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melis-writes · 3 years ago

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 31 - Overpowered.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 30 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

With the Corleone family controlling all the gambling in the country as well as the major hotels, resorts and casinos, Michael makes his move to enter the narcotics trade within the partnership he has with your father, Don Ferrari. While Don Ferrari welcomes Michael's business, your brother Lorenzo knows the business deal has been done behind your back as Michael's intentions remain far beyond friendly limits. Unbeknownst to you, you look forward to spending the evening with your husband over dinner, unable to get your hands or eyes off of him. Seeking to usurp full control of the narcotics trade from Lorenzo when your father retires, Michael is both relentless and merciless when it comes to business over family. Potential blackmail and an inevitable mob war threatening to split apart the two families looms overhead, placing you in the middle as both a Ferrari daughter and a Corleone wife. As your brother informs of you of the deal made behind your back, you find yourself at devastating and heartbreaking odds with Michael, who no longer considers you a Ferrari but only a Corleone wife.

[WARNINGS]: Heavy smut / Spanking / Rough sex. / Heavy angst.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: A lot of tension is soon to be rising between the Corleone and Ferrari families if you can help it, and you find yourself at odds with Michael for the first time as he seeks a power imbalance that bound your marriage to him in the first place. 👀 It was a little trickier than usual to find gifs to match this chapter but I definitely love how they came out to set the scene and get imaginations going. 😳 Lots and lots of angst, but of course would be incomplete without the smut we're all looking for from Don Corleone. 🥵 There will definitely be lots of tears, lots of drama and this is just the beginning! I also just wanted to add for those who would like to be notified when the fic updates, if your @ tag isn't working/notifying you, pls message me and I'd be happy to send reminders!

[SPECIAL SHOUTOUT]: Anons for requesting: Michael "punishing" you in bed / Crawling on your knees to Michael / Michael stripping off your clothes with his teeth / Michael tells you to "have some dignity" in bed / Michael edging you /

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.

[ 3 months later, early July 1955 ]

“If Sollozzo knew what Michael had wanted now for the family, he would be laughing in his grave.” Vito picks up his wine glass with a little sigh. “He would have said, ‘you’re foolish, old man. Look at what your sons want and listen to them’. I didn’t know it then, but…” He lets his thought trail off.

“With him out of the way, there’s more profit to be made now, Pop.” Sonny purses his lips, leaning back in his lounge chair. “It ain’t 1945 anymore.”

“Yes, I’ve considered that.” Vito nods back. “Back then, it was thinking about what all those bigshots—Barzini and Tattaglia would do. You couldn’t talk any reason into them. They’ll call Michael a hypocrite now, but he doesn’t have to worry about losing all the judges and politicians from the payroll. They’re all on his side now, thanks to Don Ferrari.”

“So then, what are you sorry worried about, Pops?” Sonny glances at his father. “Mike’s spinning this whole thing not just to make a buck but to legitimize our hold in the narcotics business. If Barzini and Tattaglia wanna talk, let ‘em. That’s all they can do now anyway. They’ll be powerless once they know Ferrari is supporting Michael.”

“It’s a habit of mine, you know?” Vito scratches the side of his cheek, his eyes gazing back up at the residence where Michael, your father, and Lorenzo are in a meeting together. “The circumstances now are so different. It’s all in his hands now as Don Corleone. All I can say as I hope he made the right decision.”

It’s as if Alphonse Ricci’s own blood greased the wheels for Michael’s leap to power. All the cogs in the machine worked for Michael’s favor, never against him. Just two days later, Senator Geary’s associates Klingman and Turnbull called Michael as if nothing had happened, simply wanting to congratulate him for his success in gaining ownership of the Tropigala.

The brothel area inside the resort was subsequently shut down, and the hotel began minor renovations and legal changes, all under the name of Michael Corleone. Alphonse was erased from the official records as if he had never existed, and the revenue began to flow like water from a river.

Michael Corleone had now successfully owned the biggest resorts, hotels, and casinos in Nevada, all directly under his grip. With ownership of the Genco Pura Olive Oil Company alongside his father, newspaper businesses in both Nevada and New York, coupled with illegal gambling, stocks in IBN and IT&T, the Corleone family networth easily now boasted of $290 million.

Your villa in Sicily with Michael as well as your mansion in Staten Island both are worth $3 million each, whereas the Lake Tahoe family complex is worth $12 million. Naturally, just as money wields power, the same applies vice versa, and with the gambling, tourism, and hospitality sectors in the hands of the mafia—Michael knows the best person to enter the narcotics trade through with is your father.

While the Ferrari “family business” did a little bit of everything, fraud and narcotics took the cake in terms of the biggest shares of revenue. Guiseppe Ferrari was the first to take advantage of Sollozzo’s death and solidify his reputation and power in the narcotics trade.

The Ferrari family never had to worry about losing important contacts over getting involved with something as notorious and nefarious as narcotics. This had everything to do with the fact that your family’s contacts were all just as corrupt and aware it wasn’t mortality that kept revenue flowing, but omerta—the law of silence.

Money bought loyalty, as it did friends. Everyone made their fair share and more when they came together, and nobody wanted to jeopardize such a delicate situation. Don Ferrari alone had dozens of buffers between him just to get one point across, so even the most damaging betrayal would never directly impact him and would be rooted out and exterminated.

The hit sent after you at Dartmouth may have been the first time you got your hands dirty, but it certainly wasn’t the last—especially when it came to the Ferrari family's long-time rivals and enemy family—the Stracci’s.

“They sent you to confront me?!” The Stracci capo snorted back up the blood dripping from his nose—moments away from death but bold nonetheless.

“Best you stop worrying about who I am and start talking.” You smiled back at him, one hand on your hip and the other moving the chain of the clamps wrapped around his ankles, hoisting him upside and down and directly above the hole to the sewers.

If it wasn’t obvious from the rancid scent and filthy aura of all of New Jersey’s waste mixing down below, it would be the alligators lurking about in the muddy waters—eager for their next meal, and a Stracci capo appears to be on the menu courtesy of you.

“I didn’t… I didn’t even know Ferrari had a daughter!” The capo coughed, hesitating to look down at the pit of alligators beginning to arise through the waters. “What the hell do you want from me, huh?!”

“Start talking, or I start lowering.” You gripped the handle of the crane, glaring back at him. “You know what I’m here for.”

“You’re gonna kill me anyway.” The capo swallowed hard. “Y-you’re the one who killed…you killed—and then you threw them off the—”

“I exercised mercy that one time, but now it’s not just your men on the hit list.” You reached into the fold of where your garter belt ends, and your stockings begin, pulling out a switchblade and springing the blade open—only an inch away from the capos eye. “Start. Talking.”

“Okay, okay!” The capo whined out, “just get that thing away from me—God!”

“Tell me who controls the flow of narcotics through this point. I know one of you bastards runs it—one of you sees everything run through here thick and thin. Give up your interests in keeping this business private, and it’ll be your golden key out of here.” You threaten, “start listing names or I start cutting.”

“G-God, you just did all this to know who runs the port?!” The capo coughed out droplets of blood landing in the sewer water. “It’s me, alright! It’s me! Don Stracci put me in charge of it—my family knows New Jersey like the back of their hand; he said this place was my territory!”

“You ate out of Don Stracci’s hand enough for him to name you as one of his capos. There’s something you’re hiding. Tell me!” You raise your voice, slashing the blade down his chest.

“Oh, God!” The capo howled out in pain, struggling against the chains. “I told you everything I know! I never leave the ports! I was paid to smuggle the drugs from Manhattan, not ask questions!”

“Wrong answer.” You pointed the switchblade directly at his eye. “Maybe I’ll start here as an early reminder of your death—you’ll never see the light of day again, let alone the precious ‘cargo’ you smuggle here on the daily.”

“You want answers; talk to Barzini about it! He’s been investing here too!” The capo panted, blood beginning to soak through his muddy dress shirt. “Who do you think controls Manhattan’s docks? The Godfather allows it!”

“The Godfather isn’t involved in drugs.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Oh, but they will be once they hear the Ferrari’s are comin’ for a whiff…that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” The capo swallowed hard. “God, you’re not going to kill me, are you?”

You tilted the capo’s face back to meet yours, smiling back at him innocently. “It’s just business. It’s nothing personal. Don Ferrari wanted me to send you his regards.” You slashed at the ropes binding the Stracci capos feet, watching as he plunged down into the sewers and his arms into the mouth of an alligator.

Without even a second thought, you rolled the cylindrical sewer gate back down to the hole, muffling out most of the capos screams of agony. You flicked your knife swiftly towards the water of the docks, watching the blood splatter and fade into the water before slipping the switchblade into your purse.

Michael, just like Vito, has always been well aware of your father’s efforts, and the history of your family is not just the drug trade but also the mafia. As much respect and love as Michael have for his father-in-law, he’s also aware now more than ever that betrayals rarely ever come from strangers or the friends of enemies. Rather, they come from your own family.

Alert, calculated, and cunning rather than paranoid, Michael knows he’d rather be one step ahead of Don Ferrari should his narcissistic son, Lorenzo, succeed him or otherwise. A necessary evil and a personal desire for the Corleone “family business,” Michael purposefully keeps you in the dark about his entrance into the narcotics trade now.

Michael has his own reasons why he hasn’t told you, nor is he planning to. Not only does he have the opportunity to do more business with your father, but he knows Lorenzo will not stand for another power imbalance in the future when he succeeds his father, whereas all Michael wants to do is overpower him.

The very meeting is set behind your back; no advice is needed, and nothing is given away. It remains to be a private business meeting between Don Ferrari, his future successor, and Don Corleone alone.

Lorenzo sits in an armchair next to his father, running his fingertips along with the buttons of his double-breasted suit jacket. Forced to hide the look of amusement on his face as his father and Michael make an official truce and business deal with the Ferrari family’s narcotics trade, he largely remains quiet but listens intently.

Lorenzo’s been keeping up the rather quiet and almost embarrassed about what he said to Michael during the attempted assassination since Michael’s birthday three months ago. He had no trust or faith in Michael and expected him to return back to Lake Tahoe from Havana with nothing but a cocktail in his hands.

He didn’t think Michael would solidify his suspicions of the traitor amongst the family or have Alphonse Ricci killed—let alone do both altogether. It impressed Lorenzo, but it also humbled him. He knows better now in the sense that if he opposes Michael in anything, he’s alone. And as Don Ferrari’s successor but not the actual Don, he has no power in his words or his threats.

While Michael has gained power, respect, and wealth in a short span of three months onto the success he’s already had for the past five years, Lorenzo has only grown even more sick and tired of Don Corleone. For the sake of you—his sister—he keeps his temper in check. After all, Michael is not only your husband but the father to the twins, to whom Lorenzo is an uncle.

Regardless of how composed and quiet Lorenzo’s disposition may remain, he’s the only one in the room who knows Michael strictly spoke of not getting involved in narcotics since they met and grows even further irritated at the sudden change of heart.

You and Michael had explicitly spoken of the matter between yourselves, and Michael had agreed then that not only was he impressed by how the Ferrari crime family controlled all major drug trading ports and traffic, but that he’d leave narcotics to the Ferrari’s and the Ferrari’s alone.

He never spoke of getting involved in the future, and much had to do with power dynamics and respect. Michael knows the Ferrari family's revenue and reputation-wise remains more powerful than the Corleone’s because of their involvement in narcotics. It’s a fact you’re very much so aware of yourself too.

The point of your marriage to Michael was to balance out the obvious power imbalance to prevent further bloodshed and war after the Five Families’ war since Virgil Sollozzo’s death. Of course, just because Michael decides to get involved in the narcotics trade doesn’t mean the power roles are reversed, and Don Ferrari is more than happy to ally himself with America’s most influential mob boss.

What neither you nor your father knows is that Michael won’t stop there. He doesn’t seek just a truce or full allyship when it comes to a messy ordeal such as narcotics. He wants full control and power over it, crushing any opposition, including the Ferrari family, at any cost.

It’s a planned repeat of the way Michael destroyed the Barzini family’s chances at ever getting involved with the tourism, entertainment, and hospitality sectors. Moe Greene was killed, loose ends were tied, and they were outcast from the prospect of ever getting involved.

If Michael can solidify his control and rule of the narcotics trade in Nevada, he can easily do the same in New Jersey and subsequently take control of New York. All he’d have to do is patiently wait for your father to pass away, and during Lorenzo’s transition as Don, he’d strike.

The Corleone family would simply never be “second best.” If there’s a power imbalance, Michael wants it to be because the Corleone’s are overbearing—not the Ferrari’s.

From a business meeting and friendly conversation of allyship alone, such true intentions aren’t revealed or obvious, but Lorenzo has always been a pessimist. He’s been one step ahead of all when it comes to strategic planning and moves, and he knows Michael is doing this selfishly for himself and the Corleone family. He’s not considering you or your family, nor the damage it will do to the Ferrari family’s reputation and contacts.

It may be a non-lethal approach for Lorenzo to strike at, but he knows he’ll be more than content if Don Corleone is aware that Lorenzo knows what he’s planning and that he’ll be strictly opposed to it every step of the way.

“Somehow, I knew this day would come, hmm?” Don Ferrari smiles, tracing his finger alongside the armrest of his chair. “And I knew then that I would eagerly welcome you into my world of business, Michael. This is what we Ferrari’s do best. Once you don’t get morality mixed up in the thick of your work, everything clicks together like clockwork.”

“You’re a wise man, Don Ferrari.” Michael gives him a small nod back, beginning to rise to his feet. “I have much to learn from you.”

“And I have learned much from you in the time we’ve gotten to know one another.” Don Ferrari rises to his feet alongside Lorenzo, smoothening out his suit. “I always knew then you would make me proud. My faith in you was never mistrusted.”

“Thank you, Don Ferrari.” A faint smile forms over Michael’s lips as he extends his hand to shake with his over his office table.

Don Ferrari returns the warm smile, shaking Michael’s hand firmly. “Clemenza and I will take some of his best men to the docks in New Jersey, where they’ll meet some of my finest business partners. Rest assured, all of this will stay private and anonymous, but you can expect your first share of the revenue next month. I congratulate you once again.”

“Thank you. I greatly appreciate this, and I look forward to working with you and your family in the future.” Michael replies, redirecting his attention to Lorenzo.

Lorenzo, forcing a polite smile and remaining professional, also extends his hand to Michael. “Congratulations, Don Corleone. I understand you’re a respectable businessman, and I look forward to working with you as well under my father’s mentorship.”

“Even after I’m long gone,” Don Ferrari glances at the two, “we must keep the peace between our families, for the sake of our children, for the prosperity of business and succession. The cost will be too great to afford a mob war between the two of us, should there be another crime family wanting to mingle in-between or offer allyship to one another. This is what Vito and I wanted for our families.”

“I agree, father.” Lorenzo nods.

“Of course.” Michael answers.

“I have no doubt the narcotics trade in Nevada will be in the palm of your hands by the end of the year, Don Corleone, but,” a playful smirk forms on Lorenzo’s lips, “always remember the Ferrari families runs it in New York. Just ask Victoria if you have any doubt.”

Michael’s amused to hear Victoria’s name, knowing he has no intentions whatsoever to tell Victoria of any of the proceedings and business deals made in this room today between your father and brother.

Whether either of them decides to keep the peace or not is utterly unimportant to Michael. The succession and power of the Corleone family is the only thing that matters. Michael barely regards you like a Ferrari anymore as is.

“I’ve heard whispers of Paul Fortunato’s desires to expand his drug trade further here myself, and I’m no fool to refuse the idea that Mario Stracci is backing him up.” Don Ferrari lets out a little sigh. “He remains nothing but a nuisance, but one that needs to be weeded out immediately. If Fortunato allies with the Stracci family and sees the Corleone’s entering the drug trade, that will guarantee a mob war. Just as he’s outlived his usefulness, Don Corleone can make do with his place.”

Naturally, as you’ve always supported Michael’s business endeavors and all he’s wanted to do for the “family business”—especially in illicit affairs—you would have no problem with his entry into the narcotics trade if he was upfront about it and told you. If it comes to Michael making enemies on behalf of your family, that may result in more than just a little problem.

It’s nothing something Michael wouldn’t consider either. As long as their not enemies of the Corleone family, Michael could care less who carries the blame.

It almost seems hypocritical to say as Michael himself was against joining narcotics up until Christmas of 1954 when it was quite literally being discussed at the dinner table. Your brothers got an earful of a lecture after that—unaware that the Corleone family doesn’t discuss business at the table as the Ferrari’s do because, quite literally, everyone in the family is involved in the “business.”

“When will the hit be placed?” Michael crosses his arms.

“Next week. Long Island.” Don Ferrari replies. “My men tell me they’ve been meeting at a local motel on the outskirts of town. Once he’s out of the way, you can secure the distribution here.” He gestures towards the door. “I’ll have Leonardo contact Clemenza right away, Lorenzo—”

“Father, if I may,” Lorenzo interrupts, glancing back at Michael. “I’d like a private word with Don Corleone myself.”

“Certainly.” Don Ferrari smiles back at the two. “Be seeing you, Michael.”

“I look forward to it.” Michael gives Don Ferrari a stiff nod, watching him leave the office and quietly close the door behind him.

Michael redirects his gaze to Lorenzo, who waits a moment longer to hear the footsteps of his father distance further from the office. Once he can hardly hear them, Lorenzo lets out a sigh of annoyance, crossing his arms and facing Michael. “Well done. Well played. I should have expected this from you.”

“Yes, you should have.” Michael smoothens out his mohair, black suit.

“Any reason why you aren’t telling my sister any of this?” Lorenzo raises his brows.

“Surely you don’t need me to answer that for you,” Michael says back.

“You’re keeping my sister in the dark about—” Lorenzo begins.

“Something that doesn’t concern her.” Michael interrupts, his stern, cold eyes gazing back at Lorenzo as he straightens out his suit jacket. “It’s strictly business, Lorenzo. Nothing personal. I don’t see a reason why Victoria needs to be involved.”

“She’ll find out one way or another.” Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “You may find she’s upset her husband hasn’t been transparent about her when it comes to entering the drug trade, against her wishes.”

“Then when she does find out, she can talk to me about it,” Michael replies plainly. “Considering you’re going to tell her, aren’t you?”

“I think me telling her is the least of your concerns.” Lorenzo scoffs, leaning against the side of Michael’s office desk. “So you spent almost four years talking about how you’d never enter the drug trade, convincing her of it only to do so now? And then hold such information back from her? It’s the same as lying. Do you honestly not see a problem with that?”

“No, because as I said, it doesn’t concern her.” Michael deflects again. “As a matter of fact, it rarely concerns you either for the time being. Your father is still Don, and you haven’t succeeded him. I don’t suppose you’d care to explain to him that you oppose me.”

“Oppose you?” Lorenzo knits his brows. “This has nothing to do with business; it’s personal. You’re married to my sister. You’re the father of her children.” Lorenzo turns to face Michael directly, scowling. “There’s no way in hell you’re simply going to use this opportunity as a side business. You’re going to take it over entirely, as you always do. You don’t need me to tell you what’s wrong with what you’re doing, right?”

“No, you’re right. I don’t need you to.” Michael pulls out his cigarette pack from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, taking a cigarette out. “It’s strictly business to me. This has nothing to do with my personal life or my family. It doesn’t concern them, nor will it affect them.”

“I guess you’re right.” Lorenzo adds sarcastically, “why do you need to listen to me about it, right? After all, if something goes wrong, you could always replace her.”

Michael places his cigarette in the center of his mouth, taking out his lighter and beginning to light it as he keeps his eyes on Lorenzo. Largely unaffected by any of his comments, Michael waits for him to elaborate.

“Leading young women to an early demise or hanging on a thread of lies only to replace them with another twice their worth, isn’t that right?” Lorenzo picks up the framed portrait of you upon Michael’s desk, glancing at it. “You might as well keep your word to her if that’s so much to ask for. I’m thinking of her when it comes to all of this, not you. I know this isn’t something she wants—”

“That doesn’t concern me in the slightest. Victoria knows about my business, and she knows not to get involved.” Michael narrows his eyes at Lorenzo. “Whatever else you’re suggesting is obscene.”

“Right.” Lorenzo rolls his eyes, putting the portrait down. “I guess your first wife just died of natural causes then, right? Or was it something else?” He makes direct eye contact with Michael. “Can’t remedy that with diamonds and yachts, can you? I’m going to be honest with you, Michael. I don’t like you. I never have, and I never will.”

“Glad to see the feeling is mutual.” Michael takes a step towards Lorenzo, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. “This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had more than a mouthful to say about me. Is there anything else I should know, or is it a repeat?”

“You think this is funny?” A frustrated smile grows on Lorenzo’s face.

“Go ahead.” Michael doesn’t answer his rhetorical question, now directly standing face to face with Lorenzo. “Get it all off your chest.”

Lorenzo grits his teeth. “Believe me when I say keeping peaceful relations with your family is of the utmost importance to me strictly because of business, not because of my sister or my niece and nephew, and certainly not because of you.”

“Don Corleone?” A muffled voice interrupts out from behind the door as Al Neri knocks on it. “Mrs. Corleone’s carpool has arrived. She’s just entered the residence now.”

“That’ll be all, Al,” Michael calls back, dismissing him but still keeping his burning gaze over Lorenzo’s.

Lorenzo upholds eye contact back with Michael as Michael takes a step past him, standing to his side as he speaks out in a calm voice, “I understand you and Victoria have always been close. She speaks fondly of you as her brother, as do my children. I know you just as well as I need to, but I never consider you a brother of mine. Regardless of whether you’re a part of our family or not, never get involved in my marriage or take sides against me again.”

With the children out in Reno with their aunts Connie, Sandra, and Theresa for the day, you let out a sigh of relief as you shrug off your blazer jacket the moment you enter your residence. You hang up your blazer over the coat hook before unbuttoning two buttons of your blouse and running a hand through your hair, tousling it past your shoulder.

Having finished an early morning preliminary hearing, the rest of the day and weekend is yours to relax and unwind. Add another three months, and you know you’ll be taking maternity leave once again, now that a little baby bump—just barely visible is growing.

You give your little barely-there bump a rub, bringing a smile to your lips as your pregnancy so far has gone with little to no morning sickness. It’s been a little inside joke of yours and Michaels to hope for another set of twins, but you’re excited nonetheless to meet the little one joining the family soon enough.

You head off towards the kitchen, fixing yourself a glass of water from the sink as you mentally plan out that you’ll be preparing eggplant caponata—one of Michael’s favorite vegetable dishes and lately one to satisfy your pregnancy craving of greens.

Preparing it into a hearty stew with celery, tomatoes, and onions, then adding olives, raisins, capers, and pinenuts with a dash of sweetened vinegar to give a tangy taste you’re planning on pairing it with involtini di Pesce Spada—baked swordfish rolls.

Setting your glass in the sink, you pause for a moment to hear the sound of the front door opening and shutting back quietly. From the sound and rhythm of the distant footsteps, you already know they belong to Michael.

Almost instantly, you feel butterflies pull in your gut, and your cheeks begin to flare pink from blush. You haven’t even seen him yet but knowing his presence is near is just enough for your heart rate to begin pounding in your chest again.

You make your way back to the living room, peeking out at Michael, who steps towards the windows—hair heavily gelled with his hands in his pockets. Looking out the blinds momentarily, Michael continues finishing the last of his cigarette before you fully enter the room—catching his attention.

“Welcome back, mio amore.” You blush, taking a few steps towards him.

“I should be saying that to you.” Michael puts out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, quick to shut the blinds. “How was everything today?”

“Same as ever.” You chuckle, running your hands down from his shoulders to his chest—feeling at the silk of his suit. “I’m preparing for a big trial in a couple of weeks.”

“Why you continue to work is beyond me,” Michael murmurs, leaning in and pecking a kiss on your lips. “You know you have everything here.”

“Only when you’re not home, and the twins are in study, I don’t.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he pulls you into an embrace by your hips. “I should just sit at home all day?”

“You can do anything you want all day.” Michael tilts your chin up to face him gently.

“I’m working for my father now.” You smile back at him shyly, “nothing I haven’t done before, but I certainly don’t miss the variety of cases. Just mobsters who got careless or hired petty criminals to do another capo's dirty work.”

“And you just make them disappear.” Michael pushes aside a curtain of your hair behind your ear.

“I make sure the law deals with them once they’re out of my hands at the courts. And now you know why all the judges and lawyers are in my father’s payroll.” You gaze back up at him, barely able to hold eye contact from how severely attracted you find yourself to him—almost growing completely shy.

“Judge DeMalco had much to say about your career at Foley Square. Consider working for me, then.”

“I couldn’t do that to Tom, could I?” You give out a little laugh, beginning to walk with him to the bedroom. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“Maybe.” Michael glances back at you, closing the bedroom door behind the two of you. “I think the two of you would do just fine. Defense law has always been Tom’s sort of thing, but you’re on the offensive, always. Why wouldn’t I want you? There are a million reasons why.”

“Want me.” You repeat, blushing deeply. “Why do I feel like that isn’t just related to my career in law?”

“Same reason why you’ve been clenching your legs this entire time,” Michael replies, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

You flush red in embarrassment, attempting to relax your muscles, but the weakness in your knees mixed with arousal and the butterflies in your gut doesn’t let you—certainly not around him.

“Just another reason why you decided to take the weekend off, isn’t that right?” Michael lowers his tone, standing in front of you by the door as he leans a hand against it. Michael takes his free hand and grazes his thumb around the corners of your lips.

Your breath hitches at Michael’s touch as you look back up at him—your shyness taking over you entirely as you give in. Knowing now he’s practically teasing you, the sound of Michael’s low, velvety voice is like music to your ears with the way he’s talking to you about your own arousal.

You open your mouth to speak but find yourself silenced with Michael’s finger trailing down your bottom lip—his eyes darkening. “I knew it the moment you walked into the room. You always give it away, don’t you?”

You can practically feel your cheeks stinging with blush, but you’re unable to deny what he’s saying.

“I didn’t do anything to you, Victoria.” Michael points out, “yet you’ve already made a mess of yourself, haven’t you?”

“N-no,” you answer back, swearing to yourself that the room has just gotten ten degrees hotter. “I just—”

“So if I ask you to show me, there isn’t going to be anything. Isn’t that right?” Michael leans in closer to you, his lips only a few inches from yours.

“You’re teasing me.” You blush furiously, embarrassed all the more now that Michael’s able to notice your arousal that fast.

Just as it had been with your first pregnancy with the twins, your libido begins to increase again late in your first trimester, and at a no small increase in that.

With an increased sex drive you wish you could ignore around Michael of all things, you find yourself much more easily aroused and wet, as well as with a hypersensitive clit from the blood flow.

Michael’s hand brushed against your inner thighs early this morning, causing you to actually awaken from the sudden jolt of arousal rushing through you.

Peeking back over your shoulder to see him half-naked and peacefully sleeping with the blankets barely covering his manhood certainly didn’t help either.

While your sex life with Michael has always been consistent, healthy, and extremely pleasurable from the way the two of you have practically memorized each other’s bodies, sex while you’re pregnant is almost one of the best kinds of sex you know you can have.

The increased sensitivity and sex drive is pinnacle to the extra pressure of pleasure you feel, and if anything, you both find yourselves having more sex than usual as Michael genuinely stops for your comfort and safety by the six- and seven-month mark.

Of course, the kind of sex the two of you have after you’ve given birth and recovered well from it is entirely something else. Michael’s wasted no time knowing this himself, and before your pregnancy going a long round or two a night—thirty minutes or so each—Michael knows now he’s not going to have you as often as he wants later on in your pregnancy.

Now going to four to five rounds a night and without any protection at that, the two of you gladly spend hours feverishly making love and fucking. Michael’s noticed your severe arousal, and in return, he’s been turned on from it himself.

Even if Michael knows he may not have much free time during a busy day filled with business meetings and calls, knowing you’re practically writhing from heavy arousal over the bed and consistently telling Al Neri to let Michael know you “want to see him” has resulted in Michael in making extra time throughout the day just to tease and please you.

“Be a good girl and show me.” Michael lowers his tone to a husky whisper, taking a step back from you.

Completely flustered and embarrassed, you clench your legs yet again—unable to ignore the wet patch growing in your panties.

You watch as Michael takes a seat over the armchairs, looking back at you with anticipation as he leans back. “Do I need to repeat myself? Come here.”

You take a step forward, but Michael gazes back at you unamused as he raises his hand to stop you, narrowing his eyes. “On your knees.”

With your knees feeling weak as your arousal continues to grow and tugs at you, you bite down on your lip and do as he says—slowly getting down on your knees.

His teasing and insistence doesn’t help as he beckons for you to crawl over to him, gesturing to his lap.

Though when it’s always come to Michael, you easily submit and want nothing more than to do so. His demanding nature and domineering disposition are more than enough for you to want to give into him—to give him anything he wants.

Now more than ever, it’s not in you to resist or tease back as your arousal practically gnaws at you, and you can feel the trickle of your warm wetness oozing onto your panties—making the wet patch grow even further.

You crawl over to him, both turned on and embarrassed by the notion, but all you can think of is eagerly straddling his lap and riding his cock for as long and hard as you can possibly take—wanting nothing more.

With your face flushed scarlet and your heart pounding in your chest from excitement, you can almost hear your pussy sloshing between your thighs with every move—sticking to your panties and threatening to soak through the fabric of your skirt as you approach Michael directly.

Your eyes dart down to Michael’s crotch as you place a manicured hand over his knee, only for him to grab at your wrist and lean down, pulling you up to him. “I don’t think so..”

You gasp, feeling his strong grip pull you up to his lap as his hands slide down from your arms to your hips, pushing them down to sit directly onto the noticeable bulge of his erection.

“Show me.” Michael gazes back at you, giving your hips a squeeze.

Oh God, is all you can think to yourself. Flustered, embarrassed, shy and aroused all at once, you pull up your pencil skirt from your knees and scrunch the fabric up in your hands until you raise them up to your hips, revealing your white, lacy panties completely soaked through.

“Just nothing, is that it?” You swear a faint smirk just crossed Michael’s lips as he looks from your panties back at you.

Your eyes widen as Michael slips a finger through the band of your panties, moving it aside as he presses his mouth onto your pussy, beginning to slobber all of your lips. “Oh!” A filthy, loud moan escapes your mouth as you clutch onto Michael’s shoulders, barely able to keep your own balance.

Michael ignores your every cry and moan, flickering his tongue around your clit and over your pussy like a man starved.

In an instant, your orgasm begins to build perfectly as Michael keeps his tongues rhythm over your clit, applying just the perfect amount of pressure to bring you a sensation of heavenly pleasure.

“Yes, Michael, yes!” You roll your eyes back with a groan, instinctively bucking your hips up to his face as he holds your hips upward—eating you out at a direct angle.

With Michael’s face buried in your pussy, you struggle to keep quiet—letting whines and whimpers spill through as you can hear him suckling and licking you over and over again.

“M-more, more…!” Obsessed with the taste of your sweetness, Michael purposefully circles his tongue over your clit in hazy circles—already seeing how enlarged it’s grown from arousal and blood flow.

Pressing his mouth down again, Michael sucks on your clit deeply. He redirects his attention solely there, watching as your hips begin to quiver uncontrollably.

Your moans become breathy and rapidly increase, growing louder as he senses you’re able to climb your orgasm.

Just as you’re seconds away from an incredible orgasm about to unwind through you, Michael abruptly pulls away and forces your stomach down over his knees.

“Michael, please—” You whine loudly, feeling your orgasm dwindle and your clit almost aching, begging for more.

Michael licks over his lips, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tilting your head back roughly as he whispers in your ear, “needy, are we? Practically dripping in my mouth.”

You clutch onto the armrest of Michael’s seat as your heels loosely dangle off your ankles, falling to the mahogany floors. “Y-you’re teasing me… Just doing this to get a reaction out of me.”

“If I was, I’d have you crawling and begging for me on your knees.” Michael pushes your head back down. “This is what you want, isn’t it? Tell me.”

“You can do anything you want to me, Don Corleone,” you whine out softly.

“Good girl,” Michael murmurs, pulling your skirt up to your stomach as he slowly begins to inch off your panties down your ass.

Pressing your lips down together not to make a sound, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment as you feel more of your wetness begin to trickle out.

Michael notices a string of your dewiness parting from your pussy lips to your panties as he pulls them down to your ankles and off your feet. “You’re a dripping mess…”

You nibble down on your bottom lip, spreading your legs as much as you can over Michael’s lap as you can already feel yourself dripping onto his trousers—only continuing to prove him right.

Michael pulls you up onto his lap, so you face him directly, making you wrap your thighs around his waist.

“The next time you want to beg for me like a whore, you’ll do so here, do you understand?” Michael spreads your pussy with two fingers, beginning to circle his thumb painfully slowly over your clit.

“Y-yes—” You begin, moaning through your words—both eager to keep eye contact with him, all while flustered and shy at the same time.

“Lingering outside of my office, waiting for me. Impatient, insistent…” Michael pulls his thumb back, licking it off.

Just the sight of him placing his finger between those full lips and licking off your wetness is enough to simply drive you crazy.

You don’t wait any longer, unable to take anymore as you quickly learn in, cupping Michael’s face in your hands and crushing your lips against his.

More so eager to match your desire than surprised, Michael kisses you back hungrily as you moan into his mouth.

With one hand over your throat and the other wrapped around your waist as Michael’s kiss grows more forceful, you can practically feel your clit throbbing as it comes into contact with the fabric of his trousers where his erection tents up.

Michael momentarily pulls away from the kiss, parting his lips with yours. He cups your face with one hand, giving it a squeeze as he gazes back in amusement at your flustered and utterly aroused state.

Michael places both hands on your thighs wrapped around him securely, quick to take you over to the bed and flip you down to lay on your stomach. He peels your blouse off of you, snapping open the hook of your bra with enough force to break it before adding them to the pile of clothes by the bed.

You let out a soft whimper, pressing your bare breasts against the covers and letting Michael do anything he wants to you as you feel his hand tugging through a handful of your hair.

“You’re going to bear my child again…” Michael brushes your hair aside from your shoulder, planting a soft kiss over the nape of your neck that causes you to shiver. “And again,” Michael trails the tip of his Roman nose down your back and to your waist slowly—pressing his hot lips over your skin, again and again, leaving tiny kisses.

“Yes, baby…” You bite down on the corner of your lip, feeling sparks of pleasure go through you as he reaches the band of your pencil skirt.

Michael grips it with his teeth, beginning to peel it off of you as he places both of his hands on the back of your inner thighs, holding you down.

Feeling Michael tug off your skirt past your legs and to the floor, you let out a soft moan to feel his sloppy trail of kisses continue up your back, massaging your sides as he goes. “God, you’re so perfect…”

The cool sensation of his gold wedding band against your skin only adds to the sensation of pleasure flowing through you. “You know I’m insatiable when it comes to you, but we don’t always get what we want.”

Gripping both sides of your hips, Michael flips you over on your back, hovering above you. Michael grunts as he unbuckles his belt and lets his erect cock spring free—the tip oozing with precum.

You pout back at him, noticing he’s still fully clothed before your eyes widen. “You’re going to tease me like this?”

“I’m punishing you. Look at yourself… You can barely stay still from how badly you want this. You’re touch starved. I’m not going to let you feel me—I’m simply going to give you what you want and only that, release.”

“I want you.” You breathe out shakily, tugging on his tie as he slicks the shaft of his cock over your soaked pussy.

“You’ll have to beg a lot louder than that, darling.” Michael spreads your legs open as wide as you can and begins to rub his thumbs over the inner crease of your thighs. “You’ll take what you can get, won’t you? Unless?” He strokes his cock, beginning to pull away from you.

“No!” You whine out, grasping at his arm. “Please… Please just fuck me already—”

“Have some dignity.” Michael tilts your chin down to face him, squeezing your face and trailing his thumb down your bottom lip. “You beg like a dirty whore.”

Only continuing to be turned on by Michael’s dirty talk, you give him a little nod—now more than eager to have all of him, clothed or not. “Yes, sir.”

Touch starved as you are already, knowing Michael’s denying you that as a form of punishment for consistently lingering around his office, almost interrupting, just waiting to see him, and then being disciplined like this is something else.

Michael keeps his grip over your chin, sliding his hand down to grip at the sides of your throat—only applying a perfect amount of pressure, not cutting off your air supply.

His eyes flicker from yours down to your pussy as he angles his hips, stroking his cock with his free hand as his precum begins to drip down his shaft. Michael locks eye contact with you, raising your thighs upward and placing your ankles over his shoulders as he begins to slowly thrust inside of you.

You moan loudly, feeling all of Michael’s length enter inside of you, pushing through. Michael’s eyes widen a little in surprise as he lets a soft moan escape his lips, gripping onto your thighs. “Fuck—you’re so wet, you know that?”

You grin back at Michael weakly, dazed in a state of pleasure as you push your hips back towards his.

You know for one that you’ve never had any troubles becoming heavily aroused when it comes to Michael. The yearning, the sexual desire, and pent-up frustration are something else entirely, even if he’s just in your presence. Your deep physical attraction to him and his sex appeal for one is enough. The two of you have never been able to get your hands off of each other—nor do either of you want to.

Michael grunts, inhaling sharply as he begins to thrust in and out of you—toying with your clit with his free hand. All you can hear is the sloppiness of his cock, now entirely soaked by your wetness, slicking in and out of you with ease.

“Oh fuck,” you hear Michael moan again as if the first time wasn’t a rarity.

He grips the bed sheets with both hands to each of your sides, leaning in closer until your thighs are pressing against his chest.

“Michael!” Moaning as loud as ever, you feel both sexual frustration and the relief of pleasure as Michael’s silk suits rubs up against your hardened nipples.

Every inch of your body craves his hot skin over yours—an intimate feeling now warded off by the friction of his suit instead.

“Harder…?” The tip of Michael’s silk tie brushes against the skin in-between your breasts, coming into contact with your hardened nipples as Michael picks up his pace—now slamming inside of you.

“Y—yes!” You dig your nails into the shoulders of his silk suit, unable to stop the soft moans spilling out of your mouth with each and every heavenly thrust.

Michael easily hits all your weak spots, rocking your body over the bed as he watches you take all eight inches of his cock in steadily.

The feeling of the fabric of Michael’s clothing continuing to rub against you instead of his skin is almost driving you mad—teasing nonetheless but a punishment you didn’t expect.

It makes you crave him even more, as all you want to do is push him to the bed and strip him down—take him inside of you again and again.

“Fuck, fuck,” Michael hisses out quietly, popping his forefingers into his mouth to lubricate them before rubbing over your hypersensitive clit—causing you to gasp out in pleasure.

“Baby, please. Please, please,” you whine out, tugging on the collar of his dress shirt, but Michael doesn’t budge.

“A slut like you doesn’t deserve it.” He grips your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head as he continues to thrust in and out of you—dipping his cock in and out almost entirely to make you feel all of him.

Strands of Michael’s hair loosen from the friction and pace of his thrusting. Michael gazes down at you—eyes filled with heated intensity as the two of you breathe heavily against each other.

Just as you’re about to lean up to kiss him, you tilt your head back and let out a breathy, loud moan—immediately feeling your thighs quivering around him. “M-Michael—oh, fuck!”

In an instant, Michael jerks his hips up to angle his cock towards your G-spot, thrusting at it repeatedly while reaching his climax at the same time.

Your orgasm unwinds almost immediately; coaxed out by him, you shakily groan, clutching onto him tightly as the intense wave of pleasure washes over you. Michael cums deep inside of you, burying his cock fully inside of your pussy as he shoots spurt after spurt of his seed.

Your eyelids flutter shut as you roll your eyes back, feeling the orgasm in every inch of your body as your toes curl in response alongside the sensation of Michael’s cum flowing inside you.

“O-Oh—” The warm wetness of your arousal between your legs only increases as you lazily glance back down at Michael’s trousers, noticing you’ve completely soaked through the front.

You notice Michael’s bottom lip slightly tremble from the intense orgasm hitting over both of you as he lets out a breathy chuckle. A quick and fuck and release is different from how long you’re used to having him night after night.

