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melis-writes · 2 years

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The Other Woman [Michael Corleone x Reader Multichapter, 18+ Smut] Chapter 1 – An Offer You Couldn't Refuse.

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18+, explicit smut read.

"Don’t trust Mafiosi like we did. Mafiosi are not your friends; they’ll use you and then they will kill you." / “Welcome to the Corleone family, Marina.”

"To hell with the mafia" was all you could think after working for the Cuneo and Stracci crime families as a governess only to witness tragedy, violence, and the ruthlessness of Mafiosi and their influence in your hometown of Hell's Kitchen. It was Don Michael Corleone who made you an offer you couldn't refuse; a harmless one seeking to hire a private tutor to live on the Lake Tahoe compound with one major difference: Michael was no ordinary Mafiosi and his wish to legitimize the family business served as trust for you to accept employment for him, only to find yourself slowly ensnared by Michael--potentially about to spell disaster through the mutual sexual desire and attraction when you first meet with the Don.

[WARNINGS]: Mentions and depictions of death & violence / Mentions of sexual themes.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The first chapter of my newest Michael Corleone x Reader smut fic is finally here!! 😍 Scandals, forbidden love, lust, the kind of love and sexual desire that can either move mountains or ruin lives is entrenched within this new multi-chapter fic. 😏 I wouldn't say it's a slowburn fic, but it will definitely build up passion and desire, especially considering Michael in canon never cheated on Kay (unless you count Sicily? 😅) or was ever interested in mistresses, so to be able to write his canon personality wanting one is going to be very interesting in this fic. 😛 This first chapter in specific is heavily based on background context and info about the reader and setting of the fic to really set the tone for what's to come all in the next chapters!

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

If it’s one thing you grew up with when you had nothing and even when you grew to have everything, it was the strength, bond, and love of family.

It didn’t just begin and end with the family you were born in, but also the locals in your neighborhood and those you’d come to meet and love like family throughout the years too.

Before the Corleones told you they accepted and loved you like family and before your heart ached to have the impossible with Michael Corleone and Michael alone, you were just like any other person who grew up in Hell’s Kitchen in the late 1920s and early 1930s.

You were away from the influence of the mafia in Sicily, unbeknownst of how your family’s lives would change during the Great Depression, and how your choice of career would inevitably impact your life in every way imaginable.

Although you were always certain about who you were and wanted to be, your heart led you astray into dangerous territory and you didn’t stop yourself from getting too close to the fiery passion of what it meant to be Michael Corleone’s secret lover and mistress.

But before you had Michael, you had your own family, and everything you learned about love, trust, and kindness came from your parents and your two older brothers—Vincenzo and Giovanni whom you were always close to.

When the Great Depression hit, your family lived and dwindled in poverty for years to come. You were just a little girl at the time but you remembered how you and your family shared everything until you all had nothing.

Before the stock market crash, your family opened up a little grocery store where they sold fresh vegetables and fruits—having used all of their life savings they brought over from Sicily when they immigrated to the United States.

Despite making a modest living selling necessities, when the rest of the neighborhood couldn’t afford it and when shipments began to run dry, you remembered having sleep in exchange for dinner and that your parents would always make sure you and your brothers ate before they did.

You felt and learned compassion and love from your parents and brothers from a very young age and you looked up to your family with admiration. You would share these very same traits when you’d come to mature as a young woman yourself one day.

You are Marina Alighieri, the youngest child and only daughter in your family that was born in Hell’s Kitchen whereas your brothers and parents were born and raised in Bagheria, Sicily.

You grew up speaking Sicilian, Italian, and English on a regular basis, interacting with the locals in the tight-knit neighborhood that Hell’s Kitchen was where your family’s little grocery store was a staple in the Italian community.

Despite having nothing truly owned underneath their own name and with very little emergency savings, your parents were selfless and insisted on giving you and your brothers a safe, healthy upbringing with education throughout the years.

Your father had taken out many loans he knew he would spend many years paying back just to afford school uniforms and textbooks for you and your brothers—something you were very well aware of, grateful for, and insistent on repaying your family and giving back to the community that took care of you all in some way for the help in the future.

You weren’t aware however that you began to give back when you had begun attending fifth grade which consisted of sharing your textbooks and notes with the children on the street who couldn’t afford to go to school, and recapping your daily lessons with them every day after school.

You knew many families at that time were up to their necks in debt, some of their children had to work just to make ends meet, and others could not afford to take out any more loans than they already had to feed hungry mouths at home, but your selflessness and kindness did not go unnoticed.

Whatever you learned at school that day, you were adamant about making sure the other poor children who couldn’t afford to do so did.

You had a knack for teaching others as a child and you weren’t even aware of it, but as you stood on the sidewalk by your home, recapping your daily lessons, the neighbors saw how their children and the children of others sat in awe on the porch, listening to you and asking questions to understand further.

It was acts of generosity like this for nothing in return but to help others and keep the bond of community that associated the Alighieri family with compassion.

After all, everybody knew everyone in Hell’s Kitchen when it came to the Italian community. There was still a taste and feel of home because of how everyone stuck together, continuing to practice cultural traditions and speak Sicilian and Italian.

The neighborhood looked out for each other and the concept of loneliness and homesickness ceased to exist.

When you were just ten years old, you began to see more immigrants from Italy move in and settle into the neighborhood, welcomed with friendly faces and warm smiles, but it also marked the arrival of the mafia as well.

As a child, you didn’t know any better just what the Cosa Nostra was, but your family did and before you knew it, you found yourself sitting next to your brothers on the couch one evening as your parents spoke to you about the “new men in the neighborhood”.

“Quando invecchierai, capirai di più. Questi nuovi uomini fanno parte di famiglie molto grandi, potenti e ricche.” (When you get older, you'll understand more. These new men are a part of very big, powerful and rich families.)

Your parents didn’t lie about their true nature. You learned the English word “mafia” and “Cosa Nostra” that day with your brothers, just as you were taught to refer to them as “families” and not to be crude and forward.

“Sono siciliani, proprio come noi. Sono uomini d'affari molto importanti. Devi sempre rispettarli ed essere gentile con loro.” (They're from Sicily, just like us. They're very important businessmen. You always have to respect them and be kind to them.)

“Parla a questi uomini solo quando ti si parla e parla loro con rispetto. Non infastidirli o farli arrabbiare e mantieni rispettosamente le distanze quando puoi.” (Only speak to these men when you are spoken to, and speak to them with respect. Do not bother them or anger them, and respectfully keep your distance from them when you can.)

Although your family had practically grown up around the mafia in Sicily and were very well aware of their presence, influence, and reputation in any given surrounding areas that concerned them, they were not involved nor had they met or spoken with any mobsters.

They only wanted the same for you and your brothers not just out of fear and respect, but because there was nothing your family—ordinary, poor people—could offer or do for a mobster.

It was then your family’s intention to keep their heads down just as they did in Sicily and live quiet, normal lives as if nothing had changed, requiring absolutely no assistance or service from the mafia no matter how bad things got with money.

Your parents also knew sometimes it was impossible to avoid the mafia for the rest of your life, and even if you spent all of your good days boasting about how you could always stand on your own two feet without a dollar or crumb of bread in your pocket, there would also be days where you would be crawling to the mafia on your knees for help.

Your family knew they were no different than the average person, but in truth, they just feared the brutal repercussions of the mafia and what they’d want in return should such a thing occur.

As time went on, nothing drastically changed in Hell’s Kitchen except for the fact the mafia was unavoidable and they ran the neighborhood almost entirely.

Crime families sprung up all around New York and although you wouldn’t be familiar with their names and faces when they came down to Hell’s Kitchen, you could always pick out mobsters from an ordinary wealthy man by the immaculate, silk suits mobsters wore, their fedoras, and their gold jewelry.

Once the last of the Great Depression’s effects had passed and prosperity began to spring up again like a newfound well in a desert, some business owners and families who could afford it began to pay the mob for extra protection over their homes and stores from thieves and hooligans.

Although the mafia took advantage of this, they saw Hell’s Kitchen as a family-oriented neighborhood to conduct business, live, and call home. It was not somewhere they wished to brutalize and trick locals—after all, there was nothing to gain from robbing the poor when they had nothing, and when the entire neighborhood knew one another.

Still, it was hard to ignore the fact that almost right after some crime families settled in New York, prosperity and wealth came in abundance right after.

The mafia wanted to rebuild New York’s boroughs and neighborhoods from poverty, wishing not to see Italian families suffering and facing discrimination for being immigrants.

Small-time jobs such as setting up a new business, cleaning, and construction were provided by the mafia one by one, popping up in different neighborhoods.

A man named Vito Corleone was beginning to steadily establish his name in Hell’s Kitchen as an upcoming mobster and Don was the one who provided your mother with a cleaning job and your father with construction work to rebuild and renovate crumbling old buildings in the neighborhood.

Even your brothers chipped in to help and the money was steady and stable to come for some good years.

In the meanwhile, you continued going to school upon entering high school, and you also began to take lessons in French.

Succeeding in school with high grades and praise from your teachers, you never once stopped coming home to teach the poor kids yet again, except you also began to realize their numbers grew less and less as families could now afford to send their children to school.

Your parents and brothers were no strangers to hard work and just from the jobs, Vito Corleone provided, your father paid off all his loans he took out to finance you and your brothers’ studies in a much shorter amount of time.

Your family not only continued to run their little grocery store but your parents also pitched in their savings to open up a small pizzeria in Hell’s Kitchen too.

It helped all the more that Vito Corleone and his wife Carmela were the first to eat there, which attracted the positive attention of mobsters who lived in the neighborhood.

Other Italian families who set up businesses and stores began to see the support from the mob making use of their services too, and the neighborhoods in Hell’s Kitchen became barely recognizable from their state five to ten years ago as the quality of life improved.

1941 came and so did your acceptance letter to Barnard College in Manhattan for a degree in teaching.

Of course, the years spent teaching your friends and the children of poor families on the street only gave you an appreciation and love for teaching that you knew you wanted to do for the rest of your life.

You celebrated your entry to university with a very proud family when you came home from high school, waving the acceptance letter you received in the mail wildly up in the air when you burst into your parents’ pizzeria with excitement.

It was nothing but happiness to share all around Hell’s Kitchen, not just exclusively with your family. Although your family was the first to open a pizzeria in the neighborhood, others had to but there was no competition or monopoly; rather your family supported and were close friends with the other pizzeria owners.

