#Michael corleone fanfic

[lostloveletters]

Give Me Shelter, The Night Is Dark (Vampire!Michael Corleone x Reader)

Summary: Local superstition and a reclusive man offer you refuge when your parents grievously misstep in Sicily, putting your life in danger in more ways than one.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This incredibly self-indulgent gothic romance-esque idea came to me while I was half-asleep, and the time period is intentionally vague, but it’s not a modern setting (here's a little aesthetic tag for this fic). Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Major canon divergence. Canon-typical violence. Emotional manipulation. Vampirism, including non-consensual blood drinking and compulsion (in the context of it being an ability vampires possess and can use on humans). Sexually explicit content involving elements of bloodplay. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

You couldn’t remember what had brought your family to the village of Corleone, only that your father had promised you and your mother an extravagant Sicilian vacation. Three days of beachside paradise in Mondello, eating fresh seafood cooked to perfection and entertaining the antics of handsome men with scars that stood out like bolts of lightning against their tanned skin were hardly enough to sate your voracious appetite for the weeks of bliss you were promised. 

Despite your attempts at bargaining to stay in Palermo on your own, your mother refused, insisting she’d be better off throwing you into shark-infested waters than alone with the men who came calling to your hotel. Some days of travel through the breathtaking Sicilian countryside later, you and your parents arrived in Corleone, a village that appeared all but frozen in time, as if decades had passed it by with no one any the wiser. 

To your dismay, you found the selection of eligible men to spend your time with far more limited than in Palermo. The working young men were too tired from their labor in the fields or their trades to engage in foolish antics with a vacationing foreigner. The rest were mafiosi, as you gathered from the veiled comments and numerous euphemisms the older villagers used. 

These elderly became your companions during your stay in Corleone, talking wildly with their weathered hands over coffee or wine. Filomena, a woman of nearly eighty years and fluent in English, lived in the house next to the one your family was renting. Her husband Gianni only left the house if absolutely necessary, and she considered him a burdensome hermit. Each morning, she fetched you to accompany her into town. Some days, you’d do little else than sit outside of a cafe on the sleepy main street, eating and drinking and gossiping. 

Your Sicilian improved immensely in the near month you kept up with their chatter. Those women always had their ears to the ground, as far as knowing more about your father’s business in Corleone than you did. The vacation he promised you was little more than a gesture of confidence toward Don Manusco, a man notoriously difficult to meet directly with. That your father achieved this naturally generated interest in the village, as no one knew of him. When pressed for more information about your own family’s line of work, you answered what you knew, that your father invested, mostly in stocks, but occasionally in new business ventures. 

You were privy to little else, much to the disappointment of your companions, who moved onto other topics of discussion. One woman’s son sought work in Milan and within three months of getting hired at a factory, married a Northerner, much to her displeasure. In contrast, Filomena’s daughter was cloistered elsewhere in the countryside, preparing to take her vows and become a nun. 

Their superstitions, however, intrigued you most of all. A curse and blessing existed for nearly every conceivable situation. The most striking tale they spun regarded an abandoned villa about a mile past the rental house. Foreboding and hostile, its faded facade peeking out from thorny vines, it was once the envy of the village. At one point in time, though no one could agree quite when, the Don of another family lived there. He took in a strange young man, reclusive yet polite, wandering the countryside with two armed shepherds as bodyguards. He married a local girl, but the marriage ended tragically soon after the wedding. In a sudden blaze of fire and betrayal, she was killed. The strange man vanished not long after, and anyone associated with the villa—including the old Don Tomassino—were soon found dead or had disappeared altogether. Thus, no one dared approach it for fear of the curse surely cast upon the place.

Some of the gruesome murders in the vicinity of the villa could have been attributed to the tradition of violence Don Manusco carried on following Don Tomassino’s death. It didn’t explain the livestock dying of unusual causes, an older woman interjected. Even the land surrounding it was cursed, and the local shepherds knew better than to let their flocks graze nearby, explaining the abnormally tall grass and overgrown foliage that surrounded the villa.

Yet another woman claimed to have seen a demon or ghost in the form of a man wandering the villa’s grounds at night. Of course, she didn’t get close enough to take a good look, instead uttering Hail Marys as she ran into the local church to take refuge until her husband found her some time later.

Your mind drifted to the villa sometimes, this forbidden and mysterious monument to grief and superstition that seemed to cast a longer shadow over the village than the mafiosos who ran it. Like Don Manusco, who your parents were joining for dinner one evening, and Filomena insisted you join her and Gianni instead of eating alone.

The scent of stewing summer tomatoes with garlic and mouth-watering spices invited you inside the house, its windows open for hopes of cool breezes moving through. Gianni offered you wine and a simple antipasto spread of cheese and oranges to snack on while Filomena cooked dinner. Despite his reclusiveness, he somehow knew that your father’s dinner with Don Manusco involved more business than a friendly visit, the final chance for your father to seal what he hoped would be a lucrative deal with the mafia boss.

Two hours later, you sat across from Filomena at the small wooden table in their kitchen, filling your plate with the delicious meal she prepared. You ate silence while Filomena spoke, bickering with Gianni every now and then. As the sun set over Corleone, unease crept over you, though you chose to attribute it to the heat of the day and eating too quickly.

Until a commotion erupted up the street, almost deafening as it approached, finally arriving outside of Filomena’s house. Frantic Sicilian shouting mingled with rapid pounding on the front door startled you into dropping your fork. Filomena and Gianni shared a worried glance before both getting up from the table to answer. 

Wailing. 

Screaming. 

Arguing. 

All you found yourself able to do was sit in confused silence. When they returned to the kitchen with a few other locals, panic truly set in.

“You have to leave!” Filomena cried, pulling you out of your seat by your arm.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Your father’s a fool–”

Gianni shook his head. “A dead fool–”

“Your father should have never brought you here if he were going to try to cheat Don Manusco!” an older woman said.

Another cursed. “Selfish bastard!” 

“Go! As far from here as you can!” Filomena implored.

A hard push toward the back door was the extent of the help you’d receive from the villagers of Corleone. 

Blood pounded in your ears, your heart beating in time with your feet against the uneven dirt path that nearly tripped you up in your desperate rush to the rental home. You opened the door, scrambling upstairs in a frantic half-crawl to reach your room.

You shoved clothes and essentials into a bag, hardly paying attention to what exactly you were packing, just knowing you couldn’t flee empty-handed and hope to rely on the goodwill of strangers. 

In the kitchen, you grabbed what you could from the pantry and shoved everything into a wicker basket. With just that and your suitcase in hand, you clumsily ran across the uneven countryside roads, hoping to find somewhere to take shelter for the night. Every rustle of leaves and animal cry sent chills across your skin. Just when you felt hopeless for a place to hide, you saw the abandoned villa's high walls, overgrown with vines and bramble in the distance. Superstition be damned, it was better than dying at the hands of a mafioso.

The iron gate was closed, but not locked. You held your breath as you opened it, sending out silent thanks to the universe that it didn’t release some otherworldly screech and announce your presence. Hardly visible in the dead of night, the villa peeked out from beneath the plants that had overtaken it. Even from a distance, it appeared as if the building were hollowed out somehow. It remained your best bet. 

Superstition offered you refuge, as masculine voices drifted above the villa’s high walls, the structure still sturdy despite the general state of disrepair.

“Should we go in?”

“You sound as much of a fool as that old man. That place is cursed. Even if she were in there, she'd be dead anyway.”

Their heavy, rushed footsteps against the rocky terrain fell silent after a few moments. You sighed in relief, allowing yourself to relax just the slightest bit. Until you glanced back at the villa again, a new sense of dread making your stomach turn at the prospect of having to go inside the place. While you didn’t believe all of the rumors you’d been told over the previous few weeks, being in its presence unsettled you.

Then again, feeling unsettled in an abandoned villa was preferable to whatever would happen if Don Manusco’s men got his hands on you.

After a moment of hesitation, you approached the shadowy building, hoping your luck wouldn’t run out when you got inside. 

To your surprise, the interior wasn’t as poorly maintained as the exterior. The furniture betrayed the wealth of whoever lived there previously, though they’d seen better days. Dark wood scuffed or splintered. Dull fabrics that must have been rich violets or crimson upon their initial purchase. 

You walked into the living room, freezing upon seeing lit candles around. Someone was living there after all. 

“Hello? Is anyone–” you gasped upon seeing a man standing on the other side of the living room, partially obscured by shadows.

Even in the cover of darkness, his features rendered you speechless as he approached. Handsome seemed too pedestrian of a word to describe him. His raven hair fell across his forehead with a deceptive boyishness. Brown eyes, almost black as the night itself bore into your own. His skin wasn’t nearly as tan as the villagers you’d met, but you supposed someone who lived in such a place was wealthy enough to not have to partake in the grueling manual labor typical of the area, the strong Sicilian sun giving its residents a healthy glow which he lacked. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.

“The men who were outside before—I think they’re going to kill me,” you said, panic overtaking your senses as his face remained unmoved by your explanation. “Please, I didn’t know anyone lived here.”

“Why do they want to kill you?”

“I think my father tried to cheat Don Manusco. I don’t know all of the details, but if they don’t want to kill me, then they’ll probably—“ Your voice caught in your throat. 

“You can stay.”

“I’ll leave tomorrow and find a way to get back to Palermo.”

He shook his head. “You have a vendetta out against you now. Getting back to Palermo so soon will be nearly impossible, especially if Manusco has allies there.” He watched in unreadable silence as hopelessness ate away at your resolve. “You can stay,” he finally repeated. “Don’t leave the villa. Not during the day, and especially not at night. You’ll be safe.”

“Thank you. I owe you my life.” You offered him your name, as a courtesy and as collateral. More valuable than anything else you carried with you, he could use it to betray you for his own gain whenever he wished. You prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

“Michael Corleone,” he said.

“Like the village.”

He smiled the slightest bit, his dark eyes shining an almost betraying crimson in the moonlight. Ethereal. That was the right word for him. “Yes, like the village.”

Your host led you upstairs, helping you with your meager belongings despite your insistence you could handle your small suitcase and a basket of food, which you left on the console table in the foyer. The villa had certainly seen better days, its plaster walls cracked, crumbling in some places. You would’ve used caution going up the stairs if Michael hadn’t been so confident as he ascended them. 

He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing at each of the doors along the hallway. After a few moments, he seemed to settle on one, leading you to a dark bedroom, full of odd shadows that made you pause. It seemed otherwise better taken care of than the rest of the villa you’d seen up to that point.  

“It’s just me here. I’m afraid I’m not the best homemaker,” he half-joked in response to your hesitation to enter the room. 

“No, I’m sorry. It’s nice. I can’t thank you enough, Michael.”

He nodded. “I have insomnia, so you’ll see more of me at night than during the day. The cellar stays locked, but you can have the run of the place otherwise.”

You bid each other good night. 

When he shut the bedroom door behind you, you collapsed onto the bed and cried into your pillow, both from heartbreak and exhaustion, until you fell asleep. 

The following morning, you awoke to fresh bug bites on your arm–inflamed and itchy, though perfectly in line with each other, oddly enough. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and you supposed you’d rather deal with mosquito bites than whatever Don Manusco and his soldiers had in mind for you. 

True to his word, Michael was nowhere to be found when you went downstairs to eat a breakfast of bread and hard salami. Again, not ideal, but you’d make do with what you brought with you. For the rest of the day, you explored the villa, acquainting yourself with your new albeit temporary home.

You found yourself with little to do to pass the time. Venturing out onto the surrounding grounds of the villa was hardly an option, most of it so overgrown you couldn’t take a proper walk. There were a few books in the house, but often you found your mind drifting to your parents, what their fate looked like and what could await you if Don Manusco found out where you were hiding. By the time you’d finally see Michael around in the evenings, you’d force yourself to stay up as long as you could to be in his company. Soon, your schedule nearly matched his nocturnal one.

Over the following weeks, you got to know Michael. At times, you couldn’t help but stare at him, but sometimes it felt as though you couldn’t do much else if you tried. He was a gracious host for how you imposed on him, showing concern for the bug bites you tried to hide from him. A good thing he noticed, as he brought you a cup of tea, a deep maroon color that he explained was a natural remedy from the village for the discomfort you were experiencing. A common occurrence that you’d been fortunate enough to avoid since arriving in Corleone.

“You’re not from around here either,” you said one night. “I can tell from your accent.”

“I’m from New York, but my father was born here,” he explained. “My last name is a mistake from when he immigrated.”

“Do you miss it?”

He was silent for some time, lost in thought before answering with a soft, “Terribly.”

“But you can’t go back.”

“No, I’m very sick. I wouldn’t survive the trip.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, your curiosity getting the better of you when you asked, “What do you have?”

“What I have is incredibly rare, there’s no word for it. Sunlight puts me in excruciating pain, and my appetite is abnormal.”

“How long have you been sick for?”

“Years. More than you’d believe.”

“You know, everyone in the village thinks this place is cursed. If you just talked to them, then they’d understand what was going on and maybe be able to help.”

“I can’t be around people. It’s not safe for them.”

“I don’t understand,” you said. “Are you contagious?”

He hesitated. “Not how you’d think.”

“No matter what you have, it’s not good to be alone,” you argued.

“You’re here now.”

“Only until it’s safe for me to go to Palermo and leave Sicily.”

He shook his head. “You won’t be able to leave. Not when a man like Don Manusco has a vendetta out against you,” he said, his intense gaze boring into you. Your chest grew tighter as he spoke. “This villa is the only place you’ll ever be safe.”

“Michael, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just know what he did to your parents…he and men like him have done to many others on this island, too.” Your silence perturbed him. He grabbed your shoulders, squeezing them gently, though his eyes seemed to blaze with fury. “I’m keeping you safe here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice nearly catching in your throat.

“Then what’s there to be afraid of?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s right, as long as you stay here.”

“I can’t stay forever.”

He hummed dismissively, not bothering to acknowledge your statement. You soon excused yourself to go to sleep, a sudden uneasiness settling in your stomach.

You awoke late into the afternoon the following day, judging by the amber sunlight that streamed through the broken shutters. Still, your limbs felt heavy, and your head pounded as if you’d hardly slept at all. A quick glance at your arm revealed twin bug bites on your wrist again, this time darker than the previous ones, leaving your skin tender to the touch. 

Dizziness turned the room over when you sat up from the bed, and you nearly considered going back to sleep, if it weren’t for the hunger that ached in your bones. 

You ventured down into the kitchen, relieved to find a pot of tea sitting out. You didn’t even bother reheating it, though the consistency was odd, thicker in its room temperature state. The texture didn’t deter you, as the more you drank, the better you felt, your dizziness and aches gone as the tea overflowed from the corners of your mouth and dripped down your chin, insatiable until there was nothing left. Wiping off your face, you went back up to your room and fell back asleep.

A knock on the door woke you up in the pitch black some hours later. You lit the candle on your bedside table before getting up to answer. You knew it was Michael, concerned about why you hadn’t joined him yet. 

Just as you got up to answer, he opened the door, letting himself into your room–except it wasn’t your room. It was his, and you supposed he could enter whenever he wanted. 

Frozen in place by his gaze alone, you stood still and silent as he approached, demeanor darker and more intense as his presence filled the room, as if his essence somehow intermixed with each breath you took. A citrusy sweetness with a bloodcurdling undercurrent of violence filled your lungs. Despite this, you felt no fear, but rather anticipation when he finally reached out and caressed your cheek, his hand freezing against your warm skin.

“Michael,” you whispered.

“Don’t fight me, sweetheart.”

And you couldn’t. Not even if you tried. His eyes took in your face with a softness that betrayed his fondness for you. His lips pressed against yours, a chaste kiss to start, but it proved to be insufficient for him, as he claimed your mouth with the fervor of a man long starved for affection. His desire for you tangible as you kissed him back, allowing his hands to roam your body above your nightgown until his fingers brushed your thighs, pushing the hem up to your hips. 

He laid you back on the bed, ridding you of your panties and slipping his fingers between your folds. “Tell me how it feels,” he said, his lips against your skin. “Tell me everything.”

Before then, you would have died rather than admit it to him, but at his urging, the dam broke. Of course your thoughts of him weren’t always innocent. Some nights, when you were sure he was elsewhere, you touched yourself to the thought of him. The confession slipped from your mouth so quickly that shame couldn’t catch you, not when Michael pushed his fingers inside you, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit, denying you any sensation but absolute pleasure. 

“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you,” he whispered, pressing desperate kisses into your neck. “You have no idea how hard it’s been for me not to–”

Your whine interrupted his train of thought, and a knife-sharp pain jolted through you when he sunk his teeth into your throat, breaking the fragile skin. His fingers curled inside you, a moan clawing its way out of you as you came, ecstasy pulsing through your limbs in waves that threatened to drown you in it. Spots clouded your vision and breath evaded you, the poignant scent of copper mixed with your sex made your head spin. 

“Michael, I–” You passed out, though you awoke later, curled up next to him, your body sore and more fatigued than ever. You winced when you tried to move your head, a dull ache coming from your neck. “What did you do?” you mumbled.

“Sweetheart?”

“To my neck.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, petting your hair. “I got carried away. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

“Me either,” you admitted. 

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. From then on, he was ravenous, and like a woman possessed, you gave in to him every time. Nights with him blurred together as thoughts of escaping Sicily and the danger that waited for you outside of the villa walls were almost nonexistent. 

Some time later, though you’d largely stopped keeping track of the days by then, you realized your food supply was running low. Michael would go out at night and get some for you if you asked, though he never revealed where exactly he went. Still unsure of your safety from Don Manusco, you figured the farm up the road would be a good place to swipe some fruit from the orchard and anything else they might have lying around and not exactly miss.

The sun felt especially harsh when you went outside. Each step brought about unimaginable fatigue that made your bones ache. You hardly made it halfway to the farm before you had to rest beneath a large tree’s shade to rest your tired limbs and eyes. 

“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?” 

You jolted awake, surrounded by a handful of elderly villagers from around the countryside. You recognized at least one of the older women as one of your old cafe companions in Corleone.

“I’m fine.”

The woman in question squinted at you. “Where do I know you from?”

“We’ve never met before,” you said, voice tight with panic. “I have to go. Goodbye.” You forced yourself up, using what little strength you had to return to the villa, ignoring their calls for you to wait. Exhaustion swept over you by the time you made it inside, promptly collapsing in the foyer. They had recognized you, and surely they had seen you retreat into the villa and were on their way to let Don Manusco know of your whereabouts. They’d be foolish not to with the price on your head.

Michael was nowhere to be found, and you worried that by the time you finally saw him that night, it’d be too late to tell him what transpired. Tears rolled down your cheeks as fear and guilt crept up on you. Your carelessness had put Michael in danger, too.

With no way of knowing how long it’d be until word got back to Manusco, you considered the layout of the villa, which you knew like the back of your hand, and the best place to hide if he or his men intruded in search of you.

In hindsight, the kitchen cupboard was a more obvious choice for a hiding spot, but it was the most your fatigued brain could come up with while you were panicked. 

Your instincts had been right, though. The inevitable intrusion did come.

The voices that echoed through the foyer were the same ones from the night you first arrived in the villa. You kept a hand over your mouth, the other with an iron grip around the kitchen knife. 

“Come on, Don Manusco isn’t angry with you. He just wants to talk,” one of the men called out.

“It’s a misunderstanding,” the other added. “He knows you didn’t have anything to do with your father’s schemes.”

You couldn’t take a chance on whether or not they were telling the truth. 

Footsteps approached, growing louder with each passing second. You readied yourself for attack, until you heard a blood-curdling scream rip through the night and you dropped the knife in shock. 

With all of the foolishness of your father, you opened the cupboard door. Blood pooled around the man’s head, a look of terror etched into his face, betraying his final thoughts. Your gaze lifted, and you stumbled backward, unable to comprehend the gruesome sight before you. If you hadn’t been watching Michael with your own eyes, you would have assumed an animal attack was responsible for the carnage at your feet. What more, after the initial shock wore off, an almost physical pull drew you to the spilled blood.

The villagers had been right. It wasn’t mere superstition, but reality, one more horrific than any of them could have fathomed. The unexplained murders, the livestock deaths, all by his hand. His illness a fabrication to conceal the true nature of his being, something unnatural that existed in the worlds between life and death with a hunger to match. He’d been feeding from you for weeks, allowing you to carry on believing lies. Of course you felt awful, constantly fatigued. You could only hazard a guess as to what was really in the tea you’d been drinking like a fiend.

You wished you could scream at yourself for your naivete, as if he’d help you out of the kindness of his heart and not expect something in return. Your willful ignorance of his odd behavior in exchange for refuge in the one place where you’d be safe from who you thought were the only men who wanted to harm you. But he saved you from Don Manusco and his men. He kept you alive. He could gain little from drawing out your death for so long. Unless…your eyes widened, and you looked at him in horror.

Michael spoke your name softly. “Do you understand now?”

“You–You’ve been making me like you.”

“I should have done it sooner. It’s the best way to keep you safe.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?”

“I guess not.”

He cupped your face in his hands, “Things won’t be that different. We’ll be together. No one will be able to hurt you.” 

“How–How much longer until I’m–”

“As soon as tonight, if you’ll let me.” Sensing your hesitation, he pressed a bloody kiss to your forehead. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the urge to trust him, to commit to an eternity of all-consuming, reclusive violence with him. “I want to be with you. I want to be like you.”

His hands drifted down to your neck, his fingers digging into your pulse as he leaned in, his teeth grazing the half-healed wound he’d inflicted all those nights before. “I knew you’d make the right choice.”

[melis-writes]

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

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

18+, explicit smut read.

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

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

[WARNINGS]: Sexual themes & mentions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Everything should be fine.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

[ 1 Day Before The Las Vegas Gala ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Finishing up for the night?” Tom chuckles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘He was a Corleone too, after all.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

[ Next Morning ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘This man… I swear.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s right,” Michael nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Ah, Anthony…’

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

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

“Marina?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t Mrs. Corleon—”

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

[chicoca]

Did you know that i have your heart in the garden?

(Michael Corleone x Reader fanfic) (AO3)

Sicily brings new things for Michael, including your presence. However, he didn't count on the difficulties of hiding from his father's enemies and falling in love with a forbidden woman.

Michael's and reader's pov

Reader has a name

Canon divergence (I use some parts of the movie and the book, but I manipulate everything)

This fanfic is quite self-insert, and brings a perspective of Michael that I would like to deepen.

Be aware that this Michael is based after the death of Sollozo and McClusky, and before being the Don. Therefore his personality is far from the great Michael Corleone that we know. At least at the beginning.

Playlist

Warnings in each chapter

chapter one

chapter two

[ddesfleurs]

It hurts to love you, but I still love you.

chapter 4

summary: Michael always made a point of surprising Grace, he liked to see her with a smile on her face, especially when he was responsible for the smile. She was worth gold and he knew he didn't deserve her.

warnings: cheat, angst, anger, melancholy, light smut, mention of sex, fluff

notes: well this took some extra time because my college classes have started again and i'm super busy with everything but here we are. a new chapter of this story. I'm curious to hear your thoughts on this chapter, especially the ending. Good reading!!

Michael was outside his home by the large lake that surrounded part of the property he owned in Nevada. He watched the horizon in front of him as the snowflakes fell around him like little icy tears that didn't bother because they had already become a part of him. Michael looked at that lake and remembered another time when he had been with her, also in a lake, it seemed to him that it had been many lifetimes ago. He couldn't help it, his thoughts kept straying from the now, the real and the concrete, and fixed like weeds on the memories of the time he spent with Grace.

Michael Corleone was never a man of great superstitions, he didn't believe in bad luck, and he always thought he was capable of getting anything he wanted, but he found himself powerless trying to find out where Grace was. And, appealing to beliefs he never believed in, he considered that his life had fallen into a spiral, a succession of disgraces and misfortunes began to befall him, one after another, after she had left without saying a word to him.

First the woman of his life, the woman he loved even though he had never told her, simply vanished from the map as if by magic. It just seemed impossible to find Grace as even her friends didn't seem to know for sure where she was. It just seemed impossible to find Grace as even her friends didn't seem to know for sure where she was. Michael had gone to speak to each of them personally, and none of the girls had given him satisfactory answers, especially Carolyn, one of Grace's best friends, who made a point of spewing half a dozen curses at him and telling him once again how much he had ruined Grace's life. In the end, Michael found that Carolyn had no idea of ​​her friend's whereabouts, she had received a letter in the mail that had so many stamps that it seemed to have traveled all over the country. The letter contained more words than the note left for Michael, but it didn't say anything that might indicate where she was, and it didn't even leave a return address so they could write back.

Michael had tried everything, made a point of going to San Francisco to talk to Grace's aunt in person, Maureen slammed the door in his face as soon as she knew who he was. She told him to go to hell and that if he wanted to, she said that he could send one of his goons to shoot bullets at her, but that she had the right to refuse to talk to a certain tipe guy. The next day it was Tom who managed to talk to the woman, Grace's aunt, who was infinitely nicer to Tom, said she didn't know her niece's whereabouts, that she had left her house and didn't know where the girl had gone. . Michael knew immediately that it was a lie, Grace wouldn't disappear into the world without her aunt knowing where she went. Once again Michael was left with no options, he couldn't torture Grace's aunt to get the information he wanted, that he did in business, with men, never with women and certainly not with the aunt of someone who was infinitely dear to him.

