his pocket, beckoning you to him. “Come here. Vieni qui.” (Come here.)

Now intimidated and aroused, you slowly rise from your seat, knowing Michael doesn’t just want you to take a few steps towards him but approach him directly as you do so.

You remain quiet, only wondering to yourself if the deepening blush in your cheeks is as visible to him as you think it may be in his presence. Michael now takes his other hand out of his pocket, gazing at you carefully.

His eyes first scour over your face, looking upon your lips before trailing over your collarbones peeking out from your nightgown. They remain longer by your hips, and you begin to notice his expression hardening further as he nods at you slowly, glancing momentarily to the closed door as you see a peek of his teeth graze against his lips.

“Michael, if this is about us barging in, I’m s—” You press your lips down, silencing yourself as his head turns back to face you once more, even more, displeased than ever.

A brief moment of silence falls over both of you as Michael moves in even closer to you, taking the last step to seal any remaining space between the two of you.

“Bursting into my office like that—”

“The twins and I were trying to surprise you!” You exclaim, pouting at him.

“Surprise me? For what?” Michael huffs out his cigarette smoke, clearly unamused by your response. “For your late arrival? You were scheduled to land almost two hours ago—was that your surprise?”

Michael doesn’t give you the liberty of even thinking about a reply. Immediately, an intense disgust forms in his eyes as he scowls, taking his cigarette out of his mouth. “Where were you, Victoria? What were you doing all that time?”

Your heart sinks into the bottom of your gut, knowing what he’s mentioning has absolutely nothing to do with Ritchie and everything to do with your meeting with Alphonse. It almost comes as a shock to you that Michael noticed the time of your arrival and hadn’t had anyone else confront you about it before him. He knew the entire time.

'He already knows about the Tropigala, doesn’t he?' At this point, you can take no chances with your answers.

You shake your head frantically, “Michael, no! Don’t be ridiculous! It wasn’t even my idea! Fredo said while we were here, we could go and look inside, just for a minute and—”

“Fredo?” Michael raises his brow. “What? He took you where?”

“To the…” Your voice trails off as you swallow hard, gazing back at him helplessly. Shit. Was I supposed to say that?

“To the Tropigala?” Michael finishes your sentence for you. His anger is quick to return to him in an instant.

You don’t answer, simply keeping your mouth shut as you keep your eyes over Michael’s. You can’t read his bitter expression, unable to tell if he’s concerned or furious at the sudden revelation that you didn’t even need to confess.

Knowing while the Corleone family’s hotels, casinos, and resorts are scattered over Las Vegas, many remain close to each other, especially with the Tropigala in the center that remains untouched. It would not only make sense, but it was a perfectly plausible possibility—one that Fredo had quite literally set up himself. Taking you into the Tropigala “for fun” or to “look around” was never his intention, yet he had absolutely nothing to gain from the business meeting itself as the negotiations were directed towards you.

One side of you feels sympathetic in the way that you know Fredo isn’t allowed to partake in family business decisions, and all of his suggestions, as well as wants, have to be reviewed regardless of what he’s doing or what he’s in charge of. He’s never made a business deal in his life, nor has he complained it about to any of you in the past five years, but nonetheless, he seemed ecstatic about being the middle man to get you one.

“Michael—” You whine out as he’s quick to shut you down by speaking over you.

“Was he there?” Michael presses on, demanding a quick answer from you immediately.

“Yes.” You're taken back by his disposition but without an ounce of desire to argue or fight back with him, knowing not only did you do it behind Michael’s back, but his sudden reaction doesn’t come as a surprise to you.

“I’d appreciate it if this stayed between the two of us, for obvious reasons. I feel it would serve you better as well.”

Michael rubs deeply at his eyes as he takes a long drag out of his cigarette—his expression growing increasingly pissed as he raises his head to glower back at you.

You can’t decide at the moment what you hate more—the poor decisions you’ve made with the consequences you expected as Michael is in the right about all of this or the fact your arousal and attraction towards him knows no bounds against the sexual appeal of his anger.

How could you possibly deny your arousal towards the way the muscles in his exposed arms tense, how a glimpse of Michael’s chest peeks out from his unbuttoned dress shirt and a with few strands of his hair loose and dangling upon his forehead? You can’t deny that, even in a way, his yelling and the demand in his voice only continues to turn you on.

“Why did you see him, Victoria?” Michael lowers his tone, keeping his eyes on you as he prematurely puts out his cigarette. “Have you learned nothing from the past five years, or did your father teach you it’s okay to converse with your rivals?”

You frown back at him, taken back from his comment. “How can you say that?”

Michael fumes, “I’m trying to keep you safe, Victoria! That’s my biggest priority. You have no business with Alphonse Ricci, and you will never have business with him—what part of that is so hard for you to understand? You could have gotten yourself hurt or even killed today. Instead, you stopped by for a drink or two with the man that painted the target on your back in the first place.”

“That’s not what I did, and you know it." You take a step back.

“Then tell me.” Michael murmurs, lowering his voice as he clutches your wrist, sliding his grip down to your hand. Michael takes you to the divan couch, where he sits down, loosening his tie further. “Tell me because you know the way I see it.”

You stand before him, gazing into his softened eyes as you see his anger begin to cool. “Michael, I didn’t know Alphonse would be there, and I need you to understand this. I’m almost glad I was.” You notice Michael’s eyes widen a little as you continue, “he made a deal for the Tropigala, Michael. One he specifically mentioned he wouldn’t make with you. I at least got to hear that much before I left.”

“You turned him down?” Michael raises a brow at you.

“I did.” You nod back. “Whether I chose to tell or not to tell him why not makes no difference because he already knows I would never accept anything on his terms, especially behind your back. He didn’t care. It’s like all he wanted was for me to hear the proposition. I wanted to tell you as soon as I came back…” You sigh, shaking your head. “He wanted a two million dollar investment for the hotel in exchange for thirty percent of its earnings monthly.”

Michael leans back against the couch and spreading his arms out over the rims on both sides. “And to think he insisted on offering us a quarter of a million to obtain the license under his name, and with only five percent… Did he at least explain his ridiculous notion and why he wouldn’t offer that to me?”

“Nothing but for personal gain on my behalf.” You chew on the corner of your bottom lip. “He made it clear he would never offer something like that to you.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Michael reaches over to the dresser to grab at his cigarette pack again, but you move it out of his reach, frowning down at him.

“Victoria—” Michael’s eyes meet yours as he slowly moves his hand back, letting out a soft sigh. His expression clears back to sternness as he gestures at you over his lap. “Come here.”

Blushing at the sight of him comfortably sprawled out as such over the couch, you move forward, sitting upon his lap. He brushes aside the satin cloth of your nightgown, revealing your bare legs as he pulls you closer to him.

You peek back at him shyly, your eyes growing wide at his apology as he continues. “I lashed out immediately, but you know how I feel about these things. I’m relentless about it, but I want to communicate better with you, so I’m working on it, darling. I’m working on it."

You lean over, planting a tender kiss upon Michael’s cheek, unintentionally inhaling his cologne in as well.

Another tug of arousal hits you as Michael caresses your thighs gingerly in an up and down motion.

Michael leans into your lips, only a mere few inches away from kissing you as he breathes against them, keeping eye contact with you. “Are you submitting to me that easily?”

“Michael—” You gasp out softly, immediately biting down on your lip as you feel his hands spread out your inner thighs, his thumb coming into contact with the fabric of your panties right over your clit, feeling at the small pool of wetness.

“You disobey me, then that little surprise of yours goes awry and now…this?” Michael presses his thumb down upon your clit as your hips slightly buck up in reaction.

“Don’t do this to me…” You whine at him, trying to grind your hips onto the palm of his hand. “I haven’t seen you all day, mio amore… Let me…”

Michael firmly holds your waist in place on his lap, refusing you. “You should have thought about it before you decided to be disobedient.” The domineering gaze in his eyes almost makes you squirm in arousal on his lap. “You don’t always get what you want.”

Taking it as a challenge, you counter back. “I’m used to getting everything I want when I want. You can’t refuse me like this, can you?” You slip your hand up your nightgown, pressing over his to coax him to touch you again.

“No, I can’t. But…” Michael takes his tie off his neck, having it brush up and ruffle against his hair in the process as he grasps your wrists with one hand, squeezing them tightly. “I can have my fun with you.”

In an instant, Michael tightly knots his black silk tie around your wrists, leaving no room to wriggle them free. Stunned and at the pique of your arousal, Michael tugs at his tie, pulling you off of his lap and from the couch.

“You’re threatening me with a good time?” You graze your teeth against your lips. “You know you’re giving me exactly what I want.”

“And she talks back.” Michael taunts you teasingly, pushing you to the edge of the bed by the headboard. “You’d be surprised, darling, but you’re not going to get anything out of me tonight.”

“Then what’s this?” You blink back at him as he grabs the remaining long ends of the tie, fastening it alongside the column of the bed’s headboard.

It keeps you bound upon the bed with your wrists raised above your head, unable to do anything but lay perfectly positioned in that spot.

Michael stands before you, eyeing at your bound body as your nightgown has ridden up your legs, exposing your inner thighs before him. “I told you, I have work to do.”

You gaze back at him in bewilderment, coming to the realization that he’s just about to leave you squirming like this. “Don’t tease me like this! It isn’t fair!”

“Tease you?” Michael raises a brow, “I’m not teasing you. I’m punishing you. You clearly need discipline, and you barely listened to a word I said. I saw you squirming like an impatient little whore across from me, only focused on one thing. Admit it.”

“Admit…?” Completely flustered, the blush over your rosy cheeks stings tenfold alone at his dirty talk, let alone the fact you’re bound up before Michael, now completely under his control.

“You only had one thing on your mind the moment I entered this room.” Michael slowly takes a few steps towards you, approaching. “And it’s going to give me no small amount of pleasure to deny it from you and watch you beg for it.” Michael grabs your face, squeezing at it as he forcefully tilts your chin up to face him.

The room feels ten degrees hotter as you helplessly gaze back at Michael grasping your face—his dark eyes looming over you in a mix of amusement and desire at your submission.

“You’ll beg, and you’ll beg.” He leans in, lowering his voice to a husky tone. “But you’ll get nothing until I decide otherwise. How long will it take?” He reads at the question in your eyes, “enough for me to tell the children you won’t make it till dinner.” He trails his index finger down to your lips, touching them. “Scream, and I’ll make you regret it. We’ll start all over again, and I’d really rather not have to gag your pretty little mouth. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Y-yes…” The rush of butterflies twisting with your heightened arousal is almost intoxicating.

It takes every ounce of energy inside of your body not to writhe out against him, only increasingly craving him as if your muscles were begging you at this point.

“Good.” Michael lets go of your face as your breath hitches. “This way, you can’t touch yourself…”

His eyes dart down to your breasts as he reaches over, pulling at the knot of your nightgown open. The fabric loosely hangs off of you as he brushes it aside, revealing your matching black lace bra and panties.

“Michael—”

“Stop. Talking.” Michael glares back up at you, his eyes shooting a warning as you bite down on your lip, quietening down. Sheer dominance extrudes from his gaze as his attention returns to your body.

You keep quiet but are unable to fully stifle down your squirms as you notice a faint smirk over Michael’s lips at the sight of your half-naked body submissive towards him, sprawled out over the bed. “Now look at you…”

Standing right over you by the edge of the bed, he leans into your chest and forces your bra down to underneath your breasts, firmly pressed up beneath them as they bounce out, held in place. “Completely under my control…”

Michael squeezes both of your breasts, rubbing your nipples inbetween his thumbs as his eyes darken with lust. Sparks of pleasure hit you in waves at the pressure he applies to your sensitive nipples—keeping up the same erotic rhythm over both. “You can forget any notion of having an orgasm tonight.”

Just as you feel a surge of pleasure from his actions, Michael stops and trails his hands down your stomach and to your pelvis.

Michael refuses to look up at you, denying you any attention as he cups your ass from underneath, again pressing his fingers against the crease of your inner thighs. “Disobedience gets you nothing.”

The sensation is heavenly, spreading out to your clit in a pulsating manner of pleasure. You desperately want to cry out for him to touch you over and over again, obsessed with how his firm hands and slender fingers work to hit every sensitivity in your body you didn’t even know you had.

“Oh!” You moan out, unable to hold yourself back any longer.

Michael turns his head to gaze back at you, his hair dangling by his forehead. “Just like that, the little slut moans.” He stops his movements, gripping both sides of the waistband of your panties.

In one swift movement, Michael snatches your panties down your thighs, throwing them off over your ankles and to the floor. You shiver from the exposure, not daring to clench your thighs at him, hoping he doesn’t realize how the severity of your arousal has almost begun to drip down your sex.

“You only listened for the sake of paying attention…” Michael places both of his hands upon your thighs, the coolness from the metal of his wedding band touching you. “And now I’m going to make you learn what I meant.”

Michael pulls open your thighs, spreading them out as far as they’ll go as he pins them down on the bed. “Now, I’ll show you what it means to be embarrassed.”

You hear the sound of your wetness being spread, causing you to cringe in embarrassment as your sex remains completely exposed to Michael and utterly at his mercy.

Michael harbors more self-discipline and control towards the naked sight of your body and your wetness than you ever could with him fully clothed and standing a mile away.

“I’m insatiable, you know?” Michael kneels down over the bed, inching closer to you as he puts his hands underneath your thighs and raises them. “But then again, you’d gladly spend the entirety of the night bouncing on my cock if it meant you could try and prove otherwise.”

You inhale sharply, wanting so badly to speak out of turn back to him. You can’t peel your eyes off of him as he moves his head down dangerously close to your pussy, his lips only a few inches away from it.

Keeping your hips perfectly still, you whine out again softly, cocking your head back as Michael breathes hotly against your clit. “Look at you…completely soaked. You were like this when I was talking to you, weren’t you? You couldn’t hold yourself back from me even if you tried…”

A strained moan escapes your lips again, knowing if he so much as tilted his head forward, his mouth would be touching it.

“You will learn discipline, and whether you want it the easy way or the hard way matters very little to me.” He raises your hips even further to his mouth, rolling his tongue in his mouth before spitting over your clit.

“Ah!” A momentary burst of pleasure hits you as you feel his spit mixing with your wetness, oozing down inbetween the folds of your labia.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Michael narrows his eyes at you, letting go of your thighs and moving off the bed entirely.

“I…” Your breath hitches again as your eyes fill with an aroused desperation. “Are you going to leave me like this?!”

“I’m not that merciless, Victoria.” He gestures to your legs, “you will keep your thighs spread, and you won’t move an inch until I say so; otherwise, you’ll find my absence to be the least of your worries tonight. Do you understand? Answer me.”

“Y-yes—”

“Yes, who?”

“Yes, Don Corleone.” You whimper back, frantically nodding.

“Good.” Michael adjusts his watch, rolling up his sleeves a little further past his elbow.

He turns his attention away from you, only increasing your desperation. “W-what are you going to do?”

“I told you.” Michael momentarily glances back at you, “I have work to do.”

With that, he leaves you in a humiliating state, sprawled and spread naked over your bed as he sits on the armchair in the corner of the room. Michael’s eyes find yours once again as he shifts, making himself comfortable.

You watch as he extends his arm over to the telephone by the end table next to him. “Stai tranquillo.” (Keep quiet). Michael holds it up to his ear, dialing away at a number and leaning his back against his seat as he patiently waits.

Two rings in, and Don Ferrari picks up, having anticipated the call as told by your brothers at the end of Michael’s business meeting. “Don Ferrari—it’s me. Michael Corleone.”

'Father?' You peek up, attempting to steady your breathing to hear better from where you are.

“Michael, perfect timing! I was expecting you.” You hear your father’s voice ring out, catching you by surprise. “Tell me you have some good news for me tonight. I’m almost at my wit's end and more than tempted to counter negotiations with something a little more permanent if you’ll allow it.”

You bite down on your lip and turn your head away, feeling your heart begin to pound at the topic of their conversation. You hope deep down Michael doesn’t mention to your father of all people you saw his business rival and, as Michael would put it, have the audacity to even bother negotiating with him.

“Believe me, I wish I did,” Michael replies, fixating his eyes over your body. “We’re at a stalemate, but not for long. I’m as eager as you, but with a senator in the mix, I’d rather settle this matter differently.”

As if you weren’t already humiliated enough physically, to see the look of disappointment and go through a round of lecturing and scolding from your father and all of your brothers would at this point be a nightmare in and of itself.

You hear your father sigh out over the phone. “I leave it up to you. Ricci doesn’t work for me after all. You might be able to get to him through Hyman Roth.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Michael muses. “He remains within my reach, so I’m not in a rush. I’ll have it handled, license and all. Let him cling onto what reign of power he thinks he has for a while longer. The more he thinks my efforts have simmered down, the better it’ll be for the both of us, Don Ferrari. After all, he’s making better deals with others, I’ve heard.”

You purse open your lips to speak out, stopping yourself as Michael locks eyes with you. A unique punishment indeed, your mixed feelings of intimidation, embarrassment, and arousal continuously attempt to overpower each other by the moment.

“Who?” Don Ferrari asks out. “The Tattaglia’s and Barzini’s want nothing to do with him—who else could he offer a business deal to?”

You bite down on your lip, waiting for Michael to say your name as any moment you’ll be able to feel the permeating disappointment from your father coming from the telephone.

“I’m not sure.” Michael lies to your father, “but all I know is that they didn’t reach an agreement of two million for thirty percent.”

You let out a sigh of relief, attempting to wriggle your wrists free helplessly as you squirm around on the bed, careful not to clench your legs closed as Michael told you to. At this point, your arousal has almost reached an unbearable painful point sprawled out like this before him.

“The bastard…” Don Ferrari murmurs. “We should have seen it coming. On that note, I leave it up to you, Matteo and Alessio. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it in time for dinner, but we’ll speak later tonight if you’re available.”

“Most certainly.” Michael agrees, and you whine out softly in protest. Later on tonight!? He’s going to make me wait even longer while my father’s here?!

“Excellent. Anyhow, how’s my daughter? Has she returned from Las Vegas yet?” Your father asks.

You raise your head up as a wry smirk forms over Michael’s lips. “Yes, she returned a few hours ago. She’s doing well, spending some time to herself, laying down.”

“Is she feeling well?”

“At her best.” Michael grazes his tongue against his teeth. “She’s quite exhausted from the trip, so I’ll see if she can still make it to dinner with us.”

“Ah, of course. I look forward to seeing both of you tonight, but let’s not push it if she’s too tired. Alright then, take care, Don Corleone.”

“You as well, Don Ferrari. Goodbye.” Michael sets down the telephone, at last, exhaling deeply and relaxing upon the armchair. “Mm… Do you have something to say to me?”

“Michael, please… Please!” You buck your hips up, attempting to pull your wrists free. “You’re not going to keep me tied here past dinner, are you?”

“You had all that time to give me a reason not to, and yet look at you, still.” Michael gestures to your sex, rising from his seat and pushing his sleeves back up.

You flush red in embarrassment, knowing that even though he gave you a break during his phone call with your father, your arousal never faltered, and your wetness proves so.

“Since you had such a hard time admitting to me what you did today…” Michael paces around the room with his hands in his pockets—his eyes never leaving yours. “You can beg your way out of it, can’t you? After all, you told Alphonse what you wanted and didn’t want.”

“How long are you going to hold that against me for?!” You whine out.

“Until you beg me to stop.” Michael steps towards you, approaching you by the bed. “You can od that much, can’t you? You beg for me every other time, or have you already forgotten?” Michael caresses your cheek with the back of his hand. “A slut begs and look at you—” he gestures out to your naked body. “You don’t get to ask your way out of anything. This is how you learn discipline.”

“Please, please… Don’t tease me like this.” You plead, tugging again and again helplessly at your wrists. “I want you, Michael… I want you.” Your body practically pulsates with arousal, breaking through the humiliation of begging for him.

Michael gazes down at you, his stern expression returning to him. “You haven’t learned a thing, have you? Look at what you’re begging for.” He grabs a fistful of your hair, tilting your chin up to him. “What do you want, Victoria? Hmm? You want me to fuck you? Is that what you want? You can’t hold yourself back because of it? Why? Because you’re a dirty slut that needs to learn what happens when you disobey me?”

You breathe out, “don’t act like you don’t feel the same…”

“Open your mouth.” Michael narrows his eyes at you.

You do as he says, opening your mouth and slightly sticking out your tongue as he leans into you, continuing to grip your hair. Michael spits in your mouth, doing nothing but amplifying the erotica between you two.

You swallow, breathing heavily as you look back into his eyes. “Don Corleone…”

Turned on to no avail himself, Michael can’t ignore his pulsating erection towards you, more than pleased to see how you respond with insistent desire and arousal.

He lets go of your hair, unbuttoning down the rest of his shirt without another word as you let out a shaky breath. “You said you were insatiable… So then take it out on me, show me. I’m all yours…”

Sexual frustration is laced throughout Michael’s voice as he throws off his shirt, letting it land on the floor. “I told you to stop talking.”

You grin back, your eyes gladly taking in all to see at the shirtless sight of him. Michael unclasps his belt and unbuttons his dress pants with one hand, reaching over with the other one and hooking his fingers into the knot of the tie upon your wrists.

With a few tugs and pulls, Michael unravels the tie off of your wrists, letting it fall crumpled to the floor as you wince out—the mix of pleasure and pain heightening your sensitivity.

You lower your wrists down, unhooking off your bra before rubbing at the reddened skin. Your breathing deepens, watching Michael completely strip before you. You do the same you’re your nightgown, throwing it off your shoulders and to the pile of his clothes upon the floor.

Your eyes widen to see his fully erect cock spring free from his briefs as you kneel up upon the bed before him.

“Vieni qui…” (Come here…) Michael whispers urgently to you, raking a hand through his hair out of the sexual tension raging between the two of you.

You move in closer, embracing him by wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he does the same to your hips, immediately sealing the distance between your lips and his with a heated kiss.

You moan into his mouth at the pressure of his lips over yours, hungrily and sloppily kissing you about as if he was deprived. The two of you shakily breathe out of your nostrils, lost in the deepening kiss as Michael pins you down upon the bed, hovering over you.

You roll your eyes back in pleasure, running your hands through his silky, dark hair and tousling it as he trails his hand gingerly down from your collarbones until he reaches your ass, raising your left thigh and giving it a firm smack.

“You couldn’t wait for this, could you?” Michael pants, breaking the kiss as he raises both of your thighs—his cock dangerously in line with your entrance. “This is what you wanted all day? I couldn’t even punish you because you even loved that, little slut.”

“Y-yes!” You cry out in pleasure as he spanks your ass harshly again, the skin beginning to glow pink.

“What are you, hmm?” Michael forcefully grabs your chin, tilting it down to face him. “A cum-guzzling whore?”

“F-for you.” You nod eagerly, shameless in any way you desire every inch of him. “O-Oh!” You gasp out in surprise as Michael grips his cock, flicking at your clit with the tip of his cock—now oozing with precum, completely rock hard.

“Ever so sensitive… You should have come to me earlier. Get up.” Michael leans back from you, pulling up at your arm. “Since you wanted this so badly, you shouldn’t have been around another man. Isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes, Don Corleone…” You lick your lips as Michael lays underneath you—your hips remaining just a few inches from taking in his cock. “I should h-have known better.”

“Good girl…” Michael grasps at both sides of your waist with his hands. “Now you’ll learn, won’t you? Come up here…” He pulls you up from his cock, raising your hips by his mouth. “Sit.”

“W-what?” You blush back, seeing Michael lick over his lips.

“I said sit.” He demands you to sit on his face, sternness growing in his voice.

Michael doesn’t wait for you to obey, simply pulling your hips down, so his mouth fully slobbers over your pussy. You throw your head back with a loud moan, almost losing your balance with how your thighs tremble at the contact of his wet, hot mouth over your dripping sex.

Your relentless arousal meets Michaels with ease. You harshly grip onto the bedsheets of both sides of the bed, forcing your knees to dig into the sheets as you feel them grow weaker and quiver with each flick of Michael’s tongue against your overly sensitive nub.

A loud moan escapes from your lips as you can no longer steady your breathing.

Michael keeps the same pressure and rhythm of his tongue drooling over your clit, building up your orgasm with ease. His tongue flickers up and down your clit, paying it the most attention as he suckles upon it, ever so gently pulling at it as he does so.

The sensation hits every nerve of your clit, sending waves of immense pleasure coursing throughout your body. With each passing moment, you feel your legs growing weaker, about to give in to the consuming orgasm building inside of you.

You clench the bedsheets with such force that your knuckles strain white, unable to pull yourself away nor wanting to. Michael’s eyes lazily gaze up at you as he’s pleased to himself to see you barely able to form a coherent thought or sentence with how enthralled you are against the pleasure his mouth brings.

He soaks your pussy in your saliva, grabbing firmly onto your ass and giving it a smack every time he notices your thighs tremble out, about to give in. The tip of his Roman nose brushes against your clit, only continuing to steal loud, drawn-out moans from you.

Like a man starved, Michael grinds his face up to your hips as you buckle them back down to his mouth, obsessed with the way his tongue explores every pleasurable part of your pussy. The feeling of his stubble brushing up against your clit only amplifies your heightened orgasm.

You can already feel your juices trickling down onto Michael’s mouth as he continues lapping you up, forcing your hips down even further onto his mouth. Finding his tongue snaking into your pussy, you can take no longer as your muscles contract.

Adrenaline pumps into your body as your skin feels hot to the touch from the rushing pleasure and oxytocin hitting you all at once. You practically scream out a moan, completely out of breath as you cock your head back and let your orgasm unravel around him.

Your pussy convulses, but Michael doesn’t allow you to budge from your place, continuing to press his lips up to your reddened clit as your heavy orgasm washes over you. The feeling is overwhelming in the most erotic way, ecstasy jolting through every part of your body as you release.

You barely have a moment to compose yourself as Michael practically throws you down on the bed, taking control as he flips you over and onto your stomach. You pant out against the pillow, weakly clutching over it as every inch of you begs to be dominated over and over again by Michael.

“I love when you moan like that…” Michael whispers in your ear, his voice in a husky tone as he squeezes your ass with one hand. “Like a slut, begging for me to make you cum over and over again."

“Y-yes!” You whimper back to him as Michael angles your ass slightly up, enough to meet his hips as he gets on his knees.

You lay on your stomach, arching your back up to him as you feel his cock sliding up against your soaked entrance; Michael teasing you by inching the tip inwards before pulling it out and grinding it over your pussy.

“Fuck me, Michael… Fuck me, please…” Your words are half slurred as your pussy practically aches and throbs for his cock to enter you.

Your bottom lip trembles as you gaze back at him, your eyes half-open as your body still recovers from the aftermath sensitivity from your orgasm.

Sweat begins to form over Michael’s forehead as his ruffled and tousled hair bounces over his forehead with his every movement. The sight of him so fixated on fucking you is erotic to no bounds itself, his eyes filled with an insatiable lust and craving towards you.

Michael spreads your pussy apart with both hands, gazing at your entrance hole. “I’m going to ruin you…”

You muffle out your moan into the pillow as Michael slowly thrusts his cock inside of you, pushing all eight inches in through your tightness with a breathy moan spilling out of his mouth. The sound of him moaning and groaning is a different kind of pleasure altogether to your ears as he feels your wetness clench against him, longing to feel all of him.

“Fuck. Fuck…!” Michael hisses, leaning his body over your back. Your ass claps back against his skin as he angles his hips to bury every inch of his cock inside of you with each thrust.

Michael squeezes his eyes shut, picking up the pace to stretch you with his cock as he leaves a wet kiss over your shoulder. His hair brushes up against the nape of your neck as he slides his hand over your throat, gripping it firmly to raise your head up.

“Mm, yes!” Lost in a blissful state of ecstasy, the scent of sex fills the room like an aphrodisiac—both his cologne and your perfume mixing in with it all.

“H-harder! Don Corleone!” Your pussy convulses around his rigid cock as he picks up the rhythm, fucking you at a fast pace to release his pent-up sexual frustration.

“Others can have their little fantasies about you all they want…” Michael breathes hotly against the side of your neck as he slams cock into you. “But at the end of the day… You’re here, fucked till you can’t remember your name—completely at my mercy…”

“Farai come dico—sempre.” (You will do as I say—always.) The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as your breasts jiggle against the bed from the movement.

The filthiest moans escape from your lips as you refuse to hold yourself back; Michael abusing your cervix at another angle to coax out your orgasm.

“You’re mine, Victoria Corleone… Sei mio.” (You’re mine.) Michael grunts, running a hand through his hair to brush aside the strands sticking to his forehead.

“I’m going to make you my little whore…” Utterly captivated by the way Michael’s memorized every inch of your body, you give in to the overwhelming sensations of pleasure taking over you.

Your clit pulsates in newfound pleasure as throughout Michael’s rhythm of thrusts, his manhood comes into contact with it—slapping against it repeatedly. “D-Don Corleone…!”

“Non mi disubbidirai mai più.” (You’re never going to disobey me again.) With one hand wrapped around your throat and the other gripping your hip, Michael suckles harshly onto the side of your neck. He leaves reddened, deep love marks in a trail of heated kisses with his tongue that combines pain with pleasure.

“M-mai—” (Never—) You cry out over and over again, your pussy vibrating against him. His cock slides in and out of you with ease, drenched in your wetness, and slicked with his precum.

“Sei un Corleone—” (You’re a Corleone) Noticing your groans growing louder, Michael grabs at your face again harshly, fueled on how you moan his name.

“E ti comporterai come un Corleone.” (And you’ll act like a Corleone.) You roll your eyes back in pleasure, digging your nails into the bedsheets as Michael rocks your entire body with the bliss of your orgasm about to release out once more.

“Michael, I—” Your ass begins to redden from how fast Michael’s hips come into contact with it, slapping it over and over again with his rhythm that only grows in force and intensity by the minute. “I won’t d-disobey you ever again, I p-promise!”

“You know better now, don’t you?” He grunts, “look at me when I talk to you.”

With your face pressed into the pillow, you shakily gaze back at him—your mouth half-open as you pant out. “P-please, let me cum, Don Corleone—”

“You think you’ve earned it? I want you to look me in the eyes when you cum.” Michael pounds his cock into your pussy, fucking you like a ragdoll as the mattress shakes out from underneath the two of you.

Unsure of how much more you can take, it becomes almost unbearable to hold back your orgasm on the verge of releasing. Each thrust weakens your muscles to hold it back from contracting as now you can barely form a sentence out—fucked into a pure state of submission by Michael.

“I’m g-going to cum, I’m—”

“Come on, baby, that’s it, that’s it—” Michael chuckles breathily as you squeeze your eyes shut, letting your consuming orgasm take over you as your body trembles against his.

Your hips quiver as you let go, sprawled over your stomach with Michael’s cock still buried inside of you, shooting out spurt after spurt of his cum deep inside of you.

Your moment of bliss is interrupted as you gasp shakily, finding yourself squirting in between your legs and all over the bedsheets against your will, no matter how hard you clench at your legs. “O-oh, fuck—”

“There you go…” Michael’s eyes widen in surprise; the grin on his lips grows wider as he pulls his cock out of you slowly, not having spilled a drop of his cum.

“Oh… Oh, God…” You weakly flip over, your legs clenched, and your face flushed a deep shade of red from squirting out your orgasm. “M-Michael…”

Relief hits you as your clit stings in sensitivity, having taken out all the energy from your body as a result of it.

The two of you are soaked in sweat and cum, your hair tangled, and Michael’s tousled back into a mess—the scent of sex lingering on the both of you.

“Victoria…” Michael leans down, kissing your lips sweetly as you relax your muscles.

You blink back at him, wiping at your eyes and noticing your smeared mascara as you giggle breathlessly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I… I’m not going to make it down for dinner.”

The two of you break out into a laugh. “I know you aren’t, not looking like this in front of your father.”

“So that means…” You nibble on your bottom lip, gazing back at him enticingly.

“So that means you get a pregnancy test first thing tomorrow.” He leads on, pushing a curtain of your hair behind your ear.

“That’s not nearly enough to get me pregnant.” You shake your head at him, “we’d be wasting our time…”

“Are you just saying that?” He raises a brow at you, his chest pressed against yours. “Because I know you’d spend all evening in here if you had the chance.”

“Yeah?” You breathe out, running his hair in between your fingers. “Is that such a bad thing? To want to be fucked by Michael Corleone?”

“Depends who you are,” Michael murmurs against your lips. “I’m yours as much as you are mine…”

“Then I say we should spend the rest of our night right here…” You trail your hand down Michael’s chest, touching at his chest hair before you reach down to his still, fully erect member. “Nobody else will have to know, Don Corleone. Unless, of course, you have more pressing business matters to attend to?”

“This time, I think I’ll gag your mouth…” Michael gives you a quick kiss with his tongue. “Wouldn’t want your father to know I’m fucking his little daughter to a mess, would I?”

“No, sir.” Your eyes widen in delight.

Michael chuckles softly, leaning over to the end table and clicking off the night lamp. Shrouded in the darkness within Michael’s embrace, you can make out his facial features from the moonlight peering out between the cracks of the curtains.

Michael presses his forehead against yours, sliding a hand down to your pussy and spreading it open. “This time, you will bear my child.”

176 notes · View notes

melis-writes · 3 years ago

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 · 3 years ago

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader series, 18+ Smut] Excerpt Edition!

Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

[AUTHOR’S NOTE]: Happy Valentine's Day 2022, everyone!! 🤗 To all of my beloved followers and mutuals, I hope you have an incredible day! As a special treat, I'm releasing all of the excerpts/rough draft snippets I've had for our fan favourite "Moth to Flame!" ❤ As you all know, I'm working on a Bobby Axel (The Panic in Needle Park) x Reader multichapter fic at the moment, but once you go to "Moth to Flame", your heart is kind of ensnared there forever! 😅🙏🏻 These pieces did not make the final cuts of chapters, whether I didn't like the content, thought it was unnecessary, or came up with something better. Still, I'd love to share it with you guys for those wanting a sneak peek of the rough drafts as I was still writing the fic! 🥰

[WHAT'S MENTIONED IN THE SNIPPETS?]:

1️⃣ - Some mentions of Alphonse Ricci.

2️⃣ - Our favourite gal (😂) Rita Duvall formally meeting Victoria which never happened in the fic.

3️⃣ - A brief conversation Michael has with Victoria about Don Ferrari.

4️⃣ - A descriptive piece from the chapter "Aphrodisiac" 👀.

5️⃣❗ - SPECIAL: A MAJOR plot-twist and backstory of Victoria and Alphonse Ricci that may or may not be able to heavily impact her marriage with Michael I completely scrapped!

[ Excerpt 1 ]

Hunted down like animals one by one, Michael Corleone had tracked down each and every one of Don Alphonse Ricci’s men that had been at Antonio Ricci’s trial, adding their bodies to the streets with that of the hired photographer and chauffeur. Two shots to the head, Corleone-style corpses, sending out a clear message to the increasingly weak Don struggling to maintain legitimacy and power in front of the other families.

Don Alphonse had been growing frustrated with each and every failure his men had caused him. Having influence over street hoodlums and petty criminals looking to make quick money rather than solid, mafia-style commitments like his father had hold over decades ago.

One fuck up away from becoming nothing but a whisper in the wind, Don Ricci still clung onto the idea of using words before force, simply because you were involved. Desperate in a way to maintain his criminal enterprises and presence, if he was just able to avenge his father’s long time business partner, Virgil Sollozzo, he could have his foot in the door to the narcotics trade, taking the Corleone’s out of the equation while maintaining a hold over the Ferrari’s.

Seeing it as an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, Don Alphonse Ricci’s plan to rise back to the old glory of his family seemed feasible and straightforward to get to, as long as he could provoke Michael Corleone in a way that would catch his attention, and not result in him immediately being found and killed.

Getting to you was a perfect way. He could secure a Ferrari wife, have a hold over Michael’s unborn children, and rise to the notoriety that the six families never would have seen coming. One specific rule remains unchanged—not to hurt you. Wanting you alive and unharmed, Alphonse knows he’d be a dead man if he tried to arrange a meeting with Michael Corleone at this point. But a Ferrari daughter unengaged in mafia business would be the perfect pinpoint for a hefty ultimatum to be made.

Failing to even get a decent photograph of you by the villa, Alphonse’s men were able to tell him exactly what he was hoping to hear—your visible pregnancy. His bodyguard had delivered the news just as his men went missing, gesturing to his face and explaining the bruising over your cheek.

Refusing to believe Michael would have done it to you, Alphonse’s righthand man uses Carlo Rizzi’s broken nose and badly gashed injuries as an example of Michael’s strength, having heard Carlo complain and profess it loudly in a bar with a prostitute the other night.

Don Ricci’s plan was settled once again. He wouldn’t have you remain a widow for long after Michael’s assassination, believing your father would have no choice but give your hand to him and a slice of the narcotics profit.

“She’s a Sicilian beauty, alright. That damned Michael Corleone has it all. The support of both families, the legitimacy, the men on his payroll. We won’t be able to pull a crumb of his attention without getting to his wife first.”

[ Excerpt 2 ]

“Victoria, look whose been trying to find you all evening!” You hear Sandra’s voice ring in from behind.

You turn around with a small, delighted gasp to find her escorting an esteemed guest and colleague of yours from Dartmouth—Tillie Matilda. Tillie had graduated from Dartmouth in 1941 alongside you and Kay with a business degree, and as Kay went off to become a schoolteacher, Tillie and you only grew closer as the two of you pursued graduate degrees together.

In law while she chose to do a master’s degree, campus was a little less lonely with her by your side. With your graduating and passing of the bar exam, Tilly became a professor at Dartmouth only to marry one of it’s wealthiest benefactors—retiring early as an entrepreneur and world traveller.

Due to the nature of both of your lives and her demanding social life with her husband, you were only able to keep some contact with her through letters, holidays and formal events—such as tonight. Naturally, one of the first invitations you sent out to your contacts was for Tilly and her husband to join your family in celebration of five years spent at Lake Tahoe.

Tillie had briefly met the Corleone girls after you married Michael and spent much more time at public events, but this time, it wasn’t just Sandra escorting Tillie alone; she remains next to an unfamiliar, brunette woman whose gaze appears to be insistently over Fredo.

“Tillie!” You exclaim out, pulling her into a hug as the two of you share a soft laugh.

“Victoria, there you are! So good to see you and the girls again! Oh, I thought I may have lost you in the crowd already but Sandra pulled me out!”

“And there’s someone I’d like you to meet, Victoria.” Deanna chimes in, gesturing to the unfamiliar woman by Tilly’s side. “An associate of Senator Geary’s. This is Rita Duvall, from Las Vegas herself!”

Rita Duvall is both an unfamiliar name and face to you. Unsurprised Deanna would have such contacts as she’s in the Hollywood show business herself, Rita doesn’t quite fit the picture for what you expected an “associate” of a US senator to look like.

Dressed in a rather flashy and provocative cocktail dress dipping down to expose her cleavage that wouldn’t surprise you if it was over Deanna, Rita’s body posture remains alluring and almost seductive in the way she carries herself. Her hair is curled in a tight updo with a full face covered in makeup as if she had come along to a party, but entered the wrong one.

“Hello, Miss Ferrari.” Rita smiles back at you coyly.

“Corleone.” You correct, noticing from the side that Fredo has seen her and moved to the other side of the table almost immediately.

“Corleone?” She raises a brow, looking at you as if you just told her a joke.

Connie purses her lips, and you can already tell by her expression she’s not fond of Senator Geary’s choice of an extra guest to bring along.

Picking up on the awkward air between you two, Tilly clears her throat and continues for the sake of introductions. “She and I met earlier this evening as well. Rita?”

“You may have heard of me from Moe Greene.” Rita adds as if you’re supposed to know her. She extends a hand out for you to shake. “I spent many years alongside him in the show business in Vegas.”

“Ah…” She’s a cocktail waitress. You shake her hand back loosely, unimpressed. Now it makes sense as to why Senator Geary has her alongside him, and it more than explains her eager gazes over at Fredo.

“Got a little friend over there you want to introduce us too?” Sonny grins back at Fredo, nudging his arm.

“Who is she anyway?” Tom briefly takes a glance back at Rita.

“Ah, just one of Moe Greene’s old girls from the resort, before Mikey bought it out.” Fredo brushes Sonny off, taking a seat and avoiding looking over at Rita at all costs. “A cocktail waitress, an escort—she did some work as a showgirl when I met her.”

“Was she one of the cocktail waitresses you were ‘banging two at a time’?” Sonny holds back his laughter as Tom shakes his head back in disapproval at the joke.

“Uh.” Fredo chuckles nervously, only fueling the fit of laughter Sonny now breaks into.

“Oh, okay, I get it! You’re the man, Fredo! Yeah, Tom, see—I knew he could still get it!”

“But of course, after the Corleone’s bought out Moe’s business, she came over to me in Hollywood.” Deanna boasts as if it’s something to be proud of. “We’ve been like sisters ever since. At least tonight you can meet the man who bought out your career, eh?” She gives an airy laugh. “Corleone hospitality is like none other!”

“You’re lucky to have grabbed Fredo yourself.” Rita gives Deanna a forced smile.

“Wait till you meet the other ones.” Deanna winks back at her.

“Ahem—” Theresa cuts in, gesturing to the table. “Dinner is about to start, but I’m sure if you have any questions or business related matters, then you could wait to see Mr. Corleone after.”

“And that would be my brother, Michael.” Connie shoots Rita a disapproving look. “Victoria is married to him.”

The same look of utter disbelief crosses Rita’s face as she turns her attention to the Corleone boys—now seeing Michael seated and making conversation with Vito, your father and the Senator. “Is he the…?”

“Dark, gelled back hair, dreamy one with eyes to die for?” Deanna hiccups, “yes!”

“Oh, that’s Mr. Corleone… The head of the Corleone family, is he? I know Moe mentioned he didn’t like him.” Rita muses.

“Why’s that?” Tilly raises a brow.

“Whenever he came by to the hotels, he made everyone leave. The band, the waiters, and all of us—the girls. Fredo though, he loved our company. He was something else, but now I see he’s trying to be a bit more like his brother. Settling down…” Rita lets out a laugh, nudging Deanna, “and with lucky Deanna at that, but his brother over there… So stern and serious.”

Turning back out of reaction, you notice Michael is well within earshot to listen in on the entirety of your conversation with the girls, and knowing him, he’s already heard it all. However, Michael neither budges a muscle to look or turn back, nor does he care.

You stop yourself from nibbling over your bottom lip to keep your lipstick intact, knowing it comes out of reflex from the jealousy tugging at you in your gut. You hate the very feeling itself, brushing it aside for the sake of maturity.

“Michael’s only bad habit is cigarettes.” Connie pulls open her purse, grabbing one out of her pack. “And you’ll find nothing else about my brother but that.”

If someone doesn’t say that outloud, they’re certainly thinking it. While Rita may be outspoken and promiscuous in manner towards what she wants and what she thinks, the idea of having many other women not just tonight but in general and everyday thinking the same isn’t fantasy—it’s reality.

[ Excerpt 3 ]

“I take it your father is not a man who accept apologies or takes thoughtfulness into consideration through letters and gifts.” Michael laces a hand with you as the two of you remain seated next to each other in Michael’s private vehicle.

“Never has been.” You crack a smile, giving Michael’s hand a gentle squeeze. “He’s always appreciated the sentiment, though. He can be appreciative when he wants to.”

“Your father is a good man, Victoria.” Michael glances back at you, “but the notion may be temporarily lost now with your mother’s death.”

“Michael,” you frown back at him, “I’m sure whatever the reason for him asking for us to see him is nothing hostile or the sort. He loves you like his own son and based on the circumstances, I think the two of you have more in common now than ever.”

“Such as?” Michael raises a brow at you, hardly moved.

“Both of you want Roth dead.” You nod back at him, “but he’s still alive.

[ Excerpt 4 ]

He was a different man then as he can admit to himself now, but everything fit perfectly. He knew he needed you, and he knew he wanted you. He constantly searched at your expression and body language to feel the mutual energy off of you. He wanted you to desire him, he wanted you to crave him both physically and emotionally—because all of these things he did towards you.

Physical attraction had to be set aside for the sake of considering and building a solid marriage, but it was still unavoidable. You were not an ordinary woman blending into the crowd, whether you were in downtown New York or in Vito Corleone’s office that Michael had been in a million times. You’re Sicilian, as Michael could tell from your appearance very clearly, and your facial features, your hair, down to your eyes, and even the way your lips are shaped attracted Michael.

He could not get his eyes off of you, even with his father talking. Each time he glanced at you, he wanted to look again—he wanted to see more. He confused himself in the sense that he didn’t know why he couldn’t get enough of you, no matter how he looked or for how long. He quickly came to the realization that no matter what he did or tried to do, he would simply never get enough of you. That’s when Michael Corleone knew he was falling in love with you.

The way you spoke intrigued him. The way you carried yourself caught his attention. Your behaviour, the sound of your voice, how you could have very much been the Sicilian girl he had laid eyes upon instead of Apollonia, but how you also could have been someone he’d want to search through all of New York to find if he saw you even for a moment downtown.

Michael didn’t want to get his hopes up when he first saw and met you. Apollonia’s death was not fresh, but still too soon. He knew what happened the last time he let his attraction to a woman lead him to marriage. It couldn’t be helped, at the end of the day. He could not and would not refuse his attraction to you.

You weren’t a blur or black sheep of your family. You were involved in differently ways, but not enough to use the word “directly”. You were educated, intelligent, ambitious, had a life of your own, goals of your own, were selfless and devoted to your family. You had every trait Michael was searching for in a potential wife.

[ Excerpt 5 ]

“Not the reaction I expected.” Alphonse purses his lips, reaching into his suit jacket. “Maybe this will help you remember.” He slips out a photograph, holding it up in front of you.

Your jaw falls wide open, your face stinging with sheer and utter humiliation at the image before you. Taken years back when you first started at Dartmouth in your second semester, you pose at Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity house, your arms wrapped around a younger Alphonse Ricci’s arms as he’s leaned in, kissing your cheek deeply as you give a beaming smile at the camera.

“How did…what…?” Your face burns with embarrassment, unable to believe the photograph before you.

“It was just a semester, but I know you remember me.” He places the photograph back into his pocket, grabbing onto your wrist as you attempt to reach out for it. “Ha—that helped, didn’t it? Look at you…”

“Stop…” You take a step back, “stop this.”

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melis-writes · 3 years ago

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 18 - Power Shift.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 17 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

The last day of your honeymoon and family vacation in Sicily comes to an end, marked only with tension between Michael and Fredo as Vito plans to fully retire, making Michael officially Don Corleone. Planning a relocation to Lake Tahoe, Michael has wiped out all of his enemies with the exception of a weakened Alphonse Ricci to use as a business pawn--no further enemies standing against the Corleone family. With a promise to a normal life to lead in Nevada, Michael provides his reassurances to you about Alphonse and Kay, while fighting for the legitimacy of his title against his eldest brother.

[WARNINGS]: Smut/Oral sex.

[SUGGESTIONS]: Anons for requesting: Michael sleeping on your ass / Giving Michael a nickname (mio amore!) / Michael waking you by eating you out / Seeing wet shower Michael / Giving Michael a massage / Sharing a bath with Michael / Bonding with your father in law Vito / Michael unable to control moans during oral.

[ + 1 Week / Corleone Villa / Early Morning ].

The morning sun shines its rays through the chiffon curtains, illuminating through your bedroom as a warm breeze trickles through the window, brushing past you and Michael, who remains sprawled upon the bed within each other’s embrace.

The sounds of you and Michael’s soft breathing fills the room; a faint sound of birds chirping from the balcony chimes in. Sleeping peacefully upon your side, snuggled away upon the satin sheets, you ignore the sun hitting your eyes for a moment more of blissful sleep before the alarm clock goes off.