It seemed then and there in 1941 and onwards that life was good and only going to get better. Your next milestone in life came when you graduated from Barnard College in 1945 with your degree but were already accepted to Adelphi University in Garden City for a master’s degree—eager to learn more.

There seemed to be a world of opportunity awaiting you as you began studying a Master of Arts in Childhood and Elementary education, wishing to become a classroom teacher or private tutor after your second graduation.

Your grades and initiative to study had paid your way through university two times with scholarships that were in abundance so your family didn’t have to pay as you studied either.

You had also learned French very fluently and knew it would only be a bonus when it came to teaching regardless of whether you become a teacher or a private tutor.

You graduated with your master’s degree in 1947 but also with uncertainty as to just what you wanted to do with your career.

You loved the idea of teaching in a classroom and becoming a private tutor but the days of you being unsure and unable to pick between the two came to a very quick end since the news of your graduation didn’t just reach your family, but also the mafia’s ear.

All you had been doing in that short time frame after you graduated and moved back home was spending some time with your family while thinking about your future career endeavors and looking for work.

You had only been home for three days when the mob decided they could make use of your level of education and what you could offer to them—for pay, of course.

In a way too, there was no longer a rift of trust between your family and the mafia because it was the mafia that provided your family with the livelihood they had at the time, and your father became aware of this when Carmine Cuneo—one of Don Cuneo’s capos—paid your father a visit at the pizzeria.

“Bruno Alighieri, da quanto tempo. Mi manca venire nel tuo negozietto come facevo una volta.” (Bruno Alighieri, da quanto tempo. I miss coming to your little shop like I used to.) Carmine took off his fedora in respect, greeting your father.

“Salve signor Cuneo. È passato molto tempo, davvero! Come sei stato? Come sta il Don?” (Hello Mr. Cuneo. It's been a long time, indeed! How have you been? How is the Don ) Your father brushed his flour-covered hands off on his apron and smiled politely at the mafioso.

“Stiamo entrambi bene, grazie. Posso dire che anche la tua famiglia sta bene. Ho sentito della laurea di tua figlia all'università, e anche per la seconda volta. Congratulazioni da parte mia e del Don personalmente.” (We're both doing well, thank you. I can tell your family is doing good as well. I've heard about your daughter's graduation from university, and for the second time too. Congratulations from me and the Don personally.) Carmine gave your father a familiar look that was a mobster’s universal signal for expecting something in return. “Ora hai una figlia istruita di successo, due figli laboriosi, un prospero negozio di alimentari e una deliziosa pizzeria. Dio è con te e la tua famiglia, amico mio. Che Vito Corleone ha lasciato il segno in questo piccolo quartiere povero di allora, ma ora il Don vuole farti un'offerta.” (Now you have an educated successful daughter, two hardworking sons, a prosperous grocery store and a delicious pizzeria. God is with you and your family, my friend. That Vito Corleone left his mark in this little poor neighborhood at the time, but now the Don wants to make you an offer.)

“Sì, naturalmente.” (Yes, of course.) Your father swallowed hard, wondering what the wealthy, powerful Don could possibly want out of him and your family. “Cosa posso fare per il Don?” (What can I do for the Don?) Your father knew he didn’t owe Don Cuneo a thing, but he wasn’t in the position to refuse anything from Cuneo either.

“Il Don è un uomo gentile ma ha problemi di fiducia, capisci. Non si fida del sistema scolastico pubblico soprattutto quando i suoi figli hanno il suo stesso cognome in questi tempi terribili con le nostre famiglie. Il Don sta cercando un insegnante privato o un tutore che venga a insegnare ai suoi figli nel Bronx. Tua figlia cerca lavoro?” (The Don is a kind man but he has trust issues, you understand. He doesn't trust the public school system especially when his children have the same last name as him in these dire times with our families. The Don is looking for a private teacher or tutor to come and teach his children in the Bronx. Is your daughter looking for a job?) Carmine explained.

“Sì, sta cercando un lavoro.” (Yes, she is looking for a job.) Before your father could say anything further, Carmine grinned and continued—looking pleased with his answer.

“Non devi andare lontano per sapere che un insegnante viene pagato circa $ 232 dollari al mese. Il Don rispetta te e la tua famiglia, Bruno. Vogliamo assumere tua figlia per lavorare per noi e insegnare ai bambini, quindi anche noi la rispetteremo e le pagheremo ciò che si meritava. Come suonano 400 dollari al mese?” (You don't have to go far to know that a teacher is paid about $232 dollars a month. The Don respects you and your family, Bruno. We want to hire your daughter to work for us and teach the children, so we will also respect her and pay her what she deserved. How does $400 dollars a month sound?) In truth, it didn’t seem like Carmine was exactly asking, but persuading your father to consider it.

“È molto generoso da parte del Don, grazie. Ma questa è una decisione che deve prendere mia figlia, dovrò dirglielo.” (That's very generous of the Don, thank you. But this is my daughter's decision to make, I'll have to tell her about this.) Your father replied, knowing he would not make a choice for you to work anywhere, let alone for a mafia family.

“Certo, ho capito. Se tua figlia decide che le piacerebbe lavorare per noi, puoi contattare il nostro consigliere Francesco che in un modo o nell'altro aspetterà una risposta.” (Of course, I understand. Should your daughter decide she'd like to work for us, you can reach our consigliere Francesco who will be waiting for an answer one way or another.) Carmine reached into his pocket, placing a blank business card over your father’s pizzeria stand with just a phone number written on it. “Prenditi tutto il tempo che ti serve.” (Take all the time you need.) In reality, a mobster’s patience did not exist and this was code for “have your daughter decide immediately”.

When your father closed up the pizzeria that night and was getting ready to go home, he was finally able to push aside his thoughts for the day that concerned work and customers so he could focus on what could actually mean life or death—a mafioso’s request.

Your father began to realize there would be no possible scenario where he or your brothers could stand against a single mafioso—let alone a Don or entire crime family—for any reason whatsoever.

Even if Don Cuneo was planning on holding this against your family somehow in the future, it would be a waste of his time because your family would not dare to do so.

On the other hand, your father also realized on the way home that if you did work for the Cuneo family, you’d have money from the mafia, their protection, and as a civilian employee, you would also not have anything to do with the mafia’s affairs. It may not entirely be a double-edged sword after all.

Your father was the only one who thought of every possible scenario ten times over and weighed the pros and cons. All he had to do was explain to you what Carmine Cuneo said to him earlier and instead of asking questions or juggling scenarios in your head, you took the business card from your father and picked up the telephone to ask the operator and get connected to the Don Cuneo’s consigliere and make your decision.

Francesco Cuneo was already awaiting a call from a young woman named Maria Alighieri but he wasn’t expecting conversation—just a simple answer he could get to his Don, then the preparations for employment would be made after the final confirmation.

You remembered your hands felt stiff when picking up the family telephone in the hallway and you’re surprised you were even able to speak to the operator coherently; it was that deep-rooted fear of the mafia inside of you that sparked your anxiety and you had never spoken to a mafioso before either.

The phone only rang once before it was connected to consigliere Francesco Cuneo and he already knew it was you on the line.

“Famiglia Cuneo.” (Cuneo family.) The man spoke in a deep, sharp tone.

“Accetto.” (I accept.) You spoke back, giving him your answer.

“Eccellente. Farò sapere al Don. Parleremo ancora, signora Alighieri.” (Excellent. I will let the Don know. We will speak again, Mrs. Alighieri.) The consigliere hung up on you immediately after.

Having agreed to the mobster’s terms, you began your career as a hired governess to the Cuneo family in 1947.

You were provided your own living quarters in a separate flat by the Cuneo estate; small and shared with the nanny, chef, and maid, and also strictly not allowed to be anywhere else but the designated areas at the appropriate time to teach the Cuneo children.

Strictness, secrecy, and hard rules were just part of the lifestyle you had to accept when working for a crime family, and you easily settled and got used to this. After all, the pay was phenomenal, always given to you on time, and you had absolutely no possibility of being caught up in mafia affairs—accidental or not.

Just as you had been taught and told as a child, you kept your head down and your mouth shut; you didn’t speak to a mafioso unless spoken to, minded your own business, and did your job without issue.

It was only until 1950 that you left the Cuneo family’s service but it was nothing to do with being unsatisfied by your job or a potential mix-up in mafia affairs, nor were you fired.

Your mother fell ill with pneumonia in the winter of 1950 and the Cuneos were more than understanding of your reason for leaving, being kind about it and praising you for putting your family before your career.

There had been no harsh feels or loose ends, and Carmine Cuneo didn’t come to bother your father again—even after your mother had been nursed back to health and was back on her feet.

By the time you were able to work again, you had heard the Cuneo’s hired another governess in the meantime, which was understandable and to be expected.

“Ha senso. Auguro loro il meglio. Erano buoni datori di lavoro.” (It makes sense. I wish them the best. They were good employers.) You had said upon hearing the news you couldn’t be rehired now.

“Il tuo altruismo alla fine ti ripagherà. Te lo prometto.” (Your selflessness will pay off in the end. I promise you.) Your father smiled at you after he had gotten off the telephone and had the news confirmed to himself. “Ma questa volta hai un'altra scelta. Vuoi lavorare di nuovo in classe o per la mafia? Non mancano entrambi.” (But this time you have another choice. Do you want to work in a classroom or for the mafia again? There's no shortage of both.)

You could tell just by the look in your mother’s eyes next to you that she was unnerved about your potential answer.

Although there was no longer that deep-rooted fear of the mafia since your family had more than enough experience with them throughout the years, there was still a sense of worry within your mother for your well-being around mobsters—no matter how generous or secretive they were.

“Voglio lavorare di nuovo per la mafia.” (I want to work for the mafia again.) You were quick to reply but your lack of hesitancy came from the fact you had no bad experiences literally living next to mobsters and the money was simply too good to give up now.

There was no lack of acceptance either because you came with skill, experience, and whether you liked to admit it or not—trust in the mafia.

A week later in the middle of the night, you received a call from the consigliere of the Stracci crime family on the family telephone.

The consigliere had confirmed to you that your father made inquiries for your employment and the Stracci’s had heard. They could offer you a career as a private governess, but the consigliere didn’t mention that Don Stracci was most amused by your previous experience with the Cuneo's.

As soon as you heard the monthly payment was $500, you accepted immediately and that was that only this time you would be moving to Staten Island with no reason to quit for the foreseeable future with the mafia providing you a living until the mafia would take it away from you and ruin your family’s life seven years later.