He returned to Nevada without any concrete answer about Grace's whereabouts, his men and the private detectives he had hired would only give him one answer: they didn't know where the woman had gone and they couldn't find any trace of her, it seemed there was vanished into thin air and it seemed to Michael that after she left everything in his life started to go wrong. First, complications arose in certain negotiations during Anthony's First Communion celebration. A party that looked more like an associates party because it was so full of men who wanted to do business with him. The whole thing was a beautiful spectacle, Michael was not comfortable with all these people, many were plotting behind his back, but things were as they were and he knew that such parties were necessary to maintain the appearance and sense of unity in their midst job. What followed was a complete disaster, the same night Michael was attacked, there was a shooting that almost killed him and Kay. A shootout inside your property. This property was heavily guarded and guarded. Michael had to deal with the inconvenience this caused his family and the prospect that in addition to having an enemy who wanted him dead to the point of planning an attempt on his life, there was a traitor among his family and trusted men.

Michael traveled to try to find out who were the people who were involved in that horrendous shooting that nearly took his and Kay's lives. During the trip, which he hated every minute of it, as Michael didn't want to leave the United States, he felt lonely and empty without hearing from Grace for so long and the possibility that his wife and children would be in danger, since apparently someone wanted him dead enough to plan a shootout on his property. On the trip to Cuba, Michael discovered that Hyman Roth wanted him dead and that the family traitor had been Fredo, his own brother. It broke Michael's heart. His own brother betrayed him. His stupid, silly, unnecessary brother, whom he loved so much, betrayed him and nearly caused his death. He felt mixed feelings about the discovery that it was Fredo, anger, sadness, grief, Michael knew what he had to do, the decision was already made and Fredo's fate was sealed the moment Michael discovered the truth but first he had to deal with Hyman Roth and his men. The entire scheme to eliminate Roth had proved more difficult than Michael and his men had expected and so he found himself drawn into a web of confusion caused by Roth who wanted to harm him at all costs.

Upon returning from the trip, Michael found out through Tom about the latest events and it was through this conversation that he discovered that Kay had lost the baby she was expecting. That baby Michael so desperately wanted and hoped would be a boy, that baby he didn't know about yet but had been the catalyst for the abrupt break in his relationship with Grace, that baby was gone. Michael felt angry with himself, after all it had been his fault, everything that had happened had been his fault. He tried to protect his family and his business, he tried to keep and protect those he loved, but he was losing everything. He felt that he was holding a handful of sand and that more and more sand was falling from his hands so that he couldn't stop it, it dripped through his fingers, Michael tried to hold more than was reasonable and so he lost everything.

After that, his relationship with Kay was never the same. They hadn't been well for a long time and after the shooting and the loss of the baby everything got worse. To complete the series of misfortunes that had befallen Michael, it didn't take long to discover that Hyman Roth had set up a scheme to frame him for being part of the mafia and for illegal practices, which they all did. Roth wanted to destroy Michael now that he knew the man wanted him dead. Michael found himself dragged into a trial set up by Roth who was now aware that Michael knew he planned to kill him. The trial weeks had been exhausting, but Michael, with the help of his brother and brilliant attorney Tom Hagen, managed to get out of the Roth-orchestrated trial unscathed. No charges were brought forward so Michael's association with any of the crimes he was prosecuted for has not been proven.

After leaving the courtroom free and cleared of all charges, Michael thought that maybe now he could find some peace and live peacefully. Planned to fly tonight with Kay, Anthony, and Mary back home, Michael thought that maybe there was still a chance, that maybe it was a sign that he should work to change and improve his relationship with Kay, Grace was gone and, allowing himself he dreamed of an impossible future, Michael thought maybe this was his chance to get his marriage back together and get their lives back to the way they were. But he was wrong.

Still at the hotel where they were staying, shortly after the trial ended, Kay went to his room to tell him that she would not return to Nevada, that she would leave and take the children with her, that she planned to file for a divorce, that she no longer wanted to be Michael's wife. Kay's statements set off a horrible argument that could be heard throughout the hallway. Initially Michael shouted that he would not allow Kay to take their children, then tried to persuade her that he would change and that it would be better for her. He told her that he knew she blamed him for the loss of the baby and everything else that had happened but that in time she would feel different about their marriage and that they could have another child.

At that moment Michael had the hardest revelation of his life, Kay revealed to him that she had had an abortion. The loss of the baby had been intentional, Kay said she no longer wanted to bring Michael's child into the world, a child who would live the same life as all of them. After what she said, it all happened in a very quick sequence. One minute Michael was there holding the upholstery of the chair as he listened to Kay reveal to him that she had abortion their child and the next he slapped her across the face. Michael yelled that she wasn't going to take his kids away and that she should leave alone because he didn't want to see her anymore and he didn't want her anywhere near his children. In that moment Michael saw Kay's expression change from shocked to sly, her eyes hardened and in that moment he knew there was more, she was going to say something more, the moment of truth had arrived for them.

"What else did you do?"

"Why are you so mad, Michael? Is it because of what I did, what Hyman Roth did, or because that whore you kept walked away?"

"What?"

"You thought I was too stupid to notice, didn't you? Kay the blind wife who would never notice her husband had a mistress. Do you think I didn't notice the changes in your behavior? sudden good mood, the sudden interest in books, plays, and movies from genres you were never interested in! Do you think I couldn't smell her and the perfume she wore when you came home and thought I'd already was sleeping take the opportunity to lie down silently next to me?"

Michael was dismayed, having never even imagined the possibility of Kay knowing about Grace. Kay was not one to keep things, she usually got into conflict with Michael but not on this subject, on this subject she decided not to say anything to him, Michael was now starting to wonder why.

"If you already knew everything all this time, why didn't you say anything? It's not like you to be silent."

"What good would it do me to confront you? I wouldn't gain anything from it, just your look of guilt and disgusting pity."

"How did you find out about her?"

"Now that doesn't matter anymore. I must admit she's quite pretty and vain, I understand what you saw in her."

"Did you see her?" Michael said as he gave Kay a look that gave her the shivers. "What did you do, Kay? What did you do to Grace?"

"Oh no big deal Michael. I just told your lover that I was pregnant again and told her you would never leave me for her. We talked for a while and I must admit the poor girl seemed pretty shaken by the news. You don't change, do you? You thought you could have a relationship with her by lying and deceiving her. I did that poor thing a favor who can now be happy away from you and your evil!"

Michael gave Kay a wild look, his body trembling even more than before, he felt hate. Hatred for that woman he once believed he loved. Hatred that she aborted his child. Hatred that she made the woman he loved go away.

"How long did you think this illusion would last, this make-believe you were creating together with that whore. You thought you could live a parallel life with her, didn't you? A life where you are not you, a life in which you Don't be a sordid criminal who makes everyone around you wish they hadn't had the bad luck to cross your path." Kay gave him a tired look. "I couldn't. I couldn't stand knowing that you were having an affair with another woman and that you were happy with her while making me and our children unhappy. The way you smiled before you went to see her and your behavior after you came backnhome... it destroyed me, Michael, because you were never like that to me. I was pregnant with our third child in my belly and it still wasn't enough for you. I wasn't enough but that girl you got god know where it seemed to be."

Michael looked at Kay with a mixture of sadness, anger, anguish, relief, and above all regret. He regretted letting this story get this far and regretted that things had gotten to this point. Michael looked at the woman in front of him as he pinched the bridge of his nose, they were over, a long time ago, a lot longer than he could have imagined.

"Kay, I strongly suggest you pack your things and leave. Tom will be in touch about the divorce and we'll decide about the kids."

"Is that all, Don Corleone?" She said making fun of the way he was giving orders. Michael didn't bother to answer, turned his back and went to the other room, he needed to be alone.

Back in the present Michael contemplated recent events in retrospect, his life had become one big mess since Grace had left and now he finally knew the reason for her abrupt departure. Grace had found out about Kay's pregnancy and decided to put a stop to the whole thing. Of course, Michael knew that the pregnancy and the fact that he had hidden it from her weren't the only reasons that made her leave, these events acted as a catalyst for everything that would follow. Michael knew that Grace wanted a family, husband and children, and yet he insisted on continuing his relationship with her even though he knew he could never give her the full happiness she deserved. Now Michael was alone, he had lost the woman he loved because he was cowardly enough not to openly admit his feelings and take action about it.

He remembered a very sweet and contemplative moment between the two of them that had taken place the year before. Grace's birthday was approaching and Michael had been bothering her for a few weeks asking what she wanted as a birthday present and each time she replied that she didn't want anything and that she already had everything she wanted. This time they were having breakfast at the little restaurant that was next to their apartment, the day was clear and the blue sky was shining outside. They ate a leisurely meal and looked like a happy couple to everyone who could see them there together. Michael admired her calm, gentle features and manner.

"What do you want for your birthday?" he asked as he poked the scrambled eggs onto his plate with his fork.

"Again? I already told you I don't want anything."

"Yeah but you say that now, you'll feel different when your birthday comes around and we don't do anything or you don't get any presents."

She laughed softly, appreciating his concern for pleasing her on her birthday.

"I already have everything I need. More than I need."

"Come on, at least say something you want. It could be anything, I'll give it to you."

Grace looked at him with intense eyes and with a playful voice replied:

"You."

"I?"

"Yes. What I want for my birthday is you."

Michael chuckled at the simplicity of her request and leaned across the table to give Grace a soft kiss on the lips. She was incredible and worth so much more than he would ever get the chance to be.

"Well, this request is going to be a little difficult to fulfill because of an important detail: you already have me."

Grace said nothing, continued the meal with a soft smile on her lips.

"I'm going to fill our apartment with gifts and you're going to wish you had ordered something specific when you had to gather all the packages and clean up the mess." Michael spoke as if he were a threat but he was smiling and his face was light. Grace looked at him and narrowed her eyes, then burst into laughter in the middle of the restaurant with all the people watching them. They seemed to love each other very much.

"Michael." It was Tom's voice that came across the snow-covered lawn. He looked a little anxious as Michael looked at him waiting for him to say what he had to say. "Let's go to the boathouse. It's freezing here."

"So? What do you want to talk about?" Michael asked as soon as he and Tom were settled.

"Michael, information has come up about something I think you're still interested in."

"What's this about, Tom?"

"It's about Grace."

Michael immediately leaned over and looked at Tom with full attention.

"What about her?"

"It's been a few weeks since our men have been watching that friend of Grace's named Carolyn and a week ago she traveled to New York. Grace was there. It took a while for us to identify her, she is being very careful and doesn't go much out from the place where she is staying but yesterday our private investigator sent us these pictures." Tom took a brown paper from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Michael. "It's her Michael, it can't be anyone else."

"Was she in New York this whole time?" Said Michael as he looked one by one through the photos Tom had given him. Michael's heart raced, there was no denying it, it was Grace in those pictures.

"No, I don't think so. She seems to be visiting." Tom spoke, looking cautiously at Michael. "Have more."

"What?"

"She... one of our men saw her with a baby in her arms." Tom said as he showed Michael one last photo, it was night and the photo was blurry. "The baby looks like a newborn."

"Are you telling me that Grace had a child?"

"I don't know, Michael, but that's what it looks like. If you want I can go over there and talk to her to find out if the baby is yours."

"Have you lost your mind? If Grace had a child it's obvious the child is mine who else would it be?!" Michael spoke as he got up from his chair. "Make the necessary arrangements, I'm going to New York tomorrow morning."

[rosesloveletters]

Fields of Gold.

pairing: Michael Corleone x Fem. Reader

word count: 1,290

warnings: implied nudity

summary: On a quiet morning during your holiday in Sicily, you wake to the ethereal beauty of the landscape before you and to your beloved Michael. 

notes: I don’t know why I wrote this other than I love the scenery of Michael’s trip to Sicily and wanted to capture it within writing as best as I could. I hope this is decent, as I’ve never written for Michael Corleone before and probably will never do so again. I’ve had this knocking around in my drafts since May and decided it was high time I finished it up and posted. Enjoy.

The expansive Sicilian countryside stretched far and wide across your field of vision no matter which direction you faced. During the late summer months, dawn came early and, as the first slivers of sunlight began to peek beyond the sprawling horizon and warmed the skin of your face, you awoke to the realization that it must already be morning. At the first light of daybreak, your day had begun to take shape and the fading darkness was replaced with the swirling wisps of sunrise; pinks, oranges and bright yellows that reflected off the clouds and cast their glow onto the landscape below, bathing the fields and rolling hills in gold.

As time passed, the sun continued to climb higher into the clear sky, dispelling the darkness from the land below as day blended into night before your eyes. You watched the day take shape before you though the open windows on the far side of the room. The view did nothing less than take your breath away, as it always did each morning you rose to find yourself still in the same place and with the same thought still in your head: this must be what it felt like to wake among the clouds of heaven, surrounded by light and a sense that everything was good.

The scenery called to you, so enraptured with the beauty of the natural world were you that you sat up in bed and gazed out the open windows as the rest of Sicily began to follow your lead into the waking world. Everything the light touched felt within your grasp, at your fingertips that you brushed across every blade of grass and tree leaf like it were made of fine China that demanded your utmost care and gentle attention. This was the only world in which you knew what sunlight smelt like, though to put it into words was a different story. In fleeting, fanciful dreams, you imagined sunlight to smell like the pungent lemon groves of Italia, but here it smelled of heat and clean, open air after a good, hardy rain.

There was also the detection of citrus, laden on the moisture-heavy breeze that blew lazily in through the open window and billowed the stark white curtains which hung elegantly and with purpose from the rod. The bowl of oranges you’d picked the day before rested on the windowsill and you inhaled the aromatic tartness of the overripe fruit.

Golden light surrounded you. The rose-colored walls were honeyed with the rich glow the morning sunshine cast upon them, as was your bare skin that peeked beyond the rich linens that shielded your modesty. Your body felt as if it were wrapped up in silk and there was the strong possibility that it was, but your mind did not travel there.

You wouldn’t have believed it before having seen it with your own eyes, but now you couldn’t deny what was true: the ethereal beauty of the Sicilian landscape was far beyond your capabilities of understanding. All you knew for sure was what was and was not; your fluttering heartbeat and the warm body sleeping peacefully next to you were the only things which defined reality for you. If it were not for that, at least, it was most certain you were no longer among the realm of the living.

How serene it was to watch the sun rise with not a care in the world to where else you could have been for the moment. You wouldn’t have traded it for all the gold in the world. You longed to begin every day in this same fashion, to join the waking world by watching dawn break and the city slowly come alive.

Your favorite time of day was this, though no matter how beautiful or how much you wished you’d had someone to share it with, you wouldn’t dare to awaken your slumbering lover. Unbeknownst to him, the rising sun had relieved the moon of its dutiful guard as night bled into day and the warm rays bathed him in their regal majesty.

You watched him reverently, his chest rising and falling intermittently with every intake of breath and expulsion of air from his lungs. The white silk sheets pooled against his waist, an almost perfectly aligned extension of his body, highlighted by the alabaster of his skin. His nude form was impeccably chiseled; a replica of a clothing-less model in the likeness of any ancient Roman sculpture.  

The sable blackness of his hair, devoid of any such styling or gel, fanned out against the plush pillow beneath his head. He had let it grow out a bit for the duration of your holiday and you reveled in the thickness of it and the silken feel of it rippling through your fingers like ink in water.

Michael, the youngest of the Corleone siblings, had a certain undeniably boyish look to him even as a grown man. You appreciated both his appearance and the man underneath, spellbound by him despite his quiet, soft-spoken nature. This was subject to change, of course, but Michael was a force to be reckoned with; he did not need to shout or lose his temper to convey how he felt and what was most important to him. That was one of the most compelling things about the man, you felt, because Michael was a serious man that even moreserious men felt a heavy respect for.

Michael had grown into a bright and handsome young man, and of all the Corleone siblings, he most closely resembled his father in both intelligence and personality. Even though he was young, Michael’s experiences with the world were those of a man beyond his years and you knew he preferred the quiet, decidedly liking it better that way, but there was something calling him; it was in his blood. At first, he had run from it, though soon had he changed course and that brought him closer to what he ultimately knew was laid out for him long before he left for Sicily.

Your musings halted and your dreamland-haze disintegrated like sandcastles washed out by the tide as you heard a soft grunt come from him and he shifted towards you, reaching arms seeking your warm body in the large bed. You sank into the bed linens, encased within his strong arms and the sheets warmed by your shared body heat.

You laid perfectly still in his embrace and closed your eyes, the imaginings of what it would be like to lay so stilland for so long until ivy tendrils crawled across your body and flowers bloomed upon your skin. You envisioned the petals kissing your flesh, a rapt understanding now crossing your visage of why you spent so much time trying to put that feeling into words. You had never needed to before, but recognition rippled through your mind like it was a pebble having been tossed into a great pool: you were in love.

You felt as though you hadn’t moved in years; Michael made you come alive and tore away the constraints on your soul like clearing ivy off a sculpture in a neglected garden, hidden for so long its existence had been forgotten until such a lucky one had come along and revealed its beauty to the world once more.

When Michael finally opened his eyes, he did not open them to the ethereal beauty of the Sicilian landscape that so called to him, but to you. His dark, impassive eyes transformed into an inviting amber in the sunlight and he cupped your cheeks within his large hands and pressed his lips to yours in a silent ‘good morning’.

Dawn was here and so was your Michael.

[giowritess]

Hi ! I was wondering if you could recommend writers for Micheal Corleone ?

hellooooooo!!! thank you for asking, even though it was like a zillion years ago lol

to be honest i haven’t read michael fanfics in a long time. but if i happen to read and enjoy some, i’ll remember to put together a recommendation list 💖

if anyone reading this would like to recommend some michael writers and fanfics, please feel free to send them!

[chicaboom-chic]

More Than Business- Michael Corleone x Reader

PROMPT: The reader is from a different crime family and she thinks he’s only marrying her for connections but he actually loves her.

Thank you @21witnokidz for the prompt.

WARNINGS: None, other than pretty shitty writing. (My cousin and I wrote this when we were drunk. Seriously guys this story is disjointed and weird. Sorry)

WORD COUNT: 3967 

There’s a moment where it hits you again; there it is that feeling of unease and formidable tension. It resurfaces in the silence, as you stare at Michael from across the room. You’re in his father’s office with him, he had whisked you away from the hectic party for a moment alone, a moment of brief intimacy. 

It was ironic the party was being thrown for the both of you but between the questions from the nosy aunts, cousins, and uncles, you and Michael had barely seen each other. And now even with your absence the party still raged on outside. Lively chatter and laughter could be heard from behind the office door, it was accompanied by the slow strum of a guitar and the sweet serenade of Italian songs.

Michael’s family and your family had congregated at the Corleone house. They had come toghether for a celebration of great measure, an engagement party; your engagement. Michael had proposed to you three months ago but had only announced your engagement two weeks ago. So naturally, a party had been thrown. Nearly everyone who knew your family and the Corleone family had turned up.

Don Corleone's house was littered with family, friends, politicians, and those alike, all of whose faces were twisted into smiles of great elation. In the parlor, the women sat, forming a small mother’s club where they caught up on gossip and talked about their children.

 Outside by the courtyard, the men congregated laughing as they took swigs of alcohol, downing drinks that they would definitely feel in the morning. And the kids were everywhere, they absolutely swarmed the place; you could only imagine what the rest of the Corleone house looked like.

It was a day of great joy… it was supposed to be. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to smile or even share the same level of excitement everybody had. It was your engagement party but you had never felt more restless and miserable.

Since the party had commenced a feeling of worry had been toiling in your stomach, which expanded the already deep chasm of doubt, that had managed to grow in size over the passing weeks.

What had started out as a silly afterthought, had now become a horrifying idea.

Is Michael using me?

In the last few months, a slew of thoughts had slipped their way into your subconscious, thoughts that made you question the intentions Michael had for asking for your hand in marriage.

Is Michael using me?

You shot a glance at Michael from your seat, retreating from your thoughts temporarily. He was by his father’s cabinet pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He noticed your prying gaze and met your eyes, he smiled at you warmly.

You smiled back, however, the smile didn’t reach your eyes. Instead, when you looked at Michael a pang of sadness hit you.

You fought the urge to frown as you thought back to the hushed business conversation Michael frequently had with your father after you had gotten engaged, you remembered the look of appraisal in his father, Vito’s, eyes when you were introduced to him as Michael’s fiancee. You remembered how surprised Tom looked when he registered your last name.

It had been right in front of you, all the signs were glaringly red.

Oh, God!

You tore your eyes away from Michael and looked down at your lap. In your lap sat your hands which you fiddled with uncontrollably.

How could I be so stupid? You thought bitterly. It all makes sense now.

Being the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in new york sometimes meant that men took interest in you for the wrong reasons. You also weren’t privy to your father’s business, which often attracted certain types of men.

You knew the ins and outs of your father’s business, the connections he had; connections that a family like Corleone’s would need.

Connections that Michael might need.

No, this can't be. 

You swallowed the lump that had been forming in your throat, biting down on your trembling lip to stop the whimper escaping from your lip.

It can’t be…

It was a sickening thought really, that perhaps Michal wanted you for what you could offer and not who you were. Maybe the love between the both of you was synthetic on his part; a mere ruse to obtain financial and business opportunities.

That in itself was bad enough, however, the sting of being used didn’t hurt as much as the sting of not being loved. In your mind, if Michael did love you and was using you, you could tolerate it to some level because at least he loved you. But whether he loved was a question that hung in the air, like a foul stench.

Did Michael love you?

Did he not?

It was painful to think about. You never considered that you would have to think about Michael this way. When you began dating Michael, the idea had never crossed your mind. 

Michael had just back from the war and had ended a relationship with a school teacher by the name of Kay, at the time you didn’t know he belonged to the Corleone family, he was very distant about his family.

After dating for a small amount of time you had found yourself utterly taken with him, practically obsessed. He was everything you longed for in a man. He was kind, gentle, and compassionate, he was also highly attractive which helped greatly. When he asked you to marry him you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

Now looking back on it maybe you shouldn’t have been so hasty.

If I had known I was to be a trading piece I would have-

“Y/n, what’s wrong? You’ve been really quiet.” Michael asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been lingering between the two of you. His voice drew you from your thoughts and you looked up.

He was leering at you from his behind the desk, his face was a mixture of concern and curiosity. By now he had noticed the unease plastered on your face as well as the detachment you had from him. You had been silent for too long.

You looked at him, questioning whether it was wise to lie. Michael was rather receptive when it came to your emotions, he could notice the subtle changes in your mood. He would easily know if you were lying.

“Oh, it’s nothing, Michael.” You said as you shook your head. You opted to lie, knowing he wouldn’t press the matter further unless you gave him a reason to.

You straightened your shoulders and gave him your most convincing smile. “I’m just tired that’s all.” You chalked it down to fatigue, a plausible excuse, after all, today you had been very busy.

Michael nodded, and his eyes dropped from you momentarily. He placed his glass of scotch down on the desk and unloosened his tie. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” He asked. As he did so, he released an exasperated sigh.

Your eyes dropped from him, and you looked up to the ceiling. “Ummm, yes.”

No, Michael, I’m not. Are you marrying me for my family’s connections?

The thought fired past the many ones just like it in your head. But you merely ignored it. You sighed and looked away from the ceiling, looking back at Michael.

“How about you?” You said, trying to squash any feelings of doubt.

“Yes, though I didn’t get to talk with a lot of people as I was wrapped up in some things.” Michael walked away from the desk and sat on a chair at the other end of the room.

“However, I actually did manage to talk to your aunts though, rather they found me. We had some interesting conversations.” Michael laughed as he thought back to how your aunts had grilled him about whether big noses are a sign of good endowment in Italian culture.

“The women in your family are quite some characters!”

Michael’s voice filled the room as he continued to talk, he was more talkative than usual. He went on about the party. But his words were met with no replies, you weren’t really listening, you just nodded absent-mindedly at his comments. The bombardment of thoughts had already made it hard for you to hear.

Does he love me?

He says it all the time, but now I’m not sure.

But what else did I expect?

Of course, he’s marrying me for my father’s connections, do you think a girl like me would ever have a chance with a man like Michael if I didn’t have something to offer?

Your thoughts were spiteful and bitter, they pricked at you like a needle. They hurt you greatly but you couldn’t help but conjure them. You couldn’t help but believe they were true.

Your doubts continued as did  Michael’s chatter, however unbeknownst to you, he had stopped talking a while ago. He had noticed that you were engorged by silence, this was the second time you had become unresponsive.

“Have you eaten?” Michael asked. 

The question went over your head, you were too trapped in your thoughts.

“Y/n?” Michael’s voice suddenly peaked, having to have raised his voice for you to hear.

You jolted suddenly. “Pardon?” You met his gaze again.

“Did you eat? You said you were tired.” Michael was frowning now; it was a frown of concern.