Like clockwork, Michael awakens five minutes before the alarm clock is scheduled to go off. His eyes flutter open slowly as he blinks, clearing his vision. Michael finds his head no longer on his pillow but rather on your ass with one hand over your thighs, feeling at the lace fabric of your panties upon his cheek.

Michael swallows the dry lump in his throat, memories of last night flowing back to him.

He spent the entire day with Don Tommasino, your father, and your brothers in expanding the Corleone olive oil business in Sicily. He returned to the villa late but still found you waiting for him by the pool with a bottle of your anniversary wine. The two of you wined and dined, spending the remainder of the evening in conversation about your preparations to Nevada and sharing childhood stories until you could no longer keep your eyes open.

A deep sleep hit the two of you as you both cuddled up to each other, calling it a night. Michael glances over at you. His eyes are half-open with laziness to see you slightly stir but remain asleep for the most part.

He grunts quietly, raising his head and stretching out his arms, glancing back down at your ass—a perfect view in his position. Michael runs a hand through his messy, bedhead hair, pushing it aside from his eyes as he leans over to shut off the alarm clock early.

6:26 AM.

With a creak of the bed and the scuffling sound of Michael dealing with the alarm clock, you awaken from your deep state of sleep, keeping your sore, sleepy eyes closed as you expect the alarm clock to go off at any moment.

“Mio amore…” You mutter out, aware from the way the mattress moves that Michael is sitting up in bed.

Michael’s eyes scour at your half-naked body, only dressed in a dainty pair of panties with the covers wrinkled up and barely covering you from the heat. He runs a hand over your leg and up your thigh tenderly, watching as you stir again and lay on your front, spreading your legs out in response.

“Buon giorno.” (Good morning). Michael whispers back to you, his voice still hazy with sleep.

You peek open your eyes, giving him a weak smile back as you stretch out your arms, aware of the sensation of his touch upon your thighs.

Michael keeps his eyes upon you before rubbing both with two hands as he places his thumbs on both sides of your inner thighs, massaging about with slight pressure and watching for your reaction.

You let out a soft grunt, closing your eyes back shut as his touch sends shivers up your spine. You’re aware of what he’s doing, letting yourself revel at the moment.

Michael slowly leans his head down and in between your legs, pushing your panties to the side with one finger and kissing the center of your pussy.

Gasping softly, you feel a sudden tug of arousal in your gut, unable to deny the immediate sensation hitting your body. Michael breathes hotly against your pussy, licking his finger and grazing it upwards to your clit ever so slowly.

You bite your lip in response, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel the muscles in your thighs clench. Gazing at your dewiness, Michael parts your pussy with both hands, placing his mouth overtop of your clit and immediately suckling upon it.

A shaky, hot breath escapes from your lips as you open your eyes, watching him bury his face into your pussy. His tongue laps up at your clit, angling his chin upwards as he eats you out, keeping the same rhythm and pressure at your sweet spot.

Your eyes snap open as you clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling a loud and unexpected moan. The pleasurable feelings of ecstasy rock over your body, causing your thighs to quiver and your toes to curl.

Michael sloppily continues eating you out as if he hasn’t even noticed your expression. His stubble grazes against your clit, causing an immense burst of pleasure to flow through you.

You breathe heavily, now fully awake at the sight of Michael’s messy hair dangling over your lower waistline and brushing up against your thighs as he slicks his tongue in-between the folds of your wetness.

“M-Michael…” You cry out, trying to keep your mouth shut as not to wake the twins in the next room.

You find his dark eyes meet up with yours as he presses his tongue down, fully open the entirety of your sex, flicking it up and down as your juices uncontrollably begin to trickle down your pussy.

“Michael, you’ll make—” You shudder, letting out a loud breathy moan as your muscles unwind, contributing to the shaking of your legs upon the sheets as you clutch down open them.

Your orgasm hits unexpected and hard, washing over your entire body as you cock your head back, letting it take over you between Michael’s mouth.

Amused, Michael slowly pulls away, licking at his lips as he kneels upon the bed. He’s dressed in nothing but briefs before you, his stubble having grown in and his hair matting up to his forehead.

“Mm, good morning.” He repeats, licking off his lips.

You let out a soft exhale, attempting to regain yourself as you clench your legs, unbelievably turned on by the sudden show of lust this early in the morning. “Oh my God--first thing in the morning."

“Now you’re awake.” Michael squeezes at your thighs.

Your face flushes scarlet at his teasing demeanor. “Good morning to you too.”

You hear Michael chuckle softly as he gets off of the bed, grabbing a hanging towel from the back of your vanity’s chair as he makes his way to the bathroom. “Don’t be late, darling.”

Your sensitive clit throbs back at you as you slide out of bed, grabbing on your satin night robe and wrapping it around you. “Agh, the twins aren’t even awake yet.”

Michael sets his towel aside, beginning to adjust the water in his shower. “They’ll need their rest for tonight’s flight, as will you.” He steps in the shower and soaks himself with hot water, lathering up his body for a quick rinse.

“Don’t even remind me.” You rub at your eyes, peeking over in the mirror by your vanity to see your reddened cheeks and hair a tangled mess, ruffled and thrown back as a reminder of how well and long you slept last night.

Smoothening out your nightrobe, you get up from your seat and make your way to the bathroom, pushing the door open to be greeted by a fresh scent of body wash and steam from Michael’s hot shower.

“Do you have anything planned for today, or are you going to join us for breakfast?” You peek in, grabbing at your hairbrush by the sink counter to make do with the knots and tangles in your hair.

'Today is our last day in Sicily…' It marks the end of your honeymoon and vacation with both of your families. A week well spent with Michael without having to worry about work or business—although Michael has a way with constantly bringing his work home with him—you’ve never felt so relaxed before.

The twins have had plenty of time to be around both of their grandparents and all of their uncles, picking up on a majority of the conversations going on in Italian—even if they’re too young to understand it. The honeymoon is everything you could have expected and more, having a consistent week of as much time as possible with your husband.

It’s a relaxation from New York that you’ll be returning to on the flight much later this evening, making the last of your preparations for the official move to Lake Tahoe with both of the family’s blessings.

“I’m meeting with Sonny and Tom in ten minutes. I’ll join you and the kids shortly.”

“Is something the matter?” You let a couple strands of hair loose by the sides of your face, double-checking at yourself in the mirror.

“Just business, darling. Don’t worry about it.” You hear Michael turning off the water.

You set your hairbrush down, quickly reaching over to Michael’s towel and handing it to him around the shower curtain. “There you go.”

“Thank you.” Michael says quietly, wrapping it around his waist.

You reach your hands up in your hair to fasten it into a low twist bun for just a moment as Michael pulls aside the shower curtain, directly standing before you soaked. Water dribbles down his chin and drips off the tips of his wet hair in unison, with the droplets trailing down his chest and soaking into his towel.

Blush hits your cheeks as you watch him run his hands through his hair, squeezing out the excess moisture and slicking it back out of his eyes. “Michael, I was wondering…”

You find yourself unable to peel your eyes off the sight of how the beads of water slide off his chest and biceps—the steam surrounding the two of you as no help either.

“Mhmm?”

You blush at him, watching as Michael steps out of the shower, drawing the curtains back shut and approaching the mirror. “Who else will be at Lake Tahoe with us?”

He grabs a separate towel, ruffling it through his hair to dry off as much as he can before smoothening it back. “Sonny, Tom, and Fredo—alongside Al Neri and Rocco.”

“Fredo?” You peep back, picking up his hair comb as he sets the towel aside.

“Is something wrong?” Michael raises a brow, hiding his genuine concern with suspicions of his own from Fredo recently.

You begin to comb back his hair, running your fingers through his silky, smooth locks. “No, nothing like that, it’s just…”

Your mind wanders off to the idea of living on the same compound with Fredo, only giving you a feeling of uneasiness after remember each and every time you approached him only to be ignored as well as the strange, cold looks he continues to give Niccolò whenever he has the chance.

“I don’t think Fredo likes me very much.” You mutter quietly, knowing since you met Michael, you wanted nothing more than to get to know his entire family—all of his brothers and bond with them as your in-laws, strong relationships with all of his siblings except Fredo.

Fredo barely attended half of your wedding and never formally introduced himself to you before. He knew who you were but largely ignored it and continued to do so even as you played a larger role in Michael’s life. You barely have any recollections with him—the last being that he strangely approached you, Sandra, and Connie months back.

'I’m sure he meant no harm…' The look in his eyes towards your infant son Niccolò wasn’t curiosity, softness, or anything to do with being polite—it had a glimpse of envy, one that burned into the back of your mind whenever Fredo’s name came out in any conversation.

“Has Fredo spoken to you lately?” Michael asks as you twist open the tin of hair gel, smearing some over the palm of your hands.

“That’s the thing.” You let out a little sigh, working your hands through his hair. “He never talks to me. Ever. I feel he avoids me on purpose. I hope I didn’t do anything to offend him, but he’s so different from the rest of your brothers.”

“Fredo is good-natured at heart, but his intentions are out of order.” Michael purses his lips as you slick back his hair from the sides. “And he’s been like that ever since I returned from Sicily.” His eyes glance back at yours momentarily, knowing he’s just brushed up on the sensitive topic, but he doesn’t pick up a reaction from you. “He latched onto Sonny in hopes he would succeed my father.”

“But Sonny was supposed to, wasn’t he?” You run a final rake of the comb through all sides of his hair, slicking it back to a still perfection.

“Yes, he was.” Michael nods as you set aside the hair gel and comb. “Before Sollozzo and the Tattaglia’s tricks, father had been preparing Sonny to succeed him until he came to a realization himself. He’d drive the Corleone family right into the ground.”

“What do you mean?” Your eyes widen slightly as Michael pulls open a drawer, taking out his shaving cream and razor.

“It’s Sonny’s temper, haven’t you noticed?” Michael lathers up a layer of shaving cream over one side of his cheek. “I love my brother, but Sonny's far too rash. He acts first, thinks second. His might is something else to talk about, but it doesn’t suit him as a Don. If he went headfirst into everything with aggression and hostility, the Barzini’s and Tattaglia’s would ruin us without so much as lifting a finger.”

“So…just like that, he decided he couldn’t do it?” You hand him his razor.

“He and father had a conversation about it,” Michael explains, taking the razor, “a much-needed one. It was Sonny’s mouth that almost got father killed.”

You bite down on your lip, almost inconceivable to yourself to picture the Don hospitalized like Michael had said—shot so many times yet still miraculously survived, and that was his second time. He looks so full of life and joy during his semi-retirement now to you.

“Fredo was never considered, although he should have been as second eldest. You understand how he felt after his own father excluded him?” Michael carefully shaves off his stubble, angling the razor by his jawline.

“But for what reason? That unlike Sonny, he’s inactive—”

“He’s stupid.” Michael flat out states. “He’s weak, he’s stupid, and he’s oblivious to the world around him.”

You notice Michael’s signature stern look set into his expression. “While we saved face for the legitimacy and influence of the Corleone family, he went out making friends with men like Moe Greene—men who do anything for a crumb of power from people like us and then spit at us after.”

“Moe Greene—”

“Is dead.” Michael answers plainly, slathering shaving cream over the other side of his face. “He owed the Corleone family, and he made a mistake not to pay up. Fredo told me he’d be interested in selling—what he didn’t tell me was that Greene’s hotel and casino business was starting to dwindle and fast. I offered to minimize his embarrassment—he refused.”

“And Fredo?”

“Was so used to getting slapped around by Greene that he didn’t speak to me for a week after I had that meeting.” Michael rinses off the side of his razor. “He runs the hotels and casinos for father and I now—and that’s the only thing he can do properly.”

“I guess he never got over it then.” You place your hands over Michael’s shoulders, rubbing gingerly in a massaging motion.

Michael grunts softly, splashing water over his face and cleaning off the rest of the shaving cream. “No. He’s very much living in his past, so don’t take it personally. There’s nothing unlikeable about you.”

“Did he like Kay?” You gaze back at him from the mirror.

Michael grabs back the towel, patting his face dry. “Yes, he did. Hence why he’s still stuck in the past. Fredo thinks father is going to retain his power until he passes, and he’s looking to Sonny in hopes that he’ll have just as much influence at that time.” He pauses for a moment, drying off his neck with the towel. “All his misconceptions end today.”

“You’re cutting him out of the family business?” Your eyes widen as he sets his facial towel aside.

“Don’t worry about it, Victoria.” Michael refuses to elaborate, pecking a small kiss over your lips. “He’s still my brother, after all.”

“Then why does he have a problem with our son?” You frown back at him as the two of you are about to enter the bedroom again.

Michael stops, placing one hand on the doorway as he turns his face to the side, taking in what you just said. “What are you talking about?”

You step out into the bedroom, approaching your dresser. “I don’t know—maybe I’m overreacting, but every time he sees Niccolò, he always gives him this glare. He lingers, and then he leaves—”

“Victoria.” Michael cuts in sharply as you peek your head.

“Yes?”

“I’ll talk to him today.” Michael purses his lips, pulling off his towel and beginning to dry himself. “Keep the children from him is all I ask. I don’t know what’s going through his head, but this kind of behavior is unacceptable.”

You nod back at him, your attention momentarily diverted by the sounds of distant chatter and laughter coming from the courtyard—voices from Sandra, Mama Corleone, and Vito setting up breakfast and tea on the patio.

“Are you going to be long?” You turn on your heel, flustered by the sight of him naked before you, grabbing on a pair of briefs and adjusting his watch over his wrist.

“Not long.” His answers are brief and short, clearly bothered by your previous comment.

Pulling open the closet, he grabs out a white dress shirt paired with a dark grey striped waistcoat, tie, jacket, and matching dress pants for the day.

You slowly approach him from behind with a shy smile painted over your lips, watching as he dresses in front of the closet’s mirror, adjusting a new tie over his neck. Peeking at yourself at his back, you lean over, planting a little kiss upon his cheek. “Think we’ll be able to come back here and vacation as often in the future?”

“We’ll see, darling.” Michael pulls his suit jacket over his arms and adjusts it with his waistcoat.

You pull your lips inward, standing to the side as you gaze at the Don Corleone-to-be. His Italian silk suit adorns his body, tailored perfectly. His expression rests emotionless and monotone, returning to full business mode.

He runs the palms of his hands carefully through the sides of his jet black hair, ensuring not a single loose strand stands out before he tightly adjusts his tie. 'There’s something just so sexy about his hair in every way…tousled, slicked, brushed back…'

The sight of Michael both flares up your shyness and your attraction against him, unable to stop yourself from admiring every inch of him. You attempt to ignore the butterflies twisting in your stomach.

You open your mouth to say something, silenced by Michael’s gaze as he gestures to the open door with his head, knowing Sonny and Tom are downstairs. “I made a promise to both myself and your father when I asked for your hand in marriage—to keep you safe, always. Family or not, you will let me know if anything else happens.”

“But what about New York? What happens when we return?”

“I will officially be Don Corleone.”

[ Michael’s Office / Early Afternoon ].

“Michael Corleone sends his regards."

“Barzini, Tattaglia, Greene, Cuneo and Stracci—all dead.” Sonny claps his hand, rubbing his palms in between each other as he plops down upon one of the armchairs in Michael’s villa office.

“It’s all confirmed.” Tom flips through a document folder with a half grim, half-amused expression over his face, examining the photographs taken of each crime scene by Clemenza, Cicci, Rocco, and Al Neri on the first day of Michael’s honeymoon with you in Sicily.

Michael taps off the ashes from his cigarette as he comfortably leans back in his office seat. “And the others?”

“Tessio is dead.” Tom nods back, “Barzini’s highest-ranking enforcers were killed by Mulberry Street, as well as the rest of his guards outside of his home—Clemenza had the bodies dumped in New Jersey. And…” He exchanges a concerned glance with Sonny before flipping to the next photograph.

“Carlo is also dead.” There’s both a sense of relief and dread in Tom’s voice, knowing it was Michael who gave out the order because of his conspiracies with the Barzini’s and the Ricci’s, but Sonny ultimately executed the murder plan.

Sonny scoffs at the news, stretching out his legs upon the armchair as he rests his elbow down. “Yeah. And thank God at that.”

Sonny has Connie under the belief that Carlo is staying in Las Vegas with Moe Greene under a business meeting for the next week, reassuring her to stay on her wit’s end as he exaggerated his exploits of cocktail waitresses and partying for her not to worry about him. In reality, he was the first one killed—garroted to death by Sonny himself a day before the flight to Sicily.

“Also…” Tom clears his throat, reaching the last two photographs. One image is of Fabrizio, Michael’s Sicilian bodyguard, who betrayed him and planted the car bomb that killed Apollonia, sitting in his car parked alongside a pizzeria in Buffalo. The other, taken moments after, is his car completely engulfed in flames after an explosion.

“Fabrizio is dead.” He elaborates further on the manner of his death, “Al Neri planted a bomb in his car outside of the pizzeria he worked at.”

Michael takes a long drag on his cigarette, gazing back at Tom as he gives a slight nod, saying nothing.

“And there you have it.” Sonny brushes off his dress pants. “Father didn’t even have to break his vow—he wanted no tension, no war with the families and wouldn’t have any of it himself.”

“Still, Fredo should know about Moe Greene.” Tom folds back the document shut, setting it aside upon Michael’s desk.

“Why, so he can hop on the next flight to Vegas and attend his funeral?” Sonny rolls his eyes.

“So it doesn’t look personal.” Tom glances back at him before turning his head to Michael. “Fredo spent all his time with Greene up in Nevada; he’s going to want to hear it from his brother.”

Michael could care less on any other day, but with his newfound suspicions raised earlier this morning from you, it changes his perspective. He lets a trail of smoke escape from his lips as he gestures up with a flick of his hand. “Bring him in, though don’t expect any positive reactions.”

“Right.” Tom sighs a little, rising to his feet and smoothening out his waistcoat. “I’ll get him in here in just a moment.” He twists open the doorknob, exiting the office.

“There’s nothing the kid doesn’t take personally.” Sonny runs a hand through his curls, pulling at them.

“That’s not my concern.” Michael’s expression remains cold, hearing the scuffling about in the hallway as the door reopens again, this time bringing Fredo quietly hanging behind Tom as they both enter.

Tom retakes his seat, glancing up at Fredo, who awkwardly remains in the center, staring back at Michael as if he’s both intimidated and irritated. He looks upon Sonny for a moment, finding no reassurance in his blank expression, clearly spelling out a tension growing in the room.

“I already know.” There’s a strain growing behind Fredo’s voice.

“All the better.” Michael gives a loose shrug of his shoulders.

“I know you did it.” Fredo furrows his brows, “you did it to get back at me, didn’t you? You knew the business deals I had with Moe in Vegas, and you—”

“It wasn’t personal, Fredo; it was strictly business.” Michael interrupts, utterly unphased by Fredo’s reaction.

“You basically threatened him when he refused to sell—”

“That was business too.” Michael locks eyes with his older brother. “You still don’t understand?”

Fredo swallows hard, looking back and forth at Sonny and Tom, who remains quiet, listening intently to Michael and ignoring him. “I had a connection with Moe before you did. I was the one that introduced the two of you. I told you—he made me a man, he gave me a name in Vegas—”

“He did no such thing, Fredo.” Michael puts out his cigarette, shaking his head in disappointment. “Moe Greene only continued to fuel your fantasies of the high life—you already have a name, and it's Corleone. He slapped you around in public and tried to ‘straighten you out’, yet you still praise this man?”

“It wasn’t like that!” Fredo protests, “he was showing me how his business was run, I got ahead of myself and—”

“You couldn’t get your head in Moe Greene’s business even if you tried.” Michael places his hands upon his desk, intertwining his fingers. “You are not Moe Greene. You were doing nothing but hanging by his side for a grain of publicity—for the media. In reality, you leeched off whatever he gave you, despite me telling you father financed his hotel and came to collect. What did you do? You spent the entire time impregnating cocktail waitresses night after night.” He points an accusing finger back at Fredo. “You got nothing done, so you have no right to act offended when you knew it was coming.”

“Why?!” Fredo raises his voice sharply. “It was supposed to be for me! Father said—”

“Father gave you one job that you still couldn’t handle, Fredo. He didn’t tell you to indulge yourself for days in Vegas, he told you to handle matters with Greene, and you lost yourself, again.”

“Fredo—what’s gotten into you?” Sonny raises a brow. “Why are you so defensive over this? Mike's right, you know.”

“Like hell he is.” Fredo throws his hands up in the air. “You really don’t see it, Sonny?! You were supposed to be the Don! You! Not him! And now you’re just letting him take it from you? You really aren’t bothered by how your youngest brother is bossing you around, making all the decisions?!”

Tom shakes his head to himself, Michael completely unmoved.

“It was up to father, and I made my peace with it.” Sonny holds his hands up in surrender. “I had my say in it, Fredo. It was my decision too. I’m not seeing it as some sort of opportunity to take advantage of; this is serious! This is our family on the line!”

“Then it should have gone to me next.” Fredo scowls, pointing at his chest. “I’m the second oldest—the line of succession should have gone to me, and you had father take that away from me too?!” He redirects his anger to Michael.

“Even that wasn’t personal, Fredo.” Tom speaks up, “there’s family, and then there’s family business. It’s regardless of age and line of succession if it can be helped.”

“Oh, please!” Fredo rolls his eyes, “what? So you can use a gun and shoot a couple guys in the head, and all of a sudden, you’re the best of the best? I can do the same—where’s my golden throne?”

“You couldn’t even make a business deal with Moe without getting your lower half involved.” Michael muses, growing increasingly displeased with Fredo’s outburst. “And you think father could have trusted you with killing a police chief and Virgil Sollozzo? Where were you and your gun when your father was shot in front of your face? You sat on the street and cried like a child. Don’t you insult my intelligence, Fredo.”

Sonny lets out a shaky exhale, rubbing at his temples. “Fredo, you should have kept your mouth shut and your head down if you knew what was good for you. You embarrassed us in Vegas. Father and Mike are still giving you a second chance to run the Corleone casinos and hotels so you can be a part of the family business.”

“And after Michael, who will be the Don then?!” Fredo glares.

“Who do you think?” Michael asks, gazing back at him inquisitively. “You tell me.”

“Your son.”

Michael’s face falls as he holds his direct eye contact with Fredo, remembering what you told him earlier.

“…every time he sees Niccolò, he always gives him this glare…”

“Fredo—” Tom begins but is cut off by him immediately.

“And if none of you see anything wrong with that, I’ll take it to father!”

“Suit yourself.” Michael crosses his arms, leaning back in his seat as Fredo rakes a shaky hand through his hair, storming out of the office at once.

“Great…” Sonny sighs deeply as Tom shifts in his seat. “Just look at how well that went.”

“It doesn’t matter, Sonny.” Michael pulls out a new cigarette from his case. “Nothing will change the inevitable.”

“But to mention Niccolò…” Tom frowns, “he’s just a baby. What does he have against a baby?”

Michael lights his cigarette, gazing back over at Tom. “His jealousy will be his own undoing. Tom, I want you to let mother, the nanny, and Victoria’s mother know in specific not to let Fredo near Niccolò, especially alone.”

“Alright, Mike.”

“Is he still coming with us to Nevada?” Sonny scratches the back of his neck.

“Yes.” Michael answers, “under my supervision. If Fredo doesn’t clean up his act by the time I’m Don, there’s little any of us can do for him. He can break off with the Corleone family and go off on his own way.”

“My thoughts exactly, Mike.”

Silence falls into the room as Michael smokes quietly, flipping through Tom’s folder of photographs. He examines a careful look at every single one of his enemies’ deaths, unable to shake off his own suspicion over his brother.

Victor Stracci—gunned down in an elevator alongside his bodyguard by Clemenza. ‘It was Fredo that had access to my office that day.’

Moe Greene—shot in the eye at a massage parlor by Al Neri. ‘He greeted Kay with Tom when she came to speak to me.’

Carmine Cuneo—killed in the revolving door of a hotel by Willie Cicci. ‘It was Fredo that objected to my business offer to Alphonse Ricci that night at the business dinner.’

Philip Tattaglia—killed in bed with a prostitute by Rocco. ‘Fredo was the only one that objected to my marriage to a Ferrari daughter.’

Emilio Barzini—shot and killed down the steps of the courthouse by Al Neri in disguise. ‘It was you, Fredo. It was always you.’

[ Villa Courtyard, Late Afternoon ].

The last humid heat of the sun fades away into the afternoon as you sit next to your father-in-law, Vito, in the villa gazebo’s table. It leaves you to bond with him and the twins, spending more time with Mama Corleone, who remains by the poolside, chatting away with Sandra and Connie, who take a late afternoon swim.

Vito holds Niccolò in his lap with Verona in yours, speaking out to you. “My blessings to you and your family, Victoria. They’ve grown up so fast.”

Verona lets out a shrill coo, reaching out for a tea biscuit over your plate. “Thank you, father.” You beam back at him, taking her tiny little hand into yours.

“He resembles Michael so much. Little Niccolò.” Vito chuckles at his grandson, who quietly sits upon his grandfather’s lap, chewing on his fingers. “He’s going to be a force not to be reckoned with when he’s older, I tell you.”

“If he’s anything like his grandfather, I have no doubt.” You carefully hand Verona her milk bottle. “Ah—easy, there you go.”

“You all spend time with your family? Michael too?” Vito raises his glass of wine to his lips.

“Always, father. He bonds so well with the twins. He’s an incredible father. I know he gets it after you.” You peek at both of the twins, planting a little kiss over Verona’s forehead.

Vito carefully sips at his glass of wine, setting it back down. “Just the way it should be because a man who doesn’t spend time with his family can never be a real man. Mm—” He dabs his napkin at the corners of his mouth, “hope you don’t mind, I’ve been drinking a little more these days…”

“Not at all, father. Enjoy yourself.”

Vito gives you a warm smile, rubbing Niccolò’s back gently. “You know, I never could have thought this would all result from peace with the Ferrari’s, your family. You’re fortunate to have them—you’ve all been nothing but kind to us, not with…” He gestures with his hand, his voice trailing off for a moment. “The other families and their little power dynamics, like puppets hanging on a string… Hope you don’t mind I keep going on about this whole fiasco.”

“Not in the least bit.” You shake your head. “At times, it's unavoidable.”

“Yet you’ve always found your way around it.” He nods back to you, “a strong woman, head of her family. Michael and the kids—you’re happy with them?”

“Very.” You smile back at him, tilting up Verona’s bottle with your fingers.

“Good—good. You can’t be careless with this one.” Vito chuckles as Niccolò wraps his entire hand around his finger. “Your boy looks more like Michael every day. Reminds me so much of his childhood, you know.”

“How was Michael’s childhood growing up?” You ask curiously, noticing that Niccolò has a striking resemblance to Michael with the shape of his eyes and little nose.

“Oh, Michael was always very loved. Always.” Vito keeps his eye on Niccolò, smiling proudly. “Always a bright young man, I knew he’d be a prodigy. He resembled me a lot in many ways as he grew. I saw the intelligence and cunning in him. He started talking about politics back in grade school—I knew he was invested in it.”

A shy smile crosses your lips as you set down Verona’s milk bottle, cleaning up around her mouth. “He wanted nothing more than to get into politics, I’ve always heard.”

“Mhmm.” Vito nods back, recalling. “I believed he would, too, when he got into Dartmouth. He was always full of life when he was a child, Carmela and I loved and love him dearly. It just so happens that Michael had hidden potential none of us knew about. He never wanted this life of crime.”

“Did you?”

Vito shakes his head. “No, no. I had hoped he would go into politics after graduation—this was not the life I had planned for Michael. He always told me he had a different destiny, but you see the way things are now.” He purses his lips, “I have to say this was his destiny. They say you’ll always fall in at one point or another, but you—as my daughter-in-law—hold as an exception. But you wanted it, didn’t you?”

You nod. “The family business is like a tradition in a way. It’s a symbol. I respect that. I still do.”

Vito leans over, patting your shoulder. “You’re an honorable woman, Victoria. You were born into this life, but you understand it differently. You’re strong, selfless—all qualities most people don’t even have these days.” Vito pats your hand. “When you and Michael relocate to Nevada, I’ll be retired. Michael will have the full title of Don Corleone, with my blessings.” He scratches the corner of his mouth, gesturing out with his hand. “I hope you don’t mind me going over this business again, but…”

“No, no, of course not.” You shake your head, “it’s at the heart of our family.”

“See, as the daughter of a Don, you understand.” Vito purses his lips, “you’re not directly involved in this life, but you readily embrace the lifestyle if needed. You couldn’t be more of a match for Michael than your father, and I thought. It’s at these…” He pauses, sighing softly, “crucial moments in our family when you must come to realize the stakes at hand. Connie, Sandra, Theresa…” He murmurs, “they’re all a part of our family, but the cards are dealt to people like us. Involved, one way or another. Direct or indirect. They can afford to be careless, but not us. We cannot be careless.”

You frown back at him. “Is it because of the shift of power to come?”

“Victoria…” Vito begins, dropping his husky voice down to a whisper. “The moment Michael becomes Don, you and him will share the same enemies. Never forget this. You choose to stand by him as his wife, the mother of his children—but a day will come where you may have to directly get involved in the family business, your choice or not. And it’s that day where the one who approaches you with such an offer will be the one to betray you. Never forget this. Powerful men come with powerful enemies, and I know my boy. Michael will refuse to have the faintest stain over the Corleone name—he’s taken after my cunning. The way he handles these things, however, is in a ruthless method I’ve rarely come to use.”

Vito wets his lips, moving his wineglass closer to him. “In our line of business, Michael sees no room for mercy. He’s brutal, almost borderline cruel in a sense. He has the right to be, but it is his family that his weak spot. It's you and the twins. You keep him grounded. You remind him of his humanity. In a sense, nothing will change. You’ll be ready to start your new life in Nevada, but take my word for it. There will come many a time where your loyalty will be tested by the unloyal.”

He gestures his hand out to the courtyard, pointing out Tom, who makes his way across and over to your table, a polite smile over his lips. Behind him, you notice Mama Corleone rise from her seat, also redirecting her gaze to the both of you—signaling to you that Michael’s requesting you and you alone.

“Father. Victoria.” Tom nods at the both of you, approaching the table.

“Hi, Tom.” You greet, leaning back in your seat as Verona blathers loudly. “Everything alright?”

“Of course.” He puts both hands in the pockets of his dress pants. “Michael asked to see you upstairs, and uh, father—” Tom gestures back to the villa with his shoulder, “Fredo wanted to talk to you in private.”

“Send my boy over here.” Vito takes another sip of his wine, nodding at Tom. “I’d be glad to. In the meantime, why don’t you say ‘hello’ to your niece and nephew, hmm?”

Tom chuckles, taking Verona gently from your arms and bouncing her in his as you rise your feet. The two of you burst out in laughter as the first thing Verona grabs is at Tom’s tie harshly.

“I don’t think she likes your tie very much, Tom.”

“That’s okay. I can always wear another one.” He grins back, “go on ahead.”

“Thank you.” You smile back at him and Vito, giving a little wave to Mama Corleone and the girls as you make your way around the poolside.

“Hey, Victoria!” Connie calls out from the pool, waving her hands wildly. “When are you gonna come join us?!”

“She can’t. She’s joining Michael!” Sandra shouts back as the two burst into a fight of giggles.

“Soon enough!” You exclaim back to them, stepping past security through the courtyard entrance into the villa.

The living room remains quiet and untouched, with the only noises coming from the other half of the villa by the guest rooms. You take a few steps in, reaching down and unbuckling the straps of your Mary-Jane heels before approaching the stairwell, unable to make out any sounds of Michael’s footsteps or voice.

As you place your hand on the stairway railing, you turn your head to hear the door of the wine cellar push open with a scuffle—Sonny’s head poking out as he grasps two bottles of wine.

His eyes meet yours immediately—a grin spreading over his face. “Hey, Vic. Look—I hope you don’t mind I was just having a taste or two in your wine cellar, eh?”

“Are you drunk, Sonny?” You raise a brow, pulling your lips back to stifle a laugh.

Sonny covers his mouth, letting out a little burp. “No, not at all. I just…” He glances down at the bottles in his hands, laughing. “Maybe had a little more than I should over my limit, but…” He shakes his head, raising the bottles, “ah, who gives a shit? It’s our last day on vacation."

“You’re going to fly back home with a hangover?” You giggle, watching him make his way across to the kitchen.

“Ah, don’t lecture me too, Vic! You sound just like Sandra! Are you looking for Michael? He’s in his bedroom, I think.” He peeks his head out of the kitchen doorway, setting the bottles down upon the counter.

You nod back, “he asked to see me. Do you know why?” You refer to Michael’s business meeting earlier with him and Tom.

“Beats me. Think he’s stressed, probably?” Sonny lets out a deep huff, placing both of his hands down upon the table. “Who knows, eh? A blowjob? Another kid? Lunch? Gotta go see what he wants.”

“Gotta lay off the wine.” You point back at him, playfully rolling your eyes as you head up the stairs.

You glance at both ends of the hallway, noticing each door remains closed, except for your bedroom remaining ajar. Stepping forward, you push the door open with your hand, finding all the curtains pulled back over the windows, leaving the lamp to brightly illuminate the bedroom. The sound of running water comes out from the bathroom, its lights on as well.

Michael sits across the room from you upon the velvet ottoman, unclasping his watch off of his wrist and setting it upon the folded pile of his suit jacket, waistcoat, and tie. He runs the palm of his hand through the side of his hair, looking up to meet your eyes.

You blush at his presence, closing the door behind you as you notice his expression. Rather than stressed or agitated, Michael appears relaxed—more so exhausted—but his eyes soften to see you before him.

“Mio amore…” You smile at him shyly, “we missed you in the courtyard.”

“I’m thought you might say that.” Michael raises his hand, unbuttoning down his dress shirt. “I have neither the energy nor patience for it tonight—I thought you might join me up here to relax instead. Come here.”

You step up to him upon the ottoman as he takes your hands in his, rubbing over your wedding band. He cocks his head to the side, gesturing over to the bathroom. “Join me.”

“For a bath?” You blush, attempting to keep eye contact instead of focusing down upon his half-open shirt.

“Unless you’d prefer wine tasting with Sonny and Connie?” Michael raises his brows.

You giggle, shaking your head. “So he was right. You are stressed.”

“Nonsense.” He shrugs off his dress shirt, revealing his bare chest—only causing you to blush more. “It’s just a strain from the flight this late tonight and Fredo.”

“Fredo…” You repeat as he clasps at your hand with his fingers, pushing open the bathroom door with the side of his arm as Michael leads you in. “You spoke with him today?”

“More so of a lecture than anything with Sonny and Tom, but yes.” He clears his throat, taking his pack of Camel cigarettes alongside a small ashtray off of the bathroom counter and placing it by the edge of the tub.

“What happened, if I may ask?” You peep back, noticing a tray of the wine Michael commissioned for you set with two glasses on the opposite edge of the tub.

Michael turns off the water—an air of steam hitting the two of you as he begins to unbuckle his belt. “Everything you said and more, let’s leave it at that.”

“So what I said was true? He hates me?”

Michael notices your worried, flustered expression as he pulls off his dress pants and briefs. Your eyes desperately fight the distracting urge of heavy arousal inside you to maintain eye contact with him. “Fredo doesn’t hate you, Victoria. If anything, his animosity is towards me because of Moe Greene. But I don’t want you worrying about it.”

He sets his clothes aside from the pile of towels by the counter, sighing deeply as he enters the tub, leaning his back against it. Michael squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before tilting his head back, opening them up to look back at you. “Well? Are you going to join me?”

You blush deeply, completely unaware you were watching him the entire time out of distraction. You rub at your arm, immediately feeling a sense of shyness spark inside of you. “I…”

Michael gestures with his hand. “Strip.”

You peek back at him, utterly flustered by both his demanding voice and presence. His dark eyes await you expectantly as he reaches over to the side of the tub, grabbing a cigarette and his lighter.

You do as Michael says—albeit with a swarm of butterflies building up in your stomach—and pull down the short sleeves of your burgundy, A-line dress off of your shoulders and breasts, letting it fall off your hips and pool by your feet.

Michael takes a drag of his cigarette, placing it between his two fingers as he rests both of his arms around the edge of the tub, continuing to watch you.

In nothing but a matching pair of black lace bra and panties, you work your hands behind, unhooking at your bra and setting it atop his pile of clothes by the counter.

Michael purses his lips—his chestnut eyes fixating on your breasts with a slight smirk forming on the corners of his mouth. “Turn around.” His velvety voice demands again as he gestures out with his finger.

With the rest of your dignity, you turn around like he directs—knowing exactly what he’s getting at. A flush of arousal and shyness hit you at once as you slip your fingers into both sides of the waistband of your panties, slightly hunching over to slide them down your thighs and off your ankles.

Getting a perfect view of your ass, Michael slips his cigarette back into the corner of his mouth, letting it dangle loosely. You set aside the pile of your clothes off the floor, turning back to face him, completely naked within the light.

“You’re never going to get used to doing that for me, are you?”

You nibble on your bottom lip, “not when you look at me like that…”

You refer to his bedroom eyes—the fixated gaze he holds upon you as he scours over your body. Dark as onyx, he admires every curve and inch of your skin in a possessive manner, mesmerized by your body.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Michael teases back, blowing out smoke from between his lips. He bucks his hips upward. “Get in here already.”

You clutch onto the rim of the tub for balance, stepping in one foot at a time. The hot water seeps onto your skin, tingling as you kneel down, sitting next to him.

“I didn’t want our last evening here to go to waste.” Michael taps his cigarette ashes off. “Hope you don’t mind spending it just with me.”

“Not at all.” You blush as he wraps an arm around your back, pulling you closer to his side. “I’d prefer it, honestly. You look like you need it.”

“That much, hmm?” Michael glances at his shortened cigarette. “I told you I don’t want you worrying about it.”

“Well, I’m going to worry either way.” You pout back. “Especially if I was right.”

“My only piece of advice is not to talk to Fredo unless you have to.” Michael lets out a deep sigh, soaking in hot water. “And similarly as I’ve advised anyone who can besides you not to leave Niccolò with Fredo, or have them around each other.”

Your eyes widen with worry, “what? He’d hurt our son?”

Michael shakes his head, “even I have doubts about that, but I don’t see a reason for him to spend time with his nephew if he can’t afford to say a single ‘hello’ to his mother, correct? He’s careless and reckless, which is fine—he can let it affect him, but not to an infant.”

“And at Lake Tahoe?”

“He’ll be on a different property upon the compound with no access or entry to ours without my explicit permission or the supervision of our men. Fredo isn’t a criminal, Victoria, he’s my older brother, but he’s given me enough reason to be cautious—at least until things settle with my father’s retirement.” Michael explains back to you. “And then, if he doesn’t clean his act up, Tom and Sonny have both agreed he should be cut out of the family business and just remains as our brother instead. He’s taking all of this too far.”

“He’s jealous of you, isn’t he?” You clasp your arm around his, feeling his wet skin against yours. “I hate to say it, but that’s all it looks like from here.”

“He believes he should be Don because of his age, but nobody else does.”

“Because of the whole Moe Greene business?” You ask back.

“If impregnating cocktail waitresses two at a time night after night doesn’t damage the Corleone family name for someone so insistent on becoming Don Corleone, then his inability to grip a firearm and protect father from assassins is—and that’s all I’ll say on the manner. He will learn under me, or he will learn nothing at all.” Michael gazes back at the water sternly. “That is what I had to deal with all afternoon.”

“Michael…” You pause for a moment, wondering if you should even ask the question. “If Moe Greene is dead…”

“Yes?”

“Then is—”

“No.” Michael puts out his cigarette, scrunching it down in the ashtray. “And for reasons beyond your understanding.”

“You won’t tell me?”

“I feel my answer won’t satisfy you.” Michael reaches over, grasping the wine bottle and sharing the last of it. “But my father always told me to keep my friends close and my enemies closer. Hating on them only clouds my judgment. They’re nothing but business pawns, and as for you…” He hands you your glass first. “I have it completely handled. You’ll never have to worry about it again. Ricci’s only support drowned in a pool of his own blood by the courthouse. If he has anything, it’ll be the audacity to request doing business with the Corleone family.”

You blink, rubbing at your temple at the shocking revelation. 'Emilio Barzini…dead upon the steps of my courthouse. He had them all killed?'

“Have you heard from Kay?” Michael leans back, holding his wineglass.

“No, not at all. Why?” You knit your brows. “Have you?”

“No.” Michael remains pleased with his answer, sipping his wine. “It’s been months, hasn’t it? She hasn’t shown her face. It’s over, Victoria. It’s all over. The only thing you can focus on in Nevada is your work and the children. It’s high time everything returns to normal. I told you, I have everything completely under control.”

You let out a soft sigh of relief, unable to hide the growing smile off of your face as you look up at him. “I know, and I believe and trust you. Always.” You raise your wineglass to his. “Cheers to Nevada, and a new beginning for us.”

“Cheers.” He chuckles, clinking his glass back with yours as the two of you take sips.

“Mm…” You peek inside of your glass, resting your head upon Michael’s shoulder as the steamy, hot water surrounds the both of you, relaxing at your muscles as you take in the sweet taste of your wine. “This is perfect…”

Michael leans his head back against the wall, his eyes closed as he lets out a soft sigh. His expression doesn’t waver or seem relaxed in the slightest, still strained from the conversation and toll of the day hitting him.

“Mio amore…” You rub at his shoulder tenderly to grab his attention, leaning your head up. “You definitely aren’t relaxing at all…”

Michael flutters his eyelids open, gazing back at you. “You want to help me relax?”

“Anything.” You beam back, setting your wineglass off to the side. “can I give you a massage?”

“A massage?” Michael raises a brow, pondering the idea for a moment before moving up in the tub to reveal his back and shoulders. “If you say so.”

“Believe me, it’s just what you need.” You dip your hands into the hot water, giving them a proper soak before placing both of them upon Michael’s shoulders.

He lets out a soft grunt as you work at his tense muscles gingerly, rubbing and nudging away towards the nape of his neck and down his shoulder blades. Michael lets out a shaky exhale, feeling your hands work away at his muscles as he begins to relax at the sensation, your hands hitting each and every spot.

You wet your hands again, continuing to knead at Michael's shoulders with your knuckles, balling your hands up into fists. You press upon his shoulder blades with the sides of your hands, applying pressure and more hot water.

Michael’s lips remain half-open as he lets out a soft grunt, incredibly pleased by the massage and your gentle touch over him. “Where did you learn how to do this?”

“Taught myself.” You bubble back proudly, “it’s what happens when you grow up with four brothers that picked fights with the neighborhood kids for a living.”

Michael lets out an amused huff, raising his head back up as he gazes back at you. “You definitely have a way with your hands. Thank you, darling.” He finishes the last of his wine, leaving the glass on the edge of the tub. “Mm.”

You flush red in response, watching his eyes flicker down to your breasts. “Michael…”

“What?” He speaks out in a breathy tone, tilting your chin up before he leans down, planting a sweet kiss upon your lips. “Can’t appreciate my wife?”

You blush, gazing up at him shyly. “You most definitely can, but…”

“But?” Michael murmurs against your lips, kissing them again.

You let out a shaky breath, gesturing down with your eyes. He leans back against the tub, his bedroom eyes burning through yours as he bucks his hips up once more—the tip of his cock peeking out of the water as he reveals how hard he’s gotten.

You place your hand over Michael's thigh, unable to stop the insistent burst of arousal coursing through you. You look upon his expression for permission, feeling your heart begin to race within your chest.

Michael gives you a small nod, reaching for a new cigarette as he sits up, adjusting his hips so his cock remains completely of the water. Taking that as a green light and a burst of sexual confidence, you reach down, grasping his shaft with one hand as you part your lips.

Cheeks blushing red and butterflies tugging at the knot in your stomach, you’re unable to ignore your desire and arousal as you begin to graze the side of your tongue alongside the tip of his cock before wrapping it completely around it.

Michael lights his cigarette, welcoming the sensation of your wet, soft mouth around his cock as he inhales deeply, reaching a hand over and raking a curtain of your hair aside from your face.

You coat his entire cock with your saliva, working from suckling gently upon his tip down to his shaft. You continue to trail your tongue around all sides of his shaft, licking up and down. You briefly make eye contact as you slobber your way back up to his tip, beginning to take the entirety of his length down your throat one inch at a time.

Michael inhales sharply, barely able to hold onto his cigarette from how insistent you are to throat him down. He feels a stifle of a moan impossible, taking another drag of his cigarette as he continues stroking through your hair with his free hand.

Only the sounds of you sloppily sucking him off fill the room as you clench your mouth around him, careful not to graze any of your teeth. Michael lets out a grunt, surprised with you picking up the pace.

Taking in as much as you can, you bob your head up and down as he grabs a fistful of your hair, a filthy moan escaping his lips. Your spit trickles down his cock as you repeatedly take him in and out of your mouth.

The sounds of his moans only continue to turn you on and fuel your heavy arousal. Something about the idea of you being submissive and pleasing Michael like this sparks a fire inside of you as you listen carefully for his responses, continuing to suck and lick about to find his sweet spot.

“Fuck…” Michael breathes, unable to deny the waves of pleasure washing over him. Your mouth remains in perfect rhythm against his cock, drooling all over it as you let your tongue do the work.

The eye contact with him seals the deal as he prematurely puts out his cigarette, no longer able to smoke it at all. Out of reaction, Michael thrusts his hips upward as you continue to take him in, this time pressing your tongue down against the entirety of his shaft, licking upwards.

Michael moans loudly, the steam hitting at him as he grips onto the edges of the tub. A delicious orgasm builds up inside of him as his cock is drenched in your spit. You flick your tongue up and down his tip, feeling the salty taste of his precum in your mouth.

Now with half of him in your mouth, you pump at Michael's shaft, continuing to suck him off at the same time. Michael grits his teeth, groaning again as he feels himself close to the peak of his orgasm. His breathing deepens and shakes as he shudders against the intense pleasure.

“Victoria…” Michael attempts to say your name, laced in a heavy moan. Combined with the hot water against his skin, you bring him to the edge of blissful pleasure. “Ohhh, fuck…”

You hold back on your urge to straddle and ride him this instant, knowing he’s close to his orgasm with your intentions on not getting pregnant any time soon. You don’t falter as you feel his hips quiver, only continuing to bob your head down further.

Michael’s breath hitches as he gives a final moan. You pull back up with a hand still wrapped around his cock as he cums, spilling his seed over your breasts.

You gasp quietly, in a frenzy of arousal, as all of his hot, sticky mess lands on your chest. You watch as his cum drips down between your breasts, leaving the two of you across from each other, panting.

Michael gazes at you with half-opened eyes, attempting to steady his breathing. He lets his hips back in the water with a groan, still completely hard. “Victoria…”

You let out a breathy giggle, scooting back over to him. He caresses your cheek with the back of his fingers—a deep look of pure erotica over his eyes. “Why don’t you get on?”

“Michael…” You flush a shade of scarlet, wiping at your mouth. “You know I can’t do that. You’d get me pregnant!”

“You let me last night.” Michael chuckles quietly, placing his hands over your hips and pulling you up to him. “Forgot about that already?”

You kneel before his lap in the water, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Yes, but we weren’t enjoying a bath and wine then, were we?”

“Fair enough. Still won’t stop trying when we fly home, though.”

“You act like I’d refuse.” You tease back, leaning back for a moment to grab at your wineglass before you face him. “How was that for relaxation?”

“You’re a dirty, dirty girl, you know that?” Michael murmurs, watching you gulp down the rest of your wine in one sip. “Look at you…” He gestures to your breasts, squeezing at them with one hand. “Completely covered in me… How could I not take you here?”

You grin back, letting the empty wineglass fall into the tub as you raise your hips up. “Hmm, I might be able to make an exception.”

Michael presses his forehead against yours—stirring the hot water around the two of you. “Let me,” he breathes hotly, feeling the tip of his cock make contact with your entrance, “let me give you a last night to remember in Sicily.”

