#santino is so kind ❤️ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

melis-writes · 3 months ago

Text

Mafia Wife [Sonny Corleone x Reader Multichapter, 18+ Smut] Chapter 2 – By Chance and By Fate

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 1 / Chapter Masterlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

“Please, I insist.” / “Our families are close, you know. We respect one another. I hope ya know you’re always welcome here.”

By chance and by fate, you find yourself intertwined by the soon-to-be successors and sons of powerful men, mafioso again and again. From your experience with the Barzini family, you knew what to expect meeting the Corleones, let alone Santino Corleone, the "enforcer", or so you thought. How can you feel at home in someone else's house you've visited for the first time? How can time be meaningless for Sonny who only wants to get lost in his words? You promised yourself you wouldn't tangle with mafiosi, you know what the means for you, but one wants nothing more than to be close to you. The ease and comfort inside of you from this man draws out your fate and future with him...

[WARNINGS]: Mentions of family abuse / Mentions of death

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: An update we very much needed to continue this fic because I can promise from the bottom of my heart that even after a year of no updates, Mafia Wife is not forgotten nor abandoned!! 😭❤️ 2024 had not been kind to me with my writing, but I'm back at it again having beaten writer's block. 🤭 Gabriella and Sonny's story CONTINUES! Despite it only having one chapter up from 2023, I'm in awe every single day at the love and support this fic gets! It means so much to me, so thank you all so very much!! 🥺❤️🥺❤️ This is a bit of a slow burn fic, at least in these initial chapters, so I'm trying to build up friendliness and potential romance with Sonny and Gabriella before we really jump in to their lives together and how they came to be. Sit down and get ready for the ride, it only picks up after this chapter! 👀

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

March 1937, Long Island, New York, Giordano Estate Greenhouse.

Humming a soft tune to yourself as you make your way through your family greenhouse, you almost blend in with the various, planted flowers growing around you in your lilac color, flowing shirtwaist dress, and hair put up in a messy bun.

Just outside in the back of your family’s estate, you spend the remainder of your afternoon alone in the family greenhouse with hundreds of plants, herbs, and flowers that are carefully curated, gardened, and cared for by you and your family. It's always been an ideal place for solitude among colorful, fragrant nature and a muse for your painting sessions.

You approach the greater floral section of the greenhouse where blossoming flowers are planted in pots and little plots of soil in gardening boxes from vibrant tulips to lilies, lilacs, orchids, peonies, tulips, and roses grow.

You pause for a moment, stopping your tracks as you glance back over your shoulder to your easel set up a few feet behind you, centered in the middle of the greenhouse to encapsulate a stunning view of all the plants around you and capture as much sunshine peeking through the glass ceiling of the greenhouse.

‘Roses. Roses will do.’ You note to yourself, gazing at the variety of white, red, and pink planted roses; some half-bloomed, some yet to grow and others wilted from a lack of proper sunlight in the winter.

“Spring can’t kick in fast enough,” you sigh to yourself, frowning at the potted red roses you planted yourself, almost completely wilted now.

You run your hands through the petals of a growing set of planted red roses before you take the pot of wilted ones, moving it over to the small round table by your easel.

Just before you’re about to set down the pot of roses, your eyes flicker over to the glass door of the greenhouse, noticing three tall, male figures walking outside in the estate’s gardens.

One of the figures you easily recognize; is your father, wearing a navy three-piece suit walking with whom you assume are two other guests, no doubt prestigious and wealthy judging by their black, three-piece, Italian silk suits.

From slight fog and droplets of rain clouding the glass walls and door of the greenhouse, the guests your father walks with appear mostly distorted to you as you’re unable to make out any faces.

Paying no attention to them, you set the roses down before taking a seat on your stool in front of your easel.

You clear your throat, inching your seat closer, and begin to prepare your paints on a little tray in front of you before you focus on tracing an outline of the roses onto your canvas to begin painting.

Don Emilio Barzini and his son, Emilio Barzini Jr. Are your father’s esteemed guests for today, visiting the Giordano family estate to discuss investments and private banking in detail.

The Barzini family was one of the first crime families in New York to invest in the Giordano family banks when your father first entered the business, and his relationship with the Barzinis blossomed from long-time allies and respected customer into a grandfathered friendship with due respect.

Your father, Francesco Giordano, recognizes well enough the power and influence a man such as Don Barzini has. Francesco knows Barzini is a man to be respected, a man who is known to be cunning and crude on whims, and a man who if relations sour through wrong actions, can also become a dangerous enemy.