Michael notices the playful look in your eyes, caressing the corner of your mouth with his thumb as he lets out a grunt—slowly pulling out of you.

You look up at Michael, who breathes heavily, regaining his breath from his orgasm as amusement twinkles in his eyes, seeing his cum beginning to ooze out of you. The sight of you filled with his seed is one he’ll never tire of seeing.

“Not only do you act like a whore, but you look like one now too, don’t you?” Michael gazes back at you, giving your ass a slap.

“You have to go again…?” You giggle out.

“I shouldn’t even be here, and you know that.” Michael glances down at his soaked trousers, shooting you a look of amusement.

“I could have just come by the office like I wanted to.” You blush deeply out of embarrassment, barely able to clench your legs together from how shaky they feel.

“You’ll think twice before you disobey me next time.” Michael gets off the bed, pulling off his trousers soaked in your cum. “If I wanted to fuck you in my office, I would have.”

You grin to yourself, pulling the covers over you, “think your next business meeting will have you back in time for dinner tonight?”

You watch both eagerly and in surprise to see Michael actually stripping down instead of getting changed—throwing his trousers with his briefs and unbuttoning down his dress shirt. “Nothing is scheduled for the time being—so they can wait as long as they need to.”

“What happened to ‘I shouldn’t be here?” You grin back at him, kneeling up over the bed. “Can’t get enough of me, Don Corleone?”

“With you looking like this?” Michael’s eyes dart over your body in temptation. “Come here, baby.”

You squeal as Michael pins you down upon the bed by your wrists—his dress shirt loosely hanging off his shoulders as your body embraces his.

In an instant, you feel Michael’s lips crush over yours, and you can’t help but smile through it—eager to hungrily kiss him back. “Mm!”

Only Michael could fuck you to have an incredible orgasm in ten minutes for the sake of release and all that pent-up sexual frustration, then make love to you again and again afterward.

You know if it were up to you, you’d never let him leave the bed, and you’d keep him in the bedroom all to yourself if you had the chance.

“Hope you don’t have any other plans for the day,” Michael breathes out, breaking the kiss.

“Not at all,” you moan against his lips, feeling the tip of his cock brushing up against your clit.

“Good…” Michael grazes his tongue over your lips before kissing you deeply again, angling his hips to enter you once more as you clutch your hands onto the fabric of his dress shirt.

With your body still overly sensitive from your last orgasm from mere moments ago and filled with his cum, you shudder in pleasure to feel Michael’s cock entering you again slowly, this time as he holds your body against his lovingly.

A soft moan escapes your lips as you lean your head back against one of the pillows, giving in to your husband’s embrace as he’s eager to make love to you all over again.

[ + 3 Hours ]

With dinner freshly prepared for tonight’s meal and a much-needed hot shower later, the rest of the evening is yours until the twins return from Reno with their aunts and Michael finishes his final meeting securing him officially in the narcotics business—this time with his father and brothers.

Unaware of the meeting going on in the first place as Michael neither gave you a straight answer or much of one when you asked as the two of you lay together after having sex another two times, you remain to be the only one who has no idea of your husband’s newest intentions.

Clueless about such affairs, yet relaxed and still feeling the tender soreness between your legs, you fix yourself up a fruit smoothie to satisfy your pregnancy cravings before snuggling back into bed and turning on the television for background noise.

You set down your smoothie onto the nightstand, pulling open the drawer to take out an Oscar Wilde book you’re halfway through, and place it on your lap. Adjusting the television’s volume just for soft background noise, you pick your smoothie back up in one hand and sip away—completely and utterly relaxed as you get lost within your book.

A dozen pages in and halfway through your smoothie, you peek your head up at the sound of the telephone ringing next to you upon the nightstand. You set your book down and furrow your brows momentarily in confusion, knowing that the only individuals with access to your residence’s telephone number only consist of the family.

Makes sense enough; however, your entire family is at the Lake Tahoe residence as is—why would anyone call you when they could just come by to see you? Answering the question yourself, you pick up the telephone and hold it up to your ear, speaking out, “hello?”

“Victoria.” Lorenzo’s voice rings out with an unusual, almost sarcastic tone of enthusiasm. “It’s me, little sis. I’m guessing you’re at home?”

“Of course.” You answer back, still confused. “Are you not?”

Lorenzo scoffs. “No. I’m in Reno, and I’ll be picking up the kids shortly. I thought some congratulations were in order for you, so I’m here celebrating with an early evening drink first.”

“Congratulations?” You ask. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Lorenzo chuckles over the line. “I guess I have to say I’m not surprised nobody told you. That husband of yours that spent years talking about how his family never got involved in narcotics and how he wouldn’t see a need to? That it was all good with the olive oil business, gambling, and whatnot? Yeah—a little overambitious if you ask me, but he’s securing his own reign of control with the powder. Just ask father. They made a deal earlier today. The docks at New Jersey practically have ‘Corleone’ written all over them, all in agreement.”

“What?” Your eyes widen as you almost spill your smoothie onto your lap, barely holding onto the glass as is. “When the hell did any of this happen? He made a deal with father? Nobody told me, I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” Lorenzo sarcastically sing-songs back. “And now you get to play the part of the gullible last person to figure it out. A heads up would have been nice, you know? I know Michael doesn’t trust me, but I thought he would have at least talked to you. You know father won’t tell him ‘no,’ right?”

“I don’t understand.” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Michael said he was never going to get involved in narcotics. He left it to our family—he said he’d never interfere. Why would he do such a thing?”

“I was hoping you could answer that for me,” Lorenzo grumbles out in frustration. “If he didn’t tell you of all people a damn thing…”

“Lorenzo, wait.” You bite down on the corner of your bottom lip. “Michael had mentioned this during Christmas—I mean you were all talking about it, and if father is trusting him to enter the trade within our family name, then what exactly is so wrong—”

“Are you seriously that naïve, Victoria?” Lorenzo hisses back at you, catching you by surprise at how nasty his tone of voice twists to. “He’s taking advantage of us, and you’re still making excuses for him? What the hell does the ‘most powerful mobster in the country need with narcotics? He crushed Barzini and Tattaglia in gambling, the hotels, and the resorts—Alphonse Ricci is dead for fucks sake because he refused Michael the Tropigala—do you honestly not see a pattern here?!”

“You’re talking like he threatened father to do it.” You scoff back in disbelief, “why are you blowing this out of proportion? You know the Ferrari’s and Corleone’s have been allied for years. We’re basically working together—”

“And that’s what Vito Corleone said during the Five Families’ War, and then his little war hero son took over, and what happened? No promises were broken on Vito’s behalf, but Michael sure as hell killed everyone that attended the meeting during your goddamn honeymoon, didn’t he? Don’t you get it? This family peace was Vito’s promise, not Michael’s.”

You press your lips against each other, remaining silent in a dazed state of shock as Lorenzo continues talking. “I had a talk with him myself just as he finished meeting with our father. You know damn well he’s not going to stop at Nevada and New Jersey. He feels like he’s fucking unstoppable. Once word gets out the other families, they’re practically going to beg him not to get involved in prostitution—that’s the only thing he hasn’t touched.”

You shake your head, “he knows father controls the docks and smuggling points. He doesn’t have any power over other states. The Stracci’s were running New Jersey themselves for a—”

“He’s going to get rid of them.” Lorenzo cuts you off. “He’s not risking anything. He’s going to have Stracci’s men killed and secure the port for himself. What’s standing in his way after that? Us. All of the crime families know the Ferrari’s run narcotics in this country. When did that ever stop Michael Corleone? You saw what he did to Barzini with the hotels—the resorts, the casinos. He had fucking Moe Greene killed for refusing to sell just like Alphonse Ricci. Once father steps down, and I’m in, he’ll make his move. If negotiations don’t move the way Michael Corleone wants them to, the next time he comes to talk to me, it’s going to be with a fucking gun to my head.”

“Lorenzo—”

“I know he will, and let me tell you this—I don’t fucking care if he's your husband, he’s not taking control of the ports, and he sure as hell isn’t getting into New York!” Lorenzo shouts back.

“Lorenzo, what the hell?!” You exclaim out. “Nobody even told me any of this! I’m completely in the dark! What are you going on about?! Are you seriously accusing Michael of planning to betray father—”

“Yes.” Lorenzo answers sharply, “and you’re a smart girl if you can see that much. Isn’t it just like him not to tell you?”

You remain silent, clutching the telephone so harshly your knuckles turn white as you find yourself at a loss for words. 'Why would he even want to hide something like this from me in the first place?'

“He knows you’d never agree to this, right?” Lorenzo continues. “No wonder he didn’t tell you. What’s the point, Victoria? Our father and Vito Corleone made a truce—we made a bond with each other’s families to avoid this exact thing—another power imbalance. We promised each other we’d even out the scales—that neither would overpower the other or seek to usurp. What the hell is the point of your marriage to a Corleone if he’s breaking the exact promise we made all those years ago?!”

“Are you out of your mind?!” You feel your throat tighten as panic begins to hit you.

“Then you don’t know your husband as well as you think you do.” Lorenzo adds in, “you know it’s always been his rules or nothing else. Mark my words, the moment I succeed father, we’re going to see a narcotics war on our turf, and let me tell you something else—I will not accept sharing the ports or giving them up. A whiff of powder doesn’t hit the streets until Don Ferrari says so, and it’s going to stay that way. Get Michael straight, or I’ll tell you right now, things are going to get very messy in the future.”

“Lorenzo, he’s my husband.” You feel your throat tighten as tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “I’m not going to pick between him or my family. You know this.”

“And yet you’d just let him take away the legitimacy of our family name?” You hear Lorenzo’s tone fill with disgust. “You’ve been playing on both sides since you got married—I know how this works.”

“I’m not picking between either of you!” You raise your voice as your vision begins to blur from the tears pooling up in your eyes. “I’m not, okay?! And whatever game the two of you are playing at, I don’t want anything to do with it! I’m not a goddamn kingmaker, Lorenzo—”

“Yes, you are.” He reaffirms, “you’re the only link holding our families together. You’re involved in this whether you like it or not.”

“Well, what the hell do you want me to do about it?!” You grit your teeth, “convince him to give it up for your sake? Don’t you already know Michael’s answer about that?”

“You’re the only one that can talk some sense into him, but you’ve always been my sister—a Ferrari—before you’re a Corleone. Don’t forget that. You already have a target painted on your back as is.” Lorenzo warns you.

“I’m a human being—I’m not a goddamn insurance policy.” You sniffle, narrowing your eyes. “I’m not going to let this be the one thing that breaks our families apart. I won’t allow it. He’s my husband, Lorenzo—he’s the father of my children and—”

“And you sound just like them.” Lorenzo grimaces, “you’re more Corleone than Ferrari, aren’t you?”

“How dare you?” You scowl, “you’re not exactly helping. You’re not even Don yet, and you’ve practically secured yourself as an enemy in Michael’s eyes—constantly insisting on being difficult.”

“Oh, please.” Lorenzo lets out a strained laugh. “Here’s my little sister is known for scaring the living shit out of Stracci’s men now wrapped around Michael Corleone’s finger, agreeing with his every word and doing exactly as he says. I’m trying to protect the honor and integrity of this family, Victoria. I’m not securing a bedmate.” He continues before you can add in, “those ports won’t take long to seize, and Stracci bodies will be piling up by the docks before the end of next week. You know it’s under our control until father retires—though Michael Corleone is one to kill, intimidate or buy out when he wants to. If you can’t get enough of his dick, that’s your problem, but at least think about Niccolò and Verona. When this all goes down, just make sure you’re on the right side of it won’t end well for you either.”

Before you can even fire back to his vulgar response, Lorenzo hangs up in your face—leaving you with the dial tone ringing in your ear.

A rush of emotions overwhelms you at once, with anger and hurt overpowering the rest. A feeling of betrayal hits you as you let go of the telephone, letting it drop to the floor and almost take the rest of it down the night table itself.

Almost throwing aside your book and smoothie, you sit over the edge of the bed—just about to get off. You let out a shaky sigh, taking your hands into your face and trying to calm yourself down through the wave of anxiety going through you.

You rake your hand through your hair out of frustration—a million questions swarming through your mind and your ears still buzzing from the phone call. Just like that, in an instant, all your relaxation throughout the evening drains out of you and fills you with bitterness that quarrels with your anger.

As hot-headed and impatient as your brother is, he’s not one to exaggerate. You know what Lorenzo says has merit, and it’s true—all of it. The fact that Michael had the heads of crime families—Barzini, Tattaglia, Stracci, Cuneo, as well as Moe Greene assassinated during your honeymoon with him in Sicily of all times and places are neither surprising nor upsetting to you.

It's the fact that Michael has killed when he hasn’t gotten his way in negotiations or what now seems to be killing to root out the competition in the name of the Corleone family that worries you. It’s true, Moe Greene refused to sell his hotel and was met with a bullet to the eye and Barzini with several in his back after Moe told Michael he was thinking of making a deal with Barzini instead to keep his hotels.

Michael destroyed his competition almost instantly when it came to the entertainment and hospitality sectors. It took little to nothing other than a small show of power to root out competing families and secure the Corleone family’s name over all of the gambling in the country, as well as ownership over Las Vegas finest, top hotels, and resorts.

“Narcotics is a Ferrari crime” is a phrase you’ve heard for years since your family took advantage of Virgil Sollozzo’s death and fully immersed themselves in the drug trade. Just as the Corleone family has a reach over all kinds of illicit affairs with the exception of prostitution and narcotics, in 1945, narcotics was the only thing your family wasn’t heavily involved in themselves.

Barzini and Tattaglia were the ones whispering among themselves as to the control Don Ferrari had so easily over the flow of narcotics. Your father didn’t care for morals when it came to the family business because he knew the other crime families and his associates didn’t run on morality or get paid by values—it was always all about money and power. Giuseppe Ferrari didn’t have to threaten anyone to get his way—his reputation in the trade was enough to send shockwaves to his enemies.

You’re not surprised in the slightest Michael has taken advantage of the peace your father and Vito made to bind the families as one in order to get into the narcotics trade. You’re more embarrassed that you didn’t figure it out yourself sooner. Once Michael makes a move, it’s always final.

The fact he hasn’t told you anything in relation to it, only leaving you with a bit of information from a previous Christmas, gives you a million different scenarios in your head as to why. Does your own husband not trust you? Does he not want you to know the methods in which he’s entering the narcotics trade? Does he not want you involved in this kind of business even though it concerns your family and you directly?

'The timing is too convenient.' Your father grows closer to retiring as he trusts Lorenzo further with the family business under his mentorship by the day. Michael is very well aware he isn’t the one who made the promise to keep peace and stability between the families—not to usurp, not to create another power imbalance in a business as risky as drugs. He knows the consequences will be different and easier to handle because it was Vito Corleone’s promise, not his.

With Lorenzo’s stubbornness and demand to keep the narcotics trade only tied to the Ferrari family and free from Corleone interference regardless of your status as Michael’s wife, this could start a devastating mob war over two relentless sides—and now you’re directly caught in the crosshairs.

Quite literally speaking, there’s nothing stopping Michael from blackmailing your father or killing Lorenzo if he has to. Michael can easily tear your family apart if he wants to. The question is if Michael is merciless and determined enough to do so once he controls the power imbalance.

Your entire night and mood of relaxation sour down to brimming anxiety. As you get off the bed, you grab your black, silk night robe and throw it over you—tying it around your hips to cover your nightgown underneath before slipping on your flats and stepping out into the hallway.

As you peek your head out and rub your temples tenderly, you notice the entire residence is silent as ever. Lights illuminate the quiet hallway leading down to the other rooms and the grand spiral staircase upstairs and towards Michael’s home office to the right; the door shut and the lights off.

Your eyes dart up towards the ceiling as you hear a soft creek towards the corridor, knowing it’s your bodyguard, Ritchie whose making his rounds around the house—especially now that you’re alone in this half of the family compound.

You roll your eyes at the thought of Michael’s men practically shining every flashlight at their disposal on you the moment you step out of the residence, and although you know it’s for your own safety and security of the compound, you’d rather slip into the other half of the complex without being seen, to begin with.

You slightly pull the drapes away from the curtains as you peek out the windows from the living room, glancing at the central family residence across from you. Almost all the lights are illuminated, including Michael’s main office and study.

Not only do you dread the idea of confronting him on a night that was supposed to be spent between the two of you and the children, but at the same time, you know you’ve never been able to hide how you’ve felt—especially from Michael of all people.

He can read you like a book, and the confrontation is almost inevitable. You’d rather do so with as much privacy as you can than have the twins around when it’s done or even your brothers, for that matter.

You pull the drapes back the way they were carefully before turning down to the opposite end of the hallway, making your way towards the side exit by the courtyard. Careful to listen for Ritchie’s footstep patterns, you slowly pull open the door and step out into the warm, summer evening and close it behind you.

Quick to disappear, you pick up your pace and begin moving behind the residence buildings, heading towards the courtyard entrance closest to Michael’s office.

Clutching your silky nightrobe close to your chest, you listen intently as Michael’s security guards and men make soft conversation along the gates and what seems to be almost every corner of the compound as usual.

Only the dense walkway behind the residential complexes remains shrouded in darkness but closest to broken branches and scattered leaves. The smallest sound would easily echo out, and lights would flash over in an instant to you, spotting you out.

Not that it would be a problem or embarrassment, but you’ve had enough surprises for tonight, and you’d prefer to be the unexpected one tonight—away from any unnecessary attention and the whole “Mrs. Corleone! What are you doing here so late? Are you alright?” fiasco.

You’re only a few meters away from the residence when you suddenly feel a pair of firm, toned arms wrap around your waist—a hand clasping over your mouth to silence your gasp. Your eyes widen in horror as immediate adrenaline kicks in, but before you can even react, the dark figure behind you jerks you backward and leans their body against the back of one of the buildings, keeping you close to their body.

Being able to feel the strong, male body behind you and knowing there’s no way in hell any one of Michael’s men would ever touch you or manhandle you in the way someone would trying to kidnap a person, you relax your muscles against the male figure’s body as a fake give in before swiftly pulling your ankle inward and kicking him harshly in the groin.

You hear a muffled, pain-filled grunt of an all too familiar voice that lets go of you as you spin around to spot Sonny grimacing in pain—half playfully and the other in what seems to be genuine agony.

Sonny grins back at you, out of breath, as he clasps a hand over your mouth before you can even say anything. “Shhh! Hey, you want them to hear you?”

You quiet down, a smile breaking over your face as he pulls his hand down, chuckling quietly. “Got you good, didn’t I? Or did you get me?” Sonny fake winces, placing a hand over the unusually large bulge in his groin. “God—you hit spot on, don’t you?”

“Sonny!” You hiss back at him quietly, but you’re unable to wipe the growing smile off your face either. “What the hell are you doing here?! You almost scared me half to death!”

“Couldn’t I ask you the same?” Sonny gently grasps both of your wrists, pulling you in closer to him. “You know, if it’s anyone sneaking around these parts, it’s me. You think I wanna be back there with the chandelier boys?” He points back with his thumb towards the security guards around the corner.

“Good point.” You catch your breath, “still, sneaking up on a girl like that—”

“Sneaking up on you like that.” Sonny corrects you with a wink. “You know how many times I’ve taken Sandra back here?”

“And?” You raise a brow at him, waiting for him to elaborate before seeing the grin on his mouth widen. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“Try it sometime; it can get a little kinky.” He laughs quietly, pulling you into a playful hug.

“As you can see, I’m not Sandra.” You chuckle, looking back at him as he props his chin over your shoulder with a goofy smile.

“Even better,” he jokes. “I was here taking a piss, actually. What’s your excuse? Ya know,” he pulls away, gesturing to your nightrobe. “Looking like this.”

“What’s wrong with the way I look?” It’s a genuine question on your behalf.

“Nothing, nothing.” Sonny puts his hands up in surrender, still grinning. “I’m saying you look like you should be in bed, but it’s six p.m., so…” He gestures towards Michael’s office, “trying to surprise Michael?”

“Something like that.” You force yourself not to roll your eyes. “You’re going to stop me?”

“I’d never even try.” Sonny smirks, “go on, I’ll catch you later.”

“Alright.” You smile back at him, playfully rolling your eyes back before approaching the side entrance door.

You notice one of Michael’s bodyguards lingering nearby, and it’s too late to avoid his point of view as you enter. You ignore him, pretending like he isn’t even there as you make your way directly to Michael’s office.

As you come towards the doors of Michael’s office, you’re not surprised to see Rocco standing guard by the door, but noticing Al Neri is also next to him is a bit more unusual than you’re used to seeing.

There’s almost always one of them outside his office and the other inside standing by as Michael’s personal bodyguard, and with the lights on in his office, you can tell Michael’s certainly still active in his office, but he’s left alone?

“Mrs. Corleone.” Rocco blinks at you in surprise as you stand before the two of them.

“Open the door, please.” You stare back at the two of them, but they only return their stares back to you. “Do I have to ask for permission to see my husband?” You ask again, this time with more frustration building up in your voice.

“Michael asked not to be disturbed. He isn’t in right now, but he’ll be back in a moment.” Al Neri answers you.

“Oh, great. Then you can let him know I’ll just be waiting inside for when he does come back. Now move.” A glare is enough for both men to step aside as Rocco pushes open the door for you.

The moment you fully step in, the office door is closed behind you, leaving you inside Michael’s empty office. From the scent of a fresh cigarette being put out in the ashtray over his desk and his cologne still lingering in the air, you easily figure he’s left just a few moments earlier.

'Most likely filling out paperwork before coming back for dinner' Your eyes dart to his desk, spotting various thin stacks of paperwork and neatly placed documents but ultimately ignore them—taking a seat at one of the armchairs just across his table.

You’ve never been one to pry in anyone’s business, let alone Michael’s. The temptation and nosiness doesn’t exist, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it had anything to do with the agreement he made with your father behind your back.

You’ve barely sat for a minute when you hear footsteps approaching the office door and both Rocco and Al Neri stepping aside again, this time not as fast. You can tell Michael’s just about to enter but pauses, and soft inaudible conversation is exchanged very briefly.

In an instant, the office door is pushed open, and Michael steps in—his eyes immediately darting down to yours. For a moment, his expression is soft, rather surprised, assuming you impatient to see him for the evening or perhaps something happened for you to rush over here in your nightrobe.

You suddenly feel your throat tighten and dry, your heart aching in your chest as you gaze back at him. It’s your eyes that harden first now, fixed upon his gaze. It’s in that very instant that Michael knows you’re not here about tonight’s plans or because you couldn’t resist seeing him again.

Michael can easily tell from the hurt look in your eye that it’s something else. The same look you gave him that night when he came home after seeing Kay behind your back, not much different from the sadness gathering in your eyes after finding out he hid his previous marriage with Apollonia from you.

Michael’s eyes momentarily glance down at your tiny baby bump before his pacing comes to a stop just across from you. He leans his arm over the top of the fireplace, looking back at you.

You give a small nod, distracted for a moment before you force a smile up at him—the corners of your eyes beginning to sting with tears. “I couldn’t wait until dinner, you know? I just had to come to congratulate you myself.”

Michael furrows his brows, thrown off by what you’re saying but remains quiet as you continue. “I want you to know I’m very happy for you, Michael. I really am.” The sarcasm is strong in your voice that now begins to break. “But the emotions I feel towards you right now are truly nothing compared to how I felt waiting and just knowing that you were holding back your narcotics deal from me.”

Michael shifts his weight on the other foot, pulling his arm away from the fireplace and glancing back at his desk. As if he could care less about what you have to say, he begins to slip off his black suit jacket.

Your eyes follow him to behind his office desk, continuing in a pained voice, “the fact that I had to find out from my own brother who wasn’t even involved instead of my own husband is disrespectful.”

“Don’t.” Michael raises a finger, warning you in a soft voice at first. He places his jacket over top of his office chair, grabbing his pack of cigarettes off the table.

“Didn’t think I’d figure it out so fast?” You blink back, tears threatening to blur your vision. “Or what? I can’t think of any reason why you wouldn’t tell me, other than the fact you know I’d never agree to—”

“Don’t ask me about my business, Victoria,” Michael warns you again, staring back at you as he puts a cigarette between the corner of his lips.

Feeling yourself practically ignored and brushed aside like you’re a petty housewife inquiring about why your husband is in the mafia, to begin with, you spill over. “This is my business, Michael! It concerns my family!”

“Enough!” Michael slams the palm of his hand down upon his desk, causing the ashtray and his pen to tremble. He glares back at you, “watch your tone with me, Victoria.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” You say through gritted teeth, beginning to rise from your seat.

“That mouth of yours is no different than your brother’s, isn’t it?” Michael narrows his eyes at you, instantly growing annoyed. “What did I just say?”

“Smart mouth or smart wits? Because only one of them has kept me alive so far.” Feeling a surge of anger go through you, you place a hand reassuringly over your baby bump.

Michael notices your actions, lighting his cigarette before taking a small drag. “You’re not thinking straight. You’re going to argue with me because you’re overreacting, and you aren’t thinking before you’re speaking—"

“I don’t think straight?!” You cry out, offended. “I’m not overreacting; I’m actually underreacting to all of this!”

Michael is taken aback by your deflection, scowling back at you. “What are you going to do?” He gestures to his office door. “Leave me?”

You shudder, sniffling back your tears as you stare at him. Michael continues, “or threaten to take the kids again? No, right? Because we both know that won’t work. We both know you’re not going anywhere, and you’d rather sit here and scream back and forth with me than humiliate yourself by telling your father we fought over an agreement he made with me.”

“No, I’m not going to do any of that. I’m going to do worse.” You raise your voice against his, “I’m a Ferrari and—”

“You’re a Corleone.” Michael spits back, harshly correcting you.

“Then show me some respect, damn it!” You shout back at him. “Stop trying to silence me! You know this concerns me! You know this concerns my family, Michael.”

“I am!” Michael consistently raises his voice louder than yours. “Don’t make this something it’s not.”

“Something it’s not?” You repeat, scoffing as you shake your head, “you’re not being honest with me, Michael! Why the hell do I keep having to have this conversation with you!? Telling my family and me all those years you didn’t want to get involved in narcotics, saying it’s Ferrari business and that you ‘respect’ that—how has that changed so quickly?”

Michael crosses his arms, severely irritated. “Your father agreed to it, Victoria. What part of that are you not understanding? You’re acting like I threatened or blackmailed him to.”

“You would.” You sniffle. “You fucking would, you cold-hearted bastard.”

Michael lets himself ignore your insulting comment once, “he’s my business partner as much as he is my father-in-law. My business is between him and me only. You want to know why I didn’t tell you? Because you aren’t involved, and neither is your parasite of a brother. It’s just business.”

You break into full-on tears, rubbing at your eyes as tears begin dripping down your reddened cheeks. “Just business?! You’d kill them all if they—”

“Enough of this!” Michael yells back at you. “I will not hear any more of this, do you understand me?!”

“No!” You shriek back, “you will listen to me! Nobody else is! I could care less what the hell you did with those low-life, pathetic excuses for mobsters but my family, Michael?! My family, their reputation, their livelihood—you know exactly what the hell you’re doing! Does our marriage mean nothing to you, Michael? What was the point of saying ‘yes, I do if you’re the one trying to break apart the peace our fathers promised to each other?!”

“What promise am I breaking?” Michael points to his chest, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. “Was that really my promise to break, Victoria? You’ve started every fight—”

“I’ve started every fight?” You scoff dramatically, “are you delusional?! This is the first time I’ve confronted you about anything else but your whores! Is it so wrong for me to support my brothers and my family? Why do you want to break our families apart so badly?”

“I am not breaking apart our families!” Michael glowers at you. “You’d save yourself a lot of heartaches if you stopped asking questions about things that don’t concern you. You can act like it all you want, but you are not involved in this—”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit! So you take over our narcotics trade entirely and let my family get chased out of New York by Stracci and the others, and I’m not supposed to get involved?!” Your voice cracks throughout your tears, “all I heard about this was some idle conversation during Christmas and nothing else. I’m completely in the dark about it, and maybe I wouldn’t care, but you were the one who said you were going to be transparent with me about your business! I know you’ll put a bullet in Lorenzo and my father’s head if they don’t get what you want!”

Michael flicks off the ashes of his cigarette onto his desk, staring back at you silently. You hiccup throughout your sobs, nodding back at him. “I’m right, aren’t I? You would do that, wouldn’t you?!”

“If it’s a sacrifice I have to make, yes. I’m not putting a hit on anyone who hasn’t threatened me, provoked me, or otherwise. The mafia has always run in one way in this country—the powerful families take over the weak ones. Just as my father had his height of power, he came close to losing it along with the respect our business partners had for us. It’s always been a matter of life and death.” Michael answers you. “Don’t be hypocritical.”

“Don’t call me a hypocrite.” You glare back at him, hiccupping.

“Why not?” Michael raises his brows at you. “You’re a murderer too, aren’t you? Or does that not mean anything until it’s time to tell the twins who is and who isn’t a criminal?”

Your eyes widen in shock as he nods at you, very much already in the know.

“Yeah, Tom told me that story.”

“Unlike you, I stopped pretending I wasn’t a criminal a long time ago, Michael.” You mumble, brushing off the tears from the corners of your eyes.

“Then you’ll come around when you fully understand because you’re a smart woman, and you’re my wife. You know I’m not going to be planning your father or brother’s funeral. I told you, don’t make this something it’s not. You promised me then just as you promised me at our wedding through your vows.” Michael points a finger at you.

Michael begins to approach you, but you take a step back, covering your tear-soaked face. “I can’t believe you! I’m p-put in between both of our families like a goddamn kingmaker… Why would I support my family’s public downfall?!” You raise your head up at Michael, “the children deserve to grow up without witnessing another assassination attempt on their parents—without going through a mob war between their own uncles!”

“So you admit your father and brothers would come for us if all hell broke loose.” Michael pulls his black suit jacket over his shoulders, gazing at you as his harshness beginning to melt through at the sight of your sobbing.

“That’s what we’re known for, isn’t it?!” You smile weakly at Michael. “Now you can sit there and tell me as much as you want that you’re going to make it up to me, but I think I’m still going to be waiting as we go in circles.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “What you’re doing is just an unnecessary power grab—”

Michael pulls you in closer to him by both of your wrists as you breathe out, “—when you’re already the most powerful! Don’t you ever—” you attempt to push him off of you, but he doesn’t budge, “ever do that to me, Michael! EVER!”

“You’re pregnant with our child; control yourself!” Michael gives your arms a shake to get you to regain yourself.

“I’m your w-wife—” you hiccup as Michael pulls you to his embrace, holding both of your arms. “so why d—don’t you tell me like it really is, Michael?!” You whimper throughout your tears, “why don’t you tell me you’ll do it?! That you’ll kill them all if you have to? You lied to me this entire fucking time!”

“Do you trust me?” Michael breathes out, silencing your tears.

You hiccup, helplessly gazing up at him.

“Do you?!” He asks you again, “as your husband, as the father to your children—do you have any shred of trust for me?”

“Michael, stop it!” You moan out in agony, trying to push him away.

“Answer me, Victoria—”

“Stop it, Michael! Stop it, stop it, stop it!” You wail loudly.

“Look at me!” Michael demands, pulling your chin to face him again.

“I’m going to ask you again—” Michael breathes against your lips, “do you trust me?”

“M-Michael?” Your eyes fill with fear.

“Victoria,” Michael locks eyes with you. “Do you?”

“Are you going to kill them, M-Michael?” Your throat tightens again, feeling as if you’ve swallowed sawdust.

Michael ignores your question, trying to coax you out of the state of near hysteria you’re in from the sobs that rack over your body.

“Are you going to kill t-them, Michael?” You ask out again, forcing yourself to catch your breath.

Silence fills the room as you stop struggling against him, helplessly looking into Michael’s eyes for an answer—anything. Anything that will let you know he won’t do it, he won’t go through with all of this because he knows narcotics mean an inevitable mob war.

Michael won’t put your families in jeopardy. He won’t break the promise your father and Vito made. He won’t have to come down to the decision of getting rid of your brother or father if they intervene. 'Won’t he?'

The bitter sadness welling up in your heart dissipates, knotting up with the other overwhelming mix of emotions in your gut. You swallow down the lump in your throat, breathing heavily as you face Michael.

All he has towards you is love, respect, and care—they need to protect you, the need to be by your side, but he refuses to break. He refuses to budge. What’s done is done, and Michael won’t deny what he can do and all the possibilities within it if he has to.

While you and his marriage to you means more to him than you can ever know, the promise never did. It’s that easy for him. It always has been.

“That’s right.” You whisper back to Michael shakily, “say nothing… Don’t give me the relief I don’t deserve anyway, right?”

Michael’s eyes harden out of emotion, gazing back at you. As a criminal, a murderer, and the most powerful mobster in America—Michael refuses to lie to his wife. In his silence, he tells you the truth. He tells you what he knows you don’t want to hear, but you have to.

“Your silence kills me, you know that?” Anger begins to flicker back in your eyes as you take a step back from him, glaring down at the floor in disbelief.

“Victoria,” Michael’s voice matches your anger. “Think of your next words very carefully—”

“I’m done!” You scream back at him out of frustration. “I’m sick, and I’m fucking tired—”

“Watch your voice when you talk to me!” Michael demands angrily.

“Oh, you won’t have to worry about my voice for much longer, believe me!” You point an accusing finger back at him. “’ I would have married Kay’?! And now this?! I can hardly believe you, Michael! I don’t want to fucking talk to you; I don’t want to see your face! I deserved answers, I deserved honesty! But I’m long done arguing and fighting with you about the same things—about honesty, about transparency!”

“So you’re just going to leave, is that it?” Michael glares back at you.

“Yes.” You breathe out, feeling your heart aching heavily in your chest—beginning to pick up its pace. “And when you deserve me, you’ll have me.”

Michael crosses his arms, nodding grimly at you as you scowl at his office, making your way directly towards the doors to leave as quickly as possible. “You’re still my wife, you know. You’re still the mother of my children.” Michael speaks out as you place your hand over the doorknob.

“Stop it, Michael.” Tears threaten to spill from your eyes easily again. “I don’t want to h-hear it. I don’t want to hear any of this.” Your bottom lip quivers as tears drip down your chin, and you push the door open, about to take a step out. “Just stop it; I’ve had e-enough.”

Michael stands by the doorway, holding up a hand to gesture for Rocco and Al Neri not to follow. He shoots Al Neri a cautionary look, “keep an eye on her from afar, for her own safety.”

“If she leaves the compound, sir?” Al Neri asks.

“Then keep your distance, but keep her safe no matter the cost. She’s pregnant. I’ll be the first to learn where she goes.” Michael runs a hand back through his gelled hair, smoothening it out. “Let her take the children. I don’t want them to hear a word of what happened tonight. Let them stay with their mother and think otherwise if need be.”

Al Neri nods, beginning to head off towards the direction you left in—leaving Rocco by the door. You can care less if you’ve given away what you’ll do, where you’ll go. Your family is in Long Island, and so is your first home with Michael that now remains to be your only place of solitude from your heartache, from facing the love of your life with disbelief of what’s about to transpire around you in the future.

Michael knows better than to persist after you, to demand you to stay at the compound and to give you his same old excuses—his same apologies as before. He knows what he’s done and decided is unforgivable, but he knows he’ll seek out your forgiveness anyway, just as he knows you’re the only one he’d do so to.

Michael knows you’re leaving the compound tonight, and he knows exactly where you’re going. For the sake of the twins not finding out about what just happened in his office, Michael remains silent. He holds himself together until he can no longer hear you throughout the family residence—until he knows for certain, you’ve left.

Rocco closes the door to Michael’s office as Michael slowly paces back to his office desk. Michael picks up his cigarette pack and lighter, leaning against the wall by the windows as he lights another one quickly and without hesitation.

He takes a deep drag from the cigarette, knowing it’ll take far more than one to calm his nerves for the night, and even more if he spots you leaving the compound from where he’s standing tonight.

In a way, Michael feels as if he’s lost you, and it’s a bitter defeat he refuses to accept. He tightens his wedding band over his finger, knowing he’s still yours and you’re still his—that’ll never change.

He’ll never want that to change, and he’ll wait for you. Michael will wait as long as he needs to, but he knows he’ll never hesitate from the idea of splitting mountains apart to be with you again.

Michael’s patience is thin, his nerves on edge and his anger threatening to spill over now, and yet none of it matters to him as much as you do. Michael feels his heartache just as yours does, trying to numb it out through another long inhale of his cigarette—ignoring it as he does best.

Refusing to feel his emotions at once, let alone at all, he couldn’t deny the sting of regret from what he said to you just moments ago out of anger. It’s no excuse, and he’s well aware, but to you—his wife walking out on him the way you did—delivered the biggest blow.

Michael forces his eyes off the windows, staring down at his cigarette. His eyes grow distracted in the ashes burning brightly at the tip of his cigarette, and all he’s telling himself is to take another hit and numb it out. You’re not really here, but you haven’t left him either—he knows this.

You slam the door shut to the bedroom but barely make a move in as you slide down against the door—weeping. You take your face into your hands and sob—feeling your chest ache and your hands quiver as you can barely keep yourself together.

Every step you took away from Michael felt as if it was killing you. You know in your heart, it wasn’t something you wanted to do but had to. You felt suffocated and heartbroken. You felt silenced, unheard, unloved.

Just thinking of it breaks you down all over again. Your heart aches so terribly in your chest you feel it’s about to burst out, actually causing you physical pain as your heart pounds from the dizzying rush of emotions hitting you all at once.

You touch your swollen lips with your shaky hands, squeezing your eyes shut as you remember the way he feverishly kissed you just moments back. You whimper throughout your sobs, forcing yourself to calm down for the sake of your baby.

Shakily rising to your feet, you clutch onto your dresser, moving towards your closet to grab at your luggage. Your eyes catch sight of Michael’s men at the gates—business as usual—before they land on the various framed photographs of the two of you upon the dresser.

Your wedding portrait, for one, an engagement photograph, a recent one taken with the twins, and your personal favorite—a photograph taken at Michael’s birthday party with the two of you kissing each other.

You shudder throughout your tears, hiccupping and placing all of the framed photographs facing down onto the dresser. You can hardly stand to look at them, not out of anger but out of heartache.

You can’t bear to look at Michael in the photographs as they only serve as a constant reminder surrounding you as to the state of despair and pity you’re in. Your heart practically throbs in your chest, and you feel both mentally and physically exhausted from sobbing—light-headed and borderline near break down.

Not only can you not think straight, but a million questions buzz through your mind unanswered. Michael’s always made it difficult, if not near impossible, for anyone to know what he’s thinking—how he’s feeling.

A part of you still tugs and insists on going back—to run back into Michael’s arms, to sob and flail about but be in his arms and just let go in them. Your heart begs for forgiveness, to be in the embrace of your husband—but your mind is eager to get away from it all—just to let you breathe.

You’re leaving, and this time Michael isn’t stopping you.

#the godfather #godfather #al pacino #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone fanfic #godfather au #michael corleone smut #michael corleone x reader smut #my writing #michael corleone #moth to flame fanfic #the godfather x reader #al pacino x reader #godfather x reader #alfredo james pacino #melis-writes #moth to flame fic

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auxiliuno · 1 year ago

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Currently working on a drabble/fic for Stalker!Lorenzo, you ready pookies? Idk when I'll finish it (its almost halfway done), but it's making me rub my hands together like an evil mastermind 😘💅

#don lorenzo x reader #don lorenzo #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut

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thesassypadawan · 1 year ago

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🖤💛Inbox/Requests Are Open🤍💙

❤️Hey, all you lovelies! Just figured I'd do a little post saying that my inbox is always open!

💙Fair warning though, I can be slow on replies...so I apologize in advance and thank you for your patience!

💚I write for Anakin, Vader, Hayden, Leo, AJ, Kurt, Stephen, David, Clay, Sam, Billy, James, Luke Ryder, Will, Don, Lorenzo, Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, Luke Skywalker, and Qimir.

❤️I'm open for pretty much anything (smut, fluff, and combo of both)! If you'd like to see additional parts to my preexisting stories, let me know! I'm always happy to do so!