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melis-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 11 - Tension.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 10 [AO3] / Tumblr. / Chapter Masterlist / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

Out of sight since court, but not out of mind, Alphonse Ricci sends his men to keep tabs on you. Taking matters into your own hands, you almost put yourself in harms way as you give chase, and the familiar notion of Michael seeing his pregnant wife in a car, surrounded by his enemies breaks him down to a level of stress and agony, flared up by his past trauma. Seeing as he's to be witness to the death of you, his second wife again, Michael Corleone spirals down to the man hiding behind his pain and loss before your very eyes.

[WARNINGS]: Catatonia / trauma mention / Injury mention.

“Our men are as inconspicuous as it gets, but even they’ve noted there hasn’t been a single sighting of the Ricci’s near the courthouse since Antonio’s prosecution.” Tom sighs out softly, putting both hands in his suit pocket.

He stands next to Michael by the window of his office—gazing out with a perfect view down to the backyard of the villa, where you and your younger brother Dante remain, frolicking about in the newly fallen September leaves, throwing, and catching a ball with one another in sisterly and brotherly quality time.

“It’s like they know,” Tom adds, watching as you jump up, catching the baseball perfectly with one hand, laughing with your brother.

“They do.” Michael inhales at his cigarette, keeping his eyes on the two of you. “What they know matters very little. Victoria is not leaving her position at the courthouse nor do I want her to.”

“You’re still letting her keep her position, even after all of this?” Tom raises a curious brow, watching Michael continue to smoke.

He nods solemnly. “It's not my decision to make, Tom. I support her career. Only once all of this has settled, and when Victoria is no longer pregnant and feels comfortable, she may return to the courthouse at her own pace. At this time, it's out of the question, however.”

Tom chuckles, leaning the side of his body against the windowpane. “She’s very hardworking, I’ll give you that. It’s a very admirable trait.”

“It is.” Smoke trails down from Michael’s lips as he exhales. “I admire her for that."

A fond smile grows over Tom’s lips as he looks over at his brother. “I can tell how you two bonded with each other so well and quickly. Especially after…” He pauses for a moment as the two lock eyes.

Tom, having only found out recently about the detailed events of Sicily from Vito, with Michael’s permission, seems to be a sensitive topic for all except Michael.

Michael’s expression doesn’t change as he taps off the ash from the tip of his cigarette, waiting for Tom to elaborate.

“Sorry, Mike.” He comes to regret bringing it up. “I know how defensive you are over Victoria.”

Michael's eyes focus on you out the window. “We grew up with father telling us to trust the woman in our lives, Tom. So now you understand. Antonio is dead, and the Ricci's will take some time to regroup, but they won’t be able to pull the same antics. I’m using that to my advantage. I want a bodyguard personally for Victoria at all times, pregnant or not.”

“I understand.” Tom pats Michael's shoulder reassuringly. “My men will handle everything.”

Michael nods back at him, distracted by your cheerful disposition outside, picking your brother up into your arms and twirling him around as muffled sounds of squealing and laughter are to be heard against the window.

“Will we get to play like this more often, sis?” Dante clutches onto his baseball happily, spinning around.

“Of course, we will, buddy.” You grin at him, kneeling and placing your hands over his shoulders. “We’ll have all the time in the world to do so whenever we want."

Dante smiles back sheepishly at you, pointing at your small baby bump. “And they’ll play with us too?”

“As soon as they’re able.” You giggle, rubbing at your bump gingerly. “You’ll be the best uncle ever to them, won’t you?”

“Yeah!” Dante beams, hiding his face behind the baseball ball. “And I get to see big sis a lot more.”

“I’ll make time for you, Dante. Don’t worry.” You smile back at him weakly, knowing you hadn’t been able to head out to properly see your family for weeks since your pregnancy for the sake of staying out of sight as tensions only continue to rise.

“When will I see you again?” He peeps out sadly.

“Well, buddy,” you sigh softly, trying to think of a way to answer him, knowing even you don’t and will not have a definite answer anytime any time soon. “It’s a little too early to decide that just now, and—”

Your interrupted by the faint sound of a car honk and the shuffling of footsteps amidst leaves and branches—hearing a hiss of voices before all comes down to silence.

“Sta’ calmo, qualunque cosa accada!” (Just be quiet, whatever happens!)

Dante looks up at you insistently, unmoved by what would relatively be nothing but common noise in a neighborhood—any other time, of course.

“And…” You cautiously rise to your feet, pulling him in for a soft hug as your eyes immediately begin to scour all around, looking for anything and anyone.

Dante peeks his head up from the hug, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You focus your hearing keenly enough to be able to pick up another faint honk that’s followed by another branch snapping nearby—growing louder this time. Your hands cover Dante protectively as you lower your head down to him, immediately knowing he needs to get out of sight.

“Dante, forse dovremmo rientrare prima che tu prenda un colpo di freddo.” (Perhaps we should go inside before you catch a cold.)

“Aww! But you said we could play another round!” Dante whines quietly, an adorable pout forming over his lips as he insistently holds onto his baseball.

“Lo so. Dante, senti, voglio che tu vada dentro.” (I know. Dante, listen, I want you to go inside.) You pinch at his cheeks lovingly, feeling panic beginning to wash over you in a wave. “Strai tranquilla, ci penseremo dopo.” (Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out later).

Dante nods back at you, beginning to head up to the steps of the villa. “Are you coming in too?”

“Vengo da te più tardi.” (I’m coming by later.) You wave back at him, gesturing for him to quickly get inside as you take a few steps forward. “Fammi un favore, Dante—potresti dire a Michael che sono qui?” (Do me a favor, Dante. Would you please tell Michael that I’m here?)

“Okay!" Dante pulls open the front door, skipping up inside as you let out a sigh of relief, glad he’s momentarily out of sight.

You feel your pulse beginning to race as you walk around the remainder of the backyard, moving towards the sound of a car running.

Remaining as silent as possible, you watch your step as not to walk over any loose leaves or branches in the yard, keeping to the side of the hedges. Up ahead from your vehicle, you spot an unknown vehicle with one figure in the driver’s seat and the other looking in front of the car.

'What the hell is going on?' Panic and anxiety crawling through you. You quiet down your breathing, moving inch by inch towards the car without making a sound.

You’re unable to properly make out the faces or appearance of any of the men you see up ahead, only noting that they seem to be talking to each other in an inaudible tone from you.

Your eyes briefly look up to the side of your villa, feeling a sense of dread hit in as you can no longer see Michael by the window. 'Who the hell are these people?'

Taking one stride closer, you freeze in your tracks as you find a camera pointed at your face only ten feet away by the car. A photograph is taken of you directly from the front in a flash, revealing your entire face, bruise and all, and your visibly pregnant figure. “H-hey!”

Spotting the full face of the figure who turns on his heel and picks up his face to run off, you narrow your eyes and feel a rush of adrenaline hit you as you clasp your hand to your baby bump.

“Correre!” (Run!) You hear him call out in Sicilian Italian to his counterpart in the car.

“Fermare!” (Stop!) You shout back, immediately making haste to your car. “Che diavolo stai facendo?! Torna qui!” (What the hell are you doing?! Get back here!)

Heart pounding in your chest, you fumble with your keys to unlock your car, getting in and starting it before you even have a chance to close the door.

The photographer trips upon a concealed pothole with a grunt as his camera slips out of his hands, sending it flying down to the concrete and shattering into pieces before him. “Merda!” (Shit!)

It’s in that moment that your little brother Dante begins to pick up on the sounds of shouting outside, only growing quiet as he rushes up the stairs as fast as his legs can carry him before bursting into Michael’s office, panting as his knees almost give in—alarming both Michael and Tom.

“Dante—what’s the matter with you?” Michael places both of his hands on his hips, raising his brows up at him. “What’s going on?”

“Big sis is outside—she said she wanted you to come! I heard voices—” He can barely make a complete sentence out of worry, letting his baseball drop to the floor and roll off.

Michael exchanges an equally mortified look with Tom. Immediately rushing off past Dante without another word, Michael and Tom storm down the stairs and towards the front door.

Michael’s heart thunders in his chest as he picks up his pace, sending the door flying open on impact with the weight of his body lunging against it. “Victoria?! Victoria!”

“Ti ho detto di femarti!” (I said stop right there!) You step down on the gas, making way to give chase specifically to the photographer on foot as he struggles to keep up with his accomplice’s car racing off down the street.

A familiar sense of horror and dread hit Michael’s chest as he feels time almost slow down around him. His chest tightens, and his voice breaks as he catches the attention of the fleeing photographer, who turns back, giving him a sick grin before glancing back at your car about to hit him.

“No! Apollonia, NO!” Michael can hear himself screaming back again at himself in his head at the sight of you surrounded by his enemies’ men in a vehicle—painting the same picture of Apollonia’s death years back in Sicily. 'The car… THE CAR!'

Tom signals for the rest of their men behind the house to give immediate chase and take down information about the fleeing car, unaware of Michael’s current reactions before you.

With strain in his voice, Michael scrambles to reach you as your head turns to the sight of his voice—immediately pressing down on the breaks.

Michael flinches in reaction--barely able to breathe as he expects consuming flames and an explosion to send him flying back as he latches onto the door of your vehicle.

The front of your car comes into collision with the photographer who yelps out, staggering over to his accomplice’s car who has now sped back up, waiting for him to clutch on top of the trunk before speeding off down the hall—the sounds of car tires squealing as Michael and Tom’s men drive off after them.

You take your hands off the wheel, staring in sheer and utter shock at the sight of panicked Michael, unaware of the waves of shock hitting him from the sickeningly familiar sight he thought he’d never have to be reminded of or even come close to reliving through.

Nothing happens. No explosion, no gunfire, nothing. The streets remain quiet once more as the two of you stare at one another.

Michael's dark, Sicilian eyes are filled with a kind of pain you’ve never seen before, filling with relief that you’re still alive in front of him can’t calm him down fast enough.

Pushing yourself out of your car, you almost roll your ankle in your heels as you scurry around the front of the vehicle, flying into his Michael's and embracing him tightly.

“Victoria!” He cries out holding you as if it’d be the last time he ever would—causing your bruise to throb at the sudden impact.

“Michael!” Tom rushes on over, helping you up by letting you rest on him and Michael for balance. “Okay—alright—Victoria! Are you hurt?!” Tom’s concerned eyes search over yours for a response.

“No—no, I’m fine!” You cry out, shaking your head. “But Michael—”

“He’s having a panic attack.” Tom immediately points out. “Come on, we need to get him inside! Come on!” He throws open the door, carrying Michael by his arms in with you.

Michael’s weakened, half-open, yes never leaving yours as the world around the two of you seems to collapse--in a panic to get back inside the estate and process everything that's going on around you three.

You drown out Tom’s voice, unable to focus on anything but Michael’s shallow breathing as the two of you lay him down upon the couch, Tom rushing off to call for a doctor.

You lace a firm hand with Michael, placing another over his neck to feel at his racing pulse as his breathing begins to improve, although strained.

Michael holds onto your hand so harshly that you feel a sting of pain go through your wrist, ignoring it for him. “Michael, Michael… Breathe, Michael. Please, breathe… Take a deep breath…”

Michael’s eyes roll back as the images of him rushing towards his car in Sicily hit—your bruised face distorting over Apollonia’s as your baby bump becomes visible to him from the way you remain sitting in the driver’s seat.

He gives into the darkening sensation surrounding him, losing consciousness as his hand now remains loosely in yours—blacking out as his breathing at last returns to normal, leaving you and Tom by his side.

Laying under the blankets dressed in nothing but a white beater and a loose pair of linen trousers as he sleeps, Michael’s expression remains peacefully serene—his breathing calm and at an average pace as he drifts off—having recovered from a brief state of catatonia.

With a doctor at the house to check his vitals and health, Tom makes a brief conversation with the physician over Michael being a diabetic. Of course, Tom keeps such a conversation away from Dante and your ears and other prying eyes, knowing he’ll be explaining the backstory to how it all began vaguely to the doctor.

Unaware of such a conversation taking place, you spend as much time by Michael’s side as the day has you.

Placing a cold, damp cloth over his forehead, you refuse to let Tom and Dante do anything but provide what you need for Michael, including a physician to visit.

News of the Sicilian photographer’s death is delivered to you first, but with no sign of catching the other figure in the car. You brush it off, refusing to think or speak of the situation at hand today before Michael awakens.

Having prepared a pot of chicken cacciatore earlier, you couldn’t bring yourself to even raise a single bite to your lips—your appetite is non-existent and filled with a refusal to eat without Michael.

Fixing up a plate for Dante and Tom while quietly exiting the kitchen, you take every granted opportunity you had throughout the afternoon to constantly peek your head in and out of the bedroom, checking up on him and making sure everything was just fine.

Each time you pop on by, you still find the same wave of shyness hit over you even though he’s completely unconscious, unaware you’re in the room, to begin with. You can’t hide the slight smile on your face, appreciating how peaceful the expression on his face looks as Michael continues to sleep; much more reserved than how cold and serious he almost always is.

Unable to stop the overthinking, you sit downstairs in the living room by yourself—the television turned to a low volume playing a film before you as you take careful sips of a tall glass of warm milk, watching Dante snoozing off to a peaceful nap to your left on the couch.

Rubbing tenderly at your forehead out of stress, you let out a small huff and stare down at your cup of milk, knowing Tom is upstairs checking on Michael himself.

'Please let him be okay, please, please…'

Michael stirs in his sleep, slowly fluttering his eyelids open and taking a moment to regain full focus of his vision. Staring up at the hazy room around him, his eyes fall to Tom, who seems pleasantly relieved to see him up and awake at last.

Michael lets out a breath of relief, nodding towards him as he speaks softly, weakened by how much strength and energy the panic attack robbed him of. “What the hell happened…out there, Tom?”

“It’s just like I told you, Mike.” He pats Michael’s hand gently. “Nothing. Our guys are too good. They smashed up that bastard's camera and dealt with him for good. His buddy is gone, but we have just enough details of the car he was in. They weren’t able to do a damn thing today.”

“They were watching. Waiting…” Michael swallows hard. “Completely concealed.”

“Snappin’ pictures of the house, no doubt.” Tom crosses his arms with a huff. “I got security all around the clock, 24/7. They see who comes in and who goes out. With that camera in a million pieces, they’ve got nothing."

“Scandal… That doesn't reassure me.” Michael muses to himself before understanding why’d they go to such lengths to take a photograph of you like that in the first place. “They’re trying to prove something.”

Tom exhales deeply, nodding glumly back at Michael. “The headlines could easily be, ‘Michael Corleone abuses pregnant wife’ with such an image.”

Michael tenses up in bed, narrowing his eyes. “Forget them… I’ll deal with them later. Tom…where’s my wife? Is Victoria alright?"

“She’s downstairs, Mikey. Completely fine, unharmed.” He reassures. “Don’t worry.”

“Get me my wife, Tom.” Michael requests, breathing out steadily. “I want to see her.”

“Got it, Mikey.” Tom turns on his heel, exiting the bedroom and making his way down the spiral staircase before calling out for you. “Victoria?"

You quickly spin around, your eyes filled with anticipation to see Tom. “Yes? Is he awake?”

Tom nods back at you. “And he wants to see you.”

Glancing momentarily at Dante, who still remains fast asleep, you set the half-full glass of milk down, smoothening out your day dress and heading up past Tom, making your way to Michael in the bedroom.

You push open the bedroom door and take a stride in—spotting your husband laying awake in bed as Tom quietly exits. At the very sight of you, Michael's chest puffs up with his deep breathing, beads of sweat continuing to form upon his forehead.

“Michael…” A tint of blush hits your cheeks as you approach him by the bed, sitting on the edge right by him as you gaze pitifully at his appearance.

Michael's hair remains curled and matted to the sweat on his forehead—a soft look of tenderness and weakness over his face as he longingly looks back at yours. His lips are slightly pursed apart as he breathes shakily—a ghost of a smile forming on the corners of his lips; almost a little adorable with the way he’s snuggled up in bed before you.

Blushing back at his smile, you reach for the wet cloth hung around the rim of a small bowl of cold water, dabbing it in and squeezing out the excess before cleaning off the sweat from Michael's forehead, watching him take a deep breath and cautiously sit up.

“Careful…” You bite your lip, adjusting his pillow to support his back. “There.”

“Victoria…” The way he speaks your name is a sound of relief.

Your face flushes red at the adoring comment as you place your hand over his, rubbing at his in appreciation.

He grunts, frowning at the sight of your bruise, which has changed from a violent shade of violet to a muted, darker tone, mixing in with dark green and yellow hue around its edge. “You're alright."

"Forget about me, darling." A weak smile forms over your lips as you holdback your tears to see how Michael's regained himself. “Oh, you had Tom and I so, so worried.”

“It’s nothing, believe me. Just a bad reaction…” He calms his deep breathing, sliding his hand down to hold yours. “I was worried about you, Victoria.”

“You thought…”

Michael’s mind wanders to the memory of the incident in Sicily, grimacing as the image in his head changes from Apollonia honking and waving impatiently from the car window to yours, starting up the car to give chase.

He presses his lips down firmly, staring back at you gloomily. "Car bombs.” He struggles to retain his tone, finding his throat tightening up by the second. “They could have blown you to a thousand pieces and I--" Michael stops himself, catching his breath quietly. "I can’t have you in the eye of danger. I can’t. The stakes are too high with the Ricci’s getting bold enough to be this close, do you understand?”

“Y-yes, yes, yes. Of course.” You nod back at Michael frantically.

“You can’t be out with a bodyguard or without me. Either have Connie, Sonny, or Tom at your side, but you can never go out alone like that. Not while those bastards are looking for you, I won’t accept it.” He rakes a hand through his messy hair, steadying his breathing.

“Okay, I can do that.” You agree without a second thought, grabbing wet at the damp cloth and running it over his cheeks and under his eyes gingerly.

Michael exhales deeply, letting you do so briefly before he swats away at the cloth, pulling you back into his embrace by both of your arms as his lips crash over yours, colliding in a sweet and loving kiss.

The last of your tears spill freely from your eyes as you kiss him back, blush stinging at all sides of your cheek and making your bruise throb as his hands find your growing baby bump, caressing it.

Michael parts his lips, a look of deep yearning flickering in his chestnut eyes. "I'm in love with you. I am." The tip of his nose touches yours as the two of you softly breathe over one another.

Your shyness spikes up as you gaze back at Michael, barely able to hold up direct contact with him, still taking in the kiss. “The things you do to me, Michael Corleone…” You giggle breathily, smiling against his lips. “You’re my everything, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I put you through all of that—I had no idea. I wasn’t thinking; clearly, I—” You begin to apologize.

“It doesn’t matter.” He places a finger upon your lips, silencing you. “Better anything happens to me than to you. That was not your fault whatsoever."

“Don’t say that!” You whine out in defiance.

“You know I would do anything for you.” He kisses the back of both of your hands softly. “I would never put you in harm’s way. I have to keep you safe above all. That’s my first priority because I would willingly put my life on the line for you and our family."

159 notes · View notes

melis-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 30 - Betrayed.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 29 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

Refusing to invest in Havana, Michael's sole purpose of the trip is to discover the traitor in his family and avenge the attempted shooting that targeted the two of you, knowing well that Alphonse Ricci is behind it. While settling all business permanently during his last night in Cuba, Michael finds another woman's eyes on him, coaxing temptation. Discovering Fredo behind the string of betrayals both directly and indirectly, Michael can barely stomach his brother's deceit and lies, but plans his next moves carefully neither by telling you or Vito. Returning back home to Lake Tahoe, you and the twins eagerly greet Michael, celebrating his 35th birthday at a private, family dinner as Michael relaxes. Revealing to you only what he wants you to know, you ease Michael's tension and find yourself lost within his kiss--making love to him and finally being able to gift the man who has everything something perfect and personal.

[WARNINGS]: Depictions of violence / Character death / Heavy sensual intimacy / Smut.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Chapter 30 is finally here! 🤩 Lots of sensual intimacy and much needed time alone spent together with Michael in this chapter after he returns from Havana! 🥰 I didn't include Hyman Roth in any of the Cuba chapters and rarely any of Johnny Ola because I found it pretty irrelevant to the fic's plot as there's another villain amongst them that Michael has business to settle with! Seems there's some temptation in this chapter as well with a certain lady having her eyes on Michael. Just what will he do if he knows he can get away with cheating on you? 👀 This is a hell of a chapter with tension, drama, and a lot of romance and cuteness! This is now officially by far the longest chapter with a whopping 27 pages/27.9k words! Enjoy!! ❤

[SPECIAL SHOUTOUT]: Anons for requesting: Your hair/outfit resembling Apollonia's / Being casually affectionate with Michael 2/2 / Gifting Michael an personal present for his birthday / Michael getting irritated with other men talking about you / Romantic, intimate sex with Michael / Calling Michael "baby" more in bed / Birthday sex /

Havana’s nightlife is the epitome of lively, brimming with various types of entertainment from live shows, performances, and dances coupled with a perfect VIP experience for its patrons.

Generous and consistent service for its private attendees, Michael Corleone’s name is one of the first on the list for tonight’s business meeting mixed with pleasure and relaxation for the first time—a combination often deadly and uncomfortable depending on its guests.

With Michael and Fredo’s names privately reserved over a table across from the performance stage for their business contacts, Michael purposefully enters the resort hall last but on time.

Dressed in an immaculate, two-piece black, mohair suit with a matching tie, Michael’s hair remains moderately gelled back and brushed from front to back. Although he’s alert and on business mode, Michael takes on the physical appearance of a relaxed and calm sternness—ready to enjoy the evening with his brother and associates.

To Michael’s right and left are all the VIP tables sprawled out before the layered, grand performing stage at the center of the hall with a band mostly shrouded in darkness and hidden by the massive display of waterworks.

Waiters rush around the rows of reserved tables, serving exotic cocktails and the finest of gourmet dishes as guests enjoy themselves amid friendly conversation and keep their eyes on the first performance that’s about to begin.

The stage is filled with Cuban dancers and various performers, dancing in flashy and revealing party clothing in bright colors. Dancing in rhythm and coordination with frilly arm pieces and capes, they accentuate the front performer—a woman with curled, strawberry blonde hair styled up in a sequin, silver headband that matches the dancers behind her.

Bright lights flash over her, reflecting her cerulean gown that hugs at her hips and loosens at her breasts, divided with a long slit of an opening for her legs that reveal a pair of silver stilettos. Her supporting dancers are dressed in matching, tiny sequin bikinis and stilettos, moving their arms around to the beat of the singer’s slow song, and waving their hips, and starting the first performance of the night.

Michael remains more preoccupied with getting to his table rather than keeping his eye on the performers as he spots Fredo—dressed in a full white suit, fedora, and a black dress shirt—waving to him from one of the rows.

From what Michael can see, only Senator Geary and two of his government men are at the table thus far, leaving two seats empty for the arrival of the very men that conspired to kill him just mere days ago.

Michael presses his lips into a tight, forced smile as he approaches Fredo—the only person he’s okay with seeing tonight.

“Mikey! There you are!” Fredo is quick to take a step forward and greet his brother, wrapping a welcoming arm around Michael’s shoulder and pulling him in closer to the table. “Welcome, welcome!”

Michael’s polite, fake smile turns to Senator Geary whose dressed in a similar, full white tuxedo—greeting Michael with a genuine warmness both out of fear and deep respect turning to charm.

Michael’s instantly aware that Al Neri and Tom’s blackmailing scheme has worked, silencing the loudmouthed Senator through intimidation of revealing his pastimes at one of Fredo’s brothels and his money laundering schemes. It’s best to work with the Corleone family, never against them—a lesson Senator Geary’s learned very well.

“Senator Geary, you already know Mike.” Fredo grins, gesturing to him as he lets his arm drop from Michael’s shoulder.

The cheerful disposition over Senator Geary’s face is mildly amusing to Michael, who almost doesn’t have to keep faking his smile as he finds Geary’s arm already extended to firmly shake his.

“How are you, Senator?” Michael asks in a dim tone, shaking his hand back.

“Good to see you, Mike.” Senator Geary beams, keeping up the handshake. “I’m glad we’re able to spend this time together.”

“Likewise.” Michael nods back.

“Mike, this is Senator Peyton from Florida.” Fredo pats Mr. Peyton’s arm as Michael turns to shake hands with him as well.

“How are you doing, Mike?”

“And Judge DeMalco from New York—” Fredo redirects Michael’s attention to the familiar figure who already sat down, enjoying a drink.

“How do you do, sir?” Michael’s smile—although small and barely there—remains genuine as he greets one of the judges you worked with the most at Foley Square Courthouse in New York.

“Fine, thank you.”

“Ah, he’s here at last.” Senator Geary exclaims to the new figure approaching.

Michael turns his head as his eyes land directly on Alphonse Ricci’s, instantly hardening. Michael holds back from giving Alphonse an obvious glare, but all sense of pleasantries has drained from his face.

Michael finally comes to approach the pathetic excuse of a Don after five years of orders behind buffers and now a sense of growing hatred on Michael’s behalf to the mastermind behind the shooting.

Alphonse remains enthusiastic and has amped his charm more than ever, still under the belief that Michael is unaware of his obvious efforts behind the assassination attempt just a mere few days ago—about to be in for a pleasant surprise before Michael returns back to Nevada.

“Mr. Ricci tells me the two of you go a long way back, Mike.” Senator Geary adds, blatantly oblivious to the tense, almost hostile relationship between the two.

“That we do,” Alphonse smirks, rather overly confident in himself this evening as he extends out his hand to shake towards Michael. “It’s an honor to be here with you after all this time, Mr. Corleone.”

Dressed in a three-piece, full white suit with a grey silk tie, even Alphonse’s physical appearance is the exact opposite of Michael’s—seeking nothing but a rewarding night filled with relaxation and pleasure, whereas Michael seeks revenge and business.

With his eyes turning emotionless, Michael makes his body language almost unreadable as he shakes Alphonse’s hand back firmly.

“Likewise,” Michael lies, immediately noticing Fredo’s body language stiffening and becoming awkward as he turns his head to the side and pretends as if he hadn’t noticed the last guest’s arrival before Michael called it out. “You don’t know my brother Fredo, do you, Alphonse?”

Alphonse glances up at Fredo almost as if he’s looking straight through him, playing the act of a stranger perfectly.

“Alphonse Ricci—this is my brother Fredo.” Michael warily keeps an eye on both of them as he takes his seat.

“We never met.” Alphonse smiles back politely at Fredo, extending his hand out again. “Alphonse Ricci. A pleasure.”

Fredo quietly shakes his hand back, not too quickly but not firm either—just as one would expect from meeting their brother’s associate for the first time. He does so without another word, immediately diverting his attention elsewhere as Alphonse sits next to Senator Geary—knowing Michael’s eyes are still over him.

“Alright, gentlemen, it’s refill time here!” Fredo grins at the nearby waiter approaching the table with a round of various small bottles of liquor and cocktails. “You might try some of the local drinks, ya know. Cuba Lire, pina colada, the like.”

“I think I’ll try one of those redheaded Yolandas.” Senator Geary requests with a wink.

Michael forces another smile, relaxing his muscles as he diverts his attention from Geary to Fredo.

“That you got!” Fredo points back at him.

“One for me as well.” Alphonse gestures with his finger, loosening up his suit jacket a bit.

“Con gusto, you got it,” Fredo tells him before gesturing at the waiter placing a Cuba Libre cocktail in front of Michael. “Ahem, gentlemen.” Fredo raises his cocktail glass up, “to a night in Havana!”

It feels almost foreign for him to join a table without Sonny or Tom, let alone without you—the woman of his life and the one he’s shared almost all his stuffy business and family dinner parties with.

It takes the entirety of Michael’s will and patience to muster up the fake social charm needed for tonight—knowing that the man who was behind the shooting at your home is smiling and laughing in his face, enjoying himself as Michael plans how to retain enough information to put a bullet through his head.

While Don Alphonse Ricci will begin the evening expecting to spend the rest of their trip in Havana filled with cocktails, women, and fine dining, Michael will be actively planning his death every step of the way.

Michael pulls the tall glass of rum and coke in front of him, giving the ice cubes in the cocktail a little stir with the plastic straw provided before glancing at the small slice of lime wedged onto the rim of the glass.

Normally choosing not to drink alcohol at any kind of business meeting, whether it be at a party or through dinner and regardless of the alcohol content, Michael raises his glass alongside the others at the table—knowing it would almost be inappropriate not to do so tonight for a formal celebration of business.

“To a night in Havana!” Alphonse chimes in, clinking his glass against Michael’s first with a grin—only met back with his dark, unamused gaze.

“Mm—” Fredo takes a long sip of his drink, pulling back his seat to finally sit down. “Now, gentlemen, what are we celebrating over tonight, hmm? Business and prosperity?”

“Business and prosperity.” Senator Geary repeats, amused. “I like the sound of that, and from the way, things are going… Well! I say we have a lot to celebrate over, don’t we, Mr. Corleone?”

All eyes at the table begin to shift their attention directly to Michael, who raises his cocktail glass to his lips, taking a small sip.

“Ah, Mr. Corleone.” Judge DeMalco nods back eagerly, “I know I didn’t hear wrong when they said you were building your empire in the entertainment and tourism business in Nevada.”

“I hear the Tropigala is next to join your family’s impressive list of hotel and resort ownership.” Senator Peyton adds in.

“It is,” Michael answers back, noticing Alphonse’s expression beginning to sour. “Senator Geary’s associates Klingman and Turnbull are pioneers when it comes to such investments.”

“I’m telling you, it’ll be worth the investment.” Senator Geary gestures back to Alphonse with a cocktail in hand. “Mike is just the man you want to do your business with.”

“I’ve heard much about Mr. Corleone’s business antics.” Alphonse fixes up a polite smile. “I’m pleased to be able to do business with a man like him whose investments and purchases are as generous as his portfolio.”

Michael understands what Alphonse is hinting at almost immediately. In terms of “generosity,” he knows Alphonse will never sell his share of the Tropigala unless Michael agrees to pay ten times the normal asking price. It appears clearer than ever tonight’s business affairs will be filled with lies and provocation only for long enough until it appears Michael is playing into Alphonse’s game and not the other way around.

“I could only wish for you to have done the same for New York’s suffering sectors as of late.” Judge DeMalco chuckles, setting down his cocktail. “Although believe me, we were very grateful to have your wife’s presence at Foley Square. She’s one of the most talented lawyers I have ever met in my career. I say she may give Tom Hagen a run for his money.”

Michael chuckles back, noticing from the corner of his eye how Alphonse’s interest has peaked from the mere mention of your name. “She still speaks very fondly of her time in New York. I’ll send both of them your regards.”

“Senator Geary,” Alphonse turns his head back, “you’ve met the prepossessing Victoria Ferrari, haven’t you?” He purposefully uses your maiden name to refer to you.

Senator Geary takes a swig of his cocktail, exhaling. “Have I? Of course, I have. I tell you, the talk at this table does no good. I was lucky to meet the entire Corleone family, including Mr. Corleone’s talented wife. I don’t mean to brag and all, Mr. DeMalco, but—Nevada could use some fine lawyers like Mrs. Corleone, and we don’t intend on giving her up.”

“She is, in fact, a mesmerizing beauty.” Alphonse comments, loosely stirring his straw within his drink. “I wonder, Mr. Corleone—how come she didn’t accompany you to Havana? I think she would have loved it here.”

Fredo blinks, remaining quiet and fully indulging in his drink as Michael pulls out a cigarette from his pack from the inside of his suit jacket. “You may be surprised to hear Havana is not her kind of city.”

“She’d grow weary of our conversation already.” Senator Peyton wipes the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “We’re here to discuss business after all, aren’t we? We’d bore our wives to death had we brought all of them here. I don’t suppose Mrs. Corleone would have any trouble stealing the spotlight from all these performers without even trying.”

“Peyton makes a good point.” Senator Geary lets out a laugh.

“Having a pretty little thing like that on your arm, does it ever get exhausting?” Alphonse presses on with his questions about you towards Michael. “With the attention and all, of course.”

“No,” Michael answers plainly in an attempt to cut off the irrelevant conversation, putting his cigarette in between his lips.

“Speaking of…” Senator Geary glances around the room eagerly. “The women of our lives can’t be compared with the women of our night, right, fellas?”

Judge DeMalco lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. “Eager as always, Geary. Don’t mind me, gentlemen. The missus passed away thirteen years ago—God rest her soul. I’m a widower, so I have no moral dilemma here.”

“Moral dilemma.” Alphonse jokingly repeats. “It’s Havana, it’s our time, and it’s our night. Who cares? The ladies here certainly won’t.”

Michael’s eyes glance to Senator Geary, who speaks up again. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, gentlemen. The women here, well…” A grin forms over his lips, “they can give us a little something our honest wives can’t if you understand me.”

“Oh, now you’re talking, Senator!” Fredo joins in.

“That’s why you brought that Rita with you from the Tropigala, didn’t you?” Senator Peyton asks Geary. “I knew she wasn’t just eye candy.”

“Not as much as Victoria Ferrari; I’ll personally vouch for that.” Alphonse grazes his tongue over his teeth as Michael’s muscles stiffen in a wave of disgust and anger.

“Oh, no, no. Now, let’s not compare diamonds to silver.” Senator Geary points back at Alphonse, holding back his laughter. “Rita knows how to keep a man entertained if I do say so myself. I’m being generous with you, fellas. After one round from me tonight, I’ll let you all take as many turns on her as you like. She’s eager, you know! She likes this kind of thing! And…” He leans into the table, “she loves a group experience.”

“Some of us may not be so experienced, eh?” Alphonse tilts his head over to Senator Geary, gesturing back to Michael, who begins smoking. “Gentlemen, separate your wives from your whores tonight. It’s a collective effort."

Fredo fakes a short laugh, uneasily looking over at his brother, who is the only one not to join the roaring laughter at the table. Instead, he gives an awkward smile, focused on his cigarette and slowly taking sips of his cocktail.

Aware his business associates are more occupied with matters of debauchery, pleasure, and relaxation over the rigid set notion of business Michael always has, Michael knows he’ll only have to act accordingly to get through the night and, importantly, to get at what he wants.

It’s not a sight or conversation he’s unfamiliar with either. Besides his step-brother Tom, Michael’s brothers haven’t exactly been exclusive in their relationships—specifically their sexual relationships.

Sonny has had sex with almost every one of Connie’s friends throughout the years, still on and off. You remain the only exception for obvious reasons, and Lucy Mancini, although no longer a friend of Connie’s due to the revelation of her sexual relationship with Sonny, still happens to be his favorite bedmate and pastime.

Fredo has still never lived down his humiliating reputation of “banging cocktail waitresses, two at a time” since his days under Moe Greene’s mentorship in Vegas. While his father sent him there to learn about the entertainment and tourism business to put his budding charisma and social skills to use, Fredo preoccupied himself with showgirls and cocktail waitresses, even impregnating one.

Even with his marriage to Deanna Dunn, a Hollywood starlet and a past flame in Johnny Fontane’s life, affairs, hookups, and other forms of brief, sexual encounters aren’t off the table for Fredo at all.

Michael couldn’t be any different from the two of his brothers, knowing the only temptation in his mind is the one that tugs at him to have a taste when he approaches you, and only you. He would never do that you no matter what anyone had to say about his manhood.

You are the woman of his life, not exclusive to being an “honest woman” or comparable to the desire of a one-night stand.

Sex, alcohol, women, and parties to remember fit in the description of a perfect distraction—just what Michael needs to know how he plans to end the night. There’ll be no business, no relaxation, no temptations, and Alphonse Ricci will never receive a single cent for the Tropigala. Instead, he’ll exchange it for a bullet in his head.

Although remaining a bit more withdrawn than usual over the conversation at the table, Fredo eagerly leads on to the VIP performance room down the hall—a closed-off area only taking special reservations for a private show described as “an experience of a lifetime.”

Pretending not to fit in as not to give away his previous associations with Alphonse Ricci, Fredo feels the tension of the air leaving him as he can finally join in on the “private” festivities of the night alongside everyone else. It’ll be much less talking and more watching.

Michael only knows as much as Fredo has described to them over the table but knows it’s a live sex show nonetheless. Obviously, never having been to one himself nor surprised about Fredo’s knowledge of sex shoes and other erotic performances, Michael quietly follows behind a tipsy Senator Geary with both his arms wrapped around two different women.

While the woman on his left is a performer, the “eye candy” Senator Geary boasted so much about—Rita Duvall—is on his right side. Dressed in a flashy, scarlet dress that hugs at every curve in her body and drapes over her breasts, she throws an arm over Senator Geary’s shoulders and excitedly enters the private showroom.

With two private dancers wrapped around both of his arms, Alphonse makes soft conversation with both of the ladies—planting kisses here and there over their necks as he leads them into the room behind Fredo.

Fredo wraps an arm around a showgirl accompanying him for the night, putting his white fedora on and gesturing her to one of the rows to stand alongside him as Senator Geary and Alphonse remain at the row directly behind him.

Michael lingers to the side of Senator Geary and Rita Duvall’s row, directly behind Alphonse, as he refuses to enter either of the rows with anyone. Naturally, he would prefer to have you by his side as always, but nowhere near a vulture-like Alphonse and not at a live sex show of all places.

Michael’s bodyguard Bussetta remains at the very back of the room—directly behind him but engulfed in the shadows away from any lights or prying eyes. Although Fredo is the only one besides Michael who actually recognizes him, even he hasn’t seen that Bussetta has been closely following behind them throughout the entirety of the day and night.

“Grab a beer, grab a chair!” Senator Geary calls out—a wide grin growing over his face as he almost stumbles into his row. “Hey! Hey, Freddie! Why are we standing?!”

Fredo pops open a small bottle of Cuban beer, beginning to fill the glass of the showgirl accompanying him before glancing back over his shoulder to Senator Geary—completely oblivious to Michael awkwardly standing and faking a smile. “Everybody stands! But it’s worth it.” He points back to Senator Geary. “Watch, you’re not gonna believe this!”

“I don’t believe it already!” Senator Geary throws his head back in laughter.

Fredo turns back around to face the main stage below, consisting of a few musicians within the corner of the stage, playing slow, sultry music. The show curtains shrouded in the darkness behind them light up with the illumination of bright, green light as three female figures emerge from them.

“It’s about to begin!” Rita whispers excitedly, clutching onto Michael’s arm and pulling him closer to her in the row. “Come on, don’t stand all the way out there. You don’t want to miss this!”

Surprised from the sudden touch and grab, Michael gives Rita a forced, business-style smile before standing next to her, glancing towards the stage out of curiosity.

Two women dressed in revealing, black outfits flowing down their bodies with their midriffs exposed as priestesses of some kind grab at each arm of a brunette woman dressed as a slave in a short, plain white dress.

They haul the slave girl back and forth as she struggles within their grasp, trying to wriggle free from the right then the left as she fails miserably. She gives in to the priestesses continuing to tug her towards a pole at the center of the stage, pushing her back up against it.

The two priestesses grab a thick rope from both ends, working together to tie her onto the pole while swerving their hips to the enticing rhythm of the music.

Michael reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out his cigarette pack, grabbing himself one with a soft sigh. Never having been to a sex show or anything of the like, the contrast between how Fredo chooses to entertain Michael and vice versa is glaringly clear.

Fredo has always favored the lavish nightlife; all the drinks he could have, the various places he can celebrate till dawn, and all the women he can bed each and every time, consistently and to the standards of his every desire.

Fredo’s idea of entertainment resonates well with Alphonse, Senator Geary, and the rest of their business associates but couldn’t be any more of an opposite or nuisance from Michael, who attends the live sex show for the sake of attending with everyone else.

Michael is about to put his cigarette between his lips when he notices the curtains open yet again, revealing two more of the same priestess-dressed women, this time hauling a man otherwise completely naked, covered in a red cape.

“That’s him, that’s ‘Superman.’” Fredo gestures towards the front of the stage to Senator Geary, who eagerly begins to watch with the girls surrounding him.

Rita Duvall’s attention is divided with her one eye watching the show begin and the other on Michael Corleone. She smiles shyly, squeezing his arm again and leaning into him. “May I have one as well?”

Michael slips the cigarette into the corner of his mouth, glancing back at her. Rather unmoved, he takes another cigarette out of his pack and gives it to Rita before tucking it back into his suit pocket.

Rita puts her cigarette between the center of her lips, gazing back at Michael as she leans in closer to him to light it.

Michael is aware whether Rita is trying to give away her attraction and interest to him away or if she’s trying to hold it back either way. He flickers his lighter on, covering the flame with his hands, and lights her cigarette before doing so to his own.

“Thank you,” Rita whispers back, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze before trailing her hands off him.

Michael gives a small nod, taking a small inhale of his cigarette and stiffening his arm. He turns his head back to the stage only momentarily before checking his watch, then inconspicuously glancing back at Bussetta.

Bussetta crosses his arms—a foul frown over his face as he remains largely unmoved by the show. Protecting Michael and fulfilling out his every command is his only concern for tonight, knowing sooner rather than later a hit will be ordered from Michael.

Michael turns his head back as if Bussetta was never there, taking his cigarette out of his mouth and exhaling.

He faces the stage just in time to see the priestesses have tied the slave girl’s wrists in rope and hold it up themselves while throwing the man in the red cape onto the ground before her. The so-called “Superman” falls to the floor with a thud, only to be coaxed up by the priestesses again.

Fredo watches intently, an amused smile forming on his face as he knows the show is just about to start, and only momentarily peeks over at the showgirl accompanying him by his side to see if she’s enjoying the show herself.

Michael looks over at Fredo’s delighted expression before glancing down at his cigarette—not as eagerly anticipating “Superman” to strip down before the girl as everyone else is.

The “Superman” rises to his feet as if he’s gained a boost of confidence and strength. He stands before the slave girl and extends his arms out, clutching onto his cape to expose himself in front of her.

The girl remains too preoccupied with lazily struggling against the ropes on her wrists again, swaying back and forth. “Superman” pauses for a minute, having extended his arms out fully as one of the priestesses that held him returns from the corner of the room carrying a small, black tray.

Michael raises a brow, continuing to smoke his cigarette as he squints his eyes at a circular, flat object placed on the center of the tray as the priestess lingers around “Superman,” about to offer it to him.

Michael exhales out his cigarette smoke just as “Superman” lets go of his cape entirely, revealing his naked backside. The crowd goes wild, hooting and cheering as soon as the red cape hits the ground. Everything “Superman” has to offer is revealed and exposed before the crowd, boasting an abnormally sized thirteen-inch erect penis.

“Wow.” Rita giggles, brushing up against Michael again.

“Ya see?! What did I tell you?!” Fredo exclaims, glancing back to Senator Geary.

“That thing’s gotta be fake.” Alphonse chuckles in disbelief himself.

“That ain’t no fake, it’s real—” Fredo breaks out into a laugh, “that’s why they call him ‘Superman.’”

Michael pulls back the cuff of his suit jacket to glance at his watch again, largely uninterested in the whole sex show fiasco, although Senator Geary, Peyton, and Judge DeMalco are just as intrigued and into it as Fredo and Alphonse are.

The only person he could think of that would consider showing off such a thing besides this so-called “Superman” would be his own brother Sonny, and suddenly Michael is glad that Sonny isn’t here as he’d practically jump at the opportunity to attend a live sex show this close.

“This isn’t sweetheart’s first time, is it?” Alphonse crosses his arms—an amused grin forming over his lips. “She’s definitely seen this before.”

“I’m telling you, they’re putting on a hell of a show already.” Senator Peyton adds, nudging DeMalco. “Look at that, huh? Oh, he can barely take his hands off of her.”

Michael redirects his attention back to the stage, picking up on a faint scent of Rita’s overpowering floral perfume as he notices the “Superman” embracing the girl who stops squirming around immediately, almost as if she’s mesmerized by him.

In just a moment, “Superman” tears off the little bit of clothing she wears like a rag, pressing her naked body up against his as he grabs her by her hips.

“Ooh.” Senator Geary takes a step closer, leaning a hand over Alphonse’s shoulder. “Now it’s about to start.”

“She looks good, doesn’t she?” Alphonse smirks, patting Senator Geary’s hand. “Fine piece of ass.” He tilts his head back to side glances at Michael, “enjoying the show too, Mr. Corleone? What do you think of that figure, huh? She’s something to behold.”

Fredo chuckles, turning to face the men. “Oh, you know Mike. He’s never really been into this sort of thing, but there’s a first for everything, eh?”

Michael places his cigarette between his two fingers, answering plainly. “I’m married.”

“Ah, come on, Mike. Live and let loose a little. I am too!” Senator Geary raises his glass of beer. “And in all my married days, I’ve only seen what an honest woman can give me. I want the most out of Havana as well do tonight, fellas.”

“You know me, I’m a curves man myself.” Fredo glances back at the woman who now lays sprawled out upon the floor as the “Superman” begins to spread her legs apart slowly.

“Except if only you’d seen Victoria, I promise you’d never want to look at another woman again,” Alphonse smirks, redirecting his comment to Senator Peyton.

Michael clears his throat quietly, forcing himself not to roll his eyes as he puts his cigarette back in between his lips.

He finds Rita wrapping her arms lovingly around his and holding onto her cigarette with her free hand. “You know, Mr. Corleone, everything you know about honesty and modesty goes right out as soon as you step foot into a room like this.”

Michael glances at her, eyeing her carefully as she runs her manicured fingernails against the smooth metal of Michael’s gold wedding band. “Including this too. It just becomes a piece of jewelry.” She tilts her head up with a charming smile, “you’ve never been to a live sex show?”

“Why would I feel the need to?” Michael stiffens his arm, blowing out the smoke of his cigarette around him.

“You’re right.” Rita giggles, staining her cigarette with her cherry-red lipstick. “Why would a man like you need to? They’re quite the rage in Cuba and often get interactive. See?” She gestures her head back to the main stage.

Michael purses his lips as the crowd begins cheering and hooting wildly again. The “Superman” wastes no time pulling on the girl’s restraints and burying himself into her as she keeps her legs spread as wide as she can, letting out a loud and erotic first moan.

Rita leans up into Michael’s ear, whispering. “Let me know what I can do for you whenever Mr. Corleone.” She refers Michael to an explicit invitation to have sex with her, of course, but with the mention of the calendar, she lets him specifically know about her desire and openness for unsafe sex, if it should come to that.

For the first time in Michael’s life, he actually feels thankful for Senator Geary whose clearly getting tipsy with his newest alcoholic beverage. He clutches onto Rita loosely, pulling her into his arms and away from Michael instead.

Michael remains unphased, not even looking back at the two. He brushes off the arm of his suit jacket, knowing now more than ever all he’s surrounded by is alcohol, sex, and women—the debauchery of the night happily enjoyed by people Michael can hardly stand.

Michael knows it's not the first time, nor will it be the last a woman gives him a provocative offer or reveals her intimate desires and intentions throughout a night. Like a moth to a flame, Michael pulls attention from women—women he couldn’t possibly care less about or want.

Michael ignores the sex show almost entirely, not just out of disinterest but from his loyalty to you. His eyes never land over the woman having sex with the “Superman,” and he stands out more than ever in his group is the only one who isn’t enjoying or even remotely watching the show.

Not that anyone can blame Rita Duvall for keeping her eyes on Don Corleone for the night. Having only heard about who he is, what he does, and seen him through photographs in the newspaper, her interest only grew when she saw Michael in person.

The sudden jolt of attraction she felt for Michael as she saw him when she first landed in Havana only made her want to approach the Don more—find any and every small opportunity to even just stand by his side and attract his attention.

Rita can barely keep her attention and eyes elsewhere, let alone to herself in the presence of Don Corleone. ‘Of course he’s married,’ she had thought to herself glumly, but regardless, Don Corleone had come to Havana with Fredo Corleone of all men, and if it’s one thing she wanted so badly to see the two brothers have in common, it was their sex drive.

Even now, Rita can’t stop thinking about running her hands through his slicked-back hair—ruining the neatness of it and tugging as she’d let his lips explore the rest of her body.