It’s always been in your family’s best interests to keep on good terms with all of your clients, but particularly the most wealthy and powerful mafiosi without being involved in any mafia business yourselves for the sake of your family.

Today marks the first time Don Barzini is touring the back of your family estate, taking in the splendor of the carefully curated gardens, gazebo, and private pool that finished its recent construction this year, and an even rarer occasion marked by Emilio Jr. Accompanying his father as well.

Emilio Jr. Is now fully engrossed in the Barzini family business himself, directly learning from his father and beginning to forge the same business relationships for succession shortly.

You've met both Don Barzini and his son years prior, but you’ve never spent enough time with either of them neither personally nor formally to get to know them. Considering their mafiosi, you believe that as a nurse and not a mafiosa, there’s nothing you can offer to either of these men unless they come to you visibly sick or injured.

You’re nothing if not kind and welcoming to all guests—including your family’s business partners—but you’ve never paid mafiosi special attention. You’ve never had to, thus far.

Your father remains close to the door of the greenhouse, speaking to Don Barzini. “There is nothing more important,” he says, patting Barzini’s hands in his, “than our continued partnership and friendship.”

“Indeed,” Barzini smiles back, amused. “I trust none other with the investments and wealth of my family. You know this.”

Emilio’s eyes linger over your back through the greenhouse walls, only half paying attention to his and your father’s conversation in front of him.

You haven’t had a chance to approach the Barzinis to welcome them today as you were never told they were coming, but you have no intention of stopping your painting mid-way from rushing out and greeting mafiosi.

Although you remain a distorted figure of sorts behind the greenhouse glass walls to Emilio Jr. it mildly disgruntles him to be unable to make out your full figure, he knows it's you.

It’s much to Emilio Jr.’s surprise that he catches your father then offering, “Have I not given you a grand tour of our greenhouse yet, Don Barzini? Oh, please, allow me. It’s finally completed its construction alongside our gardens this year, just as my family envisioned it to be.”

“Gladly,” Don Barzini chuckles, “you’ve already impressed me above all others I’ve seen.”

The three men enter the greenhouse as you begin to slowly use a crimson shade of red paint to encapsulate the less wilted, vibrant colors of a rose petal on your canvas.

You hear the door to the greenhouse open and close, sighing quietly to yourself as you force yourself to focus on the canvas until you simply are unable to.

You know and respect that your father doesn’t have much of a choice when it comes to entertaining his mafiosi guests and touring around the estate, but it does make you uncomfortable when his guests choose to interrupt your personal and hobby time—particularly the chatty Don Barzini’s son, Emilio Jr...

You hear a brief conversation about the final renovations and construction of the greenhouse from your father and Don Barzini, as well as mentions about the sections the greenhouse has been separated into to organize flowers from herbs and fruits before their footsteps grow louder and you’re in plain sight of all three men.

“My daughter, Gabriella,” your father beams proudly at the sight of you. “The greenhouse is often her muse when it comes to her paintings.”

“The beautiful Gabriella Giordano,” Don Barzini remarks, glancing at you, then your painting.

Emilio Jr. quietly stands in awe, gazing at your beauty as you turn around and look at Don Barzini with respect.

“Don Barzini,” you’re quick to set your paints down and carefully rise from your seat to greet him. “Welcome. Forgive me, I didn’t know you’d be visiting us today.”

Don Barzini chuckles, taking no offense. “Ah Gabriella, how are you, sweetheart?” He gives you a light kiss on both cheeks. “No disrespect done, it’s good to see you again.”

“Thank you, Don Barzini.” you smile politely. “Likewise. I’ve been well.”

Emilio Jr.’s eyes wander over your dress and body inconspicuously, admiring your curves and how the fabric of your clothes hugs your figure.

It’s no surprise to him nor his father how powerfully attracted Emilio Jr. Is to you as you remain the epitome of his type in women; a beautiful, young woman from a prestigious family that built itself from nothing getting closer to the top, mingling with families like his—not to mention a woman who built her own pathway with a career at that.

“Gabriella,” Emilio Jr. Speaks out, your name sounding like a rich wine over his tongue,

“Hello,” you turn to face Don Barzini’s son; no shred of affection or attraction shared towards him whatsoever.