UPDATE: WILL take AU (almost anything and everything, you name it) requests!!

💙I will not write for the following themes:

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melis-writes · 3 years ago

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 26 - Bullets.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 25 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

You and Michael find yourselves facing death directly as assassins have breached the Lake Tahoe compound, attacking in the middle of the night. Both of your quick thinking and reflexes saves you, but not everybody in your family is safe and sound. Suspicions rise as the search for the assassins goes awry, and your brother Lorenzo takes his frustrations out on Michael for endangering your life--believing you've become naïve and gullible. As your relationship with your brother dwindles, you attempt to protect your family and gain more than you bargained for, finding yourself split between being the daughter of Don Ferrari and the wife of Don Corleone.

[WARNINGS]: Violent themes / Minor alcohol use / Graphic descriptions of injury.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Ended up finishing this chapter early, and it sure has been anticipated!! 😳🤞 Since this chapter is only focused on one scene from the movie, I was unable to use as many suggestions as I would have liked (I only go to use one 😭). Can't have smut during a time like this of course lmao, so I look forward to using tons for the next chapters! ❤ I also make my own gifs now, so expect quite a few to help paint out the scene!🤩 Since Vito and Sonny are alive in this AU, we get to see their reactions during the assassination attempt as well! Victoria's cunning and badass side has always been highly requested, and there will be plenty next chapter, but also quite a bit in this one as her quick thinking and intuition come into play! Lots of drama to expect as well, enjoy! 🤣

[SUGGESTIONS]: Anon for requesting: Vito and Michael bonding.

In one moment, you were gazing back at Michael—confused as to why the drapes were completely drawn back to practically expose the entirety of your illuminated bedroom. A split second after, your eyes widened in horror to see Michael immediately duck down and onto the floor.

Michael had made out two shadowy figures engulfed in darkness, standing at a distance across from him to keep their identities hidden well but at enough of a length to shoot directly into the bedroom and at all sides.

From your angle in the bed, you weren’t able to spot out or even see any figures, to begin with. From the texture of the glass to the pitch black in the compound, Michael was unable to make out any features of the two assassins either—unknown to the both of you that they’re hired hitmen for the Ricci family.

Without any time to process or question what’s happening, bullets begin to fly at a rapid pace into the bedroom. Dozens shatter the windows completely, hitting the walls and trailing along to hit every angle of the bedroom as much as possible—all in an instant before your very eyes.

Your reflexes immediately kick up with the first few bullets breaking through the windows. You throw yourself off the bed, grabbing the blankets over top of your back to protect you from falling debris as you lay down as close as possible to the frame of the bed.

Michael lunges himself down to the floor, army crawling as quickly as he can without raising a muscle upwards. The next pair of bullets destroy a vase of flowers over your dresser and shoots out both of your lamps to pieces.

Twelve bullets fire over the mirror just across from you, shattering it to smithereens as you stare back at Michael in shock as he makes his way over to you in mere seconds.

The next hail of bullets begins firing at every other angle of the bedroom, hitting your nightstand just above you, the post of your bed, and over the back walls. Michael grabs at your arm, pulling you into his embrace and bracing you with his body.

Chunks of your bed frame fly off in contact with the bullets as parts of the walls crumble from the concentrated hit over several bullets over one area. You throw your hand back into the lower drawer of your nightstand, reaching inside to grab your handgun.

Michael hugs your body tightly, completely covering you as the bullets continue. You raise your head up in between Michael’s arms as he holds you down further to the floor, knowing that the next dozen will over your bed and towards the floor again.

You cock back your handgun, quick to raise it up to the gaping, jagged holes in the window as you fire back twice. Michael stares back at you in surprise, now noticing and processing the fact you shot back as the rain of bullets stops almost instantly.

Dropping your handgun but keeping it close to you, you shudder as you clutch at Michael’s dress shirt. You bury your face into his chest as he pants out, listening intently for another wave of bullets.

Silence kicks in as the last chunks of broken glass fall to the floor, confirming the end of the hail of bullets. Michael grunts, kneeling backward as he pulls you up to him, shaking you by your shoulders.

“Victoria—are you alright? Are you hit?!” He hisses to you in a hushed tone.

Michael’s hair now loosely dangles off his forehead as you shake your head back at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “N-no!”

Michael breathes, planting a quick, reassuring kiss over your cheek as he hugs you tightly in his arms. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Your hand brushes past his silky hair as you attempt to steady your breathing, nudging the handgun closer over to him. You swallow hard, nodding back at him frantically. “I think I may have hit one of them, Michael, I—”

“Shhh, shh, it’s alright.” Michael rakes a hand through the back of your hair, attempting to calm you down. “It’s over. It’s over now.”

Michael rubs up and down your arms tenderly, quick to pull the blankets off of you as he trails a hand down your sides, checking to see if you were hit or even skimmed by a piece of glass. Seeing you thankfully unharmed, he let out a shaky sigh of relief.

“Oh my God, the twins!” You whine out in panic, hearing alarms begin to blare and go off at every corner of the compound.

“It’s alright, come here.” Michael pulls you up to his feet with him, slowly beginning to rise as the sirens of his alarms and security grow louder and insistent. “Take the children and immediately go to the drawing room with the rest of the family, do you understand?”

You nod back at him, grabbing your handgun, “Michael, you know I could help you.”

“Not a chance in hell.” His eyes flicker down to your stomach as he shakes his head, “do as I say and make sure nobody takes a step out until I confirm it’s safe. Okay? Go!”

You swallow hard, quick to grab your nightrobe off your now tattered, bullet-ridden vanity chair and burst out of the bedroom without another word—Michael following from behind and out towards the front door of the residence.

Voices begin to break out into the night as various lights flash and angle towards every inch of the dark compound, illuminating everything in a blinding, white light. Sirens only continue to grow louder as Michael’s security and private hires scurry out of the compound, loading their firearms and racing to secure every entrance and exit.

“Mama!” The first cry you hear out through the hallway as you approach the bedroom of the twins across from each other is Verona’s.

You glance down at your firearm momentarily, quick to slip and conceal it between the pocket of your nightrobe as you shrug it on. You quickly push open the door to Verona’s bedroom, seeing Niccolo protectively hugging his sister, huddled in a corner—less fear in his eyes than Verona’s.

“Oh, Niccolo, Verona! It’s okay, I’m here!” You’re quick to notice the twins’ room hasn’t been affected in any manner as the children shakily rise to their feet, embracing your waistline. “Are you two alright?!” You kneel down, tenderly rubbing both of their shoulders.

“Yeah!” Verona pouts back.

“Mama, we heard everything!” Niccolo frantically glances around. “Where’s daddy?”

“Daddy’s dealing with it, alright? Don’t worry—Al and Rocco are with him. Come here, you two. Come quick, we have to get to safety.” You plant a quick kiss over both of their cheeks.

You scoop up Verona in one arm, holding Niccolo’s hand with the other as you race off down the hallway and towards the drawing-room.

“Victoria!” Your mother exclaims on the other side of the hallway, wrapping her nightgown around her. “What’s going on?!”

“Mama, come! Quick!” You gesture to her, not noticing her staggering movements. “Where’s the girls?!”

“We’re in here, Victoria! Come quickly!” Connie’s worried voice shouts out from the drawing-room across the residence.

“Come on, come on!” You nod back to your mother and the twins, avoiding as many windows as possible as you all enter the drawing-room—quick to throw the door shut behind you.

Two of Michael’s guards, heavily armed, race to the front gates that remain loosely open, quick to push them back in place, locked shut as another vehicle of security quickly pulls up. Several more rays of light begin to shine over the residence building, boathouse, and yacht deck.

“Secure the compound immediately! Double-check all entrances and exits!” Sonny shouts out to security by the gate, quickly loading his pistol. “Don’t let those bastards escape at any cost!”

Michael steps out to the front of the residence, raking a frustrated hand through his now tousled, floppy hair as his eyes quickly examine the damage done through the windows.

He turns his head at the sight of Rocco quickly rushing his way over with two other men approaching Michael.

“They’re still on the property.” Rocco breathes out, placing a hand upon Michael’s shoulder. “Please, Michael, please stay inside.”

Michael grits his teeth in frustration, gazing out towards the gate before he turns his attention back to Rocco, pressing his finger over his chest to warn him. “Keep them alive.” Michael turns back on his heel towards the entrance.

“We’ll try.” Rocco nods, catching his breath.

Michael stops in his tracks instantly, spinning back angrily and pointing a finger directly at Rocco. “ROCCO, ALIVE!”

The sound of the first bullet firing through your bedroom window is heard from the other side of the compound—muffled as it is, easy to confuse as fireworks or even a loud thud.

Lorenzo was the first to practically leap out of bed and grab at his pistol off the nightstand, attempting to pinpoint which direction the shooting was coming from before comforting his startled wife and taking her out into the hallway with him.

Joined by his brothers, Matteo stayed behind with Dante and the Ferrari wives to secure their end of the residence. Lorenzo immediately stepped out with Leonardo and Alessio—nightrobe or pajamas—it mattered not. All of your brothers were armed and spread out over the residence, signaling to each other in silence.

Leonardo was concerned with where and who the assassins were, refusing to waste time trying to understand why it happened, whereas Alessio was thinking how. It only became clear to Lorenzo in an instant that the bullets hadn’t entered Michael’s office but his bedroom, where he was very well aware you were vulnerable.

Lorenzo’s concern for your safety and well-being fuels a burning anger inside of him, separated towards both Michael and the unknown assassins. His growing, apparent dislike for Michael takes over the other, leaving him with one thought in his mind: 'Michael Corleone endangered my sister.'

It was no longer about coincidences or being in the wrong place at the wrong time, nor could it be excused by “she’s his wife and sleeps in his bed.” It was strictly about the fact that Michael had placed his wife in danger when he could have done it for himself. Lorenzo wouldn’t have cared half as much if bullets began flying in Michael’s office if you weren’t physically present yourself.

While Leonardo and Alessio had joined up to secure the main gates and entry points with Al Neri and Rocco, Lorenzo went straight for Don Corleone himself.

Michael lingered by the front door—a hand over his hip with the other raking through his hair as he gives out a frustrated huff. Naturally, the Don’s notorious brutality came from giving orders in the dark to seal the fates of others—sending the same methods of assassinations that had turned on him and you tonight.

Whether the shooting failed or succeeded meant nothing for Lorenzo, who believes he already has enough reasons in the world to dislike Michael. You only serve as a buffer for respect and good relations, but now your relationship and “interference” will only cause it to sour further.

Lorenzo storms over to Michael from across the compound residence.

Michael only has a split second to turn his head to face Lorenzo, who grabs at Michael’s dress shirt angrily, beginning to shake him.

“You son of a bitch.” Lorenzo scowls at Michael. “You couldn’t get yourself killed, so you had to drag my sister in it too?”

“How you ever got so comfortable with thinking you could touch me—” Michael throws off Lorenzo’s grasp with ease, shoving him off. “I’ll never know, but you have thirty seconds to explain yourself and your unwarranted hostility before I assume it was you who did it.”

“Me?” Lorenzo points his gun at his own chest, “are you out of your goddamn mind? You know my wife and kids are back there, fearing for their lives! As is yours, my fucking sister.”

“You like being difficult.” Michael pulls out his handgun from his back pocket, tapping it against the palm of his hand. “In the real world, you get killed for that kind of foolish behavior."

“You’ve got better things to worry about than what I hold in my hand.”

“You’re right, I do, and unfortunately, I’m here dealing with your childish outburst than the matter at hand.” Michael rolls his eyes. “What do you want, Lorenzo?”

“Where’s my sister, Michael?!” Lorenzo raises his voice.

“She’s inside.” Michael’s tone grows to match with Lorenzo’s. “Inside with the rest of the family, safe as she should be.”

“You better fucking hope she’s safe. I know this isn’t the first time you’ve endangered her life, isn’t it?” Lorenzo points an accusing finger back at Michael. “You want to make enemies? Fine, but make them alone. She doesn’t deserve this.”

“You think I do?”

Lorenzo scoffs, glancing off to the side. “I could care less because that isn’t any of my business.”

“Neither is Victoria.” Michael maintains stern eye contact with Lorenzo, his expression harshening.

“She’s my sister.” Lorenzo spits out.

“And she’s my wife and the mother to my children—not to mention a grown woman who can make her own decisions and fend for herself.” Michael asserts.

None of Lorenzo’s insults even come close to phasing Michael, who continues to maintain his collected, stern manner.

“She’s my wife and does as I say for our family.”

“You think you intimidate me…” Lorenzo glares into Michael’s eyes. “But that’s all talk and no action from you. You underestimate how my sister would feel—what she would say if she saw you like this.”

“She’s a Corleone.” Michael holds his eye contact with Lorenzo, “and she does and acts like a Corleone.”

“She’s a Ferrari, and you should know better by now that she won’t refuse her own blood first.”

“Since you’re ever so insistent, I’ll prove it to you.” Michael gestures his arm out towards the gates where Rocco and Al Neri are. “Find Rocco and ask for Victoria. He’s already under my orders to make sure she stays inside. We’ll see who she chooses to go to if that’s good enough for you.”

“Hope you aren’t too disappointed, Don. Wouldn’t want any harsh feelings between either of us, especially tonight when we should be looking out for our families.” Lorenzo replies.

Michael crosses his arms. “For as far as I’m concerned, the assassins are still on the compound.”

“It’s so like you to get others to do your dirty work, ‘Don’ Corleone.” Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “Maybe it’s not tonight, but one day you’ll see you actually need to act.”

“It’s alright, it’s okay—” Your heart thunders in your chest as you take the twins over to the couch, grabbing a throw blanket and quickly cuddling it over them.

“Daddy’s going to kill all the bad guys!” Niccolo exclaims out, completely certain of himself.

“Your father and all of your uncles—they just rushed out there without even thinking about it!” Connie huddles by an armchair with her two boys sitting by her side.

“Oh, God, Sonny’s out there too!” Sandra huffs, worry crossing over her eyes. “He just up and left!”

“What the hell is going on out there?!” Theresa shudders, rubbing at her arms.

“Someone’s breached the compound.” You rub at your temple gingerly, shaking your head. “It was supposed to be a hit—it came from the bedroom, and—” Your eyes grow wide at the sight of your mother shaking and struggling to breathe by the couch, a small pool of blood soaking through the side of her nightgown. “Mama?! What—”

“V-Victoria, I’m fine, I’m just—” Your mother shakes her head, pressing her hand down over the wound. “It just skimmed me. I-I didn’t even notice.”

“Grandma?!” Verona’s little eyes pool up with tears.

Sandra leans over to the couch, hugging the twins and blocking their view over to your mother. “Hey, hey! It’s okay, grandma is going to be alright! Come here, you two. Come here.”

“Oh my God, oh my God…” Connie takes her face into her hands, beginning to panic.

“Mama, quickly, let me see! Theresa—get me the first AID kit!” You gesture back at her in a hurry, helping your mother carefully push aside her nightgown to reveal the wound.

Your mother winces, biting down on her lip as she reveals a small, chestnut-sized but deep gash on her side—oozing with fresh blood and in desperate need of stitches. Feeling tears sting at your eyes, a wave of anger washes over you at the sight of your mother’s injury.

You practically tear open the first AID kit when Theresa hands it to you, rummaging through the kit to clean around the wound. You notice now that Sandra has picked up both the twins in her arms and heads off towards the end of the room, humming to them.

“Victoria—” Your mother grunts, gripping onto the arm of the sofa.

“Mama, I need you to stay as still as possible, okay?” You glance back up at her—eyes filled with urgency. “I need to stitch this up—Theresa, grab me that lighter over there. Breathe, mama, breathe!”

Your mother takes deep breaths, tilting her head back onto the sofa.

Theresa hands you the lighter within the first AID kit, cleaning the blood gently around her gash. You pick up a suture needle, flickering the flame over it to sterilize it.

“I’ve got you, mama, stay still for me. Don’t move an inch.” Quick with your fingers and familiar with the first AID kit that you’ve worked with before on numerous occasions, you prepare the suture without letting your hands shake or drop anything throughout the process.

“Alright, mama, take a slow, deep breath for me—I want to make this as painless and quick for you as possible, okay? I need to get your wound closed up. Bear with me!” You force yourself to ignore your mother’s distraught whimpers of pain as you use your fingers to pull the wound together.

You stick the first suture from the needle through the skin, out the wound, and back through it from the other side and out of the skin as your mother winces in pain. Theresa watches in utter surprise to see how you pull the skin together, tying it off with a double knot and clipping at the excess.

“Easy now…” Not too tight nor too loose, you secure the first suture, working back with the next halfway between the end of the wound and the last stitch. You only repeat the process two more times before the wound is completely sealed in just a few minutes.

“Oh, thank God!” Theresa sniffles, handing you a roll of gauze as you begin to carefully wrap it around her side, sighing out in relief as Connie kneels her way over to the three of you.

“Victoria, sweetheart—oh, oh, God, how? How—” Your mother croaks out, steadying her breathing as she gazes back at you in shock. “How…how did you—”

You shake your head at her, rising to your feet, “it’s nothing I haven’t taught myself. Don’t worry about that right now. Stay put, okay? Lay down as you are, don’t lay a finger on the bandages.”

“Where are you going, Victoria?!” Connie frowns back at you. “Sure as hell not out there; you know it’s not safe!”

“This is nothing, Connie! Bullets have flown over my head before!” You pull open the door, glancing back at the three. “Just stay put and with mama—I need to find my brothers and Michael!” You brush off the two, quick to storm out of the drawing-room and towards your study as fast as your feet can take you.

“You’re insane, I swear! If Michael finds out—” You hear Connie shout back behind you. “Victoria!”

“Stay by the door.” Rocco cautions one of the guards by the front entrance, quickly rushing back off towards the gate as five other guards make their way over to him, covering ground. “Move out and release the hounds!”

With the entirety of the compound completely surrounded and secured, a private hire by the hounds' cage quickly pries off the locks and throws them open. Five German Shepherds sprint out, barking as they separate onto different sides of the compound, with one going into the drain tube.

You tighten your night robe around you, holding your handgun upwards with both hands carefully wrapped around it and off the trigger. Slipping out the side entrance, you immediately lean your back against the wall, analyzing your surroundings and keeping your breathing and movements as quiet as possible.

Rotating lights flash all over and around the compound, leaving not an inch to succumb to the night’s darkness. Everything around you is perfectly illuminated, and you easily make out Michael’s security and private hires arming themselves and roaming around with their guard dogs.

You keep your eyes focused on your surroundings as you keep moving towards the other side of the compound, where you and Michael’s bedroom remains on the ground floor. From the corner of your eye, you can see three heavily armed guards just outside your window and one inside the bedroom, checking around for any signs of struggle or evidence leftover.

You furrow your brows, knowing you didn’t hear the two bullets you fired off go into the air and disappear. T'hey must have hit something or someone, but what?' Out of sight from Michael’s men, you take another look at the shattered windows from an angle, stepping back.

'If I had shot slightly from the right, then I’d have to stand here to get a perfect view of the bedroom…' You move back a bit further, finding your hypothetical spot as your eyes land onto a small pool of blood not far from where you’re standing.

'My bullet didn’t fail me.' A small sense of relief washes over you as you carefully begin to track the trail of blood droplets leading outward to the drains—a perfect hiding spot as no lights shine directly over or inside of it.

'I must have hit toward his lower body. His side, or leg perhaps?' You’re just about to continue following the rest of the blood when you hear footsteps rushing towards you, coupled with a familiar voice.

“Mrs. Corleone!” You hear Al Neri calling out from behind you.

You rise to your feet, pointing your firearm downward as you turn your head to see Al make his way over with two men, bewildered to see you. “Mrs. Corleone, it’s not safe here! You shouldn’t be outside.”

“One of them is hit.” You ignore Al’s warning, pointing down at the fresh blood over the pavement.

“Hit?” Al glances down, his eyes widening.

He looks back up at his men and gives them a small nod. “Track it down immediately; we might still be able to catch them alive.” Al’s men waste no time as they begin to track the blood trail with one of the German shepherds, leaving the two of you alone.

“Mrs. Corleone—”

“Victoria. Call me Victoria, please.” You correct back quickly, shaking your head. “Where’s Michael?”

“He just went inside to find you, Mrs—Victoria.” Al gestures back to the residence, “please, you really shouldn’t be out here. Michael explicitly forbad it. The intruders are still on the property—it’s dangerous. They must have struggled to escape after—”

“I shot one of them, Al.” You interrupt him again. “I fired twice, and I know one of my bullets hit them. This blood trail is all that you got, so make use of it, and let me—”

“I can’t let you do anything, Victoria.” Al frowns back at you, “I know who you are, believe me, but Michael will not allow it. He’d have my head if he knew I let you stay outside this long. Please, we don’t want anything to happen to you, and he’s looking for you inside.”

You sigh out, putting your handgun back into the pocket of your nightgown. “At least tell me where my brothers are.”

“They’re with Rocco and I back at the gates.” Al points behind him, “Don Ferrari is there as well. They were one of the first to arrive before security even made clearance.”

“Alright, good, let them know immediately about this, do you understand?” You point a finger down at the bloodstain. “Hounds tracking or not, they’re going to want to see this.”

“Lorenzo is also looking for you,” Al mentions, a look of discomfort crossing his face knowing it directly intervenes with Michael’s orders. “He’s back by the gates with Rocco.”

You glance behind Al for a moment to make out the armed guards by the gate before glancing back at Al with your quick decision. “Tell him to come find me once this is all over. I’m heading inside to find Michael.”

“Will do, and one more thing—Victoria?” Al glances back at you as you’re just about to head back around to the side entrance.

“Yes?”

Al’s eyes dart from the distance of the bedroom window before they land back on the droplets of blood, in disbelief himself before he faces you again. “Your aim is incredible.”

“I’m aware, thank you.” Without another word, you turn back behind the residence building again towards the entrance you came out of.

Against Michael’s wishes, you had stepped outside just as he had made his way back in with a handful of men. The living room and your study, as well as other consequent areas surrounding the bedroom and your residence’s half were immediately covered by security continuing to roam around.

Clearance was given over the bedroom foremost, more so concerned with the surrounding area and the fact a separate shooting—albeit a short one—was also fired into the library where your mother was by herself.

Initially, the hit and targets made sense to Michael. Naturally, he assumed they were for him, though it could have also been for the both of you out of convenience. While you weren’t really considered “high profile,” you were known with your status and name for the past five years, consistently and publicly by Michael’s side as well. None of that rules out the possibility of a planned, double assassination.

Confusion hit at the target of your mother in the library where the drapes were drawn back as well. Bullets didn’t begin to fire through until well after you and Michael had ducked, meaning the hit over either one of you came first, which would signal the next.

It was when your mother noticed the drapers herself and the light peeking through that she went to close them and saw a figure looming right against the window. Quick on her feet, as you had learned from her, she had ducked too, shielding herself with the various bookshelves between her, but not before a bullet had grazed her side.

Out of adrenaline and fear, she hadn’t even felt it hit her or knew where the bullet landed. She had ignored the pain and sensation entirely until she began to regain her senses with you and the girls in the drawing-room, then feeling the burning and stinging of her gash.

What Michael didn’t know was that he was the only one targeted, and it had nothing to do with you. Alphonse Ricci’s terms were clear—you weren’t to be harmed at all costs, and if Michael was injured, he would need to be killed immediately, and you would have to be taken.

Had you gotten injured or killed yourself or alongside him, you would have been considered nothing but collateral damage—much to Alphonse’s fury, but that would seem to be an unavoidable one.

Of course, Alphonse had not planned for his men to simply come in and out looking for you and Michael. Instead of keeping his backup plan for another planned shooting that would most likely not be guaranteed to ever take place, he decided to go through with it on the same night.

His instructions were clear to Johnny Ola, who orchestrated the shooting with the remaining few men loyal to the Ricci family: “Fredo had made it very clear Victoria’s family stays on both sides of the compound—residence or not. Regardless of who, find out who remains the closest to the Don’s living quarters, whether it be a child, her brothers, or someone else. Michael is your ultimate target, but you are not to leave the Lake Tahoe compound until you’re certain you’ve killed one of the Ferrari’s.”

Don Alphonse Ricci’s planned hit had failed miserably, to say the least, but it succeeded on other fronts besides death. Was it truly safe to be affiliated with the Corleone family? To stay with them, to begin with, if their compound was susceptible to a breach? Michael wouldn’t waste his time pondering such questions, but Lorenzo Ferrari would and did.

A shooting in the middle of the night with both family’s children around—one bullet fired, unmissed, matched with two in return from you. You hadn’t lied when you told Connie this wasn’t the first time you had bullets flying over your head—nor was it the second or the fifth.

Your attention to detail played out well, although you would have never guessed it to be followed by an assassination attempt. You had trained yourself well growing up, constantly involved and around the mafia and its rivaling families.

If it’s one thing you know better than the back of your hands, it’s bullets, assassinations, and death. The first one flew over your head when you were sixteen, and your reflexes alongside your quick thinking, ability to stay calm and focused only emphasized your desire to fight back just as it did tonight.

Your adrenaline took over you in a way like none other. You were able to ignore the tender, sore pain in your feet from a night of dancing with it, and it only bolstered your courage to step out and hunt the assassins yourself. You didn’t even have to think twice about it.

Engulfed in anger and shock from the assassination directly after the celebration dinner, Michael was initially unable to let it all sink in. His wife did not just come with the title of being Don Ferrari’s daughter, but with the same skills as her father that made him feared throughout New York and Sicily.

“She said something about finding you and her brothers, Michael!” Connie protests out, gesturing to the door in frustration.

“And you just let her leave?” Michael glares back, “I thought I made myself very clear when I said—”

“Michael!” You push back to open the door to the drawing-room, stepping inside. “I’m here; it’s alright.”

Michael’s eyes immediately dart over to yours, flicking up and down over your body for any visible signs of harm—even a scratch over your nightrobe. His expression is filled with both relief and frustration in that split second before he makes direct eye contact with you.

Blush immediately fills your cheeks as your eyes meet his. With his suit jacket shrugged back on, Michael has one hand in his pocket and the other holding a half-smoked cigarette. His once brushed and lightly slicked back hair now remains parted from the left and tousled, waved over his forehead.

Just the sight of him as such with his signature stern look is enough to cause the butterflies in your stomach to twist and turn about at the most inappropriate time and setting you could think of.

Your eyes briefly break from his, much to your own surprise to see Connie standing a few feet away from him, sighing in relief to herself quietly as she takes her seat upon one of the armchairs again.

Theresa sits upon the corner of the couch where your mother was, now nowhere to be seen. The brief look of confusion in your eyes is relieved by Michael’s reassuring ones, telling you all that you need to know. 'He must have called for Doctor Katherine. So does that mean the assassins are…?'

Michael’s expression twists into a scowl as if he’s read your very thoughts, all occurring in a manner of mere seconds. “Victoria, where were you? Did I not tell you to stay here with Connie and the others for your own safety?”

“Michael, I’m fine!” You protest out, “I was just around the property—”

“Still not listening to me.” Michael narrows his eyes as Connie gazes back down at the floor. “Did you go out to see your brothers?”

“No, I didn’t even see them out there. Al told me they were by the gate with my father, but…” You blink back at Michael in confusion, now beginning to head up towards him. “I stepped out because I knew I had hit something or someone—there’s a blood trail right outside the windows, Michael. I got Al to track it down with his men.”

Michael’s eyes soften at your response, secretly pleased with your decision to return to him without seeing your brothers, and specifically Lorenzo, but mostly at your safe return without going elsewhere in the compound against his wishes.

“Leave it to him now and him only.” Michael brushes you off. “I’m aware of what you did, but it’s not apparent to you that you could have put yourself in harm's way? There’s a pair of assassins out there—it’s unacceptable you leave the compound even for just a moment, do you understand? If you were hurt—”

“But I’m not.” You pout back at him, “I’ve been through this before, Michael, just ask my fa—”

“Your father would be disappointed in you just as much as I because you’re a mother and potentially expecting.” Michael’s eyes cautiously glance over your stomach.

You frown, your eyes meeting with Theresa’s. “Is mama…?”

“Alessio’s fiancé—the nurse—is with her in the other room.” Theresa eagerly nods back at you. “She’s doing just fine. She just wanted to rest.”

“Thank God.” You rub at your temples gingerly.

You peek back at Michael, who clears his throat quietly to catch your attention. He carefully sets his cigarette over the ashtray, gesturing you to approach him with his finger. “Come here.”

Deepening blush returning to your cheeks, you walk up to Michael, who slips his hand out of his pocket, gazing over at you. He places both hands over your shoulders, rubbing them tenderly before letting out a sigh. He knows he can’t stay mad at you for long or have a longer scolding in front of your sisters-in-law.

Michael slides his hands down your arms and to your sides as he gives your hips a gentle squeeze. Looking into your eyes, he asks, “are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You breathe out as his arms embrace your waist as he pulls you in for a loving hug.

Your heart begins to race as your chest is pressed up against Michael's, feeling his warmth as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. The scent of his cologne lingers back up to your nose as the comfort of his embrace melts the worry and fear in you almost immediately, granting you a sense of safety by his side.

“Don’t ever disobey me again, understand?” Michael murmurs quietly, only audible for you to hear as he pulls away from you. Before you can even answer him, he trails his fingers down your lips, never leaving his eyes off of you for a moment. “Ever.”

“Yes, Michael.” Flushing red, you nod back at him.

Your little moment is interrupted by the door clicking open again as you turn to see Sandra carrying a sleeping Verona in her arms. Esther, the nanny, remains behind her, holding Niccolo, giving you and Michael a polite smile before she enters in front of Sandra, gently laying Niccolo over the couch next to Theresa, snuggled up in a blanket.

“There they are, all asleep…” You whisper, pulling away from Michael.

You carefully take Verona from her arms, sitting next to Theresa and Niccolo as she stirs from her sleep in your arms. Planting a little kiss upon her head, you lean your back against the couch and wrap your arms around her, letting her sleep over your chest.

Esther sits quietly by Sandra and Connie as Michael picks up his cigarette once more, keeping his distance from the children as he smokes the last bit of it. One hand back into his pocket, the room falls to silence as he slowly makes his way around, lingering by the sofa and armchair for a few moments.

Gazing at his sleeping children, you keep your eyes down and your ears keenly listening to pick up on anything going on outside. One of the first things you notice about the windows is how tightly drawn back the curtains are now.

Keeping your flustered disposition to a minimum and eyes upon the floor, you hear Michael slowly walking around the couch, now approaching the center of the room as he takes a final, long drag of his cigarette.

Michael drops his arm to his side after taking the drag, coming closer to the ashtray as his eyes land back on you again. Unnoticed by you, you remain quiet, stroking Verona’s hair gently as your mind buzzes with a million unanswered questions.

Michael puts out his cigarette, only pulling his eyes away from you for a moment before his gaze returns. Before him doesn’t remain a frightened or unnerved woman, but a daughter and wife of the mafia that made it easier for Michael’s assassins to be hunted down without batting an eye.

Michael had the utmost confidence in you, as much as he won’t admit to your face. The mere facts lie at hand to prevent him from doing so: you could be pregnant again with his child, and you’re a mother of two, not to mention he would never forgive himself, let alone have your family do so if there was even a slight risk of you getting hurt.

He believes and is very well aware of your prowess even before tonight, but his mind doesn’t lay in how you or he can react to an assassination. It lies with who did it, how, and why—all questions Michael knows he won’t have straight answers to by the end of the night.

You peek your eyes back up to Michael, only causing you to blush further as you realize he was gazing over you the entire time. Intricacies of the assassination aside, the look you give him is one of concern: none of this would matter if it didn’t involve the family, but it did.

Your mother got injured, and it could have been worse. The twins could have been harmed or killed in the hail of bullets themselves. A million other ways for this night to become a complete tragedy play out in your head, only reflected in your eyes back to Michael.

Noticing your expression, Michael purses his lips, turning his head away from you. Without another word, he straightens out his suit jacket, leaving to meet with his father and brothers with one thought on his mind: the assassins are already dead.

With both family residences officially secured, Michael makes his way down the hallway and to the other half to the private living room used by the Corleone family—often filled with his brothers lounging about or Vito and Carmela relaxing together.

Such casual relaxation and any notion of a carefree attitude are practically non-existent as Michael approaches the door, quietly pushing it open to see Vito sitting across from him at the table.

Michael takes a step in, closing the door behind him as he makes eye contact with his father. Vito gazes up into his son’s eyes—his expression softening as he gives out a little sigh of relief. He rises to his feet as Michael walks up to him, coming to face to face with one another.

“Michael.” Vito places both hands over his son’s shoulders, rubbing them gently.

“Father, how are you?” Michael murmurs back to him, his voice low and filling with concern.

“I’m fine.” Vito nods back at him, “your mother and I are fine. We heard everything—the commotion and all. Your wife and children—are they alright?”

“They’re doing okay, pop.” Michael replies, “Victoria’s mother was injured, but it’s all under control now.”

“Dear God,” Vito mumbles, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s as if it was over before it even started. Look at you.” Vito pats Michael’s shoulders, glancing up and down at him. “They caught you by surprise—whoever they are, but they didn’t catch you at all. Did they teach you that quick thinking in the military?”

“They did.” Michael nods.

Vito cracks a small smile, always having avoided the topic of the war or Michael’s days in the army due to years of his continuous disapproval of Michael fighting for strangers—a country that wasn’t his blood.

Before him remained many versions of his son that reminded him of his youth in New York. Michael was not only his youngest son, but a war hero, a Don, a father, and a husband. The family and the mafia’s characterized solely by his principles and cunning.

“Come here,” Vito whispers, pulling Michael into an embrace.

Michael hugs his father lightly, relaxing his muscles as Vito pats his back, relieved of the tension and unease the evening carried over him as he feared the worst for his son and daughter-in-law. Michael could sense his father’s worry and concern from just the look in his eyes, let alone a father-son hug Michael hadn’t felt in months.

Two muffled pairs of footsteps break out from down the hall—coming from Sonny and Tom as Michael and Vito pull away from each other. Vito pats Michael’s cheeks with both hands lightly, giving him another nod as he takes his seat with Michael.

Michael shifts in his chair as he sits down, intertwining his hands together upon the table as his father speaks up.

“Michael,” Vito rests the side of his face against his fingers, speaking softly. “I’ve always wanted you to carry on the legacy of the family and our business, but I’ve always supported you either way—even when you went against my wishes. I retired to our family a long time ago, so tonight, I cannot offer you advice the way a Don would, as I no longer am one, but I will offer aid as a father and as a businessman.” He gestures his free hand towards the door, knowing Sonny and Tom are to arrive at any moment. “You know your enemies far better than I.”

“I know, father. And I’m grateful for your insight.” Michael is briefly interrupted by the sound of knocking over the door. “Yeah, come in.” He raises his voice louder for his brothers to hear.

The door pushes open to reveal a rather flustered and irritated Sonny attempting to steady his temper with a solemn yet concerned Tom behind him, still in his nightrobes. The two waste no time shutting the door behind them quietly, making their way over to the table to take their seats.

“Santino, you’re a mess.” Vito points out to him, noticing his disposition and how his dress shirt has crinkled and loosely buttoned-up, hanging loosely off his shoulders. “You couldn’t let Michael’s men do their job?”

“Michael’s men.” Sonny scoffs, slouching back in his seat. “Michael’s men my ass—no offense, Mikey, but they haven’t been able to do shit so far. We can’t find ‘em.”

“So what’s Rocco been up to this entire time?” Michael raises a brow, keeping his tone calm and collected. “He has all of our men with Neri at his disposal.”

“He’s got nothing but his own dick in his hands,” Sonny mutters, clearly agitated. “I went out there to see if I could find them myself. Fuckers are either dead or hiding to only postpone the inevitable.”

“Mikey, are you alright?” Tom’s eyes flicker onto Michael’s.

Michael gives a small nod, taking out his pack of cigarettes from inside his suit jacket’s pocket. “Everyone’s fine, Tom.”

“And Victoria’s mother?” Sonny rakes a hand through his curls. “They caught that poor woman in their line of fire.”

“They did it on purpose.” Michael cuts in, slipping his cigarette in between the center of his mouth and lighting it. “We weren’t their only targets for tonight.”

“But what’s the significance of shooting Don Ferrari’s wife? She isn’t involved in the mafia anymore, is she? I mean, I knew she helped with smuggling operations back in the day, but…” Tom shrugs to himself, unable to make sense of it.

“She may not have been chosen specifically,” Michael answers, taking a small drag of his cigarette. “But I assumed they weren’t going to go down without some form of terrorization or at least one body.”

“But they failed,” Vito adds.

“They failed, but we still can’t find the bastards,” Sonny grumbles, pulling the bottle of Courvoisier cognac towards him from the table along with one of the shot glasses.

“What can you tell us, Mikey?” Tom sits up straight.

“There’s a lot I can’t tell you, Tom.” Michael leans in, eyeing both of his brothers. “That goes for the both of you. I know that’s upset you in the past, Tom, but up until today, I’ve had my reasons, and I had to make sure.” Michael holds his cigarette between his fingers, “I had to make sure I could protect both of you.”

Sonny pours himself a shot of cognac, listening with Tom, who nods back intently at Michael.

“Don’t take it the wrong way. It has nothing to do with a lack of trust or confidence, but it’s because I admire you two. You’re my brothers, and I love you.” Michael affirms, “and it’s because of that I had to keep things secret from the family. At this moment, you’re the only three that I can completely trust.”

Vito purses his lips, knowing Michael purposely excluded Fredo out but for an abundance of reasons even clear to him when he was choosing one of his sons to succeed him years ago.

“Fredo?” Michael looks back towards Vito. “Ah, he’s got a good heart, but he’s weak, and he’s stupid. This is life and death.”

Sonny grimaces, knowing he loves his brother deeply, but Michael doesn’t have to confirm to him his beliefs about Fredo because he was already under the impression himself.

“Tom, you’re my brother.” Michael places a hand over Tom’s arm. “You are. I’ve always considered you one.”

Tom takes a deep breath, troubled by the events of tonight and in a mix of emotions himself. Tearing up a little, he swallows hard. “I’ve always wanted to be thought of like a brother to you, Mikey—to the family. A real brother.”

“You’re my brother,” Michael repeats back at him softly.

“And mine, Tom.” Sonny gazes back over at him. “Since the day you came home with me."

Tom makes eye contact with Vito, who gives him a warm, reassuring smile of agreement. Sonny slides over another shot glass, this time pouring in cognac for Tom and moving it over to him.

“Sonny.” Michael redirects his attention to his older brother, taking another drag from his cigarette. “You’re gonna take over. You’re gonna be the Don.” Sonny raises his brows in intrigue as Michael continues, “if what I think has happened, has happened, I’m going to leave here tonight. I give you complete power, and with Tom—” Michael’s eyes dart over to Tom. “Over Fredo and his men, Rocco, Neri, everyone. I’m trusting you both with the lives of my wife and my children—the future of our family.”

Tom glances back down at his drink, “if we catch these guys, do you think we’ll be able to find out who's backing them up?”

“We’re not going to catch them.” Sonny shakes his head.

“He’s right.” Michael agrees, flicking off the ashes from the tip of his cigarette. “Unless I’m very wrong, they’re dead already. They were killed by somebody close to us.” Michael nods back to his father. “Someone on the inside whose very, very afraid they’ve botched it.”

“You think it’s one of your people? Neri or Rocco having something to do with it?” Tom clears his throat.

Michael exhales deeply, setting his cigarette down. “All of our people are businessmen at the end of the day, so their loyalty is based on that. One thing I learned from pop—” Michael redirects his attention to Vito “—is to try and think as the people around you think. On that basis, anything is possible. Anything.”

“What about…” Sonny grazes his teeth over his lips, uncomfortable at the very suggestion. “Victoria’s brothers? Do you suspect them?” The very question piques Vito’s interest.

“I suspect everybody at all times, Sonny,” Michael answers plainly. “As hot-headed and overzealous as Lorenzo Ferrari maybe, he would never do something so stupid. He’d never endanger himself or his own family. His thoughts are with his sister tonight, and he has enough blame to pass over me.”