She wants so badly for him to touch her, to grab her, and to exert dominance over her—just to take her away from the sex show and somewhere private where nobody would hear them.

“Spread your legs for me. You know I don’t like a tease.” Rita pictures Michael stroking himself and approaching her naked over the bed.

She can just imagine throwing off his annoying little wedding band and pressing those firm hands of his onto her breasts. She’d let him have as many rounds with her as he can take, as he can desire.

With a quick attraction so deep and so sexual already, Rita gladly lets her mind wander as she knows time and time again she may have a chance to see Michael Corleone again but will savor each and every time. ‘Who the hell is Victoria Ferrari anyway?’

Blissfully unaware of his stiffening body language and the fact he barely looks at her, let alone wants to speak back to her, Rita can almost feel a slight flare of jealousy spark up in her, knowing she wasn’t able to get to him the way she wanted to at all tonight.

Michael notices everyone else around him is largely distracted with their drinks, and in mid-conversation with one another, he simply focuses on finishing his cigarette and keeping track of the time while making sure to listen in on the talk as well.

“Hey Freddy,” Senator Geary can barely hold back his amusement. “Freddy! Where did you find this place?”

Fredo glances back at the Senator with a proud grin, “Alphonse Ricci here told me about this place. He brought me here himself. I didn’t believe it at first either but seeing is believing!”

“I see it, and I still don’t believe it!” Judge DeMalco shakes his head in mid laughter.

Michael’s eyes immediately dart back to Fredo’s, hardening and draining of emotion almost instantaneously. His muscles stiffen, and his body tenses up as he can’t pull himself to either move or look away from his older brother.

A deep, bitter realization sinks into Michael’s heart. He grips onto his half-finished cigarette between his fingers so harshly that he crushes it in half, letting it crumble to the ground.

“Old man Roth and Johnny Ola would never come here, but Alphonse knows these places like the back of his hand.” Fredo continues, grinning and completely unaware Michael’s heard his confession.

“You don’t know my brother Fredo, do you, Alphonse?”

“We never met. Alphonse Ricci. A pleasure.”

Michael exhales slowly, shifting his weight to the other foot uncomfortably as he steps upon the torn pieces of his cigarette, putting it out underneath his shoe. He feels the nape of his neck and the tips of his ears sting at the revelation of Fredo’s betrayal so explicitly stated out in front of Michael and his business associates.

“I told you, wherever I go these places at the first I find. This isn’t even the last of it, you know? You gentlemen have no idea what Havana has in store for us this weekend.” Alphonse grins back a the group.

A sense of dreadful anger surges through Michael as he keeps himself calm and collected, turning his head back slowly and giving a stern, a small nod to Bussetta to confirm the kill: both Johnny Ola and Hyman Roth will be killed tonight and now.

“What can I say? You’re a man that has taste; I’m going wherever you’re going!” Senator Geary laughs out.

‘Alphonse’s death remains personal.’

Bussetta tips his fedora down over his forehead as a gesture of understanding and turns back around, exiting the showroom to carry out Michael’s order.

“Roth is missing out, I tell you. Who wouldn’t wanna see this?” Fredo takes a long sip of his drink. “This is the stuff of the nightlife.”

Still in a state of shock, as Michael faces back his group, he feels his heart pounding in his ears and drowns out the unnecessary, loud rambling of a conversation Alphonse makes with the others.

“Ah, the old man’s been complaining about the same heart attack for twenty years now.” Alphonse chuckles. “Though ask him about his younger days, and his stories may just be wilder. He’s been coming here since the 20s.”

Michael’s eyes dart along the rows back and forth as the revelation of the traitor within his family sinks into him fully. Uncomfortable and tense with a knot of emotions building in his gut, Michael almost feels his mind go blank with rage as his eyes find Alphonse Ricci in the row right in front of him.

“Can’t decide if I like Vegas or Havana more now, honestly.”

Alphonse throws his head back in laughter, clinking his bottle of beer with Fredo’s glass before planting a wet kiss over one of the showgirl’s cheeks. Enjoying his night and the sex show to the fullest extent, he’s just as unaware as Fredo that Michael’s heard and pieced together everything in just a moment.

“I’ll decide for myself as soon as I take the night into my bed, eh? I’m up for whatever, whenever.”

Michael can barely stomach to look back at his brother now, burning his shock and grief-filled eyes into the back of Alphonse’s head. He can neither focus on the conversation going on around him with his business associates nor the sex show itself—letting his thoughts drown out his environment entirely.

“Gives Vegas a good run for its money, fellas."

A thousand questions whizz through Michael’s mind as he almost finds himself physically sick just standing there. He lets out another shaky, long exhale—knowing nobody’s noticed his disposition yet that looks more distracted and unamused than it does appalled and in an utter state of disbelief.

“You’re the man Freddy, you’re the man.”

If Michael would ever let his guard down to cry, he knows it’d be now more than ever. Unable to steady his breathing down properly, he’s quick to grab another cigarette out of his pocket but can’t bring himself to even light it.

Michael slightly lowers his head, covering his face with his hand as if he’s in physical pain from the matter at hand. Unable to cope with the fact Fredo betrayed him and helped give fruition to the assassination that almost left both of you dead—not to mention your mother—Michael lowers his head even further, grimacing out of frustration and heartache.

‘It was you all along, Fredo. It was you.’

Michael had forced himself to withstand throughout the rest of the sex show alongside everyone else for the sake of remaining inconspicuous himself and making it look like he had been too busy enjoying the show to listen on or even add into the conversations everyone was having around him.

He followed behind Fredo and Alphonse after the sex show just as he did when entering, remaining quiet but with a tight-lipped smile over his face as if he was enjoying the provocative pleasures of Havana just like everybody else.

With just an hour left until the official evening party begins after midnight, everyone has split off to their suites to relax and enjoy a drink or two before meeting again for the next festivities of the night.

Michael goes to enter his suite alone, knowing Fredo’s is just down the hall, and Bussetta is tracking down Johnny Ola and the whereabouts of Hyman Roth for the remainder of the evening. He will not return until the deed is done and further information is learned.

If anything, Michael is on guard more than ever. He shrouds himself in silence and darkness as he makes his way back to his suite after everyone else does first. He immediately shuts the door behind him the moment he enters without even turning to look back.

All emotion has left Michael’s expression entirely. His eyes remain drained of any life, any forgiveness or compassion, and his body language is unreadable and stiff. He shrugs off his black, mohair suit jacket and neatly hangs it over the chair by the suite’s office table, tossing his pack of cigarettes over the table.

Michael rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows, making his way to the mini bar in the kitchen and fixing himself a tall glass of ice-cold water.

Barely feeling relaxed or comfortable as his, he soothes his dry throat with a long sip and makes his way back to take a seat upon the chair. Michael rests his elbows upon the desk, sliding his pack of cigarettes back over to him and pulling one out. He wastes no time in lighting it, quick to take a long drag out of it as he closes his eyes.

‘Fredo would not have been stupid enough to merely be talking to my own business partners—to my enemies—and given away what they’d need to know to kill Victoria and me.’

The question that lingers over Michael’s mind—haunting him—is what his father will say and how he will react at knowing his own son attempted to kill the both of you, and indirectly because of him, Ludovica Ferrari got injured in the process.

What will Vito Corleone do once he finds out his son is the traitor behind the assassination? Will he feel pity or remorse knowing he’s found himself in the same situation throughout his years as Don before? How Fredo fumbled with his gun, failing to protect him only to sit on the sidewalk and weep until help arrived, now to be the one that cause another assassination to his own brother?

‘Why would Fredo want Victoria dead of all people?’

Of course, it would matter very little had you and Michael perished that night. The truth would get out sooner than later, and Vito would have to be the one to tell the twins when they’re older just what happened to their parents and who did it.

Then and only then could Niccolò decide as to the Don whether to spare his uncle and forgive him or if he’d exercise the same cold streaks as his father did to those who betrayed him—family or not.

‘He’s known Alphonse Ricci, Johnny Ola, and Hyman Roth since the beginning. He lied to me about everything from the start.’

Michael leans back in his seat, taking another drawn-out drag from his cigarette as his eyes flicker back to the door—hearing faint footsteps approach it with a short knock. “Sono io, Don Corleone.” (It’s me.)

‘Bussetta.’

“Entra,” Michael answers out. (Come in).

The door pulls open to reveal Bussetta, who adjusts his fedora, stepping into the suite and locking the door behind him before facing Michael directly. “Don Corleone, Johnny Ola is dead.”

Michael nods back, exhaling out smoke around him. “And what of Hyman Roth?”

“Currently under high security and with the hospital personnel. He’s been placed under extensive care and looks to not be doing well.” Bussetta replies. “I plan to wait until he’s left alone, then smother him to death. It’ll be clean and quick.”

“Good. That will do.” Michael muses. “How did you kill Ola?”

“I strangled him to death with a coat hanger. There’s no evidence to prove any foul play. He gave out easily.” Bussetta explains.

Michael purses his lips, tapping off the ashes from the tip of his cigarette.

“Don Corleone, if I may,” Bussetta begins, seeking permission to ask a question out of line.

Michael’s eyes meet up with his as he gives a small nod, awaiting the question.

“What about Alphonse Ricci? Do you want me to kill him as well?” Bussetta suggests.

“No.” Michael shakes his head. “I will personally deal with Ricci. I’ve had him put under the impression I’m tolerating his presence with our associates tonight. I want him distracted and enjoying himself before I join him in whatever he’s indulging himself with this evening.”

“I saw him a mere five minutes ago by Rita Duvall’s suite, Don Corleone. He and some other women are there together.” Bussetta adds.

Michael couldn’t be any less surprised by his whereabouts. “Return to the main hall once Roth is dealt with. You have a little over forty-five minutes to put him out of his misery, understood?”

“Understood, Don Corleone.” Bussetta tips his fedora down his forehead, swiftly and quietly exiting the room.

Michael lets out a soft sigh, glancing down at his burning cigarette between his fingers. The thought of confront Fredo one way or another causes a wave of both tension and anger surge through him—knowing he not only expected to be betrayed by a family member but that neither Vito nor Carmela would ever agree with Michael’s methods on what to do next.

Michael knows he’ll have to kill Fredo—that Fredo would have to be able to justify why he lied to Michael about knowing Alphonse Ricci, Hyman Roth, and Johnny Ola, as well as when and how they met.

What good reason can Fredo provide Michael as to why he met and spent time with his enemies? With those who only seek to use him and leech off of the empire he inherited and grew from his father?

That aside, Fredo’s betrayal will be clear and come with its own reason as to why his own brother helped plot an assassination, but Michael will have to know for certain if Fredo was actually in on it or if he was convinced or tricked by the three instead.

Michael rubs at his eyes with his free hand, feeling a stinging sensation of tears about to form. He swallows the lump in his throat, still utterly in disbelief at the revelation Fredo so easily gave away tonight.

In truth, Michael suspected Rocco, and had there been any grain of truth to confirm his suspicions, he would have been able to confirm it here in Nevada amongst Ricci, Roth, and Ola. Now with Fredo in the crosshairs, it would be easier to have Rocco murder the assassins under a Corleone’s direct order.

Rocco Lampone wouldn’t hesitate to do so, and he would consider it if it came from Fredo, but only if there was something in it for him. It all ties back to Fredo at the end of the day, and Michael could care less as to what Rocco’s reasons could be for indirectly supporting the hit targeting you and him. Rocco will just have to be dealt with as well.

Finishing up his shortened cigarette, Michael pulls his dress sleeves back down over his arms and smoothens them out before grabbing his cigarette pack and mohair suit jacket back on and buttoning it down the middle.

Michael smoothens out the sides of his gelled hair, tightening his tie before glancing at his watch momentarily and exiting his suite room. Making sure to lock the door behind him and keep the sign as “occupied” over the doorknob, he begins to cautiously make his way down the hallway of the hotel.

Keeping his eyes on the numbered doors he passes, he notices Fredo’s suite has the sign flipped to “unoccupied” over his doorknob with the lights shut off from underneath the door.

‘He’s left for the celebration already, or he’s elsewhere by now.’

“Lost, Mr. Corleone?” A feminine voice rings out from behind Michael.

Michael turns around to see a Rita Duvall leaning against the doorway of another luxury suite by the end of the hallway—this time wearing much less than her glittering, scarlet dress than earlier on in the evening.

Dressed in nothing but a racy, black lace and mesh set of lingerie, Rita peeks out at Michael and runs her hand through her strawberry, blonde curls as if she’s been anticipating him all evening.

With the door to her suite open, Michael can make out the sound of three more women and spot them behind Rita, giggling and enjoying soft conversation over cocktails in the same frilly and provocative sets of lingerie.

A scent of heavy powdery perfume lingers by the suite, and Michael finds himself in an empty hallway alone, in front of Rita Duvall’s suite, and with forty minutes left until he’s expected down at the presidential palace for the final reception of the evening.

“Miss Duvall,” Michael answers, keeping his eyes solely fixed upon hers. “I don’t suppose a different reception started without me, did it?”

“Not at all.” Rita giggles, “the casino and bar are open twenty-four seven, but the rest of us are just killing time in our suites. Care to join us?”

“No, thank you,” Michael responds, glancing off to the other end of the hallway to avoid looking at her. “I’m looking for Alphonse Ricci, actually. Have you seen him?”

“Have I?” Rita grins, gesturing behind her. “He’s here with us if you want to say hello.”

Michael knits his brows at Rita, only taking a few steps further to the door. “If you could tell him I’d like to speak with him in private, I would appreciate it.”

“Then I’d have you waiting out here for a while, and that wouldn’t be appropriate now, would it?” Rita pouts back at Michael, stepping out into the hallway with just her stockings over her feet and thighs.

Before Michael can even respond, Rita grasps at his wrist gently, pulling him into the room. “Come on, he’s just cleaning up before the reception dinner!”

Michael clears his throat, straightening out the cuffs of his sleeves where Rita touched him as he stands sternly in the suite and only looks towards the other end of the suite where he hears Alphonse distantly talking to someone.

Rita closes the door behind him with a charming smile, gesturing her hand towards the hallway where Alphonse’s muffled voice can be heard. “He’s just on the phone with a business associate but should be out soon. He’s worried about all the rebels here and whatnot—you never know, nobody likes a party crasher.”

“I’ll wait.” Michael replies, strictly keeping his back faced to the scenery of two half-naked girls sprawled upon the suite’s king-sized bed behind him—now quietly giggling at him.

Largely unphased by the lavish and provocative sights surrounding him, Michael keeps his attention focused on Alphonse’s voice that he can somewhat make out rambling away to someone about resort security.

Michael slips his hand into his suit jacket, pulling out a fresh cigarette from his pack and placing it in-between his lips. Just as Michael’s about to reach for his lighter, Rita purposefully brushes up against Michael’s suit as she approaches him again.

A smile forms over Rita’s lips as she holds a lighter within her hands, flickering it on for Michael and lighting his cigarette for him. “Make yourself at home, Mr. Corleone, I insist.”

Michael glances back at her, neither speaking nor letting his eyes wander as she gazes back at him shyly. Taking a small drag out of his cigarette and redirecting his look elsewhere, Michael finds himself momentarily stunned to feel the showgirls behind him now call out for him.

“Pleased to meet you, at last, Mr. Corleone.” One blushes. “Welcome to Havana.”

“We’ve heard so much about you from your brother, Freddy, and Rita, of course.” The other showgirl adds, gazing up at him with anticipation.

“You’re always welcome here, Mr. Corleone.” Rita gently tugs on the end of Michael’s tie, leaning up to wrap an arm around his shoulder lovingly.

“I’m married.” Michael presses his lips down, affirming to the three of them but finding them almost entirely unaffected by what he says.

Rita runs her fingers over Michael’s, touching at the smooth metal band of his wedding ring as she presses her breasts up to his chest. “That doesn’t matter here, does it? We’re all here to celebrate, after all. Who cares? Who would know? It’s a celebration of the success and prosperity of businessmen like you, Michael.” Rita refers to him by his name, now grabbing his attention.

“I’ll be honest with you,” Rita leans in, only a mere few inches from Michael’s face as she practically breathes her next words over his lips. “I’ve always wanted to meet you formally. I’ve heard so much about you from Senator Geary, and yet it’s as if you still remain a mystery. Victoria, was it?” Rita takes the cigarette out of Michael’s mouth, smoking a small drag out of it herself before smiling back at him. “She’s your wife? That’s sweet. I never said I was trying to take her place, you know.”

“I’m not my brother, Miss Duvall, and you know this.” Michael gazes back at her lust-filled eyes.

Rita chuckles quietly, wetting her lips. “But you haven’t rejected me, Mr. Corleone, so what does that say about you right now? Why don’t you let me show you instead?”

It’s true Michael has neither stepped away from her nor rejected her, rather not out of interest or attraction to her but out of the fact he could care less—that he’s waiting for her to give up through his cold and unamused body language towards her.

Michael could care less about her antics, knowing she’s done her fair share of gazing and flirting with him throughout the evening. He’s ignored every advance up until now—until she’s approached him naked, vulnerable, and wanting to match the lust within him to hers.

Rita slips off one of the straps of her lingerie down her shoulder, letting her bare breasts spill out as she takes Michael’s free hand, placing it over them and making him give them a squeeze. “You can touch me all you want, you know, Mr. Corleone. Don’t you want to?”

Michael could do it, and he knows this. He could have his way with Rita in any way he wants. All he’ll have to do is confirm he wants her as badly as she craves him. Michael could pull her into his body—embrace her—squeeze his hands down her supple breasts and trail them to her hips.

He could wrap Rita’s thighs around his waist and kiss her feverishly, letting his tongue intertwine with hers before laying her on the bed. He could take as many turns with her and the other ladies as much as he wants—it would be like nothing.

Michael could get a taste of all three of them over him at the same time. He could take turns with them, fucking all of his frustration, his desire, and his insatiable lust out on them. Better yet, he could avoid another stuffy business party and indulge himself like Fredo and Sonny did so often.

It would easily remain a secret never to be spoken of again, and it would invoke further desire, demanding more and more. Seeing Rita again wouldn’t be a problem, and with Senator Geary, nobody would suspect a thing—least of all you.

Michael could do it. He could cheat on you tonight, and you wouldn’t know anything. Michael could break every promise he made to you—his wedding vows—and he could get away with it just as easily. He has the opportunity presented towards him, teasing and pleading after all.

But Michael won’t, and he doesn’t. The offer is enticing and alluring in more ways than one, easily becoming a temptation but not one for Michael, and he knows this. Michael remains completely and utterly unphased by her, neither caring for her honeyed sweet talk nor for her sex appeal.

Michael is not his brother, and even during his half-hearted relationship with Kay after Sicily, he never thought of seeking out another. Just as he expects loyalty from those around him as Don, he provides the same throughout his business and personal relationships. To break any vows, any promises—regardless of how well hidden they may be or what his intentions are, is simply inconceivable to him.

There isn’t an inch of Michael that feels tempted or swayed by Rita Duvall—least of all, her failed attempt at seduction. Michael hasn’t taken off direct eye contact with her since he spotted her, not just out of self-respect and refusal to give in to her, but also out of respect for you.

Never once tempted to look back, to step closer, to ask or to touch, Michael is unreachable. The hand he’ll gladly take and follow into the bedroom, easily strip down and find himself lost through making love to is yours and yours alone. That has never changed for Michael. He’s married to you, and his loyalty remains with you. As your husband and the father of your children, Michael knows he’s in love with you and would never make you a choice from a priority, humiliate you or replace you.

It’s always been simple for him. You’re all he can want now and forevermore, and it’s his love towards you that’s insatiable. You’re the only woman Michael wants by his side, hand in hand, skin against skin and lips colliding over each other. It’s always been you.

Not attracted to Rita Duvall in the slightest, nor with any notion on his mind of cheating on you regardless of any secretive offer or hook up placed before him, Michael pulls his hand off of Rita and tilts her chin to face him directly instead.

Turned on by his actions, Rita’s breath hitches as she takes her free hand to slip off the other strap over her shoulder. Michael grasps her hand, stopping her midway before pulling her arm down and repeating back, “I’m married to Victoria Corleone, and you will remember that, just as you will remind Alphonse Ricci that I await him down in the lobby.”

“Mr. Corleone—”

“Don’t try that again with me, Miss Duvall. I told you, I don’t like to repeat myself.” Michael lets go of her, pulling away and making a swift exit out of the suite.

Without as much as another word or glance back, he closes the door shut behind him and makes his way off towards the other end of the hall before exiting down to the lobby. Michael lingers towards the center of the empty lobby room, leaning his back against the wallpaper of the corridor.

Irritated but hiding it well, Michael glances at his watch—now noticing there are thirty minutes left until the reception dinner. With the hallway of the luxury suites remaining as empty as ever, Michael reaches his hand back between his suit jacket, feeling for his gun he safely conceals behind him.

One cigarette wasted with Rita Duvall, Michael lights another, and just as he takes his first inhale from it, he raises his brows to notice the sound of footsteps growing louder towards him before making out Alphonse’s figure.

Michael’s mood instantly grows cold and emotionless, knowing and learning well from his father to block off all circuits of emotion when it comes to his enemies—no matter how personal matters may seem they’re getting.

Down the hall from Michael doesn’t stand a respectable man worthy of the title of “Don.” Alphonse Ricci has barely been worth the letter ‘D’ in Don throughout almost his entire succession from his father, still holding onto the golden days of the Ricci family’s legacy well forgotten by the other families in New York.

A failure, an incompetent businessman, and a pathetic excuse of a mobster like Alphonse Ricci is a glaring mirror opposite of Michael Corleone. Although Alphonse has signed his death certificate and dug his grave every step of the way, Michael credits him for not only making it easy to get through to him and end his life but that the smart thing to do to regain power, respect, and wealth would be to kill the most powerful gangster in America after all.

Michael is surprised Alphonse didn’t plan the hit earlier. One would assume he’s been planning something else—raising business contacts, deals, making new associates, and so forth, but doing so would mean nothing as Alphonse is still in the iron grip of the Corleone family.

To know that he was able to step foot into Nevada before, to begin with, is a direct indication either a Corleone or an equally powerful family has secretly intervened. The whole business always contained a foul undertone Michael realized before, but he never assumed his own brother would be behind the assassination that could have left Niccolò and Verona orphans.

Michael finds it more difficult than ever now to view Alphonse as anything but vermin that needs to be eradicated and done so before the reception dinner can take place. If Alphonse had half the wit Michael does, he would have never spent time with Fredo in front of Michael Corleone, of all people.

“Don Corleone!” Alphonse calls out with a chuckle, munching on a few peeled pieces of an orange. “Miss Duvall was quite eager to tell me you were awaiting my audience. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long.”

“I thought I might find you here before the reception dinner.”

“Of course, where else would I be?” Alphonse tightens his tie, beginning to walk over to Michael as he gestures back to Rita’s suite. “The reception dinner isn’t for another half hour. We could talk inside, you know.”

“So your mistresses can hear what you’ve been wanting to tell me all evening?” Michael blows out smoke around him, purposely doing so towards Alphonse’s direction. “I don’t think so.”

Alphonse gives a loose shrug—amusement growing on his face. “Ah, but of course, I should have known Don Corleone would want to talk business, even on vacation. You never rest, do you? Even your father knew when to enjoy himself—or so I hear, but I should have assumed otherwise when I noticed you didn’t bring Victoria with you.”

“Surely you’ve figured why I wouldn’t,” Michael replies back plainly. “Your mistresses aren’t what you were looking for?”

“Have you seen her?” Alphonse grins, gesturing back to Rita’s suite. “Now she’s a fine piece of ass and all, but like the senator said, there’s no need for comparison. You should let loose a little, Don Corleone. Like you said, Victoria isn’t here.”

“I’m aware.” Michael puts his cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “And I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself.” Alphonse takes a cigarette from the outermost pocket of his suit jacket. “I just find it amusing when a gangster takes the moral road.”

“We’re both a part of the same hypocrisy, aren’t we?” Michael keeps his brooding gaze over Alphonse.

“That we are.” Alphonse gives out a little sigh, putting the cigarette in his mouth and feeling around for his lighter. “It’s a shame; I never could get to you. I respected the Corleone family for years, you know.”

Michael pulls out his lighter, continuing to listen to him as he lights Alphonse’s cigarette for him—receiving a quick wink back as thanks. “The Godfather was all my father would talk about back during his youth in New York. It didn’t take long for Vito Corleone’s influence to reach every corner of the city and without even raising a finger. Well, we got the rough end of what your father left us.”

Alphonse takes a long drag from his cigarette, casual in the way he speaks. “Couldn’t afford to linger around and call out orders between buffers, from one button man to the next. We had to do the dirty work ourselves while families like yours thrived. I like that. I respect that. But I do have to admit, as powerful as the Corleone family is now, it all leads back to Victoria Ferrari, doesn’t it?”

Michael narrows his eyes at Alphonse, keeping his disposition stern and his body language unreadable. “Enlighten me.”

“Would you truly have everything without allying yourselves like a link on a chain to the Ferrari family?” Alphonse pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, anticipating a response from Michael. “I’m not saying what you did wasn’t a smart decision, but it makes me wonder sometimes.”

“Wonder if it had been you?” Michael finishes off his train of thought. “It’s all you’ve been doing these past few years, isn’t it?”

“Michael,” Alphonse smirks back at him, addressing him by his first name. “It’s all you’ve let me do. How could I not? The Ferrari family are not my enemies. I respect them.”

“Think again,” Michael replies. “They pretend to ignore your family’s existence because the Ricci’s serve as an embarrassment and lesson to all the crime families in New York. They had your capos killed, did they not? I don’t think it’s the respect you’re looking for; it’s fear.”

Alphonse rolls his eyes, tapping off the ashes of his cigarette onto the marble floor. “They’ve suffocated New York as much as is, believe me, I’m aware. That’s how all of this works. They gave the Stracci’s a run for their money when it came to brutality.” A look of uneasiness flashes over Alphonse’s expression. “They were running all over the place like wild animals, killing themselves while they were at it, and then the Ferrari’s had them quite literally choke on their own blood. You’re telling me you wouldn’t fear such a family?”

“No,” Michael answers plainly. “The Corleone family never had a reason to, and neither did I.”

“Oh? Well, then again, the playing field has never been even because of the Corleone’s. How could I have a chance to redeem my family name with you in the way? Better yet, answer me this—Victoria Ferrari is essentially Giuseppe Ferrari’s unofficial consigliere, isn’t she? You’ve not only found yourself a wife but also a Sicilian in the game herself and on both sides. Tell me why I wouldn’t want to be in your position? All I’ve done is envy you for many years, Michael Corleone.” Alphonse lowers his tone, “you should be more grateful.”

“With all due disrespect, Alphonse, you don’t know the Corleone’s or the Ferrari’s as well as you think you do. Your eagerness to contact my wife throughout the years has always been concerning, to say the least. Whether it was to get my attention or Don Ferrari’s, it matters very little because you failed either way. Aren’t you tired of living down to your family’s pathetic reputation for so many years? Haven’t you had enough of this?” Michael lets his cigarette drop to the floor as he leans in closer to Alphonse. “The little games, the fake niceties, the vulgar comments. After five years, you’re graced to be in my presence, and all you have to say are comments about my wife and how bad you wish Don Ferrari and my father could give you a shred of legitimacy?”

“She’s the link to all of this, Don Corleone.” Alphonse stares back into Michael’s eyes, softening his tone. “I could pretend to be interested in business if I was in your position. The cars, the yachts, the money, the power.”

He scoffs, “you think I care about the state of my family’s legacy right now? All I’d have to do is get you out of the picture and make her mine. I’m tired of men like you bending the rules that existed far before your family name did. You took the position of power that had my family’s name all over it. But with Victoria?”

A sick smile crosses over his face. “Many things in our line of work and lifestyle outlive their usefulness quickly, but a wife? A wife like her is hard to come by. It’s different. You made a smart decision getting yourself a mafia wife, and now the fact that she’s the link of power between both of your families makes this all the more interesting. Aren’t you worried Don Ferrari is going to make her choose between her loyalties someday? Or wouldn’t you do the same? Since you’re obsessed with being America’s most powerful mobster and all.”

“Your envy is blatant,” Michael comments back, unamused. “If you believed I needed to hear a painfully obvious lesson about the mafia from a failed gangster that grew up licking his father’s heels, you’re terribly mistaken.” As cold as Michael’s eyes remain without a hint of emotion crossing over his face, Michael sees red from rage surging inside of him from the comment about you.

In just one split second as Alphonse’s eyes look up to meet Michael’s dead ones as Michael speaks out in a low tone, “I knew it was you, Alphonse, from the first bullet fired. My men enjoyed torturing your assassins to death, and now it’s going to please me to hear the sound of every bone in your body breaking.”

Before Alphonse can even gather a moment to retain the threat Michael utters to him, Michael grabs at his wrist, first twisting it back to break the bone before forcing it back towards his face, causing Alphonse’s cigarette to burn deeply into his cheek.

Alphonse lets out a howling cry of pain as the hot cigarette stings into his flesh, rendering him distracted for a mere moment as Michael swings a kick at his ankles, knocking him to the floor but not before grabbing a fistful of his hair, delivering a blow across his face and throwing him towards the wall by his throat.

Alphonse’s head comes into contact with the wall as he slumps over, attempting to scramble up to his feet before Michael strides over to him again—harshly kicking him in the ribs and knocking him down again. “Sei sopravvissuto alla tua utilità.” (You’ve outlived your usefulness.)

Momentarily stunned by the hit to his head coupled with the sickening crack of his ribs that follows after, Alphonse coughs up blood before forcing himself back shakily on his feet to take a swing back at Michael. “You wouldn’t understand—”

Michael easily grabs at Alphonse’s arm and twists it backward—causing another one of his cries to resonate throughout the empty hallway. “On the contrary, I understand everything. I’ve always been ten steps ahead of you and your family.”

Michael continues twisting further as Alphonse wails before delivering a blow directly to his face with a jerk of his elbow and sending him stumbling back down to the floor, sputtering up more blood. “I don’t mind breaking your body as much as I enjoy doing so to your spirit.”

Alphonse wails out in pain, knowing he’s no physical match to Michael’s military prowess and physical brutality. Barely having expected it from him of all people, Alphonse made his bones in the mafia through blackmail and a bullet to the back of the head, whereas Michael had been surrounded by bloodshed and cruelty throughout the war.

“The fact your little empire depends solely on the Ferrari family’s influence, and funding is laughable.” Michael watches Alphonse crumple up to the floor, stepping over his wrist with one foot before repeatedly kicking him in the ribs over and over again.

Blood seeps off of Alphonse’s face as he almost chokes on his own blood, weakly leaning against the wall as he grins back at Michael—his mouth bloody. “F-finally going to do it yourself, h-huh? Don C-Corleone’s going to kill a man instead of sending a buffer? H-Hyman Roth will never let you live it down.”

“Hyman Roth is dead.” Michael kicks Alphonse in the face again, avoiding any splatters of blood on his suit. “And so is your associate Johnny Ola.”

“O-Oh, you’ve been waiting to do this… You’re an animal.” Alphonse wheezes out, kneeling as Michael takes a step further to him, pulling out his pistol and aiming it directly at Alphonse’s head. “That Sollozzo business never d-dampened you down, did it?”

Michael cocks his pistol. “Like Barzini, like Stracci, like Moe Greene. You drop like flies because I want you to because nothing gets said or done without my permission. The Ferrari family eats out of my hand because, just like the others did, they have use.”

“I don’t think so.” Alphonse breathes shakily, wincing deeply in pain at his broken wrist, barely able to breathe out from the hollow, racking pain within his ribs. “You’re b-bluffing. A man as established and powerful as you still can’t get to the truth.”

“Your last mistake will be underestimating me.” Michael wraps his finger against the trigger.

“Victoria will n-never let you live this down, Michael. N-not with your brother in the thick of it.” A thick wad of spit mixed with blood dribbles down the corner of Alphonse’s mouth—his left eye beginning to swell black and blue.

“The only reason Victoria won’t forgive me is because she didn’t get to do this herself.”

“It’s b-because I know you’ll never get the truth of how your brother got into this mess if you pull that trigger. He’ll never forgive you for it.” Alphonse convinces himself it’s another one of Michael’s threats and tricks, unconvinced by it all.

“It doesn’t matter why or how he did it because I’m going to kill him too.” Michael squeezes the trigger, firing a single shot into Alphonse’s skull as his body drops dead with a thud in front of him.

Michael watches the smoke of his gun fade into the air as Alphonse remains motionless and dead before him, a pool of blood forming underneath him and trickling its way towards Michael.

Nothing but a deafening silence surrounds Michael as he conceals his pistol behind him again as if it was nothing. Neither his expression nor his body language changes as he turns on his heel to exit the hallway—letting Alphonse’s blood soak into his cigarette and soak it out.

The sound of blaring trumpets and lively music are a welcoming noise to Michael’s ears as he enters the crowded reception hall next to Senator Geary, Judge DeMalco, and Fredo—all eager to join in on the last of the evening’s festivities and refreshments.

The presidential hall is as crowded as ever with wealthy patrons, businessmen, and the president’s associates joined in dance together as others remain by the other end of the room—enjoying the various selections of gourmet meals at the buffet tables.

Unable to avoid gazing back at Michael Corleone, Rita Duvall clutches loosely onto Senator Geary’s arm as she accompanies him to a conversation between Senator Peyton and a few Cuban businessmen, talking about the investments he’s personally made into Cuba.

“That’s in my best judgment a fantastic investment to make here in Havana, and I’ll give you my reasons why…”

Michael stands across from them within the crowd, but cautiously remaining at a well enough distance close to Fredo that he can spot out what his brother is doing at all times.

Unaffected by the lavish party going on around him, Michael notices Fredo sitting by the corner of the room with the same showgirl that accompanied them to the live sex show, making soft and intimate conversation over champagne.

Fredo’s hands tenderly rub over the woman’s shoulder as he continues softly speaking out to her, causing her to giggle back to him.

Michael places his hands behind his back, pretending to listen to Senator Geary’s conversation before he notices Fredo stands up with a grunt, clutching his champagne and making his way back out to the buffet.

Michael follows behind quickly, letting one hand drop to his side as he calls out for his brother. “Fredo. Where are you going?”

Fredo stops at the sound of Michael calling out his name, turning and gesturing to his champagne glass in disappointment. “Ah, Mikey, I’m gonna get me a real drink because I—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head at the tastelessness of the champagne before continuing off again. “You know how it is.”

Michael gives his brother a small nod, continuing to linger by the curtains where the dance hall is separated by the buffet and refreshments. Michael is well is he neither fits into the party going on around him nor does he try to care about it—strictly there for the sake of publicity and his associates.

Only five minutes pass as Fredo returns not just with an old-fashioned cocktail in his hand but eagerly balancing two plates of various desserts and cakes from the buffet table for him and Michael.

Remaining by the end of the room with Senator Peyton and Judge DeMalco, who make conversation amongst themselves over drinks, Michael’s attention shifts over to Fredo, who re-enters the room with a smile on his face as he comes to approach his brother.

“What’s all this?” Michael asks as Fredo hands him a plate of sweets.

“It’s from the president’s private buffet table; you’d never know.” Fredo grins, “I thought to myself that there was no way I’d miss any of this. What, you’re not gonna have anything to eat tonight? Here, definitely try the sponge cake on that left side.” Fredo licks off his thumb, picking up his fork from the side of the plate as he stands next to Michael.

Michael nods back at Fredo, not having to pretend with the way he holds himself perfectly fine after killing Alphonse Ricci just earlier, but remains almost disappointed and distraught with every interaction he has with Fredo.

Michael notices his plate greatly varies from Fredo’s, holding lighter and smaller portions of desserts with less icing, sugar, or any sort of extra sugary additions through syrup or otherwise.

Fredo’s kept Michael’s diabetes in mind when fixing up a plate for his brother, mostly aware he’s only seen Michael have a cocktail, a few glasses of water, and a plate of appetizers throughout the entirety of the day.

Noticing the amount of attention Fredo’s put on the plate, Michael’s emotions only continue to harden as he takes his fork off the side of his place, cutting through the sponge cake and eating it quietly next to Fredo.

“Hey, fellas—” Senator Peyton’s voice is heard as he approaches the two with a plate himself.

“Have either of you gentlemen seen Mr. Roth and Mr. Ricci? Or Mr. Ola, either? They all said they’d be here tonight, but I haven’t caught sight of any of them since earlier this evening.”

Fredo blinks back, remaining clueless as he hasn’t thought about it much himself. Michael gives his head a small shake, remaining inconspicuous about the fact that Bussetta will be putting Hyman Roth out of his misery any moment now, and Johnny Ola is long dead.

“What’s the protocol here, gentlemen?” Senator Geary strides over, putting down his half-empty plate. “How much longer should we stay?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Senator Peyton scratches the back of his head, pondering an answer. “Probably at least another half hour into the evening, after the reception dance, I’d say.”

“Well, I guess it is the president’s birthday right at midnight after all.” Senator Geary chuckles, standing next to Michael and Fredo. “If they’re not down here in ten minutes, they’re going to miss it. Fredo, have you seen Alphonse?”

As soon as Michael hears Fredo’s voice add into the conversation, he drowns it out. Mixed feelings of betrayal and anger knot up in his gut as he can barely stomach to finish a single slice of sponge cake.

Michael sets his fork back down on the plate and leaves it aside on an empty corner of a nearby buffet table, chewing through the last piece of dessert in his mouth. Michael pulls back the sleeve of his suit jacket up a little bit, glancing at the time that reads: 11:50 PM.

Michael can neither bring himself to stomach the conversation going on around him nor to look back up at his brother. He leans his back against the wall by the buffet table, feeling a sharp sting over his knuckles as his hand brushes up against the wallpaper.

Michael knits his brows, having been completely unaware of there being reddened marks over the knuckles of his right hand—serving as a little painful reminder from the sharp punch he threw over Alphonse’s nose.

Any deeper and the skin would have skidded right off, resulting in a tender gash, but luckily it isn’t apparent unless touched or looked at closely. Michael already knows off the top of his head that you’ll be the first to notice, comment, and do something about it the minute he lands home—a warm thought that collides in with the coldness of his current demeanor.

If anything, Michael can’t wait to get home to you and the twins now more than ever.

The clock strikes midnight as confetti bursts and pops throughout the room, raining from the ceiling as the crowd goes wild. Couples join each other in embraces, hugging and kissing one another, including completely random strangers, as they chant out the president’s name and throw their hands in the air.

Michael leans off the wall, examining the room to find the crowd has only grown bigger and denser, almost making it impossible to navigate through. He can spot Senator Geary and Rita embracing at the middle of the reception hall floor, but Fredo is completely out of sight.

With various pieces of colorful, small bits of confetti raining over Michael’s black suit and onto his hair, he carefully makes his way through the crowd—glancing back and forth to find Fredo throughout.

Michael accidentally bumps into one of the guests throughout the thick of the celebrating crowd—a local dressed in a satiny gown whose eager to celebrate with all around her. In just a moment, Michael finds her head upward towards him as she places her hand on his arm.

The woman brushes her lips against Michael’s in a faint kiss that catches him by immediate surprise as the tip of his nose comes into contact with hers. He blinks, moving his head back as the woman makes her way off in the crowd, and another guest comes to shake Michael’s hand.

Michael’s annoyance brushes off as he spots Fredo embracing one of the guests himself, kissing her right over the lips with a smile over his face before giving her another squeeze and letting go.

Michael takes a step to approach him, only to find the same woman beaming happily and making her way towards him next. She wraps her arms loosely around Michael to pull him into an embrace and lean for a kiss, but Michael steps past her without any interest—going towards Fredo instead.

A wave of emotions rushes through Michael as he embraces Fredo tightly, feeling his knuckles ache as much as his heart as Fredo returns the hug.

The brotherly love and bond between Michael and Fredo on Fredo’s behalf are as if nothing happened. It’s as if there was never a breach of trust, never the jealousy that Fredo felt causing their relationship to drift further apart during Michael’s first year of marriage to you.

Michael knew things with his brother would never be the same on a personal level, but he had always known Fredo was trying to improve—trying to grow into a better man not just for the family but for himself.

While Vito was convinced Fredo deserved his share of the family business, it was easily the worst decision Michael had made, knowing it indirectly resulted in a planned hit on you and him.

Everything aside, Fredo is still Michael’s older brother. Fredo was the only one who supported Michael dropping out of Dartmouth to enlist in the marines, but he was also the first to shoot down his ambitions of getting into politics.

Fredo was the only one that understood the distance Michael put between himself and the family business for years, but he let his jealousy influence him when Michael became Don.

While their embrace only lasts mere moments, Michael feels every inch of respect and brotherly love he had for Fredo beginning to fade. In a desperate attempt to reclaim it, to be certain of his decision on how to act without his emotions influencing him, Michael whispers in his brother's ear, “there’s a plane waiting for us—to take us back to Miami in an hour. Try not to make a big thing about it.”

Michael pulls back from Fredo, instantly feeling the last of his respect and compassion towards his older brother dissipate in an instant. Another wave of anger rushes through Michael as he gazes back at Fredo—his eyes hardening at the sight of his brother.

Michael grabs at Fredo’s face, pulling him in and sealing the Sicilian kiss of death over his lips—his grip harshening over the sides of Fredo’s head as Michael pulls back. “I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart."

“He’s got a good heart, but he’s weak, and he’s stupid. This is life and death.”

“You broke my heart.” Michael’s eyes glaze over with hurt and betrayal as Fredo’s eyes widen in shock. Struggling against Michael’s grip, Fredo’s heart begins to race in horror at the revelation before him.

Michael pulls at Fredo’s head again, giving him a shake as he hisses back again, “you broke my heart.”

Fredo’s breath hitches as Michael suddenly lets go of him. He blinks back at his younger brother, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he stumbles backward and into the crowd.

Anxiety hits at Fredo from all sides as he enters a state of panic, almost completely unaware of his surroundings or what to even do. His knees feel as if they’re about to give in simply from the death stare Michael gives him.

Completely unaware of how Michael ever found out, the horror of when and how hit Fredo as he knows if Michael or Bussetta get their hands on him, that he’s a dead man. Alphonse, Johnny, and Hyman’s absences weren’t a coincidence or a second thought—they were deaths, and Fredo knows he’s next.

Michael’s eyes burn back into his brother’s, glaring daggers back at him. He exhales sharply, watching Fredo flail about within the crows until he’s fully out of sight—fleeing the room entirely.

‘Johnny Ola is dead. Alphonse Ricci is dead. Hyman Roth is dead. Every single one of their betrayals leads back to you, Fredo.’

Michael’s expression turns monotone and cold—his eyes dead of any emotion as he begins to exit the room from the same door he spotted Fredo leaving just a moment ago. He could care less about the intricacies that’ll follow after Fredo’s death, but none would ask twice after hearing Fredo was “killed by rampaging rebels” in Cuba—an unfortunate accident rather than a murder done at the hands of his own brother.

Michael feels for his pistol behind him, beginning to walk out of the building without as much as a goodbye to any of his associates or a look elsewhere. He knows Fredo won’t have gotten far, and if he’s made his way towards their private jet, he’s also signed his death warrant.

Michael steps out into the cool, evening air—glancing at the president’s guards by the reception hall as he makes his way down the steps of the building. All that can be heard is the echo of the president’s voice, who's now taken the stage to address and thank all of his guests for celebrating with him—a perfect signal for Michael to find Fredo before returning back to Miami.

A sudden sound of cheering is heard as Michael steps off down the stairs, glancing to his left to see a massive crowd hooting about wildly in celebration. A car slowly drives through the crowd, touched by every passerby who only continues to grow closer to the presidential palace.

Michael knits his brows, standing off to the side as he now notices guests beginning to hurry out of the presidential palace. Without as much as another word said to each other, the crowd disperses and avoids looking to the noisy mob to their left as if they’re specifically hurrying off to avoid them.

Michael notices the louder the cheering and chanting grows, and as it begins to come closer, the more the guests from the presidential palace grow uneasy and even more eager to simply get out and out of their way.

Recognizing the unrest easily, Michael picks up his pace and continues off towards where his private chauffeur has parked just across the street—remaining inconspicuous and in the dark. There’s only one way out of the presidential palace tonight, and if Fredo’s amongst the crowd, Michael knows he’ll easily spot him.

Lost in the thick of the crowd down below, Fredo stumbles along dumbfounded. He neither understands everyone’s hurry nor why he’s being bumped into and pushed past, but all he knows is he can’t take the private jet back to Miami, and under no circumstance can Bussetta or Michael catch wind of him.

A couple bumps into Fredo’s arm as he turns back around to hear the sound of sirens beginning to wail in the distance. Guards by the presidential palace and securing the docks have begun to mobilize, clutching onto the weapons and moving towards the growing mob down the street.

Fredo almost falls over from more people rushing into him before glancing right back up to hear Michael call, “Fredo!”

Fredo’s eyes widen to spot his brother stepping out of a car parked across from him upon the road. Shrouded in shadows, Michael holds onto the passenger door with one hand and gestures for his brother to follow with the other. “Come on.”

Fredo swallows hard, hesitating and taking a step back. “Come with me. It’s the only way out of here tonight,” Michael continues to insist—testing to see if his brother still trusts him or if he ultimately fears him.

Michael notices Fredo begins to turn around, unconvinced. Michael extends his arm out, gesturing yet again. “Roth is dead. Fredo!”

Fredo gives his head a little shake, fear sinking into his heart as he quickly turns around on his heel and looks back and forth both ways into the crowd.

“Fredo! Come with me!” Michael shouts back at him, feeling bitterness engulf through his emotions, and he raises his voice even louder, “you’re still my brother! Fredo! FREDO!” Michael takes a step forward, but it’s too late.

Fredo begins to panic yet again, rushing off into the crowd and almost getting hit by a passing car as he scurries off towards the docks—easily getting lost in the dark.

Michael moves back towards the car, quickly getting inside the passenger seat and pulling the door shut. Watching quietly from the darkness, he watches as immediate panic begins to ensue throughout the crowd.

Families rush off to the docks, clutching onto their belongings while others run through the streets in hopes of getting away faster.

From the corner of Michael’s eye, he spots Senator Geary, Peyton, and Judge DeMalco shouting amongst the crowd as they push into the United States embassy, declaring they’re senators and hastily being granted access as the gates begin to shut—leaving many out.

Michael’s chauffeur begins to slowly pull out of the street, driving down through the crowd that disperses to all sides. Individuals begin to damage property over the presidential palace with baseball bats, setting other things on fire and rushing into the building.

Somewhat unnerved by the sight before him, Michael glances out the window before letting out a soft exhale—simply eager to get as far away from the presidential palace now more than ever with only one question on his mind; out of all this chaos and unrest, how will Fredo escape?

Throughout the remainder of the night, Michael remains awake and as alert as possible. Sleep aches in his eyes throughout his flight back to Miami, but it’s the mental toll of everything he’s experienced in Havana that’s causing him deep unrest.

If anything, he’s more than eager to get back to Lake Tahoe and see you and the twins. To be home, to know all business is finally settled and that he can go back to an inkling of the life that he led before Alphonse Ricci, and Hyman Roth’s betrayal isn’t just a wish he has.

Bussetta hadn’t been seen all evening, and Michael didn’t need to be told about his whereabouts. Either he died before Roth was killed, or he was killed too shortly after murdering Roth. Either or, it would come clean as Tom is to meet Michael in a few minutes at the Desert Inn luxury suite reserved under the Corleone family name.

It matters very little to Michael if Roth survived the night or not. His failing health spoke much louder about his absence throughout the night, and Michael noticed he was in a considerable amount of pain the last time they saw each other.

If the heart attack dying to unravel in his chest won’t take him in the next few days as he’s presumably stuck in Havana, then Michael has no problem sending out another assassin after him—this time with guaranteed success.