You swallow hard. The room has suddenly become unbearably small as if it’s shrinking. You begin to feel unpleasantly warm.

I’m making a scene. Oh my god. He’s going to notice.

“I umm, I-. Look, Michael. I think I’m going to go home.” You avert your eyes from him after making your request.

You cringe the moment the request slips out of your mouth. It’s crazy, you know it is, it’s your engagement party, leaving would not only seem strange but raise more questions than you care to answer. But you just wanted to go home. 

The environment of the party was suffocating, it was suffocating to be around Michael.

“Leave?” Michael questions. You don’t have to look up to know there's a look of confusion on his face, his tone says it all.

“I know it’s a bit early, but I really want to go home.” You say truthfully. “If that's fine with you, that is.” You add in a small whisper.

“No, no it’s fine.” Michael's face softens. “If you feel tired you should go home.” He sounds understanding, and its comforts you slightly.

“I’ll think of an excuse for your absence, but first let me get someone to drive you home, I would do it myself but we both can’t go missing.”

“What are you going to do by yourself?” You ask curiously as you rise from your chair preparing to leave. You feel partially guilty that you’re leaving Michael here alone, but you know it’s for the best until these feelings subside. You wonder if time apart will clear your head.

“I still have some people to talk to.” Michael stands up from his chair, he stretches before fixing his tie. Then he walks over to you, offering you his hand to help you up.

You smiled at him warmly and took his hand, uprooting yourself up from the chair. When you stood up he planted a small kiss on your cheek. It made your smile widen. It was your first genuine smile of the night.

You then looked at Michael, properly this time, taking in the features of his face. There were lines under his eyes, and his hair was a little ruffled. He was tired, very tired, and yet the smile on his face remained when he was around you, a smile of complete adoration. 

Surely a man who was using you wouldn’t look at you that way? Could he?

With that thought, you felt guilty. Perhaps you were overreacting, after all these thoughts had come from nowhere, how could you judge Michael purely based on thoughts?

Maybe I am overreacting?

Michael cleared his throat. “Besides I still have things to talk to your father about that are business related.” 

Upon hearing that the warmness of Michael’s previous gesture faded away, and the smile dropped from your face. You let go of Michael’s hand immediately. The thoughts came crashing in again at the mention of business and your father.

“You speak to my father a lot these days.” You said with a hint of irritation. The past feelings of sadness were replaced with those of slight anger. 

Michael hadn’t seemed to notice the sudden change in your tone. “I have to.” He shrugged. “We have a lot of business to discuss.” He tried to reach for your hand to hold it again. But you kept them firmly to your side.

Your brows furrowed into a glare. “Business, business, hmm.” You snapped. “It’s all my father and you ever talk about!” The last sentence was particularly icy.

This time Michael caught onto the increase of snark in your voice. He looked at you carefully, he was quiet as he assessed the sudden coldness emitting from you before choosing to speak again.

“I suppose so? Your family and mine are working together now, so it only makes sense…” Michael was sure to tread carefully with his words.

“And you know, after we get married it will only continue,” He added. 

Your eyes widened immediately, and your mouth fell open.

Oh no.

Michael’s words were practically an omission. In your mind, this was the nail in the coffin. The wave of sadness that hit you was immeasurable. Your worst fears had been confirmed. Michael was only marrying for your connections, he didn’t love you, and he never had. 

You didn’t feel the tears streaming down your face until the second one reached your chin. “So you don’t love me?” Your voice cracked.

“What?” The question caught Michael off guard, and so did the tears. He blinked. “Y/n?” This is something he clearly hadn’t anticipated.

You drew a quivering breath, clearing the air that had been trapped in the back of your throat, once it was released everything slipped out.

“How could I be so stupid?” You sobbed.

“I knew that this marriage was beneficial to your family, you have so much to benefit from this, but I never thought you would-!” You were crying at an abnormally loud level. Tears were streaming down your face as you got choked up on your words.

All the while Michael was in a state of shock. He froze momentarily, this fluctuation in emotions had been so random.

“I know what my father does for a living, I’m not stupid, I know his connections are desirable to many people, including you.” Your voice lowered suddenly. The sudden rush of hysteria you had was wearing off, now you were just filled with dejection, complete and utter dejection.

“I know you don’t feel the same I do.” You sniffed quietly. “How could you?”

“After all, I'm just a business venture, a contract… And yet.” You shook your head, stifling a laugh. “I still love you, even if I know you don’t love me.”

It was ironic, funny, almost tragic. You knew Michael wasn’t marrying you out of love or sincerity but you could never stop loving him.

You laughed again. “What am I even saying?” You felt as if you had been rambling incoherently, spewing utter nonsense for what felt like forever, but once you had started you couldn’t stop.

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered. You slumped back into the chair, burying your face into your hands.

Michael had been silent for most of your tirade, dropped to his knees beside you. The realization had hit him. The silence, the melancholy, the distance you had been putting between the both of you, and the reason behind it were all so clear now.

She thinks that I'm marrying her for her connections. 

He shook his head and exhaled. “Y/n.” He put his hand on your thigh, caressing it slowly. “I’m disappointed to hear that.” He said sadly.

“I’m sorry.” You sniffed.

“No, no, no.” Michael pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand. “I’m not disappointed in you.”

The disappointment Michael felt was not aimed at you but at himself. A deep shame wallowed in his chest after hearing your confession. He was ashamed that you felt that way, ashamed that he made you feel that way, and ashamed that he had failed to notice.

She thinks of herself as a business venture. Michael swallowed bitterly. His heart ran cold. His guts tangled into a knot. He felt sick. Michael’s mouth went dry as he analyzed you silently. A minute passed before he finally said something.

“Y/n will you please look at me.” He asked softly.

You shook your head, refusing to honor his request. You didn’t move an inch. You were too afraid to look up, deathly afraid to look at his face and whatever expression he had on. You wish he would just leave you to sob in the confines of his father’s office but you could still feel his presence by your chair and you knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

Michael sighed. He removed his hand from your thigh and placed it on your cheek. You shivered at his touch, but you still refused to look up.

“Do you really believe that I'm marrying you because of your father’s business connections?” Michael’s voice was at a whisper now.

“That’s why you’ve been so distant lately hmm?” He began to caress circles on your cheek. “You believe that I’m doing this strictly for business purposes.”

“And do you really believe that I don’t love you?” He said bitterly.

You cringed, slouching into your chair even more, you wished you could sink into the chaie and disappear. He sounded angry. You began to worry that this would lead to an argument, perhaps it hadn’t been the best to break down at this very moment.

But the next words from Michae’s mouth weren’t ones of anger in fact they sounded quite regretful.

“I’m sorry.” He said. “I’m really sorry.” There was great despair in his voice. 

“I’ve made you feel as if you are nothing more than a trading piece.” Michael exhaled. He couldn’t remember a specific time or day he had behaved in a manner that made you feel less than, but he clearly had, and it had made you so insecure that you felt as if he didn’t love you.

“Y/n,” He said firmly. He knew he had to rectify the situation, he couldn’t have you believing that he didn’t love you. “My family business is important, but so are you.”

“I care about you.”

“I really do.”

He cares about me? You sniffed. 

The level of sincerity was enough to lull you out of your state, but not enough to entirely draw you out. You weren’t fully convinced. He cared about you but did he love you? Did he love you as you loved him? Or was he lying merely to appease you? 

Michael was a gentleman but being a businessman also meant he knew how to lie, and lie very well. You only hoped the latter was true. It had to be for your sake.

“You care about me?” You said slowly. Your face rose from your hands, you let out one final sniff, and exhaled, hoping to gain a bit of courage. “But do you love me?” You questioned. You had to know for sure.

“When we get married could you bring yourself to love me? And don’t lie to me.”

You felt your chest tighten as you looked at Michael who was still kneeling on the floor beside you. Your eyes met his, Michael’s eyes locked deeply into yours and you felt small under his gaze but you dared not to look away. Your breath hitched. You had never experienced a heart attack but you were sure this is what it felt like as you awaited his answer.

Michael examined you properly now as you sat up, you were still slightly hunched over in the chair and your hair was down, now ruffled and messy, it covered the right side of your face. Your eyes were puffy and red. The dim lighting of the room cast a shadow across you, heightening the expression of anticipation on your face and the look of worry, as well as dread.

Then Michael finally spoke. “Y/n, I don’t have to bring myself to love you, because I already do, connections be damned.”

“I’ve loved you for so long, even before I asked  your father for your hand in marriage.” Michael took your hands from your lap and bought them up to his lips. He planted a small kiss on them.

You looked at Michael as your hands sat stalely in his. Michael held his breath as he watched you look into his eyes, he prayed that you would what you were looking for, what had always been there.

At that moment there was a mutual silence between the two of you. You searched Michael’s eyes for any hint of deceit or duplicity, you prowled for any signs that indicated he was lying, but you couldn’t find it. 

In his eyes lay nothing but awe and adoration for you. The look on his face was one of passion and honesty. This wasn’t the face of a man who was lying, this was the face of a man who loved you.

"You really do care for me?' You said quietly. The way the words rolled off your tongue sounded as if you were trying to speak a foreign language. You sounded as if you still couldn’t believe it.

"I do." Michael nodded. "And, once again, I’m sorry that I made you doubt my feelings for you.” He apologized again.

“You want to marry me?” You perked up a little, the warmth was returning to your chest, and your heart rate had begun to still. “You really want to marry me?” You asked again as you squeezed Michael’s hand.

Michael smiled. “Do you think I am the kind of man who would make a commitment to a woman for the rest of my life if I didn’t feel anything for her?” He brushed the hair out of your face and placed it behind your ear.

“Y/n, my feelings for you extend past any business venture,” Michael stated as he leaned and kissed your forehead.

You couldn’t help but crack a small.

Michael loved you.

Michael loved you!

“Can you say that again?” You requested gingerly.

Michael stopped kneeling on the floor and stood up. “Say what?” He questioned, looking down at you.

“That you love me? Please?”

The verbal declaration of Michael’s love for you had washed away all your doubts and lingering worries. Hearing him say three simple words left you feeling euphoric, it felt exhilarating. You wanted to hear him say it again.

“I love you.” Said, Michael. “I’ll say it a thousand more times if you wish.” He smiled.

You nodded. “Yes, do it again.”

“I love you,”

“I love you,”

“I love you.”

Each time he said it, a different wave of joy hit you. You wiped what was left of the tears from your eyes and stood up. You leaned into Michael, burying your face into his chest. Michael wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly.

You felt safe in his arms, you felt happy, you felt loved. The feeling lasted all through the night, even when the both of you returned to the party and people asked why your eyes were so red. You didn’t really care though, Michael loved you, that’s all that mattered.

----------------

This story was an ungodly level of long and cringe.

Anyways hope you enjoyed it.

[chaosfae-writes]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞

summary: sometimes love can only be felt from afar.

warnings: angst, one-sided pining, minor invasion of privacy, voyeurism, smut, possessive Michael.

pairing: Michael Corleone x poc!reader

a/n: For @melis-writes for inspiring me to write for the Godfather, this is for you babes! <3 the reader is half-poc, half Silcian, this is a little ooc from canon because I’m a woman of color, please let me just live my Michael Corleone dreams in peace. The word g*psy is mentioned, I don’t condone the slur, it’s used from an actual quote from The Godfather.

do not repost my works.

The pitter patters of little feet dash.

Small giggles echo throughout the Tahoe home, accompanied by heavier steps following behind.

Playful monster growls, fingers curled into makeshift claws, hunching over — Fredo runs after his three-year-old nephew, Sebastian.

Not too far from the boy, in case he needs to catch the child who is still learning how to walk.

The waddling toddler bounces on his little feet, arms in mid-air, instinctively running to the shared master bedroom of his parents. Cautious feet turn the corner of the hallway, akin to a penguin, Sebastian wobbles through the bedroom door.

“Sebastian, I’m going to get ya’!” Faux menacing growls causing the little one to squeal, as he crawls under the bed, not stifling his laughs all too well.

Chubby little fingers covering his mouth, his little gummy smile.

Fredo tries to tame his voice as his other little nephew, Vincenzo, is napping in his crib. An atomic bomb can fall from the sky and the infant would still be in his deep sleep.

Fredo follows the path his little nephew ran, slipping through the ajar open bedroom door, humming to himself mischievously, tapping his chin as if he’s deep in thought.

“Now where can little Sebastian be?” Childish giggles can be heard from underneath the bed.

“Oh where, oh where can Sebastian be?” Fredo dramatically announces, his arms extend wide as a theatrical jester.

Fredo walks to the closet, pretending to finally catch the little Coreleone, with an ‘ah ha!’, opening the closet doors wide open. Fredo’s hums with an impressed flair.

“Hmm, not in the closet.” Fredo twirls around at his feet, and stops mid-way, making sure his feet are seen at the hem of the quilt, by Sebastian, in the dead center of the bed.

Fredo hums again thoughtfully, tapping the toe of his shoe against the flooring — Fredo kneels down hastily, lifting the hem of the bed sheet.

“There you are!”

Sebastian squeals loudly, trying to worm away, but Fredo catches him with ease, playfully dragging him out from under the bed by his chubby little legs; but under Fredo’s nose, a clamor of an object is tousled.

It doesn’t register with his mind — he’s too enamored with Sebastian’s babbling.

As Fredo tickles his nephew, his mind wanders off into a train of thought. His finger ceases with the ticklish assault, a weight of self-deprecation settles upon his crown.

Fredo pauses for a moment, staring at his happily gurgling nephew —- a spitting image of his father, Michael’s twin in the flesh, jet black hair that curls at his ears, those wide rich brown eyes, and olive skin.

The mannerisms, and the precious furrowed brow, whenever Sebastian is deep in thought.

In his arms, Fredo holds his future successor, his reign was casted further below the familial tree, among the awaiting heirs when the boys were conceived.

Now another heir is to be born in six months, a third child you carry. The family hopes for another boy — the three sons, three little Michaels.

Sebastian grabs Fredo’s nose, bringing him back to reality. Fredo chuckles, kissing Sebastian’s forehead. Just as he fully brings his nephew up to his chest, something scatters by Fredo’s feet.

A black leather bound journal scattered across the flooring, finally catching Fredo’s eye. Cradling his nephew against his chest, he debates if he should even dare.

Curiously, he leans the balls of his feet, cautiously his hand hovers over it — debating if he should pry it open.

But the intrusiveness that weighs on his shoulders is becoming heavier and heavier until it cracks his spine. Snatching the journal from the floor, Fredo tucks it under his armpit, as he guides little Sebastian by the hand to his room for a nap.

-

August, 1957

Michael is returning home, and my soul can rest once more. The idea of letting Michael travel unsettles me, the hunger of our enemies is always ready in the shadows.

I’m terrified of losing him, that somehow an enemy manages to kill Michael. What would I do without him? A life without him would be nothing but grief —- the black veiled widow crouching in the farthest church’s pew, weeping for her lost love.

I refuse to become that; I will fight alongside my husband, even if he’s foaming at the mouth, raving that I shouldn’t put myself in harm’s way. To just be his lover, and the mother of his children —- his heirs to his throne.

No —- when I spoke my vows, it’s for better or worse. I grew up in this lifestyle — the family must stick together, and regardless of the misconception of the don being a lone wolf, he is not.

My Michael isn’t alone —- he has me.

But some nights, dark thoughts clutter my mind, moments of confusion, and despair —- what if Michael doesn’t need me as much as I need him? Michael isn’t invincible, he’s only human — what will become of my children and I?

Go back to Italy? My sons are far too young, barely walking —- would we even live in Tahoe still?

To lose Michael, is like losing a piece of me —- I wouldn’t know who I am.

Who am I?

How would I protect my children? Flee back to Italy? Hide away in my father’s villa home?

Fredo pauses, crouching over in his seat, alone in his guest room, neck deep in your personal entries. His fingertip tracing the loops of your elegant cursive, kissing the pages; kissing the dried tear droplets, and the smeared lipstick stains.

Inhaling the scent of your soft sun kissed perfume and woven stitched leather.

He can feel the ache of your lonely childhood, from the early entries of your proposed marriage that was once crafted by his father and yours, to loving Michael and how God arranged the fate in a peculiar fashion.

Fredo can recall the wedding — a spectacular Roman Catholic wedding, your bridal dress silky and long. How the lace veil fell upon your cherub face.

He nearly threw up, if he could he would’ve snatched you off the altar and drove off — never looking back.

To the worries of your marriage through each entry, Michael’s possessive nature, or maybe he won’t survive the next day; your poems entrance him.

It only makes his heart yearn for you more.

I would protect you.

-

The kids are down for a nap, little Vincenzo arose earlier, Fredo fed him a prepared bottle of milk you put away before leaving, played with the infant for a few hours, and then the little one slept again.

As Fredo sits alone, your journal is still in his grasp, reading, savoring every written word — faint gravel can be heard from outside.

Fredo’s head turns, through the transparent curtain, he can see the slick black vehicle coming towards the home.

In a sprint, Fredo closes your journal, putting it back in its original resting spot underneath the bed, and dashing down the stairs in a haste.

Fredo halt’s at a mirror in the hallway, his open palms slicking back his silky hair, and shuffling his shirt back in place — to look his best.

The car parks in the driveway. Fredo watches through the kitchen window, hiding behind the curtain. Peering shyly as if he dares to unveil himself more behind the curtain, he would be caught.

Caught admiring from afar, the way a man shouldn’t for a married woman.

One of Michael’s guards quickly opens the back door, holding your hand securely as your other palm is protectively around your bump.

As you try to gather more than one bag, the guard helps hold brown bags of groceries into the home; away from your grasp.

Fredo quickly dashes to the kitchen, opening the back door, hands frantic. His chest becomes excited to see your bubbly smile, as the driver trails behind you with both arms occupied.

The door swings open, Fredo boldly stands there, trying to compose his composure; a titter of a surprised giggle escapes your lips.

“Hi, Fredo.” Such a warm greeting.

Fredo quickly takes the brown bag from you, guiding you into the kitchen — even helping you take off your trench coat. The guard is not too far behind — ever so observant, ever so quiet.

“Thank you for watching the boys.”

Apologies for taking so long at the market slips from your lips, but Fredo doesn’t mind at all — just idly staring at your mouth. Fredo mumbles that it’s okay, he enjoyed his time with the boys. Shiny dark brown hair, brushed smoothly as the end of your hair is coiled into bouncy curls, soft pink painted lips, and your maternity dress hugging your body snug.

You always said in moments of frustration on some days, often calling yourself a parade float, hormones to blame, but to Fredo, you were perfect.

A motherly glow.

“No worries, we were playing all afternoon.”

Fredo joins you in putting away the groceries, a pleasant silence falls that doesn’t need to be filled with chatter. It’s comfortable. Your own personal bodyguard takes his place in the foyer, after you shush him off, telling him it’s okay to relax, and take a break.

Washing and putting away vegetables, along with cartons of milk, wrapped up meats and fish, canned juice, and fruits in the fridge; boxes of pasta are put away in the cabinets.

It’s comfortable — domestic, even.

Dusting your hands against each other, idly watching Fredo stack up the last of the boxed goods, a tender smile curls at your mouth.

“Would you like to join me for lunch?” You spoke sweetly, Fredo turned his face over his shoulder, with a toothy grin.

“I would love to.”

-

The sun has settled beyond the horizon, and the night has come to full bloom. Dinner has been served, the kids played around with Fredo, and yourself — as much as you could, with a swollen bump.

Played house games, and watched television with popcorn. The boys were bathed, swathed and loved till it was bedtime.

You sit in the master bedroom, cradling your bump, as you prepare to dress down to more comfortable sleep gown for the night.

Humming to yourself, digging inside your drawer for your silk nightie.

Faintly the front door opens and closes, it echoes dully against the stretched lavish home; you pause with baited breath. Hands frozen, as you await. Hushed chatter downstairs, you can make out the guard’s voice and his.

Dull footfalls crawl up the stairs, as you slowly turn your body away from the dresser. Out of an anxious habit, your hands caress your swelled bump, a shaky smile forms at your mouth. The sounds of feet come closer from the hallway — to a stop to the bedroom door.

A breath hitches at your throat, as the door knob slowly turns. A subtle creek of the opening door, as if time slowed down to a stand-still. Your ears heat up in anticipation.

He’s home.

Michael stands at the door, his hands in his pockets; under his watchful eyes, a tender smile curls. His cold eyes now soften, his shoulders relax.

Every fiber of your body yearns for him, and it makes your heart warm that Michael only shows his true self — in quiet moments, when the world disappears, Michael expresses his affections, comfort and vulnerability.

Only to you and his babies.

Michael walks to you, quietly, his eyes roaming your body, the changes of motherhood has bestowed you a glow, and more plumpness to the flesh of your curves. Your breasts swelled with milk for his children, your hips wider, thighs are more detectable.

Shyly you take small footsteps to him, both of you relishing the sacred shared space — finally, he’s back home.

His hands gently touch your cheeks, as if you were a precious jewel, his eyes are kinder, as he stares at you.

A soft kiss on your forehead, feathery to the touch, earning a hitched gasp in your throat; another to your cheek, his intoxicating breath fanning your touch starved skin.

And finally his plump pink lips hover just hairs over your mouth, his tongue daring to peek through the cages of his teeth — you’re desperate, a pant as you flick his parted mouth with yours.

Tantalizing, teasing one another, eyes never wavering from each other — relishing in radiating body heat.

Your fingers softly trace the bridge of his Roman nose, trailing to his cupid bow, to his pink full lips, Michael’s lips kiss gently. His eyes never waver from yours, his hands fondle your thighs, gliding upward the terrain of your waist, caressing the stretched skin of your ample bump.

The unspoken silence falls softly, now just inches apart from each other; as Michael’s fingertips graze your cheek, the warmth pacifies you, as he engulfs your jaw with his open palm.

His fingers glide the slope of your neck, caressing the nape of your neck, by his tender grip pulls you into a kiss. It’s passionate — desperate even, your arms wrap around his neck.

Michael’s arm wraps around your waist gently, not too firm to crush your growing belly — open mouth kisses, his warm wet tongue licks against yours, moaning into each other’s mouths. Your fingers roving messily in his inky black hair, soft tufts, and pulls.

Michael can feel your pulse under his thumb, thumping with a rush. The pang of lust hits your clit, as Michael suckles your bottom lip.

“I need you,” you whisper between kisses, “I need to feel you.” Whining, as your nails scratch his scalp — a deep low growl emits from Michael, “My sweet wife, I’ve neglected you for too long.” He spoke upon your wanting mouth.

His lips graze gently against your lips, hovering as his warm breath engulfs, sending tingles through the atoms of your flesh. The kisses are becoming erratic, more sloppy, as Michael’s teeth trail with open wet kisses, to the juncture of your jaw.

Nibbling and suckling, the curve of your neck, as your mound ignites hotly. Two bodies melting into each other, becoming one once more.

-

It’s late.

Fredo sits in isolated silence, with a glass of whiskey held by the tips of his fingers. Staring into the window view, memorized by the rippling night waters of Lake Tahoe.

Fredo often goes to bed with you on his mind, the only comfort that eases him amidst the chaos of his. When he needs to remind himself of the silver lining of living, he doesn’t get on his knees like his mother with a rosary woven between her fingers, head bowing in prayer — he thinks of your face.

But he should get on his knees, for God blessing a pathetic man as himself, that God let him know you, to have you in his family — even though you were married to Michael.

Instead of marrying a good woman like you, Fredo surrounded himself with easy women, bad partners who left bad taste in the mouths of his family.

American women with big breasts and big mouths to match, and thirsty livers. From getting two waitresses at a time to being married to a washed up broad who cheated on him, to then seeking hollow affections from showgirls, blur of alcohol bottles, bare breasts, and emptying himself inside their wombs with his seed — strings of raw fun nights to only end with the cold shoulder, and doctor Jules Segal’s speciality.

Often looked down upon for his reckless appetites, but making up for the slack of strength with charm, and burdened with insignificant family business deals, a tactic his father did to keep his middle child preoccupied for years.

Ridiculed for being the weakest link of three sons, the runt of the litter; for the lack of his father’s approval the more he weaned on his mother’s tit.

But it always begins at the mothers, this cycle of self-abuse, letting women inflict him; it always starts with the mothers.

His mother had this running joke, ‘You don’t belong to me. You were left on the doorstep by gypsies.’

A caricature of a man.

So easily dominated by women he places on a pedestal, only moments of tiresome rage does he assert himself — but it wasn’t enough to heal that fractured ego, and masculinity.

Starving people will eat the love they think they deserve — Fredo is starved, yet ill at the core.

Coddled by his own baby brother, from the outsider’s eye, it would seem that Michael was the older sibling, and Fredo being the youngest — a pang of spite strikes Fredo everytime. For years, when he’s alone, Fredo would stare at the ceiling, and ask God what is his purpose?

Was his existence just a spite towards his father? To be the stepping stool for his brothers?

Tears sheen his eyes, blinking back as droplets kiss his lashes, sniffling as he sits in his desolated state — you never pitied him. Always a shoulder for him to cry on, moments of conversations, your light humor on life is always refreshing.