By the end of your career working for the Cuneo family, you had more to think about than simply the new lifestyle and career that you had, but also a love life—as brief and passionate as it was.

Your university days were not spent alone stuffed in textbooks and of course, your family had been overjoyed to see you bring a young man named Ennio Lombardi—a Sicilian who was from Manhattan—back to Hell’s Kitchen to meet your parents and brothers knowing very well he was your romantic interest.

The two of you had been penpals since graduation and once he had come down to see you in the Bronx—unaware of your career of choice—a romantic relationship blossomed soon thereafter.

There was no rush for marriage or pressure from your family—after all, both of your brothers had been newly engaged at the time as well.

The prospect was always in the near future, but you wanted to advance your career further and settle well in life with Ennio who was doing the same at a law firm.

You were waiting for Don Cuneo’s permission to marry as that would impact your career and housing status, but once the news of your mother’s illness broke out and you returned to Hell’s Kitchen, Ennio came with you.

As your mother was slowly nursed back to health, your engagement was official with Ennio, and blessings were provided on both family's behalves who would come together to meet after your mother’s health properly recovered.

Once you decided to continue working as a governess to the Stracci family this time, your wedding plans for the near future had to be put on hold as you settled into your new career and once again would have to request formal permission to do so.

You could have said to yourself back then that the idea of getting married and settling down was not a demanding thought in your head, but all of that could be easily explained due to the fear of falling back into poverty with your family, hence why you focused almost entirely on your career.

Your initiative to work and stay out of mafia affairs would unfortunately not result in future prosperity or happiness as both your discreet involvement with the mafia and your family’s open relationship with them would result in your family’s demise soon thereafter.

You could only speak for yourself all those years knowing you had no real connection to the mafia and were considered a “civilian” by the crime families, however, the same couldn’t be said about your family who was getting increasingly involved with the mafia behind your back.

The first of many horrors to come was the Barzini family’s frustration that mounted with how popular and powerful the Stracci’s had grown in Hell’s Kitchen—thinking an entire neighborhood felt allied to the Barzini family’s rivals.

The Barzini’s were known for their quick temper and hostility, but just how aggressive and brutal they were was completely unknown until Don Barzini’s men came to eat at your father’s pizzeria and decided they were offended when served with a bill.

Simply for the sake of not being able to eat for free or being as easily recognized as a Stacci buttonman would be, the three men who had dined there almost beat the life out of your father in the middle of his own restaurant.

Just out of pettiness, the family pizzeria was also burned down and your father—who was beaten to a pulp—barely made it out of the fire with your mother, only by the help of the neighbors who had witnessed what happened.

Your family was told to “remember” the Barzini family had special rights and privileges in this neighborhood now and with your father badly beaten and half of the pizzeria burning down, that would just serve as a simple punishment—proving things can and would get more brutal if there was a need to and with the Barzini’s, there always was a need and reason to be cruel.

Naturally, your first reaction and course of action after being in tears and hearing what happened was to get to Hell’s Kitchen as soon as possible to see your father, only to hear your family on insisted you’d stay in Staten Island no matter what—afraid the Barzini’s might hurt you too, especially if they catch wind of a civilian working for other mobsters.

All you had was a confirmation from your mother over the telephone to remain quiet and continue as normal, only now you’d receive updates via letters and calls about how they were doing, the repairs on the pizzeria, and your father’s health.

You sent as much money as you could spare at the time, but your parents still needed to use a majority of their emergency funds for the pizzeria’s repairs and to get it up and running again,

In the meanwhile, as the pizzeria was closed for maintenance and repair, money was scarce simply running the small grocery shop with your brothers.

The list of tragedies didn’t end there either. Your brothers had also financed a loan together under both of their names to purchase the family’s first vehicle but this of course was before they realized the Barzini’s were as hostile and violent as they were.

Nonetheless, just three months after the initial incident when your brothers were one day late paying back their share of the loan that month due to the bank closing early, your mother and father witnessed your brothers get shot twice in the head in broad daylight right in front of their eyes at the grocery store stand.

Your family learned one way or another that the Barzini’s also targeted and humiliated others in Hell’s Kitchen too which raised the brows of the Stracci family who could no longer ignore the Barzini’s terrors unleashed on Hell’s Kitchen.

Because of tensions skyrocketing, you weren’t even allowed to travel for the funerals of your brothers and almost fell straight into a state of depression as a result.

When you needed someone to be there for you most—a shoulder to lean on, someone to tell you weren’t okay and that you were hurting being so far away from your family and seeing them suffer in the hands of those men similar to the ones that pay you a living, you had nobody.

Your fiancé Ennio stayed clear of Hell’s Kitchen the moment he heard of the pizzeria incident. He didn’t call your parents nor did he go to meet or help them out of fear that the Barzini’s would target and harass him as well.

A part of Ennio’s selfish reasoning was that you weren’t in Hell’s Kitchen either, but if you had known he became so close to your parents over the past few years only not to bother to even visit them at their worst, you would have most definitely questioned why you were deciding to marry this man in the future.

Once your brothers were also killed, that was just the icing on the cake. Ennio quickly figured out your family had something to do with the mafia, and there was no way you could come clean and tell your fiancé about your career either without digger yourself a deeper hole.

Without a word or final communication, Ennio stopped reaching out to you completely. For months after, all the letters you sent were promptly returned to you until one came back from Ennio’s family—a wedding invitation.

Ennio had left your life entirely and disappeared—that was your “break up”, and he had also found someone else. Not only was it a slap in the face, but the wedding invitation sent to you mocked you a great deal seeing he now chose another woman and was going to marry her instead.

There wasn’t a single night after that where you didn’t cry yourself to sleep and have a migraine at least twice a week—hiding your stuffed-up emotions and heartbreak of everything for the sake of work.

It wasn’t long until your mother had called you in deep worry, practically begging for you to return home that you also opened your eyes to see that a mob war could potentially start between your employers—the Stracci family—and the Barzini family that caused enough damage and heartache to you and your family for two lifetimes.

‘To hell with the mafia,’ was all you could think and truly there was no worse time to be working for a mobster than 1957.

You and your family had learned the hard way that it was impossible to repay a mobster’s debt and meet their demands. Mafiosi always got what they wanted in their way, and now all your family could do to warn you were beg over the telephone to come home, be safe, and be away from these people forever.

“Non commettere gli stessi stupidi errori che abbiamo fatto noi e i tuoi fratelli. Non fidarti di un mafioso come abbiamo fatto noi. I mafiosi non sono tuoi amici. Ti useranno e poi ti uccideranno.” (Don't make the same foolish mistakes your brothers and we made. Don’t trust Mafiosi like we did. Mafiosi are not your friends; they’ll use you and then they will kill you.)

You had no choice but to listen. Even in your heart, you could sense danger, and in your mind, you knew the truth too.

Fortunately for you, when it comes to civilians mobsters don’t care when, why, and how you leave so as long as you aren’t personally close with the family or under the suspicion you may have accidentally heard “too much”.

The Stracci family didn’t even you for a reason, you simply parted ways with the family and moved back to Hell’s Kitchen but the Stracci’s were more than well aware of just what was going on in your home neighborhood too.

You departed Staten Island not just with your last paycheque but also a sum of $1000 for the trouble caused with the Barzini’s back home; the Stracci’s knew at the very least it would be enough to cover your father’s medical bills ten times over, and it also showed you that they cared about you somewhat too.

Until tensions simmered down, you knew you’d be better off laying low with your family as if you all had a choice, but now your only choice was to teach in a classroom and stick to that career for the rest of your life if you knew better, but life was beginning to teach you that it had a cruel way of reminding you where you truly belonged.

There was no such thing as “quiet quitting” on your behalf, whether the Don who employed you wanted a reason for why you were leaving or not—all civilians were kept track of by all mobsters, strictly for business reasons.

The Corleone family had already caught wind of you the moment you left the employment of the Stracci family. You were now someone who could not be avoided due to your education skill and the fact you had worked for two crime families.

You were no longer just some teacher or average governess—you became valuable, and it was Tom Hagen who first realized your potential.

Michael Corleone’s privately hired governess was an aging lady after years of service to Michael and his own brothers since the days Vito Corleone hired her, and her retirement day had finally come.

Michael was of course looking for a young, highly qualified governess to teach his family’s children for years to come, which also meant living permanently and full time at the Lake Tahoe compound—not in a separate bungalow or apartment on the same street like you had been used to.

The Corleone family was allied with the Stracci and Cuneo families, which only interested them further in your portfolio.

It was Tom who brought a document he had put together with everything he knew about you from your profile to your family, your GPA in university, copies of your transcripts, and detailed employment history all for Michael’s approval first.

“She worked for the Cuneo family from 1947 to 1950 and the Stracci family from 1950 to 1957, but was solely a civilian.” Tom had told Michael upon first handing him the document regarding you.

“No civilian is ever truly clueless though, are they?” Michael looked up at his stepbrother, taking the documents from him.

“That could benefit you.” Tom offered.

“Yes, it could.” When Michael opened up the file, he overviewed everything provided inside including a large, glossy black and white photograph of you that was recently taken a few months back to see your physical profile too.

“What do you think?” Tom could tell Michael was not just curious, but also interested. He didn’t view your portfolio with vagueness or confusion.

“$1500 monthly.” Michael looked back up at his brother, closing the folder and handing the documents back to Tom. “I want you on the next plane to New York. Pay Miss Alighieri a visit but as a businessman and lawyer,” Michael was very clear and sharp with his words, “not as a mafioso’s consigliere. With everything that’s been going on in Hell’s Kitchen, I don’t need to confirm just how she feels about working for the mafia again.”

Michael after all was halfway through fully legitimizing the family business through legal means, pulling away from the illegal, underworld work his father Vito Corleone had built up in the 1920s and ‘30s.

Michael thought he was just looking at the portfolio of an educated woman he would hire for many years to teach and tutor his children, never someone he would make his mistress; a woman he’d spend all of his lonely nights with straining the springs of his mattress with behind Kay’s back.

Since Michael Corleone became Don, he’s always considered himself a businessman, not a criminal or a mobster, but what others call and consider him doesn’t affect or offend Michael in the slightest; until he’s fully legitimized the Corleone family, he still has his roots as a mafioso.

The longest you had been unemployed then was just over two weeks and it wasn’t spent with stress or tension about what you would do next or how you would find work.