With Johnny Ola and Alphonse Ricci, both dead, Hyman Roth and his associates will be well aware it was Michael Corleone’s call to get rid of both of them. Roth’s associates will naturally disperse in a panic, wanting to avoid being targeted individually by the Corleone’s, and without Alphonse or Johnny to support Roth any further, he’ll have to live out the rest of his days on his death bed or in hiding before Michael’s assassin eventually puts him out of his misery once and for all.

Michael is neither thinking about Ricci, Roth, or anything to do with the events in Havana as he steps out of his car before the inn and is greeted with the sight of his brother and consigliere—Tom Hagen.

“Mikey.” A welcoming smile forms on Tom’s face as he approaches his brother.

Michael sets down his suitcase next to his ankles and embraces Tom—patting his back. “How’ve you been?”

“Just great, Mikey. Welcome back; we’ve missed you.” Tom gives Michael’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he leans over to pick up his suitcase. “Your flight went well, I assume?”

“As well as it can.” Michael lets out a soft sigh, realizing just how truly exhausted he is.

“I heard about what happened back there.” Tom gestures towards the suite’s entrance, beginning to walk with Michael toward it. “All that chaos with the rebels again. I’m glad you made it out the way you did, Mike.”

“It’s just as I said,” Michael enters the courtyard with Tom as Al Neri begins to follow from behind. “A business trip for investment resulting in nothing. It was impossible to get anything done.”

“And yet you’ve resolved all other business in a mere few days. I think that’s worth celebrating about.” Tom glances back at Michael. “Don Ferrari has heard too. He’s proud of you.”

“Is he? We have much to talk about when we return to Tahoe.” Michael muses, pulling open the door to his suite and taking only a step in before he’s greeted by Rocco Lampone.

Rocco gives his boss a warm welcome, firmly shaking his hand and standing back for him and Tom to enter. “Welcome back, Don Corleone.”

“Rocco.” Michael acknowledges him, shaking his hand back and giving his arm a pat.

Al Neri is the last to step in, closing the door behind him as Tom sets Michael’s luggage down by the nearby coffee table.

Michael lets out a quiet, drawn-out sigh, pulling off the button from his suit jacket to expose his waistcoat. He rubs his sore, tender eyes before turning back around to face his bodyguards. “Al, could you get me a wet towel?”

Al Neri gives a stern nod, making his way off into the suite. Michael loosens his burgundy tie from his collar, beginning to take off his suit jacket as Tom approaches the couch Michael makes his way to.

Michael smoothens out his black suit jacket, folding it neatly before glancing back up to Tom, who leans his hands against the velvet, bronze sofa. “Does Victoria know I’m back?”

Tom nods back at Michael, who takes out his cigarette pack from his inner suit pocket along with his lighter, taking a seat over the couch. “What about the twins? How’ve they been?”

“Just fine, though eager to have you back.” Tom cracks a smile. “They’ve really missed you. I’ve had them preoccupied with school work, though that didn’t stop them from drawing you all the pictures they could think of.”

Michael leans his back against the couch, finally being able to relax his tense muscles as he tilts his head up at Tom. The sound of his children being well and safe is nothing short of relief to his ears.

“Niccolò’s been advancing well in his studies.” Tom continues, “father got him a little gift he’s eager to show you—a little car with an electric motor that he can ride in. It’s nice.”

“Good.” Michael unbuttons down his waistcoat, leaning over to the coffee table and pouring himself a tall glass of cold water.

Michael tilts his head up to see Al Neri return with the wet towel. “Thank you,” he sighs out, taking it in his hands. “Fellas, could you step outside for just a minute?” Michael unravels the towel, beginning to rub at his aching eyes one at a time.

Al Neri exchanges a glance with Rocco, who moves towards the courtyard’s entrance, pulling aside the glass door as the both of them step out. Neither Michael nor Tom speak out another word to each other until the sliding door is completely shut back.

“Also, uh—” Tom notices the exhaustion and tension in Michael’s disposition as he speaks out again. “Victoria wants to know if you’ll make it back on time for your birthday celebration this evening.”

Michael raises a brow, completely unaware of any sort of “celebration,” especially regarding his birthday. It rings out to him as a pleasant surprise, especially knowing it’s coming from you. He takes large gulps from his water—his eyes darting to Tom before he lowers his glass and speaks out, “I will be, yes. How is she?”

“She’s doing just fine. She hasn’t left the compound like you told her. She spent the past few days at the lake with the twins and mother and father, but she’s been planning this for you just before you left, or so she tells me.” Tom explains.

“Good to hear.” Michael exhales, his mood considerably improving, hearing that you’ve spent his absence safe and sound within the compound and with his family no less. “And Sonny?”

Tom chuckles, watching as Michael begins to rub his other eye with the towel. “He had fun ordering everyone around for a day or two, but everything’s been the same old.”

“And Fredo?” Michael looks back at Tom from the corner of his eye. “Where is he?”

“Roth got out in a private boat to a hospital in Miami,” Tom begins. “He had a stroke, but he recovered okay. Your bodyguard’s dead.” He’s referring to Bussetta.

“I asked about Fredo.” Michael clarifies.

“I think he got out. He must be somewhere in New York.” Tom replies, taking a seat upon the armchair before Michael.

Michael leans up in his seat, beginning to wipe off his face with the hot towel before sighing out and speaking softly. “Alright. I want you to get in touch with him. I know he’s scared,” Michael sets the towel down upon the coffee table. “Tell him everything’s alright. Tell him I know Roth misled him. He didn’t know they were going to try and kill me.”

Tom purses his lips, nodding back. “Okay.”

Michael leans back against the couch and gestures behind him to the courtyard. “They can come in now.”

“Oh, and there’s something else.” Tom straightens his posture over the armchair, gazing back at Michael.

He’s neither sure nor uncertain if revealing the news he’s about to now is appropriate for the time being, but a request from you upon his arrival nonetheless.

Michael stares back at Tom—a slight annoyance settling into his expression and his tired eyes. “What?”

Tom purses his lips, knowing that it’s ultimately a good thing he’s telling Michael this, but even he knows that it’ll solidify any hatred and distrust Michael has for Fredo almost immediately.

“What? Come on, what?” Michael repeats, growing irritated by Tom’s hesitation.

“They ran some tests on Victoria just as you left; she’s pregnant,” Tom admits.

Michael’s eyes almost immediately soften at the news as he gazes back at his brother. Remaining quiet, he gives a small nod. Michael’s heart is in relief at the news, and although he doesn’t show it to Tom, he’s overjoyed by the news for just a moment until his eyes begin to harden again—much to Tom’s dismay.

Michael leans back up in his seat, lacing his fingers together before looking back at Tom—anger beginning to fill in his eyes. “How many weeks pregnant is she?”

“Mikey,” Tom frowns back at him, “she only just did the tests when—”

“Now, can’t you give me a straight answer anymore?!” Michael shouts back angrily, “HOW MANY WEEKS?!”

Tom blinks back in surprise, almost regretting telling him and not having you do so yourself—but you don’t know Fredo was the one who betrayed the family, and you certainly don’t know anything about Hyman Roth, or the fact Alphonse Ricci was just as involved in everything as he is dead.

For your sake, you wanted Michael to come home to some good news—whether he had a lot of it in Havana or not. Something to remind him of home and excite him for when the two of you see each other again—what’s the harm in that?

Tom gives a small shrug, answering almost inaudibly. “I don't really know. It's relatively new. Just a few weeks.”

You were indeed pregnant during the attempted assassination, and it’s all Michael needs to know. He slips a cigarette in his mouth, ignoring Tom’s saddened expression as he lights it.

Michael rubs his forehead tenderly, eagerly taking a long drag out of the cigarette as he ponders everything that happened to him in the past few days all at once.

Fredo, his own brother, out of all people, betrayed the family—not just Michael. Fredo knew Alphonse Ricci, Hyman Roth, and Johnny Ola well enough to party with them in Havana—well enough to make some sort of deal to get Michael and you killed and then lied about it.

Fredo’s relationship with Alphonse got him easily out of New York from Clemenza’s watch and to Nevada, where he solidified his hold on the Tropigala and refused to turn it over to the Corleone family. From there, he was able to meet Hyman Roth again and then in Miami with Johnny Ola.

If you had died that night or had been injured, your unborn baby would have been too. The baby Michael was anticipating to have again with you, to be a father once more, and to protect his growing family would have been taken from him in a mere second because of Fredo.

You can never get used to sleeping alone without Michael by your side, nor do you want to. Every night felt twice as long without him, filled with tossing and turning. Michael’s warm embrace wasn’t there to curl up to you throughout the night—to comfort you and to wake up next to you by morning.

The worry inside of you since the night of the shooting hasn’t entirely died down, but even you know Michael’s presence in Havana was needed to finally bring an end to all of this.

In a hazy state of sleep, your eyes would slightly peek open every now and then throughout the night, and you could have sworn the curtains were drawn back from the windows yet again and that a silhouette of two figures was nearby, ready to aim and fire.

Each and every time your eyes snapped open, you were never happier to be wrong. The curtains remained drawn shut, and the silhouette that you’d be able to make out if you squinted your eyes hard enough was that of your bodyguard—Ritchie Nobilio—protecting the bedroom from outside.

You’re under the impression that Ritchie doesn’t actually know why he was sent back to New York and reassigned as Clemenza’s bodyguard for a short amount of time before Michael even considered having him back to protect you.

In many ways, he seems grateful for the experience and didn’t take it the wrong way, nor did he truly know why Michael sent him off without another word, but Clemenza gave him a talking to before he returned to Lake Tahoe, especially about your status as Michael’s wife and literally being apart of two crime families.

No longer as joking or vocal as he was before, Ritchie almost always only speaks when you talk to him or ask him something. His facial expression shows how he feels appropriately, but it’s only exclusive to you as he remains silent and stern when in the presence of Michael’s men or strangers.

Now more than ever, his duty is to protect you and the twins only. The prospect of having one of Michael’s buttonmen as a time to time playmate for Niccolò and Verona doesn’t bother you in the slightest either.

Still, you knew the only way to put this matter at rest was to get to the truth. Who sent the assassins and why? How was this planned? Why were you targeted, and who could want you dead? At the end of the day, without any of these answers, how could you not worry and miss Michael?

Your love language is physical affection and time spent together, but the longing and yearning for Michael isn’t some sort of annoying clinginess—it’s love. You want to spend time with your husband, to sit next to him at the table when you eat instead of listening to Sonny’s horrible jokes and dealing with Deanna’s drunken antics.

You want to feel Michael’s firm hands laced with yours, walking by the lake together alongside the twins. More than anything, you just want Michael—and you couldn’t imagine you’d miss him as much as you do with him constantly on your mind. You can almost physically feel your heartache from the absence, even if it’s only been a few days.

You won’t deny it. You are, and always have been, madly in love with Michael Corleone. How could you not always want him around you when you could help it? And what’s so wrong with that?

The little “relief” session the two of you shared over the phone, if anything, didn’t help your arousal at all. Your senses were heightened, even more, meaning that tingling sensation between your legs was only pulling and insisting at you for more.

You felt embarrassed at just how much of a mess you made touching yourself over Michael’s voice alone through the phone, especially knowing your entire family was right outside, assuming you were just making a “phone call.”

Even when taking a hot shower, you felt your muscles relax from the tension of the day, and you slicked your fingers over your clit and inside of yourself to find some sort of release and orgasm, but nothing worked. It felt good to get comfortable with your body and please yourself, but you simply couldn’t get yourself to cum.

Then again, you knew it all was tied back to Michael. You didn’t feel the need to touch yourself with him making love to you—or fucking you—whenever he had the opportunity to. That could be just about every day, or it could be several times throughout the week. He’s the only one that can satisfy you and vice versa.

You spent Michael’s absence strictly at the compound, knowing well off on your own that the last thing you should do is leave it for any reason right after an attempted assassination of all things. This certainly wasn’t the first nor the second time bullets flew over your head, but it was the first where you were supposed to be killed.

Although Sonny and Tom told you nothing about just what was going in Havana with Michael, much to your annoyance, you were able to tell enough just from the tone of their voices and their body language that all was well and that something or a multitude of events were occurring “just as planned.”

You seldom grew bored of being on the compound, to begin with. You took the twins to the yacht to stargaze, ignoring at the sadness tugging at you knowing that you had spent every single time on the yacht with Michael.

It’s true, Michael was always on your mind, but then again, you were also on his. It didn’t embarrass you or make you feel pathetic to be thinking of your husband so often, but it rather surprised you in a good way to confirm to yourself just how in love you were with Michael. It felt all the better knowing the love is mutual and deeply shared on Michael’s behalf too.

If it wasn’t for you catching Tom and Sonny whispering about Michael’s whereabouts and activity in Havana, you would have grown even more worried, considering he neither called you nor tried to again after the first time.

You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed at that, but for the sake of Michael coming back home on his birthday with the excitement of the twins to celebrate their father’s thirty-fifth birthday, you pushed aside any notion of worry to be able to spend that time with your husband and see him once again.

While it’s only been a few days, it feels like a lifetime to you. Even his cologne has begun to wear off his side of the bed, and the twins themselves have been bubbling about, wondering when their father will return and what he might like for his birthday.

[ March 23rd, 1955 ].

If it’s one thing, you know Michael can’t stand, it’s unnecessary, large social gatherings. Already having enough of those coupled with stuffy hours long business meetings, celebrating Michael’s thirty-fifth birthday today is exclusive to family and private—just the way the two of you like it.

From the lack of hundreds of guests and business contacts invited from all over Europe and the country, you easily planned your husband’s birthday in just a mere few days. Your father arrived from New York a day ago with Clemenza, getting the whole family together on both sides to the compound.

The courtyard once again is brimming with small twinkling lights around the surrounding gazebo, lighting up the lining of the lake and docks throughout the evening. A large family table that can seat everyone comfortably is set up in the center of the courtyard, alongside the children’s table.

The only private catering aspect of tonight is the house staff ready to serve and refill wine and cocktails as requested—every meal you’ve cooked for tonight was by your own hand and idea with the help of Theresa and Sandra.

Cooking all of Michael’s favorite foods, you started off with capunata—a dish consisting of fried and chopped eggplants, asparagus, tomatoes, red peppers, and potatoes seasoned with marinara and olive oil.

Out of two pasta dishes, cannelloni—Michael’s favorite kind of lasagna was without a doubt in the center of the table. You stuffed the large rolls of lasagna with minced beef and spinach before covering the shells in tomato sauce—a wonderful addition to the Scaccia flatbread layered with ricotta and onion.

Arancini—a perfect Sicilian appetizer consisting of rice balls stuffed with mozzarella and peas before being deep-fried will be served first, with a four-layered chocolate tiramisu cake to celebrate over.

Despite the variety of delicious, homecooked meals, you already know Michael’s favorite has and always will be your varied cannoli recipe, and tonight calls for espresso flavored cannoli—powdered lightly with cinnamon and icing sugar.

“Which way do the knives go, Verona?” You smile down at your daughter, who places the silverware neatly on top of the napkins by the plates.

“This way!” Verona’s eyes light up as she adjusts the butter knives.

She eagerly watches you slowly set the platter of tiramisu cake upon the center of the table and carefully pull away with a smile—content with the perfectly layered and shaped cake balancing over the table.

“There we go… Ah, look at you.” You divert your attention to the sets of silverware spread out perfectly by each plate. “Absolutely perfect! Well done, sweetheart.”

Verona shyly smiles back, hugging onto your arm. “Does daddy know we’re gonna surprise him?”

“I don’t think so.” You let out a small laugh, kneeling down and giving her cheeks a little pinch. “Otherwise, that would spoil the whole party, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah!” Verona giggles sheepishly. “I hope he likes it. I really like it! I can’t wait to see daddy again!”

“You and me both, darling.” You adjust the little red bows in Verona’s pigtails before giving her cheek a little smooch. “Just remember, no seeking a little bit of cannoli until after dinner, alright? It’ll spoil your appetite.”

“Okay, okay.” Verona eagerly agrees. “It’s gonna be a little hard, but I’ll do it for daddy. What if he doesn’t like them?”

“If he doesn’t like them…” You ponder for a moment, knowing while although Verona’s question is adorable and innocent, you can almost make out Michael being the first to reach for the cannoli, and not for the last time. “Then we can sneak in all the cannoli. How does that sound?”

“We have to be super sneaky!” Verona whispers back to you eagerly, “or else uncle Sonny will eat them!” She gasps a little, pouting and then placing her hand over your stomach. “And we can’t let Uncle Sonny eat all of them because what if the baby likes cannoli?”

“That’s a good question. What if the baby likes cannoli?” You grin back at her, momentarily distracted, as you raise your head up at the sound of footsteps.

You peek up to spot Sonny approaching you from the other end of the courtyard towards the entrance, adjusting his black suit jacket and making his way toward the both of you.

You lean back up, smoothening out your burgundy, knee-length swing dress—suddenly feeling a little rush of excitement and anxiety wash over you as you know Sonny is the one remaining by the compound entrance to greet Michael, Tom, and Fredo’s return.

“Uncle Sonny!” Verona giggles out, waving to him.

“Hey, kiddo! Victoria.” Sonny nods towards you with a smile, gesturing back to the gates. “He’s here.”

Butterflies rush in your gut as you feel your cheeks begin to sting with blush. Verona beams with excitement, tugging on your hand gently before you turn to her. “Okay, sweetheart, why don’t you go inside and tell auntie Sandra and Theresa that daddy’s here, then grab your brother to meet him with me upfront, okay?”

“Okay, mama!” Verona waists no time in scurrying off towards the residence—Ritchie leaning his back off the gazebo wall to follow her, leaving Sonny and you alone to make your way off towards the compound entrance.

“Looks like there was a bit of a fiasco going on last night.” Sonny begins talking to you as soon as Verona and Ritchie are out of earshot and back inside the residence.

“What do you mean?” You glance back at him, continuing to walk down.

“Ah, it’s nothing serious, but Fredo and Michael got split up amidst the chaos. Michael says he saw Fredo leave, though. If Clemenza hadn’t flown in earlier, he probably would have been able to find him. Says he’s in New York and hasn’t taken it very well.” Sonny purses his lips.

“Oh,” you frown back at him. “Is he alright, though? Do we know how he’s doing?”

“He’ll be fine, Victoria.” Sonny pats your shoulder reassuringly, “probably sleeping off a hangover with a hooker. Your dad said he’d get one of his capos to look into it. There ain’t a corner in New York that the Ferrari’s don’t know about, eh?”

“That’s what they say.” You chuckle back, feeling your heart only beginning to pound and race further the closer you get towards the gates that Michael’s men now begin to pull open on both sides.

You both stop by the side of the gate across from Michael’s carpool as it comes to a stop, eagerly looking back to spot him. As Michael sits in the back seat with the windows tinted and the gateway lights only shining towards the hood of the car, you can barely make out a silhouette as one of the guards walks over to his side to open the door.

“Does he know?” You glance back at Sonny, placing a hand over your stomach as your figure is half shrouded in darkness.

“Of course he does.” Sonny grins back at you. “We had Tom tell him just like you said. Though I’m just curious, how come you didn’t wanna tell him yourself?”

“Well,” you smile back shyly, “the baby was eagerly planned, so I assumed he was anticipating it himself. It wouldn’t be a total surprise.”

“Ah, I see.” Sonny winks back at you. “My brother’s pretty good at that sort of thing, huh?”

“Sonny!” You hiss back at him playfully, blush stinging your cheeks as you nudge him with your elbow.

Sonny lets out a laugh, “hey, I’m just sayin’! I guess you’ll both be spending the evening picking out baby names, eh?”

“Something like that.” You blush back, turning your head to see Michael stepping out of carpool.

Your swing dress for the evening is a ravishing shade of burgundy, knee-length with a sweetheart neckline and short sleeves. Affixed with a red bow on the front of your dress towards the left, you match it with a pair of kitten heel pumps and a violet ribbon tied through your hair.

The guard holding open Michael’s passenger seat door steps back to the trunk of the car to take his luggage—revealing Michael standing by the car door as Tom comes out from the other side.

Dressed in his double-breasted, black overcoat overtop his three-piece black suit, Michael says something to his chauffer neither you nor Sonny can make out from where you two stand before raising his head and spotting you.

Blush deepens in your cheeks as you smile back shyly at him, watching him begin to approach you. Your eyes momentarily dart to the side, hearing Verona and Niccolò’s giggling voices as they begin to run out of the residence and towards the gates with Ritchie following behind them.

Just a few feet away from you, as you eagerly begin to rush into his arms, Michael blinks at the sight of you—doing a doubletake. From the angle of the light by the gates shining over you and Sonny, Michael at first makes out the ribbon through your hair that dangles over your shoulders and the shape of your dress from your silhouette.

Bearing a striking resemblance to Apollonia for a split second, Michael slightly tilts his head to the side to see you better, almost unnerved by the seeming, uncanny resemblance. Just as you step out into the light fully, does Michael notice you’re wearing your hair in ribbons just as Apollonia had.

“Daddy, daddy!” Niccola and Verona call out as they remain just a short distance away from jumping into their father’s arms.

Michael wraps his arms around you in a warm embrace—one arm around your waist and the other by your back as you pull him in closer by his shoulders. The sensation of his body pressing up against yours and touching you once again sends your heart rate into a frenzy. You almost feel as if you’ll melt right in his embrace—no idea how badly you missed him and his touch.

“Michael,” you bury your face in his shoulder, forcing back the prickling tears in the corners of your eyes. “Welcome back home, mio amore. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more, darling.” Michael cups your face with both hands, feeling at your hot cheeks before sealing a kiss over your lips.

Butterflies tug at your gut as your eyes flutter shut, kissing him back and feeling his full lips over yours. Michael slowly parts his lips from yours, slightly pulling away to nod back at Sonny and greet him. “Sonny, how are you?” He completely ignores Ritchie Nobilio’s presence as Tom walks up to the three of you.

“Good, Mike. Glad to see you’re doing the same.” Sonny grins back, “Tom—how are ya, huh? Went all the way to Miami without me?”

“You know I was just picking up Michael.” Tom chuckles, hugging his brother back before smiling at you. “Doubt Victoria missed me as much as she did Michael, considering I was gone a day.”

“What?” You ask back in a joking tone, “I didn’t even notice you were gone.”

“Ouch.” Tom laughs back.

Sonny suddenly leaps towards the twins and scoops them up in his arms playfully as they begin to shriek out. “Gotcha!”

“Ahh! Uncle Sonny!” Niccolò giggles out, playfully struggling in his arms next to Verona. “Let go! Uncle Tom, heeeeelp!”

“We wanna see daddy!”

“Gotta get through me first before you can see Don Corleone!” Sonny jokingly growls, tickling the laughing twins.

“Can’t help you there, kiddos. I’m afraid of him too.” Tom laughs.

Michael caresses your cheek with the back of his hand before planting a soft kiss over your forehead. “I missed you three so much. How have you been? Everything fine?”

“Better now that you’re here.” You smile back at him shyly, unable to get your eyes off the sight of him in that sexy overcoat.

“You look gorgeous, you know that?” He murmurs to you, sliding his hands down from your arms and to your hands, giving them a little squeeze. “My wife.”

Before you can say anything else, you gasp and turn to see the twins leaping from Sonny’s arms and straight into Michael’s.

Niccolò and Verona giggle about, jumping up and down as Michael kneels down to hug them both. “Daddy, daddy! Welcome home, daddy!”

The sight of your children rejoicing about Michael’s return and happily greeted by their loving father is almost enough to move you into tears yet again. Verona and Niccolò love their father dearly, spending as much time with him as they can and always speaking so fondly of him.

You’ve always loved the way Michael has been there for the twins since the day they were born, taking care of them alongside you and spending his free time with them, whether they were little infants or just learning how to walk and talk. You didn’t raise them alone, and they didn’t grow up to wonder why their father is so distant or stern.

The warmth and compassion Michael has are strictly shared between his family, but especially so for you and the twins. After all, you’ve never seen Michael so emotionally vulnerable and carefree near anybody else, ever.

Just as he eases your worries and troubles, you do to his. As long as Michael knows you and the children are happy and safe, it’s all that matters to him.

Niccolò chants out, happily hugging his father. “Daddy’s finally back!”

Michael kisses both of the twins’ cheeks, the smile forming on his face surprising you as he speaks out to them. “Didn’t miss me too much, did you two?”

“So much!” Niccolò chimes.

“I did; I did a lot!” Verona insists, then lowering her voice as you can’t help but smile back at the two next to Sonny and Tom. “Daddy, I have something extra special to tell you!” She grabs onto the sleeve of his coat with her tiny hand, leaning into his ear to whisper something.

“Mhmm?” Michael tilts his head towards her as she cups her hands around his ear.

Verona whispers, “happy birthday, daddy. I didn’t know you were thirty-five. I’m only five.”

“You’re only five?” Michael whispers back to her as you let out a quiet laugh.

“Yeah.” Verona clasps her hands together. “Am five.”

“I had no idea.” Michael glances at her.

“Really?” She peeps.

“Really.” He jokes back as Verona bursts into a little fit of laughter, jumping back into Sonny’s arms.

“How’s my boy doing, hmm?” Michael scoops up Niccolò in his arms, rising to his feet.

“I was gonna be the Don when you were gone, daddy, but…” Niccolò peeks back at Sonny, grinning. “Then I realized Uncle Sonny was.”

“Oh, come on, kid. Vouch for me.” Sonny jokes back at Niccolò.

“Hmm…” Niccolò pretends to think before nodding eagerly. “Ya, he was okay!”

“Good.” Michael chuckles, kissing his cheek before putting him down next to his sister.

“Everyone else is waiting for us by the courtyard, mio amore.” You speak out, finding Michael’s hand lacing with yours.

“Alright.” He glances back at Al Neri lingering not far behind near Ritchie, carrying Michael’s suitcase. “Then let’s not keep them waiting.”

“Is Fredo not going to be joining us?” You glance back at Michael as the two of you begin walking off behind Sonny, Tom, and the twins, hand in hand.

“No,” Michael answers plainly, unaffected by the question. “He decided to go to New York was more important than coming back home. I don’t care to know his reasons why.”

“Think he had enough of parties and celebrations, knowing him. I hope he’s alright.” You peep back.

“He’ll be fine.” Michael unbuttons his overcoat, exposing a peek of his suit underneath as the two of you come close to entering the courtyard.

“Michael?” You blush, slowing down a bit as you squeeze his hand in reassurance.

“Yes?” Michael turns his head to face you.

“Happy birthday, baby.” You beam back at him happily.

“Thank you, darling.” Michael pecks a small kiss on your lips.

You hug onto Michael’s arm, hand still laced with his as the two of you enter the courtyard—in the sight of everyone gathered by the family table.

With your family on one side and Michael’s on the other, Vito and Carmela rise to their feet alongside your mother and father to greet the two of you—warm and welcoming smiles upon their faces, all dressed for the occasion.

At the moment that your mother rises a split second after your father, you catch Connie waving back at you—one hand laced with your brother Leonardo’s as she sits next to Sandra from the table. You miss the fact your mother winces a little, limping to rise to her feet and munching on a slice of orange.

“Mr. and Mrs. Corleone!” Sandra shouts back as Sonny takes a seat next to her, giving her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

With the family’s eyes on the two of you cheering, clapping, and wishing Michael a happy birthday in-between it all, it very much so reminds you of your wedding where you had approached the vast crowd of guests in a similar fashion.

Arm locked with Michael’s as you held up a little bit of your wedding gown with the other hand—your mouth almost began to ache from how much you were smiling throughout the day. You walked down to the center of the Corleone manor courtyard from the aisle next to your new husband, joining him in dance for the first time.

It’s no different now as the evening continues and sweeps you off your feet. The air is lively and cheerful, and nothing even close to tension exists. All eyes on you are from both sides of your family rather than hundreds of guests, colleagues, and other associates.

The intimate setting of the family get-together to celebrate Michael’s birthday is just as you pictured in your head when you were planning it with Mama Corleone. You don’t want Michael to feel like he’s entering another business meeting or he has a first impression to make—you want him to be relaxed and carefree with the family.

Mostly, you want him to feel loved, to feel welcome, and to know that he was missed not just by you and the twins but by everyone. Perhaps Lorenzo is the only one that would say “speak for yourself,” but even he has a smile on his face greeting Don Corleone.

The two may certainly not have the greatest, most solid relationship in the world, but Lorenzo will raise his glass and drink to any man who made the trip Michael did to protect his family and come back with succeeding tenfold.

Much to your happiness and Verona’s giggling fit, you both exchange glances at each other and grin to notice the very first thing Michael does when he approaches the table is to reach for the espresso cannoli, popping one in his mouth.

You already know it’s the little things that are going to matter the most this evening, and although it’s generally suspected but largely unseen, you can easily tell your husband looks exhausted and ready to call it a night whenever you are.

Vito himself is strongly for the little family gathering as he’s well aware Michael has spent quite a few past birthdays either with you, the twins, and his brothers, or just you and the twins. Michael is everything Vito could have hoped for to succeed in the “family business,” but the sharp difference between them is how much time Michael spends with the entire family as compared to Vito.

Amidst the conversation and drinks at the table, you don’t notice that Michael is very much so aware that you substitute your wine for water and have for a little while now. He can hardly wait to spend some much-needed one on one time with you later on in the evening.

Enjoying a small glass of wine and making a private conversation with Don Ferrari, Vito remains slightly uneasy at the fact neither Fredo nor Deanna is at the table. Although he can hardly imagine why Fredo would choose to marry Deanna Dunn, of all people, knowing that she’s gone to California to shoot a new movie with Johnny Fontane after an attempted assassination is the least appropriate thing to do that he can think of.

For all everyone knows, Fredo is in New York, and it’s his choice to be there. That’s not a lie, and Michael knows it. What Fredo is doing, where he’s staying, and for how long, however, is a mystery that only Tom Hagen will look into, and only Michael Corleone will find out.

It's the one thing Michael knows he’s hiding from everyone, including you and Vito. Had it been anyone else—Al Neri or even Rocco, it wouldn’t have mattered the least bit. Michael knows, regardless of what Fredo does or even Tom and Sonny, that Vito would never have one of his sons killed no matter the treachery.

Although that’s a rule Vito Corleone lived with throughout his life as Don Corleone, it’s unacceptable to Michael, whose stringent rules about loyalty apply to everyone and anybody around him. It’s not that he’s keeping it away from you or Vito because of the heartbreaking and shocking revelation, as well as what it means, but it’s that he doesn’t want to hear the protesting and whining from anyone.

Michael knows how to have someone killed and make it look like an accident, but for tonight, his mind isn’t on Fredo or anything to do with Cuba—it’s on you and his unborn child you’re carrying inside of you.

A faint scent of pine from the compound’s trees surrounds you like the cool evening air does as you join Michael in a sweet, slow dance. Michael wraps one arm lovingly around your waist, squeezing your other hand in his as you place your free hand over his shoulder.

The dance is slow and intimate as your faces only remain a few inches apart from each other’s—simply enjoying the soft, flowing tune played by the house band staff.

You don’t need to speak to understand him—the intimacy of having your forehead pressed against his, indulging in his warm embrace is enough. You pick up on the smell of his cologne as he tilts his head closer to yours, kissing your cheek before slowly pulling away.

You peek back at Michael and notice a smile growing over his lips as he eyes your stomach before gazing back up at you. “How’s the baby?”

You blush deeply at the sudden question, answering, “sleeping soundly inside me.”

“Does it feel like a boy?” Michael’s smile grows wider as he plants a kiss on the back of your hand.

“Oh yes, yes it does.” You can’t help but beam back at him as he lets his lips linger over your hands for a moment. “Someone’s excited.”

“Always.” He hums back to you. “Getting to be a father all over again is something I’ve missed.”

“You know, at this point, I don’t think I’d mind getting pregnant every year.” You let out a small laugh, “how many more little ones do you think you’d like to have?”

“It’s also up to you, darling.” Michael replies, “you know I have no protest against that, but…” He pauses for a moment, considering the idea. “Perhaps another one after this?”

“It’s a plan.” You blush. “I grew up in a very big family myself, so I’d love to have one of my own like so.”

“You’re an amazing mother; it wouldn’t be hard to.” Michael gives your waist a reassuring squeeze. “This is your birthday gift to me?”

“On the contrary, just one of them.” You giggle softly. “I just couldn’t wait to tell you myself, and besides… You basically knew! I thought if Tom told you the moment you stepped in Miami, you’d at least feel some relief.”

“Relief?” Michael speaks back softly to you, intrigued by your choice of words.

“Michael, you can try to hide it all you want.” You gaze back at him, “but I can tell you’re very much exhausted—whether it’s from the trip or whatever went on in the trip doesn’t concern me, for now.”

“You’d rather know?” He asks, anticipating your answer.

“Not necessarily, no.” You shake your head a little. “It’s your business. I’ve learned not to ask. If you want to tell me, though, I’m all ears. If not—like I said, it’s your business.” Another smile forms upon the corners of your lips, “you’re many things, Michael Corleone, but unreasonable is not one of them.”

“I appreciate your honestly, darling.” Michael nods back at you, more than pleased and impressed with your answer. “There’s a lot to consider at hand and enough so to ruin both of our evenings.”

“Kind of like another stuffy business meeting but abroad and much longer?” You joke back.

“Essentially.” He chuckles quietly, “except this time it’s around people you can’t stand the most. You know how it is.”

“How did Fredo take it?” You peek back at him.

“He didn’t.” Michael answers plainly, “he was doing what he loves to do the most in Havana—partying and drinking. I think he almost forgot why we were there, to begin with.”

“Sounds just like Fredo.” You laugh back, feeling Michael plant another soft kiss over your cheek. “I’m just glad I have you back and all to myself now. You have no idea how depressing it was getting sleeping alone all those nights.”

“I’m gone for just a few days, and you’re already yearning for me?” Michael teases, raising a brow.

“Yearning,” you repeat, embarrassed. “There you go with that word again! You said the same thing to me when we were engaged.”

“It was true then just as it is now, isn’t it?” Michael presses on.

“Maybe.” You blush again, “I was the one who made that phone call, to begin with, didn’t I?”

“I would have reached out to you, either way, sweetheart.” Michael lowers his tone to a softer spoken tone. “I’m sorry I didn’t call in the last few days. Believe me, I wanted to. If you knew the chaos that was ensuing around me, it’d be different. I was thinking of you and the twins the entire time, and now…” Michael takes both of your hands in his, kissing them before his eyes meet with yours.

“I just want to spend some time alone with my wife. Shall we?” He tilts his head to the side, gesturing back to the residence.

The end of the evening is marked with soft, sensual intimacy that your body has been aching to share with Michael again. The moment the door to your bedroom is shut, Michael gives your hand a squeeze before leading you towards the bed.

You’re eager as is to get back into bed with him, very much so missing the snuggling and cuddling—even the times Michael stirs in his sleep and curls up closer to you or places his hand over the top of yours. Tonight you’ll finally be able to get some quality sleep next to the man you love most.

Just as you two approach the foot of the bed, Michael gently cups your face with both hands and leans in for a kiss. You place your hands over his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself get lost in the gentle, romantic kiss.

It’s not an erotic, arousing kiss that coaxes you into submission, but rather one filled with a warm closeness and love that keeps you wanting more. Michael slowly parts his lips away from yours, gazing lovingly back at you. In love with you just as much as you are to him, Michael can neither get enough of you or the sight of you as his; after all, his eyes are only for you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs back to you softly, kissing your forehead. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, even more, mio amore.” You blush back, pulling at his suit jacket to loosen it off his shoulders.

“It was well worth the wait.” Michael shrugs off his suit jacket, folding it over your vanity table’s chair before doing the same with his tie—keeping his eyes on you. “You’ve surprised me more than once tonight.”

“I still have another final present for you.” You mention back as he takes a step behind you, unzipping your dress.

“It may…” Michael pauses, brushing aside your hair over your shoulder and kissing the nape of your neck gently, “have to just wait…” He begins to kiss down your back as he pulls the zipper of your dress down inch by inch. “A little longer.”

“Michael…” You shiver at the touch of his hot lips over your body, almost writhing in pleasure.

As much as you pushed your arousal away from time to time during his absence, your body now reminds you just how eager you are for his touch, as well as how starved you are for it too.

“Let’s get this off of you first, darling.” He whispers back, helping you pull your dress off as you step out of it—remaining in your bra and panties.

Michael’s eyes gladly wander all over your exposed body from your lacy white bra set down to the fabric of your panties and the curve of your hips as he places your clothes next to his. Michael slides his hands down your smooth, supple thighs, tugging off your sheer black stockings carefully—the eye contact he makes you with only continues to cause your cheeks to flush red.

As he stands just by the edge of the bed, you crawl over the top of it, moving closer towards him. “You didn’t touch yourself after that night, did you?”

Kneeling up upon your knees, you place your fingers over the buttons of his dress shirt and peek up at him before you begin. “Not at all.”

Michael’s free hand runs through your hair—amused by the sight of you on your knees as his eyes flicker from yours down to your breasts. As Michael strokes your hair, you begin to pop off one button at a time, starting from the bottom. “Good girl.”

Michael makes do with his belt and trousers, unable to hide how aroused he is by the sight of you, but knowing he craves heavy intimacy and personal time to be spent with you more than ever now.

You undo the last button of Michael’s dress shirt, pressing a kiss in the center of his chest as his hands slide down from your hair to the side of your cheek, caressing it softly. “Now, what was it that you wanted to show me so badly?”

You smile back shyly at him, leaning over to the night table just across from you before pulling open a drawer and taking out a medium-sized photo album. “It’s something I’ve been working on for a little while now.”

The photo album is a dark, evergreen color, made of a faux leather binding with smooth, engraved leaves and branches surrounding the cover text that reads: “All'amore della mia vita, Michael Corleone. Da tua moglie, Victoria Corleone.” (To the love of my life, Michael Corleone. From your wife, Victoria Corleone).

Michael’s interest peaks as he watches you place the photo album upon the bed before you, running your fingers alongside the engraving as you rotate it to his view, sliding it over to him by the bed.

“You’ve always said the same thing to me when it came to presents over the years. What do you get the person who has everything?” You place your hand over the cover, giggling up at him. “Especially Don Corleone of all people with his fancy yachts, residences bigger than the eye can see, and luxury cars. Just as you had once said to me, I wanted to get you a memory—something personal, something that no matter where you go and for how long we may be apart, that it’ll keep you company even if the children and I aren’t physically there.” You pull your hand away from the album, gesturing for him to open it.

Michael pulls open the album cover, his eyes widening to see the many arrays of printed photographs pasted onto the pages—held by little frames on both corners.

Some photographs remain in black and white while others are in color, ranging in size. For each photograph, you took of Michael in one setting remains another you took of the twins or yourself next to it.

It’s a complete opposite of the photographs Michael is used to having taken of himself: strict, stern, in business settings, shaking hands with a senator or businessman, and on the front cover of a newspaper for an investment or charity donation.

Michael’s always known you to do some photography in your free time, and although he remembers the setting and what he was doing in the said photographs, he was mostly unaware you were sneaking photographs of him throughout more than half of the photo album itself.

On the very first page of the photo album are two colored images side by side consisting of Michael and Verona posing for the camera. It remains to be the only pair of photographs in the entire album professionally taken for a family photo you both did a few months back with the twins.

Verona has her arms wrapped around her father’s shoulders—in a baby blue dress and matching bow through her hair as Michael smiles happily for the camera; a rare sight in itself.

The next photograph is just as similar, with Michael holding Verona in his arms as she’s again shyly hugging onto her father’s shoulders. Michael’s beaming smile for the camera is just one of the many reasons why you’ve found yourself looking back and forth at the photographs during his absence.

On the page just next to the set of photographs is another one of you standing happily next to Verona and Niccolò, who stand in front of the two of you. The other is Michael, and your side by side alone, hands laced together and beaming for the camera.

There are even photographs of Michael you took during your honeymoon in Sicily. A picture of him lounging about with a rare drink in hand, squinting his eyes to see the camera from the sun, and another of him directly looking back at the camera with a napkin scrunched up in his hand.

The next few pages are filled with photographs of both your family and his at various get-togethers and dinner parties. Photographs of your wedding scatter several pages throughout the middle of the album, as well as close-up portraits of the two of you during your engagement and marriage.

Michael remains in awe at the collection of photographs you’ve put together to fill up an entire album. His eyes flicker back up to yours as he smiles shyly in appreciation of the homemade gift you’ve given him.

“You have the most beautiful smile, you know that?” You whisper back up to him, feeling your heart almost skip a beat at the sight. “I just wish I could see it more.”

Almost as if Michael’s embarrassed or shy at the thought, the smile on his lips remains as he reaches his hand out to caress your cheek again with the back of his hand. “This is perfect. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“I want you to take it with you on any business trips you’d like.” You blush back. “I was just about finished it when you left for Havana. I’ve spent my fair share of time looking through it, just missing you.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Michael picks up the photo album, carefully setting it on top of the end table, “the portrait of you in my office has been missing for a few days.”

You peek back up at him, slightly confused and a little alarmed from the way he words what he says, but the smile on his face suggests otherwise. “It’s my favorite photo of you. I took it with me to Havana.”

You blush, turning your head away at the thought shyly. Michael tilts your chin up to face him again, leaning in swiftly to seal a kiss over your lips. With your eyes fluttering back in response and eagerly giving in to him, Michael gently nudges you over the bed—shrugging off his dress shirt entirely.

You let out a soft whimper, laying on your back as Michael continues to kiss you gently. Instinctively, you run a hand through his brushed back, gelled hair, loosening it between your fingertips as Michael fully kicks off his trousers and kneels up on the bed.

“I love you,” he murmurs out between a kiss, unable to get enough of you. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more, baby.” You let out a soft moan, feeling Michael’s hands roam down your body from your breasts down to your hips.

“I’ve missed this…” Michael trails his kisses around the outline of your jawline. “More than you could ever know.”

“Michael…” You breathe out, leaning your head up to kiss him again. “I want you, I—” Your eyes slightly widen at the sensation of his erection poking through the tent of his briefs, rubbing against the fabric of your panties. “I want…”

“I know, baby.” Michael kisses up and down your neck, “I want you as badly as ever…”

Michael embraces your body against his, gently squeezing at your breasts with one hand and your hip with the other—beginning to pull your panties off to the side.

Writhing underneath Michael in a desperate need for his touch and for him to make love to you, you bite down on your lip as you feel Michael’s cock lightly tapping against your pussy as he breathes out over your neck. “I want to make love to you, darling.”

“Please, baby,” you almost whine out, wrapping your arms lovingly around his shoulders. “I’m all yours.”

“I love you,” he repeats again softly, pressing his forehead gently against yours before positioning himself. “So much.”

You let out a moan, feeling his cock thrust slowly into your pussy—surprising you with how aroused you’ve already grown.

“Easy, baby, easy…” As Michael continues to push in all eight inches of his member inside of you, his fingers delicately toy with your wet slit, coaxing his cock through. “Ah, fuck. You’re so tight…”

“Y-yes.” You moan back louder in response, eagerly spreading your legs as wide as you can before wrapping them around Michael’s waist as he gives a final thrust inside of you.

Feeling all eight inches inside of you, you almost roll your eyes back in pleasure. The sensation of him thrusting in and filling inside you is heavenly and one you’ve grown to miss from the past few days.

Michael licks his forefingers, tasting your sweetness before rubbing them together over your clit again—causing sparks of pleasure to flow through you again and again.

“M-Michael, I—” Your moans are like music to his ears as he crushes his lips over yours, groaning back into your mouth as he begins to thrust in and out of you. “I love you, I love—”

Moving his hips back and forth in a tantalizingly slow rhythm, Michael makes love to you gently and at a steady pace for you to feel all of him. “I love you more, darling…”

His tongue grazes over your lips as he laces his free hand with yours, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

With your thighs tightly wrapped around Michael’s waist, you curl your toes in the build-up of pleasure inside of you—easily finding Michael satisfying every one of your desires since he left, hitting your weak spots.

“O-Oh my God…” You can already feel your orgasm building up inside of you with each thrust as Michael begins to pick up his pace.

He still remains slow but pulls out almost entirely before going back inside of you again and again.

“Fuck,” you hear Michael hiss out as he nuzzles you, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume as he plants sloppy kisses over your neck.

You tug on Michael’s hair gently, feeling his hot skin colliding over yours and brushing up against the fabric of your bra, causing your nipples to harden. “M-more—”

You let out a soft whine, feeling Michael snatching off your bra by unhooking it from the back and tossing it aside, hungrily kissing all over your chest as your breasts spill out.

“Oh, you’re so good, baby,” Michael moans out breathily. “C-can feel you clenching around me. You like that?”

“Y-yes!” You inhale sharply at the sensation of Michael’s tongue licking over your sensitive nipples—the tender and sore feeling mixing in with the pleasure all at once and causing your muscles to tense.

“Mm—God, you’re so perfect.” Michael hardens his thrusting a little, gazing back up at you as he squeezes your breasts together with one hand, kissing both before tracing the tip of his Roman nose against your collarbones and back up to your lips where he kisses you again. “I love you.”

The scent of sex fills the room as you clutch onto Michael’s back, trailing your hands up and down before clenching your nails onto his shoulders as you feel your thighs begin to shake—warning you of your orgasm about to spill. “I-I love you more.”

“Darling,” Michael moans quietly, “I’m close. I want you to cum with me.”

“You nod back weakly at Michael, leaning upwards and cupping his face before planting shaky kisses over his cheek—feeling a bit of his stubble brush against your skin.

Michael turns his head at your touch, kissing the palm of your hand as he runs his hands up your inner thighs, grasping them and pinning them against the sides of your head as he sloppily and slowly continues to thrust in and out of you.

Michael gazes back at you—his eyes darkening with lust, half-open as he watches his cock thrust in and out of you slowly. Only the sound of your moans, Michael’s panting, and his cock slicking in and out of you can be heard as Michael feels your orgasm unravel around his cock.

In an instant, he leans back over you, lacing both hands with you and pinning them down on the bed as he groans, cumming inside of you deeply just as your pussy convulses in orgasm around his cock.

A loud, filthy moan escapes your lips as Michael plants deep, sloppy kisses around the corners of your mouth—spurt after spurt of his hot cum flowing inside of you.

As your orgasm breaks through as Michael cums in you—you pant out, feeling the heavenly, erotic sensation wash over every part of your body, causing you to writhe underneath Michael. You squeeze his hands back tightly, feeling every inch of you become overly sensitive from the aftermath of the orgasm.

Michael pulls you up into his arms—his body still pressed against yours. He lets out a breathy chuckle, grazing his tongue against his bottom lip as he slowly pulls his cock out of you. The feeling of fullness leaves you as you clench your legs shyly, curling up to his chest upon the bed.

“Didn’t spill a single drop?” Michael teases you—his voice husky and low as he trails his hand gently back down your waist.

“Oh, stop.” You blush deeply, hiding your face in his chest as you press a hand over his, wanting him to continue touching you. “You know I’m pregnant already.”

“That you are.” Michael kisses the top of your head, stroking your hair. “I couldn’t be more overjoyed for that. Though if you weren’t, you certainly would be now.”

You peek your head up, giggling back at Michael. “Perhaps so. Don Corleone can be quite gentle when he wants to be.”

“Gentle is all I want to be when I’m with you.” Michael plants a little kiss on the tip of your nose. “There are exceptions, of course.”

“Of course.” You repeat, tracing lazy little circles over his chest—gazing up at him. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to let go of you for the next few days.”

“I’m all yours for the next little while, baby.” Michael glances down at you. “And with all this exhaustion, tomorrow I’ll be taking the day off. I have much to catch up on with Sonny and Tom, and I’d rather spend the day with you and the twins after everything.”

“Everything?” You frown, noticing his muscles begin to tense a little. “I want you to relax as much as possible, but it seems something is still wrong. Do you want to talk about it?”

Michael rubs tenderly at your lower waist, pausing for a moment to ponder the question before nodding a little. You notice his eyes grow stern almost immediately. “There was no business or investment in Havana, Victoria. Had it not been for the target on our backs last week, you’d forget why you were even there, to begin with.”