It’s not that you find Emilio Jr. Unattractive, as he’s very much a conventionally attractive, Sicilian young man with medium-length, clipped, dark hair just past his earlobe, parted to the left, slicked and gelled back neatly wearing a sultry cologne, bright charming smile with dark, dreamy eyes, but nothing in your heart speaks to him.

When it comes to Emilio Jr., it’s always been a “no” from you, and there’s nothing more to go off on that.

“Don Barzini and young Emilio are touring the grounds with us today, sweetheart,” your father says with a proud smile. “I just hope we haven’t interrupted your painting.”

“Nonsense,” you tell your father, very much speaking to him directly. “Please,” you smile back at Don Barzini and Emilio Jr., “make yourselves comfortable.”

With that, you turn back around and return to your easel, hearing Don Barzini and your father begin to make their way further into the greenhouse, spiking up another conversation.

You don’t notice that Emilio Jr. Decides to linger behind quietly, not following your father and his but rather remaining back to watch you from a distance as you pick up your paints and try to focus on where you left off.

Swirling your brush into the scarlet red paint again, you slowly begin to paint away at the easel.

Emilio Jr. watches your mastery in awe, wishing to be able to watch you paint all day just to watch your delicate, yet slow and precise movements—painting with such ease as if it’s second nature to you. Your talent mesmerizes Emilio Jr., as does the rest of you.

You’re aware the three men are rather close to you in proximity in the greenhouse, but you pay no attention to them or any other potential distractions as you remain engrossed in your art.

It’s when Emilio Jr. Begins to directly approach you that you become startled, hearing him say in a low, whispering voice, “Something tells me this is more than just a hobby to you.”

You gasp out quietly, dropping the small container of red paint you held free in your hand to the ground, spilling half like a bloody splatter over the floor. “Oh!”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Emilio Jr. blinks, taken back as he quickly attempts to kneel to scoop up the container of paint.

You’re faster, leaning over to grab the container first but manage to spill more red paint over your hands as you get it away from Emilio Jr’s. Grasp.

You let out a small sigh of relief, noticing quite a bit of paint still left in the container and that at the very least it didn’t splatter on you, your easel, or let alone Emilio Jr.’s thousand-dollar, silk suit.

You both gaze at each other, out of breath, hearts racing.

Emilio Jr. Chuckles sheepishly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s alright,” you glance down at the red mess staining all over your hands as you set the paint container down. “It cleans off easily.”

“And your hands?” Emilio Jr. Frowns, becoming genuinely concerned.

“That too,” you frown, looking at the palm of your hands as if you committed a murder; bloody red reaching your wrists.

“I commend you for using high-quality paint...” Emilio notices the brand name on some of the small paint tubes around you. “But my apology isn’t enough. I’ll have replacements sent to you later this afternoon.”

Your eyes widen at the thought of receiving any sort of gift from the Barzini family. “No, no, please, I couldn’t--”

“I insist,” Emilio Jr. Smiles back at you, taking your hands into his suddenly.

Stunned, you glance down at your hands to see the red paint smearing onto Emilio Jr’s willingly; your cheeks stinging red from surprise.

“Let me make it up to you,” Emilio Jr. Coaxes.

“If you insist,” you avoid eye contact with him.

“You’re a master of your craft, it’s the least I can do.” To his regret, Emilio Jr. Slowly lets go of your hands. “I want to buy this painting from you.”

“This?” Stunned, you glance back at your easel, utterly confused by what Emilio Jr. Is trying to get at.

Your painting of a set of wilted roses is nothing if not simple, but rather mediocre in your eyes. Your only idea was to practice painting flowers and nothing more; why would the son of a wealthy Don want this of all things from you?

“Of course,” Emilio Jr. Chuckles, “this is already making itself out to be a beautiful portrait. Does that surprise you?”

You give him a small smile. “I’m my biggest critic. It doesn’t make sense to me. It’s...” You frown at the rose portrait, barely close to completion. “It’s just a little practice on painting florals. Nothing I wanted to keep.”

“It makes sense to me. Practice or not, it’s your artwork and it’s beautiful.”

“You can have it,” you won’t object, a little flattered that Emilio Jr. Appreciates your artwork despite having only seen it once. “I won’t deny a lover of art his painting.”

“You understand me,” Emilio grins. “And that goes for any of your paintings, you know? I would love to see more of them sometime. Perhaps you’d give me a private showing?”

“I don’t know if--”

“Please, I insist.”