You never spoke to him in a condescending manner, only spoke warmly to him. Your melodic voice trances him, fantasizing in his mind as he touches himself late at night.

Instinctive motherly doting, you’ve helped Fredo even in his most disgusting moments. Helped him sober up when he was a drunken mess, conversed with him on anything, never running out of interests.

Imagining you riding on top of him, legs split apart his torso, your warm cunt wound tight, clenching him for dear life — your delicate hands resting upon his chest, as his fingers dig into your bare cheeks, guiding your hips. Your sepia skin glistening with a sheen of dew.

Fredo scoffs, covering his hot face in shame, breathing heavily. He slams the glass on the table side desk, his chest heaving, as his length grows hard and wanton in his unbuckled pants. Wringing his chin by the fingers, he mentally berates himself for thinking such filthy thoughts of his sister-in-law.

These past few days have been a dream for him, while Michael was away in New York conducting business, Fredo and yourself were here with Sebastian, and Vincenzo.

Just the four of you, eating dinner together, boat riding round the lake, playing games around the house, late night conversations — being a family.

Playing house with a woman wedded to his brother, but he couldn’t help but delve into a fantasy of himself being your husband. That the wedding ring resting on your marital finger was the one he picked out for you, that this is your shared cabin home together, and Sebastain was his son.

A fantasy detached from reality to pacify him.

It made him think of his own son, wondering what has become of him, who’s taking care of him —- what would life have been if he had taken in his only child. Fredo knows he wouldn’t be able to take care of a kid, he’s only ever the uncle, never father material.

He can’t even take care of himself.

The swirling eels of envy crawl in his guts, hissing at Michael —- Michael is the don of the family, Michael got the beautiful perfect wife, the perfect children, the perfect home with a lake to match; and what does Fredo have?

A washed-up ex-wife, a string of meaningless affairs, self-depreciation, and a tainted reputation all under his belt.

A forgotten son — just as his lost heir, lost to the world.

Fredo shuts his eyes, his nose scrunches, as his eyes are wound tight, wrinkling in despair. Stinging droplets of tears cascade down his cheeks.

-

Skin against skin, limbs woven as one, sheets ruffle under thrusting hips; Michael’s huskily moans in your ear, making your thigh quiver.

His cheek against yours, his tongue finds its home once again in the crock of neck, as your hand is sloped around his waist, holding onto his tailbone, fingertips digging into his waist — guiding him harder inside you.

Your wet cunt sloshes, your ass jiggling against his pelvis, his cock deep to the hilt, as you’re split in half for him. Your leg is looped over his thigh, Michael ravishing you, as his arm is protectively over your belly.

Michael’s teeth nibble at the shell of your ear, whispering praises hotly, as your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Nearly squeaking when Michael’s thrust his wet cock at your g-spot — splitting your velvety mound, his balls softly hitting your swollen clit.

Soft growls emit from Michael’s throat, he needed this — needed your body for so long. Michael’s husky and warm breath hisses in your ear. Michael’s warm tongue licks the slope of your throat, suckling a wet open kiss, as his hips thrust without mercy — as if he was trying to impregnate you once more.

“You’re so beautiful like this, wet, and moaning just for me.” Michael’s whispers, “My little wife,” his fingers caress and stroke against your soaked cunt, his fingers scratching at the sensitive skin. “Mewling like a kitten, she’s purring just for me.”

“I’m going to cum–” You nearly shrill, as your gasps for air blow softly against the wisps of messy hair, scattered and tousled from Michael pulling on it earlier.

It’s painful yet so good, to feel his cock pistoning inside you; Michael snarling as he nears emptying his balls inside of you.

“Cum on my cock, let me feel you soak me.”

Airy moans, and gasps echo within the lavish bedroom, silk sheets wrinkled, and mangled as two bodies melt together — as a lone eye peeks through the cracked bedroom door.

Hiding away, peeking through the crack of the bedroom door, a lone teary eye watches one — Fredo nearly vomits, swallowing the bile down harshly.

It’s wrong to stare, but he can’t help but yearn to be in Michael’s position. Hearing your mewling is a symphony to his ears, his skin shivers.

His fingers itching to hold you — he looks away, silently stepping away, how disgusted he is of himself. Waves of shame fall upon him.

-

It’s been three days since Michael has returned home — and Fredo can’t stand it. As if his teeth gnawed on the thick tension of jealousy.

An itch of hurt swells in him, feeling abandoned by you, as you tend to Michael. Fredo knows deep down he can’t feel this resentment toward his brother, Michael is your husband, you haven’t seen him in so long.

As a loving wife, it’s within your right to be dutiful.

It drives him mad.

Fredo’s in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink, accompanying his glass is a pastry you bought from the market the other day.

Busy buzzing in his mind — too deep his thoughts — his brow etched in a frown, he didn’t hear a creak in the flooring, or timid steps nearing the kitchen. Slender fingers slither against his torso, tickling him in surprise, Fredo nearly yelps; a melodic giggle brings his heart back down.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” You chuckle, you awh at Fredo’s frizzled state, he resembles a spooked cat with spiky fur that aligns its arched spine. Fredo smiles, shaking his head, trying to restrain himself from your intoxicating touch.

“It’s okay.” Fredo hums, his cheeks a bit warm now. “Just getting a snack,” a glass of whiskey and a pastry —- the ideal late night snack.

“What are you doing up?” Fredo’s palms hold onto your forearms, “You should be in bed.” Fredo towers over you, as you lean against him comfortably, you breathe a chuckle.

“You and Michael are such mother hens,” you extend your chin at Fredo, playfully pouting at him, slightly stepping on your toes. “I’m alright, the baby hasn’t slowed me down just yet.”

Fredo admires the dim glow of the kitchen light gleaming on your brown skin — it shines with no blemishes, as his eyes lower to trace your heart-shaped lips.

Is this what a sin feels like? Deliciously, intoxicating, how Fredo wants to taste you right on the kitchen counter — shower your baby bump with kisses, suckle your heavy breasts into the cave of his mouth.

He’s burning up inside. You gingerly lay your head on his chest, hugging him, Fredo softly kisses your forehead, “Well, someone has to take care of you. Watch you like a hawk.” You hug Fredo in a bear embrace, you haven’t been able to spend time with him, or have a simple conversation.

For the past few days, your mind has been preoccupied with taking care of the children, and tending to Michael; or when you do see Fredo, he’s in Michael’s office — the both of them locked away discussing business that you weren’t privy to.

You adore Fredo, the sweetest brother you’ve had, you never had a brother — you always wished to have one as protective and caring as he is.

You mutter under your breath, as you hug Fredo “Well I’ve missed my hawk.” Fredo’s arms swallows you in his embrace, his cheek now resting on your dome.

You notice there's scattered playing cards on the dining room table, “What are you playing?” You point to the cards, and Fredo’s head moves from your head.

“I was just playing some solitaire, just to pass the time.”

“I love solitaire!”

“Would you like to play a game?” Fredo has a toothy smile, ready to snatch any chance to spend some time with you.

Your hands mindlessly rub your belly, humming, “I think I might be a boring player.” You chuckle, tucking your chin to your chest, scrunching your lips in embarrassment.

“Rummy is the only card game I know.” You say, shyly rubbing your belly, worried that your limited knowledge is boring for Fredo, knowing that he must have had more fun over the years at Vegas, but it doesn’t dim Fredo’s excitement.

“No, no, I love rummy!” He stammers, a toothy smile stretches on his face, holding the box of cards against his chest.

You tuck your chin, shyly nodding, “Okay, but I will warn you, I have a pretty good hand.” You tease, easing yourself into the seat, your hands protectively cupping your bump.

-

Four rounds in, and it’s finally a stand-still.

In your palm, you hold four variations of sevens, one jack of diamonds, a queen of diamonds and a ten of hearts. Just one more card, and you can win.

But so can he.

Playful eyes squint over your hand, as Fredo tries to play off a stoic poker face — purposely letting the stoic mask slip, with a dramatic pursed pout that successfully earns giggles from you.

He has a consistent string of club cards: 1234, along with a queen of hearts, a jack of hearts, a lone eight of spades.

Fredo suspects you have the card he needs, he’s trying to brainstorm a plan to get you to drop it to the pile of discarded cards.

Fredo hums, making the choice to pick up a card and drop the eight. With a swift pluck of the card, Fredo discards his spades, and picks up a nine of diamonds.

Your competitive side is itching, the tip of your polished nail taps against the back of your assorted cards. You have no choice but to pick up as well.

You pick up from the pile, and see a random 2 of spades. You huff, and put it down on the pile. Fredo’s brows furrowed in concentration, he doesn’t need the damn diamonds — what else can he do? Put the diamonds down, and pick up another.

Victory melts on your tongue with delight, chest alit — as Fredo’s diamonds finally touched the discarded pile, it was game over. With a swift pick up of the diamonds, replacing the ten of hearts. “I win!” You squeal, showcasing your full hand of cards.

Fredo guffaws playfully, “Rookie’s luck.”

-

The living room is quiet, and warm.

Sliver of moonlight gleamed through the ceiling high window, a flourish illuminated the lavish home decor.

The scattered playing cards are resting on the dining table, as Fredo and yourself are just resting on the couch. Just small talk, shoulder to shoulder, both comfortably on the cushions.

Fredo can feel your inviting body heat, it hugs him with that reassuring comfort that makes his body tingle. Adjusting himself so he can sink into you.

“Did you think of any names for the baby yet?”

You hum low, as your manicured fingers fiddle, “If it’s a boy, his name will be Anthony,” your head falls on the crock of Fredo’s shoulder, a shiver crawls up his spine at the contact, without any thought, lays his head on yours.

Your breath hitches excitedly, “But if it’s a girl, her name will be Rosalia.” Without any thought, your head caresses sweetly against Fredo’s shoulder, enjoying the shared warmth.

“Like the saint.”

You whisper a dreamy ‘yeah’ under your breath, you love your boys more than life itself, but you would be so happy to have a little girl too. The boys are their father’s twins, will the baby be your twin this time?

The boys are already spoiled and have their father wrapped around their little fingers, now imagine a daughter — poor Michael won’t survive it.

You take Fredo’s hand and cradle it against you, “Another baby to love, another baby for Michael to spoil.” Fredo’s fingers curl around the slopes of your fingers, not daring to let go.

A pregnant pause of comfort falls.

A heat surges through him, he can’t stop himself — an urge that feels so good, but so wrong.

Slowly, Fredo pulls your hand closer to himself — it’s a blur, a compulsive need that overrides his mind.

Wispy kisses on your knuckles, Fredo doesn’t think, just let his heart overcome any logical thinking —- a stunned silence falls.

He can feel you becoming stiff, not from disgust, just surprised, Fredo can hear your breathing picking up.

“Fredo?”

You don’t pull away your hand, worried that it would hurt his feelings. You stare into the darkness, as your skin flushes with an overwhelming heat at the cheeks.

“I love you.” It spills from his lips in a flurry, a hurried whisper.

“I love you,” He repeats. Fredo’s warm palms cradle your face, as you sniffle back tears, murmuring his name under your breath.

Fredo’s lips kiss your palm feverishly, murmuring against the knuckles. Closing your eyes, as your lashes become wet with droplets. Pleading with him to stop now, before it’s too late.

Fredo moves his body, his warm clammy hands grasp at the nape of your neck.

“I wish that you were my wife.” He kisses the tip of your nose, as fat tears cascade down his cheeks. Breathing in harsh breaths, caressing your face with his.

His beard tickles your skin, delicately your fingers grasp his hands, the pad of your thumbs stroking. “Fredo, please—” you don’t know what you’re pleading for; for him to stop, for him to say it’s just a joke.

Opening your eyes, gazing at his wet sheen eyes, and you see it’s no joke. “I hated my father for so long, for arranging Michael to marry you.” Fredo’s fingers thread further to the nape of your neck, pulling you into him.

“No, don’t say that,” your fingertips softly pat his mouth, “Don’t hate your father.” Fredo shakes his head, kissing nimbly on your fingers, more hurried, as if he couldn’t give enough kisses, as if you’ll slip away.

“Fredo, no —- I can’t, I’m sorry.” You choke back a sob, weakly trying to escape his hold. Trying to wiggle your face away, throat burning from restrained tears.

“I suffered for so long, seeing you and Michael together.” Fredo’s hush voice fans against your face, not daring to let you go. He won’t stop now, he’s in too deep.

“Why couldn’t I have you?”

He wants you to love him, to see the mess he is and still love him, that he’s worthy of love. For once, he can be the first choice.

Yearning — no, what he feels is much more destructive.

“Fredo, I love you — I do.” You suck in your lips, wet breathing, “But, I love you like a brother.” Fredo crumbles, forehead to forehead, your arms wrap around him in a hug, he holds onto you as if he never wants to let go.

“Please love me.” He mumbles, all you can do is speak his name in a loving manner, as he cries in the crook of your shoulder. Caressing his scalp, but what startles you is Fredo’s small wet kisses on your skin.

The most logical thing for a wedded woman is to push him off, but you can’t bring yourself to do so. He’s fragile, and too kind for any aggressive response — you know he means well, he’s a good man.

His thoughts are murky, desperate — to create any plan for you to see that you belong with him. He’s not thinking straight, he’s a broken man.

“He still thinks of Apollonia, he never stopped loving her.” Fredo spoke in a rushed tone, his skin cringing at the mention of Michael’s late wife, knowing it will sting you.

A pin can drop in the dead silence.

He can feel your body prickle, your breathing gets heavier, crumble underneath him, breaking apart like a duck egg, now just clinging onto Fredo as a life-line.

Shivering in his arms, he pulls you closer, as you practically sit in his lap now. In his arms, encasing you lovingly, as you nearly wept in his shoulder. Fredo’s fingers stroke the swollen stretched skin of your belly.

A call for your name beckons in the dark.

Michael’s voice breaks through the silence, his disembodied voice looming at the top of the stairs, calling out your name. The upstairs light turns on, giving a shadowed honey-dew.

Quickly, you wipe away your tears by trembling fingers, composing yourself, subtly clearing your tight throat, “I’m down here, Michael. Just talking with Fredo.”

Michael stayed quiet for a moment.

“Okay, it’s getting late — come to bed soon.” All you can say is ‘okay, darling’, you fix yourself, as well as fixing Fredo’s disheveled clothes, wiping away his tears.

Without any word, you stand up, even in the darkness you can see the gleam of Fredo’s tears. Stroking his bearded cheek, you lean down, kissing Fredo’s forehead, “Get some sleep.”

Leaving Fredo to himself, as you slowly trek upstairs, he can tell you’re beyond frazzled — what can he expect when he confessed his love to you so suddenly.

Fredo goes to bed alone that night but sleep never comes to him.

[needle-parks]

How life feels when you write an incredibly self indulgent self insert x canon fanfic without someone yelling in your ear that it’s cringe

[mo0nchi-ld]

La Donna - Michael Corleone x Reader

Summary: Michael Corleone, was a man not to be forgotten. It's true he was the most feared, most notorious, and the most unsettling man to be around with. To Michael it was all business. Yet a certain woman would remind him of what's best for his family. A woman who would knock down the stone cold facade to bring back his humanity. Known as La Donna.

Chapter 1

The Corleone Family and the others received an invitation to Miss Constanzia Corleone's wedding on Saturday, August 1945. Her Father Don Vito Corleone, has not forgot his old friends. Even though he lives in a huge house on Long Island, he still hasn't forgot about them. The wedding took place in that house. The Japanese war has ended; there's no doubt one soldier will make it to the grand party.

On that day, Vito's friends went to him for favors. Each of them respecting The Godfather. Don Vito Corleone would do anything to help his friends; he would never let his promises be broken. There's only one way you can repay him, and that's his friendship and good manners.

Vito Corleone greeted all of his guests that he trusted. Anything that was cooked or bartended by those people were his friends. Heck, even the band that was playing were his good friends. No matter if you're rich or poor, he always showed equal love with all of his friends.

His Eldest son, Sonny Corleone, was a tall Italian with brown curly hair. His muscular features made him look handsome. He was a lady's man of course. Some of the bridesmaids couldn't keep their eyes off him. He was married man with three children but that didn't stop him from fooling around with the maid of honor, Lucy Mancini. The young girl was stalking him like an animal would for his prey. Sonny noticed and did nothing to stop it.

Don's second oldest son was Fredo. He was a loyal kind-hearted man. Sweet and gentle. He was always there for his father when it came to tuff business. He wasn't the handsome one out of the bunch but he charmed his way with women through his good manners. He didn't have the strength or persona for a leader of men, He didn't seem like the type of man to run the family business.

The third and youngest son was Michael. Unlike his brothers, Michael Corleone did not want to get involve with his fathers business. He sat at a table in a secluded corner of the garden. Michael was different from his brothers, He wasn't as tough looking, like his brother Sonny. No, instead he had straight, jet black hair with olive brown skin and eyes that would bore into your soul making you feel like you've known him for a long time. When World War Two broke he volunteered for the marine corps. His father wasn't exactly thrilled with idea of his son fighting for the nations 'freedom' or simple lack of take over. After the war he went to College. For the wedding, he wore his military suit. Next to him was the American Girl everyone had heard but not seen until that day. Kay Adams.

He introduced her to everyone in the wedding. His family weren't too impressed with her. She was too thin and fair. She was intelligently naive and always seemed nosy. Michael noticed but pretend to not care by amusing Kay with his Family stories. Michael also noticed how Kay was curiously looking at a group of men huddled together. To fill her curiosity he replied, "They're waiting to see my father in private. They have favors to ask."

By now the wedding was packed indicating that most of the guests had arrived except one hasn't fully arrived yet. Don noticed but hasn't said anything about it yet.

Elena watched the scene before her from the corner of the garden. Sitting next to her is her young cousin Alejandro. She hasn't gone out to greet anybody yet. Still waiting for The Godfather She hated socializing with people. She found it amusing that all of these people were happy and joyful, and full of glee, not realizing what the other half of the family was doing behind their backs.

Elena came from an Italian and Mexican family. Her Father from Mexico and her mother from Italy. She was born in Italy but mostly raised in Mexico. She never knew what happened to her parents. But she'll never forget the day when her parents dropped her off at her aunts doorstep at midnight, hugging her mother as she sobbed on her shoulder one last time before they entered their car only to be shot and killed while driving.

That's when her Great Aunt on her moms side would step in and help raise her. Her name was Malena Torres. She was a small woman who held a lot of character and attitude within her. Malena owned a bakery in a small Town of Mexico. Etzalan. She taught her young niece how to cook and do house chores, and even learn how to speak English since her uncle was half America and half Mexican. At the age of eight Elena and her Aunts family moved to America. She said it was a start to something new for the family. She wanted her niece to have a better future than anyone as well as the family to have better job opportunities.

Then Don Corleone came. A man who knew her father very well and personal. When he heard the news that the daughter of the Costíana family was coming to America he immediately made arrangements for them to stay in New York and be a near his family. He wanted them to feel welcomed and loved, just as her father did for him.

After staying there for a couple months Elena got the chance to know more about the other three brothers, Sonny, Fredo, and Michael. Along with Tom as well. She didn't see them as much except for only family gatherings. The brothers always considered her as a sister. Teasing her and always sticking up for her when it came bullying from other people.

That's another thing Elena dealt with when she got here. The poor girl got made fun of in school for her appearance. She wasn't exactly the prettiest of girls. Often times people would point out her hairy eyebrows or the light mustache she had.

Sometimes, Sonny and Fredo would point it out, just to tease her a bit but it still hurt Elena's feelings, and though Tom was always there to stick up for her Michael on the other hand was the only brother she could properly get a long with. He was quite but pleasant to be around with. He taught her English and American food. So far she likes Hotdogs.

Then once Michael turned 18 he went off to college leaving 13 year old Elena by herself. She didn't think of Michael as brother but more as a companion she could rely on. Yes, his looks would sometimes catch her off guard but she knew he'd never look at her that way. All she knows is that she feels different when she's around Michael. A lot different than the two other brothers.

Elena watched her aunt dance with her Uncle looking happy as ever. "Mama looks happy." Alejandro said. Elena looked at him then back at her aunt.

"Yeah she does."

The wedding was packed. People were dancing on the wooden platform, and others were sitting at tables. Connie and her groom, Carlo were also sitting at the table with the maid of honor and bridesmaids.

Don's lawyer Tom Hagen, was discussing business with the Don in his office. Sonny Corleone kept whispering to the maid of honors ear. Hagen cringed at the sight. He didn't want his step brother to be in more trouble than he already was with his family. Tom picked up a piece paper with a list of people who want to see Vito. "Leave Bonasera to the end." He said to Tom. "I want to see Michael and Elena first."

Don went outside to greet all of his guests. He embraced the baker he was long time friends with. He spotted Michael sitting at a table with a lovely young lady sitting next to him. "Michael!" The old man shouted.

Michael turned around and saw his father approaching him with wide warms. Michael got up from his chair and hugged his father.

"Michael I haven't seen you in awhile. You should've stopped by and say hello." Vito held his sons face in his hands "My son," he smiled widely.

Michael smiles back "Sorry pops. I was too caught up talking to Kay. Have you met her? Kay this my father I've been talking to you about. Dad this my girlfriend, Kay."

The two shook hands while Vito was studying Kay's appearance. "How do you do." He wasn't exactly impressed with what he saw. "Michael." He turned to his son, "I see you've met everyone here but there's someone I want you to see." He guided his son to the other side of the party with Kay following behind.

"Elena!" At the sound of Vito's voice calling her name, the young brunette turned around and saw Vito walking towards her. She noticed he wasn't alone. She stood up and fixed her light pink dress at a decent height above her knees. "Elena it's so good to see you again." Vito lightly kissed both of her cheeks. Elena greets him back with a shy smile, "It's good to see you too Apa."

After hearing Elena's name being called Michael assumed he was to be greeted with a young girl he saw last time but boy was he wrong. In front of him stood a young beautiful woman. Her hair looked longer. Her curves appeared slender under her pink dress. No longer the little skinny girl he saw before he left, he was shocked to see how grown and stunning Elena looked.

After Vito was done greeting her he went to go hug her Aunt and the rest of her small family. Elena finally noticed the young man behind Vito, and like Michael, she was left speechless by the sight of him. Elena always knew he was the handsome one out of the bunch but she never expected him to be even more striking after years of not seeing him, especially the green suit he displays. Elena noticed how big his eyes were and she always adored when he looked at her. It made her feel like she was the only person he solely focused on.

Michael took two steps forward and and stuck his hand out for her to take. Elena looked down at his hand then back up at him. He wore his green marine suit making him look even more handsome. She finally took his hand, expecting it to be a normal handshake only to have her breath be taken away by the touch of his lips on her hand.

Michael being slow yet gentle, looked up at the woman in front of him. "Buenos Días, Elena." He said in a soft voice.

Elena looked back at him with wide eyes. Her heart beat so fast just hearing him use her native language almost made her weak to the knees. "Buenos Días, Michael." She smiled back.

Michael definitely noticed her change of voice. With a lower pitch, sounding more like a woman, Michael would be lying if he said he didn't like the sound of his name coming out of her mouth.

After a few minutes of gazing each other, Elena noticed a woman standing behind Michael.

Michael noticed and turned around to greet women next to him. "Elena this is Kay Adams, my girlfriend. Kay this is Elena, a family friend of ours." He said.

"Hello." Kay smiled and nodded.

After the women were done greeting each other, Elena heard her Aunts voice calling for Michael."

"Mijo!?" The older woman gasped. Michael looked back at her and his smile instantly grew upon seeing the older woman who has been more like a second mother to him.

Before he could speak the older woman engulfed him in a big hug. She pulled back and held Michael's face in both of her hands just like his father did. "Look at you! So handsome." She said with a strong accent.

Michael looked down with a shy smile then laughed proving the older woman right. "Gracías Señora Malena." He said looking back up at the woman, "It's good to see you again."

Michael looked back at Elena to see her laughing at what his father said. His smile growing at the sight.

[nothingenoughao3]

Fic of the Week, Week 3

Eating With Napkins (6263 words) by street-howitzer Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Godfather (1972 1974 1990), The Godfather - Mario Puzo Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sonny Corleone & Tom Hagen, Michael Corleone & Tom Hagen Characters: Sonny Corleone, Tom Hagen, Michael Corleone (The Godfather) Additional Tags: Slice of Life, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Death, POV Multiple, Caretaking, Bathing/Washing, Children, The twenties, Mild Language Summary: An exploration of how Tom came to live with the Corleones. Straddles between the movie!verse and the book!verse; tags only cover the most important characters.

[lostloveletters]

Bruised Fruit Chapter 1 (Michael Corleone x OC)

Summary: Gloria falls like overripe fruit from a wilting tree branch, and Michael Corleone intends to devour her amidst the rot and decay that's long since taken root in his family, intent on dooming her with him for a chance at another heir.

Note: I first posted this and two other chapters to AO3, which I'll link if you'd like to read ahead as I begin cross-posting to here.

Warnings: Canon divergence, sexually explicit content, infidelity, period typical attitudes, negative discussions of abortion, Catholicism, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) related to WWII, breeding kink, death, angst, emotional manipulation

Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content. I will block you.