“That’s ridiculous, Mikey.” Tom frowns. “Why would he accuse you of anything? Weren’t all of us potential victims, or could have been if we were in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“You’re right, Tom, but an assassin wouldn’t have to target my bedroom if he wanted to kill me.” Michael continues smoking his cigarette. “It’s clear Victoria is involved somehow. That makes it very personal to me. It’s a separate conversation I’ll be having with her father as well.”

“Victoria?” Sonny raises a brow. “What about her?”

“She’s proven more resilient than anything.” Michael grazes his tongue against his teeth. “She fired back at them mid shooting, which you can thank for leaving that blood trail.”

“Holy shit,” Sonny mutters to himself, clearing his throat. “I mean, I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but still.” Sonny pours himself another shot, taking a cigarette for himself.

“Even if she had a target painted on her back, she could handle it like the rest of us, but she won’t. I won’t allow her.” Michael’s expression falls stern. “And I certainly don’t believe I need to get into the reasons as to why not, but I’m not having the mother of my children doing Neri or Rocco’s work for them. I’m leaving it up to the two of you to let them know that as well.”

“It’s this Ricci business that keeps coming up.” Vito sighs quietly. “He would surprise us all if he wasn’t involved somehow.”

“If he’s involved, then he’d only confirm my theory that this was an inside job.” Michael’s eyes harden at the very name of Don Alphonse Ricci.

“Are you going to have him killed?” Tom takes a small sip of his cognac.

“Soon, after I know enough.” Michael nods back. “I’ll kill him myself.”

An hour has passed by since the shooting, leaving only shattered glass and chunks of drywall and furniture lying in a wake of dust. No bodies, no suspects—nothing. Michael’s men don’t falter their search, now roaming the entirety of the compound in groups of two or three with hounds, flashlights—heavily armed.

All entrances and exits to and from the compound are fully secured, including the surrounding pathways and road, yet nothing has come out of it still. Michael’s men keep their eyes now both in worry and suspicion at Rocco Lampone, who continues to lead the search.

With each passing moment that the assassins are not apprehended or found in some way, the same thoughts trickle into everyone’s minds: Someone let them out, or it’s an inside job—both very dangerous thoughts to spill out knowing that if Michael shared the same sentiment, Rocco wouldn’t see the light of day without a doubt.

Your father came in to comfort you, then his grandchildren, reassuring them about their grandmother briefly before Doctor Katherine arrived on the compound grounds. One of Michael’s private hires accompanied her for the sake of security as well as on grounds for cautious suspicion. With the Ferrari residence heavily guarded, Doctor Katherine provides your mother medical treatment and antibiotics as your father remains by her side.

Leonardo’s your only brother that didn’t nearly spend as much time with security as the others. Instead, he accepted that Rocco had failed Michael and consequently the Corleone and Ferrari families together with the inadequate search party. Whether Leonardo would tell Michael what he thought of it and his own suspicions this evening completely relied on whether Don Corleone figured enough for himself already.

Matteo had remained behind in residence, only speaking with the guards surrounding it before ushering his nieces and nephews back to sleep. He assured they were sleeping soundly and wouldn’t be disturbed before he briefly stepped out for a breath of fresh air, making small talk with the guards on updates of what was going on.

Matteo didn’t lose faith in Michael, as did neither of your brothers except for Lorenzo. Matteo, Alessio, and Leonardo believed in the wit and cunning of Don Corleone, not just as a business partner but as a brother-in-law. Whether Michael found the assassins or not mattered very little to the three; they knew Michael would easily figure out who to blame for the lack of apprehension, and so far, all eyes were on Rocco Lampone—including Al Neri’s.

Leonardo entered the Corleone family residence to ensure Niccolo and Verona that all was fine and everything was back to normal—somewhat half lies. The twins both remain defiant in that they refuse to go to sleep until they see their parents head back inside to do so, so the least Leonardo can do is remain by their side alongside Connie, whom he comforts with her head over his shoulder and a hand wrapped around her waist.

Alessio continues the patrol with Al Neri by the boat club and Michael’s yachts, leading the search over a raft by the lake. Lorenzo is the only one who remains in the center of the courtyard, just by the Corleone residence, taking a well-needed cigarette break.

Having not seen Michael for the past twenty minutes and still remembering Al Neri told you Lorenzo was looking for you, you’ve stepped out into the courtyard as well—reassured of no danger.

“Lorenzo!” You call out, approaching your brother from around your residence building.

Lorenzo turns his head to face you, surprise and disappointment sinking into his eyes at the late encounter. Lorenzo takes a small drag out of his cigarette, holding it between his fingers as he lets his arms fall to his sides.

You let out a soft sigh of relief as you stand face to face with your brother, who wastes no time wrapping his arms around you in a protective hug. “Victoria—where have you been?”

“What do you mean?” You peek your head up from his chest, hugging him back. “I’ve been with the children and Michael, just trying to sort this all out.”

“Did Michael tell you to?” Lorenzo keeps his cigarette away from your body, furrowing his brows.

“No?” You blink back in confusion.

You’re unable to say anything as else as Lorenzo sharply cuts in, nodding sternly at you. “Then don’t. This isn’t something for you to figure out. Leave it to him and his men to clean up this mess.”

“Has there ever been a mess?” You frown back at your brother, almost certain he’s not going to give you the answer you’ve eagerly been waiting for all night.

“No.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “No bodies, nothing. I can’t tell if they’re dead, sinking into the bottom of the lake, or made their way out. Either way, it doesn’t look good.”

“I know, I was—”

“No, you don’t know.” Lorenzo lowers his tone, almost scolding you in a sense. “You don’t know anything, Victoria. This is out of your area of expertise, and you shouldn’t have gotten caught up in it. Either those pieces of shit are still out here buying their time, trying to find some way to escape once they memorize the patrols’ movements, or worse—this is all an elaborate plan that got fucked up from the inside, and the assassins are walking among us. Either way, how the hell could I let my baby sister get involved?”

“You blame Rocco and his men?” You pull away from Lorenzo’s arms.

He turns his head to the side, taking another short hit from his cigarette before facing you again. “No, I blame Michael. Whether you were targeted or not too doesn’t concern me because I know damn well you wouldn’t have been if it wasn’t for Michael.”

“Lorenzo, you know this isn’t Michael’s fault.” You protest back, “do you honestly blame him? How could any of us—”

“How did anyone breach this—this fucking palace?” Lorenzo extends out his arms, scoffing loudly. “This goddamn compound makes the Godfather’s manor look like Verona’s dollhouse. He’s got men crawling in every inch of Lake Tahoe, and you still mean to excuse the fact not one but two people just casually found their way in and still weren’t noticed? They shot at you two, then our mother, and nobody noticed? Don’t you see how that doesn’t make any sense, Victoria?”

“Lorenzo—”

“No, listen to me.” Your brother shakes his head. “This whole dinner party was a farce too. A celebration of five years—five years of what? Peace? Prosperity? Happiness? Safety? That piece of shit promised me on the day of your engagement ceremony he would protect you with his life—” Lorenzo points a finger at your chest, “—keep you away from the idea of these very things. Why am I celebrating five years of his incompetence over shitty wine and chopped liver?”

“Lorenzo!” You exclaim, sharply raising your voice.

The attitude and absolute venom spitting through your brother’s voice normally would not surprise you had it not been directed specifically at Michael and Michael only. In a state of shock from how much he pours out to you in frustration and bitter hatred, you can scarcely believe the words coming out of his mouth, much less that he actually believes what he’s saying.

You scowl back at him. “Not only are you better than this, but you know better than this. That’s my husband you’re talking about; that’s the father of my children you’re talking about! What would father think if he heard this coming from you? Are you not aware of your father’s successor? One day, you can’t just come up to me mid-assassination and tell me your woes about Michael Corleone. You’re going to have to tell them to his face—”

“Then I will!” Lorenzo narrows his eyes.

“No, you won’t!” You hiss back at him, completely unaware Al Neri is listening to the entire conversation between you two. “You won’t because you’ll have gone and ruined everything father spent his entire life doing! Running molasses into Canada with the Godfather, helping him establish his olive oil business back in Sicily—they’ve been childhood friends, keeping this peace, avoiding mob wars, and strengthening our families! This personal relationship, this bond, and peace we have between each other is the only thing keeping us at each other’s throats because at the end of the day, mafia is mafia, and mafia demands blood—mafia wants power and money. It doesn’t share. It competes—it kills, and it flays alive. How much longer can you tolerate one another if the other family has more resources—more wealth and political protection than you?” You grab Lorenzo’s arm harshly, causing him to drop his shortened cigarette.

“You can’t, and you don’t, because the nature of our business—the nature of our family doesn’t allow it. Cosa nostra, Lorenzo. This is the most powerful our family has ever been, and we haven’t had to spill blood between the families in five years—not here, and not in New York. I thought you knew that was what we were celebrating tonight. That has no meaning to you? You’re so caught up in hating Michael—bickering with him—attempting to get a reaction out of him that you’re embarrassing the family! You’re no better than Santino, and there’s a clear reason why the Godfather refused him as heir. You’re not going to do this, Lorenzo.” You press your finger at the center of your brother’s chest. “Because I won’t let you. It won’t be Michael Corleone standing in your way to destroy father’s legacy because of your temper tantrums—it’ll be me.”

A painful silence fills the air between the two of you as both of you lock, bitter gazes of anger and defiance against each other. It doesn’t mark five years since Lorenzo and you had a disagreement of any nature or like this, but the first time ever.

You always had a close and warm relationship with all of your brothers equally, and you can’t remember the last time you fought or screamed at any one of them because you simply never did. They remained protective over you in a way you did over them in return. None of your brothers ridiculed or mocked you, hurt you, or doubted you.

It was Lorenzo who dropped you off on campus on your first day of law school. Lorenzo helped ease your nerves on your first day of court. Lorenzo taught you how to drive. Lorenzo bought you your first automobile the day you came home with your license. Your eldest brother supported you thick and thin through everything, as you did to him.

You supported your father’s decision to name Lorenzo his successor. Not only did you go to your father about the family business, but you held your brother to his honor and respected him, asking him next as if he was another Don. You selflessly offered to be your brother’s consigliere, or at least a personal lawyer if he saw a need to, but what you didn’t see or anticipate was his hatred towards your husband—Michael Corleone.

It feels as if the two of you stabbed each other in the front at the same time, Lorenzo’s eyes filling with disgust and disbelief. He slowly shakes his head at you—an immense disappointment sinking into his expression. “You’re just like them now, you know that? And this is what I feared. Losing my sister to the Corleone’s—having her forget whose daughter she is. Who she really is. Why do you even keep the Ferrari name, Victoria?”

The tips of your ears and the nape of your neck prickle hot as a wave of shock washed over you at his question. You purse open your lips to reply back, only to find yourself speechless.

“You’re a Corleone now, aren’t you? Michael Corleone’s lover, Michael Corleone’s lawyer. You took the idea of creating peace between the families for father so far, that what we have now isn’t peace between the families, but we’re stuck in your love triangle, and now the lines of loyalty to whom seem blurry to me. You could argue with me over a million things, but I’ll be damned if I say I expected to disagree with my baby sister about Michael fucking Corleone. What is all this, huh?”

Lorenzo’s words sting, and they hurt. It doesn’t occur to you to say anything back, not knowing how to counter the blatant disrespect to your face from the future Don Ferrari. It’s as if he spat in your face like you were his enemy, someone he looked down upon. In nothing but a brief second, Lorenzo downplayed and mocked at every moment you spent with Michael—everything you did with him and for him.

Your eyes harden to an emotionless, icy gaze that would cause Lorenzo to do a doubletake if he wasn’t so infuriated with you.

“AHHH!” A blood-curling scream cries out, causing the two of you to immediately turn your heads to where the sound is coming from—Fredo’s side of the residence.

'Deanna.' Without another word nor a glance to your brother, you turn on your heel, sprinting as fast as you can over to the sound of Deanna’s shrieking. “There’s blood on my window!!”

Seeing a couple of Michael’s men now begin to scour over Fredo’s residence like an army of ants, you notice Fredo and a security guard struggling to hold Deanna, who now wildly flings herself around.

“Deanna! Deanna, stop!” Fredo grunts, trying to catch his wife, who runs in circles around the trees.

Deanna continues hollering out for help as loose leaves cling onto her revealing, silk nightgown, threatening to slip down her shoulders. “Right—right there!”

“Deanna?! What’s going on?!” You approach her as Fredo shakes his head at you—humiliated at the sight of his wife throwing another scene in one night.

“Right out my window!” She howls back to you as Fredo and the guard grab onto both of her arms. “There’s bodies by the window! I wanna get the hell out of here!! They’re dead!”

You take a step back and grimace as Fredo hauls her back into the central residence, barely able to cling onto her as is. “GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

“Get her back inside!” Fredo calls out, and you notice him make eye contact with a figure behind you.

Spinning back, you see Lorenzo only a few feet away from you, startled by Deanna’s screams as well, but it’s not who Fredo is staring at. Turning your head to the side, your eyes widen to see Michael walking across the courtyard and over to Fredo’s residence.

When you look back, Fredo is nowhere to be found, and Lorenzo freezes into place—the nasty scowl on his face only continuing to sour at the sight of Michael. Peeking back at your husband, you find your heart beginning to race in your chest at the very sight of him, mixed with the adrenaline of Deanna crying out about bodies.

With two heavily armed bodyguards walking in front of Michael but to opposing sides and another two behind him in the same way, you notice Alessio, Leonardo and Matteo stand next to each other, a few feet of distance behind Michael—holding their firearms upward as they accompany him.

Michael’s approach is slow and lethal. He walks with one hand in his pocket, his head tilted down, and his eyes filled with vengeance and anticipation. It doesn’t take you long to figure out he’s going directly for Deanna’s bedroom window, where she proclaimed to have seen bodies and blood on her window, but not before coming right towards you.

Michael’s domineering presence remains persuasive, dangerous, intimidating like divinity in motion. His guards surrounding the area stand down, lowering their heads in allegiance and respect to the Don as he passes by them.

Niccolo and Verona peek out the window from the drawing-room, having slipped right under the curtains to take a look for themselves. Their eyes widen to see their father accompanied by their uncles—mobsters surrounding mobsters.

Niccolo watches in awe as his father makes his way by you, admiring his cool temper and determined spring in his step. “Daddy’s gonna get all the bad guys.” He whispers back to his sister, equally as surprised at the sight.

Feeling Lorenzo’s eyes burning onto yours as Michael ignores him outright, you make your way over to Michael just as he comes, joining his side much to confirm to your brother that everything he thinks of you is true.

Rocco and Al Neri join ahead with a dozen men shining their flashlights over as you all come to approach Fredo and Deanna’s bedroom window by the drains—picking up a steady pace while walking.

“Over here, there’s two of ‘em.” Rocco gestures as you all come to a stop by the sewer drains leading out to another part of the lake.

You blink to see two bodies floating in the muddy water, dressed in black suits, now drenched and still armed. As the flashlights shine over the corpses, you notice both of their thoughts are slit deeply from ear to ear, still bleeding red. It doesn’t look as if they’ve been killed that long ago, suspiciously enough.

“Looks like they were hired out of New York.” Rocco continues, making sure his men keeping shining light over the dead men. “I don’t recognize them. We won’t get anything out of them now.”

You notice Michael’s bitter expression only growing more irritated as Rocco continues to speak. He exchanges a look of annoyance with you before turning his head back to the corpses. “Fish them out.”

Two men hop in the water, first pulling the firearms off the body and tossing them aside over the dry grass before hauling up the soaked bodies. You remain still as your brothers, Tom, and Sonny take a look at their faces themselves, shaking their heads and remaining quiet.

“Hired out of New York,” Tom murmurs to himself, glancing up at Michael, who now glares at Rocco.

“And you say you just found them here?” He doesn’t even take another look at the corpses.

“Yes, sir. Fredo’s wife had been—”

Michael raises his hand to silence Rocco, refusing to hear any more. He lets out a stiff sigh, brushing him off with a gesture. “See if you can find any piece of identification over them—anything for the investigation.”

You glance back at Michael with concern growing in your eyes but notice a growing scowl in his expression as he stares back at the corpses. You remain quiet as your brothers begin talking amongst one another in hushed tones and examining the bodies up close.

Michael squeezes your hand, whispering in your ear, “see if your brothers notice anything. I want you back at the residence immediately after.”

You give Michael a quick nod back, watching Al Neri accompany him back towards the Corleone family residence without another word.

Entering the residence quietly, Michael pushes open Niccolo’s ajar bedroom door, seeing his son curled up next to his sister in two beds pushed together. Verona’s bedroom remained close to the study where your mother was shot at, and for the sake of security and safety, the nanny—Esther—had the twins spend the night in Niccolo’s bedroom further up the hallway.

Hearing it from the nanny himself as Michael had entered the residence, his eyes softened at the sight of his two children snuggled up between their blankets—only half asleep.

Assuming they’re fast asleep, Michael approaches the beds and pulls up Verona’s blanket over her before doing the same to Niccolo. Just as Michael tucks his son in, Niccolo stirs and slowly turns over on his back, waking his sister as well.

“Niccolo, Verona,” Michael whispers softly, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Verona lazily rubs her eyes, extending a small hand towards her father. Michael takes her hand into his, holding it as he gives a smile to his children, now safe and sound.

“Everything’s going to be alright.” Michael keeps his soft tone as he continues speaking with the twins. “Try to sleep, okay?” He runs a hand through Niccolo’s ruffled hair, caressing the side of Verona’s cheek next as she nods back at her father.

“Daddy…” Verona croaks quietly, her voice laced in sleep.

“It’s okay.” Michael leans in, planting a kiss over Verona’s cheek and forehead, then Niccolo’s before he pulls away. “Did you two like the dinner party?”

“We got lots of presents.” Niccolo peeps back quietly. “And food.”

“I know.” Michael runs a gentle hand through his son’s hair again, squeezing Verona’s hand lightly. “Did you like them?” He glances back at Verona.

“Yeah.” She smiles back sleepily. “I got lots of toys. But daddy, I didn’t know the people who gave them to us.”

“They were friends.” Michael nods, smoothening out their blankets. “Friends and family who love you two very much.”

“Daddy, did you get a present?” Niccolo whispers out.

Michael chuckles quietly. “Why would I need presents when I have you two?”

Verona shifts in her bed to get comfortable. “Because we can give you lots of presents too, daddy.”

Michael murmurs back to her—the smile on his face growing. “How about you two draw me a picture? It can be of anything you want. Can you do that?”

“Mhmm.” The two nod back at their father.

Michael gazes at both of his children before letting out a soft exhale. “Niccolo, Verona—I’m going to be leaving very early tomorrow, alright?”

“Can you take me with you?” Niccolo offers.

“Me too, daddy,” Verona adds.

“No, I can’t.” Michael shakes his head, holding both of the twins’ hands in his. “You both know I would if I could, but this is a little different.”

“Is mama coming with you?” Niccolo yawns, covering his mouth.

Michael rubs a thumb over his son’s hand. “Your mother’s going to be here with the two of you, and I promise I won’t stay long. It’s just going to be for a couple days.”

“Why do you have to go, daddy?” Verona asks. “Why can’t you stay with us?”

“I have to do business, sweetheart.” He answers her. “Just for a few days.”

“I could help you.” Niccolo lazily shrugs back at his father. “With the bad guys too.”

Michael gives out a soft laugh in response. “I know, and one day you will. Both of you will.” He raises the twins’ hands up to his mouth, giving them both a small kiss. “You can do something for me while I’m gone, Niccolo. Take care of your sister, alright? Take care of each other while I’m away.”

“And mama too?” Niccolo asks quietly. “Mama can take care of one hundred bad guys.”

“That she can.” Amusement twinkles in Michael’s eyes. “But everyone looks out for each other in the family, no matter what. It’s important. Bad guys or no bad guys. I want you both to try and get some sleep now, alright? It’s late.”

“Daddy.” Niccolo clutches his father’s hand. “I love you.”

“Me too, daddy.” Verona smiles, hugging her blankets. “I love you and mama.”

“I love you too, as does she.” Michael murmurs softly, kissing the twins’ forehead again as they begin to curl back up into their blankets.

Niccolo and Verona’s eyes flutter shut as their breathing relaxes, steadying as they try to drift off to sleep. Michael remains by their side, stroking both of their hair gently. Unable to get the image of bullets flying over his and your head, a wave of anger washes over him, only remedied by the sight of his children.

Vowing swift vengeance for himself and his family, Michael’s family buzzes with unanswered questions and growing suspicions. Two names cross his mind repeatedly as suspects he simply can’t ignore: Hyman Roth and Lorenzo Ferrari.

Before him, Michael sees the future of his family. He sees his two children, resembling both him and their mother. Niccolo may not know his father has noticed, but Michael’s aware of his soft imitation of his father, looking up to him as a role model, wanting to be just like him in the same way he notices his daughter’s intelligence and selflessness.

Traits Michael and you both know will aid the family business, let alone their own personal lives. Ensnared forever in his heart, Michael knows his wife and children remain to be his only weakness. Such a weakness that’s been tested tonight will be returned tenfold in pain, promised by Don Michael Corleone.

As you gaze upon the soiled corpses laid out before you without a clue as to who sent them, nor who they are, a shiver goes up your spine. Had you just remained a moment longer in bed, you’d have joined the body count, riddled with bullet holes and dead in an instant.

Once again, you’ve grazed your lips against that of death’s, but remained off of his doorstep. It’s been far longer than five years, but what about the past five years now?

'Five years.' Yet everything changed in an instant. The promises of safety, security, happiness, a fresh start from it all with the children, and expansion of the Corleone family business were only celebrated a mere few hours ago.

“Victoria?” Al Neri’s voice breaks your line of thought.

You remain crouched down, your eyes burning back at the lifeless ones of the corpses. You don’t answer Al for moments, indulging in your silence as crickets chirp around you, and you easily filter out the soft conversations your brothers have behind you.

The thought of someone only anticipating your deaths after the grand party doesn’t surprise you; rather, it intrigues you. Five years gone, five years waited. All of Michael’s enemies were wiped out one by one all that time ago—leaving only one struggling to maintain what remaining power and legitimacy he had.

'Five years too late.' You wonder if the same name has crossed Michael’s mind or even that of your brother’s. Of course, it would have. The question doesn’t lie at who did it, but rather who did this.

The blood trail left over the courtyard and outside your bedroom window is evident from the two gunshot wounds almost right next to each other on one of the men’s thighs. The cuts upon both men’s throats are almost down to the bone, completely slashed open. It looks as if one swift move sliced everything open instantly, but for someone to do the same to a second individual almost at the same time?

Your gaze flickers up to Al Neri, then Rocco’s, only carrying distrust and suspicion towards him.

“Get rid of the bodies.”

140 notes · View notes

melis-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 22 - Christmas Eve.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 21 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

The holidays are beaming with festivities and family bonding as the Corleone and Ferrari families come together to celebrate Christmas of 1954 at Lake Tahoe. With new additions and your growing family all together, you spend your fifth Christmas with Michael and the twins. Marking another year of prosperity for both families, the notion of business is family and family is business comes clear for Michael who both defies your father's chosen successor--your eldest brother Lorenzo--and considers joining the narcotics trade. Amidst tensions of business, Michael's fatherly side reveals itself as he spends time parenting with you and relaxing during the winter holidays, leaving some much needed time for the two of you alone as you mark another year ending on the promises Michael made.

[WARNINGS]: Sensual intimacy / Making out.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: This is an “inbetween chapter” as in it’s detatched from the main plot and is an extra little chapter to focus on holidays, intimacy, even smut, or go in depth about a certain part of the plot! I’m definitely going to include more, but this is the first of its kind! More suggestion usage is coming, I promise! 💖🤞 There’s at least 14 smut and other suggestions you guys have sent in to me that will be used in one upcoming chapter alone! I do consider all of them even though I can’t promise to incorporate every single one of them. Keep ‘em coming, especially if there’s anything you want to see in the next, heavily detailed smut chapters or with the family! 😏 Lastly, I just wanted to mention we’re halfway through the fic/main storyline! I’m so invested in this story and I love that you guys love it, so even after I’m done with the main plot, I would love to write more oneshots and take suggestions from you guys! Lots more “Moth to Flame” to come even after! 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 who requested: The reader’s brother being overprotective of her @loveilovetoo. / Lighting Michael’s cigarette for him. / Taking out Michael’s cigarette and replacing it with a kiss. / More of the reader’s brothers. / Verona drawing Michael a cute little picture / The reader and Michael enjoying their evening alone over snacks. / Christmas wholesomeness.

Christmas spent with the Corleone’s and Ferrari’s is and always has been by the far the biggest of your family holiday celebrations, over the top in the most anticipated family get-together of the year. One where party planning and several dozen rolls of gift-wrapping paper are all that’s talked about and found in every corner of the Lake Tahoe residence; the air filled with cheer and good spirits, laughter, and memories to pass around.

The holiday season planning in the family always begins on the first of December and doesn’t end till the last drop of champagne is celebrated over New Year’s Eve. This is your fifth Christmas with Michael and his family and the first in which the twins—Niccolò and Verona—are now old enough to remember at five years old.

As the years have gone by, the family has continued to grow, now filled with forty-seven members with your entire half of the family, including Sonny and Sandra’s sons Frank and Santino Jr, their twin girls, Francesca and Kathryn, Theresa and Tom’s sons Andrew and Frank with their daughter Christina, Fredo and Deanna who much to your appreciation don’t have children, Connie and her boys Victor and Michael Francis, Vito, Carmela, your eldest brother Lorenzo with his wife and their five boys, your brother Leonardo, Dante, Alessio and his fiancée, and lastly, Matteo and his wife with their two boys and girls.

The Lake Tahoe compound houses everyone comfortably with far more room to spare, adding new meaning to the definition of “big, happy family.” The Christmas tree alone almost takes up an entire room to hold stacks and piles of presents all around it, illuminating its twinkling lights down to the hallway—each and every branch covered in the finest glass decorations.

Christmas is not only your favorite holiday but a personal one at that. It’s one of the few times in a year where you see Michael able to fully relax and spend as much time with the entire family—a rarity at any other given time. Instead of stuffing himself in paperwork and business meetings, stern as always, and bringing work into personal life, you’d see Don Michael Corleone relaxing during the holidays. A softer side of Michael committed to his family—and might you dare add, rather sexy in every possible way in his winter turtlenecks.

Although you’ve been able to see your own family much more since the relocation to Lake Tahoe, only on holidays, do you see your nieces, nephews, and sisters-in-law, only leaving Leonardo, your second eldest brother—to be the only single brother of age. If it wasn’t for Connie bringing a new man over every year, you could swear to yourself there’s a little more than friendly tension between her and Leonardo.

Christmas is also one of the few times Fredo actually interacts with the rest of the family, showing you his charismatic and social side with anyone he comes across. Almost a solid five years have passed, and while you get along as much as you can with someone like Deanna, Fredo has barely warmed up to you—and you’ve hardly cared. Instead of feeling intimidation towards your brothers, Fredo warms up to them as if they’re his own, spending most of his time with the Ferrari brothers ice fishing or drinking away in conversation.

This, of course, leaves Deanna drunk and blathering off about God knows what with only Connie and Sandra to bother. For the sake of having peace of mind, you prefer to avoid her and Fredo if possible, no matter who they’re with or where they are.

Still, the holiday season takes advantage of the bond Michael has with your family, as a word of business was and is rarely discussed during family get-togethers, only keeping conversation on personal scales and reconnecting. It’s a time you dedicate to nothing but family, cherishing all the memories you make and honoring them with timeless photographs to remember and hold dear throughout the years in your photo albums.

This Christmas eve, you’ve set aside your camera to keep up with the snowball fight between the Corleone and Ferrari boys. You’ve barely been able to keep the camera still from laughing and avoiding oncoming snowballs, hiding behind the makeshift snow fort opposite to the ones your brothers have set up.

It’s Niccolò, Verona, you, Sonny, and Tom up against your brothers Lorenzo, Leonardo, Alessio, and Dante, all frantically preparing a mass arsenal of snowballs from each other. While you just came out to participate in the “snowball war,” you’ve also quickly been targeted and hit by your brothers for jokingly being a “double agent traitor” for choosing to side with the Corleone’s—definitely taking your fair share of snowballs from near and far.

“Incoming!” Verona shrieks out, clutching onto her little pink crochet hat and lowering her head. Another snowball comes flying from Lorenzo, who immediately ducks back under his snow fort.

“Not a chance!” Niccolò continues frantically building up more snowballs with Sonny, piling them on top of each other in a pyramid stack.

“Just you wait and see!” Sonny exclaims, pointing his finger out. “You have no idea what we’re capable of!”

“They’re out of snowballs for sure. Defenses can be lowered!” Tom hollers back with a laugh, attempting to build another layer of snow upon the snow fort.

“Get her! Get the Corleone bride!” Leonardo rings out, rolling up an even bigger snowball.

“We’ll trade all our snowballs for her!” Dante bursts out laughing, clutching onto a small snowball between his mittens.

“No way, no way!” You grin back, grabbing a snowball from the stack, “you forget I can fight back!”

“Come out and face us then!” Alessio momentarily peeks his head up as you immediately send your snowball flying towards him, missing him entirely but knocking off a corner chunk of the Ferrari boys’ snow fort.

“Aw, man!” Dante whines out, nudging Alessio. “Look at what you’ve done! Quickly, rebuild, rebuild!”

“Now, let’s hit them while we can! Tom! Get up, damn it!” Sonny pulls at Tom’s arm, who now starts rapidly handing him the snowballs from the pyramid.

“Get them!” Niccolò rings out a battle cry as you all rise to your feet, grabbing as many snowballs as your hands can carry.

All of you make your way out from behind your fort, wildly throwing as many snowballs with force as you possibly can, targeting the chests and arms of your brothers that slip upon the ice, covered in a fury of snowballs.

“Hey, hey!” Leonardo can barely form a coherent sentence throughout his laughter.

“We’ve got you right where we want you!” Niccolò hands his sister one of his larger snowballs, continuing to chuck it over at Alessio and Dante, who now flee from their snow fort, giggling and attempting to duck about and avoid the snowballs.

“Gotcha!” Your last snowball successfully smacks onto the back of Lorenzo’s coat as you raise your camera up, snapping a photo of your brother clutching at his jacket and laughing as a whirlwind of snowballs fly around him.

“You’re on thin ice, kid!” Leonardo begins to crush up snow in between his gloves, forming a new snowball.

“Surrender all of your snowballs and fort to us!” Niccolò takes another two smoothly shaped snowballs from his stack.

“Hey, I’m on your side!” Tom gasps as chunks of snow fly off of his jacket, a perfect throw down by Sonny.

“Come on! You started it!” Sonny bursts out laughing as he ducks to avoid an upcoming snowball from Tom.

“Mama, would you like a snowball?” Verona peeks up at you, handing several small, perfectly shaped ones to you. “I’ve got plenty!”

“Why, thank you, sweetheart!” You look down to see your daughter beaming with a handful of her snowballs. “I’ll definitely take a few!”

“Tom, come ‘ere! Come ‘ere! Knock this down with me, damn it!” Sonny gestures, grabbing at his arm before lunging himself over on one of the snowmen your brothers built.

“Oh, now there’s snow in my ass!”

“Language, Sonny! There are children here!”

“Hey, there’s no snow in Sicily after all!”

Mixed hollering and roaring laughter come out from Tom and Sonny, who knock the snowman over entirely, plopping into the pile of snow with your brothers frantically trying to reach it while skidding over the ice before them.

“Be careful, you guys!” You shout back, stifling back your laughter as Dante slides over a strip of ice, landing in the snow himself.

“Mama, daddy’s here, daddy’s here!” Niccolò rushes up to you, tugging at the sleeve of your coat.

“He is?” A sudden flush of blush trickles into your cheeks as you look up from where your son is pointing.

Just around the corner from the backyard where all of you are, you pick up the sound of footsteps crunching over snow. You find Michael making his way over from the corner of the other side of the residence; his presence meaning his final business call has ended, but with his formal attire of a clean, black suit rather than any winter outerwear, it also signifies he’s not here to play.

Picking up on the hint themselves, Sonny, Tom, and your brothers pause their wrestling about in the snow, beginning to sit up and quiet down out of respect as Michael is about to turn the corner over to where the rest of you are in sight.

With both hands in the pockets of his dress pants, Michael walks across the playground and is careful not to step in any large chunks of snow.

“Daddy!” Niccolò can’t hide the excitement in his voice as he and Verona drop their snowballs, rushing over to Michael, who is now in everyone’s line of sight.

Michael immediately raises his head, his stern, fixed expression upon the snow softening at the sight of the little twins approaching him giddily.

You have to admit to yourself that when you first met Michael and were getting to know him through your courtship, no matter how much time you spent with him or whatever you observed, you never could pinpoint what kind of a father he would be.

Naturally, you never asked yourself or even had to think twice about if having children was out of the question. You were twenty-five years old at the time and almost a solid five years into your career. While there was no apparent rush, you didn’t see a reason to wait either. You knew Michael wanted to have children right away, and you had no objections to it yourself.

The birth of the twins would be the second strongest commitment with Michael following your marriage, and throughout the entirety of your pregnancy, fatherhood on Michael still remained to be a mystery.

He was extra gentle with you during your pregnancy and stopped having sex with you at the six-month mark for your comfort and health. There was never a night you went to bed where Michael didn’t kiss your baby bump or massage your sore back until you fell asleep by his side. He was constantly alert throughout your pregnancy, and the slightest thing would irk him if he felt it would threaten your comfort.

You had always felt he would be an incredible father—loving, caring, protective, just as he was as a husband to you. Outside of your personal relationship, Michael was known as Don Michael Corleone, and he both worked and lived in a world that had expectations for his ruthlessness and brutality.

After all, Michael had succeeded his father and became his perfect successor in every way and much farther beyond. He was a stern businessman, a cold mafia boss, a cunning man who calculated each step and decision he’d make, never known to have second thoughts, but with you, he was not.

Michael did not treat you like a financial asset, nor did he talk to you like a business partner. His vulnerabilities and emotions are shown to you and you only. A private, intimate side of him unlocked a completely different man—one you were in love with and still continue to fall for to this day.

When Niccolò and Verona were born, Michael didn’t spend as much time with them as you did. He still didn't neglect his roles as a father on business trips, calls, meetings, and so forth throughout his day. He spent every bit of his free time with you and the twins, and his mind was constantly on them at work.

He had warmed your heart when you snuck up behind him that night, watching him bottle-feeding the twins, checking up on them when he heard the first sound of restlessness. You saw what a gentle and loving father he was with your babies resting their heads upon his chest as he hummed quietly to them, pacing around the room and patiently waiting for them to fall asleep in his arms.

As a mafia Don, you honestly didn’t expect Michael to spend as much time as he did with the twins, and especially as they got older. You were wrong. As the twins got older, began to learn how to speak, and took their first steps, Michael continued to spend as much time as he could with them.

The two of you spent ample time talking in both English and Italian, teaching the twins both languages as fluently as possible, living with both traditional Sicilian customs and modern, Americanized life like you were used to.

Michael’s stern expression, serious disposition, and cold, straightforward attitude is, without a doubt, not for his family. You notice even from where you stand how Michael’s hardened eyes melt at the sight of his children rushing up to greet him, making your heart swell up in joy.

“Father, welcome back!” Verona bubbles as she and Niccolò approach him.

“We missed you, daddy!” Niccolò hugs Michael’s waist. “We were waiting for you!”

“You were waiting for me?” Michael peeks down at the two, a smile growing on his face that causes the blush to flush deeper upon your cheeks.

“Yeah!” Verona exclaims, “we were having a snowball fight with uncles!”

“And? Who won?” Michael leans down, scooping both twins up into each of his arms as he begins to walk off towards you.

Lorenzo clears his throat, rising to his feet from the snow as he begins to clean it off his coat, lending a helping hand up to Tom.

“Well…” Niccolò gazes back at the perfectly intact snow forts, giving a shrug and giggling. “We don’t know!”

“Don Corleone, welcome.” Lorenzo greets out as Michael makes his way up to you. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Lorenzo.” Michael nods back at him, setting the twins down carefully. “Eventful snowball fight, I take it?”

“You have no idea.” Tom stifles a laugh, looking down at Sonny, who waves back at Michael, exhaling deeply and relaxing in his pile of snow.

“Welcome back, Mike! No more fancy business calls during Christmas Eve, eh?”

“Mio amore, welcome.” You blush back at him as he laces a hand with yours, giving it a warm squeeze.

“No more, no more!” Verona hugs Michael’s free arm, gazing up at him happily. “Daddy stays for Christmas! Rimarrai, papà? Rimarrai?” (Will you stay, dad? Will you stay?)

Michael chuckles down at Verona, ruffling her hair, “certo che lo faro.” (Of course, I will.)

“They want you to join them, you know.” You smile back at Michael shyly, “we’ve all been having a blast here with their snowball fight.”

“That son of yours is something special, Don Corleone.” Leonardo puts his hands up in surrender, grinning. “Takes after both his father and his uncle over here, eh?” He gestures to Sonny, “he’s competitive. He’s got all his moves planned out.”

“Is that so?” Michael glances back down at Niccolò, who nods back happily. “But you don’t know who won?”

“I’d like to say we did.” Tom gestures out to the destruction of the snowmen and lumps of snow thrown back at your brothers’ side.

“Not fair, not fair!” Dante giggles back out.

“That’s enough out of you, Mr. Lawyer.” Alessio points a finger back at Tom jokingly.

“Hey, don’t make knock back more snowmen than I have to!” Sonny tosses over a pile of snow back at Alessio.

“You can join us and play, right, daddy? Please?” Niccolò glances back at the two of you.

“Michael…” You grin back at him, shrugging your shoulders.

“La famiglia Corleone vincerà, right?” (The Corleone family will win, right?) Michael exchanges a look with you before redirecting his attention to Niccolò. “What were you doing, Verona?”

“Preparing the snowballs!” Verona scoops up a small pile of snow in between her mittens.

“See, you’ve got your support from your sister, so…” Michael kneels down, whispering to Niccolò as he points back at the Ferrari brothers’ snow fort. “Simply attacking them isn’t enough. You have to take them by surprise, and you have to take what they value the most. Their fort.”

“Their fort.” Niccolò gasps quietly.

“Uh oh…” You peek back at a clueless Dante, clasping your mitten over your mouth to hold back your laughter.

“Exactly. Once you crush it, it’s yours.” Michael pats at Dante’s back, “now go and show them whose Don.”

“But daddy, you’re the Don.” Niccolò pouts back. “You have to do it.”

“Okay.” Michael gives out an airy laugh, “then watch closely, alright? Alright.” Michael rubs your arm reassuringly before beginning to walk off towards the Ferrari snow fort, looming over your brothers.

His eyes narrow and immediately become cold as he delivers a full force kick to the fort, cracking it into two as the snow crumbles on both sides and falls to a lump. “This snow fort has officially been seized by the Corleone family.”

“Oh—” Dante spits back, trying to get the snow out of his face as Alessio and Leonardo burst out laughing, all putting their hands up in surrender.

“Don Corleone! Don Corleone!” You cheer out, clapping your hands in unison with Tom and Sonny. “It’s ours now!”

“Yay!” Verona jumps up and down. “The fort is ours!”

“It’s ours! We won!” Niccolò hollers, “abbiamo vinto!” (We won!)

A faint smile crosses over Michael’s lips as he turns around, brushing off flakes of snow off his suit. You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as Sonny and Tom join in on the cheer, beginning to also wipe off the excess snow and start heading towards the house.

“Clean up and try not to trek any snow inside, alright?” You place a hand on each of the twins’ shoulders, gesturing them inside. “Do you want to help your aunties with the gifts?”

“Yes, mama!”

“Are there more gifts?!”

“Of course there are. Why do you think your father was away the whole time?” You wink at them as they squeal giddily, bursting into the house with their uncles, leaving only you, Michael, and Lorenzo behind.