Instead, you finally were able to relax and spend as much time as you need with your family—clearing your mind in the process and coming to realize since your brothers’ deaths, you were all your parents had left now and their only comfort.

You had been focusing on putting all the tragedies you faced behind you, so when Tom Hagen arrived in Hell’s Kitchen the next day and rang the doorbell to your home, you weren’t anxious or suspicious a mobster may be coming to see you or offer employment yet again.

Your father had answered the door, surprised to see an unfamiliar face in Hell’s Kitchen.

Tom Hagen stood before him dressed in a two-piece, grey suit and black fedora, holding a suitcase in one hand with a friendly smile on his face and kind eyes. “Hello, Bruno Alighieri, is it?”

Instantly, the tips of your father’s ears and the nape of his neck prickled with the heat of anxiety he felt that this stranger had found his home and knew his name—worrying that this man was sent by the Barzini family.

Tom knew this universal look of panic in your father’s eyes but was quick to remedy the situation. “My name is Tom Hagen, sir.” He reached into his front breast pocket, pulling out his official business card. “I’m a private lawyer who deals with family and business practice. I’ve heard a lot about your daughter’s teaching and education skills.”

Your father eased up a bit, noticing now it was a lawyer who was clearly not Sicilian or Italian by name or face, but a respectable man to be spoken with.

“I’m a businessman coming on behalf of my client looking to hire a private governess full time, permanently in Nevada. I was wondering if Miss Marina Alighieri was present so I may speak to her and present possible employment?” Tom asked politely.

“Oh, yes of course.” Your father blinked, still stunned by the prospect of something beneficial and uncorrupt approaching your family for the first time in years. “Please, come inside. She’s here with us.”

“Thank you, sir.” Tom takes off his fedora, stepping inside your house. “Hai una casa molto bella.” (You have a very beautiful home.) Tom speaks in perfect Sicilian, shocking your father and causing your stunned mother to stumble out of the kitchen, wondering who the unfamiliar voice belongs.

“Ciao signora.” (Hello, madame.) Tom smiles at your mother, greeting her in Sicilian too.

You furrow your brows in the living room, slowly rising up to your feet to listen to the ongoing conversation with a stranger as Tom and your parents remain in the hallway just by the front door.

A majority of your mother and father’s shock comes from the fact that the man who stands in their home doesn’t look Sicilian at all.

“Parli perfettamente il siciliano.” (You speak perfect Sicilian). Your mother stared at Tom with wide, curious eyes.

“Giusto, signora.” (That’s right, ma’am.) Tom chuckled, nodding. “Sono stato adottato da genitori siciliani quando ero un ragazzino. Mi hanno insegnato tutto quello che so.” (I was adopted by Sicilian parents when I was a little boy. They taught me all I know.)

“Ah,” your mother’s eyes instantly warmed, but you remained still back in the living room and refused to move and greet this mystery person. “Che bello. Perdonami per la mia reazione.” (How lovely. Pardon me for my reaction.) Your mother laughed sheepishly.

“In realtà sono di origine tedesca e irlandese.” (I'm actually of German and Irish descent.) Tom of course avoids the fact he too was adopted in Hell’s Kitchen by Vito Corleone to be exact—for obvious reasons as your mother and father lead him off to the living room.

“Questo è il signor Tom Hagen. È un avvocato privato che rappresenta un uomo d'affari che sta cercando di assumere un tutor privato.” (This is Mr. Tom Hagen. He's a private lawyer who represents a businessman that is looking to hire a private tutor.) Your father gestured to Tom the moment they entered the living room to see you.

“Hello, you must be Marina,” Tom spoke to you in English, extending his hand for a shake. “Very nice to meet you. My name is Tom Hagen.”

“Hello, Mr. Hagen.” You reached back to shake Tom’s hand firmly. “Pleased to meet you as well.”

Tom gave you a warm smile just before letting go of your hand, “I’ve heard much about your education and expertise—word gets around fast in New York when it comes to the talented.”

“Please.” Your shyness took over you as you both pulled away and took seats on the couches across from one another, separated by a coffee table. “Thank you for your kind words, but I don’t see myself above other tutors or teachers.”

Your father cleared his throat and placed his hand around your mother’s waist. “Saremo in cucina se avete bisogno di qualcosa. Ti diamo un po' di privacy.” (We will be in the kitchen if you two need anything. We'll give you some privacy.)

“Lo apprezzo, grazie.” (I appreciate that, thank you.) Tom said before your parents both exited the living room.

“Well,” Tom set his suitcase carefully down, diverting his attention back to you. “I believe you should consider yourself to be a little more than extraordinary than others. The client I represent certainly seems to think so.”

“Thank you for the opportunity.” You keep your hands over your lap, a little nervous for the conversation to come.

Although your family was now in the kitchen to let you and Tom talk in private, they could still hear everything being said and they were already convinced this must be good fortune due to your reputation and skill; finally, a respectable businessman had entered their home to offer employment, not a mobster—but they couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Please don’t think of this as an interview or anything of the like.” Tom chuckled, noticing your unnerved disposition as he opened up his suitcase in front of you. “Your reputation in teaching precedes you, and there’s no need for the formalities. First,” Tom cleared his throat, “I’d like for us to get to know one another better. I represent one client in private practice, Mr. Michael Corleone.”

“Corleone?” Your eyes widen—the surname being utterly familiar in mafia circles.

Just then, your mother quietly enters the living room, placing a small tray in front of Tom with a little bowl of sugar cubes and a steaming glass of tea. “Scusate l'interruzione. Divertitevi.” (Pardon the interruption. Enjoy.)

“Grazie mille, signora.” (Thank you very much, ma'am.) Tom thanks your mother, pleasantly surprised by the tea as she scurries back off to the kitchen. Tom’s eyes met yours again after. “I’ll be 100% transparent with you about everything you need to know and can ask, Marina. I know you may not have had such a luxury in the past.”

‘So he knows that much…’ You frowned and couldn’t help but feel just a little embarrassed.

“I know you may have heard the name Vito Corleone.” Tom started, seeing how you’d react to that first.

“Yes, I have.” You confirmed.

“Vito Corleone founded the Corleone crime family, it’s true. He also grew up here in Hell’s Kitchen. I understand he was well-liked by many, but of course, it’s also common, public knowledge that he retired to Staten Island years ago. His reputation hasn’t changed over the years but since his retirement, one of his sons has taken over the family business and legitimized it.”

“Legitimized?” You asked as your eyes widened in curiosity.

“That’s right,” Tom told you confidently. “You see—my client—Michael Corleone is not a mafioso. He’s a legitimate businessman who spent the past seven years legitimizing his father’s business because Mr. Corleone doesn’t want anything to do with la cosa nostra either.”

“I… I see.” You nodded back at Tom. “I can appreciate that.”

“To be completely frank,” Tom continued, “Mr. Corleone has completely broken away from decades of illegal and underground activity. He’s a legitimate businessman and he too can prove this to you if you wish. You don’t necessarily have to take my word for it.” Tom adds two sugar cubes to his tea, beginning to stir it.

“It’s alright, I believe you.” You told Tom with a small smile forming on your lips.

Tom exchanged a smile back with you before he took a sip of his tea and then reached into his suitcase to pull out an official work contract and a pen. “I believe everyone could benefit from transparency no matter what they do. And here is our agreement.”

Tom moved his suitcase aside and placed the contract in front of you before he leaned in closer to read off the clauses. “Mr. Corleone resides in Lake Tahoe, Nevada. His primary residence is the compound there, so should you accept his offer of employment, it will also serve as your permanent, full-time home. You will have weekends and holidays off which will be paid for as well, and you will be paid weekly. Mr. Corleone can arrange the payment to your liking; if you prefer a bank transfer or in cash fully—perhaps half, it’s up to you. We will of course pay for all of your expenses moving to Lake Tahoe, including the flights when you wish to come to visit your family in New York.”

You were already frozen in spot just hearing the numerous benefits and thorough explanations but even you couldn’t prepare yourself for the offer of payment.

“Mr. Corleone would like to pay you $1500 monthly, spit up weekly.” Tom offered. “Guaranteed—nothing lower.” Tom noticed the expression on your face immediately but continued to read down the next clause. “I’m also aware you have lived in private quarters before but you will live in an estate within the compound with us, which includes our private physician and tailor who are not there regularly. Miss Esther who is the family nanny will be there full time with you instead. Miss Esther has no duties in relation to yours.”

Tom slid his pen down to the next clause. “And just as I mentioned with all of your expenses being paid for, this will also include when you’re required to accompany Mr. Corleone and his family to extended trips should teaching be required. When the time comes, you’ll be given further details about travel and so forth. Our next clause here…”

Tom took another sip of his tea before going down the list. “This clause here is in regards to house rules. It’ll make more sense when you arrive at the compound and are able to see it yourself through a tour, but you’ll be allowed to visit the central family estate during day hours until five PM. Other estates on the compound belong to Mr. Corleone’s family, including mine. Those are off limits unless you’re explicitly invited; I hope you understand.”

“Of course.” You nodded back knowing you practically only knew where your room and the bathroom were at the Cuneo and Stracci households.

“You’re more than welcome to spend time in the boathouses by the docks until 7PM any day you wish, but you must get the dockmaster’s permission should you wish to sail or fish on the lake. As for your teaching…” Tom tapped the tip of his pen against the clause underneath. “For elementary teaching that would be my son Andrew who is thirteen, and the son of Mr. Corleone’s sister, Victor, who is six, and Mr. Corleone’s children Anthony who is six, and Mary who is four. Mr. Corleone relies on you to use the current Nevada curriculum and prepare your lesson plans for the day. That’s all there is to it.” Tom set his pen down at the very bottom of the contract awaiting a signature. “You can take all the time you need to decide—”

“I’ll do it.” You decided immediately. “I mean—I’m sorry, there just isn’t really anything for me to decide and I’m… I’m grateful.” You let out a soft laugh, feeling at ease. “This is perfect for me. I would love to accept Mr. Corleone’s offer.”

“Wonderful.” Tom gave you a beaming smile. “Mr. Corleone would love to have you work for the family for years to come, but for legal reasons we do have to make the contracts three years at a time.”

“I understand.” You picked up Tom’s pen and signed your signature at the bottom of the work contract.

“Perfect.” Tom watched you sign. “Then I suppose it won’t be a problem if I’m to take you to the airport tomorrow at nine AM—if that’ll be enough time to pack your belongings, of course.”