AO3 Link | Masterlist

"I’m going to Cuba," he told her in a quiet, postcoital moment.

"Are you secretly a Red, Michael?” she teased, her brown eyes sparkling in the golden glow of the lamps in the hotel room they occupied. “Getting in with the rebels before they storm Havana? They’ve already got Santa Clara.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face betrayed his amusement. "You and your newspapers. Do you seriously think Castro has a chance?"

She took a long drag on her cigarette, pondering her answer for a moment. "His people have nothing to lose."

"I’ll be fine."

"How long will you be gone?"

"A few weeks, maybe a month," he said, twisting a strand of her long black hair between his fingers, silent for a moment as to test the waters, "I’ll wire you."

"Wire your wife."

"Gloria—"

"I’m not saying that to be confrontational. She’s pregnant, focus on her,” she said, passing him the cigarette. “Where does she think you are tonight?”

“She knows I’m in Vegas, just not with you.”

She hummed, her fingers brushing the tender, bruised skin on her hips, a shade of lavender that would no doubt blossom into a plum monstrosity by the morning. For a man over a decade her senior, he was insatiable, devouring her with a ferocity as if she were ripe for the picking.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his gaze following her fingertips.

She shook her head. “Are you staying over?”

“Yes. I have to head out early, though. Lots of people coming in for Anthony’s first communion.”

“Get some sleep then. Don’t let me keep you up.”

He grinned. “You always keep me up.”

“Bathroom’s that way. I’m tired,” she said jokingly, turning over to bury her face in her pillow.

“I’ll wire you when I get to Havana. A few days from now, probably. I have some things to take care of first.”

She mumbled something from her side of the bed, eyes closed while he continued on in Italian. He landed a playful swat on her ass. Yelping, she turned over, glaring at him.

“Rude,” she scolded, “you know I don’t understand Italian. What’d you say?”

He laughed softly, pushing some of her hair out of her face. “I love you.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“I called you lazy and insufferable.”

She smiled. “I love you too.”

“Good night, darling,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Night.”

When Gloria awoke the following morning, Michael was gone, though he’d left a note for her. With no reason to stick around, she returned to her apartment, the third one she has lived in since she moved to Las Vegas. It was more spacious than she needed, but Michael insisted, though he rarely visited her there. Their rendezvous were almost always in the hotel room at the casino that was exclusively reserved for him. Safer that way, a more public place with plenty of his men around. She wasn’t ashamed of their illicit relationship, but it made her feel exposed. As soon as they stepped into that elevator together, everyone knew what they were planning to do.

She sighed, sitting on the couch and running a hand through her hair. Her next shift wasn’t until the following evening, and she wasn’t sure what exactly to do with herself. Michael being in Havana was a test run of what was to come.

After Kay had the baby, she’d see less of Michael, busy being the doting husband, the proud father. Just as she didn’t receive an invitation to Anthony’s first communion, she wouldn’t be welcome at their new son’s baptism. She wasn’t sore about it. If she were Kay, she wouldn’t want her around the family either.

Her fear wasn’t that he wouldn’t return, but rather that he would, and she’d never work up the courage to build a life for herself without him. Moving to Vegas was her first attempt at that, but less than a year into the job, she was practically shoved into his hands, and he hadn’t let go since. 

She glanced at the box of newspaper clippings on the entryway desk, to most people, it was little more than evidence of an obsession with the Pacific Theater. Gloria had been young when the war broke out, not fully understanding the difference between the branches of the military, only that her brother wasn’t fighting in Europe, and she rarely heard from him. The newspapers she had poured over introduced her to places like Guadalcanal and Peleliu, small islands that she could barely see on a map, yet somehow Jackie and millions of other men were there. 

Then Life ran a special edition on war heroes, featuring Marines like her brother. A decade after its publication, when Fredo had requisitioned her to keep his brother company in the casino while he ran off to attend to some last minute business, she recognized Michael immediately, unable to stop herself from asking the former Captain about his service. When Jackie returned from the war, he had little to say about what he experienced in the Pacific. In fact, he had little to say about much of anything. Shell shock, they called it, aptly describing the shell of a man her formerly outgoing brother had become. Michael Corleone wasn’t a shell, enthralling her with the details of such places as Guadalcanal and Peleliu with the emotional distance of an observer rather than a participant. 

As their acquaintanceship escalated into an affair, she saw the scars for herself. Both the physical evidence of his being wounded in action, and the invisible ones that’d rear their ugly heads late at night when they’d begun sharing his hotel room. If not manifesting through bouts of insomnia, then through nightmares that left him dazed and agitated when she managed to wake him from them. 

Between the shell shock and his diabetes, she felt like she had to keep a close eye on him. Not only out of genuine concern, but a matter of personal pride. Just because he wasn’t her husband, it didn’t mean she couldn’t take care of him. God forbid he return to his wife in anything less than mint condition. It was the least Gloria could do.

He would be gone for some time, though, and as she always did during his longer trips, she grabbed her phone, making plans with friends to keep herself occupied. She had a life without him, secure in her independent lifestyle. If she were busy enough, she didn't think of him that often. 

Almost a week later, she received the telegram from Michael at work, nearly forgetting his promise to wire her from Cuba.

In Havana. Beautiful weather. Miss you.

She asked the front desk to wire him back.

Miss you too. Have fun. Stay safe.

She didn’t expect a response. There was nothing else to say.  

Gloria went about her business as usual, working and meeting friends for dinner and dancing when she could. Her style was undoubtedly cramped by the Corleone family associates who tailed her wherever she went. She wondered if it was humiliating for them to be the ones assigned to covertly babysit the Don’s mistress. After all, if the people behind the attack at his Lake Tahoe home truly wanted to cause her harm, there were ample opportunities to do so in Vegas.

Her bubble was small, safe, and secure despite living in the City of Sin. Her proximity to Michael almost always ensured that. In his absence, a mere phone call popped that bubble. 

“Hello? Is this Gloria Marino? This is Kay Corleone.”

“Kay?” she repeated incredulously.

“Can we talk?”

The two women had met just once in person. Michael briefly introduced them when giving his wife a tour of the casino shortly after the family had moved from New York to Nevada. It was the only time Kay had ever stepped foot in the place. Even then, Gloria was sure Kay was smart enough to size her up at first glance, knew she wasn't just another back-of-house employee.

“I figure I’d be the last person you’d wanna talk to.”

“You’d think, but after all this, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t warn you. No one was there to warn me, or maybe I was too stubborn to care.”

Gloria hesitated. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know. Consider it my penance.”

“For what?”

“Michael’s going to divorce me when he gets back from his trip.”

“He would never do that.”

“He will.” The certainty in Kay’s voice was shocking, but she didn’t pry. Kay wasn’t telling her for a reason. Prior knowledge of whatever was being omitted would put her in danger with Michael. “He will, and he’s going to go to you afterward. He trusts you.”

“Kay, I don’t—“

“I did something very selfish and desperate, something I can never be forgiven for,” she said cryptically. “You’re going to bear the brunt of the aftermath. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Gloria whispered, unsure if things would really end up that way. 

“Goodbye, Gloria.”

“Bye, Kay.”

The line went dead, and she stared at the phone in her hand for a few moments. Michael would only divorce Kay if the baby were out of the picture, and the woman’s surety only confirmed that was the case. The aftermath. She could only hazard a guess as to what that meant. Nothing good if she needed to be forewarned.

Days later, when she heard about Kay’s miscarriage through the grapevine, it still didn’t exactly click. Not until there was a knock at the door at a little after one in the morning. She figured if she ignored it long enough, the culprit would get the message and go away, but the knocking was incessant.

Shuffling out of the bedroom, she turned on one of the lamps in her living room. She looked out the peephole, shocked to see Michael standing there, waiting impatiently for her.

“Gloria, open up!” he shouted, banging on the door again, causing her to flinch a little.

She took a deep breath, knowing it was a futile attempt to prepare herself for whatever she was about to get into. His expression unreadable when she opened the door, she gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Michael, you’re back,” she said cheerfully enough. “How was the trip?”

He was silent as she ushered him inside. Turning on another lamp, she nearly froze at the state of him. Bags under his eyes, unkempt hair as if he’d been running his hands through it. 

“I warned you about those rebels,” she joked, only to receive a glare in return, his dark eyes almost black as they leered into hers. “Sorry, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Okay,” he scoffed, a coldness laced in his voice that settled as an unfamiliar freeze in her veins. “You have no idea what I’ve been through these past few days.”

“I heard Kay miscarried. I’m—“

“It was an abortion,” he snapped. “She murdered our baby.”

Gloria’s eyes widened at the news. Her hand shook as she made a sign of the cross for his unborn son’s soul.

When Kay had called, she never expected the pious wife to commit a mortal sin, damning herself with no hope of reconciliation. Gloria knew other women who had gotten abortions, an inevitability when they weren’t careful enough with the carousel of carefree men that came through Las Vegas. It wasn’t something respectable women with husbands did. Being the wife of a crime lord was hardly respectable, though.

"He was a boy!" he shouted. His eyes were glassy, voice breaking in a rare display of vulnerability. "We were going to have a boy."

"I’m sorry."

"I can tell."

Exasperated, she asked, "What do you want me to do, Michael?"

"Marry me. I want you to marry me."

"No."

In the four or so years she’d been with Michael, she only experienced the lover, not the husband, a different beast entirely. Husbands meant expectations and ownership, something she was woefully unprepared for. 

"It wasn’t a question."

"Then I suppose you’re going to carry me off like the Arabian Nights? Drag me kicking and screaming to join your harem?”

“No harem. Just you.”

“Michael—“

“You’ll marry me. You’ll give me another son.”

Michael was the furthest from a holy man she could fathom, but the way his eyes blazed with a biblical ferocity, she believed for a moment that he could alter the will of God with the sheer magnitude of his desperation and humiliation. He wanted to send her into the depths of purgatory to retrieve the boy he was entitled to, the sacrificial lamb that freed his soon to be ex-wife from marital bondage. Forget that he already had a son, a young, healthy boy. It was the principle of the thing, a man of his influence and import being deceived by his otherwise unassuming wife, her dainty hand dealing the death blow. ‘It was an abortion.' Checkmate.

“Darling, you’re the only person I trust,” he implored softly, his hands cradling her face as he tried intentional gentleness over impulsive tyranny. “I love you.”

She wasn’t getting any younger. Most people considered her an old maid. Her mother sure did, sending letters that increasingly implored her to come home and settle down before it’s too late. Her best prospect was standing before her, a man who wasn’t one to be denied. Senators and executives bent to his will, whether a flexible reed or a rigid board, they all would bend. If not, they broke. He’d break her just to put the pieces back together in his image, a mosaic of desperate domesticity. 

Her time ran out. Perhaps wishful thinking, or naivety in hindsight, but she always expected Kay to grin and bear it. The expectations of Michael Corleone were her cross to take up. Seeing no better option than to give in, she kissed him, allowing the pads of his thumbs to dig into the peachy skin of her cheeks, deep enough that if they were fruit, the tender flesh would be pierced, juice dripping down his hands. He lapped her up in kind, his mouth laying claim to her.

“Tell me you love me,” he pleaded against her bruised lips.

“I love you, Michael.”

And she did love him, but loving Michael was a burden. She couldn’t blame Kay for what she did. It was a long time to carry that weight. His love was demanding, unforgiving, red-hot to the touch despite his cool exterior. There were only so many times a woman could stand to get burned.

They ended up in her bedroom, no longer her domain but his, she could feel the shift as soon as he walked in, eyes hungrily taking her in like a hawk circling above a rabbit. Her nightclothes quickly discarded, leaving her naked and vulnerable before him. She laid back on the bed as he shed his own clothes, and felt an unfamiliar nervousness settle in her stomach. Perhaps it was the magnitude of the act, no longer for leisure, but purposeful, real. If it didn’t take then, he would try again and again until he got what he wanted.

Michael climbed over her, stroking his hard cock before positioning it at her entrance. Leaning down, he kissed her again, his lips taking the brunt of her pained whimper as he slid his length inside her. 

His fingers made their home on her hips as they always did, squeezing as he thrust harder and deeper inside her. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

“That’s it, darling,” he praised. “You’re doing so well for me.”

Kissing the base of her throat while plowing into her appealed to an animalistic instinct in him, and he sunk his teeth into her tender flesh, claiming her, marking her.

In turn, she dug her long fingernails into his shoulder blades, only to find later she’d drawn blood. 

“Michael, please just—it’s too much,” she choked out.

“Just a little longer.”

He released one of her hips, moving his hand between them to rub circles in her clit. The moan she let out only encouraged him as he thrust faster, bringing the both of them closer to climax. 

Closing her eyes, she felt that familiar tightness build in her abdomen. Pleasure tingled through her brain, to her fingertips. She could grab it if she wanted to, reach out for ectasy and make it hers.

“Look at me, Gloria. I want to see you,” he ordered through gritted teeth. “I want to see you become a mother.”

Her eyes shot open, looking at him in near disbelief at his gentle vulgarity.  

Before she could even attempt to respond, he brushed the pad of his thumb over her clit again, and she came, her cunt squeezing his cock, coating it in her juices, hips involuntarily bucking in his unrelenting grip. His name fell from her lips in a delirious whine as her orgasm coursed through her body. He shuddered, cursing under his breath as he slammed his cock deeper into her, letting her cunt milk him dry.

They were silent for a few moments, save for the weak whine Gloria made when Michael pulled out from her. Glancing at her hips, he could see the familiar blossoming of finger-shaped bruises. He kissed her again, his fingers brushing her sensitive folds, collecting the cum that was leaking out before pushing it back inside her, nothing wasted, nothing left to chance.

His lips trailed down her face, to her neck and each of her breasts until finally settling on her belly. He nuzzled his nose against it, the soft, fertile flesh ripening beneath his touch. She felt almost dizzy at his primal display of affection.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” he whispered against her stomach as it rose and fell with her heavy breaths. “I can feel it.”

[melis-writes]

Moth to Flame (Part II) [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 42 – Matrimony.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 41 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

“You’re a Corleone woman now, after all." / “You’re my bride. You deserve that and all the more, do you understand?”

You married Michael Corleone in the summer of 1949, binding the allyship of your two families together but sealing your matrimony with love, bliss and trust. Falling in love, compatibility, love languages and a change in your lifestyle met you in an instant, and being Mrs. Michael Corleone altered your life forever. You can still remember how you fell for him and every bit of affection and intimacy shared from the beginning. You remember; you remember it all, and as you look into the past to compare it to your present and expect for your future, you realize nothing remains changed.

[WARNINGS]: Mentions of virginity/loss of virginity, nudity, sexual themes & depictions, heavy touching & kissing, fingering, mentions of pregnancy & planning for children, sex.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The first in-between chapter of Moth to Flame: Part II is finally here!! 😫🙏🏻 I'm sooo sorry for such a delay in posting this chapter, but life has been extremely hectic and busy. 😭 The Vichael girlies are going to adore this chapter is all I'm going to say! We delve into Victoria and Michael's marriage from the very beginning! 🤭❤️‍🔥 This is filled with romance, fluff and domestic wholesomeness. How Victoria and Michael fell in love to how their lives changed as husband and wife and more is all included. I wanted this to be very romantic and sensual before we dive back into the action of current day Moth to Flame! 😳

1956. Your name is Victoria Ferrari Corleone, and you’re the wife of the most powerful mobster in North America–Michael Corleone. A lifestyle of crime and secrecy is all you've known and ever wanted to know, complimenting the cruelty of Michael Corleone's influence in the United States. With your enemies fallen before you and all loose ends tied up, you continue your life and marriage with the Corleone family while refusing to look back on your past. Yet it's the skeletons in your closet that a shine a light on revealing you're a true mafiosa. Ensnared in the shadows just as much as Michael is, you find yourself betrayed by the unexpected with all of your secrets ready to spill–especially ones you've hidden from Michael. With more than one pair of eyes watching your every move, you find yourself trapped amidst potential scandals and a familiar, lovesick secret admirer adamant on removing Michael out of the picture to have you all to himself. Like a moth to a flame, you've reached the point of no return and the light that breaks down the darkness threatens to take you next.

Bouquets of pink and white roses, white silk, lilac adornments, angel food cake, the lace finishing over your wedding gown, and the taste of Michael’s lips over yours; you married Michael Corleone in the summer of 1949.

Planning for your wedding was one of the few and only times in your life when you felt you had a million things going through your mind at once. 

After weeks of careful planning, the hardest part—the wedding itself—came in bliss and resonated perfectly with everything you had in mind for your perfect wedding day. 

The colors you chose for your wedding ranged from an equal hint of décor in baby pink, lilac, and beige, whereas peonies, lilacs, and dahlias were your flowers of choice.

Silk tablecloth, handcrafted Italian furniture imported from Sicily, seven-tier angel food cake, seven varieties of cannoli from pistachio to limoncello, over a hundred bottles of wine—Grilo, Inzolia and Grecanico just to name a few—aged at least ten years, French champagne, little pastries of sorbets and mini cheesecakes served throughout and freshly squeezed juice from the fruit from the Corleone garden itself were just some of the highlights of your wedding day.

Even your wedding gown itself had been custom designed and tailored with the finest Italian silks and fabrics, following a lengthy session of perfecting your hair, makeup, and manicure with your mother, Mama Corleone, Connie, and Sandra down to rehearing how you would walk down the aisle to which sets of jewelry with diamonds and pearls suited you best. 

Everything was planned and executed to perfection—to say the least. Scarcely were there moments throughout the planning period where the wedding wasn’t mentioned in one way or another; it was the only topic on your mind for days to come.

Consummation of your marriage was expected next from all through tradition and customs, but it wasn’t a concept you and Michael personally believed in. 

Although you were a virgin before you met Michael, he most certainly was not. After his brief marriage with Apollonia, the concept of no intimacy until marriage let alone time spent together or some form of physical affection before marriage was seen and strictly enforced as heavily taboo in Sicily only reminded him of how backward he believed the concept to be, as did you.

Of course, you and Michael were both anticipating and thinking about the intimacy you’d share with one another after your wedding celebration, but not immediately after. That would be eagerly waiting for the both of you at the end of the night.

With the wedding cake having been cut, final drinks served and last dances shared, both of your families collected together all of the bridal gifts, thanked and said goodbyes to every guest they could get to while the wedding staff began to clean up.

Michael and you stood for more photographs by and with guests, thanking them for attending as well before you both made off with security to the vehicle that would take you to your first estate.

You’d both arrive at your new estate by the time security did a full sweep and search of the Corleone manor and all festivities had officially come to an end.

Before you and Michael would settle down for the remainder of the day after the wedding, you both went to meet with your families and new in-laws.

Tomorrow morning there’d be the wedding reception to look forward to after all, but there was more than enough for both you and Michael to think about and do before then.

~

Upon stepping out of your chauffeur’s vehicle at your new estate’s grounds, the first thing your eyes found were those of your bodyguards surrounding your new estate.

Noting the heavy yet inconspicuous security around, it was only a split second longer before you blinked and a warm smile crossed over your lips in reaction to Michael standing by your side; his hand laced with yours as you both began to make your way inside the estate.

Just a few feet from the front door you could already hear the cheerful voices and banter of your parents and in-laws in the foyer; you couldn’t help but feel your exhilarated mood amplify with excitement once more.

“Victoria! Michael! Sweetheart!” Your mother beamed, extending her arms out as she skipped over to the both of you.

Hugged, congratulated a dozen more times, and kissed by your parents and new-in-laws, happy tears are shed once again for you and Michael as a newlywed couple.

“Promettimi che mi chiamerai se ti serve qualcosa!” (Promise me you'll call if you need anything!) Carmela gently squeezed your shoulder after pulling away from a hug, smiling at you. 

“Home sweet home,” your mother cooed, bewildered by the grandiose luxury your new estate has to offer just by standing in the foyer alone. “How wonderful.”

“We’re looking forward to that wedding reception,” your father grinned, redirecting his gaze to Michael. “It’ll be an honor to dine in the newlyweds’ home.”

“It’s an honor to host,” Michael agreed, giving a small, quick smile. “I look forward to it, Don Ferrari.”

“Mm,” Vito nodded, approaching both you and Michael. “And the bridal gifts… I had them arranged to be placed in your guest room. Humble gifts as they may be from our family friends, but they’re close to overflowing.”

“A problem I’d actually like to deal with,” you giggled back. “Thank you, father.”

Naturally, the gifts you received from attending friends, family, and guests aren’t exclusive to gifts newlyweds would benefit from, but a wide variety of items ranging from cash bills to jewelry almost as if the givers were trying to appease you and Michael directly.

Without even having to look inside all of the bridal purses and open each individual gift, you already assumed to yourself there are thousands of dollars worth of gifts there alone waiting for you and Michael that may very well take days to completely open.

Your families deliberately didn’t stay for long to give you and Michael as much privacy as possible today, and you and Michael were more than happy to see them out with waves and smiles before settling down for the rest of the day.

“It’s not over for them,” Michael commented by the gates of the estate, loosening his tie.

“No, it isn’t,” you let out a light laugh, smoothening down your wedding gown. “Not until after the wedding reception, at least.”

Michael chuckled—a rare first time he’s in a somewhat lighthearted mood for the entirety of the day. “Do you need anything, darling?”

“No,” you blushed, gesturing down to your dress. “Only to get this lovely gown off of me in one piece and my makeup at last.”

Just a split second later, you both heard a sharp whistle come towards the gates of the estate which prompted you and Michael’s attention immediately. 

“Hey, Mikey!” Sonny hollered from the gates, leaning against his car and waving at both of you. “No invitations for Tom, Fredo, and I to see the new place, eh? Come on down!”

“I’ll be right with you,” Michael glanced back at you.

You nodded understandingly, relieved you’ll at least get the time to quickly undress and take off your makeup before finally getting to spend some time alone with Michael, and you’re more than happy to have Michael bond with his brothers before retiring for the rest of the day with you too.

The endless amounts of gifts and stuffed bridal purses crossed your mind once more as you entered the estate, imagining you and Michael would more than likely have to get Tom to secure any precious assets or cash bills while the other items remain secure.

You carefully slipped out of your wedding gown and let the lacy, tulle fabric pool at your feet as you grabbed a white, silk nightgown to step into; careful not to let any of your makeup smear against the fabric.

You’re not one to wear a full face of makeup on any regular day, but outings, special events, and evenings—especially your wedding—remain exceptions each time you enjoyed getting dolled up, but your daily beauty routine only consisted of your normal skincare steps, light eye makeup, a bit of eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick.

Upon Michael’s return inside the estate and to the bedroom to undress and unwind, it was his first time gazing upon your face without any makeup as you cautiously stored your nightgown away in an empty closet.

You hadn’t even noticed Michael’s eyes on you at first but picked up on his presence immediately; right then and there, Michael had found himself admiring your beauty and looks, stunned by your natural appearance.

“More congratulations?” You smiled shyly, turning around to face your new husband.

“Something like that,” Michael answered, tossing his tie onto the edge of the bed. “Nothing we both haven’t heard enough of.”

You held back your laughter, “then I hope you don’t mind I retired my glamor for the night already.”

“Not at all,” a ghost of a smile crossed Michael’s lips as he slowly began to approach you. “I’m sure the bridal gifts have nothing but your name on them, after all. I don’t think I need to go and see for myself.”

“Oh, please,” you felt a blush stinging your cheeks as you gazed up at Michael.

“You look beautiful,” Michael murmured, tilting your chin up to face him. “You know that?”

Your skin gave a healthy glow under the evening light as Michael admired every inch of you from the shape of your cheekbones to the color of your eyes, the curve of your lips, and your body language towards him filled with desire.

You expected then and there for Michael to lean in and kiss you, and he did, but gently upon your forehead as he let his warm lips linger over your skin.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment and embraced your husband, taking in the scent of his heavenly cologne as your heart began to race in your chest against his.

“You should expect all of this, you know,” Michael spoke to you in an ushered voice. “You’re a Corleone woman now, after all. Those gifts want nothing more than to appease and impress you, I’ll make sure of it myself.”

Michael’s intention is to spoil you to no avail and not only with material gifts but your every request; the luxurious lifestyle you can expect to live with him as Michael’s wife and the future mother of his children holds you on a separate pedestal next to being Don Ferarri’s wife, and Michael will continue to keep it that way.

The very gifts with your name engraved upon them awaiting you consisted of everything from cosmetics, luxurious perfumes, oils, and creams, full sets of dazzling jewelry set with diamonds and precious stones, congratulatory letters, towel sets followed by pacifiers, bibs, baby bottles, and cloth diapers that made you blush as you unwrapped them—knowing all would be expecting the news of your first pregnancy next.

An amused look crossed Michael’s eye as he wrapped his arms around you seeing you open the final present for today a set of two pacifiers, he saw a look of excitement over your own expression but also blush spreading over your cheeks as the two of you made eye contact once again, knowing the rest of the night began to the both of you. 

~

The first home you and Michael owned together and settled in was a grand estate in Long Island but outside of the Corleone mall unlike Connie and Carlo’s home and that of Sonny and Sandra’s that were inside the gated family community.