“Hey, Victoria!” Lorenzo calls out, taking a step next to Michael. “You head on in, alright? Don Corleone and I are just going have a word.”

“Oh.” You look back, stepping into the doorway. “Alright! We’ll be finishing up with the Christmas tree then! Don’t be too late!”

Lorenzo waves you off as the door closes shut, leaving the two of them alone in the backyard. They can make out the faint silhouettes of the twins, Sonny, Tom, Dante, and the others heading back into the living room through the windows, and Lorenzo waits until he can’t pick up on the sound of their chatter any longer.

Michael doesn’t budge nor react much to Lorenzo’s dismay, knowing the two don’t actually have anything to discuss today, business, or otherwise, on a family holiday. Still, he doesn’t give Lorenzo the confused or surprised reaction he was initially looking for.

“Walk with me if you will, Michael.” Lorenzo gestures outward with his hand, beginning to walk around the residence complex.

“I’d prefer if we spoke about matters in my office outside of family time.” Michael straightens out the cuffs of his suit jacket.

“If it was a matter of business, sure, but it’s not. We can speak freely as brothers-in-law, can’t we?” Lorenzo glances back at him, ignoring the security by the guest compound as he pushes open the back entrance door.

“Certainly.” Michael steps inside with Lorenzo, entering the foyer of the empty Ferrari residential complex.

“I have to say…” Lorenzo shrugs off his grey overcoat, hanging it over the coat rack. “My eldest, Bruno, is five years old as well, yet I see nothing but mass differences when I compare him to my nephew, Niccolò.”

Michael simply stares back, unphased. “Perhaps so.”

“I’m impressed, Don Corleone.” Lorenzo chuckles, running a hand through his hair as he plops down upon one of the armchairs. “Please, sit down with me.”

Michael makes his way over, hiking up a little of his dress pants over his knees as he takes a seat, intertwining his fingers together and locking a stern gaze over at Lorenzo.

“It’ll always be different between you and me. That’s a given.” Lorenzo reaches into his inner suit pocket, taking out his lighter and cigarette pack. “You’re Don, I’m not.”

“Have you been named successor?” Michael crosses his leg over his knee.

“I have.” Lorenzo nods slowly, pulling out a cigarette and putting it between his lips as he offers Michael the pack.

Michael takes one out for himself, leaning in as Lorenzo lights his first before his own.

Lorenzo inhales at his newly lit cigarette, leaning his back against his seat. “But you know these days that isn’t enough. I love my father, but…” Lorenzo breathes out the smoke, “it’ll take time.”

“Don Ferrari is a good man,” Michael notes, beginning to smoke his cigarette.

“Yeah, well, let’s cut out the bullshit.” Lorenzo murmurs, “I don’t want to spend any more time on small talk than I have to. You know why we’re here.”

“No, I don’t.” Michael’s cold eyes stare back at Lorenzo. “You could elaborate.”

“Victoria.” Lorenzo exhales deeply, looking back down at the burning tip of his cigarette. “Victoria, Victoria…my beloved sister, your wife, mother to your Niccolò, Verona, so forth, so forth…” He pauses for a moment, “top prosecutor of New York…” His eyes land back on Michael’s, “living in Nevada.”

Michael immediately picks up on what the conversation is about, already having sensed an air of tension between Lorenzo from the way he forms and ends his words down to his unfriendly body language.

“Do you have a problem with the way Victoria lives?” Michael takes a short drag from his cigarette.

“What I’m wondering is, does it matter if I do?” Lorenzo leans his elbow down against the armchair. “Her life has changed drastically. She’s my only sister, so naturally, I’m observant. I’m curious.” Lorenzo taps his cigarette off upon the ashtray. “I don’t live down here in Nevada, Don Corleone. My territory is Long Island, as you know. Now, if I have to clean up your mess down there from time to time, so be it.” He shrugs his shoulders, “we’re family, we’re business partners, it’s that simple. What I’m saying is that I don’t want to have another pair of eyes and ears here.”

“You’re concerned about Victoria,” Michael states out plainly.

“How could I not be?” Lorenzo holds the cigarette back up to his lips. “She’s married to the most powerful mafia boss in America, daughter of the second most powerful—you might as well paint a target on her back, bright red.”

Michael leans up in his seat, his eye contact never wavering. “And for the past four years, have you seen that so called target hit?”

“Did your promises of safety just start four years ago, Don Corleone?” Lorenzo slips his cigarette back in his mouth.

Smoke trickles out of Michael’s mouth as he ignores the ashtray, letting the flakes trickle down upon the floor. He lowers his tone, all sense of emotion escaping it. “You should speak plainly when you talk to me, Lorenzo Ferrari.”

“She’s my sister.”

“She’s my wife,” Michael replies. “You have no faith in me?”

“Could I put my faith in a man who lets his wife walk outside with a bruise upon her face?” Lorenzo gestures to his cheek.

“You should, as the man who laid a finger on her is dead and has been for many years.” Michael continues smoking. “So, your concerns are irrelevant and have been for the past four years.”

“Huh.” Lorenzo scoffs, glancing over to the side momentarily as a frustrated smile forms over his lips. He takes another deep inhale of his cigarette, facing Michael again. “Alright, I see how it is. You’re going to shoot down every so called ‘concern’ that I have in the name of finding a solution, but you’re ignoring what I’m trying to get at.”

“That’s because you’re getting at nothing.” Michael muses, letting the cigarette ashes fall once more, “there is no ‘concern,’ there’s nothing. Have you considered talking to Victoria about this?” He doesn’t wait for Lorenzo’s reply. “Of course, you haven’t. Your sister is thirty years old, and she was New York’s top prosecutor—yet for some reason, you believe you need to keep chasing after her? A grown woman, married with children? No, you don’t. I refuse to insult you by assuming that you do.” Michael leans back. “This is personal.”

“When is it not personal, Michael?” Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “You know what is personal? Taking my sister all the way out here, changing her life—”

“Victoria’s life changed the moment she decided to marry me.” Michael interrupts. “Her decision, not yours, not anyone else’s. You may have misunderstood me. Just because she’s married to me, and a part of my family doesn't mean she isn’t a powerful woman on her own. I never took that away from her, just as I’ve never heard a complaint from her.”

Lorenzo almost sends the ashtray flying as he quickly scrunches and crushes up his cigarette, pointing an accusing, angry finger back at Michael. “You’re going to get her killed.”

“She would have died almost five years ago if that was the case.” Michael doesn’t flinch, flatly stating in a monotone voice as he puts his cigarette back into his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah.” Lorenzo brushes off his comment, “you already have quite the history with dead wives, don’t you? That Apollonia in Sicily? Blew herself up into pretty little pieces? How long did that take you, huh? A year? Two?”

Michael’s lifeless, cold eyes burn back into Lorenzo’s, both physically and emotionally unmoved by any of his comments. “For a man who's about to become the second most powerful Don in America, you should be thinking about your own wife and five children, Lorenzo Ferrari. Not mine.”

“I knew you’d say that.” Lorenzo forces back a fake smile, slowly rising to his feet. “I have to tolerate you, but that doesn’t mean I have to like you. I’d rather get along with you, honestly, and I may have to for Victoria’s sake.”

“I’m not Victoria’s mouthpiece.” Michael’s eyes look up at Lorenzo, exhaling out a small stream of smoke. “She can speak for herself, and she can make decisions on her own. There is no need for you to come to me if you’re concerned about her, as I have given you no reason to be.”

“Really?” Lorenzo furrows his brows.

“Yes, really.” Michael begins to stand. “You appear to be living in the past, Lorenzo. Everything you mention happened five or more years ago. That isn’t a desirable trait in the future, Don. Surely, you see the irony. I wonder if your father does.”

Michael’s words hit Lorenzo like a knife to the heart. He remains still, his eyes locked on the emotionless Don—the epitome of cruelty—who found each and every way to stab Lorenzo back with his own words and concerns.

“One day…” Lorenzo lowers his voice, gesturing back to Michael with his finger. “I will be Don Ferrari, and at that point, you will not be able to convince me with your honeyed words about my concerns over Victoria. If Victoria is ever put in any danger, if she’s ever hurt—she may have to make a choice.”

“Yes.” Michael lets his cigarette fall to the floor, immediately stepping over it firmly as the last bit of smoke trickles out from between his lips, surrounding Lorenzo. “She may have to lose a brother.”

Michael enters the bedroom, ignoring the sounds of awe and giddy chatter made downstairs on the other half of the residence. Half of the family is split in the living room, adding the last touches to the Christmas tree, organizing the several dozen stacks of gifts, or adding new ones while the others remain in the kitchen, busy whisking up the last meals for Christmas dinner.

Michael’s so-called “business meeting” earlier while you, your brothers, and the kids were out fooling around in the snow was merely an excuse not to spoil the surprise to the twins that Michael had been buying and placing more gifts under the Christmas tree.

The entire time he was at the residence, making sure the last of everything he purchased and ordered was there and in one piece as Mama Corleone and he wrapped it up in decorative paper and tried to blend it around with the other gifts under the tree.

You knew this, but you didn’t think he also had other gifts for you—another part of his surprise unrevealed to you. Michael had joined everyone for Christmas breakfast bright and early in the morning, and he had also dressed Niccolò in his first suit, slicking his hair back as he insisted on matching his father.

This was the first time since Thanksgiving that Michael had seen the entire half of your family while knowing the Ferrari’s were coming to the decision that they wanted to visit the Lake Tahoe compound at least once a month. Ironically, neither you nor Michael saw your family as often in Long Island, New York, with such a small distance between the two of you.

That came as a reminder to Michael in the sense that he had spent much of his first year of marriage with you protecting you. He had begun protecting you since you met, and you had no idea until it became blatantly evident and unavoidable.

He had visited with your father and brothers numerous times both before and after your engagement ceremony to not only earn the Ferrari family’s blessings but also be in their good graces.

Michael had always liked your father. He knew Guiseppe Ferrari was a long time friend of Vito’s from Sicily. If their ties to history didn’t bond them, it was their sense of humor, their devotion to family, and their ambition for the same things that forged a lifelong friendship and business deal.

Don Ferrari was the only one who approached getting to know Michael on a positive basis. He had high hopes for Michael based on what he knew, not what he heard. He was a realist and never liked to judge. Michael murdering Sollozzo and McClusky only piqued his attention, because if anything, Don Ferrari wanted his daughter to marry a mobster, not a nobody.

Don Ferrari took an immediate liking to Michael the moment they met. Michael was a war hero but reserved in his own way. He still had his own personality and ambitions, but he was a mafioso as much as anyone. In Michael, Don Ferrari saw a young Vito—a future prodigy. He saw the way you reacted towards Michael, and he knew you felt the same. That was enough for him.

Don Ferrari remained proud over Michael as if he was his own son. He had only good things to say about and for Michael, and for each gain of power—big or small—for each rise in reputation—powerful or dangerous—Don Ferrari knew his daughter made the right decision for herself and that he had a fine son-in-law in every aspect.

Lorenzo was and is the opposite. Lorenzo, the eldest of the Ferrari boys, married with five children to a Sicilian immigrant himself, was the spitting image of all of his father’s personality traits except for his attitude, patience, and kindness. Lorenzo was Don material since he learned how to speak, but he was a skeptic, and his temper would mix in with his paranoia.

Lorenzo thought nothing about Michael for the longest time as he had assumed Sonny would nonetheless become the next Don Corleone. The news of Michael being named the next Don instead, as the youngest male in his family, rather alarmed Lorenzo, but he trusted the Corleone family to make the best decision for themselves.

Slowly, yet surely, it began to make sense why Michael was to be his father’s successor in every way and why you married him in the first place. Lorenzo blamed Michael for letting your name out to the media, although Kay was entirely to blame. He would have rather preferred you to be a part of the Ferrari family’s business dealings, not both—hence his fears of you being targeted by enemies of both families.

His initial worries had simmered off and proved your father right once more when Michael ordered the murders of almost every one of his enemies. The Barzini’s were left powerless, Moe Greene was out of the picture, and Don Alphonse Ricci’s life neither had the respect nor meaning to keep a mafia. Ricci was no longer a threat on any scale, and Michael kept him squandered for the sake of business, knowing he wouldn’t outlive his usefulness anytime soon.

Still, enemy after enemy, rival killed after rival. The Ferrari’s never had such trouble or were in any wartime feuds. It seemed to Lorenzo that Michael couldn’t keep the blood off his hands even if he tried. There was always something else. How could Lorenzo not worry for his sister? He didn’t believe you when you told him Michael was more transparent than ever with his business and dealings. Lorenzo had always thought nobody would be able to see through a man like Michael Corleone. Not even you.

A high level of dislike and distrust exists between the two. Regardless of how much respect Lorenzo had for the Corleone family when Vito was Don, he can never know the true Corleone way of running their family business. Hearing that Michael wanted you to get more involved was nothing but a red flag for him.

All in all, Lorenzo still has to worry about his own family and business relations with Michael in the future, once Don Ferrari passes away, and tension has already been spelled out beforehand. Unlike the rest of your brothers, Lorenzo can’t and refuses to pretend that he likes someone. He respects Michael as a Don and businessman, but certainly not as your husband.

Michael doesn’t care. He doesn’t take Lorenzo’s passive-aggressive attitude, “concerns,” or increasingly apparent dislike towards him seriously or to heart. He knows what he is—the most powerful and influential mafia boss in America, and he knows what he has—his sister as his wife.

Letting out a quiet sigh, Michael closes the bedroom door behind him, beginning to shrug off his black suit jacket and rest it over the armchair. He reaches over to the dresser, grabbing a cigarette from the pack and fishing out his lighter from his pants pocket.

Placing the cigarette in between his lips to the center of his mouth, Michael lights it up and takes a deep inhale, tossing the lighter down onto the armchair. Finally coming to a state of relaxation, Michael throws off his tie and begins to unbutton his dress shirt off—taking a brief moment to exhale out smoke before putting his cigarette back in his mouth.

Continuing to add to the pile of clothes upon the armchair, Michael approaches his closet shirtless, taking out a wine red dress shirt, a double-breasted taupe overcoat, and a matching cashmere scarf. He turns to face the mirror of your vanity, only leaving the first button of his shirt undone before grabbing on his coat.

He takes a small exhale from his cigarette before throwing his scarf over his shoulders, adjusting it, so both sides remain at the same length over his chest. He leaves his coat unbuttoned and open, running his comb over a few times through his neat, side-swept parted, and slicked hair—this time not gelled from front to back.

Michael finishes up his cigarette before he leaves, putting it out upon the ashtray before exiting the bedroom, now dressed for both the weather and out of winter relaxation. With his signature stern expression back over his face, Michael makes his way downstairs and to the other side of the residential complex, reaching the living room.

He stops for a moment, momentarily lingering by the doorway as he spots you out of the crowd first—dressed in a long-sleeved, knee-length peter-collar burgundy dress and a pair of Mary-Janes—matching with your daughter. You kneel down to height with the twins, each handing them red and green glass Christmas ornaments on velvet rope, pointing to an empty branch of the tree.

Sonny, Sandra, their twin girls, Tom, and Theresa, are the only others that remain in the living room as you hear a loud, collective chatter and the sound of plates and forks tinkling against each other in the kitchen.

Michael slips his hands into the pockets of his dress pants, gazing up at the massive, twinkling Christmas tree before him. Taking up the entire center of the living room, the real tree extends widely, trimmed perfectly on all sides. Covered in over two hundred pieces of fine ornaments ranging in globes, icicles, snowflakes, and finials, a red and gold velvet ribbon trails equally throughout the decorations.

A small trail of twinkling lights snakes throughout the tree from to bottom, complementing the silver berry pick accents added alongside the ribbon. A matching crimson and gold velvet Christmas skirt covers the floor where the tree stands upon and where the several dozen stacks of Christmas presents remain. All the tree is missing is its topper.

Michael takes a step in, immediately attracting Sonny’s twin girls, Francesca and Kathryn, in matching white lace dresses. “Hi, Uncle Michael!”

“Mike.” Sonny grins back at him as Sandra gives a little wave, adjusting new gifts to the stacks with Theresa.

“Hey, Mikey.” Tom turns back, smiling.

“Hello.” Michael greets out with a nod, his eyes meeting yours as you and the twins turn around.

“Michael…” You blush red—your eyes immediately darting up and down at his change of clothing matching with your dress.

“Daddy!” Verona exclaims, carefully clutching onto her glass ornament.

“Daddy, we’re decorating the tree!” Niccolò points up to the branches.

“Are you now?” A faint smile curls up on the corner of Michael’s lips as he enters the living room—his eyes softening as they remain on you.

“We just need the topper.” You chuckle, reaching into the bottom of the ornament box to pull out a glittering, gold star.

“How are we going to reach up there, mama?” Verona pouts, noticing the major height difference.

“Well—” Just as you turn your head back to peek up at the very tip of the Christmas tree, you gasp softly, feeling Michael’s strong grip over both of your hips as he hoists you up with ease, holding you up to the Christmas tree.

“Oh my God.” Theresa giggles out, raising her head and watching Michael raise you upwards. “Careful up there, Victoria!”

“Like this, darling.” Michael keeps his careful grip over you as you reach out with your arms, blushing at his touch by your hips as you carefully position the star topper.

“Mommy’s flying!” Verona squeals.

“There we go!” You grunt, assured it’s perfectly in place and unmoved.

“Careful, mama!” Niccolò takes a step back as you lean back down.

Michael hoists you back into his arms, scooping you down bridal style. “Not to worry, I got her.”

“Thank you, mio amore.” You come face to face with Michael, smiling shyly through your blushing, rosy cheeks as he sets you down. “That’s that!”

“Now that’s a damn good-looking Christmas tree.” Sonny straightens out his suit jacket with a grin. “Let the pretty thing stay up until after New Year’s, eh?”

“Well, we went into all that trouble!” Sandra laughs, gesturing to you. “Victoria, Victoria! Come on, mama’s still waiting for us in the kitchen!”

“Alright, alright!” You turn back to the twins, pointing out of the living room. “Head on over to the dining room you two, Grandpa Vito and Giuseppe, are waiting, okay?”

“Okay, mama!” The twins beam back at both you and Michael as they skip their way out, Francesca and Kathryn following out.

“See you at dinner?” You shyly glance back at Michael.

“And after.” He leans in, planting a small kiss upon your forehead. “I haven’t been able to spend any time with you all day.”

“I know, mio amore.” You whine quietly, silently gesturing to Sandra and Theresa that you’ll be joining them in a moment as they begin to leave with Tom and Sonny. “It’s been such a rush tonight, hasn’t it?”

“You don’t have to apologize, darling.” Michael wraps an arm around your waist, “you’ve been running around all day preparing the gifts and Christmas dinner with the children—what’s to apologize for?”

“We’ve finally got the whole family together, haven’t we?” You giggle back, “I just want everything to go perfectly tonight, and speaking of—is everything alright?” You raise your brows, “with you and Lorenzo?”

“Everything’s fine.” Michael half-lies, brushing it off. “I told him matters of business are best discussed outside of family time.”

“I agree.” You nod back, walking out towards the kitchen with him. “Lorenzo is a bit eager these days—you know since father named him his successor.”

“And what do you think?” Michael raises a brow, stopping right before the dining room.

“Nothing in particular—Lorenzo is the eldest after all, and he very much takes after my father.” You explain back to him, “I support him wholeheartedly, but father isn’t retiring anytime soon, if at all.”

“I take it that he’s not a very patient man.” Michael slides his scarf off of his shoulders, holding it.

“He’s your exact opposite, actually, but I wouldn’t worry about it.” You smile back at him, placing both of your hands upon his chest gently. “I know the two of you get along perfectly fine, and no doubt father will mention it again at the table, you know, business aside and all that.”

“Of course.” Michael presses his lips into a fine line, noticing how naïve and oblivious you are to the truth of their actual relationship. “I look forward to it myself.”

“Perfect.” You lean in, feeling a flare of butterflies in the pit of your stomach as you kiss him gently. “See you at dinner, mio amore?”

“At dinner.” He murmurs back against your lips, squeezing at both of your hands.

Michael lets his fingers slide through yours as he makes his way off to the dining room. You linger by, waiting for him to be completely out of your sight before entering the kitchen, simply unable to get enough out of his casual sexiness dressed down for Christmas Eve dinner.

“There she is! Come on in, honey!” Your mother peeks out, gesturing for you. “We’re just about finished!”

“Victoria! Come on in, you know it’s just us girls running the show here.” Connie exclaims out with a warm smile, looking over her shoulder.

“Deanna didn’t show?” You ask, not that you don’t know the answer or particularly care.

Theresa rolls her eyes, almost relieved at the thought. “Deanna doesn’t cook or anything like that. She’s at the table with Fredo.”

“You know how she can be.” Your mother brushes off the thought.

“Oh, forget Deanna—don’t you guys remember what just happened in there?! If only you saw, mama.” Sandra throws her head back in laughter, nudging her. “Michael had her flying all the way up to the top of the Christmas tree.”

“What a showoff my brother is, eh?” Connie pulls on a pair of mittens, popping open the oven.

“Oh, he wasn’t showing off.” Theresa winks, handing you a tray filled with various, large platters of salads. “Did you see the way he was holding her?”

“Oh, dear.” Mama Corleone chuckles, pulling out a batch of homemade eggnog from the fridge. “This kind of talk during Christmas Eve?” She exchanges a glance with your mother—the two of them chuckling.

“Girls!” You flush red, holding firmly onto the salad tray. “Mama’s right, you know.”

“No, no! Look!” Sandra gestures to her hands, imitating Michael’s grip over your hips. “Oh yeah, those firm hands, rubbing right down on her waist—”

“Sandra!” You whine out playfully, feeling embarrassed by the recollection. “I won’t be hearing any of this! We have food to serve!”

“You’ll be feeling it, though!” Connie calls out behind you as the girls erupt in teasing laughter.

You grin to yourself, rolling your eyes and steadily holding the tray before you, carefully walking into the dining room. As soon as you approach the doorway, you notice almost everyone has taken their seats, chatting away quietly.

Your eyes naturally notice your husband first, out of reaction and severe attraction. Michael sits upright in his seat, sipping at a glass of water as he nods, listening to a story your father is telling with Vito.

Next to him remains a small bowl of pomegranate seeds he reaches his free hand into, causing you to blush furiously and quickly look away.

The two front ends of the table are reserved for Don Ferrari and Vito, and the seats are arranged so that the men remain next to each other on one side and the women on the other across from each other.

The only exception to this remains that Deanna sits next to Fredo, already concerning him based on the look upon his face since she’s halfway through chugging an entire glass of wine.

The children, including your twins, eat separately at a smaller family table just across from the grand family table, supervised by the household nanny, Esther, who otherwise remains quiet and to her duty.

Michael notices you the moment you step in with the salad trays, and for the sake of not tripping over something or sending a platter flying, you avoid eye contact with him. Furiously blushing, you carefully make your way over to both sides of the table, hearing the girls follow behind you.

You set down a platter of salad throughout the center of the table, unable to deny the hunger gnawing at your stomach.

All homemade, fully Italian dishes, the salad platters start off with acquasla—an Italian twist on a classic Caesar salad. The second, insalata di rinforzo, is a hearty salad filled with pickled and fresh vegetables, olives, and anchovies. Lastly, one of your favorites is a Caprese salad with fresh slices of mozzarella, dressed over in olive oil.

You’d already spent half of the day with the girls cooking away in the kitchen at various recipes with even wilder portions than you’ve ever cooked before. Still, at the very sight of all the cooked food arriving on trays, you come to surprise yourself with the delicious, hearty view.

Italian spaghetti and meatballs—a staple and Michael’s favorite meal as one of the main dishes for tonight is served alongside lasagna, focaccia—Italian flatbread, gnocchi served with fresh mussels, melanzane alla parmigiana—Italian style aubergines, minestrone soup, and arancini—Sicilian style rice balls you cooked yourself complimenting the stuffed Turkey placed upon the center of the table.

The rest of the table is scattered with various finger foods and smaller plates of sliced cheese, salami, and other meats and is complete with your home recipe of espresso cannoli—sprinkled with roasted almonds and honey.

You and the girls are quick to serve, stacking the trays upon each other and setting them aside as soft conversation is made about the variety of the food. Michael’s eyes land directly on the cannoli and dart back and forth to the arancini—immediately able to spot out your cooking amongst the dozens of other selections.

As you regrettably pour another glass of wine for Deanna, you and Connie work to fill everyone’s glass halfway, having to reach for a third bottle of wine as Mama Corleone and Sandra split the turkey. Theresa and your mother hand out napkins and place a few pairs of tongs and serving spoons by each platter of food.

The chatter at the table continues to grow louder as Esther and your mother work to get portions out for the children first as Francesca and Kathryn rise from their seats to help out with their niece’s and nephew’s plates.

“The hard part is over, eh?” Theresa nudges at you with her elbow, giving you a reassuring smile as the two of you take your seats.

“The hard part is going to be getting a piece of cannoli.” You grin back at her, already noticing Michael being the first to reach over.

Vito clinks the side of his dining knife against the rim of his wineglass, calming down the loud conversation from both sides of the table as a warm smile forms upon his lips. “Everyone, my children—if I could all have your attention.”

With voices quieting down and heads turned to face him, Vito rises from his seat as does your father—the two of them raising their glass of wine to each other. “Don Ferrari, I want to thank you today for joining your family with mine to come and celebrate Christmas as one. Our fifth Christmas together, united under one roof and one family that will always come to remind me of our friendship and business together.”

You can’t help but smile, clapping with everyone as your father beams back at Vito, thanking him back in Italian. “Grazie, grazie, Vito Corleone.”

“I extend my thanks to each and every one of you sitting at our family table tonight.” Vito places a hand over his chest, “from my children to my grandchildren, in-laws, family, and friends in between. I can think of nothing more harmonious.”

Vito continues, “how did things ever get so far? To be able to see my son at the pinnacle of success, honoring both of our families this Christmas Eve since that fateful day we bonded as one. What’s fortunate, and what was so graciously given to me was a daughter-in-law,” Vito gestures over to you with his hand, “and to you, my dear old friend, a son-in-law.” He points his wineglass back at your father.

You blush, lowering your eyes to the tablecloth as you can feel the gaze of the girls and your brothers over you as Vito directly mentions the familial bond with your marriage to Michael.

“I remember it as if it was yesterday, how Don Ferrari and I were not willing to let things go on the way they were before because we valued tradition, loyalty, and friendship. My dear friend…” Vito nods back at him.

“I am grateful to you, Vito, for over fifty years of friendship, from one continent to another. You have always been a man of your word and a modest one at that who listens to reason. I’ve never been happier to join our families, whether it be in the same bonds of friendship you and I have or through holy matrimony.” Don Ferrari raises his glass up with Vito, setting it down by his plate as the two families break into another round of applause.

Vito and Don Ferrari approach each other by the side of the table, joining in a hug as they chuckle, patting each other’s shoulders and making small conversation. You notice everyone around you shares the same warm sentiment—contagious grins upon everyone’s faces except for Deanna, who dumbfoundedly gazes at the table.

Your eyes momentarily meet up with Michael, locking into eye contact. Blush stings back at your cheeks as you can hear the laughter in your father and Vito’s voices as they begin to head back to their seats. You and Michael are the direct links to bonding the two families together after all through your marriage.

You smile back at Michael, whose eyes soften although he doesn’t return the same expression. Instead, he looks upon you with an assured, admiring sentiment until you turn your head back to face your father from the strain of butterflies twisting inside of you.

“Merry Christmas from the Ferrari family.” Your father proudly gestures over at you and your brothers.

“And from the Corleone’s.” Vito proclaims as everyone raises their wine glasses in unison before taking the first sip.

Chatter continues to commence again as portions are spread out throughout plates, platters passed around, and silverware tinkling against each other as another glass of wine is popped. You happily clink your glass with the girls who are indulged in a conversation about the upcoming New Year’s party and their proposed New Year’s resolutions.

“Now, I’ve never been one to refuse taking up a good New Year’s resolution myself, but…” Sandra swallows down her wine, holding her hand up.

“Stop. Stop…” Connie looks back at her, covering her mouth as she bursts out into laughter.

“Oh no,” you giggle back quietly, “is it the same one as last year?”

“It’s too hard. I can’t do it.” She sighs back dramatically. “Sorry, what I mean to say is, it’s too big—”

“Sandra!” Theresa hisses out quietly, biting her lip to hold back her own laughter. “I mean, he’s right there!”

“So?” Sandra smirks, resting her elbow upon the table as she turns her head to Sonny, in the middle of explaining something to Tom. “Santino!”

Sonny cuts himself off mid-conversation, glancing back at Sandra, which also alerts your brother Leonardo to look over as well. You ignore Sandra’s teasing to Sonny across the table, intrigued by the look in your brother’s eyes as he gazes over at Connie.

Catching her off guard as well, Connie slowly lowers her wineglass, immediately taking a shy disposition from her now naturally crude and charming behavior. She parts her lips open as if to say a word as you see the blush trickle into her rosy cheeks.

Leonardo’s gaze upon her is polite yet filled with a clear-cut attraction and adoration towards her, giving her a small smile as Connie turns her head away, unable to hide her own.

“Connie…” Your eyes dart down from her and back to your brother, who smiles back at you, giving his shoulders a slight shrug as he returns back to the conversation with the boys.

“Now there’s someone who’ll give Merle Johnson a run for his money.” Theresa munches on a piece of turkey, noticing Connie shifting in her seat.

“What? He’s cute, that’s all.” She murmurs back, glancing back at you as if she’s seeking approval.

You raise your brows back at her as the two of you burst into a fit of giggles. “Yes, Connie, he’s single, but you should talk to him instead.”

Christmas Eve of 1954 comes to an eventful end filled with the warmth, laughter and joy shared between your two families over dinner and soft conversation, looking forward to the new year ahead of you for what 1955 will bring.

Marking the end of another year with memories honored in your ever-growing photo album, another photograph is added of this year’s Christmas dinner table, as well as everyone huddled together and holding the kids by the family table for a perfect shot. The snowball fight from earlier, the snowmen Niccolò and Verona built and happily posed next to, a photo of you under the snow fort with the twins, Sonny and Tom, another photograph of the Christmas tree with and without the massive pile of presents piled up underneath, and one of the family all together again by the Christmas tree.

That last photograph with family by the Christmas tree was one of your favorites. You held Verona in your arms as Michael stood next to you, holding Niccolò—a ghost of a smile upon his lips whereas he had remained completely still and emotionless in the other photographs.

Reaching the end of Christmas 1954’s photographs came down to an image of you, Michael, and the twins by the Christmas tree, this time capturing a rare full smile upon Michael’s face as all four of you gave beaming smiles for the camera.

The second last shot consisted of Michael and you alone by the tree and fireplace, his arm wrapped around your waist and your hand over his chest—both smiling. That one made your heart skip a beat no matter how many times you gazed at it, holding the spot of clear favorite.

Lastly, marking the end of the holiday season, another photograph of Michael and you under the mistletoe hung upon the doorway, facing each other. His hands were lovingly wrapped around your hips, and you placed both of yours upon his shoulders, gazing up at him with a picture-perfect smile as he gazed down at you—a gentle expression without a smile, but one nonetheless for the sake of memory.

Now alone in the kitchen, you hum quietly to yourself over the stove as you continue to stir at the pot of hot chocolate before you. You raise up your spoon, taking a small yet cautious sip as you stir again, deciding to add in another spoonful of sugar.

Michael awaits you in the living room, lounging upon the armchair by the fireplace and Christmas tree, reading a copy of The Art of War. With the festivities of the evening over, everyone has retired to their rooms and sides of the complex to spend the rest of the night, leaving some much-needed alone time for the two of you.

As both of you remain preoccupied for the time being, the illumination of the fireplace trickling out into the hallway attracts your daughter Verona’s attention. Already unable to sleep due to the excitement of Christmas morning, Verona rubs at her eyes, pulling aside her blanket as she slips out of bed.

Tired from spending all the bouts of energy she had during the snowball fight with her uncles, Verona had no time to show her father the little doodle she came up with after dinner, drawing with her cousins.

It’s the first thing she scoops up from her dresser, reaching up on her toes and clutching it close to her. The drawing consists of her and Niccolò standing side by side, all stickmen as Michael is drawn taller, holding you up in his arms to reach the top of the scribbled Christmas tree from earlier to place the star topper.

Awfully proud of her artistic skills and already under the belief her father is a superhero in the making, Verona peeks her little head out of her bedroom and glances around the quiet, empty hallway before heading towards the living room.

The pitter-patter of her feet hit the mahogany floors as she walks up to the doorway, peeking up at her father. Noticing a shadow and presence by the door, Michael raises his head up from his book to look.

Michael’s eyes widen slightly to see his daughter up so late, looking back at him with excitement in her eyes. “Daddy?”

“Verona?” Michael sets aside his book as she begins to approach him. “What are you doing up so late, sweetheart? You should be in bed.”

Verona shakes her head with a giggle, standing by the armchair and eagerly holding up the drawing in her arm. “Can’t sleep, daddy. I’m too excited.”

“Too excited?” Michael sits up in his seat, a smile forming over his face as he glances back at the overflow of gifts underneath the Christmas tree.

“I couldn’t…” Verona glances back down at her drawing, holding it in a way to hide the contents from her father. “I didn’t have time to wrap this for you, daddy, but…” She peeks up shyly, handing Michael the drawing. “I made dis for you.”

Michael raises his brows, taking the drawing from her with a chuckle. A warm smile paints over his lips at the colorful stickman drawing of him holding you up towards the Christmas tree. “You made this for me?”

“Mhmm!” Verona clasps her hands together in her leap, eager to see the full reaction of her father. “Do you like it, daddy?”

“I love it, darling.” Michael leans down, giving her head a little smooch. “You drew this earlier with your cousins?”

“Yes, daddy.” She answers back, glancing to the doorway. “Niccolò really liked it too. He said daddy is a superhero.”

“A superhero?” Michael glances down at the drawing, both amused by the irony but the thoughtfulness of his children and their creativity.

“I want to be a superhero too.” Verona grins back, nodding.

“Even superheroes need their rest, you know.” Michael sets aside her drawing on top of his book. “Otherwise, how are you going to open all those presents tomorrow?”

Verona gasps a little, giggling. “Then I have to go back to bed right away before mama comes.”

“Before mama comes…” Michael repeats with a soft laugh, nodding back at her. “She’ll tuck you back in, alright? Gotta go sleep that excitement and energy off, so you have enough for tomorrow.”

“Okay, daddy. Goodnight!” She leans up and in to hug her father.

Michael moves down to hug his daughter back as she giddily skips back off down to the hallway and to her bedroom, just in time as you turn off the stove, beginning to pour the hot chocolate into two mugs.

Leaving her bedroom door ajar and snuggling her way back into bed, Verona is all out of sight as you set aside the pot from the stove, taking both of the mugs and a small bowl of marshmallows before walking into the living room to greet Michael.

“Alright, here we are, mio amore…” You carefully hand him his mug before setting yours aside on the coffee table with the marshmallows.

“Thank you.” Michael holds the mug in one hand, lifting up Verona’s drawing with his free one. “Did you see this?”

“Oh, did Verona draw that?” Your eyes widen in surprise as you beam back at the drawing. “It’s adorable. Oh—wait a moment, is she still awake?”

Michael raises his mug up to his lips, adding back, “has she ever been able to sleep on Christmas Eve?”

“She takes after me.” You sheepishly admit, smoothening out the front of your dress. “I’ll go tuck her back in. You know—I couldn’t sleep a wink before our engagement ceremony or our wedding either.”

“So what’s your equivalent of a drawing then?” Michael sets it back down as you walk back to the doorway.

“Oh, I don’t know…” You graze your tongue against the front of your teeth, unable to hide your grin. “A photograph?”

“A photograph.” Michael leans back in his seat, nodding.

“That kind of photograph.” You clutch onto the doorway, “the kind I’ll show you when our families aren’t around to hear the aftermath of it.”

“Are you teasing me?” Michael lowers his mug.

“Your hot chocolate is going to get cold, mio amore.” You point back, ignoring his question on purpose. You hold back your giggles, heading off towards Verona’s bedroom, slightly push open the ajar door.

Taking a step in, you notice her still awake, stirring underneath the blankets to get comfortable. You approach the bed, sitting upon the edge as she turns over on her side, peeking back at you with the blankets pulled up to her chest.

“Hi, mama.”

“Hi…” You speak softly, caressing her cheek. “Someone’s still awake. Can’t sleep?”

Verona shakes her head. “Too excited.”

You chuckle, smoothening out her blankets. “Can’t wait to open up all those presents, huh?”

“So many.” She whispers back giddily. “Did you see my drawing?”

“Did I ever.” You lean in, planting a kiss upon Verona’s forehead. “It was beautiful. Your father and I loved it.”

“That’s my first Christmas drawing…” She holds back a yawn. “And then we get to open the presents tomorrow.”

“Mhmm, and it’ll take all morning, so you need all the rest you can get.” You lean in, planting a kiss upon Verona’s forehead. “You don’t want to be all sleepy in the morning, right?”

“Nuh-uh…” She shakes her head, yawning. “I’ll count sheep like daddy says…”

“How many sheep did it take last time?” You brush a curtain of her hair behind her ear.

“I think…” Verona pauses for a moment, her eyes half-open. “I think I counted forty sheeps…”

“Sheeps?”

“Sheepies…” She nods back. “I can tell you how many tomorrow.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” You kiss both of her cheeks. “Tell the sheepies I said ‘goodnight’ too.”

“Will do, mama… Goodnight.” Verona sleepily rubs at her eyes.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” You whisper back, “I love you very much.”

“I love you too, mama.” She gives you a lazy smile, curling up in bed as you quietly rise back up, making your way back towards the door.

Verona flutters her eyes shut, snuggled up peacefully between her blankets—her small nightlamp across the room dimly lighting a part of her bedroom. Leaving her door ajar once more, you take a peek inside of Niccolò’s bedroom just across from Verona’s, already finding himself snoozed away with his hair a fluffy and tousled mess.

You smile back to yourself, feeling at ease with your children safe and sound in bed. Giving out a small sigh of relief, you trail your hand down the wall as you continue down the corridor, making your way back towards the living room.

The crackle and light of the fireplace dance about in shadows against the walls as you return, now lingering shyly by the doorway as you find Michael lounging over the armchair. Two buttons of his wine-red dress shirt undone, his sleeves slightly rolled up past his wrists, and his watch gleaming by the illumination of the fire as he continues reading his book in one hand and holds his mug of hot chocolate in the other.

Without even realizing it, you find yourself nibbling upon your bottom lip. There’s nothing provocative about his stature or presence, yet a severe tug of arousal and attraction hit you all at once. How he manages to casually relax and be sexy at the same time, you’ll never understand.

Still, it’s one of the few times you see him out of his formal attire of three-piece, silk Italian suits. Throughout the holiday season at home, he’s worn nothing but sweaters, turtlenecks, knit shirts, and warm jackets with matching trousers.

He hasn’t fully slicked his hair back as he usually does for work and other business meetings, simply brushing it and parting it back or to the side with a little bit of gel. Relaxed, casual, formal, sophisticated or not, there could be no way you’d ever be able to peel your eyes off of him, even if you wanted to.

There have already been several times where you’ve caught him simply enjoying the rest of his night, indulge in anything but work or business matters even though you know (and are used to) Michael bringing business into everything at this point. You’ve been lucky enough to have your camera on you at those times, snapping those simple yet heart-throbbing photographs of him.

After all, he’s the one that took a close-up portrait shot of you and keeps it as the only photograph next to one of the twins side by side upon his office desk.

Michael has one knee crossed over the other, pondering back at the book as he raises his mug up to his lips to take a sip. The blush in your cheek warms as you take another few steps to approach and enter the living room, unable to explain to yourself about your sudden surge of shyness.

“Everyone’s all cuddled up and ready for bed now.” You take your mug off of the coffee table, coming up to Michael.

“Hope you’re not feeling tired yourself anytime soon. Come ‘ere…” Michael sets his book down, gesturing to his lap. “Come sit with me.”