“It’ll be more than enough time for me to get ready.” You smiled up at Tom.

Tom gave you an understanding nod before he packed up the work contract carefully inside of his suitcase with his pen.

Upon taking one last sip of his tea before the two of you rose to your feet, your family returned back to the living room when they heard Tom packing up his things.

“Com'era tutto?” (How was everything?) Your father was the first to ask.

“Tutto andò bene.” (Everything went well.) You answered.

“Grazie ad entrambi per la vostra ospitalità. Sono felice di dire che Marina ha accettato un impiego per conto del mio cliente.” (Thank you both for your hospitality. I'm happy to say Marina has accepted employment on behalf of my client.) Tom smoothened out the front of his suit jacket and put his fedora back on. “Siamo onesti l'uno con l'altro. Nessuno lavora gratis. La signorina Marina lavorerà con noi in Nevada per 1500 dollari al mese.” (Let's be honest with each other. Nobody works for free. Miss Marina will be working with us in Nevada for $1500 a month.)

“Dio mio.” (Oh my God.) Your mother clasped a hand over her mouth in utter shock at the amount.

“È magnifico. Grazie mille a te e al tuo cliente per questa opportunità.” (È magnifico. Grazie mille a te e al tuo cliente per questa opportunità.) Your father couldn’t hide his enthusiasm for you even if he wanted to.

“Prego. Sarò qui domani alle nove del mattino per prendere la signorina Marina e portarla all'aeroporto. Non vedo l'ora di rivedervi tutti domani, e grazie.” (You're welcome. I will be here tomorrow at nine in the morning to pick up Miss Marina and take her to the airport. I look forward to seeing you all again tomorrow, and thank you.)

With everything agreed upon, you felt more than ready to prepare for what felt like the most promising highlight of your career yet.

Not only was your pay so generously high but you would no longer ever have to worry about being in the midst of the mafia that could affect you or your family again; those days would be long over.

You and your family had been awaiting good news for what seemed like forever after your brothers were murdered. After all, it had never been easy.

“Mikey, hey,” Tom spoke over the telephone at a nearby booth, just a few blocks down from your home. “I met with your newest governess today. Couldn’t wait to get to my hotel room to let you know.”

“So she’s agreed then?” Michael raised his brows, having answered the telephone in his office.

“That’s right.” Tom reaffirmed, “Marina is a very sweet young woman, it’s obvious she loves what she does and even the children will be able to tell. She’s a respectful young woman with a good family. I had all the clauses of the contract read out to her like you asked and she agreed, then signed.”

“Good,” Michael commented back. “Did she have any questions or clauses she wanted to negotiate?”

“Nope.” Tom readjusted his fedora over his head. “She was quite understanding and agreed with everything. I’ll be picking Marina up tomorrow at nine AM sharp to catch our plane. Luckily we don’t have to cancel one ticket now, eh?”

“I knew she’d accept.” Michael pointed out, flatly—more than confident in himself. “I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. I’ll have Esther arrange her living quarters tomorrow morning. When you two arrive, give her a rundown of our security first. I doubt she’s used to anything like it and I don’t want her to feel intimidated or get lost on the compound.”

“Right.” Tom chuckled.

“Then I want you to show Marina around every state and building before you get to her quarters. Esther will give her more information on meal times and so forth. Marina’s going to be living with our family now, so she’ll practically be a part of it one way or another. I want her comfortable at all times.”

“Of course, Mikey.” Tom agreed, “you got it. Will she be starting her lessons the next day?”

“We’ll see.” Michael’s eyes landed on the portrait photograph of you on his office desk. “I want to meet her as soon as possible first.”

“Okay, no problem.” Tom glanced back at his chauffeur waiting in his car. “We’ll both see you tomorrow then.”

“Goodbye Tom.”

[ Evening Hours ]

‘Going again and so soon.’ The excitement of reaching what you think now to be the height of your career has been felt and replaced with melancholy instead.

Standing by the edge of your bed, you glance down to see two medium-sized luggage bags placed next to one another upon the bed—filled with everything you own and ready to take with you to Lake Tahoe.

With the very little that you own now packed up in front of you for the third and seemingly last, permanent time, you begin to realize just by looking around your room how little time you’ve spent here since you graduated high school.

You’ve made you’ve bedroom in your university dorms and also made the best of what you had in the living quarters the Cuneo and Stracci families provided you, but you barely ever had a chance to feel at home and get used to the comfort and warmth your very own bedroom provides you.

You let out a deep breath, raking a hand through your hair and attempting to brush aside any conflicting emotions inside of you.

‘It’s like I’m always destined to be somewhere else, never home.’ Now everything comes crashing down on you all at once to remind you of everything you’ve done and been for the past decade—all that you’ve been through to feed your family and define success for yourself.

Thirty-four years old, unmarried, completely focused on where your career takes you, eager to learn more about anything and everything surrounding you in this world—all you’ve ever wanted to do is live without the pain of poverty and to know you’ve made a difference in other people’s lives.

Your family has never pressured you towards anything, including marriage despite your age. All of you have seemingly spent the entirety of your lives sometimes without even knowing it just to get by and live a good, comfortable life without worrying if there’ll be a roof over your head the next month or your stomach is hurting from hunger trying to sleep it off.

‘That’s all I want. I’m not running out of time to do anything else for myself…’ Still young and not quite aware of just what you’ve been through in these past few years alone, you’re aware enough that your career has been a major distraction to the obvious surrounding you in your life thanks to the mobsters who’ve seemingly planned your destiny and future.

‘But now…’ You step aside from your bed, moving towards your night table where you pick up a small, framed photograph of your brothers by your sides, grinning.

It was taken just a month before their deaths and never fails to instantly bring you to tears time and time again.

Your hands shake around the frame of the photograph as you bring it up to your chest; warm tears spilling from the corners of your eyes.

‘No matter where I go and what I’ll do, nothing’s going to erase what happened to my family.’ You shakily kiss over the photograph, squeezing your eyes shut and remembering just how distraught you were to hear the news over the telephone.

You felt weak, hopeless, and helpless because you couldn’t even attend the funeral of your brothers due to all the tension and danger in the streets; all you could do was fake a smile to your employers as you got off the telephone with the most devastating, worst news of your life before you could cry for the next hour in your room alone.

“I miss you two so much.” You whisper out, only confirming just how deeply you fear the mafia after all that it’s done to your family.

Even now as you realize you’re employed by a man who has deep-rooted connections with the mafia regardless of being personally active within it himself, your heart practically begs for Michael Corleone to be a good employer and an even better man.

You don’t want to live in the fear and stress of wondering if your family’s in danger or could be hurt in some kind of way by the mafia ever again.

‘I need some good in my life after everything…’ And now, you’d be asking Michael Corleone to provide you some good in your life just by thanking him for employing you.

“Marina?” You hear your mother’s soft voice ring out behind you. “Sei quasi pronto?” (Are you almost ready?)

“Mamma,” you sniffle, unable to even begin to hide your sadness as you turn to face her.

“Oh, tesoro.” (Oh honey.) Frowning, your mother approaches you with open arms to welcome you into a warm embrace.

Your eyes swell up with tears again as you set the framed photograph of your brothers down on your bed to hug your mother back tightly. “Mi mancano, mamma. Mi mancano così tanto.” (I miss them, mama. I miss them so much.)

“Lo so tesoro. Lo so.” (I know honey, I know.) Your mother holds back her own tears, trying to comfort you. “Mi mancano anche i tuoi fratelli. Non passa giorno in cui non penso a loro, ma...” (I miss your brothers too. There isn't a single day that passes by where I don't think of them, but...) Clearing her throat quietly, your mother pulls back from the hug and gives you a reassuring smile. “Guardati adesso. La mia bellissima figlia. Renderesti così orgogliosi i tuoi fratelli, lo sai? Sono ancora con te, Marina.” (Look at you now. My beautiful daughter. You would make your brothers so proud, you know that? They're still with you, Marina.)

Your mother places a hand over your heart, nodding at you. “I tuoi fratelli sarebbero felici di vedere quanto è avanzata la tua carriera. Vorrebbero vederti felice. Nevada!” (Your brothers would be happy to see how far your career has advanced. They would want to see you happy. Nevada!)

You can’t help but giggle through your tears as you hug your mother again, feeling yourself at ease almost immediately. “Viaggerò sempre.” (I'll always be traveling.)

“Te lo meriti.” (You deserve it.) Your mother plants a soft kiss on your forehead. “Vivi la tua vita e goditi il Nevada. non dimenticare di chiamarci e di scriverci.” (Live your life and enjoy Nevada. just don’t forget to call us and write to us.)

“Sai che lo farò sempre.” (You know I always will.) You sniffle, nodding at your mother. “Proprio come prima.” (Just like before.)

“Meravigliosa.” (Wonderful.) Your mother playfully pinches your cheeks. “E forse se è destinato a essere e il momento è giusto, potresti incontrare qualcuno di speciale.” (And maybe if it's meant to be and the time is right, you might meet someone special.)

“Forse. Se fosse in Nevada, sarebbe eccitante.” (Maybe. If he's in Nevada, that would be exciting.) You can’t help but crack a smile at your mother’s comment.

“Non si sa mai.” (You never know.) Your mother chuckles to herself before glancing back at your luggage again. “Non ti distrarrò più adesso. So che sei molto impegnato a fare le valigie.” (I won't distract you anymore now. I know you're very busy packing.)

Wiping the stray tears off the corner of your eyes, you turn to look at your belongings carefully tucked into your luggage. “Ho quasi finito.” (I'm almost done.)

“Bene.” (Good.) Your mother smiles at you. “Tuo padre ed io ci sveglieremo presto domani per vederti andare con entrambe le nostre benedizioni.” (Your father and I will wake up earlier tomorrow to see you go with both of our blessings.)

“Grazie, mamma. Buonanotte.” (Thank you, mama. Have a good night.) You make sure the photograph of your brothers is snuggled underneath some of your clothes in your luggage.

“Notte Tesoro. Ti amo.” (Goodnight, honey. Love you.) Your mother says back warmly just as she’s exiting your bedroom.

“Anch'io ti amo.” (Love you too.) Smiling through your tears, you take a deep breath and attempt to regain calm again.

‘Tomorrow I’ll be sharing my life with the Corleone family now. This new change in my life…it’s exactly what I need. This time things will be different. I promise myself this.’