“What do you mean?” Your eyes grow wide at his response. “Did they know you were there for them?”

“Quite the opposite.” Michael answers, “Hyman Roth and Johnny Ola were serious about their investments, but the same couldn’t be said for Senator Geary and his men or Alphonse Ricci.” Michael’s eyes meet with yours. “At least I’ll have you know Judge DeMalco sends his regards.”

You chuckle, giving a small nod. “I can appreciate that. What were he and the others there for if not for investing? I thought that was the entire purpose of the trip.”

“Women and partying. It was a vacation for them. Meanwhile, we almost got murdered in our own home.” Michael scoffs. “I’ve never seen either of them indulge in such debauchery in my life.”

“Women and partying, huh?” You purse your lips, squeezing Michael’s hand gently. “Makes sense for a mobster to be able to sleep soundly while having his rivals and enemies gunned down. Don Corleone didn’t participate in any partying and women?”

“No.” Michael chuckles, kissing your cheek. “With my wife and children at home? While married? I don’t think so. It’s not in my nature, to begin with.”

“Oh, good.” You let out a little laugh, “otherwise, we’d be having a long chat about Havana, wouldn’t we?”

“Very funny,” Michael comments sarcastically before cracking a small smile. “You know you’re the only woman for me, always. Such a thing would never occur to me, and now…” Michael snuggles in closer to you, pulling the blankets over the two of you. “I can relax knowing it’s over. Knowing something like that will never happen to our family again.”

You prop your elbow upon the pillow, the blanket just barely covering your breasts as you lean the side of your head against the palm of your hand. “Does that mean…?”

“Alphonse Ricci is dead.” Michael turns his head over the pillow and looks back at you. Your eyes widen, but you remain quiet, letting him continue as Michael says nothing about Fredo. “Naturally, it’s unrealistic to expect much out of someone as brain dead as he, but I’m close to finding the traitor within our family.”

“And who do you suspect?” You lower your voice to a whisper.

“Rocco, for one, but for now, it’s too soon to tell,” Michael answers you, and it’s neither a full truth nor an entire lie.

The assassins sent that night to kill the both of you didn’t die because of the gunshot wound you delivered to one of their legs, and they were specifically ordered not to be killed either. Michael wanted them alive and entrusted the task to Rocco Lampone, who neither succeeded in finding the men, but as soon as he “did,” they were found dead towards the sewers with both throats cut.

It's as clear as day regardless of however Rocco wants to cover it up or make excuses for it. Even Al Neri has come to suspect him, but Michael knows Rocco is the only guilty party besides Fredo—just as mixed up in this. It matters little to Michael whether Rocco helped initiate the assassination or acted on Fredo’s orders to clean up the mess—as long as Michael can make him feel as if he’s not suspected, then eliminate him when he least expects it, all will be just as Michael planned.

“I want you to help me take my revenge, Victoria,” Michael says back to you. “Whoever it may be, wherever they are—promise me you will support me in bringing them to justice for what they did to us that night—for what they did to your mother.”

“I will. I promise, Michael.” You nod back at him. “Whatever you need.” You massage his arm tenderly, giving him a small smile. “I’m always here for you—supporting you. You know this.”

“I know, darling. I don’t want to keep you in the dark about this.” Michael turns on his side to face you, raising your free hand up to his lips as he plants a soft kiss upon it. You notice his muscles relax, and his stern disposition begins to break through as he gazes back at you. “In any case, I don’t want to talk anymore about that. Now I’m here with my wife, and I want to hear from you. Give me your honest opinion. Sonny was left in charge as Don; how did he take it?”

“The responsibility?” You grin back at him. “The compound is still intact, so I’d say he did just fine. Though he makes for a very aggressive, war-time Don, that’s for sure.”

“That doesn’t sound so ideal considering we’re not in any sort of ‘war’ to begin with.” Michael chuckles. “That’s good though, I’m glad he looked out for everyone just fine. He would have been a perfectly fine Don had he been born in the Stracci family.”

You let out a laugh, nodding. “Maybe so. That kind of hostility is treasured over there. Sonny can do what they can’t, though, and that brings the family together.”

“Did he bring Connie and Leonardo together too?” Michael raises a brow.

“Oh, you’ve noticed.” You giggle, nodding back eagerly. “They called it official just as you left. They’re definitely seeing each other. Connie and Leonardo both have my blessings. I don’t have an issue with it.”

“And I assume father is just as joyful to know another Corleone is thinking about marrying into the Ferrari family again.” Michael smiles, amused by the thought. “I have nothing against it either. I’d rather my sister be happy than anything else. She’s been through a lot as is, and if it means I don’t have to see Merle Johnson anymore, I’m fine. It’s good for the family and for her.”

“She deserves some love and a happy ending. After all, I agree.” You beam back.

“You deserve some love,” Michael murmurs, beginning to inch the blanket off your chest to reveal your breasts.

“Can’t get enough of me, Don Corleone?” You tease, pushing your breasts up together.

“Maybe not.” In one swift movement, Michael moves upward and hovers over your body, wrapping your thighs around his waist once more.

You break into a fit of giggles, embracing him tightly as your noses come into contact. Upon seeing your carefree, bubbling disposition, Michael smiles back at you just as much.

Hugging onto his chest, the two of you playfully fight for dominance, sprawling over the bed and laughing with each other.

“Happy birthday, baby.” You grin at him playfully, cupping both of his cheeks and pulling him into a kiss. “I love you so much.”

#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 ago

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 27 - The Devil's Den.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 26 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

Your past on how you "made your bones" in the Ferrari crime family mafia is revealed, only showing all the more how compatible you and Michael have always been. You didn't lie to Connie when you said bullets had flown over your head more than once, and you share the secrets of your past and involvement in the "family business" with Tom, discussing Michael's influence and overgrowing power onto the Ferrari family. With his suspicions confirmed, Michael leaves no time to waste and prepares to leave for business and pay his old business partner Hyman Roth a visit. Knowing Don Alphonse Ricci and him are linked, Michael seeks revenge on those that attempted to take his life. As involved as you are, you're unable to share the same bitter sentiment as Michael, instead giving into your emotions with the thought that the twins could have been orphaned tonight.

[WARNINGS]: Graphic descriptions of violence / Smut/sex.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Victoria's (badass 😆) past has been highly requested, and here it is! While bonding with Tom, we get to learn how she "made her bones" in 1947 and got involved in the Ferrari "family business" much before Michael. More on her cunning, wit, quick thinking and skill with a firearm against family enemies and the prospect of assassination is revealed! 👀 Bullets flying over your head a mere few hours ago is one thing, but the sight of Michael with his tousled, parted hair and literally his everything paired with some much needed alone time and reassurance is tempting on it's own. 😳

[SUGGESTIONS]: Anon for requesting: Victoria defending herself against enemies / Victoria's (badass) past/backstory / Tom and Victoria bonding / Victoria's quick thinking/intelligence during an assassination plot / Michael being loud in bed. 🥵

You are Don Ferrari’s second youngest child and only daughter, born and raised in Sicily until you were ten, and relocated to New York to join your family and your father’s business. From birth, you grew up with wealth and opportunity, but you never quite understood it all as a child, whereas Michael refused to in his childhood.

The words “mafia,” “cosa nostra,” “Mafiosi,” and “family business” have rung in your ears since you were ten years old—eager to learn the tricks of your family’s “trade” at fifteen with what you understood at the time. Your husband, now Don Corleone and the most powerful mob boss in America, chose to ignore and refused to hear or say those very words growing up.

At ten years old, you learned proper firearm safety and how to use one. In many ways, you had always known your family was different. You knew then your family was powerful, wealthy, influential—that the men your father knew and spent time around were simply not his “friends,” and buffers existed all around you. This was one thing you shared in common with Michael, who was smart enough to know but not interested enough to care.

You knew then just as you know now: the mafia is a life of secrets, crime, and violence. It cares about one thing and one thing only: money. Money never came easy, nor did it come clean. It was soaked in the blood of loyalty first, after all. Loyalty above all—the family business came before everything else, and all the family had was each other. For the Godfather, Vito Corleone, family came strictly before business.

Tied with traditions and customs, your grandfather had become the first Don, establishing the family business. Born and raised in the village of Ferrari in Campania, Italy, he set up his crime syndicate and joined the underworld among other powerful men that taught him the price of power and loyalty.

It wouldn’t be until your father was raised to join the “family business” that he would meet the future Don Corleone in Corleone, Sicily, at the time—Vito Andolini.

While the “family business” was in the minds and lives of you and your family, it was not in your hearts to be crude. Cruelty and cunning were for business, but compassion and honesty were for family.

You never felt the need to worry, surrounded by your brothers and family always. You learned from your brothers growing up, understanding the ways of the mafia through them after your father. Fredo—the Godfather’s eldest son—fell off this path, unable to stick the lifestyle to himself as the Godfather knew his soft-hearted son had other talents and chose Santino instead.

Your eldest brother and heir apparent from his age, Lorenzo, began teaching you how to drive at fourteen. Leonardo taught you the basics, then advanced first aid at twelve. Alessio saw no need to perfect your aim, which in itself was already immaculate but wanted you safe in all manners regardless of what you did.

Sonny learned how to fight other children on the street before he learned to tie his shoes, and Fredo did something at a similar frequency, except it had nothing to do with petty street brawls—he chose to cry instead, constantly plagued by sickness throughout his early childhood.

Never once did you come under your family’s ridicule or experience being mocked. You were teased by your brothers about how innocent you looked and how carefree you acted without an inch of suspicion over you to reveal who you truly were, despite knowing everything. The same was expected of Michael, who continued to distance himself from his family, dubbed the “black sheep” by his brothers, rightfully so.

Michael took after Vito with his intelligence, planning, and patience. He mirrored the Godfather perfectly, and Vito had wished then that his son would handle some affair of the family business as he feared and was rather irritated by Sonny’s hot-headed disposition. He wanted a reflection of him to run the family business, and soon—after all, the Godfather wasn’t immortal.

At sixteen, you knew all that there was to know about the “family business,” and the day where your father approached you about what you knew and what you wanted to do came sooner than you expected.

You had all the time in the world to ponder over it. Your family never demanded answers from you, nor did they try to change your mind. You knew all that you needed to know, and you were forever grateful for their unconditional love and support.

Michael knew his future was anything that had nothing to do with the family business. He never came around to it. His father pulled the strings to get him easily into an Ivy League school, which he would claim he didn’t “ask for” if anyone questioned him.

It’s true, you knew you could do anything you wanted in the world, but you also knew what your heart wanted. Your father’s consigliere at the time—a defense attorney—had sparked your interest in studying law. After that, you couldn’t get it out of your mind or focus on a different subject—another branch of studies.

Michael’s interest was not all that far from yours. He wanted to become a politician, more so a senator or a president, but Fredo openly mocked his career ideas, calling them “unrealistic” and “blown over.” Still, he pursued his study of political science at Dartmouth College at the same time as you, although you two never crossed paths—in completely different campus settings and buildings.

You personally choose to study law to specifically work for or aid your family business, and your father was quite aware and supportive. You had years to decide until postsecondary, but you had always been certain, so you pursued it.

Michael knew his career path would take him far with or without his father pulling the strings behind it. Vito had supported his decision to avoid engaging in the family business, but even he didn’t see it coming when Michael left to enlist in the marines behind his back after the attack on Pearl Harbour in 1941.

You supported the family business and were a mafiosa at the end of the day. The fact that your choice of career greatly contributes to it was one you wielded well.

The decision to enlist in World War II didn’t go well with any of Michael’s brothers except Fredo, who congratulated him but was immediately scolded by Sonny. Vito had thought alongside them that Michael was giving his loyalty and allegiance to strangers and that they didn’t deserve him. He didn’t want his youngest son dying out on a battlefield in the middle of somewhere.

Things were never what they seemed like with you. Inconspicuous, out of the mix with an unknown name and face—nobody knew Don Ferrari had a daughter, let alone a daughter involved in the family business. It was not unheard of, of course, but you were. You used this to your advantage just as you had used every other opportunity that lay in your hands.

Michael was insistent in what he wanted to do, and he could care less what anyone thought of it. He left his college sweetheart, Kay Adams, behind as he became a soldier and a highly skilled and well-decorated one at that. He didn’t enlist to prove anything to his family, to be defiant in any manner, or to boast about his military career; he enlisted because he personally believed in protecting his country.

Now, Michael was no longer a soldier nor a captain protecting the United States from its enemies—he had become the most powerful ruler of the criminal underworld and was in many ways directly responsible for the committed crimes and corruption as a mafioso.

Better to be shrouded amongst the shadows than known to all in the light—you believed. You could do far more if you indulged yourself in the darkness, never much preferring to be seen or heard—but you would most certainly be felt. After all, nobody would bat an eyelash towards a prosecutor simply doing her job. Delivering harsh sentences and picking out which cases to represent were just in your job description.

Your family congratulated you on the noble career path of law that you chose. Ironically, it didn’t concern you what anyone did for a living or how, but you chose to serve New York and the public as a prosecutor. You would not defend criminals like your father’s consigliere, but you would prosecute and condemn them for life.

When Michael returned from World War II, his eyes were set on continuing his education and graduating alongside his girlfriend—forever sealing his fate from ever truly entering the family business. You had never pictured yourself getting as involved as your brothers did either, but your worlds collided together when you and Michael met each other, and the mafia ensnared you both.

Perhaps there was a time the two of you were on campus at the same time or crossed each other’s paths on the way to a different building. You never knew of anyone named “Michael,” and certainly not “Michael Corleone.” The Corleone family name was familiar to you because of your father’s ties and relations with the Corleone’s, but it wasn’t a name frequently heard or at least often enough for you to think about it.

Either way, your fates could not have matched up more. You were supportive of your family’s mafia business—Michael was not. You were always involved to some degree, but not entirely. Michael was not involved at all but became Don and fully took over the family business.

What if you had been anyone else? What if your family wasn’t involved in the mafia and had no ties to the Corleone family? Or what if you were simply friends with them and nothing more? Surely, fate wouldn’t matter. Michael would still be dating Kay Adams—why wouldn’t he be? You would have had to find and meet Michael before Kay, before his enlistment, before they met in their first year of university.

Would Michael have fallen in love with you then? No ties to the mafia—nothing but your career without Kay in the picture? How would the two of you have gotten to know each other? Would him meeting Kay change anything between the two of you? All questions you’ll never be able to answer.

In the world that you live in and the life that you know, Michael is aware he’s married the daughter of a powerful Don that rivaled the Godfather’s easily after taking over the drug trade entirely. Not only did the Corleone family gain considerable influence and power from friendly business relations and personal bonds, but Michael had the chance to marry a Sicilian woman again.

An educated Sicilian woman with ambitions of her own, a well-settled career that benefited her “family business,” and ties with support directly to the mafia. Michael had noticed when he first got to meet you that outside of these things, you had your own personality and traits he was eager to get to know alone.

Perhaps you didn’t know it then, but you know better now. If Michael’s promise to Kay meant anything, he would have never turned away from her. He would have refused you in front of your father’s face, and it could have potentially humiliated you. Surely in some manner, the Ferrari and Corleone family would make peace and carry on, and Michael might apologize to you in private and explain why he declined.

He’d go off to marry his American sweetheart Kay Adams, but it’d never be the same. He would never know what it would be like to have a wife supportive of the mafia—involved in the mafia. He’d have to spend the rest of his life ushering Kay to silence about anything she saw or heard and perhaps legitimize whatever business he had to please her.

Michael knew it wouldn’t be hard to fall in love with you. After all, he had a bad habit of being struck by the thunderbolt when it came to women. He was in love with Kay’s carefree, American charm at the time that reminded him he had a life and ambitions outside of his family and wanted nothing to do with the traditions and lifestyle the Godfather raised him and his sons in.

You reminded him of everything he needed, wanted, and more. You both had more than enough in common, and while you didn’t directly remind him of his first wife—Apollonia Vitelli—you reminded him that he could try again. He could love again and most certainly marry again. He could be vulnerable with his emotions and get to know you, fall in love with you, and see if marriage wasn’t out of the question.

Whatever it was, something in his heart had been gnawing at him and telling him for quite some time that he wasn’t as in love with Kay as he thought. He didn’t want to deal with the stress and frustration of having to silence her about the mafia or hide his business away from her prying eyes and ears. Before, he loved how Kay challenged him, but after Apollonia, he had grown to accept the ways of the mafia and couldn’t think of a trait that irritated him more. The mafia itself was a challenge, and he didn’t want to deal with defiance in his personal life when his wife, of all people, should understand him better than anyone. Michael wouldn’t have to convince her to accept the fact he never planned on legitimizing the family business.

Those would be the least of Michael’s problems. Michael had loved Kay, but not enough to tell her on the phone in front of buttonmen that didn’t know him or could care less. Michael loved Kay, but not enough to care to write a letter for her, call her, or even open any of her letters. Michael loved Kay, but not enough to give her a straight answer for when they’d next see each other again. Michael loved Kay, but not enough to tell her the truth.

Michael loved Kay, but it simply wasn’t enough. Michael experienced true love for the first time when he came face to face with Apollonia. His almost purely and strictly physical attraction towards the peasant girl ignited a fire deep inside of him he never knew he had. Within her, he finally understood.

Michael wanted to reconnect with his Sicilian roots and be more like his father. Not only was the family business unavoidable, but so was the mob war going on in New York. Too much had been done to simply ignore and turn away, and that was because of Michael.

Michael wanted to be close to his father—his successor and protégée in every way. He would make up for Fredo’s soft heart and weak mind, for Sonny’s brash attitude and hot-headed temper, and for Tom’s non-Sicilian bloodline. He wanted nothing more to do with his old life and the attitudes that came with it.

Kay would have had to stop asking so many questions and support him thick and thin from the beginning if Michael was to consider marrying her, but it was too late anyway. The bruise on Michael’s face from his healing jaw lasted longer than his entire marriage to Apollonia did. The hunger inside of him for love remained, and he knew he was indirectly to blame for his first wife’s death.

He would not make that same mistake with you.Like a moth to a flame, Michael was enthralled by you. He couldn’t resist gazing at you when you first stepped into his father’s office, and he refused to pull his eyes off of the beauty in front of him. He had drowned out most of the conversation as a result and felt something pull inside of him when Don Ferrari and the Godfather had offered marriage.

It was barely different from how he had courted and asked for Apollonia’s hand. With you, he knew not only would he secure a future as Don, but that he would fall in love with you without even trying.

Michael spent the next week using the entirety of his strength and willpower not to touch you. Every time you turned your head away after he caught your gaze over dinner or through conversation, he’d gaze at you until you’d look over at him again and again.

He was eager to get to know his new bride and twice as infatuated with you more than anything else. Just as you pictured yourself in his embrace, sneaking a kiss in private, Michael imagined himself cupping both of your cheeks, kissing you deeply as he could no longer deny nor hold back the raw passion he had for you.

The wait did him good. He respected you and honored you as well as your family. He became well acquainted with your parents and somewhat got to know your brothers throughout that time. He was mostly concerned with you overall, of course.

When the wedding night came, so did his feverish lust. Michael took your virginity as gently as he could, and he relished in your soft cries, feeling his cock penetrate you for the first time. Your innocence and whimpers turned him on like a man unsatiable, and he made love to you for hours that night.

You both awoke several times to touch each other, cuddle with each other and kiss all over. Michael wanted more and more of you and hated that he had business to take care of with his father first thing the next morning. He wanted to spend the remainder of his day with his new bride—he wanted to touch you, kiss you, please you again and again, and he wanted nothing more.

He knew you were the daughter of Don Ferrari. He knew you were an ambitious, educated woman. He knew you were a criminal prosecutor. He knew you were Sicilian, connecting with your roots and traditions as he was. What Michael didn’t know was that just like him, you were a murderer too.

Alessandro Romano was an American-born Sicilian and a low-ranking buttonman for the Stracci family. His brute strength in the mafia was well needed and given modest pay, but he lacked a proper family and the respect from the Stracci’s to keep away from finding himself behind bars.

Don Victor Stracci was a man of reason and patience but cared very little for those beneath the ranks of his mafia’s capos. Alessandro tasted his boss’ disrespect firsthand when he wasn’t bailed out or paid off to return. He was seen as collateral damage, “small potatoes,” and easily replaceable. After all, Alessandra had gotten himself caught in broad daylight trafficking drugs.

Alessandro found himself alone, under the eyes of the law and in a position worse than death—within the iron grip of Victoria Ferrari—New York’s best criminal prosecutor who killed men time times Alessandro’s worth with nothing but shreds of evidence and persuasion to the jury.

Whether you knew the crime families’ buttonmen or “soldiers” by name mattered very little to you. You could sniff out these rats without even trying. The Stracci family had long been rivals with the Ferrari’s, poorly attempting to mimic your family’s notorious brutality and methods while competing for institutional power in New Hampshire.

The only thing that kept Alessandro Romano from killing himself outright in his cell was a favor from his capo, who personally hired one of their best defense attorneys for his case. It seemed that Don Victor Stracci had an ounce of mercy in him after all, sick of finding his buttonmen in the gutter or sentenced to death.

In 1946, Alessandro Romano’s court day came, and he could practically smell the fresh cannoli awaiting him upon his release. From one look at his lawyer and defense team, he knew he wouldn’t be spending a day longer under the eyes of the law. It was true—the Stracci family’s defense lawyers under their payroll were highly experienced and used to being paid off to defend Mafiosi, but you were a better prosecutor.

You asked the judge for fifteen years minimum while the Stracci family’s lawyers argued back and forth for much less, making up stories as to how Alessandro was framed and caught up in the rackets—that he had never produced or actually trafficked the drugs himself. No story, no matter how compelling it may have seemed to anyone else, worked.

The judge and jury had come to their decision: Alessandro Romano was guilty and charged. Fifteen years of prison for him was the epitome of humiliation. Surely he would forever be disgraced, and the Stracci’s wouldn’t look him in the eye or even recognize him after such a span of time. He’d be back out on the streets, and the stakes of getting involved in crime would be higher than ever.

The Stracci family did not know then that you were Don Ferrari’s daughter, nor did they know you chose to prosecute Alessandro Romano because of your ties with the Ferrari family’s mafia. You were well aware of their lack of knowledge and used it to your advantage as your career continued, but nothing continued for Alessandro Romanov.

He glowered at you while being handcuffed and pulled away from the courtroom, but you didn’t notice. You sipped at your cup of water and smoothened out your skirt, gathering your documents and files before heading back to your office for lunch. For you, it was just another day at court.

The Stracci family was humiliated after finding out Alessandro was sentenced and to such a degree. Their defense lawyers “disappeared” overnight, and others were hired to try for his release. A year later, in 1947, with many resources stretched to the limit, Alessandro Romano was a free man, and this time you were the one that didn’t know.

With all that he could, Alessandro only had minimal information on who you were but was able to figure out that you were involved in the mafia. He couldn’t prove it or blackmail you in any way as it was purely observation, but it didn’t matter to him. Alessandro hated you and all that you represented in irony. You were just as much of a criminal as him, yet you paraded with the law and had all of New York’s prosecutors and judges in your pocket.

You ruined Alessandro’s dignity and took a year of his life from him, and for that, he would not let you live it down. For what Alessandro Romano lacked in intelligence, he made up for with brute strength and petty grudges. The Stracci family was amused by his desire for revenge but told him he was on his own to pursue it.

It was November of 1947 when you were at Dartmouth College, called to meet one of the university benefactors who was there to personally congratulate you and talk about an investment to the school from your family.

The competition for institutional power at Ivy League universities did not end with the Ferrari and Stracci family, and from there, the opportunity for Alessandro Romano to redeem himself rose. If he could kill you, he would spare the lives of hundreds, potentially thousands of Mafiosi waiting for their day in court.

He would have killed the only daughter of Don Ferrari and easily allowed for Don Stracci to secure his hold over institutional power, knowing his daughter wasn’t in the mix personally. He would find some way to expose the Ferrari family for having Dartmouth alumni and a lawyer working in the mafia, and surely Don Stracci would promote him to a capo and bestow him with honors like none other.

The plan was simple. On a late Monday afternoon, Alessandro Romano would disguise himself as a wealthy businessman eager for the Ferrari family’s investment, and then he would kill you.

[ 1947 ]

Arriving fifteen minutes early to the empty campus and scarcely filled buildings, you parked your car in an alumni reserved block before making your way towards the central building hub where you were told your meeting with the benefactor would be arranged.

Naturally, Alessandro Romano paid off a few of your colleagues to make it appear as realistic as possible—papers signed and all to confirm the meeting with a thousand dollars cash in their hands each for a job well done. You were convinced, after all.

As you walk across campus, your head turns to the sight of a black sedan parked out by the front of the building. From where you stand, you can see well at an angle that two male figures sit next to one another, fixated on gazing at the building in front of them.

The car make is unfamiliar to you and parked almost over grass, completely out of place. Keeping note of such a strange sight to yourself, you make your way through the side entrance of the central campus building and remind yourself that the meeting will be held on the third floor in room A334.

Only the janitors and a small handful of administrators remained on campus—after all, it was almost six p.m., and it was a slow Monday on campus as usual. You spent the week in New Hampshire at Dartmouth to join as a host in graduation meetings for the fall term classes of the faculty of law and spent your free time with your old colleagues when you had the chance.

The hotel you stayed at was a mystery to Alessandro Romano, but he had preferred having you killed on campus to send a clearer message to your father that this would be no accident or ordinary murder.

As you head up the three flights of stairs, you notice that the room number given to you is located down the hall and in the corner of the school, barely lit and rather alone and secluded. Furrowing your brows, the only sound that rings out to you is the clacking of your heels against the marble floor as you straighten out your pencil skirt, continuing to walk towards the meeting room.

You come to a slow halt and stop in your tracks, peeking your head down the hallway and noticing nothing but silence. The room appears locked, and the lights shut off from where you stand—not an entirely unusual sight for being fifteen minutes early, but it’s the class schedule chart hung by the door that suggests a foul undertone.

All instructional classrooms at Dartmouth had the same structure. A class schedule would be printed off by school administration every semester, showing the times of classes, the name of the subject, and the professor, as well as any extras, such as meetings or labs booked.

You had seen many times over charts of business meetings booked by entrepreneurs and alumni alike. You have the very papers in your hand to confirm an official meeting was booked at Dartmouth College, but no such thing existed over the class schedule.

You pull out the slip of paper from the file folder you carry, taking another careful look at the building name and room number. 'No, this is the place: room A334, central campus building, third floor.'

'Still nothing.'

Not a single meeting booked reflects on the class schedule, to begin with—not even in the past. It seems to be purely held only for instructional classes, and the last class to leave did so two hours ago over a third-year contract law lecture.

Unsurprised and unphased, you trail your finger down to the seal plastered over the “official” meeting paper in front of you. Your suspicions are fully confirmed, even if the papers don’t show it. There is no meeting, there is no benefactor, and there is no reason for you to be in this building, at this room, and at this time.

Your suspicions are coupled by the sound of faint footsteps echoing behind you, coming towards your end of the hallway. In quick wit, you reach your hand into your blazer’s inner pocket and pull out your pistol.

You silently cock it back before the footsteps can get any closer to you. The hallway you’re in is a clear dead end, and there’s no turning back now. Threat or not, you refuse to let anyone surprise you or get the better of you—remaining cautious and prepared.

You point the gun downward and relax your arm, so it appears as if you’re idly standing by in confusion from behind. Alarm bells are ringing through your mind, but your disposition is completely calm and collected, never showing the slightest bit of stress or anticipation. Your body language plays out well to your advantage as the footsteps growing even louder and heavier, now approaching you.

“Well, well. Victoria Ferrari, is it? You’re certainly at the right place.” You hear a deep voice—one that sounds familiar, yet you can’t quite put a name to it.

You furrow your brows, quick to drain your expression of any emotion before holding up your pistol to your chest;--angled and hidden behind your file folders. You clutch them to your chest, calmly turning to face the figure not looming behind you to give off an impression that he’s actually caught you off guard.

Standing before you remains not a stranger but indeed Alessandro Romano—a figure you recognize but not well simply out of passing time and the lack of personal interest. “Though I should apologize… This isn’t much of a ‘meeting’ that you’d be familiar with.”

The Sicilian mobster, dressed in a double-breasted, navy trenchcoat over a three-piece, matching pinstripe suit and fedora, gazes back at you in amusement. It’s the first time he’s been able to get a proper look at you since his trial—since you sentenced him.

You’re neither surprised nor confused at his presence but rather disappointed. If the Stracci family was truly trying to mimic the ruthless and brutal tactics practiced by the Ferrari’s, they were doing an awfully poor job allowing one of their button-men to develop a year-long grudge over a lawyer doing her job.

You can’t help but almost feel sorry for him—pity him. After all, he went through all that trouble just to see you when he should have taken advantage of the corruption that set him free. Maybe then he’d have lived longer, though now that decision lies entirely in your hands.

“Ah, you pretty, little Sicilian thing. Dartmouth alumni, a lawyer by day but a mafiosa by night—isn’t that right?” His attempts at taunting you are pathetic, to say the least.

“I’m sorry, have we met?” You raise a brow at him, keeping up the unphased act. “Because you talk as if I’m supposed to know you.”

“Shouldn’t you?” The flicker of amusement dissipates in his eyes.

“No.” You answer plainly.

Alessandro rolls his eyes in annoyance. “You sentenced me to fifteen years for some petty drug trafficking in 1946.”

“Did I now?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, darling. You know who I am.” Alessandro narrows his eyes at you. “I work for the Stracci family.”

“Why should I care what organized crime group you’re a part of?”

“Because I know who you are.” He smirks wryly. “You’re Don Guiseppe Ferrari’s daughter, aren’t you?”

You don’t answer, keeping your hardened gaze over his.

Alessandro chuckles, “you see, I wouldn’t come all this way for just any pretty face, but you had the Stracci family laced up pretty tight with that sentence. We had to pull quite the strings to get out of it, and my boss doesn’t take such matters lightly without some retribution paid forward.”

“I’m flattered.” You fix up a fake smile towards him. “All that trouble and the first person you came to see was me. Maybe if we actually had this conversation over tea, I’d think about you in a different way. Let me guess—you want money, records erased, even a name change, perhaps? I’ve dealt with a lot of your kind.”

“How sweet of you to offer.” The same witty smile forms over Alessandro’s lips. “Now I almost considered it myself, but then the Don told me there was a Miss Ferrari working as a prosecutor here in Long Island, and with sources and whispers here and there, it wasn’t hard to figure out who you truly were. I like my women meek and submissive, but if they have enough ‘power’ to cage me up like an animal, I prefer them dead.”

You hear a small metallic click, seeing a jagged switchblade spring out from the sleeve of his trenchcoat, gripped so harshly in Alessandro’s grasp that his knuckles turn white. “And when I’m done messing up that pretty face of yours beyond recognition, I’m going to let out your dirty little secret, so your blood and name are scrubbed off your precious university your family wants so badly to invest in. Your secret will be a secret no more.”

Just as Alessandro takes a lunging step towards you, you pull out your firearm from behind your file folders without the slightest bit of hesitation. Aiming directly for his head, you pull the trigger, landing the bullet clean between his eyes.

And not a moment too soon, only a few feet away from each other, Alessandro is shot dead in an instant and hits the floor with a loud thud—the bullet exits the back of his head as brain matter and blood splatter everywhere.

The blood splatter hits you as well, landing over your stockings, heels, and over your pencil skirt, although it stains the white marble floors and wall surrounding him in the hallway. You barely blink, letting the reminder of his death splash back onto you.

Alessandro’s lifeless body remains crumpled on the ground on his back before you as dark blood begins to pool out from his head.

A circular hole rimmed with his burned and torn flesh remains between his eyes—a perfect, clean shot unintentionally done. With the short distance between the two of you, more of his forehead and eyelids have been burnt by the smoke and powder, emitting a disgusting stench of burning flesh.

You grimace at the small chunks of brain matter that flew to the corners of the hallway, noticing the crimson mess growing. His switchblade fell to the floor with him, skidding off in his blood and remaining by his side.

Your arm feels frozen solid, glued to the air as you keep your firearm pointed. Your heart thunders in your chest as if it’s to rip out at any moment, and your blood surges through your veins—soaring with adrenaline.

You force your eyes back down to the switchblade, pulling your arm back to your side and letting out a deep exhale. The shock of the aftermath hits you hard but isn’t lasting. The sight of the crude switchblade glistening in the pool of Alessandro’s blood is enough to confirm your initial suspicions: you were here to be killed, nothing more.

'Better you than I.' You take a step forward, careful to avoid the blood, and get more on yourself than you already have. The burst of adrenaline through you is like none you’ve ever felt before and strangely liberating in the sense that you assassinated the assassin himself.

Your eyes harden. “I’ll give Don Stracci my regards… Something you won’t be able to do.”

Satisfaction settles in more than anything else. Don Stracci’s pest of a buttonman is dead out of his own petty grudges and escape from the law—like a joke. He may be the first person you’ve ever killed, but you wouldn’t be his, nor would you be his last.

As your breathing and heart rate settle down, you feel yourself drained of any emotions altogether. The hallway and entirety of the building still remain empty despite the blaring sound of a gun being fired off.

The eeriness of your surroundings only gives your senses further time to cool and fade—a hint of remorse never existed, to begin with.

You waste no time on the “could be’s,” “what ifs,” or the bloody sight before you. Naturally, if you decided to drag it down to some empty room, the blood trail would give it away. It’d be a waste of time to take his body to another floor or smear it around—it’ll be found nonetheless, even if it takes another ten minutes to do so.

Your mind is set. Putting your pistol back in the inner pocket of your blazer, you wrap one hand under Alessandro’s calf and the other gripping his ankle. With a steady and harsh grip, you’re able to bear the weight of the lower half of his body as you begin to drag him off towards the grand set of windows down the hall.

You let go once you reach the end, propping up his lifeless corpse in the corner of the hall. Glancing back, the entirety of the hallway’s floors are smeared and covered in fresh blood, trailing down to where you stand. Careful to continue avoiding the scarlet mess, you pull at the handle to push back the windows, only to find them jammed and locked.

You let out a huff, trying to jerk it in different ways or even snap it off, but the hardened metal doesn’t budge in any direction. You tap your fingertips against the glass itself, testing how thick it is, only to note it isn’t different from any other type of ordinary window.

At this point, being able to pry or unlock it open to reach the third floor’s roof is impossible, but not so in other ways. You grab at the collar of Alessandro’s dress shirt and take a fistful of his hair—avoiding the gaping hole and oozing brain matter of his skull.

In quick, repeated, and hand motions, you bash his face against the glass until it shatters to smithereens. Large chunks of broken glass stick to various parts of Alessandro’s face—one triangular-shaped piece directly through his eye.

Without even blinking or hesitating on it, you brush aside the pointed and sharp pieces of the window with his arms until it’s clean, leaving enough space for two people to crawl out at the same time.

Lifting with your legs, you haul Alessandro’s body up to the window until you can practically toss him through. You follow behind, quick to slip in without getting touched or scratched yourself.

The roof remains steady and study—providing a perfect bird’s eye view of the front of the law faculty’s campus. The slanted and angled shape of the roofing will only provide you more of an advantage as you continue to drag Alessandro’s body dangerously close to the edge.

You crouch down behind a column, peeking over to see the same black car you spotted upon your arrival. Instead of two men remaining within it as before, only one lingers by. The man stands outside and leans against the trunk of the car rather impatiently, checking his watch repeatedly before glancing around his surroundings in paranoia.

'Another one of these would-be assassin pieces of shit.' His body language and dress are a dead giveaway. He’s one of Stracci’s button men as well. No doubt waiting for Alessandro’s return with a confirmation you’re dead.

Without revealing yourself, you give Alessandro’s corpse a final push, letting his body flail down the roof and onto the grass beneath him with a sickening crack. His partner almost leaps backward at the sight, clutching at his chest and flailing to grasp his firearm in return.

Knowing very well he more than likely has common sense, and bodies don’t fall from the sky, you refuse to give him a single moment to check out his surroundings or figure out where Alessandro’s corpse came flying down on.

You squint one eye, holding your breath and aiming your pistol at the next buttonmen’s head, firing with perfect precision. The bullet goes right through the side of his skull, and his body falls limp and lifeless, hitting the ground.

You let out a slow and deep exhale, firing all the rounds you have left into the gas tank of the car. In a few moments, the vehicle begins to slowly catch on fire and spread to its other half—dangerously close to the other buttonman’s body.

You remain back as the flames of the fire flicker and reflect back in your eyes, only continuing to grow larger by the minute until the entirety of the car is engulfed to extinguish any doubt or concern.

Your inconspicuous nature, if anything, would be short-lived by the Stracci family after this, without a doubt. Don Stracci may not have directly assumed any of this came from your hands, but your family’s name was branded all over it.

It didn’t hit you until you had returned home that night and the news was revealed to your father and brothers. No doubt, the Stracci’s suspicions came to a close themselves that very night.

Instead of starting a mob war between the two families or the Stracci’s enacting some form of revenge, things came to a cool. The competition for the Ferrari and Stracci family for institutional power came to an end before it could start. The Corleone family was now backing up the Ferrari’s, and the Stracci’s knew they didn’t have enough muscle to take on even one of them.

You had slipped back through the window and inside the building again just to grab your files and shred them to pieces down at the library.

Your calm and kept disposition gave nothing away amongst the other half of the campus, and you had left equally without a trace as you had arrived. Nobody saw you, recognized you, or cared for you. For all everyone knew, including the police, you were never there, to begin with.

The police ruled it as two mobster homicides and had no suspects or leads to go onto. The Stracci family paid them off to stop their investigation entirely, and the offer was graciously accepted; the police cared very little for the internal affairs of mobsters, and to the best of their knowledge, they assumed bad blood between some other family resulted in the bloodshed.

They weren’t entirely wrong either. You didn’t leave a shred of evidence for the Stracci’s to turn it around and somehow pin the blame on you either. The original idea was to leave your body on campus grounds and make it look like a mob killing instead, proving you got caught up in the rackets and that the Ferrari family, with all their generous donations to the school, were nothing but criminals trying to corrupt a respectable institution.

Ferrari family brutality only increased tenfold after, and the Stracci family couldn’t keep up. Their animosity and aggressiveness didn’t mirror well with the cunning, spontaneous hostility your family’s men harbor. The Stracci’s were known to cause trouble simply out of spite, whereas the Ferrari’s crushed even the slightest show of resistance and defiance before it even began.

“To be wise is to be cruel,” your father had told you. Unlike the Ferrari family, the Stracci’s caused enough internal strife amongst themselves from their inherent, spiteful aggressiveness and caused themselves more trouble than anyone else. The element of unpredictability dried out, and their ruthless turned upon their own family members, leaving great gaps of disadvantage towards the other crime families in New York.

“You look at the face of a Ferrari, and you will see pure fucking evil.” Don Ferrari’s capos and buttonmen were ruthless, emotionless thugs that killed first and didn’t bother to ask questions later. The manner in which family enemies were executed only led homicide detectives into dead ends of spilled blood—untraceable and having done the unthinkable.

Second chances didn’t exist in the Ferrari family mafia as loyalty and trust came first. Hesitation must be eliminated and replaced with wit and quick thinking—living in a kill or be killed world at all times, surrounded by rival and enemy families.

You merely greased the wheels that rolled into motion for the dark yet powerfully influential reputation your family would have over the years. In the grand scheme of things, you were there too, a part of it all, whether you watched from the shadows or were behind the bullet yourself.

You were and always have been a mafiosa.

[1955, 1 week before the five-year celebration party ]

Tom blinks back at you in surprise, setting his glass of white wine down as you finish explaining the last details of the story to him. His expression conveys genuine shock and a sense that he’s been impressed at the same time, amusing you. “I would have never pictured a rivalry between the Ferrari and Stracci families.”

“It was short-lived, is all I can say.” You tap the back of your fingernails against the rim of your wineglass. “And now? They haven’t had the muscle to muster up a word for years. Not since the Godfather put up arms in a truce with us.”

“I’ll say.” Tom chuckles to himself. “That would have to be the first time I’ve heard of bringing a knife to a gunfight. You’ve managed like that since?”

“I never miss.” You gaze at your faint reflection against the wine glass. “I must have shot thousands of rounds at targets trying to perfect my aim. It’s different when you hit somebody, though. A straw-filled dummy is nothing compared to what you face out there. That’s how I ‘made my bones.’”

“Does Michael know this story?” Tom raises his brows in curiosity.

“No.” You respond and let out a soft laugh as you notice Tom’s eyes grow even wider in surprise. “I mean, why would I? He’s never asked me about my affairs or involvement with the mafia, to begin with. Just very vaguely, he was interested if I had anything to do with the family business; otherwise, he’s transparent with me about his own now.”

“Well, I mean, mobsters are mobsters. It’s different.”

You glance down at your fingernails. “Someone was going to die that day, and I just made sure it wasn’t me.”

“You unintentionally ‘made your bones.’” Tom shakes his head with a grin over his lips. “Now, there’s a story to tell.”

“Don Stracci’s button men are nowhere near the range of a New York police captain and a drug lord backed up by the Tattaglia’s.” You shrug back at him. “It wouldn’t nearly make for an interesting story.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” Tom points a playful finger back at you. “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

“Or maybe you give me too much credit.” You nudge his arm gently. “It was a long time ago, after all. It’s almost been ten years.”

Tom lets out a soft huff, grasping his wine glass again. “All I can think of is how compatible the two of you are with each other. It’s not like you crave recognition or notoriety either. Being inconspicuous is your power.”

“What can I say?” You smile back at him warmly. “It’s all for the family."

Tom’s opinion and thoughts over you reflect well of those around you in general, believing and knowing you to be an intelligent young woman, holding yourself well. You thrive off others seeing you as nothing but a lawyer or just the Don’s uninvolved daughter, yet you’re strategically placed in an alliance, carrying off your marriage.

“You’re a strong woman, yet you melt in submission under me. You’re outspoken, but your words are soft with me. You don’t defy me; instead, you allure me further to you. Whatever it is that you have and how you are…I’ve never felt the need to have and love someone so much in my life. Looking at you, knowing this, learning your name, I knew you were all I wanted.”

You nibble on the corner of your bottom lip, blushing at the remembrance of Michael’s words on your last anniversary.

“You’ve changed.” Tom keeps his friendly gaze over you as he takes a small sip of wine. “And I don’t mean that in any negative sense, of course.”

“Who could go through all of this and not change?” You gesture around you. “Sometimes, I barely recognize it myself.”

“Perhaps I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did or even misunderstood you when we first met.” Tom clutches onto his wine glass, returning a smile to you. “I thought the same about Mikey when he…” He pauses for a moment before continuing, “when he returned from Sicily. I had always seen that if it wasn’t the business or father’s past coming back to him, it was the women in his life. The past has a funny way of doing that to you. It always finds a way, good or bad.”

“Leaving the past where it belongs is all that matters.” You nod back at him sternly. “That’s something I learned at a very young age. Sentimental value to anything kills.”

“It’s always all a risk, isn’t it?”

“It is.” You agree. “Family is always the biggest risk. Not everyone can do it.”

“You did it.” Tom points out.

“What do you mean?” Your eyes find his again.

“Against all odds, you did it.” He continues. “I mean, I didn’t want to say it before, but the first year you were with us, it felt like a fever dream. You have the patience of a saint. So much happened—so much you didn’t even deserve to be caught up in.”

You give Tom a small smile, beginning to raise your wine glass to your lips. “Sometimes patience is all you can have, Tom. Patience, trust, understanding. You know it was nothing I couldn’t get through. I know this already.”

“Still, it must be hard. I’m sorry for that.” He’s referring to the lack of transparency with Michael’s past during your first year of marriage. “Before, I uh… I had no idea about you and Kay. That was hard even for me to understand, you know?”

“How so?” Kay’s name spikes up your interest.

“Well,” Tom gives a loose shrug of his shoulders. “I was under the impression Michael would marry Kay myself. I think we all were—”

“We?”

Tom pauses for a moment, hesitancy in his eyes as if he thinks he’s said the wrong thing but the soft look in your expression relieves him almost immediately. “As in me, Sonny, Fredo, Clemenza, Carmela, and father.”

“I see.” Simply asking for the sake of curiosity, as you’d already been able to imagine Michael’s reaction yourself if you asked, Tom’s answer doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

“Well, he seemed sincere about it.” Tom brushes off the thought. “If he questions something though, he does so alone. Things were so different after Sicily. I’d never seen him make an empty promise before.”

“Nevada was a promise.” You tell him, taking a large gulp of your wine. “And here it is, in its fullest glory. Five years have come and gone—that was a promise too.”

“He promised you?” Tom asks before almost instantly regretting his further pondering. “Oh—if you don’t mind me asking. Sorry.”

“Tom, please.” You crack a smile as you place your hand over the back of his. “You’re my brother. We’re here together, aren’t we? I wouldn’t have been able to imagine it for myself. Things are so different, not just for myself but for the whole family. Michael promised me different. That had meaning. I’m living the very proof of it—I guess we all are. He’d never like to hear it, but there was nothing wrong with holding onto that promise. Not for Kay. What else would you expect a girl to do?”

“Don’t you think she would have known better?” Tom’s smile begins to fade into a frown.

You set your empty wine glass down, pushing it away from you over the table as you pull your hand away. “Does anyone know better against Michael Corleone, Tom? Don’t you see the way he wraps people around his finger? I could barely breathe when I met him. He has that way with people. It’s hard not to want to intoxicate yourself within him. Now you and Theresa…” You let out a laugh, “Theresa’s a beautiful girl. She’s wonderful. But I bet even you don’t feel weak in the knees and all butterflies every time you’re remotely in her presence.”

“Oh.” Tom joins you in laughter, amused by the thought.

“Even if he leads you on, you’ll wait an eternity. Even the things that aren’t in Michael’s control are. I knew Kay. Like she would ever be able to resist.”

“You don’t hate her for it?”

Your eyes flicker back to Tom’s. “How could I hate her for falling in love with him? Surely she’s not the first, and she won’t be the last. That I had to admit, but have no hard time believing.”

“You know he could say the same for you.”

��That’s jealousy talking.” You let out a deep exhale. “From him and me. One of the first things people love mentioning to me about Kay is how she hid Michael from me for all those years. I hid a lot from her, too; I’ll be forthcoming and admit. I don’t know which one is more reasonable or makes sense anymore, and I don’t care. I must have seen him at Dartmouth at some point. I must have… But I can’t remember a thing. It was a completely different world there. We were never formally introduced. The way she described him is nothing like Michael. And yes, I understand he was…different back then. But at that point, what’s to know?”

“How would you have handled it?” Tom shifts to get comfortable in his seat.

“What do you mean?” You ask back.

“I mean if you were in her place. A ring.” He gestures down to his own wedding band. “A promise. Almost a time and a place, really. And the next time you saw him was with Kay, your best friend. Just like that.”

“Just like that…” You murmur, gazing off towards the other side of the living room. “I would have seen it coming.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I would have expected it. You know, the law makes no promises to any but for justice to the victim of a crime. Even that is not secured until it’s in a court of law. You see, Tom, everything has a time and place, and you can only expect so much from someone’s words until they prove it to you. Until they make it happen.” You let out a soft sigh. “That’s mafia too. The irony… Michael may be ten steps ahead of everybody, but I’m one step ahead of him as his wife. I would have seen it coming, and I would have let him go. I would have had to.”

“But Kay?”

You roll your eyes. “Kay has had struggles letting go of things she never had in the first place all the time. It’s hard to admit that to yourself, you know. It’s even harder to see it in the first place. I don’t blame her. Everyone says I should, but I don’t. Everyone can talk, but not everyone knows Kay. Not everyone knows her the way I do.”

Tom furrows his brows, frowning and attempting to understand further. “But she tried to sabotage your marriage, didn’t she? Surely you must hate her even a little for that.”