Current day, March 1939, Corleone Estate.

“Believe me, I insist,” Sonny says to you; the same words, similar persuasion, charming smile over his lips wanting to give you a tour of his family estate having just met you, but it’s different.

‘Why is it different?’ A moment of realization flickers through you.

Why is it different for you now, having another son of yet another powerful Don, again the eldest, again the future successor, the enforcer whom you just met, make you feel so comfortable and so safe already when you’ve just met him?

How do you already feel so at ease as opposed to how you felt in your own home’s greenhouse next to Emilio Jr. When you have known him for much longer?

You can’t explain it to yourself nor can you think of it in the moment; it’s not Emilio Jr. Whose on your mind for the time being.

There’s no uneasiness surrounding you and Sonny; something just feels right inside of you, and Sonnys easygoing, playful personality towards you only provides further relief.

“I won’t get lost?” You teasingly ask, beginning to follow Sonny through the foyer of the estate.

Sonny chuckles, glancing at you as he leads you through. “Well, what do you want to do?”

Both of you crack a smile at one another.

“I gotta make this as boring for you as possible, ya know. But I do wanna give you a warm welcome,” Sonny extends out both of his arms, gesturing to each side of his Tudor-style estate interior that is the home of the Corleone family. “Five bedrooms, seven bathrooms. Impressed?”

“Were you a real estate agent in your past life?” You giggle, causing Sonny to burst out in laughter with you.

“Maybe,” Sonny grins, “jack of all trades, you could say.”

“Great,” laughing, you continue, “I heard there’s a grand library, maybe?”

“You heard right, come on. I’ll show you the study.” Gesturing for you to follow close, Sonny begins to lead you up the mahogany, spiral staircase. “Something tells me that’s your favorite room in a house already.”

“I won’t deny that,” blushing a little, you follow Sonny down the hallway and to double French doors leading into a spacious, quiet, and dimly lit study where you can barely make out a square inch of the wall from the bookshelves holding hundreds of books.

Two study desks are placed at a distance from one another in the room with a plush, fur carpet in the middle, two leather armchairs and a beige, tweed couch on the other end of the room.

“I don’t spend as much time in here as I should,” Sonny admits sheepishly. “Almost a little too quiet in here, y’know?”

“Not to your liking?” You ask, peeking around the study curiously.

“I like having someone around.”

“That does sound nice,” the blush deepens on your cheeks.

“You a bookworm of any sort?” Sonny walks towards the bookshelves, albeit not very interested in the surroundings of the study or anything it has to offer him.

“I’m a painter,” you smile shyly.

Sonny blinks in surprise, turning back to face you. “You’re an artist, hey?”

“Something like that,” you meet his gaze.

“So...” Sonny chuckles, gesturing around the study aimlessly. “We gotta get you a private room where you have all the space and painting tools you need, right? No use for all these books.”

“Maybe not,” you’re intrigued even by such a forward suggestion from Sonny as you move to politely sit down on the couch across from him. “Funny enough, the greenhouse has always been my place of choice to point.”

“I know where to take you on a tour next then, don’t I?” Sonny smirks. “Interesting stuff. Never met an artist before. What do you paint?”

“A little bit of everything.” You’re flattered to pick up on Sonny’s genuine interest in your hobby, easily being able to tell by his tone of voice and body language that he isn’t just forcing small talk to get to another point. “I like still life portraits the best, but I also adore Renaissance artwork so I do similar style portraits. Anything. I love all kinds of painting and artwork, it’s calming.”

“Right,” Sonny nods slowly. “A lot of chaos around? It must be nice to unwind in a hobby like that.”

“There’s always something happening,” you frown, only able to think of the recent mob wars between the families of New York and their lasting, heated impacts and tensions just to mention a few. “If you know what I mean.”

“Believe me, I understand,” Sonny mumbles, slumping down in one of the leather armchairs closest to you.

“It can be a lot to handle, but it’s not exactly an escape for me.” You continue, “Making art is something I’ve always loved to do.”

“Glad to hear it,” Sonny tilts his head to the side, raking a hand through his brunette curls. “And you’re more well-informed than I thought.”

You pause for a moment, locking eyes with Sonny.

This is Don Vito Corleone’s eldest son, his successor, and very much an active mafioso. If anyone knows anything, it’s him.

‘Is he prodding me for information?’

“You or me?” You counter.

Sonny’s eyes widen a little, his curiosity towards you fully peaking. “You know who I am?”