You awake at eight AM the following morning as planned, starting off with your usual mourning routine of setting out what you’ll wear for the day before heading to the washroom to clean up, but every move you make and action you take makes it feel all the more like a dream now that you know you’ll be doing it for the last time at home yet again.

You slick your hair up into a neat, tight bun after brushing your teeth and washing off your face. As you get ready, you can already hear your parents’ faint voices and footsteps down the hallway doing the same.

You dress in a silk, white dress shirt and pull a taupe, plaid patterned blazer jacket over top with a matching pencil skirt and semi-transparent black stockings.

You take one piece of luggage in each of your hands after finishing getting ready and before you know it, you’re on your way out of your bedroom and towards the front door.

From the moment you approach the hallway connecting your bedroom to the foyer of your house, you notice the front door is open already with Tom Hagen just down the steps awaiting you.

“Good morning, Marina.” Tom greets you with a wide smile. “I apologize if you didn’t have enough time for breakfast this morning but—” Tom glances at his 18k gold wristwatch, “we’re on a bit of a tight schedule to catch the next plane and we can get you a bite to eat there.”

You peek over your shoulder to your mother and father proudly standing next to one another behind you before you return your stunned expression back to Tom. “They serve food on airplanes?”

Tom chuckles, now aware you’ve never been on an airplane let alone know anything about them. “That and more. Here, let me have those.” Tom takes a few steps into the house, carefully taking your luggage with you. “And if that’s everything…”

As soon as you let go of the luggage from your hands, you rush back over to your mother and father for one last hug and kiss before distance and time take over once again.

“Essere buono.” (Be good.) Your father whispers to you, giving your forehead a kiss.

“Crediamo in te, tesoro. Stai attento.” (We believe in you, honey. Take care.) Your mother kisses both of your cheeks once you two pull back from a hug. “Forse questa volta verremo a trovarti.” (Maybe this time we'll come to visit you.)

“Lo spero. Vi amo due, quindi per favore abbiate cura di voi stessi.” (I hope so. I love you two, so please take care of yourselves.) Holding back the tears that have never failed to remind you that you’re leaving your family again, you wave back at your parents before walking out of the front door and follow Tom to the parked Cadillac by your home.

“How do you feel?” Tom’s question interrupts the little ache you begin to feel in your heart as he opens up the backseat for you to get in.

“To be honest? Just fine, but a little on edge.” You answer as Tom gives you a reassuring smile, closing your car door before going around the car to sit next to you.

“Ah, I can understand that.” Tom pulls the door back shut and the moment both of your backs are relaxed against the leather seats of the car, Tom’s chauffer begins to drive off. “It’s normal after all—this is a big change for you but it’ll all make sense before you know it. We’ll be heading to JFK airport to catch our flight and as you know, the expenses are paid for—business class seats courtesy of Mr. Corleone.”

“I have much to thank him for.” You smile shyly, knowing that powerful, wealthy men like Michael Corleone make it the bare minimum to spend lavishly and spoil whomever they want, how often they want.

“This is his bare minimum.” Tom chuckles, adjusting the button on the front of his suit jacket. “Mr. Corleone’s very eager to meet you—it’s one of the first things he wishes for you to do when we arrive in Lake Tahoe.”

“I could say the same to such a generous employer,” you admit.

“Which is what brings me to my next point.” Tom turns his head to face you, “in the world of business it can’t truly make a difference but Michael Corleone is my brother.”

“Your brother?” You repeat, eyes growing wide. “Really?”

“Yes,” Tom answers, smiling sheepishly. “My stepbrother, but we’re all family nonetheless, one way or another. You don’t have any siblings yourself?”

“Ah—” You’re just about to answer before you frown, not quite sure how to answer Tom with the deaths of your brothers. “I had two older brothers, yes. They passed away earlier this year.”

“Ah, I’m very sorry to hear that.” Tom’s eyes soften. “May they rest in peace.”

“Thank you.” You smile at Tom weakly, hoping the conversation will change to prevent you from getting more emotional than you want to right now. “I appreciate your sympathy.”

That same, radiant and friendly smile returns over Tom’s lips. “If you need anything on our way to Lake Tahoe, just let me know, alright?”

“Of course.” You blush, feeling a little embarrassed from all the attention on you that you know will take some getting used to.

The car ride to JFK Airport from your home in Hell’s Kitchen is about an hour away, one entertaining to you from seeing the streets of New York out the window and making small talk with Tom now and then.

Once you and Tom arrive at the airport, Tom’s chauffer carries both your and Tom’s luggage for the two of you although you’re no fool—if it’s one thing you’ve learned spending time around Mafiosi, you can tell this “chauffer” is Tom’s bodyguard as well.

Walking into JFK Airport is a whole other surprise to you as you’ve never been to an airport, to begin with; generally in your life if you had no business being somewhere or couldn’t afford it, you’d know little to nothing about it, let alone come to see what you couldn’t have or experience for no reason.

You’ve never been on an airplane in your life and only heard stories of things like “business class” and the fancy comfort it provides to those who can afford it.

When it came to working for the Cuneo and Stracci families, they were never too far from Hell’s Kitchen, to begin with. A bus ticket to the Bronx and Staten Island was always affordable, not to mention the short distance at hand too.

It’s yet another new and exciting experience for you to not only board an airplane for the first time with Tom but to sit in business class with the luxury, leg space, reclining leather seat, and private curtains separating the seats from the other end of the airplane.

It amuses Tom to see your eyes twinkling with delight and curiosity at everything before you as you both get comfortable in your seats. “It’ll be just a little over six hours to get to Lake Tahoe, then about another forty-five-minute drive to the actual compound.”

“Compound?” You carefully put your seatbelt on.

“Mhmm,” Tom nods, placing his elbow down on the armrest of his seat. “Michael owns the largest piece of property in Lake Tahoe—several properties in one surrounding location, I should say. Six estates, the docks around Lake Tahoe, his own yachts and a boathouse, private security and all. You could say we’re a tight-knit family.”

Despite working for mobsters before for years at a time, you begin to realize you’ve been treated as nothing but another employee to pay and nothing more; just how much you were appreciated and cared for was shown not by your pay, but by whoever bothered to talk with you, the size and cleanliness of your living quarters, and what quality of meals you had.

You knew then just as you know now that if anyone could have afforded to take care of their employees better, it was wealthy mobsters.

The clear difference at hand lies with the fact that the Cuneo and Stracci families only saw you as an employee and nothing else, but despite meeting this Michael Corleone figure, he’s already begun to spoil you and wants to see you as a part of his family.

There’s no shortage of distractions or things to do or think about once the airplane takes off. Besides enjoying the limitless abundance of high-quality refreshments and doing some lesson planning, you also take a comfortable nap.

The six hours that pass in the air don’t feel tiresome or even as if six hours have passed at all. Once you and Tom land in Lake Tahoe, Nevada, the forty-five-minute car ride to Michael Corleone’s compound is bound to pass with twice the excitement of seeing just where you’re going to be living from now on.

From the moment you and Tom stepped outside of the airport and got a breath of fresh air in Nevada, you’ve been wide awake enjoying the beautiful scenery of Nevada surrounding you.

The possibility of being able to travel more within Nevada such as visiting Reno or Las Vegas as Tom mentioned in your work contract is thrilling too; you know now that your whole life and career are changed for the better—nothing will be like it was before.

Tom is the first to step out of the car once it pulls up to the grand gates of the Corleone family’s Lake Tahoe compound, and just from looking out the window alone, you notice the grandeur and luxury of several guarded estates surrounding Lake Tahoe before you.

“Oh my God,” you murmur inaudibly to yourself.

“Welcome to Lake Tahoe,” Tom chuckles as he opens your car door and steps aside. “It’s your home just as much as it’s mine.”

“It’s…” Utterly stunned by the gorgeous architecture before you spanning out much more than your eye can see; you get out of the car and stare at everything you can make out before you eagerly.

“Now there’s the word.” Tom puts both of his hands into the pockets of his trousers as the chauffeur begins to drive the Cadillac off to a private, protected parking lot just to the side. “Compound.”

“Massive” is too small of a word to describe just the kind of environment you’re in right now. From where you stand, you can see two guard towers by the very front of the estate with security and a peek through the gates to see more hired guards roaming around with guard dogs.

Lake Tahoe practically surrounds the entire compound and even with a small glimpse from where you and Tom stand, you can already make out the beautiful, blue water in the distance adorning the compound in gorgeous scenery with the sun glistening over the lake.

“It’s easy to get lost in at first but you’ll know this place like the back of your hand soon enough,” Tom comments as he leads you through the entrance gates.

Private guards glance at you, memorizing your face and details of your appearance for security details as you and Tom enter the Lake Tahoe compound.

‘Even the employee's private quarters must be heaven here,’ you think to yourself as Tom grabs your attention once more.

“Believe it or not, we’re at the very center of the compound.” Chuckling, Tom extends his arms out before him and gestures around to each side of the compound. “Six estates, as in six homes—” Tom points to the left-hand side of the compound where the most luxurious homes are built, “that there is Mr. and Mrs. Corleone’s private estate, then there’s the central family estate where all are welcome to spend time together. The last estate at the end there belongs to Mr. Corleone’s sister and mother. And here…”

Tom turns around on his heel, pointing over to the opposite end of the compound, showing you just as luxurious, spacious homes as the ones across from it. “My private estate is the first just over there, shared by our sister-in-law Sandra and her children who are the widow of our late, eldest brother, and the last estate right there at the end belongs to another one of our brothers Fredo and his wife.”

Leading you onward and through to the compound, Tom shows you the several other buildings surrounding the compound. “Our first estate here is for guests and can comfortably hold a family of twenty—Mr. Corleone has business partners and colleagues who fly from all over the world, so it serves as private guest quarters.”

Still stunned and in a state of shock, you practically stumble alongside Tom as he gives you the full tour of the multi-million dollar estate you can barely register you’ll be living in.

Tom points up at a ledge just above the two of you, showing what appears to be another mansion perched up top with a perfect bird’s eye view of the entire compound and lake. “That here is our private study, like a home in itself. I think as a teacher you may find it of more use than all of us combined here.”

“Oh, I would love to.” You murmur back, noticing how every estate on the compound here has at least a deck, two balconies, and a full patio all in perfect little spots of their own to get a glimpse of the beautiful Lake Tahoe one way or another.

“And right here is where our security and guards are.” Tom shows you to a large bungalow-type estate near the docks, surrounded by five yachts all lined up next to one another. “For everyone’s protection, of course. Don’t worry, you won’t be bothered or spoken to unless absolutely necessary. They’re our employees here too, but that’s where they work and reside 24/7. It’s off limits to everyone except Mr. Corleone and a few of his men.”