Blushing, you carefully put down your mug next to his upon the coffee table before getting in his arms, snuggling about onto his lap as you extend your legs down with his. Michael relaxes his muscles, shifting in his seat to get comfortable with you as he wraps an arm around your back.

You cuddle up to his chest, immediately taking in the scent of his cologne as you nuzzle his neck. “Now it’s just you and me…”

“Mhmm.” Michael lets out a deep exhale, carefully handing you back your mug as he takes his. “I want to enjoy this moment. It’s going to be nothing but hectic for the next week or so again…” He gazes down at you as you slowly take a sip. “Can’t be helped, though.”

“You want me all to yourself?” You smile back at him with your eyes, picking out a marshmallow from the bowl and putting it up to his mouth. His lips coming into contact with your fingers as he munches down upon it doesn’t help your arousal.

“Mm. What can I say? Yes, I do. I’m selfish.” Michael murmurs back, halfway through his hot chocolate. “Just you, me, and…” You notice his eyes fall down to your stomach. “Hopefully, another little one.”

“Too early to say, mio amore.” You smile back shyly at him. “But very, very soon.”

Michael sets his mug down, pushing it aside and gently placing a hand over your stomach. “It’s been on my mind recently. Nothing could have prepared me for fatherhood, but still. It’s different. It’s changed me.”

“That it has.” You put your hand over top of his. “All for the better. It’s changed both of our lives.”

“Motherhood has and always will look good on you.” Michael laces his hand with yours as you continue drinking your hot chocolate. Michael caresses your cheek with the back of his hand—his gaze lovingly upon you as you set your mug aside, having finished the last of your sugary drink. “But you know that, don’t you?”

“You give me too much credit, mio amore.” You whine out softly, avoiding his eyes as butterflies strain in the pit of your stomach.

“Nonsense.” He mumbles against your temple, pressing a kiss upon it. “You’ve given me a beautiful family. I have much to be grateful for, holiday or not. And the gifts…” He gestures to the pile carelessly, “all mundane in comparison. It had me thinking earlier this morning, what do you get the woman whose given you everything? Who has everything?”

“Michael…” You gaze back into his chestnut, dark eyes—the flames of the fire reflecting in them as your heart begins to race in your chest.

“You give her a memory.” He locks eyes with you, stroking his thumb over the back of your hand. “Because I want to preserve you like one, and because I don’t want the testimony of my commitment to you or our family to be through material gifts.”

“A memory…” You repeat, the smile upon your lips growing.

“Making memories is one thing, but preserving them…” Michael reaches over to the coffee table, grabbing a cigarette out of his pack with his lighter. “That’s another.”

“Do you remember when we first met?” You peek up at him shyly.

“Do I ever.” Michael puts his cigarette into the corner of his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours. “That was neither the first nor last time I’d lay eyes on you, but I didn’t know then what would become of either of us.” You take his lighter, flicking it on for him to light his cigarette as he takes a long drag. “I always thought you could have said ‘no’ for any reason.”

“Couldn’t you?”

“I could, but it would have taken time.” He blows out his cigarette smoke to the side to avoid getting it over you. “I told you, a loveless marriage was not an option for me. It would have been unbearable, and that’s past the personal portion. I don’t run things like my father does in our family, and I understand that’s a problem for most.”

“You mean in terms of legitimacy?” You trace lazy circles upon his chest, looking up at him.

“Exactly.” Michael moves the ashtray closer to him upon the coffee table. “The Corleone family runs all the gambling in this country, but only to an extent, it’s legitimate. The needed legality is only in the contacts, the license, and the name. Our olive oil business in Sicily with your father remains to be the only legitimate business we have. The rest…” The two of you make direct eye contact, “is criminal.”

“That’s the reality.” You’re relatively unmoved, knowing if anything, it’s always been the same throughout your family. “That’s mafia.”

“That’s mafia.” He repeats, a flicker of amusement flashing in his eyes at your reaction. “That’s who I was before I met you and who you always were. Mafioso. Many don’t question how the underworld is run, but it’s hard to ignore when it embraces you at all sides.” Michael takes a small drag from his cigarette. “Even before I met you, you had everything. Power, influence, money. You didn’t want it, you didn’t care for it, but you’ve embraced it in different ways. You’ve lived a double life, but willingly.”

Michael kisses the top of your head softly. “You remind me of myself at times. In this life, you’re my opposite, but you’re also my reflection. I’ve never been able to explain it to myself, but I saw that in you, even then—all that time ago. And as time goes on, you remind me over and over again. Our fifth Christmas together, two children by our side—its memory. It’s all memory.”

“Memory…” You smile against his chest, warming up to the thought. “Just like in all of our photo albums together.”

“Just so. You’ll have a chance to see just what I mean for yourself tomorrow morning.” Michael pulls you further into his embrace as he tenderly rubs up and down your arm.

“You know what I would do to keep moments like this going forever.” He holds his cigarette up between his fingers. “I’d give everything because when I look at you, I don’t see bloodshed or violence. I see peace, I see my family, and I see my home. When they came for me…” Michael pauses for a moment, gazing deeply into your eyes. “They came at what I loved, and they succeeded. Security, guards, high walls—it’s nothing. It’s why I have to protect you, Victoria—always. Not just for my own selfish desire, but for our children, your father, and your family. You will never know that, and it’s only my wish that you never do. I’m telling you this because I love you. I always have.”

“I love you too, Michael.” Your breath hitches as you feel your bottom lip quiver, a rush of emotions soaring through you at the sound of his very words.

Michael chuckles back at you, noticing your ever-growing smile at the release of his emotions towards you. “You have the most beautiful smile, you know that?”

Your eyes widen slightly as your rosy cheeks burn with blush. Michael’s eyes no longer flare with intensity or burn through your gaze but melt into yours with a gentleness you’ve rarely seen.

One that returned since you gave birth to the twins, crying out in pain and clasping at his hand for support, and from the consummation of your marriage as you felt his bare skin against yours for the first time, marking you as his.

Michael says nothing, understanding you in silence. Holding you in his arms, he places a hand over your thigh to keep you on his lap and the other intertwined with one another.

Lost in the hazy moment of gazing upon each other, as soon as Michael puts his cigarette back in-between his lips, you reach in and pull it out—quick to replace it with a kiss. You pull your hand back, putting it out behind you on the ashtray.

You can feel Michael smile against your lips as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, joining him in a deep kiss. Your heart thunders as you feel your face stinging with blush from all sides, clutching onto Michael’s shoulders as the heated kiss turns feverishly desperate.

Michael's hands pull you in chest to chest from your hips, gradually beginning to shorten his kisses. The sound of the two of you kissing back and forth fills the room as you giggle, feeling the brush of his lips over yours tickling your mouth.

His hands rub up and down the sides of your body, applying just a slight amount of pressure to cause sparks of pleasure to fly through you as they reach your breasts and back down to your waistline.

Michael restrains himself at the thought of his family still up and awake at the complex, and the twins down the hall as his mind can only think of his growing desire to pin you against the armchair and strip your clothes off with his teeth.

Another rejoined the break between your last kiss as Michael gently cups your face in his hands, crushing his lips in unison with yours as your eyes flutter shut. You relax in the firmness of your embrace, allowing yourself to get lost in the depth of his affection returned to you.

As you kiss Michael, you feel all of him as if your hearts beat together as one. A shared sense of passion laced in a mutual longing for lust keeps your lips throbbing for more as you come to miss him each time he parts his mouth from yours.

“M-Michael…” Breathing out in-between, the touch of his chest against yours and his hands gently clasping at your face send fire coursing through your skin. Submitting to the dominance of his tongue with his kiss like honey, you both restrain yourselves in erotica but remain relentless in longing.

The familiar tugging sensation of unbearable arousal and wild attraction collide in you all at once as he slowly yet tenderly parts his lips away from yours. The two of you breathe out, unable to say a word to each other at the moment.

Completely and utterly flustered with your heart aching with desire to be within his embrace once more, you gaze up at Michael, mesmerized by your own emotions pulling yourself towards him.

Another smile breaks upon your lips as the tip of your nose comes into contact with his, and you find yourself unable to hold back your soft laughter ringing throughout the living room. The sight of his smile matching yours causes your heart to skip a beat, filled with an overwhelming rush of joy and emotions hitting you all at once.

The moment of sensual intimacy you share with Michael is the pinnacle of your preservation of memories. He leaves you breathless, kissing up and down your neck as you let out breathy giggles, rejoined in his warm embrace by the fire.

You’re surrounded by your loved ones, in the embrace of your husband, and knowing your children are safe and sound. Your family's bond is as strong as ever, united with the Corleone’s with nothing to share but the same happiness you’ve felt each and every time, resonating with you during the holiday season.

“Merry Christmas, mio amore.” You whisper back to him as he takes your hand in his.

With Michael’s hand laced with yours, aligning your wedding bands with each other, his tone is low and soft as he speaks back to you. “Merry Christmas, darling.”

With the clock striking just past midnight and within the embrace of your lover, Christmas Eve of 1954 comes to an end.

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melis-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 35 - Last Goodbye.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 34 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read. Read chapter 35 below!

"Victoria Ferrari is no ordinary woman. She never has been. She’s the daughter of the second most powerful mafioso in the country." / “Fredo’s not avoiding the family, Victoria; he’s avoiding me.”

The aftermath of your week-long absence from Michael results in an intensity of shared passion and desire between the two of you. Unable to get your hands off of each other, forgiveness is in order as you and Michael strengthen your relationship. Stress and frustration linger over you as your mother's condition worsens and the infection caused from her bullet wound is discovered to have been caused by poison. Michael plans out his next moves carefully to confront Fredo when he inevitably returns home and to reaffirm his beliefs that Rocco Lampone was also involved on the hit. Spending the last moments of your mother's life with her, her death shocks you to your core as you become inconsolable. With funeral preparations planned and the Ferrari and Corleone families splintered apart more than ever, Fredo and Lorenzo's arrival back to Lake Tahoe are not taken well by Michael who refuses to see his brother. Comforted by your family and friends, you beg for Michael to hear Fredo out which results in a brotherly reunion where Michael signs Fredo's death warrant himself.

[WARNINGS]: Smut / Character Death.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The third last chapter of "Moth to Flame" is here! 🥺 We're looking at two more chapters now until the fic is finally complete, and the plot is wrapping up to the last of TGF2! Expect lots of angst in this chapter as there is character death 😭 as well as Fredo's return, a little bit of drama between Sandra/Sonny and Victoria and of course, hot and heavy smut as requested. 😏 It's a rollercoaster of emotions in this chapter!! For the sake of the gifs that have Connie in them 🤣 imagination works best if you pretend you're in her place instead. 👀🤞

[SPECIAL SHOUTOUT]: Michael mentioning Niccolo’s succession to Vito / Tension between Sandra and you over Sonny / Flashback scene of making love to Michael by the fireplace / Slow and cuddly love making on the sofa with Michael / Moaning to Michael just how big he is /

[ + 3 Days – Lake Tahoe Residence ]

Still lingering over the aftermath of your absence from Michael, you’ve taken every bit of free time in the past three days possible to spend intimately with him without a second thought. Only the notions of need and greed are felt between the two of you as you’ve now practically broken the mattress in from the hours of feverish love-making and sloppy, quick fucking.

“I’m going to kiss you again, and again, and again…” Michael murmured and nuzzled you.

If it’s not upon the bed by the residence when you and Michael get the chance, it’s in the corner of his office or sprawled upon his desk for quick yet desperate release—something that hasn’t changed for the past three days.

“Michael!” You giggled and wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he planted several kisses all over your cheeks and lips.

Each kiss, each touch, each fuck feels as if it’ll be it's last from the amount of heavy passion and desire Michael and you mutually share towards each other. It amuses you at the same time to see how sexually and emotionally clingy Michael has gotten with you—even if he absolutely refuses to admit it.

“You’re so beautiful.” You could feel Michael smiling against your neck as he inhaled softly, taking in the soft scent of your hair and perfume as you embraced him. He pressed his lips gently up to your neck, appreciating every inch of your skin.

With the distance between you entirely closed, the sexual arousal and dominance with both of you are heavier and insistent than ever. Practically unable to take your hands off of each other, it’s very obvious to you from Michael that he’s missed you immensely and is making up every day of your week-long absence from him up just the way you like it.

“I love you.” You whispered back against his lips and leaned up on your toes to kiss his lips sweetly. “I love you so much.”

For the last three days, if anyone else hears or knows about what you and Michael are doing for hours on end, it’ll only be described as a “fuck fest.” There isn’t a single moment where you got out of bed or off of Michael’s desk, or his lap, or fucked against the wall, upon the windowpane, and by the pool, just to name a few without his hot cum oozing out of you for minutes on end. Filled and filled again, privacy becomes heavenly as every environment Michael takes his sexual desire out on you fills with both of your breathy moans as the scent of sex fills the air.

You turned around from the stove with a shy smile as Michael hugged you from behind lovingly. As you faced him, he embraced you fully and pulled you into his warm embrace. You rested your head upon his shoulder and took in the scent of his cologne. You loved casual affection and intimacy with Michael as much as you did sexually.

Amidst the chaos of your life at times, Michael is either the calm before the storm or the calm during the storm. In him you get lost and find yourself wanting nothing more while having everything you’d ever desire. Nothing is off-limits for either of you, and Michael Corleone is yours just as much as you’re his, and you’re about to remind him so as soon as you have the benefit of privacy.

Sitting upon the edge of one of the straw-knit garden lounge chairs, Michael runs the palms of his hands carefully alongside the sides of his hair, smoothening it out. Lightly gelled and brushed aside for a sleek and clean yet relaxed look on his day off to spend with the family, he lets out a soft sigh and loosens his tie a little bit.

With his dark-grey pinstripe suit jacket shrugged off and matching waistcoat unbuttoned, Michael reaches over and opts for a tall glass of water rather than the bottle of red wine he knows is his father’s favorite.

Taking a small sip of his water, peaceful seclusion of sorts surrounds Michael. The garden is as lively as ever with vegetation and blossoming flowers—just the way you and the twins had it designed with the gardener to be in time for spring and summer.

The faint fragrance of lilacs, lavender, and gardenia flowers pick up in the warm summer breeze as Michael turns his head back to glance at the courtyard door leading from the central family residence to the garden area.

With just two hours left until lunch, you’re preoccupied with revising today’s schoolwork with the twins before joining Connie and Theresa to prepare today’s meal. It leaves Michael’s day largely open, and anticipating a conversation with his father, he knew he’d be having the moment Michael made an official narcotics deal with your father.

Your brother Leonardo is the only one who comes back to visit the Lake Tahoe family residence from time to time, not only to see you and the family but especially for Connie, with who he’s been in a committed relationship for the past few months.

Your mother and father are the only ones who’ve voiced their displeasure over Lorenzo breaking ties with the Corleone family at the residence. Refusing to visit or even take his wife and kids, Lorenzo promptly remains back in New York with Matteo, Alessio, and Dante. For them, it’s business as usual, and they could care less—especially now with Corleone competition steadily rising.

Your mother has been as stubborn as you on the matter, and you’re very much aware of whom you got the trait from. Throughout her resting and healing from the infection that resulted from her gun wound, she’s spent her entire time at the Lake Tahoe compound with you, claiming that her sons “are foolish” and that “the family should be bonding now more than ever.” She’s none too happy about Lorenzo’s new business tricks as he grows closer to succeeding your father by the day.

Your father—Don Ferrari—is far too preoccupied for obvious reasons to entertain Lorenzo’s opinion on the matter that he doesn’t share, to begin with. Still, the Corleone family is a family of their own, and they’re more of yours than anyone else’s. Your father doesn’t believe in meddling with that.

You’re slowly yet surely growing accustomed to more silence than usual on the family compound. With the exception of Leonardo and Dante, your brothers have growing families of their own that loved spending time with the twins for weeks on end.

Perhaps Lorenzo believes he’s somehow punishing you for your husband’s own decisions, but to Michael, it honestly couldn’t have been done sooner. He respects your family and is more than happy to provide Corleone family hospitality to them, but it never meant Michael cared for it or liked it. After all, it’s difficult to live with those you know you might end up having to kill in the future or being in a serious competition meaning life or death with that sits well with nobody.

Things have cooled between Sonny and Michael, although it perhaps couldn’t be remedied as quickly or seriously without Vito getting involved after hearing what happened. Expressing extreme disappointment to his eldest son about his actions, as well as telling Sonny he should thank Michael for not breaking his nose, which may have been deserved, Sonny definitely learned his lesson.

In terms of some personal trust and spending any time alone with you, Michael’s relationship with Sonny remains to be somewhat damaged. Michael loves his brother dearly but certainly doesn’t trust him around you again. At the same time, he’s not surprised Sonny pulled such a move or had the courage to, to begin with—he’s simply disappointed.

As for you, however, you’ve chosen to look past it completely. Sonny is your brother-in-law, after all, and you’re well aware that he’s learned his lesson even if he was just “fooling around” after you saw Michael rock his jaw before your own eyes. You still love and respect Sonny as always, but that kiss is definitely not going to be something you’ll forget easily.

Fredo has, if anything, almost cut off contact with the entire family completely. You suspect he still reaches out to his father from time to time, but his name is barely uttered at the compound. With the less Fredo’s thought of and spoken of and the increasing length of his absence, your curiosity naturally grows, and you suspect obvious foul play.

Still, you respect Michael’s decision on the matter and know he doesn’t care, nor does he speak of it. You don’t feel as if it’s your place to ask about Fredo as you know it has something to do with Michael, and you refuse to question his business. Michael has noticed this himself, and although he hides what truly happened in Cuba from everybody except for Tom—including his own father—he intends to change that, and soon.

Michael’s attention piques as he sets his glass of water down to spot Vito pushing open the courtyard door and beginning to approach him by the garden. Michael rises to his feet out of respect for his father, now dressed in a navy, knit button-up shirt and grey trousers.

Vito, looking healthy and relaxed, approaches Michael with a warm smile over his lips. Happy to see his son whose succeeded him on every front and impressed him tenfold, Vito rubs Michael’s shoulders tenderly before giving them a pact. “Michael, hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long. You know how Tom can be with his papers.”

Michael gives his father a small, polite smile. “I know. It’s fine, Pop.” He steps back from Vito as the two take their seats across from each other.

Vito lets out a soft exhale, reaching for his bottle of wine as Michael looks upon his father with anticipation for his next words. “I think I already know what you’re about to tell me.”

“You’ve always been one step ahead of everybody,” Vito comments back with a smile, pouring himself a full glass of wine. “I figured as much.”

Michael gives a small nod, intertwining his fingers together as he sits upright on the edge of his seat. “You know if Don Ferrari took issue with me that he would be here too, Pop.”

“When somebody in our line of business takes issue with someone—” Vito clasps his wineglass, facing his son, “—we usually find a body, then a feud afterward, not before. Considering everything you’ve done for our family, I know it’ll be you who calls the shots because others are afraid you’ll be the one to have them killed.”

“They aren’t wrong about that.” Michael maintains eye contact with his father. “I’d prefer it stay that way.”

“Why? I want to understand your reasoning.” Vito frowns.

“Peace is one thing, but there’s a very fine line until it becomes a sign of weakness.” There’s an all too familiar coldness in Michael’s eyes as he speaks. “The Ferrari’s have not mistaken my respect for them as hostility either.”

“Giuseppe’s oldest boy has.” Vito takes a small sip of his wine with a sigh. “He gave me no reasons when he departed with his family. His hot-headed nature reminds me of Santino, but he too is a man to be reckoned with now, Michael.”

“What about Tattaglia? Stracci and Barzini?” Michael raises a brow. “Men like Lorenzo are everywhere. They’re beneath me. They always have been.”

“He’s your enemy,” Vito states, but he’s questioning it more than anything.

“No, but he could be. Sometimes I think he wants to be, but we both know what that would mean.” Michael gives a careless shrug of his shoulders.

Vito glances down at his wineglass momentarily. “I had promised Don Ferrari I wouldn’t break the peace between our families. It was to avoid exactly this.”

“You didn’t break anything, Pop,” Michael replies. “You didn’t break your promise. I never made that promise. You don’t have to have any part in this.”

“You’re going to stand against them?” Vito asks.

“If I have to, Pop. If I’m left no choice, I know what I’m to do. I take full responsibility for that, not you.” Michael reaffirms to him.

“How does your wife feel about—” Vito gestures up with his wineglass, “—all of this? It’s her family, after all.”

“Victoria and I have already had this conversation.” Michael knows that it’s given both of you enough heartache and frustration for a lifetime as is. “She’s aware of the implications. She knows well enough.”

“And what about your family?” Vito taps the back of his fingers against the rim of his wineglass. “You’re expecting a third child already. And your boy, Niccolò—“ Vito pauses, a wide smile growing on his face, “he looks more like you every day.”

Michael’s expression softens as he looks downward, a rare occasion where he’s genuinely smiling. “He’s smarter than me too. He was three years old and already reading the funny papers.”

“The funny papers,” Vito repeats with a soft laugh, amused. “He looks up to you a lot, you know. Always says he wants to be like his father. It’s much too soon to say, of course, but you’re thinking of having him succeed you in the future?”

Michael nods, “I have, and I plan to when the time comes.”

“Perhaps he won’t be as forthcoming like you were?” A hint of a playful tone can be heard in Vito’s voice. “After all, you weren’t.”

Michael cracks a faint smile at the thought. “Niccolò seems eager to—even calling himself Don from time to time—although we both know he doesn’t understand the ‘family business’ now. I don’t expect him to either, but he takes well after his grandfather’s wits.”

“And if he chooses not to?” Vito asks.

“Then that’s his choice.” Michael runs his tongue over his teeth. “He’s free to do as he wishes, whether he wants to get into politics like I did or become a lawyer like his mother—something even completely different, I’ll always support him. Victoria and I both will.”

“The question most of us Mafiosi have at hand when we’re starting our families is always succession.” Vito agrees, nodding. “I didn’t expect my youngest son to succeed me at that time. You’re hoping your wife gives birth to another boy?”

“Of course.” Michael smoothens out his waistcoat. “I would love to have another son, and again. I love my daughter, Pop, but the terms of succession are different. If she wants to become a part of the family business as her mother, that would be more than ideal.”

Vito grins. “Little Verona. She has the Ferrari fire, just like her mother. That’s why all of this…” Vito’s train of thought fades off as he pauses for a moment, completely changing what he’s about to say next. “Crossing the Ferrari’s like this will do more harm to Victoria than anyone else.” Vito gazes down at the ground, frowning. “It could split both of the families apart. It stands to be an irony that she’s in the middle of all of this.”

“Believe me when I say it’s only a matter of dire circumstance.” Michael shifts in his seat. “I know what I have to do, but I rather not do so. I don’t intend to keep my enemies alive anymore, father. I’ve seen what that’s done to our family in the past.”

Vito raises his head to glance up at Michael. “I see you’re resorting back to how the family was when Santino and Brasi were enforcing it. I won’t stand against you for it, but… I expected something different. I didn’t see you going down this path with the family business, Michael. They took an attempt on your life just as they did to mine years ago. I see you walking in my footsteps and further than that—close to me but unreachable still. All I want for you is to do what’s right for your family first. I don’t want you to lose yourself in this Ferrari and Stracci business.”

“Pop, you know me.” A serious tone falls into Michael’s voice. “The Corleone family is great because of you and always was, but it’ll continue to be so because of me. The men you grew up doing business with—Cuneo, Stracci, Tattaglia, Barzini—they’re all dead because of me. Their successors play dirty. There’s no honor, no family left in any of this. I’d rather they fear me than respect me.”

“I know the way that I’ve done thing is long over.” Vito gives a slow nod. “I know that. You have the cunning none of your brothers have, Michael. But what about our family?”

“Business comes first, Pop,” Michael answers without hesitation. “Everything else falls into line after.”

“Michael.” Vito looks into his son’s eyes with disappointment. “Morality has no meaning or ground in our line of business. Everyone’s values revolve around money, power, and loyalty. I was the first and the last man of my kind to make my living amongst others and benefit my contacts without cheating or lying to them. That’s not the world we live in anymore. Getting to where you are now in both your personal and business life requires you to bend the rules your own mother taught you never to do as a growing boy. You can lie to the world, Michael, and you can have it your way, but you cannot lie to me, and you cannot lie to your wife.” Before Michael can even react, Vito adds on, “I see right through it.”

Michael’s expression hardens as he takes in Vito’s words, remaining silent. His eyes stare back at his father, reading at his disappointed and restless disposition. As much as there’s pride in Vito somewhere for Michael, there’s just as much an equal amount of regret.

“I don’t believe in getting involved in anyone’s marriage.” Vito shakes his head, “but it appears I’m the only one here who still thinks that way. Your enemies do not, the media does not, and Don Ferrari certainly does not. I need you to understand the gravity of this situation. Victoria Ferrari is no ordinary woman. She never has been. She’s the daughter of the second most powerful mafioso in the country. Giuseppe Ferrari’s name shakes Sicily to its core to this day. You don’t have the same influence in Sicily as he does. Some of your best tricks in business you picked up from your own father-in-law. The only difference is nobody has ever betrayed Giuseppe Ferrari. When I met him, the man told me he invented the word “blackmail.” You bring me the world’s most morally depraved man, and Ferrari will make him look like a saint in comparison. He’s as competitive and deadly as he is cooperative and compassionate. Our first time together in Sicily, he smiled and hugged a man then slit his throat in front of his family the same night. He’s as tricky as they come—but he’s my dearest and oldest friend. Men like me knew I didn’t stand a chance against him, but I didn’t think that way. I didn’t want to. I could gain more with my personal and business relationships with a man like Giuseppe Ferrari than doing anything else.”

Vito points at Michael, “Lorenzo Ferrari is not Giuseppe Ferrari. He’s close. You keep an eye on that man because the moment he succeeds his father, ‘merciless’ will be his middle name. It runs in their blood, Michael. Giuseppe practically invented the narcotics trade in New York and New Jersey. Nobody breathes without his word. He’d kill a man for letting his hat drop to the ground and much less. If something happens to Victoria…” Vito frowns, “they will come for all of us.”

Michael remains silent for a few moments, keeping his gaze on Vito, who now shakily takes a larger gulp of wine. Michael lets out a soft exhale, nodding in understanding before forming his question. “Do you fear Giuseppe Ferrari?”

“I do,” Vito answers flatly. “And you should too. Any man who respects themselves loves their family and happens to know Giuseppe Ferrari at the same time should. They’re ruthless, Michael, and you’re married to their daughter. Clemenza went to the newspaper people and found their throats slit, and all of them hogtied at their office, you know that? Letter “F” painted on each of their foreheads with their own blood. They had a man like Alphonse Ricci kissing their heels just for a few minutes of their time for years. I can tell you—father to son—man to man—old Don to new Don. Do not mess with their daughter, Michael. You’re better off cooperating with them now in narcotics than you are competing with them.”

“Pop,” Michael leans in, lowering his voice. “I believe you, and I’m not going to brush aside anything you told me. But if all of that was true, there would have almost certainly been repercussions for—”

“For lying to your wife?” Vito shakes his head, interrupting him. “Michael, they know. They’ve always known. You’re asking me why they didn’t retaliate?”

“Yes.” Michael still remains unmoved.

“It’s because their daughter is pregnant.” Vito sighs, setting his wine glass down. “Leaving the residence was both personal and business. Your marriage to Victoria was to prevent tension and another war none of the families could afford. You’re already above them in connections and influence. Getting over them in Sicily and narcotics anywhere will never happen without blood spilling first. How…?” Vito gestures towards the residence, “how is your relationship with Victoria now after everything?”

Michael lets out a deep breath, growing more agitated by the minute with all he’s hearing from Vito. He knows it’s true, but at the same time, he had neither taken it seriously nor accepted it. Michael is a master manipulator and liar. He knows his silence kills. It’s when he doesn’t act or speak that his enemies cower and beg for mercy, but your family—the Ferrari’s—have played this game very differently.

The Ferrari’s are known to “look over” things, act as if everything is fine, negotiating, and pondering. They strike when everyone least expects it, and depending on if they’re in the mood. A small “brawl” can leave dozens dead. The police captains of New York City and New Jersey are directly on your father’s payroll. It has always paid to kill.

[ 4 Months Ago – Tropigala Hotel & Casino ]

Cards being dealt at the table, poker chips evenly spread, cocktail waitresses in flashy, sequin dresses serving drinks to players, wealthy businessmen and their guests enjoy gourmet culinary service, the highest quality drinks, fine dining, beautiful women, and limitless nights to remember are what classify the Tropigala under the Corleone family’s ownership.

The hotel and casino combined together make it a palace for the wealthy businessmen and tourists to spend more than enough time and money than they expected to in Nevada—simply unable to get enough.

Much of it contains the shine that other Corleone owned hotels, resorts, and casinos do under Fredo’s influence—almost a direct reason why they’re as famous as they are. 24/7 full protection, security, and service also provide it to be a breeding ground for Mafiosi.

The finest tables at the Tropigala are always specially reserved for mobsters. The Barzini family, now with its contacts preferring Corleone and Ferrari business over them, respect and fear the two families—sitting on the outermost right table.

Now headed by Paul Fortunato—a humbled man after Emilio Barzini’s assassination, but nonetheless disgruntled with Giuseppe Ferrari’s chokehold on the narcotics trade will grow to despise Michael in the coming months once he finds out the Corleone’s want their own piece.

Rico Tattaglia remains on the outermost left, always eager to gamble away someone else’s life savings but would pay Giuseppe Ferrari millions just to be able to speak with him directly.

By the Barzini’s remains Mario Stracci—now a dead man courtesy of Michael Corleone and Giuseppe Ferrari in order to weed out the last remaining competition in the narcotics trade. If anything, he maintains a decent disposition knowing all of his capos lost their lives to Giuseppe’s elusive daughter, and his family “legacy” of brutality in comparison is embarrassing child play.

Near the Tattaglia family’s table is that of the Cuneo’s. Headed by Leo Cuneo—perhaps the most respected Mafiosi between the other families. Leo inherited the title of Don after Michael had the previous Don Carmine Cuneo massacred during your honeymoon in Sicily and learned his lesson very, very quickly.

Remaining a close contact with the Corleone and Ferrari families alike, Leo Cuneo was the one who discovered Fabrizio’s location in Buffalo for Michael and owns the largest shares of Corleone family-owned casinos in Nevada. Conversation made or not, Cuneo remains respectful and appreciative for the invitation nonetheless.

At the very front and the most heavily guarded remain the Corleone and Ferrari family tables side by side. Al Neri and Rocco Lampone stiffly stand by Michael’s seat at the center; Vito is absent due to his retirement and tiresome years of social gatherings with other Dons, and Fredo’s missing presence for obvious reasons since Cuba.

As an official celebration for profit made, popularity grown, and the establishment fulling settling under the Corleone family, Michael’s invitations to the other crime families is not a favor but rather a reminder to continue to stay in their place and play by his house rules.

Amidst the conversation between Clemenza, Tom, and Michael’s other men, Michael slides his cigarette pack closer to him upon the table and slips a new one in between his lips. He raises his stern gaze up to spot Sonny with each arm wrapped around a cocktail waitress, throwing his head back in laughter and flirting with the girls as they pour him another drink.

With no need for Fredo to be missed with Sonny’s carefree and entertained attitude, Michael’s eyes dart back to you towards the champagne fountain where you and Connie clink your champagne flutes together before taking a sip.

“Cheers, darling. To the family.” Connie beams, almost chugging down the entirety of her champagne.

“To the family,” you repeat with a beaming smile, taking a sip.

Dressed in a ravishing, black, lace swing dress and white fur stole that matches yours, Connie is in full evening glamour and enjoying the splendor the luxury of the Tropigala provides—one glass of champagne at a time.

In Michael’s gifted dress to you for your fifth anniversary—a scarlet, waist hugging, satin cocktail dress; soft hair curled to flow down your shoulders, sultry eye makeup, and a matching red lipstick to go with the boldness of the evening not only has you in Michael’s line of vision but by the rest of the Mafiosi as well.

Michael lights his cigarette—his gaze remaining over you. Aware of other curious, admiring eyes, Michael feels a sense of calm and comfort, a sense of home alongside the love and possessiveness he has toward you. A simple look to you or in your direction confirms it all for him.

Michael’s eyes darted from your hands that teasingly tugged on his silk, black tie to pull him closer to you upon the Chesterfield armchair that you had already sprawled yourself upon. You teasingly spread your legs, only in your bra and panties with your evening dress and jewelry set over the hotel bed—much too eager to feel Michael’s throbbing erection inside of you before the night begins.

Michael can imagine it now as he’s always done so. Peeling that dress off of your supple skin inch by inch to tease you—insistent on hearing you plead for him. Michael wants nothing more than to have you all to himself in the sense of possessiveness and jealousy.

“I want you badly as ever, baby.” Michael brushed a curtain of your hair behind your ear and pressed his erection against the wet patch in your panties.

He knows others want you, which only amuses him further, knowing how you crawl to him over your knees, spread your legs for him in his bed, and moan out his name. You know you’d keep begging for him to continue teasing and pleasing you—racking your body with one orgasm after the other.

“Spread your legs for me, baby. Wider…” Michael slowly trailed his hands up your tights—the cool metal of his wedding band against your hot skin as the tip of his Roman nose brushed up against yours.

As insatiable Michael is within his lust and desire for you, it’s easily a mutually shared feeling of passion and arousal amongst one another. Your attraction to Michael in every and any way can only be described as “severe” with how you can practically feel your body ache for his touch, even just in his presence.

“I’m not going to ruin you tonight.” Michael breathed hotly against your neck, “wouldn’t want all that makeup to go to smear off just yet.” As you whimpered back in agreement with him, Michael slid his hand up from your breasts and gripped your throat before gazing into your eyes.

Marrying you was a well-made decision on Michael’s behalf, not just in the personal sense of having a relationship and starting a family, but a power move in the family business and politics of the mafia. Michael secured influence, wealth, and power alike, allying and joining himself with the Ferrari family. In truth, you are and were his perfect match.

Sleeves rolled up to Michael’s elbows, dress shirt halfway unbuttoned, and his golden watch upon his wrist glistening under the dim light of the hotel room illuminated by the warm glow of the fireplace only increased your arousal towards Michael tenfold.

Michael’s attraction to you knows as many boundaries as yours does. His eyes dart at your cleavage, slightly peeking out from your dress and the way your dress adorns you as he lights his cigarette, taking a long drag from it.

Although Michael pretends not to be interested in the ongoing conversations around him, he picks up on everything very well. Michael remains distracted, seeming as if he’s just enjoying the beginning of the evening before the four-course meal is to be served, but his ears pick up on Barzini and Tattaglia’s conversation around him.

“Don Ferrari’s daughter, huh?” Tattaglia murmurs, almost in awe. “Ferrari is full of surprises. I never even knew he had a daughter.”

“No?” Barzini chuckles, smoking his cigar. “The whole family is damned and elusive, I tell you. Who else picked off the Stracci’s one by one? Wasn’t it their hot-headed son Lorenzo?”

“Still,” Tattaglia whistles under his breath. “That’s somethin’ to brag about. You see her, eh? Don Corleone’s wife now, pretty little thing.”

“Heard she’s a menace in the courthouse.” Barzini rests his elbow upon the dining table, gazing over at you. “Ideal Mafiosa wife, of course. Killing’s her hidden talent, or so I’ve heard.”

“Rumors can remain rumors.” Tattaglia crosses his arms, unable to peel his eyes off of your dress. “Gorgeous woman. Brains and beauty—what more do you want? Damn, how does Corleone get anything done what that fine piece of ass around him all the time?”

You propped up your legs on both armrests of the armchair and pressed your back against it—feeling Michael’s body over yours as his lips marked every inch of your skin with a hot kiss. “One hour, darling,” Michael whispered against the outline of your jawline. “And I’m going to make you feel all of me in that time.”

Michael locks eye contact with you from across the room, and as you look over your shoulder and peek by—you find yourself blushing into a flustered mess from his gaze. Michael’s eyes soften as he looks upon you, no longer cold and stern but rather filled with an admiring possessiveness towards you that reminds you of the last hour you spent fucked into bliss underneath him.

[ - 1 Hour Ago ]

The warmth of the flickering flames from the fireplace in the center of the hotel room only couple with the heat of Michael’s hot skin pressed against yours. Completely sprawled and spread open upon the armchair, Michael presses his body up against yours in his embrace—moving his hips back and forth tantalizingly slowly as he makes love to you.

“Michael…” You rest your head back against the armchair, soft moans escaping out of your mouth.

“How’s that, baby? Feel good?” Michael’s hips control the teasing speed of his thrusts as he dips his cock in and out of you slowly.

“Mm—yes!” You whine back to him, practically feeling your pussy throbbing from the rhythm of his slow-paced thrusts.

He presses his forehead against yours and breathes against your parted lips—still wet from his lingering kiss. “You feel so fucking good, you know that…?” Eyes half open and darkened with lust, Michael grunts quietly as he fully thrusts in and out of you.

Again and again, you feel every inch of his cock in your pussy—hitting all of your weak and soft spots one at a time. “God, baby—you’re so tight. So fucking tight…”

Difficult as is from both of your desires, Michael and you refrain from the hot and heavy touching, face grabbing, mascara screaming, tears rolling down your face from waves of pleasure racking through your body kind of sex for the sake of keeping appearances together for the evening.

A sensual, passionate, and intimate touch to love-making by the fireplace increases your arousal tenfold as Michael slowly fucks you.

“Baciami,” (Kiss me) you let out a breathy moan, eager to feel Michael’s lips on yours again.

The tip of his Roman nose brushes against yours as he steals another wet kiss from your lips, squeezing your thighs from where he props them up on the armrests of your seat.

Nothing else can be heard in the luxury suite of the Tropigala but for the clock ticking, the sound of Michael’s cock sloppily sliding in and out of you, and both of your breathy moans.

You have one arm wrapped around Michael’s shoulder and the other one embracing his back as he holds you lovingly against him. “Oh fuck—‘atta girl, take it all in, just like that. Yes, yes…”

The lace fabric of your bra brushes against the buttons of Michael’s dress shirt and back onto your sensitive nipples, hardening them and adding to the pleasure. “You know, for the sake of public appearances, I’m not tearing off the rest of your clothes right now…”

Michael slides one hand up from your thigh, adjusting where he’s pulled your panties aside before toying with your clit in slow, hazy circles. “That I don’t fuck you into a cum guzzling mess…”

“Oh, Michael, fuck!” You moan out in response, rolling your eyes back in pleasure as you find his mouth over yours again. “Y-you can do anything you want to me…”

“Yes, baby.” Michael moans back in your mouth, kissing your tongue.

Taking his time fucking every part of you, the sensation of your thighs quivering from pleasure against him only continues to turn him on further.

Every inch of your skin Michael kissed feels as if it’s on fire. Waves of pleasure course through you as Michael angles his thrusts perfectly against your G-spot, teasing you by directly avoiding it.

The scent of Michael’s cologne mixes with your floral perfume and the scent of sex in the air. With each kiss, you can smell his aftershave balm and the gel in his hair—tasting the sweetness of his lips pressed against yours.

As Michael parts his lips away from yours, he grazes his fingers alongside your bottom lip. You give his fingers a kiss, popping them slightly into your mouth—keeping eye contact with him as his hips collide back and forth with yours.

“Dirty, dirty girl… Look at you.” Michael’s eyes dart down to your pussy, watching in amusement as you take all eight inches of his cock in and out of you steadily. “You like watching me fuck you like this? Slowly so you can feel every bit of me?”

“Y-yes, Don Corleone,” you nod back at him shakily. “Oh!” A half gasp, half moan comes out of your mouth as Michael begins thrusting towards your G-spot. “You’re so big. M-Michael… So good—oh fuck!”

Michael grips your chin, tilting it down to lock eye contact with you as he chuckles breathily. “You’re a good girl; I know you can take it.”

Michael’s slender fingers rub gingerly over your clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure and keeping up a pace to build up the orgasm knotting in your gut.

