#michael corleone imagine

[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.”

[a-boca-do-inferno]

i’ve been losing you (michael corleone x reader) [request]

summary: Michael is used to a lot of things. Losing’s not one of them.

warnings: angst

words: 1.0k

notes: loosely based on ive been losing you by aha, and yes i kno i kno. another songfic lol enjoy.

This was long overdue. 

They were meant to be in each other’s path, but not for long. She knew that. No matter how well they got along in the old days, rejoicing in that youthful love full of energy and innocence, there would always come the time when their personalities eventually clashed too much to make it work. His reckless and cold mind could never comport her sensitive and careful one for long. Gosh, how many dinner arguments had to happen to spoil the mood for her to just accept it already?  

There was nothing left to do with Michael Corleone. He ran an empire, yet was clueless on how to keep the woman he loved close. And a king who can’t love a queen is simply no such thing.  

(y/n) takes a deep breath and raises her fist to knock on the door, but as soon as she tries to do so, it opens on its own, revealing a somewhat disturbed Michael. He has a serious, almost mad look on his face, although his entire countenance manages to be cordial. She smiles faintly as he lets her in, closing the door behind her gracefully.  

The girl walked into his office and couldn’t help but notice how tidy everything was. Nothing out of place, not a single speck of dust on any furniture. Sometimes she wished at least something was there; it’d make the place feel less...  

Michael’s.  

“Nothing”, she said, looking away when he seemed to disapprove of her blatant lie. (y/n) added, “there is nothing wrong, we just... We need to talk.” 

“You said you were staying at you mother’s”, he begins, hiding his hand in the front pockets of his pants. “What happened?”, his tone is stern, as ever, and she can’t help but contain a sigh. (y/n) clasped her hands over her stomach, feeling a little cool. She wasn’t exactly there for some hugging and cuddling, after all, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Noticing the shift in her behaviour, Michael murmurs, “(y/n)…”, and the girl turns to face him. He wore a white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His brown hair was brushed back, no unruly strands fell to the sides. He was so handsome and put together. How in the world did they even end up together in the first place? Michael’s eyes were a little concerned when he demanded, coming closer to her, “tell me what’s the matter.” 

“About what?”, he gestures with one hand. “You’re making me worried”, she let out another deep sigh. This was going to be harder than she thought. Michael took an impatient step forward and gave her a questioning glance, lowering his eyes to her restless fingers. “Well?” 

“I can’t do… this anymore”, she couldn’t face him, counting the scratches of the floorboards under her feet. “Us.” 

There is a long silence before Michael speaks again. “(y/n)...”, he starts, closing the distance between them while gently taking her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. He placed a lingering kiss on her knuckles and she instantly flinched at the gesture, taking her hand back. He gave her a pained look. “What’s going on, darling?” 

“Michael, please...”, she whispered, trying her best to maintain her composure. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is.” 

“You’re leaving me?”, he rips the band-aid, and it sounds somehow even more painful when she hears it out loud. “Is that it?”, Michael insists, and she desperately looks for the emotions on his face only to find none.  

This. This was what she couldn’t take anymore. 

“I am”, (y/n)’s voice is final, as the lump on her throat takes a step back to give way for her assertiveness. That decision was made already, she merely wanted to let him know. “I know I’m hurting you, but you too know damn well there is no “us” anymore, Michael.  There is only the family business, and I came to terms with it at last. I finally understood I can’t be part of this.” 

“So, is that it?”, he repeats, but it’s clear he’s not looking for an answer. “You just wake up one day and decide to throw our family, our children, our love away? You just leave when it gets hard?”, he menacingly takes one more step closer, with almond eyes forcefully staring at the girl. “Is that it?!”, then it comes; the scream.  

And the sound is so otherworldly coming from Michael’s mouth, (y/n) has to reassure herself of her surroundings for a moment, to truly know if this is reality. Then, after the silence, there is only his look of despair towards her. She knows him well enough to understand he is distressed but won’t allow himself to engage any further in that subject for now. He is too emotional about this. Perhaps that was why Michael kept away from her more and more every day. The Don wouldn’t have his heart dictating his actions, in business or in love, and the two were helplessly intertwined when it came to his life.  

“I’m leaving”, she murmurs, holding her own body protectively. “You can visit the children whenever you want, we will be staying at my mother’s for the time being”, they exchange a piercing look. (y/n) avoids his eyes. “I love you, Michael, I truly do. But we both deserve better.” 

“This isn’t over, (y/n)”, it’s all Michael lets out, while turning his back to light up a cigarette. He blows away the smoke and nods once, pointing to the door. “Go.” 

She obeys him, because it’s so much easier to do so than to keep fighting. Before (y/n) leaves, she can’t help but think he would make her life a living hell. A shiver goes up her spine as the door shuts behind her. Michael Corleone may not be fit for a king, but he wasn’t a losing man either. She was painfully aware of that.  

“God help us all”, she mumbles to herself, walking away from the Corleone mansion for the last time. 

Or so she hoped. 

[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.

[fangirl-imagines]

Hiding in Sicily with Michael Corleone

[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.

[daenysthedreamer101]

Wine-colored days warmed by the sun Deep velvet nights when we are one.