Nodding and understanding, you continue to follow Tom towards the private estates on the compound and see yet another array of several luxury yachts lined up by the docks just nearby.

“These are our family boats,” Tom answers as if he’s read the question of who they belong to in your mind. “And that is our boathouse or yacht club—whatever you’d like to call it.”

You look up to where Tom points to and see another building by the docks that although designated to compliment the several yachts and be nearest to the docks in case of an emergency or evacuation of some sort, still looks like a mansion on its own to you.

“You’re welcome to spend as much time as you wish to relax by the docks and water, just like we spoke before.” Tom turns to smile at you. “The building next to the boathouse is essentially the exact opposite—it just holds sailing supplies and storage, just as the building directly opposite to it on the other side of the docks there. Now,” Tom clears his throat, pretending to be playfully exhausted from the home tour. “Let me take you to just where you’ll be staying, follow me.”

Your eyes widen for what you assume can probably be the hundredth time, wondering to yourself: ‘there’s more?!’

Walking over a cobblestone pathway that leads around the private estates, you follow Tom up the path to spot private swimming pools fenced off behind every single estate until you find yourself up top a completely different ledge, and in front of another estate similar in architectural design as the others, but smaller with more privacy.

“Home sweet home,” Tom grins, walking towards the last estate that’ll be your home for some time to come. “You’ll be staying here with the family nanny Esther—you both get separate floors all to yourselves however the main floor is, of course, shared with laundry, the kitchen, and so forth.”

“Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful,” you almost trip your way inside from how distracted you’ve immediately become seeing the first thing just across from you—a stone fireplace crackling with small flames, flickering warmth into the room.

A grand chandelier affixed with gold plating, pearls, and diamonds hangs above you, and the wooden fixtures that decorate the home match with the décor, leather couches, and furniture—making it look like a cozy cottage.

Beneath you are genuine fur rugs over the mahogany floors and the fact this estate would be considered “small” next to the others still baffles you.

“Bathrooms are down the hallway and the kitchen here is just to the side,” Tom walks you through what may be considered a generous-sized kitchen for employee quarters but is twice the size of your living room and kitchen back in Hell’s Kitchen combined. “We have our own private chefs who cook for the entire family when needed, including employees. Esther will let you know about meal times and if you have any allergies or dishes you don’t like in particular, please do feel free to be upfront and open about it to the chef.”

“Alright.” You blink, unable to figure out if you should focus your attention on the gleaming, quartz countertops of the kitchen or the fact there are more utensils and new appliances that you haven’t even heard of right by you.

“Besides your own private study upstairs that’s exclusive to you, there’s one more room I’d like to show you here before we wrap up this house tour. Not bored yet, I hope?” Tom jokes.

“I can barely take it all in.” You giggle back, following Tom down the very end of the hallway into a room where the windows are practically replacements for walls.

An immense amount of natural light glows through the room, providing the most beautiful view yet of the lake just across.

In the room itself, there’s a neat arrangement of toys tucked into the corners of the beige couches—matching the warm color theme of the overall cottage-like estate.

Watching your step inside and admire the decoration around you before taking a peek at the grand view out the window, Tom keeps his hands in the pockets of his trousers and continues speaking to you. “Our last governess enjoyed the views of the lake just as much as we did. She preferred to teach here most days—hence the toys.”

“I…” You turn back to face Tom, looking a little shy and embarrassed. “I honestly don’t know what to say. Mr. Corleone’s home is so beautiful—it’s an absolute honor for me to stay and work here.”

Before Tom can say anything else back, you both hear an unfamiliar, female voice behind him. “Please make yourself at home.” A middle-aged woman with a ruffled and lifted short hairdo dressed in a knit, black and white dress greets you with a welcoming smile.

“There she is.” Tom’s eyes light up when he sees the woman whom you assume is the nanny.

As Tom steps aside, the woman moves closer to you and extends out her hand for you to shake. “My name’s Esther, I’m the family nanny here. You must be Marina. Nice to meet you, honey.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Esther.” You smile politely, shaking Esther’s hand back.

“Welcome to Lake Tahoe. It’s great to see a new face around here, even if you’re bound to get lost around here for the first little while.” You can tell Esther’s enthusiasm to meet you is genuine and sweet. “Oh, and speaking of home—” Esther’s eyes momentarily meet with Tom’s before they go back to yours. “Mr. Corleone is insistent on meeting you in person.”

“Is the impatient type?” It’s more of a joking question from you than anything else.

“Not at all.” Tom laughs softly. “My brother is the most patient man in the world, but even he won’t wait on this one. “I’ll have your bags settled upstairs for you upon your return. You best follow Esther to see Michael right away. Is he in the central family estate? It’ll be Marina’s first time getting a good look in there.”

“He is.” Esther nods, gesturing for you to follow her. “Just follow me, sweetheart.”

Giving Tom a little wave goodbye, you follow Esther out of the living quarters you share with her. Esther can hardly wipe the smile off of her own face, noticing how you keep looking around every corner and inch of the compound in awe.

Esther can already tell you’re going to love it here at Lake Tahoe and feel at home just as quickly as she did, and of course, it’ll be another wonderful opportunity for you two to get to know one another as both coworkers and roommates.

“Esther,” you begin, pushing past your initial shyness as you both step down the porch of the estate. “If you don’t mind me asking—what’s Mr. Corleone like? Sorry if it’s a stupid question considering I’m going to meet him right now, but you know him better than I will for the time being.”

“No such thing as a stupid question, darling.” Esther chuckles, leading the way down the cobblestone path. “We all have to look out for one another. Mr. Corleone is a very generous employer—the best I’ve personally ever had. I wish to retire here with my living, to be completely honest with you. Of course, it’s no mystery to you now either that the pay is ten times better than what either of us could be offered working in public or private not to mention…” Esther gives you a bubbling smile, “to be able to stay somewhere as beautiful as Lake Tahoe? Oh, it’s simply wonderful. I’ve nothing but good things and all the more to say about Mr. Corleone. It was because of him that my family was able to relocate to Nevada without a penny spent because of Mr. Corleone’s kindness.”

“Oh, wow.” You murmur to yourself, having expected the high praise of your new employer but not to such a pleasant extent. “That’s amazing. He sounds like quite the generous man, just as I’ve heard.”

“Mr. Corleone doesn’t treat his employees as slaves or guests either, darling. He’s very adamant about our wellbeing—taking our ideas into consideration.” Esther approaches the front door of the central family estate, placing her hand over the doorknob before glancing back at you over her shoulder. “To be honest with you, I would wish a wonderful career like this to everyone. Mr. Corleone is just as grateful for our service as we are for his employment.”

Esther pats your should reassuringly, leading you inside the luxurious and spacious home before gesturing up ahead to a closed door just before the hallway. “Mr. Corleone will be right there, waiting inside for you, alright?”

Feeling more reassured than ever, you exchange a smile with Esther. “Thank you. I’ll see him now.”

“I’ll be waiting out here.” Esther gives you a playful wink, taking a seat on one of the couches in the living room. “No need to knock, Mr. Corleone’s expecting you.”

There’s a sudden spike of anxiety going through you as you stand before Michael Corleone’s office door and out of the million questions buzzing in your head, you wonder to yourself most if Michael knows you’re standing right by the door this very moment and if that Michael Corleone will personally live up to his reputation that you’ve been told to your behalf.

Having met Don Cuneo and Don Stracci in a similar way, you’re only unnerved in the sense you’ve always been a little nervous and shy when it comes to meeting powerful, wealthy men in positions within the mafia or with some ties to it—Michael Corleone being no exception, otherwise, you’ve done the necessary introductions twice over in your life already.

Still, from the moment that you twist the doorknob of Michael Corleone’s office and take a step inside—moving again only to close the door behind you before seeing or doing anything else, nothing could have ever prepared you for the sight you’re about to see.

Your eyes look up to spot Michael Corleone sitting upon a leather armchair just across from you next to the other couches in his office—just a few feet away from his office desk and towards the fireplace.

The man you look at is young—in his early to mid-thirties, dressed in a grey, Dupioni silk suit with his dark, almost black hair lightly gelled and slicked back from the slight part in his hair on his left.

A signature stern and otherwise emotionless look remain over Michael’s face, but his eyes and brows raised curiously at the sight of you with his full and undivided attention on you and you only.

‘Don Michael Corleone.’ Your initial reaction in that split second of seeing just who your employer Michael Corleone, is that of your heart throbbing in your chest from a powerful surge of attraction that struck you like lightning.

You want to say Michael’s name to greet him but as you stand right then and there, your eyes adore every inch of this ridiculously attractive man before you from the shape of his plush, fill lips to Michael’s jawline, his Roman nose, his hooded hazel eyes and the way his firm, large hands grip the armrest down to the very scent of his expensive cologne lingering in the office.

A swarm of butterflies tugs in the pit of your stomach as you make direct eye contact with Michael—all of this only occurring in mere seconds but seeming like a lifetime to you.

Aroused and attracted to Michael Corleone like none other, it’s the prickling heat of your rosy cheeks flushing scarlet with blush that snaps you back into reality when Michael greets you first.

Michael eyes you up and down, “you must be my new governess, Marina Aligheri.”

‘My?’ Even just a mere mention of a silly word causes your skin to grow hot from all that blushing and arousal.

The attraction in Michael’s office is far from being one-sided, however. Although Michael doesn’t show a hint of personal emotion towards you, he’s very well aware to himself that you’re an attractive young woman—the same age as Kay and what Michael would also describe as beautiful.

In truth, Michael can’t take his eyes off of you as much as you can’t to him, but Michael knows he doesn’t have to, and now is his private time to get to know everything about you that he wants, however he wants.

Michael’s attention over you now isn’t just exclusive because he’s meeting a new employee, but also personal. Michael knows the only photograph he had of you doesn’t do you justify with your presence before him now, attracting Michael more than ever.

“Yes, sir.” Blushing furiously, you nod at Michael.

“Sit.” Michael gestures to the armchair specifically in front of him.

Smoothening out your skirt and pretending as if that semi-demand didn’t turn you on in the most inappropriate time and place, you do as Michael says but you still can’t stop yourself from staring at him.

Michael’s gaze goes from up to your legs and thighs before locking eye contact with you. “Welcome to Lake Tahoe. I take it you’ve never been to Nevada before. Was your trip here comfortable?”