“Sabotage my marriage…” You repeat with a chuckle, looking back at him. “How, Tom? How? By showing me photographs of Michael and Apollonia’s wedding? To prove to me they married, and he hid it behind my back? To get me on the phone and show me my husband, again, behind my back who went to talk to his ex-girlfriend some intention of his that could have been done through the telephone? Am I supposed to hate Kay for that? For what? For showing me what Michael has been hiding from me? Please… Kay never sabotaged my marriage or tried to. She was simply my eyes and ears in another place, unintentionally. She hates Michael. She does. She hates him and loves him at the same time. She didn’t do any of those things to ruin our marriage. She did it to hurt him.” Your expression hardens. “The only people who can ruin a marriage—Tom—are the ones in it. Is it Kay who makes the decision to separate? Is it Kay who signs the divorce papers? Or is it me and Michael?”

Tom remains utterly speechless in front of you, prompting you to continue. “Maybe she thought Michael wouldn’t be able to handle the kids and me leaving. If it did result in a divorce, especially in the middle of everything that was going on with the family business, anyway…”

“What do you think? Would he?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I believe he would be able to handle it. It’s what Kay failed to realize. Once you stop pretending like it isn’t in him to do, you’ll understand. He’s Michael Corleone. He can do what you and I can’t. His heart isn’t like yours or mine. You know all the darkness and pain he’s kept in himself for so long. Nothing would happen. Nothing would phase him. It would be a long and ugly custody battle, let me tell you that. He wouldn’t let me keep the children to myself. I’m not sure if he’d ever want to see me again—I guess depending on the nature of the…the separation. Lord—I don’t ever want to know the answer to such a question.”

“God forbid,” Tom mutters back. “I understand what you mean, though. As his brother, I’ve seen him harden into a man of almost borderline cruelty at times.”

“People never change Tom. Don’t ever forget that.” You point out to him. “This cruelty and this harshness people talk about—Michael always had it in him. He did. And that’s what makes him the perfect Don. The way he uses it to his advantage and the way he doesn’t use it towards his family is why. That’s why I love him. That’s why his children love him.”

“Do you forgive him, though? Fully? Truthfully?”

“I do.” You tell Tom the truth. “He once told me that I gave him the strength to change. He looked me in the eyes and admitted he would—for me, for the kids, for our family. Just in the way I gave him strength, he did the same for me. He gave me the strength to forgive him. I haven’t looked back since. I want to die with him, Tom.” You keep your gaze over his. “I want to spend the rest of my life with Michael, and I don’t want to look back. I never have. I may have doubted the trust in our relationship or the communication back then, but I’ve never doubted him. I’ve grown to love him even deeper than I thought was possible. I’ve never loved anything or anyone like him, and I know I’ll die loving him too.”

You rake a hand through your hair, shaking your head slowly. “He always talks about what I’ve given him, but he forgets himself. He gave me two beautiful children. He gave me this life. He never took anything from me. And so I don’t question him, Tom. I don’t question him or his motives. I submit to him. That’s what love is. It’s unconditional. A snot-nosed brat from New Hampshire won’t shake that, nor will a peasant girl blown to shreds in his past will either. Five years and he’s changed me the way I’ve changed him. I love him, Tom, I do, and I would kill for him.”

[ Present Day, 3 hours after the assassination attempt ]

“She’ll be absolutely fine. There’s nothing to worry about. The stitches you gave her almost look like medical-grade practice. Are you sure you’re doing the right profession?” Doctor Katherine’s reassuring words cross back through your mind.

You curl up over the emerald green, velvet, circular loveseat in the living room—remaining by yourself just outside of the twins’ bedroom as you await Michael.

It’s almost four in the morning, and any notion of sleep has abandoned you entirely. If anything, you’re more alert than ever. You know the assassins are dead, the mess in your bedroom is cleaned, the entirety of the compound is more secure than ever, and your mother and children are safe, but it’s as if alarm bells are still ringing in your head.

You let out a deep exhale, noticing your shaky breathing as you rest your chin over your fist. The grandfather clock behind you continues to tick as you hear Michael’s faint, muffled voice from the twins’ bedroom every now and then—unable to make out any actual words from where you sit.

The plush softness of the loveseat soothes your achy muscles but does nothing to calm the small waves of anxiety still flushing through you. You’re mentally exhausted and restless, but adrenaline continues to linger within you. While it may be the truth when you told Connie it wasn’t the first time you had bullets flying over your head, it had been quite some time since the last.

Ironically enough, your five years of peace celebration came to an almost fatal end within the night. Verona and Niccolo could have become orphans in an instant. The Corleone and Ferrari families would grow strained, paranoid and bloodthirsty—another mob war would almost be inevitable at such high-profile assassinations.

It’s hard to wipe out of your mind that the danger has passed. Your quick thinking, reflexes, and intuition serve you just as well as your inconspicuous stature but come at the price of overthinking and borderline mental exhaustion.

Michael, Vito, Sonny, and Tom are the only members of the Corleone family that still remain awake, as do your brothers and yourself. You don’t see yourself falling asleep any time soon, but knowing the twins are curled up and back in bed eager to as their father soothes them takes almost all the weight you feel over your shoulders.

Your thoughts are interrupted as you hear the twins’ bedroom door creak open. Your eyes shoot up to see Michael step out across from you, quietly closing the door behind him. In an instant, your worries fade off instantly at his presence.

Michael’s signature sternness doesn’t remain over him. Instead, his body language shows he’s as alert as you, but his eyes remain soft, and his expression doesn’t lack emotion. It only takes him a split second to notice you sitting a few feet away from him, which prompts you to rise to your feet.

“Michael…” You peep back out, exhaling deeply in relief.

“Darling, it’s almost four in the morning.” Michael’s voice is soft-spoken as he approaches you. “You’re still awake?”

“Michael, you know I can’t sleep.” You frown back at him. “And not without you—especially tonight.”

“I know, I know. Come ‘ere.” He murmurs, kissing your forehead tenderly. “How are you holding up? Everything fine with your mother?”

“Mhmm…” You nod back. “Doctor Katherine says she could recover just fine. She wants to give her something in case of an infection.”

“She’s a good doctor, that Katherine.” Michael agrees, “Ludovica is in good hands. The twins are asleep, everything’s safe and secured, and I’ll have that window repaired first thing when I leave in the morning.”

“What? Leave?” Your eyes widen, instantly filling with sadness. “What do you mean?”

“I just told the twins.” Michael laces a hand with yours, giving it a squeeze as he leads you back to a guest bedroom. “It’s for business as much as it is to tie up this loose end.”

“But Michael—” you begin to whine as he pulls you through the door.

“Darling—look at me.” As the door shuts behind you, Michael cups your face with both hands. “Victoria, I want to be reasonable with you, but you know I can’t let this affront go on unhindered, or it’ll just happen again. I don’t want to leave after a night like this, but I have to for us—for the family.”

“You know who did it?” You whisper back in more of a statement than a question.

Michael nods at you grimly, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. “Of course I do. Either I would have been killed and would have never found out, or the hit would have failed and given away everything. Here we are with option two, isn’t it obvious?”

“Alphonse Ricci.” You reply back to him glumly. “It’s him, isn’t it? After all this time, and he’s decided to kill us?”

You gaze back into his eyes, noticing how they begin to harden. “Yes, and believe me when I say I’m not surprised. There’s a lot I can’t tell you, darling. At least not right now.” Michael pulls away, beginning to slowly pace around in the bedroom. “He’s a loose end and nothing else.”

“You could have him killed without even leaving this room.” You point out, beginning to untie your nightrobe.

“I could, but then he’d take his secrets, contacts, motives, and resources to the grave with him, wouldn’t he? If he’s taken a step this far, then it’s beyond Clemenza’s reach. He gave enough away tonight. I know someone else is backing him.”

“Who? Surely not the Barzini’s after everything that’s happened.” You slip off your nightrobe, still dressed in your pale, pink nightgown, as you watch Michael hang up his suit jacket and begin to loosen his tie.

“It would be a death wish for any of the crime families to back up the bastard after Emilio Barzini’s assassination. No, he’s far too much of a risk to take on. He has the same old family partnerships as I do, but I’m not aware of how actively involved he is with any of them.” Michael lets out a soft sigh, throwing off his tie and unbuttoning down his dress shirt. “He knows Hyman Roth, and that’s enough for me.”

“So you’re going to Miami to see him?” You crawl over the neatly made bed and pulling aside the blankets to snuggle within.

“Yes.” Michael shrugs off his shirt. “I suspect him as much as Ricci, but whether they’re in on it or alone eludes me. If I can get through to Roth, I’ll tell him I suspect Ricci and vice versa.”

“But…?” You furrow your brows in confusion. “Alphonse will be in Miami too?”

“Cuba.” Michael corrects you, glancing back to see your expression. “He’ll be in Cuba. If the two are in on it together, there’s no doubt Roth will invite Ricci for his business investments, but if not, then I’ll make the proposal myself through Roth.”

“Cuba?” Your eyes widen back at him, “so soon? I thought that was at least a month away.”

“The date was set completely based on convenience, darling.” Michael pulls on a white beater shirt, working to unbuckle his belt. “It happens when I say it happens. Roth is counting on me to invest—it can be canceled over second thoughts. It’s a fragile business, and if Roth sees me pushing for it now, I’ll gain advantage over both of them.”

“How long will you be gone for then?” You rub at your arm with a frown.

“A week at most. I’ll be back soon—you and I both know I don’t want to spend any more time there than I have to.” Michael runs a hand through his parted, tousled hair before setting down his gold watch. “I’ll take Fredo with me while I’m at it. He knows the casino and hotel business better than any of us—just to be safe.”

You flush red both at the sight of him and the realization that you’ve zoned out the moment he began to run his fingers through his silky hair. The sight of him only in a white beater and briefs, completely relaxed in a sexy, casual manner, has always been nothing but a struggle for you to get used to.

“Fredo?” You snap back to reality as he begins to approach the bed. “Why not one of my brothers?”

You notice all manner of playfulness exempt from Michael’s gaze as he gets into bed with you. “Who would you suppose I take? Not your hot-headed heir to be, Lorenzo.”

“Michael…” You gaze back at him with a pout, “you know how Lorenzo is. I thought we went through this before with you and my brothers.”

“It’s just him, Victoria,” Michael murmurs, eager to shut down the conversation. “I don’t have an issue with your brothers, to begin with, but you need to remember they’re Ferrari, and we’re Corleone. Partnered or not, this is an investment made on behalf of the Corleone family. It has nothing to do with them.” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Them?” You crack an amused smile, curling up to his chest. “You act like I’m not a Ferrari.”

“You’re a Corleone, are you not?” He steals a peck from your lips.

“That I am.” You blush back, extending out your hand playfully to show off your wedding band.

“Then you’re a Corleone.” He kisses the tip of your nose softly. You glance down to see Michael’s hands beginning to wander over your waist and up to your chest, then back down to your thighs.

Looking back into Michael's eyes, you notice his playful demeanor returns. You giggle back at him, placing your hands over the top of his.

Michael leans up for another kiss. “I’ve seen what you can do with a gun—anyone else would think you were born with one in your hands.”

“Mm—you give me too much credit, mio amore.” Eyes half-closed, you watch as Michael’s hands begin to roam down to your legs, caressing them gently.

Michael raises your thigh, rubbing underneath at your skin as he begins to slowly spread your legs open. “I don’t even have to touch you to get a reaction out of you.”

You flush a shade of scarlet, barely being able to glance back at him from your surging shyness. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“Sure you don’t.” Michael’s voice falls to a low, velvety tone as he now pulls you over and onto his lap, scouring his hands up into your nightgown. “Look at me.”

Your eyes meet his, only initiating the butterflies to twist in your gut as you look back into his gaze—those dark, chestnut eyes burning into yours. “Can barely hold yourself together, can you?”

“Hard to.” Your breath hitches, “and knowing that you’ll be gone for a little while now, is it so bad for me not to revel in it…? I’ve barely been able to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” Michael raises his brows at you, knowing a “goodbye” could mean one of two things: being able to pack his bags for him before he can and making sure he’s ready for his trip, or a more sensual and intimate “goodbye”—if you will. “What kind of goodbye did you have in mind?”

“One where…” You practically squirm over his lap, gasping as you feel his hardness pressing onto your ass. “Oh—”

Giving in to the sparking sensations of arousal that begin to surround you, you let out a shaky breath and tilt your head back—letting him get lost in the trail of sloppy, harsh kisses he leaves over your neck.

“I think I already knew what you had in mind…”

Michael’s hand firmly holds you onto his lap from your waist while the other is snaked in between your thighs, teasingly pulling at the waistband of your lace panties.

“You’re teasing me…you’re just being a tease—doing this to get a reaction out of me.” You breathe.

“Neither the place—” Michael’s kisses deepen as he continues doing so over your jawline, tilting your cheek back to face him directly. “Nor the time to so, don’t you think?”

“Like that matters…” You whine back to him. “You can do anything you want to me…”

“Believe me; I’m very well aware.” In an instant, you find your hands roaming through Michael’s silky hair, tugging gently on it as he pins you down onto the bed.

The sight of him hovering over you is something else to behold entirely. His dark hair is tousled in waves, parted through the right, and dangles loosely over the side of his temple. His eyes darken with lust as he gazes down at you—in complete control of your submission beneath him.

Your eyes dart down from the shape of his Roman nose to his parted, full lips—wanting to drown in between them. The smell of his cologne up to you is intoxicating as you breathe in, keeping one hand through his hair and trailing the other one down to caress the side of his face.

The sight of him is more than enough. If it was up to you, you’d be staying with him in bed all day, every day without a shadow of a doubt. His smoldering looks have you instantly aroused, craving every inch of him.

The butterflies in your stomach practically strain and twist about, not to mention how your heart rate thunders in your chest as Michael grazes his tongue over your lips. Out of reaction, you part open your lips as an invitation, letting him kiss you deeply.

Michael takes one hand out from underneath your nightgown, pulling down one of the straps to your nightgown instead, squeezing and cupping at your bare breast. With the other, he toys with your clit over the fabric of your panties, pleased to himself to feel a small pool of your wetness gathering.

You moan out into his mouth as he beckons for you to lose yourself within his kiss. You can feel his erection poking through his briefs and coming into contact with your inner thighs as your tongue intertwines with his.

Your nipples harden from his touch and become sensitive as his fingers toy with them, rubbing over with his fingertips in a circular and flicking motion—causing your arousal to triple.

“Come here, come here…” Michael breaks his kiss from you as the two of you pant, only inches away from each other’s lips. “I know I’m not going to get enough of you…”

He springs his fully erect cock free from his briefs and pushes aside your panties, angling himself at your entrance.

“Please, p-please…” Your pussy writhes in pleasure as your wetness has almost completely soaked through your panties. The sound of your dewiness spreading open is music to Michael’s ears as you feel him tapping the tip of his cock against it.

“I’m not going to leave you wanting when I’m gone…” Michael wraps one of your thighs around his waist, leaning in closer as he squeezes your face, tilting your chin down to meet his gaze. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you—all of you.” Your heart races as arousal surges through you in waves. “I want you to fuck me, I want—” Your eyes practically roll back as you feel his warm cock beginning to penetrate you.

“Ohhhh…!” Michael hisses out loudly—his velvety moan catching you by surprise as he thrusts all eight inches of him deep inside you.

“Oh, yes!” Your arousal only heightens with the sound of his voice ringing out in pleasure.

He lets out an exhale, holding down your hips with both hands. His eyes remain half-open, driven with intense lust and unable to keep himself quiet with the moans spilling from his mouth. Feeling your wet tightness contract around his cock fulfills every desire and craving he’s had of you all evening, dreaming of stripping your dress off with his teeth since the moment his hands began wandering around your thighs at dinner.

“Fuck…” You hear him grunt out softly as he presses his forehead against yours.

You let out a breathy giggle, spreading your legs open as far as you can. The sensation of Michael's fingers tenderly rubbing over your hips sends fire coursing through you as if the room got ten degrees hotter.

“Let me have all of you, baby. Give into me…” Hot skin over skin, Michael rocks your body in a steady, rhymic pace of thrusts.

From the angle he fucks you in, you can feel each inch of his cock fucking you thoroughly—slicking the entirety of his cock in your wetness.

You moan out, pulling his face closer to yours by his hair. “Kiss me—kiss me again.”

Michael’s lips crush over yours in a split second, sharing a full-mouthed, sloppy kiss. He slides his hands up and down your thighs before giving them both a smack, then raising up to the sides of your head as far as you can go.

He thrusts upwards, fucking you at a quickened pace and purposefully missing your G-spot but lingering dangerously close to it to build your orgasm. Either you’d cum together, or he’d make you cum first—no exceptions.

The bed frame hits at the wall repeatedly as Michael’s thrusts quicken even further, slamming into you. Your wetness and his precum mix, oozing out of you with each time Michael dips his cock in and out of your pussy.

“I want you, I want you—” You’re unable to control the loud moans coming out of your mouth, feeling your pleasure heightening and building on top.

The sensation of your orgasm about to reach its peak is almost delirious, and Michael picks up on your body language that you’re about to give out underneath him.

Michael grabs a fistful of your hair, tilting your head up to face his as he kisses your tongue. You easily let his tongue dominate yours as he pulls out entirely before thrusting in as far as he can. It breaks your building orgasm’s momentum almost immediately, edging you by controlling the orgasm entirely.

“Fuck, you’re so tight—” Michael’s breath hitches as he breathes heavily, indulged in fucking every inch of you. He’s never had so much precum oozing out—enough to coat his cock entirely. In a state of deep arousal within you, Michael tilts your chin to the side and buries his face within your neck, leaving harshening kisses.

“Y-yes!” Practically pounding inside of you, you barely have time to steady your breathing as you shakily clutch onto his shoulders.

Michael’s hair sticks to the small beads of sweat forming upon his forehead as he purses his lips over your skin, leaving little reddened love marks.

You trail your hands down Michael’s back, digging your nails into his skin and dragging them down, but not enough to hurt him or draw blood. Michael’s unable to keep quiet himself, letting groans spill out of his mouth as he continues fucking you like an animal. “M-Michael, Michael—Harder, harder!”

“Come on baby, c-come on…” You can feel his manhood smacking against your ass with his thrusts going back to back, only continuing to speed up mercilessly. The sound of your moans mixing with his couple with your wetness sloshing of his cock penetrating you. “Ah—that’s right, cum for me…”

The scent of sex and his cologne intertwin over you as you feel your dizzying orgasm begin to wash through you. A lazy smirk crosses over Michael’s lips as he watches you writhe underneath him, buckling your hips up in reaction to the release of your orgasm.

Relentlessly still sloppily thrusting into you, you ride out your orgasm as you cum over his cock, feeling your body tremble. The sensation is euphoric and hits you at every angle as you moan out breathily, feeling your clit pulsating with arousal.

Michael’s continuous thrusting only further intensifies your orgasm as your clit tingles with sensitivity setting in. Your eyes snap open in surprise just after, feeling Michael’s hot cum pumping into you spurt by spurt a dozen times.

“Ah, fuck.” Michael grunts out, gritting his teeth as he glances down at his cock still buried into you. “Fuck, fuck—ohh…”

You whine loudly, clutching onto his chest as he pulls out of you—your wetness mixed with his cum glistening over his shaft.

“Neither the place nor the time, huh?” Michael repeats jokingly, chuckling breathily to himself as he gives your ass a smack.

“No…” You blink back at him lazily, “we had bullets flying over our heads just a few hours ago. I didn’t say I had enough, did I…?”

“Believe me, darling,” Michael glances at his withstanding erection, pulling you onto his lap. “Neither did I, but you know I’ll be leaving in a few hours.”

“Nooo…” You whine out to him softly, hugging his chest. “At least spend the night with me in bed here…”

“I want to, I do.” Michael plants a soft kiss over your forehead. “I’ll only be able to for a few hours, then Bussetta and I will be off—” Michael cuts off his sentence, his eyes widening as he sees your lowered head into his chest, now weeping softly. “Victoria?”

“Michael, don’t go. Don’t go.” You sniffle, peeking your head up at him. “Not after everything that happened tonight. I don’t want you to.”

Michael lowers his voice to a murmur. “You’ve got round-the-clock security. Doctor Katherine is here; my brothers will be here—”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” You shake your head, “it’s you, Michael. I’m worried for you.”

“You know I won’t be going alone.” Michael runs a gentle hand through your hair, stroking it as he pulls you closer into his embrace. “Bussetta is accompanying Fredo and me. Everything will be fine. Whoever orchestrated this attack isn’t here with us.”

“How can you be so sure?” You feel the corner of your eyes pooling with tears as you wrap your arms around Michael’s shoulders.

“Believe me; I’ve seen my fair share during my father’s time as Don.” Michael lets out a soft sigh, “there’s always buffers, so a connection can’t be made to the top. If anything, I need to see Roth and Ricci on my own to sever that link.”

“And they won’t see another reason to attack, not just because you’re no longer in Nevada, but because they’ll be waiting to see you again for some time.” You nod back at him glumly, already knowing the intricacies of mafia affairs like these from your father.

“Exactly. You know as much as my brothers do, and they’ll keep you in touch with me, alright? Darling, look at me.” Michael gently tilts your chin up to face him, frowning.

You sniffle, reveling in the warmth of his embrace. “If they know enough about our location, then don’t they have some shame knowing there are children here? Not just ours, but our nieces and nephews too?”

“Precisely,” Michael murmurs, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “That’s why it’s personal, Victoria. Nobody knows how to get into this compound but our family and our business partners. There’s betrayal from within.” He immediately shoots down the curious look in your eyes, “and I won’t be able to know until I can see Roth and Ricci themselves. I’m going to have a personal bodyguard posted here for you and the twins.”

You trail your hand over his chest, drawing lazy circles. “You know I’ll always be concerned with your safety.”

“You and the twins matter much more than me, darling.” Michael raises your hand up to his mouth, giving it a kiss.

“I don’t want to lose you, ever.” You pout back at him as he adjusts his briefs back over himself. “Not tonight, not ever.”

“Tonight was their first and last mistake. Everything will be handled before the summer, even if that means I have to kill every Don in New York to assure so. The Corleone family will win; know this. If your father and brothers continue their support, nothing will stand in our way.”

“I have no doubts about that…” You feel another rush of tears hit your eyes as Michael pulls you down onto the bed with him, smoothening down your nightgown. “I’m still going to miss you, you know. The twins and I will be waiting.”

“I know, darling. I know.” Michael’s voice remains low and soft as he plants little kisses over your tear-stained cheek, pulling the blankets over the two of you. “I promise it’ll be over sooner than you think.”

“I’m not going to be able to sleep now, so…” Your voice cracks as you bury your face within his chest again—your fresh tears soaking through his white beater shirt. “Just hold me, please. I just want to be in your embrace right now more than anything.”

“Come here, baby. Come here… You know I’d do anything for you.”

With your emotions getting the better of you, you snuggle up next to your husband and let your fresh tears roll down your cheeks. Your face feels hot to the touch—your cheeks rosy, and your nose reddened from your crying as you feel Michael’s hands gently massaging down the side of your body.

With each moment that passes with his touch and soft kisses over your face, the more your tears are coaxed out.

Attempted hits, shootouts, and planned assassinations were all words and experiences you grew up with. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you know too that it has nothing to do with any of the families in New York. They had given up on their petty grudges of revenge or notions of being equal to the Corleone family years ago and hadn’t tried a feat similar with the Ferrari’s since the fate of the Stracci’s.

The families in New York heavily abided by traditional mafia rules. “Civilians” were non-combatants, those that weren’t Mafiosi like women and children, and who Michael used to be before involving himself in the “family business.” Civilians were strictly off-limits, and business dealings, business talk, and any violence was kept strictly between Mafiosi.

Outsiders ignoring this rule would quickly lose favour of the crime families and be cast out or killed. It also had to do with reasons of how the FBI and media would react to bystanders and innocents killed in mob affairs.

It was strictly unacceptable to orchestrate in any manner and didn’t send out a message that the perpetrating family or individual was ruthless, but that they were careless and didn’t respect the traditions of the mafia.

It wasn’t just Michael being targeted tonight—it was anyone a bullet could touch, including your mother. It could have been all of you or none of you, but a hit at home knowing the obvious—that family and civilians were residing—is strictly taboo.

The families would be outcasts and spin negative attention over themselves from not only the authorities but others, which rules them out over tonight’s shooting. The realization strikes you that Michael has already picked up on this notion quickly, easily able to accurately project his suspicions.

As honest and transparent as he’s been with you for the past five years and certainly more than your first year of marriage with him, you know nothing of his internal affairs with any of the crime families in New York, and nothing about Hyman Roth or his business with Alphonse Ricci.

You haven’t questioned any of it since, and Michael has, of course, noticed—much to his pleasure. He’s always found your willingness to support him thick and thin, but your respect for the intricacies of his business to be exactly what he’s wanted from you. You know he wouldn’t tell you his business anyways.

The revelation of his business matters tonight in Miami and Cuba is transparency you haven’t seen since your honeymoon in Sicily. You know Michael trusts you more than anyone, but what he wants you to know and to what degree is entirely different.

Still, if it’s anyone’s arms you want to cry yourself to sleep in—it’s Michael’s. You don’t hold back on your emotions, practically sobbing over him as you feel your eyes stinging with the soreness of your exhaustion and the physical toll the night has taken out on your body.

Michael holds you in his arms, soothing you throughout your tears. He refuses to fall asleep before you do, even though he knows he only has a mere few hours left to rest before leaving for Miami.

The ache in your heart is shared with his as he presses his forehead up against yours, giving the tip of your nose a tiny kiss and watching your soft crying dwindle down to sniffles and soft breathing.

Michael's embrace and warmth keep you company for the next few hours into a deep and peaceful sleep. As faint dreams engulf your visions, you can still feel him holding you against his body, assuring you with his presence.

It’s only when the clock strikes six AM that you slightly stir in your sleep. Eyes weakly opening just enough to make out a blur of your environment, you find your arms empty. In the embrace of no one, you feel your heart swell up with an aching sensation once again, your sleep-filled eyes prickling with tears.

With the other half of your bed cold and lying alone, the realization that Michael has left already hits 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 #mith 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 ago

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 19 - Ultimatum.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 18 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

Michael's first moves officially as Don Corleone hit with a wave of ruthlessness, having wiped out all of his business rivals and enemies, including Carlo and Moe Greene--much to the dismay of Connie and Fredo. For the first time, you witness Michael's affairs and are told to stay out of it, finally coming to understand the Corleone family's power dynamics at play. Siding with your husband and comforting a grief-stricken Connie, you're blissfully unaware Kay and Fredo have been in contact for the past few months, entering your lives once more. With the move to Nevada being final, Michael meets one last time with Kay to give her an ultimatum, instead catching himself in the middle of Kay's provocative tricks. Hearing it all over the phone just as Kay and Fredo had planned, Kay strikes a final time to ruin your marriage by attempting to seduce Michael.

[WARNINGS]: Smut / Nudity.

[SUGGESTIONS]: Anons for requesting: Bonding with and comforting Connie / Sonny and Connie sibling bonding moments / Lingerie shopping to surprise Michael with Connie / Sonny being a cute uncle and bonding with the twins.

[ + 5 Days / New York ].

Spending the entirety of your afternoon with Connie, shopping downtown with some much-needed girl time after landing from Sicily, you finish up the last of your final preparations for the move to Lake Tahoe. Skipping from store to store with a handful of bags. The two of you have been at it for hours without a hint of boredom.

Most of the shopping done on your behalf are new pairs of clothes for the twins, picking out whatever catches your eye, knowing of their growth spurts to come in the upcoming months. Connie does the same for her four-year-old Victor and newborn Michael Francis, having almost spent the last two weeks in her apartment alone.

Under the impression Carlo is still alive and in Las Vegas doing business with Fredo’s “business partner” Moe Greene, Connie has already come up with several possibilities Carlo has gotten himself into—none of them involving anything remotely related to business. Tom and Fredo are the only ones who know little to nothing about the extent of Carlo’s abuse or true personality as Connie’s husband.

Prostitutes, drinking, gambling—rinse and repeat. Nobody would have to guess. In reality, Carlo went missing on his “trip” to Las Vegas on the first day of your honeymoon—unknown by Connie or you. After all, Michael only revealed that he had spared Alphonse Ricci’s life for the sake of business and that he was completely out of both power and favor. The only death you know about is Moe Greene’s and Emilio Barzini’s.

As a result of Carlo’s recent absence and unknown death, Connie has been staying at the Corleone manor and your villa with her children from time to time, much to your joy and insistence.

“Oh, I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” Connie sighs dramatically, glancing down at her paper shopping bag. “Victor grows out of everything so fast. I swear every single time I’m out shopping, it’s for him instead of me!”

“Does he take after his father?” You chuckle back, adding a matching pair of cotton onesies for the twins into your shopping bag.

“Eugh.” Connie cringes back, scrunching up her nose. “I most certainly hope not. I don’t even remember the last time I bought something like that for myself because of Carlo.” She gestures to a bust of a mannequin adorned in a sexy piece of black lingerie, a two-piece bustier with matching panties, stockings, and a garter belt to complete the look.

“What? Why wouldn’t you?” You frown, running your hand down the lace detail of the lingerie.

“Does it really matter?” Connie rolls her eyes, folding her arms. “He hasn’t been home for a week, and when he is, he doesn’t come to see his own son or me. This would be such a waste in my wardrobe, however…” The annoyance wipes off of her face, replaced by a grin as she looks up at you. “In your wardrobe…”

“Oh no.” You flush red, holding your hands up in surrender. “I could never wear something like that! You must be kidding.”

“Why would I?! Look at you!” She scoffs playfully, immediately grabbing at the lingerie set and stuffing it in your arms. “Every woman needs a pair of these! Classic, black, sleek, and sexy. You’re telling me you’re married to my brother, and you don’t own a piece of lingerie?”

“I have some!” You exclaim, laughing out. “But—”

“No buts! You know us Corleone women. You’re definitely getting this. Now, I don’t wanna sit here and run through scenarios in mind as to how my brother would react because—yuck—but this is a staple in every woman’s closet!” She places a hand on your shoulder, redirecting you to the cash register. “I’m the only exception, you see.”

“Connie, you know you don’t have to be.” You peek back at her, setting your shopping back upon the counter with the lingerie for the cashier to process. “I don’t understand why you continue to deal with him and all of his problems.”

Connie’s eyes flicker up at you, filled with an all too familiar sense of sadness as she holds back her answer, glumly watching the cashier continue her transaction. “Because of Victor, mostly. He’s only four years old and…I don’t want him to grow up without a father—leave us all alone in that apartment.”

You hand the cashier a fifty-dollar bill from your wallet, only able to think to yourself, that’s not it. “I’ll tell you my honest opinion, Connie.” You grab your shopping back, turning on your heel to walk out of the store with her. “If he’s anything like the way everyone describes him out to be, Victor is better off without a father. I can help you. You don’t have to worry about the apartment or money.”

“I…” Connie swallows the lump in her throat, pushing open the door as the two of you step out into the street. “I don’t know—I asked father, and he refused. He knows everything, but he can’t do a thing against him. I-I mean everyone blames me for it, you know?”

Your chauffer’s car comes to a steady halt by the side of the street, spotting the two of you and honking. One of Michael’s button men steps out of the passenger seat and takes both of your shopping bags, opening the back door before making his way to the trunk of the vehicle.

You pity Connie deeply, knowing it’s not just a case of “you chose a bad husband” like what Michael and Vito think. Vito purposefully kept Carlo out of the family business and didn’t let him bask in the family name either as a result. Very much aware of the ongoing abuse and Connie’s crying, he ultimately claimed to be unable to do anything because tradition holds that he cannot interfere in his daughter’s marriage.

Vito had strictly forbidden anyone from retaliating against Carlo as a result, knowing Sonny would strangle him in a second if he so much as saw a single tear escape his sister’s eye. Instead, the Corleone’s had Sonny watched, but if anything, it only fueled his abusive actions per Connie’s stories.

You know it’s not Connie’s fault, as much as you can’t relate to her and are fortunate to not be able to do so. In his wedding photographs, the man Carlo seemed to be is almost horrifically different from who he is today, five years later.

You notice her lip quiver as her eyes meet yours. The conversation killed her mood instantly, but an unavoidable one at that. For all that Connie knows, Carlo will return in a day or two, and things will go right back the way they used to.

“It’s not your fault.” You tell her, letting her get in the car before you as she scoots over to the next seat. “And I believe that.”

Michael’s enforcer closes up the trunk, getting back into the passenger seat, which signals the chauffeur to drive. Connie stares down at her hands, giving out a shaky sigh.

“I can help you, Connie.” You look back at her as the car begins to pull off. “I can get you a divorce; take it up without him doing a damn thing about it. I know family law attorneys at Foley Square. Victor and Michael never have to see him again, and neither do you. Just say the word, and you never have to put up with him again.”

Connie smiles back weakly at you, rubbing at the corner of her eyes with her fingers to hold back her tears. “That would mean everything to me, Victoria—really. Nobody else has gotten so involved. I just feel stuck, I don’t know what to do, I—” She pauses, her voice straining as he expression forms into a glare.

She huffs, resting her elbow against the window. “And I want to so badly blame Fredo for whatever the hell Carlo’s gotten himself into Vegas because I’ll be damned if he returns as the same man he was before he left.”

“What do you mean?” You raise a brow.

“You know the two.” She murmurs, gesturing with her hand. “They’re bad influences for each other, especially after we all found out how Fredo got loose in Vegas. That’s just another excuse for him, just an outlet for him to take all his sick fantasies out on some Vegas showgirls, leaving our boys and me alone at home.”

“God, I don’t know how you can stand him.” You narrow your eyes, feeling absolutely repulsed.

You’ve never been able to relate in your marriage to Michael. Prostitution, other mistresses, gambling, drinking, drugs—nothing. He remains as disciplined as ever, without a single vice getting to him. Michael shares the same outlook as the two of you do—rather, he’s also disgusted and chooses to ignore or shame down his brothers. It’s his way of not getting directly involved in their business while making sure it doesn’t get involved in the family name.

“My kid is basically growing up without a father, Victoria. If he doesn’t stay at home and beat me, he’s away with some other girlfriend of his. Why is he still with Moe Greene? I don’t even know when the hell he’s coming home!” She sniffles, rubbing at the bridge of her nose.

As soon as word got out that Fredo impregnated a couple prostitutes down at Moe Greene’s casino and resort, he was pulled home immediately and stripped of the job. Had Carlo actually been there with him, he would have gladly taken it as an opportunity for a vacation to get away from his wife simply because he can.

Noticing you’re finally beginning to approach the Corleone manor, you turn your head abruptly away from the window and back at her in confusion. “Moe Greene?”

“Yeah—what?” She peeps at you as the car comes to a slow stop by the driveway. “That’s who he’s staying with since Fredo came back.”

“Did Fredo tell you that?”

“No…” She swallows hard, “I just assumed because he didn’t come back with him. Is he not there with Moe?”

“Connie, I…” Your voice trails off, unable to form a proper explanation for her.

'Moe Greene is dead… He was killed almost two weeks ago. Fredo never went to Vegas with Carlo. Carlo never even left New York…'

“Moe Greene is dead.” You state out, “he’s been dead for weeks now.”

“What?”

“He was killed—you didn’t know?” Your statement indirectly hints to her that Carlo is also dead.

'Wait—how would she have known to begin with? Was it even in the papers?'

In a split second, Connie’s confused expression filled with worry breaks into a fit of tears. She gasps loudly, clasping her hand over her mouth as tears start to flow from her eyes. Her arms begin to tremble as she shakes her head frantically. “No, he isn’t! He can’t be—”

“Connie!” You call out, attempting to reach for her arm as she swats you away, throwing open the car door and bolting out with a shriek.

“He’s dead! He’s dead?! He killed him too!?” She wails, throwing her purse over the driveway, completely determined to get in.

“He killed him!!”

You throw open the car door, rushing to keep up with her. “Connie! Connie, wait!” You shout back, unable to catch up to her as she storms into the Corleone manor, scream-crying the entire time. “Connie!”

Eyes wide and appalled from her sudden grief-stricken behavior, you clutch onto the doorway to catch your breath, almost tripping on your heel and rolling your ankle.

You helplessly watch as she bursts open the door to Michael’s office with a loud wail. “Michael! Michael! Michael—” You notice Michael sitting at his desk, his eyes landing from Rocco’s to a hysteric Connie, remaining completely poised and calm despite her screams. Rocco takes a cautionary step forward, ready to restrain Connie if needed.

You breathe heavily, feeling your heart thunder in your chest. All you can do is watch from the back without being seen as tears of your own begin to prickle in the corners of your eyes.

The sounds of Connie scream-crying Michael’s name sends a wave of sickly familiar anxiety rushing back to you. The strain and pain in her voice resonate with what was once yours against him, filled with accusations, sorrow, and a fit of bitter anger you could feel from the tips of your fingers down to your core.

“Michael! You lousy bastard!” Connie spits out, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You killed Carlo! You killed him—you waited until papa made you Don so nobody could interfere—” She hiccups, “you killed the father of my baby!”

You grimace at her shrieking insults at Michael, watching as he glances up at her with his signature cold eyes. He gives her a clear, unamused look as if she’s embarrassing herself and causing a scene. Still unmoved, Michael reaches for a new cigarette, putting it between his lips as he keeps his gaze upon Connie.

“And you did it behind my back?! You lied to me! You told me he was in Vegas with Moe Greene—you had him killed too?! You never thought about me!” Her hiccupping sobs cut at her voice. “You never thought about me!”

You shake your head, refusing to stand by any longer. Regaining your wits and inhaling sharply, you immediately make your way over into Michael’s office and grasp at Connie’s arms from behind gently.

You pull her into your arms as you take her hands into yours, attempting anything to get her to calm down and mitigate the damage. “Connie—Connie…”

“Why do you think he told you the same lie?!” Connie cries, pulling away from you. “The whole time, he was planning on killing him! I’ve got two babies at home, Victoria!”

You haven’t made eye contact with your husband since entering his office, but even you notice Michael’s eyes staring back at the two of you intensely as he lights his cigarette, beginning to shift in his seat.

She grits her teeth, redirecting her anger to Michael. “And to think I made you godfather to my baby! You good for nothing bastard!”

Michael purses his lips, taking a short drag of his cigarette without so much as a word or care.

“I don’t know how many more people you killed after Carlo—” She pulls at her hair in distress, facing you. “He killed more than you and I could ever think! Do I have to read the papers to find out about my own husband’s death?! You couldn’t even tell me, you coward!” She points at her chest, “that was my husband!” Connie then gestures at you to Michael, “and that’s yours!”

Growing increasingly hysterical, Connie lunges at Michael’s arms as he embraces her, rising from his seat as he signals back for Rocco not to restrain her. You swallow hard, watching as he rests his cigarette upon his ashtray, hugging at his sister silently, who bawls her eyes out over his dress shirt.

Michael leans into her ear, lowering his tone to a whisper. “Se sei qui davanti a me ora è solo perché io ho accettato di fare il lavoro sporco che era necessario per tenere questa famiglia al sicuro. Smettila di metterti in imbarazzo.” (You stand there breathing because I’m willing to do the dirty work necessary to keep this family safe. Stop embarrassing yourself.)

Connie hiccups quietly, stirring in his arms as her face twists to an agonized expression. “No…no…NO! NO!” Confirming it for her, she continues screaming.

You spin back to notice Sonny almost sprinting into the room, alarmed by Connie’s distress, as Michael raises his brows at him, tilting his head to the side to gesture for him to take her out.

Sonny immediately moves in, hugging her and wrapping his arm around her back, pulling her off Michael. “Connie, Connie… Hey, hey, it’s alright—I’m here. Come here… Come ‘ere…”

“Get her a doctor,” Michael murmurs back to him as Sonny takes her out of the room. Connie stifles her crying into his arms as the two leave the office, closing the door behind them.

You blink, rubbing at the corner of your eye, and attempt to regain yourself as Michael gazes back at you. He picks up his cigarette once more, taking a long drag as the two of you continue to share eye contact.

You feel the twist of butterflies in your gut hit you by his very presence. Although the air in his office feels tense and bitter, his expression over you finds a way to soothe your nerves. As shocked as you were, you find yourself surprised at how Michael kept his composition against Connie like that.

You can still hear the faint sound of Connie’s sobbing outside of the office, standing still before Michael as her voice grows more and more distant. Michael blows out smoke from between his lips, shaking his head at you. “She’s hysterical.”

Michael’s dark eyes flicker back to you, waiting for a question, but you remain still and silent before him, refusing to question him further per his wishes.

Michael puts his cigarette out prematurely, walking around his office desk to approach you directly. He tilts your chin up with one hand, gazing back into your eyes. “Just know what I did was to keep our family safe. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, I just…” You glance back at the closed office door, nibbling upon your bottom lip. “Poor Connie… I’ve never seen her like that before.”

“She’ll come around. Sonny will handle it…” Michael notices your expression doesn’t falter, still remaining bewildered from the commotion mere moments ago, filled with worry. “Victoria.”

“Mm?” You look back into his eyes shyly.

“Come here…” Michael takes you in his arms, embracing you in a hug as you let out a shaky sigh of relief over his shoulder, hugging back. “Connie will be fine. I know she appreciates having a sister-in-law like you.”

“Michael, she’s…” You rub at his shoulders tenderly, frowning. “She’s been so abused by him that she’s actually mourning his death? I don’t understand… You’d think he had her in a chokehold their entire marriage, taking away her money, her happiness. It’s beyond me. I can’t even imagine how she feels right now.”

“At the end of the day, Carlo was a nuisance—a burden that needed to be removed. He was conniving, and when he didn’t get the attention he wanted under my father, he thought he could get it from the Barzini’s and Ricci’s. The sooner she comes to a realization that Sonny did her a favor, the better she’ll feel.” Michael muses.

“Sonny…?” Your eyes widen, “he…?”

Michael nods back grimly at you. “You know how Sonny is. He’s a good brother to her.”

“He is.” You nod back in agreement, snuggling your head upon Michael’s chest with a sigh. “I didn’t know myself.”

“Do you pity Carlo?” Michael rubs at your back in lazy circles.

“Not for Carlo. Never for him.” You mumble, feeling your tense muscles begin to relax in his arms.

“It’s just as I told you before, Victoria.” Michael rests his chin gently upon your head. “I have everything completely under my control. I’ll handle everything before we leave for Nevada. Do you trust me?”

You gaze back up in his eyes, clutching onto his dress shirt with a nod. “Always.”

“Connie, Connie—” Sonny kicks the door of Connie’s bedroom shut with the back of his heel, embracing his sobbing sister in his arms.

“Hey, hey—it’s alright. It’s alright. Let it out, let it all out.”

Tears continue to flow from Connie’s eyes as she clutches onto Sonny’s shoulders, sobbing onto his dress shirt. Her chest aches from the racking sobs, unable to stifle down the heavy mixed emotions hitting at her from all sides.

“You’re gonna be okay, you’re going to be alright… I’m here now.”

Inconsolable from the reality of Carlo’s death, she struggles to cope with the fact she’s left as not only a widow but the only one to raise her two young children. Her sorrow mixes with bitterness in remembrance that Carlo was barely a good husband—let alone a father to either of his boys, continuing to fail each and every expectation and belief she and her family had for him to begin with.

“I’m here for you. He can’t hurt you anymore, Connie. Think of that—don’t you remember?”

She hates him because she wanted to love him. She despises him for tearing down his own potential, from turning his face from the family and to his vices. At the end of the day, he always remained a street rat that happened to marry a Corleone woman. Connie knows Carlo never deserved her, but she wanted him to. She always did.

“T-they said it was…it was my fault…” Connie hiccups, barely able to breathe. “C-chose the wrong…husband!”

Every shout, every scream, phone calls of his mistresses ringing out in the middle of the night, screaming at her to silence the crying of their children, spitting at her cooking and spending his days in the streets leeching off of everyone he could find—that was Carlo Rizzi. But that was Connie’s husband.

“Shhh—shhh, shhhh…” Sonny murmurs, stroking at her dark hair. “You couldn’t have known, Connie. Could any of us? It’s not your fault.”

Connie coughs weakly, “why didn’t he love me? Why didn’t he come home to me?”

Sonny bites his lip, knowing any anger inside of him will be redirected to nowhere, considering it was him who strangled the ever-living life out of Carlo in his car with Clemenza on the way to the airport. It was then that he remembered a distressed call from Connie when he came in to pick her up and noticed her black eye and tattered hair. Each and every minute of his life he spent hating Carlo and wanting to kill him sprung up at that moment.

And so he did. Sonny killed Carlo. He killed Carlo without an ounce of remorse or regret. He didn’t even think twice about it. He strangled the bastard until he struggled and kicked about, breaking all the windows to the car. He fought hard, but Sonny crushed his windpipe and took him out of his misery.

“Connie, listen to me.” Sonny pulls back from her, cupping at her tear-stained, reddened cheeks. “Stop talking like that! Are you kidding yourself? You’re asking why he didn’t love you? Look at yourself! You’re a mess over a man who belongs in the gutter—he should have kissed the very ground you walked on knowing you loved him of all people!”

Sonny remembered for each moment that he wasn’t choking him hard enough, that Carlo could be doing it to his sister. He knew their marriage would go nowhere and that his anger would boil over dangerously if Carlo had done anything to the children. Carlo had to die, and it was that simple for Sonny.

“But Sonny, my babies—”

“What, Connie, what?! Because I don’t understand! I don’t understand why for one second you decided to put up with that asshole’s bullshit! Look at you! Look at what he’s done to you.” Sonny strokes his cheek against the small, faded welt of a bruise upon her cheekbone. “How could I not do it, Connie? How could I not strangle the fuck out of him—how could I not kill him after what he’s done to you?!”

“What about Victor and Michael?” Her lips quiver as she struggles against another wave of sobs.

“What about them, Connie?” Sonny shakes his head, rubbing down her arms. “Nothing will happen to them. No harm from Carlo—nothing. You’ll stay with us, okay? In Lake Tahoe. We’ll take you there with us. You can live with us on the compound with your boys; everything will be just fine. I promise you. Just fine.”

Connie’s voice breaks out as she clings onto the fabric of his dress shirt. “It hurts, it hurts… My heart hurts.”

Despite Carlo being dead in an unknown ditch somewhere, Sonny has the urge of fury to get at him again and again. He wants to tear his pathetic excuse of a brother-in-law to pieces for every word and every blow he gave his sister.

Sonny hugs his sister again tightly, staring at the window across from him as his sister breaks into tears once more. Angry with himself for not acting soon enough, Sonny knows he’ll never be able to forgive himself for the abuse his sister endured under Carlo.

“It’ll never happen again, Connie. I promise.” He kisses her forehead, letting out a shaky exhale as he attempts to calm his nerves. “I’ll protect you—always, okay? You’ll forget about this and wonder why you even cried in the first place. It’ll be nothing a bad taste in your mouth.” He wipes at Connie’s tears, “it’s over. It’s all over now.”

[ Michael’s Office, + 2 Hours ]

Michael sits at his office desk, purposefully having sent out Rocco and the rest of his bodyguards out half an hour ago to remain alone and make it look like the office is left empty. With the moving company coming in today to take the last of your furniture and belongings with Michael to Nevada, the Corleone manor, if anything, remains busy, but Michael remains out of sight.

You left Michael’s office two hours ago knowing he still has some business to attend to—spending the remainder of your afternoon nursing the twins and babysitting Victor and Michael Francis. Sonny called for a doctor not long after, having Connie throwing up from her sobbing—taking a much-needed rest from the exhaustion of her breakdown.

With Victor snuggled up, soundly asleep in one of the beds in the nursery, you sit upon the carpet, having set out the baby blanket for Michael Francis and the twins to crawl upon freely. Rather occupied with keeping three babies happy and distracted with their teething toys and stuffed animals, you and Michael’s bodyguards remain to be the only ones who are aware of Michael’s presence alone in his office.