Still, your new home was not far from Michael’s family or yours, and you could make the commute in twenty minutes. 

The plot of land in which your new estate would be built was purchased immediately on the day of your engagement ceremony with construction where your father and Vito had given the green light for construction to begin the day of.

Normally for the size of your estate, it would have taken a good construction crew six months with daily work, but the home was completely finished in just one. Bringing in extra of the best workers and paying a premium always worked well in the end. 

Your grand estate stood at just slightly over five thousand square feet with state-of-the-art architecture, taking inspiration from Modern American design to Italian fixtures and marble imported from Rome. 

Your estate was two stories, finished with an attic consisting of a master bedroom with a walk-in closet designed to be almost the size of a small bedroom for you and Michael, a study that was half a private library, two guest rooms downstairs, a nursery upstairs, a wine room in the basement, full front and back yard, three other extra bedrooms, an office for Michael and four bathrooms.

A mid-sized swimming pool was built in the backyard where your home’s carefully curated and trimmed garden surrounded the sides and fences protected your family’s privacy so one could neither look into the estate grounds nor out of it.

Twenty-four-hour surveillance was always to be expected with varying bodyguards and a careful selection of specific windows—such as the ones in Michael’s office—were selected and built to be soundproof.

Your bathtub had 24k gold claw-finished, quartz countertops as well as in the kitchen, marble floors, a foyer in the front of the estate fit with a French handcrafted chandelier, a private exit to the gardens and plenty of storage with a full laundry room at the end of the hallway downstairs.

Crown fixtures adorned the kitchen and a wide spiral staircase decorated with a blood-red carpet led upstairs to where one of two hidden emergency exits only you and Michael knew how to activate could be found.

The price of your home came to a grand total of $250,000 and was exactly where you and Michael wanted to be; exactly where the two of you planned to start your family and raise your children.

Michael and you had both grown up in Long Island; meaning nothing short of symbolic with the feel of home settling into your first house in New York together.

You and Michael only had a brief discussion about where your first home could be since the two of you came to an agreement so quickly to choose Long Island to stay in.

At the time, thoughts of buying another home elsewhere or even moving in the future were not on your mind although Michael had begun to think of Nevada and a villa in Sicily almost immediately on; the latter being a familiar and mutually agreed upon idea to you.

Of course, both you and Michael’s family knew just as well as the both of you why you didn’t have a honeymoon after your wedding, and there were no questions asked or teasing to be made.

Going on a honeymoon with Michael after your wedding was in your mind just as much as your wedding was, but the same could not be said for Michael who was much too preoccupied with the danger and threat of another family war, especially with hostility coming from the Ricci family.

Going outside of New York—let alone going to Sicily—would paint a clear, red target over both your and Michael’s backs and especially create vulnerability within the Corleone family considering Vito was semi-retired at the time.

It didn’t matter if you and Michael decided to visit Rome, Venice, or anywhere else in Italy just for the sake of visiting home but staying away from Sicily; the mafia families including the Ricci’s still had power stretching there legitimately.

Naturally, both you and Michael yearned to take a true honeymoon trip to Sicily and Sicily only. Even with the rest of the world as a choice to visit, you would have rather continued to postpone your honeymoon until you could safely visit Sicily again without having to worry about anything but how to spend quality time with your husband.

You’d very well have your honeymoon with Michael a little after your first anniversary together, somewhat defeating the purpose of a true honeymoon but with the threat of your lives and your family on the line, it was all very worth it with a legitimate reason to delay.

In Michael’s second marriage now come hell or high water he would never risk a slight chance of you being anywhere where there’s a notion of danger, even if you begged him to.

“Well,” you bit your lip, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m a little disappointed, but I understand.”

“I know, darling,” Michael raised his water glass to his lips, taking a sip. “I feel no different than you do.”

You brushed your fingers against the fabric of the window’s curtains and glanced over to Michael again. “They’ll know, won’t they?”

Michael’s eyes met with yours almost instantly; his expression appeared grim knowing you referred to the Ricci family, but with the Barzinis and Tattaglias to worry about as well.

“As they do,” Michael replied and set his glass down. “Does it bother you?”

“Not exactly,” you shook your head and faced the window—blushing as you felt Michael’s presence approach you from behind. “But it’s been on my mind again and again these past few weeks. I can’t shake it off.”

“And on mine,” Michael lovingly embraced you from behind and lightly pressed his chest against your back. “As much as I would like to degrade them to such, they’re not animal enough to disgrace a wedding, even without an invite.”

“They should know better,” you murmured under your breath.

“And they more than likely do,” Michael nodded and moved his hands down to your hips to tenderly caress them. “None of those men deserve further justifications, but above all, they’re curious about you, and just who you are.”

You placed your hands over Michael’s and gave them a soft squeeze as you remained quiet.

“If it’s about safety—” Michael began.

“I feel safe with you,” you told him as you turned around.

Michael’s eyes locked onto yours as he gave you a small nod; you swore to yourself for a moment that you could see a glimmer of a brief smile over his plush lips. 

“I do,” you continued, “always. And as you can guess…” You blushed sheepishly, “I was thinking about our honeymoon too, and we can’t even go.”

“We will soon enough,” Michael rubbed up and down your arms gingerly. “When we are able to and when we can. You know it’s not something I want to put aside to forget or neglect.”

“I know, baby,” you smiled back shyly. “I believe you.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Michael lowered his tone of voice and pressed a warm kiss over your forehead. “I promise I will. None of what our family is going through now will last. I personally guarantee it,” as Michael moved back from the kiss, he tilted your chin up to gaze directly into his eyes. “You’re my bride. You deserve that and all the more, do you understand?”

Blushing furiously and feeling a wave of butterflies rush to the pit of your stomach, you nodded at Michael before leaning up to give his lips a sweet kiss.

“I’ll wait until you say we can go,” you whispered against his lips as you wrapped an arm around Michael’s shoulders.

“Until then,” Michael murmured and closed off the distance between both of your bodies, ensnaring you in a deep kiss once more.

~

Michael’s changed lifestyle to a mafioso and your continued one as a mafiosa would never change. You both married one another knowing what your lives are and would continue to be, but also remaining unaltered.

You’re a lawyer, after all, and a skilled prosecutor with a name made for herself—reputation and all—in New York. Your career is more than something you see to corrupt and use for your “family business”, but is also a passion; something you want to continue doing until you feel ready to retire.

Michael was always impressed as to how you were able to find a passionate career that also benefited both sides of the family business. 

Through being a lawyer, you also bonded well with Tom and had another fellow lawyer as a brother-in-law to bond with.

Regardless of whether you and Michael choose to have one child a fear down the line or four back to back, Michael has no intention of interfering in your career or keeping you from it; the same can be said for any of your other passions and hobbies.

You already know your maternity leave from work and raising an infant will take priority in your life which will result in a break from work, but you’ve accepted it and will make it happen. 

Perhaps if you weren’t a mafiosa yourself from a powerful crime family, you would have fit the bill as a mafioso’s housewife better but Michael recognizes your true talents and abilities just as well as you know yourself.

Now married, you attend trials and continue with your cases at most three times a week. After all, you’ve always been careful in choosing which cases to get involved in while maintaining a flexible schedule for yourself.

You built a reputation with your prowess this far without Michael and his family’s influence, which begs the question of what Michael’s lifestyle has become after marrying you.

Michael is always working, even when he’s not. More than ever, Michael spends time with his father and brothers. Even when Michael is alone in his own office, he’s talking over the phone to his men or family and constantly keeping himself preoccupied until he’s with you.

Michael’s unwavering dedication to the family business, his loyalty, and his work ethic don’t bother you. As a matter of fact, it’s everything you expected from Michael and saw coming before you married him.

What you love about Michael’s work with the family business is that he can separate it and he will separate it very well from his personal life. 

Michael does not mention anything related to his work when he’s with you regardless of how casual the circumstances or if your own curiosity arises since your family is also almost always involved. 

You know then and only in those scenarios would you ask Michael a question if you had one and your family could not answer; you know your boundaries and where the line remains when asking Michael about his work.

To Michael, any mention of what he does and what he is outside of work is nothing but severely unpleasant and he would rather avoid it altogether; something you respect and agree with.

At dinner one evening, you saw Michael’s tension settled within him as he ate—sitting across from you in silence. 

Michael sighed quietly and took a sip of his red wine before his eyes met yours; seeing curiosity spark in your expression.

“Ready to settle down, baby?” You asked with a soft smile.

“Something like that,” Michael nodded, continuing to eat his risotto. 

“Everything alright with your father?” You asked and rose up from your seat to begin cleaning up. 

“He’s fine,” Michael’s answers were dry and to the point on purpose. “We’re working on it.”

“Alright,” you gathered a pile of empty plates, brushing off crumbs upon the tablecloth next to Michael.

Only a split second later did you look back up at Michael and catch his eye—almost feeling embarrassed for asking but you neither see annoyance nor discomfort in Michael’s expression. 

You understood Michael didn’t want to talk about this with you and you didn’t push it. You also knew last night he didn’t come home from his father’s estate until 2 AM, and you had no intention of bothering him about it now. 

You’ve always had more than enough to do for yourself and for the home regardless of how long Michael worked in or out of the manor. 

You’d have your own day to worry about; cleaning up after breakfast, prepping for lunch, tidying up the house, laundry if required, getting any other daily errands done, focusing on a bit of your own work projects, then relaxing with a good book or in front of the television with a glass of wine. 

You could step out into the garden for some fresh air, pull weeds, water the lawn, go for a walk or a dip in the pool; you balance your work and life well and you’ve never felt neglected or lost without a sense of purpose.

The compatibility between you and Michael is like none other and the two of you have always recognized this; there is no lack of transparency or intimacy, and there is no elephant in the room blocking the two of you from bonding with one another.

You and Michael could and always will make it work. 

~

When it came down to planning to start a family with each other, having children was brought up immediately between Michael and you; a crucial concept and the second step into a married life with one another.

Of course, the brief conversation that only consisted of asking one another if you wanted children when you and Michael had first met did not count as a real and insightful conversation, it did strike you that Michael was a mature and serious man, ready for fatherhood and expecting to start a family in the very near future.

Michael would not have minded waiting a year or two before having children, but he would personally not wish to delay it any further past that.

To Michael, it was as if he had an urgency of some kind to start a family but there was no reasoning behind it or pressure coming from anyone. Still, you came to appreciate how much Michael anticipated entering parenthood with you, regardless of his reasons.

Perhaps you did sense Michael’s urgency when he first met you and asked if you wanted to have children in the future, but you simply had brushed it off for all that it was—a simple question.

You were twenty-five years old when you met Michael, and you were the second youngest sibling in your family and the only daughter.

With your little brother Dante being fifteen years younger than you, you practically raised him alongside your brothers and because you came from an equally large extended family, you loved children for as long as you could remember.

Just as you and your brothers had grown up, you knew the importance of proper parenting and how love would mold a child’s life forever.

Michael believed children were the products of their parents’ discipline, love, and behavior, saying, “If adults can bring out the worst in each other, they can do the same for children”.

Michael himself was twenty-nine when he met you and neither of you had objections of any kind to starting a family immediately after getting married.

Coming from the families and reputations you both grew up in and had, things such as time and money would simply not be an issue for you and Michael.

It was more of a matter of readiness and active parenting heavily required from both of you equally, not just yours as the mother. 

You also knew Michael would be a stricter parent than you, but this did not imply anything harsh or along the lines of cruelty whatsoever. 

Michael is not the type of man to ever raise a hand against a child or even raise his voice; calm, and collected, and with thorough explanation comes discipline and understanding. Michael knows how a child’s mind copes and works. 

You are most definitely not the kind of parent to yell, threaten, let alone glare at children to have them respect or tolerate your fear let alone beat a child.

Neither Michael nor you ever faced such things growing up, but you both saw your fair share growing up with other children at school and in the neighborhood who did not have the same childhood as you two did.

Any type of abuse or psychological manipulation was a severe hard line; it was something you and Michael would never subject any child to, ever.

From being the only big sister to your little brother Dante, you knew there were a million ways around teaching and disciplining children without being physically, psychologically, or verbally abusive—even to children who have behavior issues. 

You and Michael had been stressing to yourselves subconsciously the need to be nothing but good, loving parents teaching your future children manners and discipline early on without fear of repercussions or pain, but simply just to learn and understand.

~

Just a week ago you walked down the aisle and faced your lover—for the last time only as a lover before becoming Michael’s wife, wedded as Mrs. Corleone.

Now as you gazed at yourself in the mirror, the role of Michael Corleone’s wife had already truly embedded in you; seeing your husband clasping a new diamond necklace around your neck gently.

You blushed as you caught Michael’s eye in the mirror, placing a hand over your necklace carefully.

Michael admired the glistening diamonds over your neck; his eyes adoring the very shape of your collarbones before he leaned toward your shoulder and planted a soft kiss over it.

With a bit of arousal having flared up in you, you shivered from Michael’s warm touch as he let his hands linger around the back of your neck before he placed them on your hips.

“Mm,” your eyes fluttered shut as you took in the brief moment, feeling Michael’s breath over the side of your neck.

Michael’s hands slowly made their way over to your stomach where he rubbed tenderly, watching as your body language submitted to how good he was already making you feel.

“Are you late?” Michael murmured over your shoulder.

Butterflies churned in your stomach and blush stung your cheeks at the very question. “I think it’s still too soon to tell, baby.”

“Mm,” Michael nodded and began to massage your sides.

“Why do you ask?” You slowly opened your eyes and spoke to him in a soft, ushered tone. “Do you suspect I am?”

“Perhaps,” Michael answered, “I want to be the first to know.”

You cracked a shy smile, “and you will be without a doubt.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Michael took your hands in his, turning you around to face him directly before he pulled you into his embrace. “Although you never did tell me how many you wanted.”

“I can tell you now,” you rested your head over Michael’s chest and nodded. “Four little ones… That would be something.”

“Mhmm,” Michael kissed the top of your head. “A topic better suited for the future after we have our first.”

“Boy or girl?” You grinned and looked up at your husband.

“Doesn’t matter,” Michael told you. “But ultimately a son somewhere down the line to succeed our family.”

‘Of course.’ You knew it must have been the same with Michael’s father as it was with yours; one son at the very least to carry the family’s legacy under his name. ‘Understandable.’

“If you’re not…” Michael’s hands touched your hips again; his eyes beckoning to you. “Then we can try again.”

“And again?” You teased back, giggling. “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” Michael murmured and pulled your hips into his.

“As many times as we need to, hmm?” Your breath hitched as you bit down on your lip.

“As many times as you want to,” Michael corrected before he sealed a kiss over your lips.

~

The intimacy and love continuing to blossom between you and Michael unfolded in feverish desire and yearning. Like the beginning of an eternal and dangerous addiction, neither of you could get enough of the other.

Michael knew your love language was physical affection and words of affirmation just as you knew he was spending quality time with you and touching. 

Michael couldn’t care less for material gifts and preferred experiences above all, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t care, enjoy, or appreciate either.

“Ah…” A breathy moan escaped your lips as your hand clutched over Michael’s back; feeling his firm, flexing muscle as Michael remained leaning down and hovering over your naked body.

Between the sounds of Michael’s lips leaving a trail of hot kisses over your neck, you heard his breathing hitching as his throbbing erection pressed against your stomach.

Barely a week into your marriage and filled to the brim with insatiable love and desire, Michael was unable to get enough of his new bride and her beauty.

“Ohhh…”

Inhaling deeply, Michael took in your scent as he nuzzled your neck; now glowing pink with the love marks he left behind as you had let your free hand roam through Michael’s tousled hair.

“Look at me,” Michael whispered against your lips as he grazed his thumb over your mouth, parting your bottom lip. “Look at me when I make love to you.”

‘Oh God, yes…’

The first three months of marriage may as well have been a fever dream for both of you. 

Of course, none would be surprised at the sudden stamina the new bride and groom have for one another although some teasing and a dirty joke here and there would be in order, but if it wasn’t a night out or quality time spent with the family, Michael and you were doing nothing else but getting lost in one another again and again.

You’d lay in bed naked with the blankets barely covering yourself as you’d watch Michael strip down right in front of you before approaching you on the bed, and Michael enjoyed every second of undressing you himself with his own hands; the way the curves of your hips and fullness of your thighs felt against his hand as your skin was hot to the touch, brimming with passion and your body begging for pleasure was nothing short of ecstasy to Michael.

With your bodies intertwined with one another, you could practically feel Michael’s heart racing against yours; nothing but toe-curling, eye-rolling, intense orgasms, and memorizing every part of each other’s bodies filled your evenings for days to come.

You woke an urge tailored to your pleasure inside of Michael he could not ignore. Even after a night of ecstasy, if you approached him half-naked in the living room and begged Michael to fuck you again, he wouldn’t say no. 

You straddled Michael’s lap and let your lace panties slip off your ankles as you felt the smooth, Italian silk fabric of Michael’s suit brush against your bare skin.

On his lap, you let out a whimpering moan as you pressed your hips against his and ran your hands up Michael’s half-unbuttoned dress shirt; his chest hair brushing past your fingers as you clutched onto his shoulders.

Michael leaned his back against his seat comfortably; his hands ran from your calves to your upper thighs before he cupped your ass and gave it a greedy squeeze.

Michael’s eyes expectantly looked at you. “You play the innocent, sweet role well…” 

“Mm—” You whimpered as you pressed your lips against Michael’s neck from him giving your ass another harsh squeeze.

“But I see right through it,” Michael whispered to you—his tone low and husky. 

“I…” You breathed shakily against Michael’s skin before planting a deep kiss over it; your free hand roamed through his black, silky hair.

You heard a barely audible, soft moan escape Michael’s lips which only intensified the feverish arousal coursing through your veins as you continued to hungrily kiss up and around Michael’s neck.

Michael wrapped one arm around your waist and kept his hand over your ass; his eyes half remained half-opened as he let you get lost within him, taking and getting everything you want.

Your kisses grew wet, hot, and sloppy around Michael’s jawline as you moaned through them yourself; severely aroused to the point where you thought your wetness pooling over the fabric of your panties was soaking through Michael’s trousers.

“Mine…” You cupped Michael’s cheek and turned his face to look him in the eye directly. “All mine…”

“Yours,” Michael said back before his lips sealed over yours in a crushing, needy kiss.

Your pussy throbbed from arousal over Michael’s knee; it practically had a heartbeat of its own from how horny you were feeling towards your husband—so much so that it was almost criminal.

“Look at you,” As Michael pulled away from the kiss, he gripped your throat with his free hand and let his thumb trace the outline of your bottom lip. “Can’t get your hands off of me.”

“You’re mine,” you panted back and took Michael by pleasant surprise as you licked his thumb. “

“That’s right, baby,” Michael murmured before pulling you back to him by your throat to give you another wet, rough kiss over the mouth. 

As you fully straddled Michael’s lap and began to slowly grind your hips, gyrating them against Michael’s pulsating erection, Michael let his hands slip up through your skirt and play with the band of your panties.

Lost in insistent, passionate kisses, Michael pulled at your panties only to let it snap back against your skin as you were distracted between his lips.

Michael let his fingers go further, parting your dewy pussy lips to spread your wetness with one hand while squeezing your breast and massaging your nipple with his fingers on the other.

Aside from such fiery, mutual infatuation and lust, there was more; there was and always will be more. 

The love between you and Michael blossomed so naturally that it could never feel forced like it was some sort of obligation that had to be fulfilled.

In public, despite the two of you being not so fond of blatant displays of affection, held hands or had Michael wrap an arm over your waist in casual but adoring affection you craved and yearned for always.

Just one touch from Michael—let alone his presence—was more than enough for you. It did nothing but thrill you all the more knowing this man is yours and you’re his; you’ll have all of Michael whenever you want and however you want. 

Distance makes your heart grow fonder when Michael’s away on his business trips or doesn’t come home for a night. You’ve never felt insecurity, unsafe, or any sort of lingering sadness about Michael’s consistent absences to begin with.

Even at the end of a long night with little time to yourselves to follow another eventful one, you’d have just the same satisfaction in Michael’s embrace without the sexual intimacy. 

Some of your most loving, romantic nights with Michael were the two of you skin-to-skin on the rooftop, naked and exchanging soft kisses as Michael smoked a cigarette.

Saying, “Yes, I do” and signing your marriage papers, your legal name became Victoria Ferrari Corleone; a unique love and lover to Michael in the sense that Michael could never treat you the way he treated Apollonia or Kay, but exponentially more protective, loving, and open to you in all aspects.

Your compatibility with Michael only resulted in him being all the more open with you; not feeling obligated to because you’ll get upset or ask, but because Michael wishes to—because he wants to. 

There’s simply no entitlement; only love and caring. You could not describe your marriage to Michael Corleone in any other way.

[chicoca]

Did you know that i have your heart in the garden?

Chapter two: can't take my eyes off of you/ ao3

Song: can't take my eyes off you - engelbert humperdinck

Warnings: Violent descriptions and suggestive acts.

Words: 7.6K

dedicated to my beloved @yezzyyae ♡

A few days before his arrival, Michael and Nina face their own forbidden desires. A look at Nina's engagement. And small encounters.

Read masterlist for summary and playlist <3

Don Tommasino’s house remained relatively silent, even with all the soldiers hanging around. What he could always hear was the melody that the little radio, in the kitchen, was playing. Some italian ballads with romantic tones that set the mood for silent afternoons. Sometimes, when he came down unexpectedly, he dared to think that you were there in the kitchen, dancing slowly to the music, feeling the notes in your being.

As every Saturday he had planned an outing to Palermo, in the company of his bodyguards. It wasn’t like they could defend him. The reality was that they served as witnesses and backup for anything that happened in Sicily. He didn’t know much, but they told him things were tense between The Families. New businesses with new faces arrived. Men deported from the United States who managed to establish themselves as new mafiosi. Prostitution, drugs and corruption already invaded Sicily. But these men appeared more aggressive, and that was bad to the Don. Because he was an old–fashioned man, his domain didn’t contemplate things beyond the management of territories and alliances with the wealthiest men in town. His power within those large spaces attracted the attention of the new mafiosi, causing their protection to be weakened. 

The Quintana family had control of drug trafficking in Corleone, especially heroin, which is why they had the power to intimidate the new mafiosi. By having a large hectares of crops and a lot of men in production, they dominated that business. Like the new mafiosi, the Quintanas also wanted to own the lands that Don Tommasino managed, as well as his contacts with the elite and politics. Don Tommasino didn’t mix with the new forms of extortion, having the police on his side and Lieutenant Gaspare Pisciotta, he was protected from any ambush.

That’s why the war didn’t end. Men died from side to side but no one gave in. Don Tommasino wasn’t going to, much less Guido Quintana. But time has passed and the Dons, even without retiring, have granted opinions from their heirs. Simone supported his father in maintaining the land and promoted new perspectives on the trafficking business. And Leandro, for his part, had an alliance in mind, because, according to him, the De Rosas and the Quintanas could be much stronger if they were united. Of course, that meeting ended in an altercation where Don Tommasino profoundly refused to involve you. Leandro promised that it would be his only attempt to mediate peace, since he didn’t intend to be soft on his enemies. For Don Tommasino that was final, but he didn’t count on Leandro finding you in Paris while you were studying. His plan was almost perfect. Court you, fall in love, get married and inevitably become part of the De Rosas, you being a Quintana. It would be something irreparable for the clan.

Sadly for him, your soul was too indomitable to fall for a man thirsty for your father’s power. You knew it the third or fourth time he spoke to you, but you still couldn’t walk away. Leandro appeared in many places, persuading you with presents, pretty words and smiles. When that didn’t work he was honest with you. He admitted that he would hurt your father, even though he didn't want to because that meant hurting you. For him there were two ways to get what he wanted, and there was a good way and a bad way. You had to decide.

Although you never wanted to get involved in your father’s business, you were aware of it and supportive of his decisions regarding what the family meant. You met politicians, greeted their wives, talked to their daughters while your father made deals in his office. You knew how it worked and your father wouldn’t lie to you if you asked. At the end of the day you understood the value of his work, and you loved him so much that you didn’t have to think twice. Leandro wasn’t a bad man, he didn’t treat you badly, he didn't threaten you directly, and he never tried to do anything to you.  For you, he was just asking you to help, and how could you not do it if it meant your father’s safety.

When your brothers found out they swore death to the Quintanas. Even Guido didn’t agree to form such a bond. But you got stubborn. Leandro was capable of murdering your entire family in order to ascend and dominate all of Corleone. He was hungry for power and your family was just an obstacle that, for better or worse, he had to deal with. The Quintanas were known for being bloodthirsty and cruel. They had no mercy with women, children or babies. They had killed entire families, including pets. They left no trace of anything after stealing it all. 

You took it as a duty. Something you could do and live with. Leandro was attractive and educated. He could be a good man if he put his mind to it. You wouldn’t be the first woman to marry for convenience. And even though your father never wanted that fate for you, it seemed that the world chose to reduce your life like that. It was ultimate. You agreed to get married with the promise that your family would be fine, like a guarantee of the mafia. Leandro didn’t plan to disappoint you, with the commitment to marry you, Don Tommasino granted some land that would only be given with the birth of the firstborn Quintana–De Rosa.