He bites down on his lip, but a loader moan escapes his lips as he begins to feel your pussy tighten around his cock. “Fuck, I can feel you’re close, baby.”

“Michael, Michael…” You whimper, clenching onto the fabric of his loosened dress shirt with your fingernails. “I’m close…!”

“I’m taking my time with you, baby…” Michael breathes heavily—his eyes half open and fixated on how his and your cum from your last orgasm spread over his shaft. “I want you to cum with me. I want you to cum all over my fucking cock.”

Michael’s fingers separate the dewiness from your wet clit as he spits over his forefingers, rubbing them together before slicking them over your clit again. With your lips parted open, you breathe out shakily and gaze back at Michael helplessly as his hips control the steady pace he fucks you in, beckoning for your orgasm by the moment.

Just as you’re about to moan out in response from feeling the tip of his cock hit your G-spot, Michael squeezes your face and clasps a hand over your mouth as soon as he hears a knock over the door of the suite.

Your eyes widen as Michael immediately raises his head up to hear Rocco calling out, “Don Corleone?”

Both of you exchange looks as a faint smirk forms over the corners of Michael’s lips. He doesn’t answer, already knowing the door is unlocked as well and that Al Neri and Rocco have unlimited access for security measures.

Your face flushes scarlet, and a sense of erotica and embarrassment hit you all at once at the prospect of getting caught. Michael outright ignores Rocco’s knocking and continues fucking you back and forth—now placing a hand over the rim of the armchair to keep the angle of his thrusts to your G-spot.

You moan against Michael’s hand, which only prompts him to clasp a hand over your mouth tighter. You breathe out your nose as your toes curl from the pleasure rocking over your body, now amplified by Rocco actually twisting the doorknob and entering the room.

“Don Corleone?” Rocco calls out again, gazing around the office room space. “It’s Rocco. Are you in here, sir?”

Michael licks over his lips, continuing to pretend as if Rocco isn’t there. Distracted by the thought of getting caught being plowed by the fireplace half an hour before the dinner party starts, your eyes snap open in surprise.

You feel Michael’s hips jerk upright and thrust fully in you before he squeezes his eyes shut, keeping quiet. You roll your eyes back in pleasure as your orgasm releases without warning, only to feel his hot, sticky cum shooting deep inside of you—spurt after spurt.

Rocco scratches his chin, turning on his heel and exiting the suite room before locking the door behind him at the lack of Michael’s presence. As soon as Michael hears his footsteps dissipate down the hall, he takes his hand off of your mouth as you breathily moan back out. “M-Michael…?!”

“Shhh…” Michael ushers, kissing your lips softly before pulling his cock out of you slowly. “Surely you didn’t expect to have me all to yourself tonight when we’re being expected downstairs?”

“Maybe not.” You pant, blushing deeply as you reach your hands down to spread your pussy. “Oh…” You whimper, feeling the soreness of your throbbing clit as an aftermath of your orgasm. Michael’s cum practically drips out of you as the two of you lock eyes again. “Are you trying to get me pregnant…?”

“Am I?” Michael slicks his soaked cock up and down your entrance as you practically writhe underneath him in pleasure—squealing and whining at the sensation against your sensitized clit.

He leans down, kissing you over the mouth before whispering in a husky tone against your neck, “Let me keep fucking you like this, and we’ll see if you end up pregnant after tonight.”

[ + 1 Week ]

Please be okay. Please, mama, please be alright…

The lengthy silence between the Ferrari family residence’s living room where you and Michael remain across from your mother’s guest room is almost deafening and too painful for you to continue hearing.

All of this came from that night. Everything is connected to it—that dinner party, Michael’s trip to Cuba. It’s comeback tenfold like a nightmare, but why this? And why now?

Your heartache is only temporarily relieved when you can make out the muffled voice of Doctor Katherine speaking out to your mother, but with the distance of the rooms between the two of you and the door shut for privacy, it just gives you another reason to worry.

Then this is my fault, isn’t it? She was wounded, and I acted too hastily, didn’t I? I’m not a doctor. What if I did something wrong to cause all of this then?

“I don’t understand.” Your voice quivers as you rake both hands through your hair out of frustration. “Everything was fine! Everything was just fine—she was okay, she was doing well!”

Michael wraps an arm lovingly around your shoulder, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze as he remains quiet. He frowns, his eyes filled with a familiar sternness as he pulls you closer to his embrace. “I know, darling.”

You sniffle, squeezing your eyes shut as you rest your head against Michael’s shoulder and begin to break down and weep all over again. “It’s all my fault, isn’t it? When is someone going to finally tell me it’s my fault?”

“It’s not your fault, Victoria,” Michael murmurs, glancing down at you. “It never has been. We know who to blame for this, and he’s long dead—believe me.”

“Dead…” You repeat as if Michael’s answer isn’t nearly good enough. Your eyes flood with tears again as you turn your body against Michael and hug him tightly—burying your chest in his face. “I-I don’t understand, Michael… Why her? Why my mother? Why would she ever be a target?”

“It was always a scare tactic.” Michael rests his chin over your head, stroking your hair gently to soothe you. “They couldn’t hit their initial targets, so they started lashing out to hit something.”

“Did they get what they w-wanted?” You hiccup, peeking your head up to look at Michael. “Did they know they hit her?”

“No.” Michael shakes his head, giving your forehead a soft kiss. “The assassination was a complete failure. Your mother’s condition was unknown, but she was collateral damage nonetheless.”

A flash of anger washes over you as you grit your teeth. “They would have never stood a chance against her if the situation was ever equal. Bastards. Now, look at us. Now look.” Your throat tightens as tears spill down your cheeks. “She’s dying in there, Michael. She’s dying, and it’s my fault. I did this to her.”

“Victoria, look at me.” Michael gently tilts your chin up to face him—his expression softening. “You went against my word that night, but you did more than my own trusted bodyguards did. Where they panicked, you stitched your mother’s wound up in minutes without hesitation. How you can find yourself to blame amongst any of that is beyond me. Do not put yourself down. I won’t allow it.” He gazes into your eyes, “let Doctor Katherine do what she needs to do. She knows better than both of us, and in no shape did she mention your first aid being the problem. Remember, we still have a fragment of the bullet that hit your mother.”

“Michael—how could I not?” Your voice cracks as your tears soak into Michael’s Dupioni, grey silk suit. “I did all I could so this wouldn’t happen, so she wouldn’t catch an infection! She’s fifty-four years old and dying from an ‘infection’ in her own bed!”

“There’s more to this an infection.” Michael narrows his eyes. “Any normal antibiotic would have cured this weeks ago.”

“And yet we don’t know anything.” You rub your eyes, scowling. “I swear to God… Now with Lorenzo and the others have gone—gone when mother needs us by her side—this is so frustrating.”

“Your brother’s selfishness will be his own undoing, but it has nothing to do with you.” Michael laces a hand with yours, stroking over the back of your hand with his thumb gently, “we’re here for her now. She’s lucky to have a daughter like you.”

You smile weakly up at Michael as he wipes away your tears with the back of his hand before giving your lips a sweet kiss. “And no matter what happens or who's here, the two of us will get through this—just like we always have. Bene?” (Alright?)

You sniffle, letting out a shaky breath as the tip of your nose touches Michael’s. “Talk to me, darling,” Michael whispers against your lips, waiting for a response.

“Bene...” (Alright…) You tell him quietly, giving a small nod before you embrace him in a tight hug. “Averti al mio fianco in questo momento... Non saprei come farcela altrimenti. Lo odio, davvero.” (Having you by my side right now... I wouldn't know how to cope otherwise. I hate this, I really do.)

Michael wraps his arms around you, holding you in his arms as he rubs up and down your back. “Ci sono pochissime donne che possono sparare agli intrusi che cercano di ucciderli e poi ricucire una ferita da arma da fuoco pochi istanti dopo.” (There are very few women who can shoot intruders that try to kill them and then stitch up a gun wound moments later.) He speaks out to you in soft Sicilian. “Sei a dir poco incredibile per me, ma sarei sorpreso se questo non ti stressasse.” (You're nothing short of incredible to me, but I would be surprised if this didn't stress you out.)

You nod against his chest, letting out a soft whimper. Your momentary relief in a loving moment with Michael is interrupted as you raise your head to the sound of your mother’s bedroom door pulling open.

Peeking up curiously with tear-filled eyes, you and Michael both glance over to see Doctor Katherine exiting the room. She’s quick to quietly pull the door shut behind her, clutching onto a clipboard in her other hand.

She tilts her head up to spot you, giving you a comforting smile and Michael a polite one before she nods. “Mrs. Corleone? Your mother would like to speak with you if you will.”

“Oh.” You let out a soft sigh of relief, glancing back at Michael, who gives both of your hands a reassuring squeeze. “How is she doing now?” You let your toucher linger over Michael a moment longer as you part from him and rise to your feet.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any good news for you at the moment.” Doctor Katherine frowns as you begin to approach her. “Her health is rapidly declining, but she’s in good spirits. I thought we could discuss the nature of her infection before you see her.”

“I see.” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “It’s not an ordinary infection, is it? I could already assume that much.”

“I suspect it’s poison, actually.” Doctor Katherine lowers her voice for the sake of Michael not overhearing your conversation with her. “Don Corleone’s men are analyzing the material left on the bullet fragment, but these are simply my observations and assumptions.”

“Poison?” You repeat, dazed in a state of anger rather than confusion or surprise.

“An infection would have shown signs much longer ago rather than in the last few weeks.” Doctor Katherine nods back at you. “Only a slow poison could eat away at the body like this. However, in line with recent events…” Doctor Katherine glances off towards the end of the hallway, “one could then assume any bullets fired into your home at that time were all laced with a similar poison or substance that has caused such a rapidly deteriorating state with your mother.”

You give a grim nod, feeling your eyes harden. “Either way, we’ll have to know for certain. Have her stitches been disturbed in any sort of way?”

“Not at all.” Doctor Katherine leads you directly towards the door to your mother’s room. “She’s taken all the necessary precautions to be careful with her activities and movements, but the infection has progressed nonetheless. A theory of poison at this rate is not a far-fetched guess, but you are right that we need further information and confirmation before we can say for sure. Your mother, with her previous good health and age, would not possibly ever become bedridden by any normal infection.”

“How are her symptoms?” You hesitantly eye the doorknob Doctor Katherine places her hand on. “Have they truly gotten that bad?”

“Bad enough she preferred privacy for several days on end.” Doctor Katherine lets out a soft sigh. “She won’t be able to get out of bed alone, for one. She’s very restless yet barely sleeps at all. Appetite has decreased, can’t keep much of anything but a small meal and water down. No energy, cold chills, repeated fevers, and sweating is all I’ve observed. Mrs. Corleone…” Doctor Katherine notices the distraught look over your face. “I have always been honored to be your family’s private physician and will continue to treat your mother with the best of my abilities, but I’d like to be honest with you here in regard to my opinion as a physician.” She pauses for a moment as you look back at her. “Your mother is dying, and this is certain. What’s not certain is how long she has left”

“There’s nothing that can be done?” You furrow your brows. “Nothing? Just treatment for her pain but nothing to cure this poison or get it out of her system?”

“If we can confirm it’s poison, or whatever substance it may be, an antidote can be used to combat it. I’m afraid the damage is done, but it could save her life.” Doctor Katherine nods back at you. “And she’s eaten more than usual today, along with the fact she’s been very talkative with me. We’ll have our answers concerning the bullet by the end of the day, and I’ll be able to act further.”

“Let me see her, please.” You let out a shaky sigh, gesturing towards the door. “I can hardly stomach the wait on this bullet as is—I just need to see her and how she’s doing.”

Doctor Katherine gives a small nod before pushing open the door to your mother’s bedroom. “I’ll give you two some privacy.” She doesn’t bother to step in, simply waiting for you to walk in before quietly shutting the door behind you.

The first thing your eyes land upon is your mother—Ludovica—laying in her bed with the blankets neatly tucked up to her chest. Her arms rest by her sides as an IV goes through her wrist, her expression calm and peaceful with her eyes half-open.

As soon as Ludovica spots you, a weak smile grows over her face. Your mother gazes upon you in anticipation as one would look over a gift, and her facial expression doesn’t read ill or in pain of any kind, but almost sleepy from the way she looks at you.

“Mamma,” you speak out to her in Sicilian, feeling your throat immediately tighten and tears threaten to spill as you rush over to the side of her bed.

“Vittoria, Tesoro. Vieni qui. Lascia che ti veda.” (Victoria, sweetheart. Come here. Let me see you.) Ludovica croaks out, speaking in an ushered yet soothing tone as she weakly gestures her arms out for you to come closer.

‘Mamma, come stai? Dov'è il padre? È venuto a trovarti?” (Mama, how are you? Where's father? Did he come to see you?) You kneel down by her bed with a million questions, gently clasping her cold hand in yours.

“Sì, sì, tesoro. Non preoccuparti. Praticamente vive in questa stanza ora. Voglio solo vedere mia figlia adesso.” (Yes, yes, sweetheart. Don't worry. He practically lives in this room now. I just want to see my daughter now.) Ludovica squeezes your hand back lightly—although it’s as tightly as she can.

“Mamma, Lorenzo dovrebbe essere qui. Alessio, Matteo, anche Dante. Dovrebbero essere qui per te!” (Mama, Lorenzo should be here. Alessio, Matteo, Dante too. They should be here for you!) You swallow hard.

“Victoria, perché ti preoccupi così tanto per loro? Ti ho con me, vero?” (Victoria, why do you worry so much about them? I have you with me, don't I?) Ludovica smiles warmly at you as you kiss the back of her hand, lowering your head.

“Perché sono egoisti. Lo sono sempre stati, ma si tratta di famiglia. Non siamo quasi più una famiglia.” (Because they're selfish. They always have been, but this is about family. We're barely a family anymore.) You answer quietly, almost in shame.

“Eppure devi preoccuparti di far parte delle due famiglie più potenti di questo paese. Devi sempre fare tutto da solo, tesoro?” (And yet you must worry about being a part of the two most powerful families in this country. Must you always do everything yourself, sweetheart?) She asks you.

“Sì, perché lo voglio.” (Yes, because I want to.) Tears pool in the corners of your eyes as your mother gently bats them away with the side of her hand. “Sapevo cosa dovevo fare quella notte. Ho dovuto proteggere la mia famiglia. dovevo proteggerti Il mio proiettile ha colpito uno di loro, mamma. Sono stati uccisi comunque, ma non ho potuto impedire loro di farti del male. non potevo. Mi odio per questo.” (I knew what I had to do that night. I had to protect my family. I had to protect you. My bullet hit one of them, mama. They were killed nonetheless, but I couldn't stop them from hurting you. I couldn't. I hate myself for that.)

“Victoria, tesoro, per favore smettila di dire queste cose su di te. Semplicemente non è vero! Quella notte non è stata colpa tua. Come potrei mai ringraziarti per quello che hai fatto per me? Hai messo in gioco la tua vita per noi. Sei stato altruista. Sei venuto ad aiutarmi prima di fare qualsiasi altra cosa. Non ci hai pensato?” Your mother’s eyes widen in worry. (Victoria, honey, please stop saying these things about yourself. It's simply not true! That night wasn't your fault. How could I ever thank you for what you did for me? You put your life on the line for us. You were selfless. You came to aid me before doing anything else. Haven't you thought about that?)

“Ma mamma, guardati.” (But mama, look at you.) You hiccup, bursting into tears. “La tua ferita è infetta a causa dei punti. L'ho fatto.” (Your wound is infected because of the stitches. I did that.)

“Victoria, non hai niente a che fare con quello. Credimi. Sono vecchio, ho il cuore debole. Incolperai anche te stesso per questo?” (Victoria, you had nothing to do with that. Believe me. I'm old, I have a weak heart. Are you going to blame yourself for that too?) Ludovica shakes her head at you. “Non importa cosa sia successo quella notte, sono orgoglioso di te e dei tuoi fratelli. Le cose avrebbero potuto andare molto peggio. Non voglio che ti preoccupi più.” (No matter what happened that night, I'm proud of you and your brothers. Things could have been much worse. I don't want you to worry anymore.)

“Mamma, per favore. Non lasciare che sia io il motivo per cui sei ancora qui. Voglio portarti in un ospedale privato. La dottoressa Katherine può trasferirti.” (Mama, please. Don't let me be the reason why you're still here. I want to get you to a private hospital. Doctor Katherine can transfer you.) Your voice breaks as tears slide down your reddened cheeks.

“Non ce n'è bisogno, tesoro. Non farà differenza. Preferirei trascorrerlo con la mia famiglia che con facce fredde che non riconosco. Voglio essere qui per te.” (There's no need for that, darling. It won't make a difference. I would rather spend it with my family than with cold faces I don't recognize. I want to be here for you.) Your mother gazes back at you with worry growing in her eyes.

“Come mai? Non capisco.” (Why? I don't understand.) You sniffle back.

“Perché conosco il tipo di stress a cui sei stato e che stai ancora attraversando. Ora conosci lo stato di entrambe le nostre famiglie. Devi stare attento e devi essere forte per loro.” (Because I know the kind of stress you've been under and still are going through. You know the state of both our families now. You need to be careful, and you need to be strong for them.) Your mother explains, her breath hitching through most of her words. “Tu sei l'unico che può negoziare la pace tra le famiglie. Il fardello ricade solo su di te, eppure non sai quanto sei forte.” (You're the only one who can negotiate peace between the families. The burden falls on you alone, yet you don't know how strong you are.)

“Se fosse vero, ora saremmo tutti insieme.” (If that was true, we'd all be together now.) You hiccup through your tears.

“Victoria mia cara, devi smetterla di incolparti per l'incompetenza di tuo fratello. Sei una mafiosa.” (Victoria, my dear, you have to stop blaming yourself for your brother's incompetence. You're a mafiosa.) Ludovica lets out a shaky breath—sweat beginning to form over her forehead.

“Lo so, mamma. Questo è un segno di debolezza.” (I know, mama. This is a sign of weakness.) Your eyes blur again with tears.

Your mother gently places her hand over your barely-there baby bump. “È un segno di forza. Sei una giovane donna bella, forte e talentuosa. Sei madre di due meravigliosi bambini e presto tornerai a essere madre. Ti prometto che tutto questo dolore passerà presto. Sarà proprio come è sempre stato.” (It's a sign of strength. You're a beautiful, strong, and talented young woman. You're a mother to two wonderful children, and you're going to be a mother again soon. I promise you that all of this pain will pass soon. It will be just as it's always been.)

A smile begins to grow over her face as she continues, “Non importa quello che passa la nostra famiglia, lo affrontiamo insieme. Andrà tutto bene. Devi solo tenerlo come ho sempre fatto. Ricordi quando stavi per accedere all'abilitazione all'esercizio della professione forense? Com'era questa la più grande preoccupazione del mondo?” (No matter what our family goes through, we go through it together. Everything will be alright. You just need to hold onto that as I always have. Do you remember when you were about to enter abilitazione all'esercizio della professione forense? How that was the biggest worry in the world?)

“Come potrei dimenticare?” (How could I forget?) You crack a smile through your tears as they soak into the front of your blouse.

“C'è quel bel sorriso.” (There’s that beautiful smile.) Your mother chuckles. “Eri così nervoso. Non ti avevo mai visto camminare su e giù per il corridoio preoccupato. Hai studiato giorno e notte e ne è valsa la pena, vero?” (You were so nervous. I had never seen you pace up and down the hallway in worry. You studied all day and night, and it paid off, didn't it?)

“Perché tu eri lì per me. Sei rimasto sveglio tutta la notte solo per parlarmene.” (Because you were there for me. You stayed up all night just to talk me through it.) You nod back at her, holding your mother’s hand up to your cheek. “Sei sempre stato lì per me.” (You were always there for me.)

“E poi cosa è successo la mattina dopo? Ricordi ancora la storia?” (And then what happened the morning after? Do you still remember the story?) Your mother lets out a cough.

“Ovviamente. Lo ricordo come se fosse successo ieri. Ormai è un bel ricordo.” (Of course. I remember it like it just happened yesterday. It's a fond memory now.) You murmur softly, lowering your head and holding your mother’s hand laced with yours against your forehead as you begin to recall it.

“C'era una sorprendente somiglianza di fiducia che avevi la mattina dopo. Mi ha ricordato quando ero stata accettata alla scuola per infermiere.” (There was such a striking resemblance of confidence you had the next morning. It reminded me of when I had been accepted to nursing school.) Your mother tilts her head back, staring up at the ceiling as her heart begins to beat deeply and slowly, creating a sense of pressure on her chest.

“Tutto quello che dovevo fare era parlarne con me stesso.” (All I had to do was talk myself through it.) You squeeze your eyes shut—your mother’s distraction working well over you as she intends it to. “Quella mattina pensavo di poter fare qualsiasi cosa. Mi sentivo quasi invincibile. Era come se niente importasse. Non mi sono mai più sentito così.” (That morning, I thought I could do anything. I almost felt invincible. It was like nothing mattered. I never felt that way again.)

“I ricordi hanno un modo interessante per ricordarci come ci siamo sentiti.” (Memories have an interesting way of reminding us about how we felt.) Your mother lets out a deep exhale, feeling her chest increasingly begin to tighten.

“Non riesco a ricordare quello che mi hanno detto gli altri quel giorno o quello che ho detto a me stesso, ma ricordo quello che mi hai detto mamma. Mi hai detto che ho già vinto. Mi hai detto che non avrei mai dovuto litigare per ciò che è già mio.” (I can't remember what anyone else told me that day or what I even told myself, but I remember what you said to me, mama. You told me I already won. You told me that I'd never had to fight over what's already mine.) You explain back to her softly.

“Ricordi cosa ti ho detto quando sei uscito dalla porta la mattina?” (Do you remember what I told you when you walked out the door in the morning?) Ludovica blinks weakly, struggling to form her next sentence as she hazily glances back at you.

“Sempre.” (Always). You wipe your eyes tenderly, feeling the wetness of your tears against your fingertips.

Ludovica feels herself losing her grip over her consciousness through every passing second—purposely remaining quiet and letting her life wash over her. The IV, the bed, the antibiotics, and the treatment remain but meager solutions to the end of her life as she refuses to react or break the momentary relief of peace you’ve found in reminiscing about one of your favorite memories spent with your mother.

“Many people told me in the past I had to either choose the mafia or my family. Of course, the insistence came from people on both sides. Some had lost their family to the mafia. Some only had the mafia. You can choose both; you can certainly have both.”

Having accepted her fate and her timely death weeks ago, Ludovica only regrets she isn’t able to repeat what she told you that morning in June 1945 when you felt the weight and pressure of your own anticipated success fall like a burden to your shoulders.

“You have so many amazing things coming your way. There’s so much to look forward to for you. No matter how difficult your decisions may seem like, remember they aren’t as vast.”

Before her gaze fades and she breathes her last, your mother gazes over at you once more with a last smile. Before her, she sees an intelligent, ambitious, and strong young woman. Ludovica sees her daughter, who she knows she’ll always be proud of. Within what you may claim to be flawed, your mother sees as perfections and potential within you.

“Mi hai detto: 'Sei mia figlia e sei destinata alla grandezza. Ti amo, Victoria.” (You told me, “You're my daughter, and you're destined for greatness. I love you, Victoria.”) You finish the story as your mother takes her last breath—her eyes fluttering shut as her hand goes limp between yours, and her body remains motionless.

“My mother taught me what it means to be a strong woman—not just for myself, but for others. She taught me in such a way that neither I nor others around me would get hurt, but I wouldn’t feel used either. This life of ours has never been easy, let alone the stakes we hold above all.”

Mama…? You raise your head, noticing her hand loosening in yours. Batting away your tears, you shudder at the sight of your mother, her chest remaining still without a breath or pulse, and the life completely faded from her.

“Being a mafiosa has never been easy, and more often than not, it never is, but she taught me that it could be. I could make it so. My mother showed me how to adapt to my situation and how to change my understanding of the world around me. She prepared me for everything like my father did.”

You’re…? A deep sense of growing dread spikes up inside of you as you feel your heart sink to your stomach. You purse your lips open as if to speak, but your mouth runs dry and speechless as if you’ve swallowed your own tongue.

“This bond—the relationship I have with her means so much to me. She’s my best friend, my mentor, my shoulder to cry on. She’s always been there for me, always. I want to be there for her too. She’s always been my hope in the darkest times. She never let that go. I don’t know how she does it, but I’ve always been in awe of her courage.”

No… No. A wave of anxiety couples the realization that you kneel next to your mother’s corpse as shock hits you all at once. Your mother’s limp hand slides down the palm of yours, loosely hitting the side of the bed. “M-mama?”

“Michael, you should have seen the look on her face when she came to the hospital! Oh, she was so overjoyed that she needed to sit down for a moment. The twins were almost asleep in my arms, but they even awoke just to see their grandmother. You could see the stars in her eyes—she’s always wanted to be a grandmother.”

No. NO! You can’t be! Not now! No, mama! Your hands begin to shake violently as you stare down at them, your chest tightening from the beginning of a panic attack taking hold. “No, mama! Mama?! Mama, wake up!” Your breath hitches as you feel the tips of your ears and the nape of your neck burn with spikes of anxiety.

“She’s too weak to get out of bed now, Victoria. While this infection is spreading, her heart is weakening.”

“Mama, please! Mama, mama! I’m here, mama!” A mass wave of panic rushes through you as you helplessly shake your mother, attempting to wake her up as if she simply was unconscious. You whimper throughout your cries, feeling at her neck and wrist for a pulse and only growing far more alarmed. “Mama, wake up!”

“I’ve spoken with my father and Doctor Katherine about my mother’s state of health, and it’s just getting worse now.”

Wake up, wake up, please! Please, mama! Your mother’s limp body simply shakes over the bed hopelessly—all color drained out of her face as she’s passed on peacefully. You break into a series of screaming sobs, barely able to rise to your feet as you clutch onto her body.

“No, mamma! Mamma per favore non andare! Non morire! Svegliati, mamma!” (No, mama! Mama, please don't go! Don't die! Wake up, mama!) You let out a loud wail, collapsing to your knees as you sob onto her chest, “MAMA!”

“Men talk a lot about women and children being careless, but as a mafiosa, you can’t afford to be careless either.”

Tears stream down your splotchy reddened face as the door to the room bursts open with Michael and Doctor Katherine storming in—shock over their faces. “Mama, no! Mama!”

Your tears drip onto your mother’s face as you turn your head back to face the two—barely able to see from the tears pooling in your eyes. “S-she can’t be! She’s just unconscious!” You grit your teeth, scowling at Doctor Katherine through your tears. “Wake her up! WAKE HER UP NOW!”

Doctor Katherine’s expression turns grim as soon as she notices the sight of your mother, and she lowers her gaze as she begins to approach the bed.

Immediately coming to the realization himself, Michael’s eyes quickly dart from your mother’s lifeless back to your distraught disposition. He wastes no time in swiftly entering the room—taking a lunging step before you and pulling you up into his arms. “Victoria!”

“NO!” You wail out and begin to sob hysterically. “Let me go, let me go! I need to be with her! I need to—”

Michael’s eyes harden as he urgently gestures back at Doctor Katherine, tightly holding you in his embrace as your sobs muffle out in his shirt.

You give in out of weakness from your lack of energy, clutching onto Michael as you can practically feel your heart aching harshly within your chest. “Ho bisogno di vederla! Ho bisogno—” (I need to see her! I need to—)

“Victoria!” Michael furrows his brows in surprise as he can practically hear your thundering heartrate against his torso. Michael pulls you out of the room quickly, holding you up in his arms bridal style as he gives you a shake—his eyes filling with concern as you refuse to respond to him. “Victoria, look at me! Victoria!”

“Victoria, look at me! Victoria!” Your head begins to pound as all sense of your environment and actions blur around you. The tightness in your chest from your stiffened breathing causes sharp pains in your torso as your eyes sting again with tears.

“Guardami!” (Look at me!) Michael’s panic grows tenfold as he tries to keep a tighter grip on you, thrashing in his arms—both to keep your balance and hold you securely as your baby bump presses up against him.

As the sight of your mother’s death before him if anything was expected, yet however surprising to see that it’s happened right before your eyes, Michael is able to easily keep his calm and cool disposition, but the sight of you experiencing a harsh panic attack and scream-sobbing in his arm is almost physically painful for him to watch.

“Sta avendo un attacco di panico. Porta subito un altro dottore qui!” (She's having a panic attack. Get another doctor in here immediately!)

With everything occurring in mere seconds as Doctor Katherine makes a quick phone call by your mother’s bedside, it feels like an eternity of a struggle to you. You’re completely unaware that Leonardo and Connie have rushed into the room alongside Rocco and Al Neri, hearing your shrieks.

“Michael! Oh my God, what’s going?!” Connie cries out, approaching you in Michael’s arms, but you can neither see her through your tears nor make out what she’s saying.

“ORA! Lei è incinta!” (NOW! She’s pregnant!) Michael shouts back at Neri and Rocco as both of them nod back, turning on their heels and rushing back off.

Barely able to muster up the strength to keep your balance, you struggle against the pounding in your head as your ears begin to ring.

“Che diavolo sta succedendo?!” (What the hell is going on?!) Leonardo furrows his brows, breathing heavily as he, Connie, and Michael help escort you out towards the end of the residence and towards the shared family living space.

“È tua madre—” (It’s your mother—.) Michael tries to answer him as quietly as possible, but you let out another sob and begin thrashing around wildly in his arms in another wave of panic.

Part of you desperately wants to shut it all out while the other demands to return back to your mother’s side—somehow desperately holding onto the hope she’s just unconscious.

Leonardo’s face drains of color as he blinks back in shock, reading “morta” (dead) from his lips as he holds you gently against his body.

Leonardo exchanges an equal look of distress with Connie before he rakes a frustrated hand through his hair—first looking down at you before quickly running off towards your mother’s room.

“Connie, throw off the pillows there and help me lay her down. She’s still struggling against me.” Michael frowns, planting a kiss over your forehead as you weakly gaze up at him.

Your hands tingle down to your fingertips as you cough, feeling such an immense wave of suffocation and panic over you that you feel physically nauseous and almost about to vomit from the sobs that rack over your body.

Connie rushes over to the nearby couch, throwing off the decorative pillows as Michael carefully lays you down, but you refuse to settle over and continue to cling onto him—sobbing uncontrollably over his shoulder.

“Michael, she’s under a tremendous amount of stress right now—she could miscarry!” Connie clasps a hand over her mouth as her eyes begin to feel with tears.

Michael lets out a huff of frustration, his eyes filled with concern as he exchanges a glance with Connie. Before he can even react or say anything back to either of you, his head turns to notice your weakening grasp over him as you sniffle—feeling the last bit of your energy straining out as your eyelids flutter shut.

“Victoria?!” Connie gives your shoulders a gentle shake, placing the back of her hand over your forehead.

“Victoria? Victoria, stay with me.” Michael clasps a hand over your face as your head spins, feeling both lightheaded and dizzy as the last feelings to hit you before you black out. “Get a goddamn physician in here, NOW!”

“Ti vedo qui ogni singolo giorno. Ti chiamo ‘la ragazza con i fiori’.” (I see you here every single day. I call you 'the girl with the flowers'.)

Giuseppe Ferrari stands before his wife’s lifeless body, lowering his fedora down to his chest as he squeezes his eyes shut. A deep emotional pain swells inside of him as he lets out a shaky breath, barely able to bring himself to look upon the love of his life—his wife, the mother to his children, and his best friend for the past forty years lying dead before him.

“Cosa c'è di più tranquillo che passare del tempo all'aria aperta in questo modo? Mi trasmette un senso di tranquillità. Sciocco, lo so, ma è il mio posto felice. I giardini di Sicilia. È bellissimo, vero?” (What could be more peaceful than spending time outdoors like this? It brings me a sense of tranquility. Silly, I know, but it's my happy place. The gardens of Sicily. It's beautiful, isn't it?)

Giuseppe swallows hard, setting his hat aside as he kneels down before Ludovica and her bed. He takes his wife’s cold hands into hers, kissing the back of both of them as he speaks out softly in Sicilian to her. “Ti amo, Ludovica. Ti amo tanto...” (I love you, Ludovica. I love you so much.)

“Vedo l'appello. È molto bello. Immagino che abiti vicino ai giardini?” (I can see the appeal. It is very beautiful. I assume you live close to the gardens?)

“Sì, certamente. Perché lo chiedi? Abiti anche tu nelle vicinanze?” (Yes I do. Why do you ask? Do you live nearby too?)

Giuseppe only finds his heartache worsening at the touch of Ludovica’s cold, soft hands within his warm ones. Tears begin to slide down his cheeks as he weeps softly, holding Ludovica’s clasped hands up to his forehead. “Io ho sempre.” (I always have.)

“Lo voglio. Mio padre possiede questi giardini in realtà.” (I do. My father owns these gardens, actually.)

“Oh, mi dispiace molto! non lo sapevo! Non sapevo che i giardini fossero di proprietà di nessuno. Mi dispiace, questo è inaccettabile. Sono così imbarazzato adesso.” (Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't know! I wasn't aware that the gardens were owned by anybody. I'm sorry, this is unacceptable. I'm so embarrassed right now.)

Giuseppe takes in a deep breath, leaning over and kissing his wife’s forehead—admiring her peaceful facial features. “E ora mi hai lasciato dopo quarant'anni.” (And now you've left me after forty years.)

“No, no. Per favore, resta! Per favore, non è affatto un problema. Non c'è assolutamente niente di sbagliato se stai qui. Per favore, insisto. Ho solo una condizione.” (No, no. Please stay! Please, it's not a problem at all. There's absolutely nothing wrong with you staying here. Please, I insist. I just have one condition.)

“Oh si, certamente. Qualsiasi cosa.” (Oh yes, of course. Anything.)

Giuseppe glances down at the gold wedding band upon Ludovica’s finger before looking down at his own. He cracks a smile through his tears, knowing he hasn’t removed the ring off of his finger since Ludovica had slid his wedding band on as he did to her.

“Permettimi di farti visita qualche volta. Vorrei godermi questa vista con te quando ho tempo.” (Allow me to visit you sometime. I would like to enjoy this view with you when I have the time.)

“Mi piacerebbe avere la tua compagnia. Come si chiama, signore?” (I would love to have your company. What's your name, sir?)

Giuseppe’s throat tightens as he wipes away his tears, unable to stop them from stinging his eyes again. He runs a gentle hand through Ludovica’s hair, holding the back of her hand up to his lips as he kisses them again. “Ti seppellirò nei giardini di Sicilia dove ci siamo conosciuti, proprio come mi hai chiesto. E lì, desidero un giorno unirmi a te, amore mio...” (I'll bury you in the gardens of Sicily where we first met, just as you asked me to. And there, I long to join you someday, my love...)

“Giuseppe. Giuseppe Ferrari. Come chiami te stesso?” (What do you call yourself?)

“Ludovica Bianchi. Ho passato così tanto tempo in questo giardino che sono felice di conoscere il suo proprietario. Piacere di conoscerti, Giuseppe.” (I've spent so much time in this garden that I'm relieved to meet it's owner. It's nice to meet you, Giuseppe.)

Giuseppe carefully sets Ludovica’s hand over her lap alongside her free hand positioned perfectly over her. Sniffling, he feels his hands beginning to shake as he reaches for the white sheet to cover her with. “Non voglio dirti addio.” (I don’t want to say goodbye to you.)

“Hai un bel nome, Ludovica, ma ti ho sempre chiamato ‘la ragazza con i fiori’. da quando ci siamo incontrati. Spero non ti dispiaccia. Ho intenzione di tenerlo così finché non potrò cambiare il tuo cognome.” (You have a beautiful name, Ludovica, but I've always referred to you as 'the girl with the flowers.' since we met. I hope you don't mind. I intend to keep it that way until I can change your last name.)

“Cambiare il mio cognome? Giuseppe…” (Change my last name?)

“Voglio sposarti. Io ho sempre.” (I mean to marry you. I always have.)

“Ma questo addio è temporaneo.” (But this goodbye is temporary.) Giuseppe’s tears soak into the thin white sheet as he begins to raise it over Ludovica’s body. “La ragazza con i fiori. Mia moglie…” (The girl with the flowers. My wife…)

Giuseppe gently pulls the sheet over the top of Ludovica’s head, covering her entirely. He gazes down at her covered body with sorrow in his eyes, barely able to muster up the strength to remain in the room any longer. “Ti amo, Ludovica. Sempre.” (I love you, Ludovica. Always.)

The difference between Vito, Giuseppe, and Michael remains more profound than ever. Vito Corleone—a mafioso known to settle things quietly on “friendly terms” yet remain deadly and respected out of fear, chooses his family over business always.

Vito has always been aware of his emotions and vulnerabilities and has never seen his compassion or love towards his family as any sign of weakness. He has taken it as his strength and guidance for his growing empire of power, only hoping to teach his children the same.

Giuseppe Ferrari retained the ruthlessness and cunning of his father—Bruno Ferrari, who had also passed on the title of “the brute of Sicily” with his iron grip over the Ferrari family crime families activities in the region.

Men came to respect him, to work with him, and to be like him or out of complete fear from Giuseppe’s mercilessness. As cruel as he was and continues to be, Giuseppe is not an unfair man, nor does he step out of his line. He knows his jurisdiction and only cares for what concerns him. He’s always been a man to use everything to his advantage but never cheats those besides his enemies.

Both Mafiosi know the length of their brutality and how feared yet respected they are. Both Mafiosi love their families and choose them over business. Both Mafiosi shed tears for their family, but Michael Corleone does not.

With his usual cold and heartless disposition, Michael remains a stiff disposition and refuses to allow others to read his emotions or body language. Where your father places a white sheet over your mother’s lifeless body, Michael tucks a warm, layered cashmere blanket up to your chest as you sleep peacefully against the pillows on your bed.

Michael sits upon the edge of the bed next to you with a frown over his face. He clasps your hands in his, rubbing over them gently as he watches you sleep admiringly. Now calm and collected, Michael prefers you to rest off the exhaustion of your panic attack and emotions as your mother will be transported to the morgue, and her funeral preparations will begin.

With an all-clear and a clean bill of health given by the Corleone family doctor, who has recommended as much rest and as little stress if it can be helped as possible, Michael remains by your side and refuses to leave until you awaken.

Michael’s lightly gelled hair now remains parted and slightly tousled through from your earlier struggle. He rakes a hand through it as he lets out a soft, drawn-out sigh. The sight of you ill, hurt, or in pain of any kind fills him with both pain and fury that are only ever visible to you as his emotional vulnerabilities.

Now in just his dress shirt and tie with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Michael reaches over to the night table by the bed, where he wrings out the cold, wet cloth in a small bowl of water before patting it over your forehead.

You slightly stir in your sleep, pursing your lips open as Michael runs the cool, clean cloth down your face and cheeks gently—gazing at your facial features. An attraction he can only describe as “severe” towards you as yours is for him, Michael’s eyes adoringly look over every inch of you.

Feeling Michael’s soft breath over your neck, you weakly flutter open your eyelids and blink to clear your blurred vision. You swallow hard, lazily gazing back at Michael before you. If anything, the blush on your cheeks from flushing scarlet at the sight of him like this before you almost wakes you up entirely.

You feel a sense of calm combat the numb heartache in your chest as Michael’s slim hands caress your face. Even with the state, you’re in now, the sight of his firm hands against your skin with his gold watch glistening over his wrist tugs at the knot of arousal in your gut.

“M-Michael…” You peep out, barely audible, as Michael grazes his thumb alongside the outline of your bottom lip.

“I know, darling. I know.” Michael speaks back softly to you, keeping the cloth gently pressed up against your forehead before he leans in and kisses your lips sweetly. “You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

“She’s…?” You sniffle quietly.

“Yes,” Michael answers, cupping your face with one hand before kissing you again.

“And you…?” You croak out, barely able to form a sentence.

“I’m with you thick and thin through this, baby,” Michael murmurs, brushing aside the single tear sliding down your cheek. “I’m with you. Everything’s going to be alright.”

[ + 5 Days ]

The air at Lake Tahoe remains silent and solemn despite the warm summer weather. Black limousines and vehicles pull up by the gates, silently welcomed by Michael’s security as friends, family, colleagues, and associates alike arrive.