With Clemenza and Tom out in the courtyard taking a coffee and smoke break with Sonny, Fredo is the only Corleone brother left in the house, very much aware of where everyone else is, with the exception of Michael. He notices Al Neri and Rocco in the drawing-room, enjoying a smoke to themselves—much farther removed from Michael’s office as usual.

It’s Fredo who lingers by in the hallways, taking note of the movers leaving with the rest of the furniture as he continues to pace around Michael’s office slowly, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

More so, Fredo’s mind is on Michael’s drawers and cabinets, knowing that he’s remained largely absent from the manor the entirety of the day and that he can quickly come up with an alibi if needed—not that it was the last time for Kay. To the best of Fredo’s knowledge, the fact Michael never found out about who went through his shelves or even bothered to ask any of his brothers gave him the boost of confidence he needed after successfully slipping Michael’s old wedding photographs into your nursing bag.

This time, he’s not hanging by to find photographs or rummage through piles of junk. Kay gladly described the layout of Michael’s drawers and storage in his office, knowing he may have thrown the letters she attempted to send him during his stay in Sicily but must have kept their letters back and forth to each other during World War II.

Michael isn’t stupid. He plays upon Fredo’s beliefs, having well figured out that it could have only been someone who had access to his office and was in the manor at that time and came to highly suspect Fredo in the last days of his honeymoon with you in Sicily.

He lets Fredo continue to believe he’s one step ahead of Michael, whereas Michael knows he awaits him from all sides. It wouldn’t matter to him even if Fredo could enter the office without him knowing now. Nothing remains unlocked or insight. If anything, Fredo has completely given away that he’s one to suspect with his erratic and strange behavior, treating you poorly and looming around Niccolò.

After his little outburst back in Sicily, Michael confirmed his suspicions, knowing he would never become Don Corleone, even if Michael, Sonny, Tom, and Niccolò all happened to die. It’s that simple—Fredo will never know such a title, as the rest of his family decided for his history of continued failures.

Still, Fredo’s behavior toward Michael is concerning overall. He knows Fredo would personally gain nothing if you chose to split from Michael for a time or even divorce him. Regardless of custody battles, Niccolò would still be heir to Michael, and Michael would still be Don. With two children, Michael wouldn’t seek to remarry either. That could only be a faint possibility if you produced no children for him, and in such an instance—would he still choose Kay?

‘It still doesn’t make sense.’ Michael purses his lips, taking a long drag of his cigarette as he stares back down at his fountain pen. Such a rift would have to be caused between the two of you almost immediately in your marriage before Michael got you pregnant. Marrying Kay would give Fredo no personal gain either, so it leaves Michael with one last option. ‘Completely out of spite.’

Michael furrows his brows, hearing the creaking of footsteps outside of his office. He remains silent, letting smoke trail out between his lips. Michael wants to see if Fredo will actually attempt to enter his office again, and if so, how Fredo’s reaction will be when he comes across him.

Fredo is still under the belief that Michael’s office remains empty. In that regard, he feels confident but still can’t bring himself to enter and snoop in his brother’s office, especially after that assertive showdown Michael gave him back in Sicily.

Second thoughts do momentarily cross his mind, but he can’t bring himself to leave either. He knows in his heart Kay is right about him. Suppose Kay can somehow get to him and break through your marriage one way or another. In that case, she could get him to legitimize the Corleone family and provide Fredo an opportunity to strike at the title of Don Corleone before Michael even comes to realize it.

A ridiculous and inconceivable idea if Michael had heard any other time, but still convinced that faint remnants of a rift remain between the two of you over the secret of his marriage to Apollonia, along with the fact the twins are still so young, the absolute and last worst-case scenario would be having to remarry if the two of you filed for divorce.

Being personal, it would not damage the business relationship with the Corleone family but would do a substantial amount personally. There would be no struggle or worry about finances with your family supporting and backing you up, leaving only child custody as an issue. The question would then be to what extent would Michael use all his power in order to retain the twins for himself? Would he agree to joint custody, or would he not let you have or see the twins at all?

In reality, Michael knows he would have to settle for joint custody for concern over your sake just as much he knows that you’re not married to him out of legal obligation or finances. The love and trust between the two of you is the only thing keeping the marriage healthy and going. Children or no children—it’s nothing else.

Michael stares back at his closed office door, growing increasingly irritated with Fredo’s slow pacing over the creaking wood for the past fifteen minutes. Putting out his cigarette and clasping the top of his fountain pen back on, he rises to his feet as quietly as possible, striding towards the door.

The pacing doesn’t stop, and Michael knows whether he opens the door quickly or not; it’ll leave Fredo nowhere to run or hide fast enough and pretend he wasn’t looming around.

Michael places his hand down upon the doorknob, listening intently for where Fredo might be standing in the hallway. When the creaking of the wood grows the loudest, he quickly twists the doorknob, pulling open the door and standing directly in front of Fredo.

Fredo clutches onto the railing of the spiral staircase, his expression hardened yet intimidated by the sight of his brother. Michael’s eyes remain cold and emotionless, gazing back at his brother.

Fredo plays the inconspicuous act very well, making it look as if he was just hanging around and glancing down the hallway out of boredom, knowing nobody else is home. At the same time, he makes it look as if he was waiting for Michael to come out; there isn’t an ounce of conspiracy or guilt on his face.

Michael decides in a split second to make it look as if he’s joining his brothers and Clemenza outside for a smoke—to leave the office open and alone to Fredo as if he trusts him to be in there in case he enters.

Just as Michael takes a few steps towards the foyer, Fredo’s voice rings out—his back to Michael. “You know you lied to her right in her face.”

Michael stops dead in his tracks, remaining still for a moment. Completely relaxed, he doesn’t tense his muscles up in response or quickly turn on his heel. Instead, he takes a moment to himself and casually puts both of his hands in the pockets of his dress pants.

He turns slowly, glancing back at Fredo without a glimmer of emotion over his expression. “You would know a lot about lying, wouldn’t you, Fredo?”

Fredo furrows his brows. “Again, you find a way to make your own flaws about me.”

“I have no such things.”

“You lied to your sister and your wife’s face, Michael. You really don’t see anything wrong with that?” Fredo shoots him a disgusted look. “You saw Connie! You saw the way she was! I mean, for God’s sake—the entire house heard her! Why did you do it, Mike?”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t have?” Michael raises a brow.

“No, of course not!” Fredo scoffs, “father told us not to get involved. It’s Connie’s marriage, not ours.”

“Passive as ever, Fredo, aren’t you?” Michael purses his lips. “You spend your whole life getting told what to do, and now you want to be the one making all the decisions.”

“At least I’m not a liar or a cheater.”

Michael rolls his eyes and gives out a sigh. “Is this why you were lingering outside of my office? You wanted to insult me in my face, Fredo?”

“It didn’t sit right with me that you told Victoria Sonny had Carlo killed. That was a lie.” Fredo shakes his head.

“No, it wasn’t. Sonny killed Carlo.” Michael replies out flatly.

“But you sent out the order, didn’t you? Father didn’t even get a chance to blink before you ordered someone’s death. Before you killed Carlo and Moe Greene.”

“What are you gonna do, Fredo? Are you going to go up to Victoria and Connie and tell them I gave the order? Would that make you feel better? Does it truly matter? They’re both dead. Who cares what manner they died in or who killed them?"

Fredo presses his lips together, defeated.

“Do you have anything else to say to me?” Michael slips his hands out of his pockets, adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket.

“I wanted to talk to you about Kay.” Fredo scowls back.

Michael remains unamused. “You’ve been talking to her?”

“Yeah, I have, but in reality, it should be you. She’s still trying to reach out to you, Michael. You know her parents found out about the whole fiasco—she has nobody to talk to—”

“I don’t care.”

“Of course you don’t. You don’t even care how her family feels? All those lies about wanting to get engaged—to take her back to New Hampshire? The least you could do is answer her calls, Mike.” Fredo narrows his eyes. “Or do you just let people go once they’ve stopped being useful to you?”

“Yes.” Michael answers plainly, “just as I’m letting this useless conversation go.” And with that, Michael turns back around, walking off towards the foyer.

“You see the difference between us, Mike?!” Fredo calls back, “one of us actually cares, and the other doesn’t. The thing is, one of us is a husband and a father. What does that say?”

“It says to me that you’re very much still living in the past, Fredo.” Michael heads into the end of the hallway.

Michael turns on his heel, heading off towards the drawing-room without another word or glance back at Fredo, who glares daggers back at him, knowing time after time it’s been impossible to even get to his own younger brother.

For as long as Michael can get Fredo to believe he hasn’t been able to scratch the surface of his suspicions, everything remains to be fine. In reality, Michael’s beliefs are completely solidified against Kay and Fredo, knowing if Fredo has a part to play, he’s in it for petty jealousy, whereas any tear shed from your eye against your marriage is something for Kay to celebrate.

Michael steps into the drawing-room, empty from its usual state to entertaining guests. It remains to be the very room that you had your engagement ceremony in and where you became acquainted with the rest of Michael’s family for the first time.

At this point in time, it remains darkened from the pulled back curtains and closed off, with only a telephone nearby to suit Michael’s purposes. Noticing no following footsteps or noise around him, Michael raises the telephone to his ears and dials at the number to reach Kay’s New York residence.

He purses his lips, waiting to be connected—knowing if so that she hasn’t left for New Hampshire in months, only continuing to support his suspicion.

Just as he expects, Kay answers almost immediately, completely unknowing that she’s speaking to Michael on the line. “Hello?”

“Kay,” Michael speaks softly, clouding his recent frustration with her and Fredo re-emerging after months of pretending to ignore it.

Kay’s breath hitches as she recognizes his voice. “M-Michael? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me, Kay,” Michael answers, keeping his tone gentle and soft with her. “It’s me.”

“Oh, Michael! I—” She cuts off for a moment, exhaling shakily. “It’s you; it really is you. I’ve missed you—I’ve missed you so much!”

Ignoring the last bit, Michael asks, “how have you been?”

“Michael, I…” Her voice tightens, fighting back tears. “I don’t know. I’ve been completely alone here this whole time.”

“You haven’t returned to New Hampshire with your parents yet?” Michael questions back, curious for her answer.

“I-I did for a time, but I recently found a teaching job back here, and I’ve made the decision to stay in New York, Michael.” Kay sniffles back.

‘And I’ve made the decision to leave for Nevada.’

“I’ve missed you.” She peeps out. “This…this is so much for me to take in right now. I know you just came back from Sicily, and I’ve been thinking about you since—always. Always. I can’t believe you called me again.”

‘How does she know I went to Sicily in the first place?’

“So, you’ve heard.” Michael furrows his brows, staring back down at the telephone.

“Of course, I did.” She mewls back, “but this time I’m glad to know you didn’t plan on staying there forever. Did you miss me, Michael? Did you ever think about me?”

“Kay…” Michael begins, deciding to use her emotional peak to his advantage. “I thought about you. I did.” He lies, “that’s why I called you in the first place. I need to see you, Kay. We need to talk.”

“Y-yes, we do.” A breath of excitement flows through Kay's voice. “I haven’t seen you for months, Michael. There are things I’ve wanted to talk to you about too. When can I come to see you?”

“How about I come to you?” Michael offers, “I’ve never seen your new place.”

“Oh, okay! Yes!” She frantically agrees, “I would love that. Here, I’ll give you my address. When can you come by?”

“Today. Now.” He suggests, “if you’re that impatient to see me.”

“Always. You know I am. I’m home right now, Michael. I live at 2749 Orchard Crescent street. When do you think you can get here?”

Michael glances at his wristwatch, “in ten minutes, on one condition.”

Kay hesitates for a moment. “Yes?”

“You will not let anyone know the two of us spoke or saw each other, do you understand?” He reaffirms. “This is private, just between us.”

“Yes, of course.” She agrees, “I won’t. I won’t let anybody know. There’s nobody here, after all, and I get it. You can’t tell your…your wife either.”

‘She completely has the wrong idea, but still… I can use this to get to her. I can get her out of our lives for good.’

Michael narrows his eyes, “yes, exactly. Don’t disappoint me, Kay.”

“I won’t, Michael. You know I won’t. I’ll leave the front door unlocked for you. Just come upstairs.”

“Kay, you should be keeping all your doors locked,” Michael murmurs, primarily out of annoyance.

“It wouldn’t matter, though, would it?” She chuckles weakly to herself, beginning to lie. “You’d be the only one visiting me anyway, and you’re untouchable.”

“I’m heading out right now.” Michael glances back down at the telephone, ignoring her comments.

“You’ll be glad you did. I’m waiting for you, Michael.”

Michael sets the telephone down, running a careful hand through his slicked-back hair with a drawn-out sigh. An instant wave of irritation hits over him, knowing a year after his marriage to you that he’s still dealing with the same cycle of relentless events over and over again.

Michael adjusts his tie, slowly beginning to approach the door without making a sound as he listens intently for footsteps both upstairs and around him.

He quietly pulls open the door, taking a step out and glancing at both ends of the darkened hallway. ‘Nothing.’

His expression growing cold and unable to hide his agitation, Michael walks into the foyer, hearing the faint sounds of the twins and Connie’s boys fussing and giggling about with your voice mixed into the noise from the nursery.

Michael momentarily raises his head to glance back at the spiral staircase towards the noise, making out your voice, but with Fredo nowhere in sight. His eyes land back down on his watch as he pulls open the front door.

‘You have much to answer for, Kay.’

Michael’s eyes lock onto his vehicle, finding Rocco opening the backseat door as Michael makes his way over, rubbing his thumb around his gold wedding band—a deadpan expression over his face.

‘This ends today.’

Fredo presses his back against the wall, completely shrouded in the darkness of the empty corridor. Upon hearing the front doors shut and spotting Michael’s silhouette head down the steps and to the driveway, Fredo gives out a deep breath of relief, having held it since Michael was on the telephone in the drawing-room.

He heard no specifics or even properly made out words of Michael’s conversation but picked up on Kay’s shrill voice from the other end, knowing it’s exactly what she wanted.

Fredo makes his move as he hears Michael’s car begin to start up. Slipping inside the drawing-room himself, he leaves the door half-open as he quickly grabs the telephone, dialing Kay’s number.

Kay answers almost instantly. “Hello? Michael?”

“Kay, it’s me—Fredo,” Fredo answers back. “Michael just left.”

“Oh, Fredo—what did you tell Michael? He just called me.” She can scarcely believe it herself.

“All I told him was that I wanted to talk about you. He shot down the conversation almost immediately.”

“He’s coming to see me, Fredo. He’s coming along, after all this time. Did he tell her? Did he tell Victoria?” She asks frantically.

“What? No.” Fredo glances towards the door, “he just left.”

“Let her find out herself.” Kay decides, “get her on the phone in ten minutes. Let her listen since she’s so clueless. I’ll leave the phone on—Michael won’t know.”

“And what should I tell her?”

“Tell her I want to talk, as simple as that. Don’t give too much away, but make sure she’s here alone. I’ll let her hear.”

“Hear what?”

“She doesn’t know he’s come to see. Let her hear who her husband really is. I know she’ll have a million questions running through her head, and Michael won’t be able to resist this—I know him. Let her hear the truth when he’s with me, and see what she makes of it.”

“Oh my God, Victoria…” Connie whines out, entering the nursery next to Sonny with a look worse for wear.

Her hair tangled and a mess by her shoulders, splotchy red cheeks from her sobbing and puffy, and with restless and reddened eyes, a weak yet appreciative smile grows over her lips at the sight of you snuggled up with both the twins and her boys.

Four-year-old Victor sits across from you on the baby blanket, running a pair of toy cars up and down upon the stitching as little Michael Francis naps away in the crib behind you that you lean against. Niccolò and Verona sit in your arms; Niccolò munching on a teething toy, whereas Verona grabs at one of her teddy bears, shaking it about in her hands.

Surrounded by babies and nothing but babies for the past two hours, you peek your head up from a crime-thriller book you’re reading, surprised to see Connie up already. Your shocked expression is shared by Sonny, who gives a little shrug of his shoulders for a universal signal of “I-couldn’t-convince-her-to-rest-either.”

“Connie…” A look of worry crosses your eyes. “You should be in bed, resting!”

“See, what did I tell ya?” Sonny shakes his head, crossing his arms. “

“I’m fine, really!” Connie protests out, smoothening back her frizzy hair as she leans down and embraces your shoulders for a tight hug. “Thank you—thank you, Victoria! I’m sorry, I was so selfish! If I knew you were here with the babies for that long, I swear I would have come in before, I would have—”

“Connie!” You frown, hugging her back. “Stop apologizing, please! This is the least I can do—we’re all here to take care of you.” You pull away from her, clasping both of her hands as both you and the twins look up at her. “You need your rest. I can keep babysitting, really! The kids are doing so well!”

“I can’t, I just can’t.” Connie pouts, shaking her head. “It’s all I can think about—all I could dream about. I don’t want to anymore.”

“And you don’t have to.” You smile back warmly at her, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. “We’re here for you, Connie. I’m here for you.”

“Oh…” Connie hiccups, breaking into tears as you hug her again tightly, letting her weep upon your shoulder. “He’s really gone, isn’t he? Carlo…”

You glance up from her shoulder at Sonny with a smile, speaking to her. “He is, and I understand that’s going to take some time for you to understand—loss of someone you hate or love, it’s no different. But it’s okay.”

“But I’m—”

You clasp her cheeks, shaking your head. “You’re not alone, and neither are your babies. You never will be.”

“Hey, hey…” Sonny places a hand on her back, sitting cross-legged with her upon the baby blanket. “She’s right, you know? You still have all of us, Connie. It’s alright. We’re here for you every step of the way. If you need to get your mind off of it, I get it. Take a good look at the kids!” He gestures a hand out to the twins, who blink back at him, clutching onto their toys. “They’re all having a good time!”

You burst into giggles with Connie, who wipes at her sore eyes, nodding back as she leans over and kisses Victor’s cheek. “Mama’s here now, honey. What have you been doing?”

“Cars.” Victor grins back, holding up his toys.

Sonny puts his hands up in surrender. “See? The kids get it. Not a care in the world. We gotta be more like them, honestly.”

“He does have a point.” You shrug your shoulders, joking back at Connie, who laughs through her teary-eyed disposition.

“Now, now, now…” Sonny reaches over, scooping up Niccolò onto his lap, placing him under one arm on one leg and doing the same to Verona, beaming down at them. “Look at these kiddos, for example. Do you have a problem, little man?” He redirects his question to Niccolò.

Niccolò peeks up at his uncle—a striking resemblance to the dark, chestnut hooded eyes his father has as he shoves his teeth toy in the side of his mouth.

“Exactly.” Sonny scoffs back playfully as the three of you laugh out again. “Oh, and you?” He glances over at Verona, “just shaking that toy till the end of the world, huh? You will be heard, eh?”

“Now there’s a first-hand account of Sonny as a father, hmm?” You nudge at Connie.

“I’ve raised a pair of twins myself.” Sonny chuckles, running a hand through his curls. “I’m a tough guy, but still mush on the inside, you know!”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh.” Connie playfully rolls her eyes, momentarily distracted by a figure standing at the door.

The two of you exchange looks with each other, glancing up to see Fredo, who awkwardly stands by the doorframe, giving an awkward and forced smile—specifically avoiding looking at the twins. “Um, sorry to interrupt. Victoria…” His eyes land on yours as he gestures out the door with his hand, “there’s a phone call for you.”

“Oh.” You blink back, setting the twins’ toys down as you rise to your feet. “From who?”

Fredo presses his lips together, taking a step aside so you can walk out of the nursery. “It’s from Kay.”

Sonny rolls his eyes to himself, focusing on the twins as Connie raises both of her brows up in interest. You can’t help but feel anxiety knotting in your gut at the sound of her name, equally as shocked as the others to hear she’s calling you after months of seeing each other filled with altercations and continued disagreement.

“Kay?” Your tone drops as you nod back at him, “well, alright. Do you know why she’s calling?” You follow behind Fredo, heading down the spiral staircase.

“She didn’t say much.” He lies, “just that she wanted to talk to you. She was insistent, so I thought…” He shoots you a fake guilty look, almost as if he feels bad for answering and letting you know in the first place.

“Oh, no worries, Fredo.” You shake your head back at him, heading inside of the drawing-room. “Thank you for letting me know anyways.”

Fredo gives a polite smile and a little nod, gesturing to the telephone on call that remains face down against the table before he makes his way out, leaving you alone in the dim room.

You nibble on your bottom lip, approaching the telephone and picking it up, letting out a small sigh before you hold it up to your ear.

Michael’s Cadillac comes to a slow halt by Orchard Crescent street, parking directly across the condo that reads 2749 upon the door.

Rocco glances at Michael through the vehicle’s rearview mirror as Michael’s eyes examine around the neighborhood. It is relatively quiet and clean with kids playing on the other side of the street; it seems family-friendly and nestled in the middle of town.

Adjusting his suit jacket, Michael pulls open his door, signaling for Rocco to stay put as he rises, leaning his elbow against the rim of the vehicle’s door. He gazes back at Kay’s condo, seeing only the second floor of her condo lit.

“I’ll leave the front door unlocked for you; just come upstairs.”

Swinging the vehicle door shut behind him, Michael approaches Kay’s door, stepping over the loose leaves drifting over the steps of her condo. Standing before the front door, Michael listens to make out any sound from Kay but is unable to. With a soft sigh escaping his lips, he twists open the doorknob, finding it unlocked as Kay had said.

He steps in, quick to close and lock the door behind him as his eyes scour around the little condo. A rather upscale place for a middle-class family, fully furnished and clean, Michael wouldn’t expect it to belong to anyone else with a clear distinction of Kay’s furnishing and décor choices.

Michael notices all the curtains and blinds are drawn back as well, only making out a small creak from the floorboards upstairs. Taking her word for it, Michael makes his way up the staircase, resting his arm against the top of the railing as he calls out for Kay. “Kay? It’s me.”

“In here.” Kay’s muffled voice comes out from one of the rooms.

Following it, Michael approaches Kay’s bedroom—the door ajar. Pushing it open with the side of his hand, he spots Kay across the room, sitting by her vanity and dresser.

Kay’s blonde curls remain loose down to her shoulders as she’s dressed in a black, flowy, satin night robe wrapped around her. She sits expectantly, but her expression fills with a mix of worry and surprise at the sight of Michael for the first time in months.

Michael remains before her in his black suit, waistcoat, and patterned tie. He purses his lips in unamusement as he makes eye contact with her, putting both of his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. He paces the room, slowly making his way up to her, leaving a few feet of distance.

Kay’s breath hitches, unable to peel her eyes off of the dark-eyed Sicilian before her. She feels her heart racing in her chest as she swallows the lump in her throat, attempting to read out at his blank expression. “Michael…”

“Kay.” Michael gazes back at her, unmoved by the tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she shakily rises to her feet.

“Michael, you came back for me after all this time, and I—.” Kay gives in to her tears, her voice breaking as she lunges in Michael’s arms, embracing him tightly.

Michael presses his lips down firmly, placing a light hand upon Kay’s back as she begins crying over his suit jacket, clinging onto his shoulders for dear life, attempting to feel some sort of love and warmth from the cold, emotionless man before her.

“Kay, I came here to talk to you.” Michael muses, used to her emotional spouts of desperation.

Kay peeks her head up slowly, clutching onto the fabric of Michael’s dress shirt as her teary eyes meet his expressionless ones. “You came here alone?”

“Yes.” He answers plainly.

“What happened to never wanting to see me again, then?” She sniffles, pulling away from him. “Do you remember that? Because I clearly do.”

“And I told you the truth then just as I’m here to ask the truth from you now.” Michael cuts to the point. “What did you honestly think?”

“I don’t know.” Kay rubs at her eyes, sitting upon the edge of her bed and facing Michael glumly. “You’re here, just as I thought you’d always be. We’re alone, you’re in my bedroom—”

“Don’t make this out to be something it’s not, Kay.” Michael scoffs, interrupting.

“Am I, though?” Kay blinks back a tear, gesturing to the room. “You can deny it all you want, but you’re here.”

“You know why I’m here.” Michael presses on, shrugging his suit jacket off his arms as he sets it upon the nearby armchair. “And you’re going to tell me everything.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Kay.” Michael snaps back, catching her off guard. “I know it was you who took those photographs from my office. You thought I forgot about that months ago, didn’t you?”

Kay’s bottom lip quivers as her eyes meet Michael’s—an absolute look of misery and defeat over her face. “That’s all you care about; some stupid photographs you never even bothered to tell me about.”

“When will it occur to you that I owe you no explanation or justifications to my actions or the way I choose to live my life?” Michael narrows his eyes. “You owe me, Kay. You owe me an explanation for why you were going through my office—you knew I wanted nothing more to do with you, so you used that as leverage against me, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think anything like that.” Kay murmurs, batting the tears off of her cheeks. “But it looks like you have your whole story figured out. You’re always going to find a way to blame me, aren’t you? You hate me that much?”

Michael stares back at her as his irritation begins to build at her deflecting replies. “You think I hate you?”

“Oh please, Michael!” Kay shakes her head, brushing him off. “Don’t ask me questions like that! You wouldn’t treat me this way if you felt otherwise! You left me—we’re not even in a relationship anymore, but I still have to find out about the things you kept from me ever since?”

“Answer the question, Kay—”

“No, I’m not answering any questions!” She exclaims, raising her voice. “Not until you answer mine! You owe me! I deserve to know why! I sat here thinking your life was in danger the whole time—knocking on your door, again and again, to ask Tom how you were doing—if you were okay! I wrote and wrote for nothing, but I cared about you, and I sure as hell did a lot more than you ever could.”

Unwavering with his eye contact, Michael replies, “you didn’t think wrong. My life was in danger. That’s why I left in the first place.”

“Oh, like that even matters now,” Kay mumbles, rubbing at the bridge of her reddened nose. “I know that’s a lie too. Was your life in danger in Sicily too?”

“Yes.” Michael answers.

“Liar.” Kay smiles weakly through her tears. “Clearly wasn’t in danger enough for you to marry her, am I right?”

“That’s what this is all about?” Michael crosses his arms, raising a brow at her.

“Am I right?!” Kay cries back out, slamming her hand down upon her mattress. “Answer me, damn it! I deserve to know the truth!”

“Watch your tone when you speak to me!” Michael sharply raises his voice against her, his expression hardening. “You can’t handle the truth—frankly, you can’t handle anything at all, can you, Kay? What difference would it make? I told you over a year ago we couldn’t be together—you couldn’t handle that. I told you never to return to my father’s house or make contact with me—you couldn’t do that. You clung on and on knowing I was married—you still didn’t let me go. You’re not the least bit embarrassed at the prospect of your family finding out you’re doing this?”

“Doing what, Michael?” Her voice softens as she sniffles quietly, “asking you why you lied to me? Cheated on me?”

“I didn’t cheat on you, Kay.” Michael lowers his tone, beginning to approach her by the bed, “I left. You knew I left. I didn’t think I was coming back.”

“So then, why did you? You found yourself a Sicilian bride—damn it, Michael! I saw the photographs! I saw…” She covers her face with both hands, breaking into a fit of sobs. “W-was supposed…to be me!”

“I told you—”

“You told me I was the love of your life.” She raises her head, breathing shakily. “Do you even care?”

“No.” Michael gazes back at her as tears continue to spring from Kay’s eyes—her teeth grit to silence her sobs. “You’ve done this to yourself by obsessing over the past. It’s over now, Kay. It’s been long over. This is reality.”

“You didn’t even…give me a chance.” She breathes out, “I could have… I wanted to…”

“What do you want, Kay?” Michael folds his arms. “What is it? I’ll give you whatever you want. Is it a car? A house? A new property for your parents? Anything, just name your price and let this be over with.”

“Why are you offering me this?” Her tears come to a stop almost immediately.

“Because I’m sick and tired of playing this game with you.” He admits out, “this isn’t how we’re going to go on anymore, Kay. There is no ‘you and I,’ and they're certainly can never be. You know what you can and can’t have, so you will tell me. Tell me, and I’ll make it happen if it means you’ll leave—that you won’t contact Victoria or me ever again. I’m asking you for the last time.”

“I want you, Michael. You know this. I want you.” Michael watches as she clutches onto his wrists, standing before him and trailing her hands up to his shoulders—pulling him in closer to her.

“Kay…”

“Tell me, first.” Her throat tightens as she struggles to make out her following sentence, “did you…did you ever really love me at all?”

Seeing a way through her by provoking her emotions, Michael lightly places both of his hands upon her hips, beginning to confess. “I did, Kay. I did love you.”

“Since before you left?” She whimpers back, gazing longingly into his eyes.

“Since we met.” He clarifies. “You reminded me of everything I wanted to be back then. I thought that was my fate. I had a whole different destiny planned. I wanted nothing to do with the world around me.”

“But…?”

“But that’s not who I am anymore. I could sit and pretend to be as oblivious as I wanted to, but the reality was looming around me, reminding me of who I had to be. I couldn’t escape it, Kay. And I wasn’t going to use you to find out if I could. That is the truth. I’m not the man you once knew, Kay. For your own sake, you need to accept that. There isn’t an inkling left of me from the man I was.” He explains, keeping his eyes on hers.

“Did you tell Victoria that?” She swallows hard. “My own best friend?”

“Would I have had to, Kay?” Michael raises his brows at her. “You know who Victoria is, don’t you? You know who her family is.”

“She told me she never got caught up in it—like you. She told me that.” Kay’s voice strains out. “That’s all I knew from the both of you. What should I have expected from her? Why wouldn’t she have told me the truth?”

“She was born a mob daughter, Kay,” Michael explains out the obvious to her. “Her whole life revolves around it.”

“That’s what you wanted this whole time?” Kay grimaces at his reply.

It’s in this moment that you have the telephone now raised to your ear, expecting a voice answering from the other line as you speak out, “hello?”

“What I want isn’t important.” Michael’s voice is the first thing you hear as he tilts Kay’s chin up to face him directly. “It’s what you want, Kay. Let me pay off your parents’ mortgage. I’ll get you your own place in New Hampshire where you can continue your teaching career. I’ll cover all the expenses.”

“Michael, you know what I want…” Kay slides her hands off of his shoulders—her voice growing in confidence.

“Hello? Michael…? Kay?” You call out on the line but to no avail.

Kay’s telephone remains tucked underneath the sofa across from her bed, unable to be heard by either of them. You feel the tips of your ears, and the nape of your neck burn hot in sudden realization as to what’s going on from the other side of the line.

‘Michael and Kay… He’s at her place? What? What the hell is going on? Why is he…?’ Speechless, you freeze in spot, clutching onto the telephone and listening to the rest of the conversation.

“Kay…” Michael is about to begin as he notices Kay takes a step back, pulling the knot off of her satiny nightrobe and letting the fabric slip off of her shoulders, pooling by her feet as she remains before him completely naked.

Michael blinks back, surprised but still physically unmoved as his eyes strictly remain over hers, avoiding her naked body, now beyond disbelief by her actions.

The only sound you hear is the scuffling of the fabric of Kay’s night robe hitting the floor and what comes across to you as a deafening silence between the two, horrendously building up the anxiety gnawing in your gut.

‘Michael…? What’s going on? What is she doing?’

A part of you wants to throw down the phone, refusing to hear any more. Still, undying curiosity and questions boiling inside of you don’t waver—insisting on listening to the rest of the call, which now appears to you as planned through Kay, if anything.

“What…?” A shy smile grows over the corners of Kay’s mouth. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, Michael… Did you miss this?”

‘Say something…say something… Michael, say something…!’

Completely and utterly speechless, your mouth dries as if you’ve swallowed a handful of sawdust, well aware Kay has stripped before Michael, who continues to remain silent. He neither speaks up, nor do you hear the shuffling of footsteps, causing your chest to ache from the sudden spikes of anxiety hitting you.

Nothing in Michael’s body beckons towards Kay. He gazes at her in such a way that he’s even disappointed instead of aroused or intrigued at her newfound trick but remains silent to see just how far she’ll take it or if she’ll give up from his inaction as it grows awkward. His chestnut eyes turn back to her as if he could see right through her.

Kay moves in closer to him, pressing her breasts against his dress shirt as she takes his hand, trailing it down from her chest and to her hips. “Michael… Touch me.”

“Kay…” Michael appears taken back from her advances, attempting to move his hand back as it comes into contact with her breasts.

“Please, touch me.” She pushes her hips against his groin—a moan coming out of her mouth.

Tears sting in your eyes as you feel your bottom lip quivering in a mix of anger, disgust, and heartache. You physically can’t bear to listen to the conversation, immediately slamming the telephone down and pushing it aside out of your sight.

“Kay, stop.” Michael clasps both of her wrists, moving her off of him. “We’re not doing this.”

“You asked me what I want.” Her eyes flicker with demand, “and I told you, you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“You said—” Michael presses his lips down, stopping in realization at her words.

“I want you, Michael. You know this. I want you.”

“Just once.” Kay pleads with a quiet whine, “let me have you again, let me feel you… Nobody will know, Michael. Like you said—it’ll stay between the two of us. Just one night, it doesn’t have to belong, but please…” She runs her hands up his chest, biting down on her lip. “I want you so badly. You have no idea. Nothing else pleases me anymore, not like you… I want you, Michael, I want you. You don’t need to buy me a fancy house or car, I don’t want any of that. I promise you…” She slips a finger in between one of the buttons of his dress shirt. “After this, it’ll all be over.”

“KAY!” Michael’s face twists in disgust as he harshly grips both of her hands, throwing him off of her. “What is wrong with you?!”

Kay pouts back at him with a shred of humility. “W-what…? Michael, you’d really rather spend hundreds of thousands—”

“Put this back on, for the love of God.” Michael hisses back, grabbing at her night robe from the floor and throwing it at her. “Are you out of your mind?! This is highly inappropriate.”

“It looked like you were enjoying it.” She purses her lips. “Not as much as…” She glances back to her bed, wondering if you’re still on the line. “Your wife when she saw those photographs, huh? Apollonia, was it?”

Michael narrows his eyes at her, watching Kay shrug her night robe back on with a dramatic sigh. “I don’t want you, Kay.” Michael scoffs back, “how could you ever think that was proper to display? You want to whore yourself out to me in exchange for leaving my marriage alone? Tell me you see the irony in that.”

“You men all work the same, at least that’s what Fredo told me.” She crosses her arms. “But your brother couldn’t be more different from you.”

“Fredo,” Michael repeats, his hostility and anger growing towards her. “I suspected as much, but never did I assume you’d ever get that low as to cavort with my own brother behind my back.”

“Don’t put me down like that, Michael. All I asked him was what happened in Sicily.” She begins to pace around her bedroom, running a hand through her blonde curls.

“So, he brought you the photographs as a result, didn’t he?” Michael adds on, watching her every move carefully.

“No, that I did myself.” She admits, glancing back at him. “I admit, besides my own shock to find them without so much as a single explanation from you beforehand, I thought Victoria would be better off knowing herself.”

Michael’s anger begins to hit its peak as he grips onto the armchair—his knuckle straining white as he scowls back at her with a fiery gaze, almost quivering with fury towards her. He can do nothing but listen out to her as she continues to explain in a resentful one against him.

“I did it. I gave her the photographs.” She stops in her tracks, half lying through her explanation. “She didn’t even suspect it was me. I stuffed them in her bag and let her discover them on her own—but you know that much, don’t you?”

She gestures her hand to the side of the room, beginning to redirect her own frustrations against him. “Do you know why I did it, Michael? Why? Because I wanted Victoria—my best friend—to feel the same way I did when I first saw them. The same humiliation, the same betrayal I felt when I walked down to see her in your house. If I could get her to feel just a smidge of what I felt then and there—it would be enough for me, Michael! I didn’t even have to do a thing! You already had the photographs! I just wanted to show my best friend what a lying, cold-hearted man you really were!”

Michael’s lips begin to quiver in anger as he forces his eye contact with Kay, a severe sense of dangerous resentment growing inside of him towards her as tensions continue to rise.

She narrows her eyes back at Michael. “I wasn’t going to suffer alone with what I knew. Even I knew I couldn’t change how you…” She shudders, holding her tears back, “how you felt for her. You erased me out of your life without so much as lifting a finger. It was that easy for you, wasn’t it? Well, it’s not every day you wait for the love of your life to come home from Sicily, knowing his life was in danger—wondering if he was alright every waking hour of the day—living through that stress. And the moment Victoria decided to go along with it? Oh, that little bitch was dead to me too. Anything for a taste of Michael Corleone, I guess—including giving up any basic human decency towards your best friend.”

Kay takes a cautionary step towards Michael. “Sure, you hid it from me, but from her too? I did you and her a favor by telling her the truth. She really got a taste of you then, didn’t she? She must have finally opened her eyes. I have to admit, I’m disappointed.” She gestures to Michael’s wedding band. “Who knows what other honeyed lies you fed her like you did to me? I did it to ruin your marriage, Michael! I wanted her to take the twins and leave you!”

The rage in Michael’s eyes is unavoidable—unlike anything he’s expressed before as Kay only continues to add on, fueling his rage. “Sooner or later, I knew you’d come to suspect me, and that’s when I knew. I knew there would be no way, Michael—no way you could ever forgive me, even if I was out of your life. And it almost worked, didn’t it? Your pretty little Sicilian thing almost left you!”

“Bitch!” Michael lunges out with his hand, sending the armchair tumbling down as he harshly slaps Kay across the face, causing her to yelp out and hit the nearby sofa with a thud.

Michael breathes heavily, steadying his stumbled posture as Kay clutches at her cheek, cowering and whimpering before him. Michael points an accusing finger down at her, glowering. “You won’t take my wife and children from me!”

“I—”

“YOU WON’T! I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!” He shouts back at her, his voice overpowering.

“She was my b-best friend before your anything…” Kay hiccups, her cheek throbbing from the impact of Michael’s blow. Out of defeat, she nudges with her ankle at the telephone from under the couch, revealing it rolling out onto the floor.

Michael immediately grabs at his suit jacket, noticing the open telephone lying in front of him as he stares daggers back at Kay—his expression filled with nothing but pure hatred.

“T-too late…” Kay swallows the lump in her throat—her hair covering half of her face. “What’s done is done…”

With realization setting in, Michael sneers at the telephone before him, kicking it as hard as he can—sending it flying to the wall, cracking and smashing to pieces across the room.

Michael steps over top of one of the pieces of the telephone, causing it to crack underneath his shoe as he faces Kay. “Your dirty little tricks end today, do you understand me?!”

Kay can barely hold her eyes up against his out of fear, hiding behind her curtain of hair.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!” Michael roars at her, causing her to flinch and curl back up against the couch. “You will get on the next plane to New Hampshire, and you will never show your face to my family or me, or so help me, God…”

He grits his teeth, spitting words of venom at her. “I will ruin you and your parents’ lives, Kay. For Victoria’s sake, I’ve spared you this long, but I’ve been known to change my mind. Never even attempt to cross paths with my family again, or your humiliation will be immeasurable.”

Kay doesn’t answer, simply cupping her face with both hands to block Michael from her eyesight through her blubbering sobs.

Quickly grabbing his suit jacket back over his shoulders, Michael storms off down the stairs, directly making his way out of Kay’s condo.

The headlights to his car flicker on as he ignores Rocco’s gesture to open the backdoor, getting in himself. The chauffer and Rocco need not ask from Michael’s brooding expression, and the car pulls off as soon as Michael closes the door back.

A deep welting sense of jealousy strikes you like a blade, building in the pit of your gut as you lean your hand upon the table, avoiding looking back at the telephone at all costs.

“Michael… Did you miss this?”

It feels as if your heart is burning up in your chest, thundering and aching in the most unpleasant sensation within a mix of emotions. The room feels ten degrees hotter, and you can’t calm the storm of anxiety brewing inside of you.

“Michael… Touch me.”

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself not to cry as the first thing you do is immediately exit the drawing-room as composed as you can hold yourself.

Fredo is not far himself, remaining just a few feet away from the entrance, leaning his back against the railing of the staircase with one foot propped up, fiddling around with his wristwatch.

As soon as he senses your presence, he raises his head to look up at you innocently. “Everything okay?”

“Um, yes—everything’s fine.” You breathe, ruffling back your hair as you smoothen out your blouse. Your eyes wander around the Corleone family manor briefly. “Where’s Michael?”

“Michael?” Fredo turns his back to face the foyer. “He left about an hour or so ago, I’m not sure.”

“Do you know where he went?” It feels as if you’ve swallowed down a mouthful of razor blades just to ask the question.

Fredo shakes his head, lying. “I just saw him leave. He didn’t tell me anything, but he should be back soon considering it’s getting late.”

'Either he actually doesn’t know, or he’s acting incredibly stupid. I don’t need to find out, either way', you remind yourself. “Alright, in that case, could you please ask the nanny to get the children ready? We’ll be heading home now.”

“Would you like me to let Michael know when he gets back?”

Another wave of anxiety washes over you. “Um…yes, thank you.”

Fredo gives you a simple nod, heading off down the hallway and leaving you alone as you let out a deep, shaky exhale, only seeming to feel worse by the second. 'This isn’t happening to me. This is not happening…'

With all your emotions colliding in one, confusion overpowers them all. Anger is not in the mix, replaced by a sensation of misunderstanding and a desperate want to believe what you know and heard is wrong. You can’t bring up any feelings of hatred, nor do you have the energy left in you to channel any such feelings into an argument or fight.

Instead, nauseating jealousy clouds your judgment as you collect the rest of your dignity and stumble out the front door, feeling as if you’re about to vomit and cry at the same time.

One of Michael’s buttonmen, your personal bodyguard—Ritchie Noblio—remains by the door in a disposition opposite of you.

Still lively and alert, he notices your solemn expression. “Ready to go, Mrs. Corleone?”

“Yes, please get the car ready.” You murmur, waving him off.

You turn back around to hear the blathering of the twins in the arms of your nanny—her cheerful smile and the sounds of your children, a welcome distraction from your world closing in on you.

You can barely bring yourself to say any more, simply mouthing a “thank you” to her in Italian, scooping up both of the twins along with the baby bag as you step down the stairs, hoping to yourself Michael’s vehicle would approach the driveway but at the same time wishing for him remain as far as possible until you leave.

You let your surroundings blur around you during the car ride, focusing on the comfort and content of the twins on your lap, who even you can tell have begun to grow restless and sleepy in your arms.

Your eyes are lowered to your lap as you consistently feel your anxiety come at you in tinges like a heartbeat, unable to even piece together how the phone call came to be in the first place. The only thing your thoughts can puzzle out is that Kay must have called the manor knowing Michael left to see her—specifically asking for you.

You grimace, rubbing at Niccolò’s back as he cuddles up to your chest, falling asleep; his sister still peeking out the window, fascinated by the lit-up streets on your way home.

'I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this.' It almost stings to breathe as you constantly rethink what you heard on the phone, over and over again. You barely made out Michael’s voice, instantly regretting hanging up so soon. You’re plagued by the fact you could have listened further, but remembering the sound of fabric shuffling and Kay’s moan coming out instantly kills it for you.

“What I want isn’t important.”

With tears pooling in your eyes, you step out of the vehicle with the twins without as much as a single word to say back to your chauffeur or bodyguard. You neither have the mood nor energy to speak out to anyone, dragging yourself as is as you unlock the front door of the villa.

“It’s what you want, Kay.”

It’s as if time slows around you as you begin to take off your flats and unlock the door behind you. You can hear your own heartbeat pounding back at you in reminder as you make your way upstairs and to the nursery.

Thankful the twins aren’t fussy this evening, you set their bag upon their dresser, carefully laying Niccolò down in his crib and double-checking at him—seeing him peacefully snoozing. Still holding Verona in your arms, you blink back tears and kiss Niccolo’s chubby cheek, assuring he’s sleeping on his back.

Verona remains distracted—a clear look of sleep over her face as she lazily clings onto a strand of your hair. Just as you did with Niccolò, you gently set her down in her crib, leaning your arms against the railing and consistently rubbing at your eyes to wipe off any tears before they hit your cheek.

Rocking Verona’s crib back and forth slowly, you watch her begin to doze off to sleep, making sure both of your children remain safe and sound, nestled in their cribs. A weak smile crosses your face as you head towards the doorway, taking a final glance before shutting off the lights and leaving the door open.

Your emotions only double and intensify the minute you enter the bedroom. Avoiding glancing at Michael in the wedding portraits adorning every corner of the room, you peel your blouse and skirt off of you, finding it painful to look upon the pair of lingerie you had laid out upon your vanity chair.

You stuff it inside of your dresser without a second thought, slipping into one of your favorite satin pairs of nightgowns—a soft rose color affixed with lace. The patter of gentle rain begins outside as you pull back the chiffon curtains over the locked windows, sensing rain about to hit.

“Oh—yes! You must have spotted him! It was him in that dashing, green uniform. You remember him, don’t you? He just arrived earlier today!”

The closer you get to your bed, the more you pick up on the scent of Michael’s cologne, still lingering over the bedsheets and his pillow. You take a few deep breaths, letting the tears spill from your eyes as if the reminder of him coaxed them out of you.

“You know he’s coming to see me this long weekend in New Hampshire? Oh, my parents are actually excited to meet him. They keep calling him a war hero—isn’t that sweet? I know his family missed him so much too.”

The feeling in your gut is almost putrid, pulsating in heartache as every second that passes with you curled up in bed alone only continues to remind you of Michael’s untold absence—having spent his evening with Kay to your beliefs.

You can neither think of nor come up with anything to say even if he walks in now, whether he’s aware you know or not. There isn’t an inkling of emotion inside of you that wants to scream and shout, still shrouded in shadows of disbelief, just utterly hoping you’re dead wrong about everything.

‘Our last day in New York, and he wishes her goodbye too.’ You’d be lying to yourself if you say there isn’t a deep resentment towards the skeletons Michael has in his closet, constantly plaguing you with women of his past like a book with an unending chapter.

“Did you just call him my ‘mystery boyfriend?” Kay threw her head back in laughter. “I promise you’ll get to meet him one day! I bet the two of you will have a lot in common too!”

Your eyes feel sore and achy from crying, but squeezing them shut in hopes you’ll drift off to sleep is nothing but wishful thinking. Your eyes bore into the alarm clock upon your nightstand, watching the minutes go on and on as sleep illudes you.

“I don’t even know what he and I are anymore. It’s like we’re together, but we’re not.”

More and more tears rush down your cheeks, clouding your vision as you struggle to wipe them off of your face. You want to sink into your bed out of utter humiliation and jealousy, unable to wipe the image of Kay possibly approaching your husband naked.

“Well, I hope the Michael you met isn’t distant with you like my Michael is.”

The anger you’d normally feel towards both that would erupt in a fit of rage—much to remember from your first fight months back—is replaced by a deep set of disappointment.

‘From Kay to Apollonia, to Kay once again. Like a broken cycle that doesn’t know any better. What does that make me? Where does that fit me in? Why can’t I understand? Why do I fail to make sense of all this? What did I do?’

You squeeze your eyes shut, pulling the blanket up to your neck as the storm outside continues—rain beginning to pour. A flash of lightning strikes as you feel your heart about to leap from your chest at the sound of keys unlocking the front door downstairs, causing you to sit up.

“I think it’s too late for us to ever reconcile again.”

You push the blankets off of you, placing your feet down from the edge of the bed as you quickly wipe at your tears in a last-minute, pathetic attempt to hide the absolute heartache spelled over your face.

“Don’t say that, Kay. At least go have a talk with him and figure out where the two of you stand. Then you can close the cover on this chapter and move on once you really know.”

The door to the ajar bedroom pushes open as you clutch up the blankets to your chest, turning your head to find Michael in the dim light, shrugging off his suit jacket by the doorway—expecting to see you fast asleep by now.

Instead, as he folds his suit jacket inbetween his arms, he raises his head, spotting you up on the bed—locking eyes with you. With enough light to illuminate the both of you from across the room, you gaze back—your eyes filled with an immeasurable longing.

“When I first met Michael, I was like a moth to a flame with him.”

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