You hadn’t thought about being a mother yet. But you knew that Leandro had it in mind and wanted to get you pregnant as soon as possible. Therefore, your wedding would be in a week. Planned in less than a month. A month that you left college, abandoning your artistic dreams in the name of your family. You could still write and publish, you have been doing it for a while. Also teach literature at a local school. But your great aspirations were already a thing of the past. Travel the world, learn, live your experiences deeply. You planned to be free, with the power that being your father’s daughter gave you. For a moment you seemed to escape the fate of every woman in the Sicilian mafia. But time came to you with the face of a man whom you will have to tolerate your entire life.  That’s your destiny.

So Michael was a surprise to you. The obvious attraction was clear, and maybe in another world you would have tried something. But it was impossible, Michael seemed to be an inaccessible man in his own tumult of problems. You had your own. So, no matter how hard it was, avoiding him was the best, because in his presence you seemed to talk more, and flirt, and be who you were before Leandro appeared.

You knew that that Saturday he would go out to Palermo with his guards. That’s why you stayed in the kitchen helping your mother with lunch. He wouldn’t eat at home, preferring to take a couple of sandwiches for the road. As an irony of life, your mother asked you to debone the chickens that he would take. So now, with the ballad playing in the background, you shook your hips gently while you sank your fingers into the oily flesh. Behind you your mother was talking about the decorations that would arrive tomorrow. But you couldn’t pay attention, because you heard those footsteps approaching.

At the entrance to the kitchen he appears with his hair combed carelessly, wearing all dark, pants and dress shirt under a large coat, and he stands there with his gloved hands crossed, waiting to be noticed. 

He’s behind you, you know it by the tingle that runs down your spine, it feels warm like drinking coffee on a cold day. His perfume and the smell of soap, that only visitors use, impregnated your senses with his essence, a delight that you took with your eyes closed.

“Good morning, Michele. Ready to go, I see” Your mother said cheerfully.

You looked over your shoulder as he approached and leaned on the counter. For a second he looked at you in the eyes, but you turned around avoiding him.

“Buongiorno Signora De Rosa… Buongiorno Nina (Good morning Mrs. De Rosa… Good morning Nina)” The way he curled his tongue saying your name almost gave you a shiver, so slow it seemed like he was savoring naming you.

“Nina, saluta il ragazzo… Dio, questa ragazza è tra le nuvole (Nina, greet the boy… God, this girl is in the clouds)” You turned around looking briefly at your mother. You blushed a little at the embarrassment you felt, if Michael noticed it he made no attempt to show it.

“Buongiorno Michele, sarai a Palermo tutto il pomeriggio? (Good morning Michael, will you be in Palermo all afternoon?)”  You asked, going to wash your hands from the chicken grease. 

You were wearing a long skirt that swayed with every step you took. Michael couldn’t help but look at your hips, as the fabric hugged your curves for a few precious seconds before releasing them. 

“Starò lì per qualche ora… (I’ll be there for a couple of hours)” He answered. 

You turned and took the plate with the chicken to the counter. Your mother had already cut the bread, so your job was to fill it and wrap it. Under his watchful gaze, you began to prepare his food. 

“Well… Nina has to try on her dress. Oh! Michele, is very very pretty” Your mother said, making gestures in the air, imitating the fabric falling from the veil.

“Oh really? When is the wedding?” His eyes seemed to pierce your being. You didn’t know what he was thinking, but you wondered why he looked at you that way.

“Next Saturday! Oh mi Dio! sarà bello bello (Oh my God! It will be beautiful beautiful)” Your mother exclaimed enthusiastically “You are gonna be there, don’t you Michele?”.

“I don’t think so. I’m not invited” His passive tone of voice failed to demonstrate the clear intention of questioning you. For your part, you could only look at him with a raised eyebrow, not quite understanding what he wanted from you.

“Oh but of course you are invited! It’s a big celebration”.

“Mama, I don’t think is a good idea” You interrupted “Michele needs to go unnoticed. Leandro’s entire family and ours will be hanging around the house. I don’t think it will be good for him… for you” You finished saying with your eyes fixed on him.

He just shrugged his shoulders and stood up, no longer leaning on the counter in front of you. You were finishing making the sandwiches when he stole a piece of chicken from you and put it in his mouth.  You don’t know exactly what it was, but his intense gaze, the way he left his fingers suspended against his lips and the soft way he chewed enthralled you. The last thing was his tongue passing over his lips, tasting the tips of his fingers. It was in the almost smile that he formed, the small vestige of what he noticed that provoked you. You couldn’t understand what happened until your mother held you by the shoulders.

“It’s ready, Nina. Can you go out and call your brother?” Your mother’s request brought you out of trance. You didn’t look at him again, you didn’t want to know what face he had.

Michael watched you leave. He followed you with his eyes until he stopped in your absence. Even so the kitchen kept your perfume, he would recognize it anywhere after carrying it in his pocket for days. Your handkerchief folded in the left pocket of his coat, just above his chest. If he concentrated he could feel the folds and the light weight pressing against him. He thought if maybe he would be able to imagine your hand in the place of that handkerchief.

You, leaning on the door frame, gestured for Calogero to come in. That day only your brother and mother were in the house for lunchtime. Your father had to make many agreements with the Quintanas. Agreements in which you didn’t actively participate, at the request of your fiancé. Your father promised you that everything was going well, that’s why you didn’t worry when you knew that he was sharing with people that, for a long time, he called enemies.

Calogero told you he would be in in a second, so you decided to come back to the kitchen. Thinking about seeing Michael caused a strange feeling, a childish emotion that exploded in your chest with the desire to giggle for nothing. It made you want to run or jump in order to expend this ball of excitement that made no sense to you. It was dangerous, a break in your perfectly planned scheme that involved no one but Leandro. A part of you wants to feel the same emotions for your fiancé, it would be much easier that way. But there were so many differences, and you didn’t even understand where that attraction, that seemed to push you towards him, came from.

You thought about going to your room. Pretending that you had to do something. To wait for him to leave so you could walk freely around your house. You didn’t even think that he was looking for you, that he was stealthily watching you from behind, with your handkerchief pressed to his nose. He admired your silhouette still near the half-open door. The cold made your skin crawl, and for a second you felt a tug in your stomach that served as a warning, as if you were an animal, you felt the presence on your back, and you turned around so quickly that you hit his hand, the one holding the handkerchief, throwing it down.

“Oh! Che spavento (Oh! What a scare)... I’m so sorry Michele, I didn’t see you” You made to bend down to pick it up but he stopped you.

“Don’t worry, it was my fault” He said as he put one of his knees on the ground to pick it up. His head stayed close to your hip and as he looked up you admired his bruised face in the pale winter light.

“You should let a doctor look at that injury” You didn’t control yourself. You raised your hand to gently run your fingertips over his jaw. You felt his rough skin against yours, a warmth that you didn’t expect to receive.

Michael avoided closing his eyes when he felt you caress him. He slowly took your wrist and moved it away from his face. He rose until he was standing, still holding you. When he noticed this he let go, and tried not to focus on the warmth he still felt from having touched you.

“Don’t worry” He said without adding more.

You watched him put your handkerchief in his pocket and then adjust his coat. With a paper bag with his food ready, he was going to ask you to move out the door. At that moment Calogero entered.

“Buon pomeriggio Michele, goditi Palermo! (Good afternoon Michael, enjoy Palermo!)” He said as he grabbed you by the shoulders, almost carrying you along with him “Ho fame, sorella, mangiamo! (I'm hungry, sister, let’s eat!)” He almost didn’t wait for you to go to the dining room. 

Behind you Michael had already left and was talking to Calo and Fabrizio. Without looking at him again, you followed your brother. Michael briefly watched you leave. He asked one of his guards to close the door and began walking, thinking about the fresh air he would have in Palermo.

**

“Raccontaci qualcosa di New York (Tell us something about New York)” Said Fabrizio while eating. 

The three men were sitting on the dry grass. That particular day it wasn’t so cold and the humidity had decreased.

“Sai che sono di New York? (How do you know I’m from New York?)” asked Michael.

“Noi ascoltiamo. Qualcuno ci ha detto che eri importante – a big-a shot (We heard. Somebody told us you were real important)” responded Fabrizio. Calo, next to him, nodded.

“I’m the son of a big shot” That made both men curious.

“L’America è ricca come dicono? (Is America as rich as they say?)” Fabrizio asked again, Michael noticed his interest in his country. Calo rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Smettila di seccarmi con queste cose sull’America rica!! (Stop bothering me with this rich America stuff!!)” Fabrizio just laughed while Calo grunted in boredom.

“Hey, take me to the America! If you need a good lupara in America” Fabrizio says while palming his gun “Take me, I’ll be the best man you can get!” He ends by saying with genuine enthusiasm.

“I’ll think about it” Michael said, looking around. Fabrizio applauded at his response “What’s going on there?”.

In the distance, in a small straw house, an altercation was taking place between four men. One of them, an old man, was on his knees praying with his palms together. Michael could see the difference between them, the standing men carried rifles similar to those of Fabrizio and Calo, they were talking to each other stiffly while they pointed at the house and the old man. Suddenly one of them kicks the man in the chin making him scream in pain. Another of the men points the gun and shoots into the man’s back, causing the other two to fire a burst of bullets at high speed.

“Merda! Andiamo! Andiamo! (Shit! Let’s go! Let’s go!)” Fabrizio exclaimed, taking his lupara and sliding through the grass until he reached the street. Michael and Calo followed him.

“What’s happening?” Michael asked somewhat crouched, the three of them moved downwards.

“A punizione” Calo said.

When they were further away they stopped. Michael looked back waiting for one of the men to appear but there was no one.

“What’s a punizione?” Michael asked.

“Some men rob these shacks that serve as shelter for soldiers… The owners, the clan, punish with death” Fabrizio said, passing his hand over his forehead, he looked nervous.

“That old man robbed that house?” He asked incredulously.

“Probably not. But they surely saw him nearby and he didn’t have backup to defend him” Michael looked at him intently, as if he didn’t fully understand what he was saying “Look, there are rules here that you don’t know. That’s why we walk with you wherever. Anyone could accuse you of something and kill you instantly”.

“Morto morto (Dead dead)” Calo whispered, Michael ignored him.

“Don’t worry. You just have to go unnoticed. Do not go to places with many people, especially with people from other clans” Fabrizio warned.

“The Quintana family will come to the wedding” Calo mentioned, Fabrizio nodded to it.

“Devi essere atento… Careful (You have to be careful)” Michael nodded, starting to talk down the hill “A wedding!” Fabrizio suddenly exclaimed.

“Un matrimonio (A wedding)” Calo followed.

“Quella bella donna si sposa, è così carina (That pretty woman is getting married, so pretty)” Fabrizio said, bringing his hands to his chest. 

“Pretty pretty” Calo said.

“Cosa darei per una donna così. È instruita… e ha un corpo! (What would I give for a woman like that. She is educated… and has a body!” He made the faint of your hips with his hands and grunted in ecstasy.

“Un bel corpo, ben formato (A good body, well formed)” Continued Calo.

Michael remained silent.

“What a pity that she’s going to marry a Quintana” Fabrizio proclaimed sadly.

“Pensa che Nina lo guarderebbe! (He thinks Nina would look at him!)” Calo said mockingly. He elbowed Michael to make him laugh.

“Why it’s a shame that she marries Quintana?”.

 “Why?! That man is the devil” Fabrizio exclaimed, Calo next to him nodded “L’hai visto con il vecchio? (Did you see that with the old man?)” Michael nodded “Ha fatto lo stesso con un bambino (Did the same with a kid)”.

“Lo sapevano tutti, aveva lasciato il corpo per strada (Everyone knew, he left the body in the street)” Said Calo.

“And she knows that?” Michael couldn’t imagine that, knowing that information, you would marry him.

“No no, that girl doesn’t know anything” Fabrizio hit his forehead in a mocking gesture “According to what they say, she returned from Paris with the man on her arm”.

“The Don wasn’t happy, no no” Calo added.

“True! But the wedding will happen anyway, it’s a surprise”.

“Why?” Michael asked again.

“Guardalo, che curiosità (Look at him, so curious)” Calo giggled, Michael ignored him.

“Quintana e De Rosa are enemies” Fabrizio commented, approaching a tree to rest “They have fought over Corleone for years. Don Guido hates Don Tommasino. Some say they have a personal conflict” Calo nodded at that and pointed to Fabrizio.

“They say Don Tommasino had an affair with Don Guido’s wife” Fabrizio laughed.

“No no, that isn’t true. But whatever, they hate each other, so they never agreed on anything. So, when his daughter appeared with Leandro Quintana proclaiming they are going to marry everyone was shocked”.

“Shocked!” Calo repeated.

“And no one knows how that happened?” Michael asked. Calo looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“So curious for girl Nina, eh?” Michael rolled his eyes and sat down.

“I just have questions… That guy, Leandro, is he really bad?” Fabrizio sighed and adjusted his lupara.

“Yes, he first killed when he was twelve years old. He killed his dog because it barked so loud. We all knew he hated the De Rosa family, he wanted to have it all in Corleone. Maybe he loves her, we don’t know, but that man is crazy” Fabrizio said. 

They were silent for a moment, which Michael appreciated because his mind was full of you. Leandro didn’t seem like a particularly aggressive man when he met him. He remembers the handshake, the cordial smile and the soft kiss he left on your cheek, which continues to surprise him. For a Sicilian he was quite daring with his fiancee. But what he still keeps in his mind was your downcast gaze and the lack of reciprocity with him. He knew there were parts he still didn’t understand, but you seemed to be indecipherable even in your transparency. 

He wanted to know why you looked at him that way. Why did he feel that you asked something from him every time he saw those beautiful eyes. He would give you whatever you wanted if his soul was weak, but he knows his limits. And even though his desires went beyond being nice to you, he couldn’t allow himself to be a man to you. If Leandro really was who they said he was, it was better for Michael to stay aside and just have the joy of looking at you for these months that he had left in Sicily.

**

The day seemed calm. After lunch the only thing left to do was do nothing, since you didn’t have things scheduled. The wedding was approaching and the preparations were ready, the only thing left to do was say “I do” and be a Quintana. It still seems like a dream when you think about it. Marrying Leandro and starting a family. He had already confessed to you that he wanted at least five children, something that left you silent, causing him to laugh. In your mind there was barely the possibility of having one, you didn’t want to think beyond that, but five babies, you were already tired of just imagining it. Even so you accepted, the only thing you asked him was that you wouldn’t be involved in his business.

For your father the business was a man’s job, which didn’t involve women or children. Being a little soft to you, he let you know a few things when you were curious. But it was a curiosity fueled by concern. Seeing your father tired or angry made you alert and controlling, you wanted to know what was happening and what to do. There was very little you could do, but you could try to understand, give him an ear for his angry babbling, be someone he can trust. 

You were spoiled, you had always been a daddy’s girl, no one could blame you if he was around and your brothers were the same. But that would end, you knew it when you saw your father’s disappointed eyes. Being Leandro’s wife would distance you from him, it would put you in a position in which he couldn’t intervene. His sadness was so big that he cried when he found out that you were getting married, that even with his greatest efforts he could not keep you away from danger.  Leandro promised to never hurt you and, although it was difficult for him to admit it, he actually believed him. But that wasn’t the problem, it was what that marriage meant. A contract between families that would make them partners for life, unbreakable the moment the heir is born. What will happen when Leandro wants his son to be the Don of both families? Death, death between cousins and brothers like the old royalty. 

Protecting the family condemned it in the future. But you only thought about the present, that your father’s health was becoming more and more compromised, that Simone has not yet married or formed his own life to take on a power. If you could guarantee that Leandro wouldn’t murder anyone and would be prudent in his decisions with your family, then there was nothing to fear and nothing else mattered. 

Now, sitting against the trunk of your favorite tree, you were reading Felicia Hemans.

“Lonely she stood:–in her mournful eyes // Lay the clear midnight of southern skies, //And the drooping fringe of their lashes low, //Half veil'd a depth of unfathom'd wo. //Stately she stood–tho' her fragile frame //Seem'd struck with the blight of some inward flame, //And her proud pale brow had a shade of scorn, //Under the waves of her dark hair worn” You murmured following a beaten rhythm.

“... She had been torn from her home away, // With her long locks crown'd for her bridal day, // And brought to die of the burning dreams //That haunt the exile by foreign streams.” You stopped and caressed the pages of the book. The Sicilian captive, how ironic, you thought as you sighed.

You closed the book and stretched out on the grass, you spread your legs letting your skirt rise slightly, you felt the strands of grass touch your shins and you giggled involuntarily at the tickling. 

You felt suddenly liberated, with the clear sky above you like a light blanket. The time seemed eternal. You were in a pause that calmed your soul until it left you drowsy. You almost closed your eyes, but the pale blue was too beautiful to ignore it. You wanted to paint the sky. You raised your hands and moved your fingers in the air, simulating invented faces that little by little coincided with already known lines. Round and big eyes with a roman nose that fell at its tip to the cupid’s bow, there its fleshy shape delighted you. 

What greater beauty was that hidden among forbidden pleasures? 

Michael seemed to completely invade you without doing anything at all. He had bewitched you and now you swarmed to desire him and ignore him. Why wasn’t he the one who found you in Paris? You could imagine him with his clean and smiling face, being just a college student. Has he ever been like that? Free, as you once were? He was a man of war, he was a man of the mafia, but would he be a free man? Could he be the one you would draw in your dreams? Your eternal dreams where life didn’t imprison you in this reality. You dared to think that in another world it would be different. But what would you know? You didn’t even know if he left any woman in New York, if so you would have the excuse to not fantasize about him anymore, he would be a forbidden man, as forbidden as you were.

Life hasn’t smiled on you for a few months now, and now you only have to wait for what destiny has in store for you, because there was not much else to do.  You deeply believed that Michael’s arrival could mean something. Your spiritual impulse wanted you to believe that you saw signs, but you couldn’t fall for those things. You were already sunk to believe that there was an escape in the form of a beautiful man. 

Now a little annoyed with yourself, you got up to go home, picked up the book in a huff and adjusted your skirt. Your hair retained traces of grass and leaves, tangled in a bun at the nape of your neck, with thin hairs contouring your face. 

Without wanting to be in your own body, you left your place to cross the stream, with stones placed by yourself, you crossed your improvised bridge and walked to the fence. Your used and folded book dangled from your hand as you climbed and threw yourself to the other side. You landed on your feet. When you saw that none of your father’s men paid attention to you, you walked to the back entrance. 

When you entered you suddenly ran into Michael. He was wearing a simple dress shirt with his black pants and suspenders. He quickly noticed your disheveled appearance and, without showing it, he found himself shocked when he felt the pressure of your body with his. 

You pulled away quickly, your red cheeks, whether from how annoyed you were or how embarrassed you felt, gave you an adorable touch that almost made him smile. He could feel his own warmth on his face, the blood pumping rapidly through his veins. 

“I’m sorry” You spoke quietly, not looking him in the eyes because you knew you couldn’t escape his gaze.

“Hi Nina, Where were you?” Michael asked as he removed a leaf from your hair, surprised you looked at him. 

“Mmm I was in my place, reading” You showed him your book which he took while looking at the cover.

“Who is she?” He pointed his thumb at the face of Felicia Hemans.

“Felicia Hemans, she was a great poet, one of the most read in the english language” Michael still held the book, his long fingers monopolizing the cover, leaving your fingers with almost no space.

“What’s your favorite?” You looked at him a little confused, Michael noticed the tilt of your head and your inquisitive look “Poem, your favorite poem”.

“Oh! The Sicilian captive, that’s my favorite one” He raised his eyebrows a little, almost imperceptible, but you noticed it “A woman who sings about her homeland and how she must die far from it”.

“That’s sad, why do you like that?” Michael didn’t let go of the book, instead he changed the position of his wrist making your fingers brush against the back of his hand.

“It’s beautiful, her pained song due to the abandonment of Sicily, the love for her home makes the poem fall into a wonderful melancholy. The feeling of distance is necessary when you aren’t where you belong” Your words pierced him in the utmost sincerity. His eyes with a softer touch, almost rounded on the edge of a tenderness, gave you a new facet of him.

“Can I borrow it?” You looked at him delighted and nodded effusively. You dropped the book, losing his touch, but quickly took his hands with enthusiasm.

“Yes, yes, you can read it in its entirety and then we can comment on it!”.

Since you left college you haven't shared your readings with anyone. There wasn't any interest in your family, and only Dr. Taza read but you didn’t see him enough to talk as you would like. That Michael wanted to read one of your favorite poems took away any trace of annoyance, and you even forgot that you wanted to get away from him as much as possible. Now you just wanted to share this with him.

“I’m not a skilled reader, don’t expect much from me” You shook your head as you let go.

Michael could feel the waning touch of your hands against his, he wanted to squeeze them in order to keep your warmth.

“Read it. I have more books in my library, maybe I can lend you others later, so you don’t get bored while being here” Michael nodded in agreement.

You wanted to go further into the house, to show him some of the things you had. You were enthralled by the idea of showing him one of your passions. He followed you from behind, watching as your walk moved your disordered clothes in a fluttering swat that he tried to ignore.

“Do you know any writers? Anyone you would like to read? I have many americans in my books” You didn’t notice his gaze on you, so focused on showing him your great collection.

“Poe, I think, I read him in school” Michael said.

You walked down the right hallway opening a door where a large library was located. Michael admired the large shelves and long sofas that were in the center. You approached a corner, put your index finger on the spine of the books and began to read the titles, looking for a specific one. You moved your head from side to side following the letters with your back leaning forward. 

Michael could observe the depth of your hips. Round, somewhat pompous, with a softness that, he imagined, must be pleasurable. Your innocently suggestive posture provoked him enough to feel the tension of his body under the clothes. For being in winter his insides felt genuinely hot, almost feverish. He attributed it to being inside the house where the temperature remained warm. Even so, his tense neck had the impulse to turn to continue looking at the room. But impossibly enthralled, your body attracted him enough to surpass his thoughts. For no reason, he compared that curve with his well-known Kay, and for a moment he urgently needed to drink water.

“Here it is!” You said, taking one of the books. You turned around and noticed his stare, a little flustered, you showed him the book “For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams” You recited.

“Annabel Lee” Michael responded with the title of the poem, he took the book in his hands. It had a dark and thick spine, it looked old “Is it inherited?”.

“Yes! It was my grandfather’s. Most of these books belong to the family” You couldn’t help but keep talking “I used to spend a lot of time here when I was a kid. My brothers called me a mouse for hiding and hunched over in this corner” You pointed to your favorite spot, a little armchair.

“I was like that too. Quieter than my brothers” You felt a little tingle knowing that you shared something.

“How many brothers do you have?” You asked, sitting down. Michael sat down too, not too close to you, but close enough to feel his weight on the couch.

“Three and a sister” You looked at him attentively, something he took to continue talking “She… She got married recently”.

“How was it? I guess american weddings are different” Michael shook his head slowly, leaning on his side with his leg bent over the cushion and his arm dangling from the backrest. His entire posture directed at you.

“Most of them were italian. I think all of them, except my companion” That caught your attention. Resting your elbow on the backrest and turning to look at him completely. Both of you looked comfortable on the couch.

“Companion? Your girlfriend?” You asked.

“You could call her that” His somewhat evasive tone made you frown.

“Something happened?” That brought out another shine in his eyes.

“No, nothing happened”.

“And how did she take it?” Michael gestured for you to explain “The fact that you are here, without knowing when you will return”.

“She understands” His passivity made you want to believe him.

“Will you marry her?” That question took him by surprise.

“I don’t know, maybe I should” Even though you asked, you didn’t like his answer and that made you a hypocrite, you knew it.

“Would you do an american wedding? Considering that she is one”.

“No, I don’t think so. Maybe at another time in my life I would have said yes, but I have the need to follow my… Desires” His intense stare made you blush slightly.

“And what are those desires?” You swallowed, you felt nervous even though you didn’t understand why.

“You would like to know”.

Before you could answer, a knock on the side of the door frame announced your mother at the entrance to the library. She looked at you carefully for a second, and then sighed.

“I have dinner ready. Michele, my husband wants to see you” At this Michael nodded and stood up. He didn’t look at you again before disappearing through the door. Your mother looked at you and crossed her arms.

“Cosa fai? Non puoi restare da solo con Michele. Leandro si arrabbierebbe se lo sapesse (What are you doing? You can’t be alone with Michele like that. Leandro would be angry if he knew)” You stood up and rolled your eyes at your mother.

“Non lo saprà (He won’t know)” In response to her silence you added “Non lo saprebbe, vero? Dato che stavo solo chiacchierando, non è che io sia invisibile (He’s not going to know, right? Because I was just chatting, it’s not like I turned invisible)”.

“Dovresti essere invisibile se sei fidanzata con un uomo del genere (You should be invisible if you’re engaged to a man like that)” Your mom hit your shoulder, you whined a little and rubbed yourself.