“I know more than you think.”

“But I don’t know much about you,” a sly grin begins to form on the corners of Sonny’slips. “How’s that fair, Miss Giordano?”

“What do you want to know about me?” You flush a shade of scarlet, clasping your legs tighter together.

“To be honest? Everything. We can start there,” Sonny purses his lips, licking over them.

“I’ll be here for a very long time then,” you tease back.

“I have time,” he states.

“Don Corleone’s son is never too preoccupied?” A little thrill rushes through you at the back and forth you find yourself engaged in with Sonny.

“I can make time,” he winks. “I want to see you again if you’re willing. It’s refreshing to talk to a girl like you, and we just met.”

“Right...” You blush deeply, nibbling on your bottom lip. “Likewise. We can do that.”

“I’ll talk to your father. He’s no stranger to me, but you and I haven’t had a proper chance to meet until now.” Sonny begins to slowly rise from his seat. “Our families are close, you know. We respect one another. I hope ya know you’re always welcome here.”

‘And why don’t I feel uneasy around this mafioso now?’

“I’m flattered,” you also begin to get up from the couch.

“You should be,” Sonny maintains a respectful distance from you—something Emilio Jr. sorely lacked. “How about I take you down to our greenhouse? See if it’s worthy of hosting a painter?”

“I like the sound of that,” nodding eagerly, you begin to follow Sonny out of the study and back down the hallway.

“I’ll give you a tour to the Corleone Mall too sometime if my Pops and yours don’t beat us to it. We just finished building up the place in Long Beach. I know your Pops have been there a few times while it was still under construction,” Sonny leads you back down the spiral staircase. “A little out of the way—like an hour—but worth the trip now. A lot of residential, good security, gated community, now for the family.” He suddenly switches up the topic, “You had the misfortune of meeting any of my brothers yet?”

“Misfortune?” You hold back a laugh as you’re both back down in the foyer.

“Let’s put it that way,” Sonny chuckles.

“I’ve met Tom recently,” you nod. “Tom Hagen.”

“Yeah, Tom and I go a long way back. The first friend I ever had. Played out there in the streets of Hell's Kitchen growing up. He’s German Irish. His family was uhhh...” Sonny shrugs his shoulders loosely, beginning to lead you out through the back door. “Not doing so well, let’s say. I’m sure Tom will tell you all about it sometime.”

“Oh,” you frown, stepping outside as Sonny holds open the door for you.

“I saw his folks sometimes when we played outside. His dad was a carpenter or something, I think, but man...” Sonny shakes his head, “he drank and he drank. I like my whiskey and anisette, but the violence in that man when he had liquor in his mouth was something else. He beat his own kid black and blue, just like that.”

Sonny stuffs both hands into the pockets of his dress trousers, leading you out to the greenhouse. “He was eleven at the time, I think. Yeah, eleven. And I saw his ma, she had a real nasty eye infection. She went blind from it, and it wasn’t long till we didn’t see her around anymore but she gave Tom the same infection too. I was worried for him. I knew he didn’t have the money or means to treat it.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you mumble, clasping your hands together.

“Everything started to go to shit after that,” Sonny continues the story, “his dad wasn’t the same. He wasn’t the violent type anymore to others like his own son but he started to take it out on himself. Drank himself to death after the funeral. Tom told me one day when we were playin’ that some funny-looking business people were wanting to take him and his sister away. I didn’t even know he had a sister.”

“Social services?” You raise a brow.

“Yeah,” Sonny nods, stopping by the greenhouse door with you. “So they got sent to some orphanage, and I didn’t see Tom for a few weeks. I thought that was it, y’know. Then some week later, I saw him back on the streets. He told me ran off from the orphanage.”

“But he left his sister back there?”

“Nah, it’s nothing like that,” Sonny shakes his head. “Some couple adopted her, but not him. Assholes,” he scowls, “they knew she had a little brother and chose to separate them anyway. Tom didn’t trust anyone after that—I mean, how could he, right? He didn’t even trust me,” Sonny takes a hand out of his pocket, pointing at his chest. “Just the streets. Took me over a year to persuade him to come stay with us. I talked to Pop and told him everything that happened down to the kid’s eye infection. Pop didn’t wanna disrespect Tom’s background and family you see, but he adopted him. Saw him as a real son. And Tom’s a real brother to me, so there’s that.”