Eyes filled with grief and sorrow, guests keep their heads down and voices low—tears dripping onto their napkins as every attendant and member of the family remains dressed solely in black.

Lorenzo’s limousine parks in the middle of the outskirts of the compound, where he steps out in a two-piece, full black suit. Adjusting his suit jacket with an emotionless look in his eyes, he takes his wife’s hand and helps her out of the vehicle with his boys.

Although his disposition and expression appear calm and cold, Lorenzo’s right eye remains bloodshot from his own mourning. Having arrived last but not late, Lorenzo and his men quietly make their way inside of the central family residence where the funeral for Ludovica Ferrari takes place.

Guests quietly mingle by their vehicles, outside, at the gazebo, and inside the residence—grieving in their own way and reminiscing memories of Ludovica and her life.

Hundreds of different bouquets of flowers and arrangements have been brought as both gifts for the Ferrari family and for Ludovica’s coffin as an open casket funeral.

Dressed in a long-sleeve, knee-length, black swing-skirt dress with lace detailing by sleeves and your collarbones, you keep your hair in a neat, high bun. Niccolò and Verona hold both of your hands, remain quiet and saddened with reddened eyes and cheeks—dressed in black.

You approach your brother Lorenzo by the front entrance of the family residence with the twins, being the first to greet him as he slows down and stops before you. The two of you solemnly gaze at each other, easily able to tell how hard both of you have been grieving over your mother’s death.

From the corner of your eye, you can see Connie at a distance also coming to approach you with both of her boys holding her hand.

“Sei qui.” (You’re here.) You say quietly to Lorenzo, not at all trying to hide the resentment in your voice from the day he left the compound.

“So che avrei dovuto essere qui prima.” (I know I should have been here before.) Lorenzo gives you a stiff nod, extending his arms out to embrace you. “Lo so. Neanche tu sei qui per le mie scuse, ma sei pur sempre mia sorella. Sei ancora la mia famiglia.” (I know that. You're not here for my apology either, but you're still my sister. You're still my family.)

The twins peek up at you as you give them a little nod. Letting go of their tiny hands, you embrace Lorenzo tightly as the twins do the same—little tears prickling up in their eyes. Lorenzo’s hug easily gives away how distraught and hurting he is. The two of you remain embraced by the porch for a few minutes, hearing each other sniffle.

“Lei è dentro?” (Is she inside?) Lorenzo asks you as you pull away from each other.

You nod back at him, gesturing towards the living room as Lorenzo’s wife and children catch up to him—giving you and the twins small kisses over the cheek and warm hugs before entering inside.

“Victoria, sweetheart.” Connie pouts as she approaches you—almost in tears already as her boys linger behind quietly. “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry for your loss.” She gives you a light kiss on both cheeks as you hug her tightly.

“Thank you, Connie. I appreciate it.” You smile weakly at her, hugging her back.

“And you two,” Connie glances down sadly at the twins before hugging Niccolò and Verona. “I love you two very much. You know, my boys are spending the day here, so the two of you can spend some time with them inside and the other kids as well.”

Verona and Niccolò don’t react, frowning back at their aunt as you place your hands over each of their shoulders. “I’m sure they’d love that, Connie, but it goes against Michael’s wishes right now. Michael doesn’t want the twins inside right now…”

“But Fredo hasn’t seen the twins yet.” Connie’s eyes fill with confusion and worry. You stare back at Connie quietly, your eyes darting away from hers. “Oh, but Victoria… Fredo’s been gone for months—he hasn’t seen you or the twins in so long. He was wondering about you. He wants to pay his respects to your mother. This…” Connie shakes her head, “this is unfair right now. The twins need their uncle. Why is Michael acting this way?”

You bite down on your lip, cautiously glancing down at the twins first. You crouch down to the twins’ height, running your hands through their hair softly before smiling at them. “Tuo padre vi sta aspettando alla rimessa per barche. Perché non vai a vederlo adesso? Sarò lì a breve.” (Your father is waiting for the two of you at the boathouse. Why don't you go see him now? I'll be there shortly.)

“Okay, mama.” Niccolò and Verona quietly nod back at you, heading down the steps of the porch as Ritchie leans up from against the wall by the entrance of the residence, accompanying them.

“Victoria…” The frown over Connie’s face grows more and more concerned by the moment. “What’s going on?”

“Michael doesn’t want to see Fredo, and he doesn’t want me or the twins to either.” You sniffle, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “He hasn’t come out of the boathouse since. He hasn’t even seen my mother yet because Fredo is inside.”

“Oh my God,” Connie murmurs, gingerly rubbing her forehead as she lets out a soft sigh. “What is going on between those two? At a time like this? It’s not appropriate.”

[ 1 Week Ago ]

“Michael?” You peep quietly, clutching onto the doorway of the living room.

Retiring for the day a little earlier than usual and sending the twins off for a playdate with Connie and Theresa’s children, you happened to overhear from Tom and Sonny as Connie’s chauffer came to pick up the twins about Fredo for what seems to be the first time in forever.

“He was out in New York for the past few months as is. I didn’t know any better.” Tom murmured to Sonny. “It’s because he had no choice. And now father knows too.”

You couldn’t make out most of the ushered conversation that seemed to intentionally be kept away from you as much as possible, but the sound of Fredo’s name being spoken by Tom and Sonny now of all people heavily piqued your curiosity.

“I had suspicions of my own.” Sonny leaned against the side of Connie’s vehicle. “Well, then he knows better than to show his face around here again. I don’t know how Mike is going to deal with this, but I certainly know what I would do.”

Still, instead of overreacting, making assumptions, or approaching Sonny and Tom with a question you know both would never answer, you take it directly to Michael, from whom you know they got their answers.

After all, it’s been almost months since you’ve last seen Fredo, directly after the attempted assassination on you and Michael, to be exact. For the past few years, you and Fredo had been on nothing but great terms with one another—closer than ever as brother and sister-in-law.

He got along perfectly with the twins and spent more time with the family, providing relief even during the most boring dinner parties and business meetings. Fredo, of course, didn’t and still doesn’t have the same wit or cunning as his brothers, let alone much ability to be anywhere near Tom, Sonny, or even Clemenza’s role in the “family business,” but he’s a brother to you nonetheless.

You refuse to let anyone put down your brother or insult him—regardless of who it may be. Not only did the twins question their uncle’s “sudden departure,” but they were as saddened over it as you were.

Michael rarely ever spoke about it, and if he did, he let you know nothing, and you just let it be. As Michael always prefers you to do and noticed you doing again, you “let go,” and you “let Michael.”

You peek in to spot your husband gazing outside the window by the fireplace—his back turned to you. The sight of Michael in an open-neck, red, knit polo shirt and both his hands in the pockets of his trousers as he leans the side of his body against the window is a very welcome sight for your eyes.

As soon as you call out his name, Michael turns his head back to face you—revealing two buttons of his shirt undone which embarrassingly you notice about him first. Your eyes dart to his, noticing they’re stern and colder than usual.

Michael takes one hand out of his pocket as he gestures for you to come to him. Blushing, you give a small nod and approach—only in a short, silk nightgown. The warmth of the fireplace brushes against your bare legs as you walk up to Michael, leaning up to kiss him.

Michael returns the kiss, eyeing you up and down with amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Everything alright?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.” You lace a hand with his, giving it a squeeze.

Michael glances down at you as if he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “About?”

“Fredo.” You frown at him, noticing his disposition and expression doesn’t change. “I—um, I heard Tom and Sonny talking earlier about him.”

“Are you worried about him?” Michael asks plainly, keeping his hand laced with yours as he takes a seat over the armchair.

“I’m not really sure.” You nibble on your bottom lip, gazing at the sight of him relaxing against his seat. “Should I be? He’s been gone for weeks now and seems all the more hesitant to contact any of us as time goes on. It’s like he’s trying to stay as far away from home as possible.”

“And what does his wife think?” Michael rests his chin upon his fist, looking up at you for an answer.

“Well…” You pause for a moment, pondering the question. “She does complain a lot, but not in the sense that she misses him or wonders where he is. She just…complains about him in general. I haven’t seen Deanna in a little while now, but I know she’s with Johnny Fontane filming a new motion picture.”

“If his own wife isn’t worried, you don’t need to be.” Michael brushes off the thought nonchalantly.

“But Michael,” you pout at him, “that’s your brother. You’re not the least bit worried as to why he’s avoiding the family?”

Michael’s eyes glance back at yours. “Fredo’s not avoiding the family, Victoria; he’s avoiding me.”

“What?” Concern grows in your eyes as Michael lets out a soft sigh, more so annoyed that he has to explain this to you than the principle of the matter.

He gives your hand a light tug before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you onto his lap. Michael wraps his arms around your thighs from underneath before pecking your lips a small kiss.

Blushing furiously, you feel a sense of dread sink into you, knowing that during conversations like this with sudden, little bits of affection from Michael means that you’re not going to like what he says next.

“I’m sorry.” You immediately whisper back, unable to ignore the fact that your remind still goes back to your last fight, which was exactly over things Michael considered not to be your business.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” Michael runs his firm hands up and down your thighs. “I had assumed you’d figure it out sooner or later by yourself.”

“Figure what out, Michael?” You frown, “you’re worrying me.”

“Victoria,” Michael begins, looking you in the eye. “I couldn’t believe it when I first found out too, believe me. I’m not blaming you for that. I understand it’s time I tell you, but you may wish I didn’t afterward.”

“Okay.” You give him a nod, “I’m ready to hear it.”

Michael’s eyes harden as he begins to explain. “Fredo was the one behind the hit placed on us.”

“What?” Your throat immediately tightens as your eyes widen. The tips of your ears and the nape of your neck prickle with a sudden wave of anxiety rushing through you at Michael’s words, rendering you in a state of utter disbelief.

Michael nods slowly at you, expecting your exact reaction. “Yes, with Hyman Roth and Alphonse Ricci. If it wasn’t for Fredo, none of this would have happened, including your mother’s infection.”

“What? With Ricci and Roth?” You blink back, absolutely stunned by the revelation. “No, that can’t be. Fredo’s too—”

“Stupid?” Michael raises his brows at you.

You press your lips down together in a frown, gazing back at Michael. “Michael…”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” A scowl crosses Michael’s expression. “He is. He obviously wouldn’t have been able to orchestrate such a thing by himself, so to have powerful mobsters like Roth and Ricci making him do their dirty work—well, that’s more believable now, isn’t it?”

“I can’t believe this.” You clasp a hand over your mouth, shaking your head. “But why? Why?!”

“Believe me, I intend to find out.” Michael strokes your inner thighs gently to soothe you as he speaks calmly. “He gave it away tipsy and enjoying his night in Havana with Senator Geary and Ricci as is. He didn’t even know I heard until I confronted him that night—right after I killed Ricci and Johnny Ola was killed.”

“But Roth is…?”

“Still alive,” Michael admits, the tone of his voice slightly growing irritated. “My bodyguard was killed right before he could make his move, but the old man’s bedridden and expecting the kiss of death from one of my men soon enough—when he least expects it. I know where is and what all of his moves are—that’s the only thing that matters.”

“I’m not surprised if Roth and Ricci put a hit on both of us.” You mumble back, swallowing hard. “But why would Fredo—your own brother—help them do such a thing?”

“A question I can ask Fredo when he inevitably returns home.” Michael nods stiffly at you. “He can’t hide forever, especially now that my father is growing impatient with his absence. He can’t keep up the lie that he’s managing his whorehouses and hotels in New York either.”

“So then, what’s he doing?” You squeeze Michael’s hand lightly.

“Nothing. He’s simply hiding and keeping a low profile. Perhaps he expects me to reach out to him, but at the same time, he’s cornered no matter where he goes. Tom found him almost immediately. Fredo never gave a good chase.” Michael runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. “Whatever his motives are—deliberate or tricked—he’s not making himself look innocent by choosing to hide from me.”

“He’s always been afraid of you.” You tell Michael quietly. “Intimidated and even threatened sometimes. I don’t blame him for hiding, but he’s pretending like nothing ever happened. At least that’s how he speaks over the phone.”

“Then he’s always been lying.” Michael rolls his eyes. “When was the last time he reached out to you?”

“I think it’s been over two weeks now.” You run a hand through your hair. “He calls less and less as time goes by.”

“I hope you enjoyed the small talk because it’s the last phone call you and the twins will be having with him again.” Michael’s eyes begin to harden. “This is serious now, Victoria, and the only reason why I haven’t acted is that although Tom and Sonny now know and I’m keeping Sonny on a tight leash as is, my father doesn’t. I don’t know how he’ll react to having his own son betray the family like this.”

“You would have killed him otherwise,” you peep back, initially meaning to say it as a question.

“Yes,” Michael answers you flatly. “In just the remorseless fashion he felt when bullets were flying over both of our heads—threatening to orphan our children. He needs to pay for what he’s done, Victoria.”

“Are you suggesting your father won’t have him killed?” You notice Michael’s hand gently sliding up to your baby bump.

“Exactly so, although it is the rule for traitors to be killed by their own. My father’s weakness is us—the family. He would never do it, nor would he have someone else do it.” Michael appears annoyed by the sentiment.

“Your father would be devastated.” You let out a shaky sigh. “Even I don’t know how he’d react to any of this. It’s all too much to take in.”

“I know, and now you know why I kept it from you.” Michael rubs over your baby bump. “I kept it from everyone for that sole reason only. My father would never forgive us or let us live it down if something happened to Fredo—even as a traitor who would have caused both of our deaths. What he will think versus what he will do are two different things. He can’t do anything; I’m the Don.”

“If it were my brother, my father would kill him immediately—no questions asked.” You give out a stressed sigh. “I know that much.”

“Your father is a wise man.” Michael nods back approvingly. “You see now that we’re in a delicate situation. I don’t want the twins to know anything to do with this. The only ones who should know are me, you, Tom, Sonny, Clemenza, and my father, whom I will speak to later on tonight alone.”

“God—I was pregnant then too.” Your eyes sting with tears, “and our babies, Michael. Our babies were sleeping in the other room and—”

“I know, darling, I know.” Michael’s velvety voice soothes you as he gently kisses your cheek. “Believe me, that’s all I could think of. I feel the same way you do. This is about to get much more complex, but not without the truth being revealed first. If Fredo sets foot back on this residence, he’s more than welcome to, but you are not allowed to see him or bring the twins to him. Subsequently, I’ll refuse to see him as well, and depending on what my father thinks and the reasonable choice at hand, we’ll see what happens.” Michael’s eyes dart over yours to read your reaction before he continues. “You are not to see or speak with Fredo under any circumstances, do you understand?”

“Yes.” You give him a nod.

“No matter what and regardless of who insists and where. I don’t want you near the man who's the main reason you and our unborn child almost lost their life.” Michael places both of his hands over your wrists, facing you directly. A momentary silence fills the room as Michael stares back into your eyes, speaking out again in a cautious tone. “Victoria, if you go against my wishes and interact with Fredo behind my back, you’ll disappoint me.”

[ Present Day – Ludovica Ferrari’s Funeral ]

“What is going on between those two? At a time like this? It’s not appropriate.”

“They’re not speaking, Connie.” You shake your head at her, rubbing your arm gingerly. “Michael is refusing to see him and doesn’t want me nor the twins to see him either. He blames Fredo for his incompetence and for the state of the family.”

It’s not entirely a lie, but I can’t tell her the real reason behind it. If anything, this has more truth to it too. I can’t put Connie against her own brother when she doesn’t understand the situation—let alone do I.

“He’s here for you, Victoria.” Connie frowns, beginning to sniffle. “He came back from New York as soon as he heard the news. Tom said so. He’s been inside this entire time, and he knows he’s not allowed to see you or the children, but he doesn’t know why. Please, Victoria, please see him. Even just for a little bit, please.”

“I know, Connie.” You clasp her hand in yours as you lower your tone of voice to a whisper. “I will. I know everyone else is refusing to see him as is. I’ll talk to him, I promise.”

“I’ll go see Michael at the boathouse.” Connie nods back at you. “I don’t expect him to understand, but I’d rather he not find out about this. This is all so ridiculous—the fighting. We all need each other now. We all need to be a family again.”

“I know, Connie. I know.” You murmur back sadly, pulling her into a tight hug. “We will be a family again, don’t worry. Nothing’s going to split us apart, I promise. I want you to be here today for Leonardo too. This has hit him just as hard as it’s hit me.”

“Of course.” Connie rubs the tip of her reddened nose, “he’s waiting for me by the gazebo. I’ll go see him right away.”

“Alright.” You smile back weakly at her, taking a step back as she heads off to the other end of the complex.

“Victoria.” You hear another familiar voice behind you.

Raising your brows, you spin back on your heel to spot Sonny by the doorway, giving you a reassuring yet cautious smile. A large sickly violet and yellow, mottled bruise that’s begun to heal has formed alongside Sonny’s jawline, along with the corner of his bottom lip still a little puffy. Another darker yet small bruise extends from the side of his nose to under his eye—significantly looking worse now than the bruise near his neck.

Directly behind Sonny remains Sandra, who glances first at Sonny before giving you a scowl, crossing her arms, and walking off into the residence.

You frown, feeling the cold air between you and Sandra intensify all the more since your little “incident” with Sonny got out to her. Sonny rolls his eyes, brushing off Sandra’s gesture as he approaches you warmly. “Hey, I’m sorry about all this—and her. Believe me, she’s treating me the same.”

“It doesn’t bother me, Sonny.” You give out a small sigh. “She has the right to be angry and upset with me.”

“On the day of your mother’s funeral?” Sonny raises his brows, extending out his arms for a hug.

“That’s up to her.” You lean in, hugging him back and again feeling an all too loving and somewhat intimate embrace from Sonny rather than one expressing condolences and apologies.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sonny mutters in your ear, rubbing up and down your back. “We didn’t do anything wrong.” He pulls away, noticing the stunned look over your face from his words. “I’m sorry for your loss, Vic. You know if you need anything, Sandra and I are always here for you—no matter how annoying and mad she wants to act. She still cares about you. I want you to know that.”

“Yeah.” You breathe back, gently grazing your fingers alongside Sonny’s lips and nose. “And I’m sorry for what Michael did. I can’t express that enough. Does this hurt…?”

“Sore and tender is all that it is.” Sonny watches your fingers softly touch his skin. “But I’ll be fine. Mike has a hell of a right hook, so I’m lucky he didn’t break anything. I guess he learned a thing or two after that police captain broke his jaw back in ’45 because it seemed he was certainly trying to break mine.”

“And then Michael had him killed.” You frown at Sonny, pulling your hand back.

“Yeah, exactly.” Sonny chuckles. “Like I said, I got off easy. I know he probably gave you a hell of a lecture that night too.”

“Ah, yeah…” You mumble back, recalling just the “lecture” Michael gave you that night after almost breaking his own brother’s nose and jaw.

“You’re mine,” Michael growled out in a low, husky voice. “You’re my own personal fucking whore, aren’t you? Say it.”

“You could say that.” You nod back at Sonny, forcing yourself not to blush at the recollection of getting fucked over and over again, dripping with Michael’s cum out of sexual frustration and stress throughout the entire night.

Sonny shrugs his shoulders loosely, “that’s the only thing I’m sorry about.”

“You’re not…?” Your eyes widen, “really?”

“Are you kidding?” Sonny smirks, lowering his tone, so it’s only audible to you. “Why the hell would I ever regret doing such a thing? I’ve wanted to kiss you for years, and I got to do that twice. A man can get his jaw and nose broken in peace after doing that, you know.”

“Sonny,” you whine back at him, gently smacking his arm. “Come on, you know that’s unacceptable and inappropriate.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Sonny catches your wrist, raising your hand up to his mouth before giving your knuckles a small kiss. “If you ever need anything, you know where to find me. And again, I’m sorry for your loss. May your mother rest in peace.”

“Thank you.” You blink back in surprise at the sudden affection as Sonny gives you a smile, heading off towards the gazebo.

You run a hand through your hair, fixing your composure as you head inside the central family residence. You make your way to the living room where the open casket funeral procession takes place; your mother’s body and casket adorned by bouquets and arrangements of the finest, freshest flowers at the very front of the room by the windows.

You swallow hard as you feel your throat tightening at the sight of your mother across from you before your eyes dart to Lorenzo, who remains a few feet away from her casket, holding onto the edge of the casket as he lowers his head and grieves quietly.

Upon the couch and armchair further away from the casket remain Theresa, Tom, and their children—quietly grieving themselves. With Rocco nowhere to be found and presumably by Michael’s side, you spot Al Neri remaining by the fireplace and sternly gazing over the guests on the other side of the room.

Your mother remains dressed in a long, flowing white dress down to her ankles, layered in lace and mesh as her favorite pearl necklace adorns her neck. She remains in her casket with a peaceful expression over her face as if she remains in a deep slumber.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a figure moving towards the center of the room—catching you by surprise as you see Fredo. Dressed in a full black suit with his head lowered in shame, Fredo makes split-second eye contact with you and immediately looks down at his feet.

Fredo clutches onto an empty armchair’s armrest for balance as he stumbles into the living room. His eyes sting with tears at the sight of your mother laying in her casket as he lets out a shaky breath—far too ashamed to approach you or even look you in the eye as by now Fredo’s aware that you know of everything.

Frowning, you slowly approach Fredo and notice Tom and Al Neri’s eyes upon your back. Ignoring both of their judgment, you walk up to Fredo as Lorenzo begins to quietly exit the room—wiping his face off with his handkerchief.

You place a hand over Fredo’s shaky arm and rub his shoulder reassuringly as you gaze back down at him. Before you can even speak out to him, Fredo shakily turns his head to face you and immediately embraces you in a longing, tight hug.

You clutch back onto Fredo, hugging him tightly in silence as his tears soak into your shirt. Not only does he grieve for your mother’s loss, but his pain is tripled by his shame and guilt for what he’s done to the family and what an outcast he’s become.

Fredo can barely pull himself to even look up at you as he weeps quietly in your arms—almost about to collapse from the sense of weakness in his knees entirely.

You run a gentle hand through Fredo’s slicked-back hair, carefully helping him up to his feet. You cup his face in both of your hands, tilting his chin up to face you as his eyes filled with sadness and regret look back into yours. “Victoria…”

“Fredo,” you murmur back to him with a weak smile, “it’s good to see you again.”

“Victoria, I’m so sorry.” Fredo shakes his head—his voice weak from crying as he glances back at your mother’s lifeless body. “I’m sorry for your loss, for leaving—for everything. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wanted to be here for you in your time of need, and I don’t even know if you wanted to see me again in the first place.”

“Of course, I wanted to see you.” You nod back at him. “I’ve been worried for you, Fredo. The twins and I’ve been wondering about you. This is your home just as it’s mine. How could we not miss you?”

“I don’t deserve your sympathy.” Fredo swallows hard. “I couldn’t even make everything up to you in two lifetimes if I tried. I just… I have so much to say, so much to explain to you. Everything’s gone horribly wrong. I never wanted things to be this way, so I came as quickly as I could, and—” He hesitantly glances around the room, avoiding Al Neri’s glare. “I knew I had to talk to you and Michael about all of this. Is he here?”

“Fredo…” You sigh, holding onto his arm as you begin to shake your head. “No, he isn’t. He hasn’t been here at all.”

“Why?” Fredo asks, completely clueless. “He should be here for you.”

“I know,” you reply quietly, “and he will be, but he’s waiting for you to leave.”

“And you should, as soon as possible.” Al Neri steps forward, staring down at Fredo. “You’re no longer welcome here, Mr. Corleone.”

“Hello to you too, Al.” Fredo sniffles. “I know.”

“Al.” You scowl back at him, catching him by surprise. “Is this really necessary?”

“It’s Don Corleone’s wishes, Mrs. Corleone. He is not to speak or interact with you or the children, as you know. He’s only been allowed to pay his respects for the funeral and then expected to swiftly leave.” Al reaffirms. “Or else I will have to inform Don Corleone of his presence if he chooses to stay.”

“Fantastic. Looks like you have your orders, and I have mine.” You roll your eyes. “I’ll tell Don Corleone myself. Now please leave us alone.”

Al Neri’s cautionary gaze lingers over Fredo and you for a moment longer before he gives a small, stiff nod and turns back towards the other guests—leaving without a word.

You sigh in relief as you rub over Fredo’s shoulders reassuringly, having expected his next question. “I should have known Mike wouldn’t want to see me, let alone ever have me here again. Victoria… I don’t deserve to ask this much of you, but do you think you could get him here? At least just to talk to me alone? I need to talk to Mike; I really do. I don’t know how to approach him, and now it looks like his bodyguards want me dead. You’re the only one who can help me, please. Please,” Fredo’s voice quivers, “I need to see Michael.”

“Sorry, Fredo. No chance.” Tom speaks up, raising his head.

“Tom, please. Not you too.” You mumble, pulling Fredo away from him. “Listen, Fredo… I don’t know if Michael will budge at all, but I’ll see what I can do for you, okay? I’ll go see him right now for you.”

“O-Okay.” Fredo nods back at you, blinking back tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Victoria.” He speaks out again just as you step away from him.

“I know, Fredo.” You glance back at him sadly. “We can talk about this later.” You watch as Fredo takes his hands into his face, beginning to cry quietly as you force yourself to turn around and head back out the door.

You inhale deeply at the fresh summer air, smoothening out your dress and quickly making your way out towards the boathouse where you know Michael has been since the beginning of the funeral procession.

You clear your throat and run your hands over your face to get yourself together, stepping past Rocco, who remains as security by the entrance of the boathouse.

The boathouse by Michael’s luxury yachts and security personnel barracks remains eerie and dimly lit with little to no sound to be heard from it. Almost intimidating to enter it, to begin with, you notice Ritchie remaining silently down the hall and across from the main living space of the boathouse.

Giving Ritchie an acknowledging nod, you quietly twist the doorknob and pull open the door to enter inside. Taking just a few steps in, you peek up to see Michael sitting across from you to your left upon an armchair—dressed in a three-piece black suit, heavily gelled hair, and one leg crossed over the other.

Michael’s body language immediately reads out to you as cold, stiff, frustrated, but not impatient. He consistently rubs over his forehead and the bridge of his nose gingerly until he notices you—his eyes dead and cold of any emotion.

To Michael’s right, upon a smaller couch, remain the twins who quietly sit next to each other side by side with their hands clasped in their laps and their heads down.

“Michael?” You call out softly as Michael tilts his head up to glance back at you.

Michael neither gestures nor speaks back to you to approach. Frowning, you begin to make your way towards him to the right side of the room where the twins are—coming up to them first.

You caress both of the twins’ cheeks with your hands, smiling down at both of them. Niccolò and Verona peek up at you with little, shy smiles over their own lips—clearly aware their father is not in any lively mood.

“Voglio che torniate con Ritchie al gazebo, okay? Vai direttamente da zio Leonardo e zia Connie.” (I want you two to head back with Ritchie to the gazebo, okay? Go straight to Uncle Leonardo and Aunt Connie.) You speak out to them softly.

“Va tutto bene, mamma?” (Is everything okay, mama?) Niccolò gazes up at you—his eyes filling with sadness.

“Va tutto bene, tesoro. Ho solo bisogno di parlare con tuo padre se per lui va bene.” (Everything is fine, sweetheart. I just need to speak with your father if it's okay with him.) You glance back at Michael for approval.

Michael gives a look of approval at the twins, who begin to rise to their feet, walking off quietly towards the door. As you turn to face Michael, you notice he’s now placed both of his hands down against the armrest of his seat—looking up at you with anticipation in his emotionless eyes.

You take a few steps closer until you’re directly in front of Michael and his armchair. You kneel down before him as his eyes gaze back down at you—reading the saddened expression over your face as you sniffle.

Michael places one hand over his knee and his other arm propped up against the armrest of his seat, resting the side of his hand against his lips as he listens to you.

“Michael,” you begin. “I need to talk to you about Fredo now if that’s okay.”

“I’m not going to have this conversation with you, Victoria.” His voice is low and husky. “There’s no changing my mind on the matter.”

“Michael, Fredo’s in the family residence for the funeral procession. He’s there right now, and he knows he’s not welcome, but he can barely hold himself together. He asked for you, and both Al Neri and Tom refused. Al was almost about to kick him out.” You shake your head.

“As he should. He’s acting on my orders.” Michael replies quietly. “I’ve allowed Fredo enough generosity to pay respects to your mother, and that is all. Did he speak to you?”

“Michael—”

“Did he speak to you?” Michael insists, asking demandingly.

“Michael, please.” You break into tears, unable to answer his question directly. “I just want to talk to you. I don’t want to fight.”

“I’m not going to fight with you, darling.” You see a momentary flicker of warmth in Michael’s eyes as he extends his hand forward, caressing your cheek with it. “But you know how I feel about this.”

“I know, and I know you have to.” You let out a soft shudder. “You’re being strong for us—for the family. You always have been. I forgive you.”

Michael’s eyes slightly widen as he reads over your expression in stunned silence.

“I forgive you for everything I do.” You croak out, placing your hand over top of his and clasping it in both of your warm ones. “I know you’d never do anything to intentionally hurt me or put me in harm’s way, and I’m sorry I didn’t see this beforehand. I’m sorry I lashed out to you and made assumptions before talking things out with you first. I forgive you, Michael. No matter what and for everything—you know how much I love you, and I never want to hold grudges or fight with you again. So, can’t you—” You hiccup, breaking into tears, “can’t you forgive Fredo? H-he never purposely betrayed you, Michael, and you know that. He’s…he’s too stupid—he’s too weak. The guilt is tormenting him. He was tricked, he made a mistake, and he hates himself for it. He wants to see you so badly—he wants to talk to us about all of this. None of this makes sense to me anymore, Michael. He’s so helpless without you—”

“No,” Michael answers you, giving your hand a squeeze. “Fredo is a threat because he’s a liability, Victoria. No matter what his intentions or how he was influenced doesn’t matter. He can’t be trusted, and he can’t be a part of this family any longer.”

“It’s like a continuation of all these years ago.” You hiccup, “you know his inferiority complex—I think he just wanted to be his own man. He was jealous of you because he admired you. And it’s that sense of jealousy that led to insecurity and all these self-esteem problems. You know this. A-and, the twins, haven’t seen him yet—they keep asking about their uncle. I don’t even know what to say anymore or how to feel—I can barely accept any of this for myself. I feel like I’m constantly living in denial even though I know it’s true; I know what happened to us.”

“Victoria.” Michael cups your face with one hand, stroking his thumb over the outline of your lips lovingly.

“M-Michael, please.” Tears roll down your reddened cheeks as you helplessly gaze up at Michael, feeling the stiffness and coldness of his disposition through his affection as he touches you. “I’m begging you, Michael, please. Please. Don’t kill Fredo. I can’t take any more death—my heart hurts.”

“I know you’re hurting. I know.” Michael leans down to you, planting a soft kiss over your forehead. “All I want is for you to trust me right now.”

You nod back frantically at Michael, taking his hand into yours as you press a kiss onto his ring. Amused yet curious, Michael watches you with intrigue as you lower your forehead onto his hand, sniffling. “I trust you to do the right thing, Michael. For us, for the f-family… Please. I beg of you.”

“As I do for you.” Michael’s velvety voice rings out as you slowly raise your head up. Michael leans his back up from his seat, looking you in the eyes as his face only remains a mere few inches from yours. “Don’t break my heart, Victoria. Do as I say. Fredo has been your brother as much as he was mine—I know this. Do not side with him on any matter, no matter his crying or pitiful begs for forgiveness. When you give him sympathy, you give him what he wants. He’s not a child, and he’s always known better—no matter the excuse. When you side with him, you insult my intelligence,” he breathes against your lips, “and that makes me very angry. I’ll do anything for you—you know this—as long as you do the same for me.”

“Yes, y-yes, of course.” You sniffle, lacing your fingers with Michael’s.

A long pause of silence only interrupted by your soft crying fills the air for several minutes before you speak again. “Michael…Michael, all I ask is for you to just see him at least. Please tell him something—anything, but please come with me, please.”

“Okay,” Michael says back, barely audible. Strictly agreeing for your sake only, he begins to slowly rise from his seat and pulls you up to him from your hand.

Blinking weakly from your tears, you hesitantly gaze back at Michael, who cups your face with both hands. He bats away your tears with his thumb, looking upon you with love never seen before throughout his coldness.

“I will, for you.” He affirms, pressing his forehead up against yours. “And only for you.”

You let out a small sigh of relief, smiling weakly at Michael between your tears. “I-I love you, Michael.”

“I love you more, darling.” Michael laces both hands with yours, giving them a light tug towards him before he leans in and kisses you sweetly over the lips. Just before he pulls away, he whispers against them, “I don’t deserve your forgiveness for my past mistakes, but you know I’ll do anything for you regardless.”

“One day, you have to accept it.” You whisper back to him. “Because I do forgive you. I do.”

With one hand laced tightly with Michael’s, the two of you silently exit the boathouse—accompanied behind by Rocco and Ritchie. Sniffling quietly and keeping yourself together, you feel some of the weight on your heart relieve itself as Michael, and you return towards the central family residence.

As the two of you walk by the gazebo, Connie kneels down before the twins, who notice their parents close by. She murmurs quietly in Sicilian to their ears, gesturing for Niccolò and Verona to join their parents now. “Andate a trovare vostra madre e vostro padre ora, ragazzi. Dai, vai dentro con loro.” (Go see your mother and father now, kids. Go on, head inside with them.)

Giving their aunt a polite nod, Niccolò and Verona quietly make their way down the steps of the gazebo and join you by your side. You smile down at the twins, gently stroking your hand through their hair before clasping your free hand with Verona, who holds her brother’s as they walk with you and Michael.

Guests begin to slowly turn and gaze back at the Ferrari-Corleone family approaching the residence and respectfully nod, lower their heads and make way for you four to enter the living room.

You take a few steps in and immediately spot Fredo sitting hunched by the coffee table. His head is lowered, and he doesn’t notice you, Michael, or the twins entering from the soft chatter of Tom and Theresa around him.

“I haven’t got much to tell you other than what you already know, Mike.”

Fredo smokes his sixth cigarette in a row, swallowing hard and staring down at his feet in shame. Refusing to look up or talk to anyone as Michael now notices, Michael comes to a stop with you and the twins just a few feet away from him.

“I have time. I want to hear everything detailed from you.”

As the two of you let go of each other’s hands, you place both of your hands on the shoulders of the twins and keep them in front of you silently. You notice Niccolò and Verona curiously looking back at their uncle—a million questions buzzing through their minds at the sudden sight of Fredo.

“I was kept in the dark about everything. I didn’t know what was going on. I hardly understood how I got involved in the first place. I didn’t know a thing, and I didn’t know then that they were lying to me.”

Michael’s eyes harden as he looks upon Fredo with dissent. He neither looks pleased nor willing to approach him but rather disgusted with bitter hatred behind his expression. You’ve never had seen such a cold look in Michael’s eyes before, almost quite literally watching every sense of emotion drain out of him in an instant.

“Who was lying to you?”

Michael’s eyes fall upon Niccolò, who gazes up at his father in both admiration and curiosity. Michael strokes his son’s cheek softly, giving his shoulder a pat and knowing his children who look up to him and have questions of their own now will be watching him approach Fredo for the first time since Cuba.

“Alphonse Ricci, Hyman Roth, and Johnny Ola. It was Roth and Ola’s plan from the start. Once they got Ricci on their side… I-I didn’t know it was going to be a hit, Mike. I swear to God I didn’t know.”

Michael begins to approach Fredo with a monotone expression over his face. Tom and Sonny’s sons stand aside, respectfully lowering their gaze as the chatter in the room falls to an ushered silence.

“Alphonse Ricci and Johnny Ola bumped into me in New York. They said they just wanted to talk. They told me you and Roth were on some kind of big business deal together, and you were being tough on the negotiations. They just wanted some help—they said there would be something in it for me if I could help them out.”

Sonny, Tom, and you exchange looks before you all gaze back at Michael, who now stands before Fredo with no anticipation or expression in his disposition. Behind Fredo remains Al Neri just a few feet away, holding an empty glass of water in one hand and a burning cigarette in the other.

“I thought they wanted me to talk to you or give my advice to them about the deal. They kept telling me they just needed some of my help to be able to close the deal fast. They told me it would be good for the family. For us…and for the Ferrari’s.”

Al Neri looks back at his boss before staring down at Fredo’s back, making it appear as if he’s been carefully watching and tracking Fredo since he arrived at the family complex just as Michael had ordered him to do so.

“And you believed that story? Truly? You believed Roth, Ola and Ricci would know what was good for our family? That they would guide you into getting involved in something that wasn’t in your jurisdiction?”

Noticing a figure now directly standing in front of him, Fredo slowly raises his head up to look upon Michael—hesitancy, and fear growing in his eyes. Fredo appears almost relieved in one way but intimidated in the other.

“Ricci said there was something in it for me—for myself.”

Michael doesn’t look at him with forgiveness or brotherly love but with disappointment and bitterness. Michael keeps his eyes locked on Fredo’s, completely dead of any emotion and feelings whatsoever as he looks at his brother as if he can see right through him.

“I’ve always taken care of you, Fredo. What could you possibly want from them that I haven’t given you all this time?”

Fredo swallows the lump in his throat, barely able to believe Michael’s finally approached him after all this time. He shakily puts his cigarette out upon the ashtray on the coffee table before facing Michael again—his brows furrowed in sadness and worry.

“Taken care of me?! You’re my little brother—you take care of me? You ever think about that, huh? You ever once think about that? Send Fredo off to do this—send Fredo off to do that. Send Fredo to do someone else’s dirty work. Take Fredo to some nightclub somewhere and solve everybody else’s problems. Send Fredo to entertain Michael Corleone’s guests from the airport. I’m your older brother Mike, and I was always stepped over!”

Michael takes another step towards Fredo, cupping the left side of his face with one hand. Breaking into tears immediately upon contact, Fredo embraces Michael tightly from where he sits. He wraps his arms around his brother’s back, wanting to cry, but no tears escape his tender, aching eyes.

“That’s the way I wanted it for you.”

Michael hugs Fredo back with no intention of showing his brother much remorse or affection through his actions. He notices Fredo hug him lovingly, tightening his grip around Michael’s back by the moment. It’s an embrace filled with pain, apologies, shame, regret, and guilt—and one Michael refuses to accept as anything more than just a hug.

“Well, that ain’t the way I wanted it! I can handle things; I’m smart! Not like everybody says—like dumb! I’m smart, and I want respect!”

Michael remains silent as you, the twins Tom and Sonny, look over at the two reuniting with one another. With Michael’s back facing you, you wipe the tears forming from your eyes as you notice a small smile forming on the twins’ lips to see their father and uncle reunite—having no idea as to why their uncle left or came back in the first place.

“Fredo—you’re nothing to me now. You’re not a brother. You’re not a friend. I don’t wanna know you or what you do. I don’t want to see you at the hotels; I don’t want you near my house.”

Only visible to Al Neri is the true expression on Michael’s face from where he stands. Michael’s eyes dart down to his brother, seeing the pathetic sight of him before they look back up at Al Neri, symbolling nothing but executing an order of death.

“When you come here to see our mother and father, I want to know a day in advance so I won’t be there. Do you understand?”

Michael’s eyes appear empty and dead burn back into Al Neri’s, knowing he hasn’t changed his mind nor taken what you begged him to even consider. Fredo must die, and he will be killed regardless of his intentions, if he’s been tricked, or if he’s even Michael’s brother. Fredo’s a threat because he’s a liability to Michael because Michael can’t trust him, nor will he ever choose to forgive him.

“I don’t want anything to happen to him while my parents, Victoria, and my children are around. Once all of this blows over, and he returns home, kill him quickly and silently. Make it look like an accident.”

For the attempt on Michael and your life, potentially orphaning the twins, harming them, or even killing them and the cause of your mother’s death being from a poisoned bullet that night seals Fredo’s fate and has his death certificate signed in blood by Michael himself. For these reasons, Michael will have Al Neri take his brother’s life.

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