“Non pensare cose che non sono, e non dire niente a Leandro, sono affari miei cosa gli succede (Don’t think things that aren’t, and don’t say anything to Leandro, it’s my business what happens with him)” Your mother just looked at you disapprovingly.

“Non fare cosa che non dovresti. Ricorda, buone azioni, buoni risultati (Don’t do things you shouldn’t. Remember, good deeds, good results)” You walked away from your mother to go to the dinner room.

“Non preoccuparti, non farò nulla (Don’t worry, I won’t do anything)”.

**

In Don Tommasino’s office, Armando and Andrea were both sitting while the Don was talking to Michael.

“... It has these beautiful peach trees. I’m sure you would like to see them, I can arrange for you to go next week” Said Don Tommasino while drinking.

“I would like that… Isn’t the wedding next week?” Michael asked, that made Armando look at him.

“Oh! Don’t tell me. Yes, it will be held here at the house. All those Quintanas here as if nothing had happened” His voice showed annoyance, he slammed the glass down on the table and made a gesture at Armando “Where is that bastard?”.

“Leandro? Taking care of a few things, he sent flowers to Nina yesterday” Don Tommasino laughed mockingly, and Andrea smirked knowing that he would say.

“That ugly shit! I saw them last night. They were orange. Damn orange! Doesn’t he know that his fiancee hates orange?” Armando covered his mouth to laugh and gestured to Michael before speaking.

“Nina doesn’t hate orange, he does” He says pointing his chin at his Don “You’re just overprotective of your kid, but remember Nina is old now”.

“No man would keep up with my daughter. There isn’t a man on the face of the earth capable of being equal to her” He suddenly looked at Michael “Your father must have felt the same about your sister”.

“I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there when the whole engagement happened”.

“You will understand when you have a daughter, I swear” Michael nodded at the glass that Armando offered him.

“If you don’t mind me asking. What’s the problem with Leandro?” That prompted Don Tommasino to sigh deeply as he passed his hand over his forehead.

“The Quintanas have been a problem for years, ever since they wanted to dominate Corleone, fleeing from Giuliano like rats. At first I didn’t think it would be a problem, we don’t have the same businesses. But they want to have things that I have and that has caused many deaths. Now, Leandro is another problem, a much more dangerous one now that my daughter is marrying him” Michael put the glass on the table and leaned back in the chair.

“Why is she marrying him, then?” Armando served another glass to Don Tommasino, Andrea remained silent.

“My daughter is a martyr, Michele. She has always been like that, when she was little she cried for killing spiders and when she was an adolescent she dared to challenge me for Calogero. Seek the good for all… And unfortunately Leandro knew what to do. Did you know that I sent her to Paris? to France, so that she could study and become an educated woman. That fucking bastard found her, I don’t know exactly what he said to her, but when she returned I could feel that something had changed. She had that look she’s always had when she does something that will make me angry. She is equally altruistic and stubborn” He sighed again angrily.

“Don’t be so angry, Nina knows what she’s doing even when you don’t believe it” Armando responded, he offered another glass to Michael but he denied.

“I don’t bless that marriage” He grumbled.

“Anyways… Will Michael be able to attend that wedding?” Armando asked.

“I don’t want to lock you, it’s not natural. But a lot of people will be here and I don’t trust those idiots. I could take you to Doctor Taza” Michael thought about it before denying.

“I would like to be here, I have never been to a genuinely italian wedding” He lied “Don’t worry, I’ve introduced myself under a different name and won’t be in the spotlight”.

“Okay… Just be careful, please”.

**

At night Michael seemed to have no rest, he looked at the ceiling without a hint of sleep, even when it was already after one in the morning. He was used to sleeping early, but since he arrived in Sicily he only seemed to have insomnia. Among the recurring images in his head he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Even with all the worries locked in the back of his mind, the first thing that came up was the question of what to do. What to do with this interest that seemed to grow every time he saw you. He didn’t know what caused him to desire to possess you. 

If he was honest with himself the last thing that mattered to him was your engagement, even though he refused the idea because your fiancé, soon to be husband, was a man whom he shouldn’t confront, not while being hidden under the protection of Don Tommasino. It was too risky to even think about you, and he didn’t understand why with every second that passed he felt like he was infatuated with you. 

He remembered the afternoon where he dared to look at your body, and imagined beyond what was allowed. He wanted to know if your skin had the same tone on the curve of your thighs, the curiosity of feeling the soft texture under his fingers, caressing the inside with the slowness of a tickle. Would you be ticklish? Maybe you would giggle amidst the moans that he would gladly listen to. His imagination flew to what you would be like then, if your face would light up with the lust of his touch, if your eyes would mist through those long lashes. He could imagine your long neck stretched out, perfect for him to bite and mark, for your husband to see and know that there was a man pleasuring you, that that man was Michael.

He doesn’t remember if a bold idea had ever excited him so much. Something forbidden. Maybe that made his interest rise, the fact that you were someone outside his limits. And wouldn’t you know it, Michael has been discreet as he should be, but what would happen if he let you know? If perhaps you would dare to be a disloyal woman, even if it means danger. For a second he allowed himself to be selfish, forgetting anything, he just thought that in that same library, in that same couch, you would be there for him, as he wanted and he would do whatever thing he imagined. Curious to know what you would be like blows his mind in a multitude of scenarios. You bent over, stretched out and ready for anything. 

In his ecstasy the exhaustion came in a sudden explosion. His dry and surprising orgasm made him gasp in surprise. He lifted his sheets and looked down with his eyebrows furrowed. Like a fucking teenager, he couldn’t remember the last time his imagination was real enough to provoke him. Knowing that he was already a lost cause, he got up to go to the bathroom. The last thing on his mind was berating himself for having crossed a line that would now lead to more.

CHAPTER THREE

[ddesfleurs]

It hurts to love you, but I still love you.

chapter 3

summary: Michael always made a point of surprising Grace, he liked to see her with a smile on her face, especially when he was responsible for the smile. She was worth gold and he knew he didn't deserve her.

warnings: cheat, angst, anger, melancholy, light smut, mention of sex, fluff

notes: sorry for the delay, i take my own time to write. i need to feel that it's time to continue writing instead of just doing it. that doesn't make any sense, does it? here we will have some cute moments and memories but also a lot of anguish and sadness. hope you like it.

Michael was walking among the shelves full of rather dusty books in a small old bookstore away from the center. If on the outside he maintained a calm and austere countenance, on the inside the man felt like a nervous wreck. He faced certain difficulties in business with his associates and with the other families, but oddly enough this was not even the issue that most concerned him at the moment. The biggest difficulty Michael was having was balancing his time between his family, wife and children, and his lover. Pathetic.

When he started having an affair with Grace, Michael had no idea that he would quickly find himself emotionally involved with the girl. He had to admit, he'd started dating her because his marriage bored him. The relationship with Kay was no longer the same, he had deluded himself into thinking that by marrying her he would be doing the right thing and would rescue the love he felt for her before going to Italy.

The more time passed, the clearer it became to Michael that Kay was the wrong choice, she didn't understand the family's life and business, and he felt her gaze of fear and silent rebuke all the time. So, like many men who have already lost the shame of their own actions, Michael, upon seeing that bright-eyed angel for the first time, resolved that he had to have her for himself and what should have been just a physical involvement, momentary amusement, only to forget about problems at home, became essential to Michael's existence. He never told Grace that as he thought it was unfair to trap the girl with pretty words and false promises he could never keep, but he loved her. He loved her in a different way than he had loved Apollonia, and he loved her far more than he had ever loved Kay.

Michael felt like an unscrupulous scoundrel, from his actions he was making two women unhappy. His relationship with Kay was doomed from the start and in a way even she knew it, but he felt guilty for dragging Grace into this story because he could never give her a happy life, no matter how much he wanted to. Grace was constantly on his mind, the first person he thought of in the morning and the last person he thought of before bed. He thought of her smile, her sweet words, and the way she always held him tight and said, "I'm yours, Mike. I love you." Sometimes he wondered if it wouldn't be better to end it all and give her the chance to be happy with a man who could fulfill her desires, but Michael felt too selfish to bear the thought of giving up his sunshine so that she was from another man.

He was supposed to go to their apartment yesterday, but he couldn't because Kay, who is pregnant for the third time, got sick. Michael did what was decent and spent the entire night at his wife's side, he wouldn't forgive himself if something happened to her or the baby. He was happy with her pregnancy, always wanted a big family, and it was good news. Michael was very happy for the children he already had, Anthony and Mary were the owners of his heart and now this third baby would come to claim his share.

Of course, he couldn't tell Grace the real reason he didn't show up yesterday, but he hoped that after some drama, she'd forgive him and be as nice as ever. That was one of his favorite things about her, Grace wasn't a person to hold a lot of resentment, usually he always managed to soften her heart with nice words and a few kisses. But this time, he felt they would have such an argument. Michael had noticed, during the phone call, that she was strange. Something was troubling the girl and she certainly needed him to make everything okay. And Michael wanted to be that person for her, that man who would make everything okay, but he had other obligations and people who also demanded his attention.

He had no intention of buying her, but since he couldn't explain himself by telling the truth, he hoped the book he was looking for would soften her heart. One of the things that made him fall in love with Grace was that she was as passionate about a pair of diamonds as she was about an old book. She had that youthful glow that suited her so well, that reminded him that she wouldn't be with him forever and made him want to enjoy every moment with her. He was looking forward to seeing Grace and apologizing for not going to see her yesterday.

Finally found the book he was looking for, Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen. Grace loved the author and, she didn't know how, had lost her favorite book of hers. She had been talking about it for days and in the same minute Michael had decided he was going to give her another copy. He picked up the book and lightly stroked the cover. Austen. Grace really was a romantic, wasn't she? Your romantic girl.

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As soon as Grace knocked on the door of her aunt's house holding a suitcase and her eyes red and tearful, the woman knew something was wrong. She had no trouble hearing the truth from Grace's lips, as soon as she asked what had happened, Grace told her everything. The whole story from the beginning to the last events. She cried in her aunt's arms as she had only cried once before, on the occasion of the tragic death of her parents. Maureen didn't scold her niece, nor did she say harsh words to her, she knew that the girl's heart was broken and that this was not the time or the right moment to talk deeply about everything that had happened in Grace's life. Now what the girl needed was a safe haven and a shoulder to cry on, and that's exactly what she gave her niece, especially as she worried about her niece's nervous state that seemed to be on edge.

Grace lay down on her old bed, the bed she used to sleep in as a little girl, and stared at the old, worn wallpaper in her old room, it was pale pink with tiny wildflowers arranged in arrangements. It was beautiful, she had always liked that wallpaper. She shouldn't have left San Francisco, gone to Nevada to work, and look what she's gotten herself into. She started to cry again, the tears flowed without embarrassment, they seemed to be already familiar with the route they had to take. Her thoughts wandered to Michael and Nevada. Michael. Your beloved Michael. He was the reason for the deep weeping she was crying and for the pain in her heart. Grace missed him so much that she thought that if it was possible to die from missing someone, that would be the cause of her death.

She missed Michael, mostly missed the part of him she never had and could never have. Grace dreamed of having him all to herself but instead received small fragments of him. Fragments that had long satisfied her and probably would have stayed that way if Kay hadn't come to her apartment to break the news that she was pregnant with her third baby. That was the last straw for Grace, she was giving up everything, a whole life full of possibilities, and for what? For Michael to just use her as a diversion while he had another child in his wife and they were the perfect family? Grace felt so stupid for not realizing it sooner, for not walking away before getting involved, for letting it get this far.

Grace felt stupid and desolate for having been content with so little for so long. But she couldn't help it, she loved Michael and, well, they say love is blind. Mine certainly must be, Grace thought, remembering the few atrocities Michael had told her about his work and how little it bothered her. Grace didn't care about Michael's job and what he did or didn't do. All that mattered to her was the way he treated her and the time they spent together. It mattered to her that he was okay and that he would see her on Thursday. It mattered the way they made love throughout the house and the way he held her in his arms like she was the most important thing he owned.

She especially remembered a day when Michael had taken her for a walk by the lake. Grace felt so happy to be there, the place was beautiful and romantic, it really touched her heart that Michael had bothered to take her on a romantic date, a place outside the apartment where they could be comfortable and act like love birds. Grace kicked off her shoes and jogged to the edge of the lake where she waited for Michael with expectant eyes.

"Oh no, you're not going to convince me to go in there."

"Come on, Michael. Just a little!"

"There's nothing you can do to convince me." Michael said as he looked at her with a small smile at the corner of his lips.

"Come on, take off your shoes, let's at least walk along the coast. We'll just get our feet wet. You don't want to miss out on all the fun, do you?" Grace spoke in a slightly mischievous tone.

Michael took off his shoes angrily and walked over to Grace. He felt the cold water touch his feet but he didn't care, he only had eyes and thoughts for the woman in front of him. She was radiant and smiling like he had never seen her before. He loved her smile and the way her eyes sparkled.

Grace took Michael's hand and they walked down the coast, making small talk and exchanging nice words. The day shone, shone like their love, clean and vicious and with a hint of the impossible. The two walked, played with each other and even played little guessing games. When she got bored, Grace just ran out and yelled at Michael: Catch me if you can. Not only did he catch up with her quickly, he spun her through the air as they both laughed happily at their silly child's game. When Michael put her down, he looked at her in a way that made Grace's heart race, and then he kissed her deeply like a movie kiss that she willingly indulged in.

Grace loosened Michael's tie as she fumbled for his belt, trying to loosen it. He let out a low laugh as he hurried to take her hands in his. She bit her lower lip as she shot him a confused look and blushed.

"What? you do not want?" Said the disappointed girl.

"Yes, yes, I do." Michael spoke with a frustrated sigh.

"Then why did you stop me?"

"I want but not here."

"Why? What's the matter?" She spoke getting closer to him and leaving a trail of kisses on his neck.

"Neri is here too remember?" Michael said as he let the moment roll.

"He's in the car that's parked far away from here, there's no way he can see us."

"But he might not be. Or he might need to leave for some reason and come looking for us. I won't let anyone see you like this, not when we make love. This is too intimate a moment for me to want to risk anyone seeing you." He spoke as he held her close to him and gave her a tight smile in apology.

"So this is a definite 'no' and I can't change your mind?"

"Not here, honey." He said as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Wait until we get home." Home. Their apartment. It was your home too. Michael's home.

Michael gently rubbed his nose over Grace's face and showered her with soft kisses, which soon brought a smile to her face and she surrendered to his charms again.

She remembered that after that moment, the two began to dance softly, there was no music but that didn't matter to them. Michael had one hand on her back while the other held her hand. He held her so tightly, it seemed like he would never let go and Grace, silly as she was, felt her heart flutter because she felt that at least for that moment, she was everything to him, his world.

Back to reality, Grace was crying lying on her old bed in the old room she used to occupy when she still lived with her aunt. She felt so empty now that she had left Michael. She didn't know how she was going to move on now that she'd left him. He was everything to Grace and she had no idea how to live without him anymore.

She rolled over, determined to get at least a few hours of sleep. She had a trip to make and needed to be minimally well for it. Grace knew she couldn't spend much time in San Francisco, it would be the first place outside of Nevada that Michael would look for her and she didn't want him to find her. If she saw him one more time, if she heard his voice and smelled him… she knew she would be back home with him in the same minute and she couldn't. It couldn't when Michael had a wife pregnant with their third child and she was always going to be the other woman. The next morning Grace was going to catch a bus to Wisconsin. Her aunt had insisted on paying her plane tickets but Grace had flatly refused, Michael would find her in a heartbeat if he tried to trace her name. Anyway, it was all set, Grace was going to stay with an old friend of her aunt Maureen's and rebuild her life without Michael in it. Her little fairy tale, her sweet illusion, had come to an end.

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Michael crossed the threshold and knew immediately that Grace wasn't home. The reason was simple, the apartment was quiet and Grace, when she was home, always had a record playing or the radio on. She loved music and even if it was in a low key, in their apartment she was always playing a soft melody. Michael remembered several times he'd arrived at the apartment and found her humming along to whatever song was playing on the radio while she cooked in the kitchen. Grace mainly liked to cook sweets and Michael soon found himself a big fan of cakes in general. His favorite was the lemon cake she made, it reminded him of Sicily, the coast and the freshness of calmer, milder days. He wanted to take Grace there one day, so she could see the beauties of her father's homeland, the land that gave Michael's last name.

He sat on the couch, wanting to be visible so she would see him as soon as he entered their apartment. Michael smiled slightly at the thought, their apartment, he already thought of him and Grace as one, although that wasn't entirely true as Michael was still legally bound to another woman by marriage. He found it curious the way he felt connected to Grace, the connection that existed between them made him feel like he had never felt before, he felt that she was "the one", but Michael felt lost about it, something that rarely happened in his life. He felt lost because in the first place this was not what his father had taught him.

His father had always set the example of a faithful and respectful marriage, he never betrayed his mother, for Vito there was only his wife and children, his family was the most precious asset. Of Vito Corleone's sons, everyone thought Michael was the only one who had come out like his father, faithful and tied the only woman to death. But, time proved otherwise for Michael, he had been hasty in marrying Kay after returning to the US, he liked her but didn't love her enough to spend the rest of his life with her, and Kay's inability to understand and accept the Sicilian way, their way of life and business, created an insurmountable barrier between them. Of course, that was no justification for betrayal, but that was the way things were between the two of them.

After meeting Grace and falling head over heels in love with her, Michael began to consider something he had denied at the beginning of his relationship with the girl, a divorce with Kay. He was trying to put the matter off, he wanted to find a quiet way to do it all, an amicable divorce without major scandals, he didn't want his family name in any kind of vicious gossip. He didn't want to tarnish the Corleone family's reputation, didn't want to expose Kay, his children, and himself. Above all, he didn't want to expose Grace to malicious comments, he knew that depending on how things turned out, it wouldn't be hard for people to realize that his relationship with her started while he was still married to Kay and Michael didn't want to take the risk that Grace to be seen as some whore who stole someone's husband because she was absolutely none of that.

If anyone was to blame for anything, it was Michael and he knew it himself. But the heart wants what it wants, and his heart desperately wanted Grace, needed her to live. He loved her as he had never loved a woman in his life, and he was ready to tell her that and to tell her of his plans to divorce Kay when he received the news that he was going to be a father for the third time. The news tasted bittersweet, he felt happy because he'd always wanted to have a big family, lots of Sicilian-style kids, and he felt a little sad because now, more than ever, he couldn't divorce Kay. Not in his worst nightmares would he commit the atrocity of divorcing his pregnant wife and that was not just because of the comments they would make about them, but also because of his honor as a man, husband and father. It was out of the question for Michael to be a scoundrel who leaves a pregnant woman.

So he put aside plans for a divorce and didn't tell Grace that he loved her more than anything in the world, nor did he tell her that he was going to be a father again. Michael just didn't know how to break this news to her, knew she wouldn't react well because she loved him and wanted him for her. He knew that Grace dreamed of a family, she loved children, but she would never have an illegitimate child and Michael couldn't give her more than that. He, thinking he wouldn't bring more pain and sadness into the life of the one he loved most, decided that he wouldn't tell her, at least for now, about Kay's pregnancy.

Michael's thoughts wandered to a memory that always made him happy, the first time he tasted the lemon cake she'd made. Grace had made a lot of suspense around which cake she had made, he knew it would be a new flavor and that she was eager for him to taste it, Grace wanted to please him and do domestic things to make him feel at home. He didn't care all that much about these things, but he appreciated her effort and really liked the things she cooked, especially her cakes, even though he couldn't eat much of it. She served him a slice of the cake that, by this point, he had already discovered was lemon.

"Lemon?" He asked as he picked up his fork to help himself.

"Yes, I thought it would be nice to bring in some of your Sicilian roots." Grace responded with a playful smile.

"You know, I was born here in the States." In response to this statement, Michael received a smack on the arm with the dish towel.

"Eat before it gets cold, I want to know what you think."

Michael took a piece of the cake to his mouth and from that moment on, Grace's lemon cake had become his favorite. It was simply the best he had ever eaten in his entire life.

"Mmm." Michael moaned in satisfaction. "This is simply the best thing I've ever eaten in my life. I loved it, honey."

"Really? Did you really like it? You're not just saying that to please me, are you?"

"Of course not, you should give yourself more credit, the cake is just delicious, the best lemon cake I've ever had in my life. You have fairy hands. You could work with that, it would be very successful."

"Is that a suggestion?"

"No way. I like having you all to myself and knowing that I'm the one to taste all your cakes and any other food you decide to make." He spoke as he hugged her waist and brought her to him. "I love these little moments between the two of us, I really appreciate everything you do for me, it makes my life easier. I adore you, Grace. My life is better since you arrived, my dear Grace."

Michael cupped her face and kissed her urgently as he slowly pushed them both backwards until her body touched the kitchen table. Once they reached the table, Michael was separated from Grace for just a few seconds, enough to lift the girl's body and place her on the table. He knew her and knew that sometimes she liked to be surprised and to have sex somewhere other than her bedroom. Michael unbuttoned the front buttons of her dress as he planted kisses down her neck, which made her moan softly and grip his shirt tightly.

When they were at home, relaxing, Grace often wore little underwear and that was the case here. When he opened her dress, her breasts soon showed, since she wasn't wearing a bra. Michael felt the excitement coursing through his entire body, he loved her, he loved her body and he loved knowing that she was his and only his and no one else's. He decided to be a little mean, wanted to hear her moaning his name out loud and begging for him. So he took the nipple of one of her breasts and gave a light pinch, which made her squirm in pleasure and let out a murmur.

Michael, still holding her breast, whispered in her ear, "I want you to be my little whore today, I want to hear you moan my name out loud. I want everyone to know that you're mine, got it?"

She nodded 'yes' and flashed the most naughty smile Michael had ever seen on her face, which drove him crazy. He wanted to fuck her until they couldn't take it anymore.

They kissed again and soon got rid of the remaining pieces of clothing. They felt an urgency that could only be quenched after they had each other. That night, they had rough sex that started at the kitchen table and then spread to other furniture and rooms. Fast, strong, hot and highly addictive, it was like that until they got tired and went to bed where they made slow, sweet love before falling asleep clinging as one. They belonged together in every way.

The memory faded from Michael's thoughts, that had been a happy day. In fact, every day with Grace was happy, she made him happy by simply existing. The smile, the look, the little things that made her who she was, it all made Michael happy, knowing that he existed in the same world as her and that she was his and his alone.

Michael started to get restless with Grace's delay, he didn't care when she left but he liked having her for as long as possible. Besides, Grace was taking too long to get home. Restless, he decided to leave the book he had bought on the sofa and go look at their apartment, sometimes he feared for the worst, that she would be somehow involved in his business at the hands of his enemies. But Michael found the apartment as usual, nothing seemed out of place, except for a piece of dress that poked out of the wardrobe, as happens when someone closes the door in a hurry. He walked over to the wardrobe where Grace's clothes were and opened it only to be surprised, significant amounts of her clothes were gone. He then went through all the drawers, closets and dressers and discovered the same, all the places where Grace's things were messed up, clothes and personal effects were gone, while other things were left behind.

Michael, surprisingly nervous, went downstairs to get Neri to look around the apartment and then get his men to find Grace as quickly as possible. Michael feared the worst, thought that maybe someone from the other families had found out about Grace and kidnapped her or worse, feared they would use her to get revenge on him, feared that she would pay for the mistakes and crimes he committed and ordered.

As soon as Al Neri walked into the apartment, he knew this wasn't a kidnapping case. The girl certainly must have left on her own, there wasn't an object out of place, apart from the clothes and personal items drawers that looked like they had been rummaged around by someone who had packed her bags in a hurry. There were no signs of a break-in and no signs of a struggle, nothing broken or overturned, and the woman's suitcase was gone. In a corner on the floor, next to a window that was half open, the security guard spotted a white letter envelope that must have blown away on account of the wind, as soon as he picked it up he saw that it had the name of Mr. Corleone.

"Sir, I believe this is for you." Said the man as he handed the envelope into Michael's hands and walked out of the room to give him privacy.

Michael took the envelope and opened it quickly finding only a sheet of paper inside that contained only a few words.

Don't worry about me, I'm fine and safe. Please don't look for me anymore, I can't go on like this, I can't be with you anymore. Goodbye, Michael.

Michael sat stunned on the bed, had she left him? So suddenly, without there being any reason or explanation? Without even saying goodbye. Michael, with tears in his eyes, looked at the window in front of him, he felt lost, he didn't know what to do. Had he lost her forever? Had Grace just left because he hadn't shown up the other night? He didn't know what to think, much less what to feel. For the first time in years Michael allowed himself to cry, tears streaming down his face as he stared straight ahead as a whirlwind of thoughts hit him all at once. He lost the woman he loved, the love of his life, for being a coward and not choosing her when he had the chance.

[areaderinlove]

kinktober

alr yall ik i have some requests that i still didn’t make but i want to participate as much as i can in kinktober even though october is going to be shit cause i have reset exams but anyways give me your request and lemme tell you ill do my best