“Wow,” a small smile begins to form over your lips. “You wanted to take him as your brother?”

“Of course. He was always a brother to me, we just didn’t live together at that time.”

“That’s so sweet,” you beam as Sonny opens the greenhouse door, letting you both in so distracted and engrossed in each other’s conversation that both of you already forgot this is supposed to be a greenhouse tour.

“What came of the eye infection?” The curious nurse in you asks as both of you stand before each other, talking.

“My father hired a private doctor to operate on it. Tom healed up well after that,” Sonny explains.

“I’m glad. Most eye infections are treatable, even the ones that led to blindness like his poor mother, as contagious as they are. I wonder if it was keratitis or trachoma.”

Sonny stares at you in awe, like a child seeing Christmas tree lights for the first time—bewildered and intrigued.

“What?”

“How would you know all that? You a doctor?” The grin on his mouth becomes contagious.

“I’m a nurse,” you giggle.

“You’re a nurse,” Sonny repeats. “Wow. Just what else are you, Miss Gabriella? So you don’t give me any more big surprises like this.”

“We just met, you have to go easy on yourself,” you laugh softly.

“Do I?” Sonny chuckles. “Y’know I’m used to seeing private doctors shuffle in and outta here, take care of Pops or one of us without saying much—just shoving medical stuff in your face but this is different. A good different.”

‘She’s incredible,’ Sonny thinks to himself, fascinated by you.

“You’re too sweet,” you say back as both of you remain quiet for a moment, smiling at one another.

“Ah,” Sonny blinks, awkwardly looking around the greenhouse. He knows he’s brought you here for a reason, but easily gets distracted by your eyes and smile. “Oh, sorry, the tour--”

“It’s beautiful here, thank you for showing me.”

“Not much of a grand tour, but it’s something. You garden too, or?”

“I like to give it a try here and there, but I’m not sure if I can call myself a green thumb,” you tell him.

“Well, I am not,” Sonny glances around the various plants around him. “I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been in here.”

“Really?’

“But if you plan on coming to visit more often, that can change,” Sonny sneaks in a flirty comment.

“I’ll take you up on that,” you nod happily.

Patrolling the vicinity of the Corleone estate at this hour for security are Clemenza and Tessio’s men, as well as the two men together, making their way around the back of the greenhouse.

Clemenza and Tessio’s movements are slower and linger nearby the greenhouse as they notice both of you inside, staying out of your sights.

Tessio chuckles, smoothening out his suit jacket. “There he goes again, Santino... One new lady at a time.”

Clemenza stares through the glass of the greenhouse walls more intently, trying to study your features. “This is not looking good.”

“Hmm? Why’s that?” Tessio’s attention perks up.

“Not just a new lady,” Clemenza murmurs, shaking his head. “You see who that is?”

Tessio turns his head to look through the glass, trying not to catch you or Sonny’s gaze as inconspicuously as possible.

“Oh,” Tessio blinks, “that’s...”

“Francesco Giordano’s daughter,” Clemenza sighs deeply. “Santino. What’s he getting himself into this time?”

“This is a scandal waiting to happen,” Tessio can hardly keep his laughter contained. “What do you think? They’re seeing each other?”

“I don’t know,” Clemenza grumbles, turning away. “But the Don told me to keep an eye on Sonny. Y’know, last week he could barely get his hands off of Ms. Mancini in front of everybody. Now he’s got a private banker’s daughter in the greenhouse?”

“Relax, old man.” Tessio pats Clemenza’s shoulder reassuringly. “We don’t even know what’s going on with those two just yet, and Don doesn’t trust his son?”

“Not like that,” Clemenza replies, pursing his lips. “But y’know how Sonny can be. He’s too hotheaded, too quick to act. Too promiscuous for his good if you ask me, but something like this won’t simply blow over if it gets out.”

“Ah,” Tessio nods. “The Don will want to hear about it.”

“I don’t know if he’ll be surprised anymore. I just wish Sonny would settle down already,” Clemenza crosses his arms. “Settle down for good, y’know? Get married, and have a family. It would be good for him.”

“Give him time,” Tessio tells Clemenza, “this could be a good thing. We can’t get too involved and even the Don knows he can’t rush his own son when it comes to the ladies he brings around. We just gotta keep a good eye on him here and there.”

“Gabriella Giordano is a very, very different story altogether,” Clemenza nods slowly. “Believe me when I say this, but... Telling the Don will be for Sonny’s good.��