"Speak Softly Love" by Andy Williams - Love theme from "The Godfather" (1972)

Imagine if you were the wife of Michael Corleone

[congratzams]

– ✧ 𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖌𝖆𝖓𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖐𝖊: the godfather

𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖞 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖊𝖔𝖓𝖊

𝖋𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖊𝖗 ❪ no warnings ❫ ∟ things sonny corleone would say

𝖑𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝖕𝖎𝖊 ❪ smut ❫ ∟ nsfw alphabet ∟ sonny fucking you dumb

𝖈𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖘 ❪ drabbles etc ❫ ∟ undercover

𝖒𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖑 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖊𝖔𝖓𝖊

𝖋𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖊𝖗 ❪ no warnings ❫ ∟ singing to michael after a rough day ∟ things michael corleone would say ∟ soulmate!au: reading each other’s minds ∟ meeting the corleone family

𝖑𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝖕𝖎𝖊 ❪ smut ❫ ∟ feeling insecure about your body ∟ makeup sex �� breeding kink

𝖈𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖘 ❪ drabbles etc ❫ ∟ tba.

𝖙𝖔𝖒 𝖍𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖓

𝖋𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖊𝖗 ❪ no warnings ❫ ∟ secretly dating tom and your brother sonny finding out ∟ things tom hagen would say

𝖑𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝖕𝖎𝖊 ❪ smut ❫ ∟ blowjob (drabble)

𝖈𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖘 ❪ drabbles etc ❫ ∟ tba.

𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖉𝖔 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖊𝖔𝖓𝖊

𝖋𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖊𝖗 ❪ no warnings ❫ ∟ tba.

𝖑𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝖕𝖎𝖊 ❪ smut ❫ ∟ mean big brother fredo

𝖈𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖘 ❪ drabbles etc ❫ ∟ tba.

[scriblrscrib]

Would be interesting if the film followed the book description of Al Neri where he was physically large (but not as imposing as Luca Brasi)

[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 

[chaosfae-writes]

somewhere in another universe, this is happening with Victoria and Michael. @melis-writes

[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.”

[a-boca-do-inferno]

satisfaction (michael corleone x reader) [request]

summary: You see an unexpected side of Michael.

warnings: fluff

words: 0.3k

notes: yes im alive! just a little drabble, but this request has been sitting so long in my inbox that i had to do it. enjoy <3

You sat by the window when light footsteps approached you, making you turn your head to find your husband with an odd expression on his face. He slowly stopped in his tracks only to study you in silence, causing you to blush a little for the sudden attention. His almond eyes were almost docile, staring at your figure with possibly the most vulnerability you’d seen him display towards anyone yet. Something must have happened, you were sure of it, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, Michael’s voice beat you to it.

“You look beautiful tonight”, he says, and there is the shadow of a smile on his lips now.

You furrow your brows, feeling a little concerned. “What’s wrong, Michael?”, his features stay the same at your question, and so you insist. “What happened? How was the meeting?”

He sustained a stern look for a moment, seeming to enter his customary business-like persona for the answer. “It was as expected, nothing special”, then again, he grins slightly, hands in his pockets as he finally closes the distance between you two. “Is it really that unusual for me to compliment you, that there must be something wrong for me to do it?”

You scoff, unable to ignore the obvious mirth in his tone. “You know that isn’t true”, you protest, rolling your eyes playfully as he takes your hand in his without a word. You stand up and he kisses your fingers slowly, full lips lingering on your wedding band while his eyes don’t leave yours for even one second. There it is again, the docile spark that is such a strange look on Michael Corleone. “But you are behaving differently, at the very least.”

Michael only hums as you voice your thoughts, letting his eyes wander the room as if to find his reply. You can’t help but smile softly, caressing his cheek with your free hand. He leans into the touch before turning his gaze back to you, as intense as he ever is. “You just look beautiful tonight, that’s all”, comes the cryptic, yet satisfactory response.

Maybe you could get used to this Michael.

[chicaboom-chic]

Can you do a corleone family favourite movie headcanon?

This is so random😭 but I got you. (I didn't take this very seriously. I'm sorry)

Vito Corleone: His old ass unironically really enjoys this movie. His grandkids probably made him watch it, and he immediately liked the story and the music.

Carmela Corleone: Likes the story and the music and is a sucker for romantic movies. She's also a fan of Meryl Streep (has watched all her movies).

Sonny Corleone: Fucking loves this movie! (Has seen all three movies) Forces everybody he knows to watch it. His goofy ass is also the type to watch the movie once and think boxing is easy.

Tom Hagen: Tom likes to watch this movie in his free time. (cries every time)

Connie: Her marriage is in shambles so likes to watch a movie that resembles her life (but make it a musical💀) Also really likes dramatic shit.

Fredo: Lives vicariously through the characters. The movie helps him escape the sad reality of being the family's disappointment.

Michael: Michael's goofy ass watches this movie alone in his room with the lights turned off.

[melis-writes]

Mario Puzo was an absolutely madman for making Michael Corleone. The Michael Corleone. 😳 A HELL of a character. The blorbo of all blorbos. My blorbo. ❤️

[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.

------

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.

-------

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.