“Yes, absolutely, sir.” You answer back. “Thank you very much for everything.”

“You don’t have to call me that, just as much as you don’t have to thank me for anything either,” Michael tells you, reaching for a cigarette out of its pack upon the coffee table between the two of you. “Just Michael is fine.”

“Right, Michael.” You repeat his name, loving the way it rolls off your tongue. “This would be the first time I’ve left New York.”

“Mhmm.” Michael puts a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, pulling out a lighter from his inner suit pocket. “I knew just as much before your arrival.” Michael keeps his smoldering gaze over yours as he lights his cigarette and takes a small drag. “We do things here very differently—at least I can say with confidence that I do. Who I can’t speak for are your previous employers—Don Cuneo and Don Stracci. You’ve only worked for Mafiosi notorious for all the wrong reasons.”

“It’s nothing like, sir, err—” upon correcting yourself to stop saying ‘sir’, you can swear to yourself you just saw Michael’s eye glisten with amusement. “I wasn’t involved with their ‘family business’ at all, and not just of my own accord. They had me just as separated as they did to their other employees, both times.”

“I understand.” Michael blows out smoke underneath him, relaxing in his seat. “Experience is experience nonetheless. You understand what happened in your former places of employment stays there, yes?”

“Yes.” You say back, practically having such a thing told to you the moment you seriously considered signing both work contracts for Don Cuneo and Don Stracci.

“So we understand each other.” Michael rests his cigarette between his fingers, bucking his hips up on the armchair to get comfortable in his seat which only causes the knot of arousal to tighten inside of you further. “I know you’re a smart woman, Marina. I’m not going to sit here and waste your time after a long trip repeating house rules to you that must be embedded now into your daily work practices from before. Only expect to be treated much better here.” Michael extends his free hand over to you. “We Corleone’s treat our employers like family, and I’m pleased to have you accept my offer.”

“The pleasure is all mine, thank you.” You shake Michael’s hand back, desperately trying to ignore his slender fingers and the touch of his soft skin against yours.

“Would it be alright for you to start your first lesson tomorrow?” Michael asks as he pulls away.

“Of course.” You nod back, “I would love to.”

“Excellent.” Michael puts his cigarette back in the corner of his mouth. “You may have heard our last governess recently retired and went back home to her family. I have a feeling my family will come to like you as much as I do. You’re a respectable woman and your education—let alone experience—speaks for itself. So, tell me—” Michael gives you an expectant look, “are there any living arrangements I can provide to your family?”

“Not at the moment, no.” You answer truthfully, mentally kicking yourself from how obvious it must be to Michael that you’re severely flustered. “But I will get in touch with them when the time is right and let you know.”

“Good.” Michael’s quick to change the subject, again and again, to know as much as he can about you briefly before it can get more personal. “Are you married, Marina?”

Your cheeks flare up with blush all over again. “No, I’m not.”

“But you were engaged.” Michael presses on, surprising you that he knows such a personal detail.

“That was many years ago.” You shrug off, feeling almost completely nonchalant about it now. “I’m indifferent to it.”

Without the intention of being pretentious or nosy, Michael’s questions come from a place of curiosity to study you. “I respect that. The past has little meaning to me as well. In any case…” Michael puts out his cigarette prematurely, clearing his throat. “If you aren’t too tired from your trip, I would like for you to meet my wife and children. They’ve been awaiting your arrival just as much as I have.”

“Oh,” your eyes light up at the thought, “I would love to.”

All Michael does is clear his throat as a signal and it's only then that you realize someone else has been in the room with you and Michael the entire time—only further embarrassing you since all you’ve done is sit down and gawk at Michael without taking your eyes off of him to look around the office at all.

“Rocco, let Kay and the children know they can come in,” Michael tells the bodyguard standing by what appears to be another door on the other end of the office.

Surprising you with yet another sudden entrance for the day, you rise to your feet out of respect when Rocco pulls open the door, but Michael doesn’t—staying put.

Right across from you, an American woman approaches you with a warm, giddy smile on her face. Next to her remain two young children shyly hiding behind her legs—a little boy and a girl just a few years younger than her brother.

“Hello!” Michael Corleone’s wife beams at you, quick to grab your hand and give it a shake as if the two of you have been best friends for years. “Ah, you must be Marina! Hi! I’m Kay! Oh, it’s so good to meet you at last.”

Wearing an expensive silk blouse with a matching black ribbon tied over the collar, Kay Corleone’s shoulder-length, brunette hair is curled in loose waves towards the tips of her hair, matching the friendly look in her chestnut brown eyes.

The contrast of how giggly and friendly Kay is compared to her husband amuses you more than anything, but you see neither personalities passed on just yet to the two little children that continue to hug Kay’s legs.

“Oh, excuse us.” Kay laughs sheepishly as Michael’s eyes continue to dart from his wife and children back to you. “Anthony and Mary get a little shy when they first meet someone, isn’t that right, hmm? Come on you two, say hello to Marina. She’s going to be your new teacher!”

“Hello,” Anthony greets you quietly—seeming just as reserved as his father and strikingly similar to him in appearance.

“Hi.” Mary peeps, much shyer, but you can she gets her smile from her mother—looking like both of her parents almost equally.

“Looks like we’re all settled then.” Michael takes Kay’s hand, raising it up to his mouth and giving it a kiss as he still remains seated.

For a moment there, you feel a strange tinge of what feels almost like jealousy spark up in you before fading a split second later—noticing how Kay instantly blushes from the affection.

Nonetheless, there’s no sense of nervousness or coldness in the room you felt when officially becoming employed for Don Cuneo and Don Stracci but rather a familial love growing inside of you already for your new employers.

‘I feel at home already.’ You’ve barely gotten enough “attention” for lack of a better word from anyone you’ve spoken to today, but it’s been more kindness than you’ve received for the past ten years at the Cuneo’s and Stracci’s—let alone the Dons’ wives.

“Welcome to the Corleone family, Marina.” Kay returns her attention to you, all smiles. “We’re so happy to have you here with us!”

The last thing you remember doing right then and there is looking back over at Michael, who lets you know just by the look in his eyes that he has nothing but the highest expectations for you.

All three of you could never think that today would just mark the very beginning of what would soon form a scandalous love triangle—a forbidden affair, deep longing, and lust that would eventually make days like this feel like distant pleasant dreams instead of the actual nightmare playing out in reality.

A nightmare that you, Marina Alighieri would do anything to participate in so as long as it meant you’d be ensnared in Michael Corleone’s arms wanting you in the same way you’re beginning to want him.

#the godfather #al pacino #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone fanfic #godfather au #michael corleone smut #michael corleone x reader smut #michael corleone #the godfather x reader #godfather x reader #the other woman fic #the other woman fanfic

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voraciousvore · 25 days

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Giganterra (Chapter 5)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (4) | Next (6)

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------ Chapter 5: Sacrifice ------

King Charles desired to be alone, for he needed some time to brood. He dismissed his servants and sat by himself in his throne room, upon the magnificent golden throne embedded with precious jewels and decorated with intricate metalwork, the symbolic seat of power. A storm raged outside, splashing buckets of rain against the tall windows and darkening the luxurious purple and blue adornments of the room with somber gray. The occasional rumble of thunder echoed off the high ceilings and the stone walls, providing a forbidding ambience.

He was deeply troubled. His giant counterpart was waxing in greed and hedonism, and he wasn’t sure if he could hold off his assault indefinitely and maintain his kingdom. King Richard normally sought to replenish his supply of human maidens about once every six months, so for him to demand more so soon was highly concerning. It was hard enough to find people to fulfill the quota without having to essentially double the quantity. Not to mention his atypical request for men this time as well. What was he planning to do with them? King Charles had never actually met King Richard, since the giant king considered proper diplomacy with the humans below his dignity, but he could infer why a giant man might desire tiny ladies.

He huffed, closing his eyes and massaging his temples with his hands. He was stressed and discouraged. He tried his best to maintain the dignity of his reign, and of his people, but he couldn’t help but see it all as a farce. Even as he sat upon his throne, within the halls of his authority, he knew he had no real power in the situation, no bargaining chips. He had no choice but to roll over like a submissive dog and take the abuse, and he hated every second of it.

Even so, beyond his inner circle, he maintained a veneer of calm composure and regality. He couldn’t allow his kingdom to fall into depravity and chaos, without the firm guidance of a strong king. He shouldered a heavy burden, but not one as heavy as the poor souls who ended up in the clutches of King Richard.

The creak of a door opening heralded the entrance of another man into the room. King Charles glanced up to find his advisor, Giovanni, standing at the threshold of the great hall. He was a lanky and timid man, not very sturdily built, but useful for his intelligence and analytical nature.

“Come!” the king commanded in his rich voice, and Gio scurried forward, giving the king a respectful bow. “What is it? Speak.”

“I found one, sire. I scoured the jails and dungeons all across the land, and there was one specimen worthy of a king. A lovely young lady, with caramel skin, glossy brunette locks, and tawny eyes.” Gio’s voice, in stark contrast to the king’s, was reedy and uncertain.

“And what was her crime?”

“Oh…” Gio fidgeted with his hands. “Petty theft. She stole food from a market stall. Despite her beauty, she’s just a poor peasant…”

The king sighed with a labored grimace. “Not a crime worthy of banishment, torture, and death,” he mumbled under his breath.

“E-excuse me, sire?”

“What’s her name?”

“Uh… Tanya, I think?”

“Very well. She’ll have to do.” King Charles stroked his chin with a ponderous expression. “What about the men?”

“Well… since we’re not sure what the men are for, I wasn’t certain what qualities to look for… but there are far more able-bodied young men in the prisons than women, so we have plenty of options to choose from,” Gio concluded.

The king nodded, kneading his forehead to stave off a nascent migraine. After suffering through King Richard’s reign for as many years as they had, the human kingdom of Minimaterra had a system of selection in place to determine who would be chosen as tribute. The very concept was brutal and execrable to everyone involved, but they were powerless to refuse the giant king, lest he retaliate and enslave them all. The ruling class enacted their policies for the greater good of humanity.

The first chosen in the selection process were convicted criminals. While there were plenty of prisoners in the system, finding people suitable for tribute was more challenging. King Richard was very picky in his personal tastes, and always sent one of his trusted servants for the sake of quality control, so the humans couldn’t simply choose anyone, or else the tribute would be rejected. They had to be young, beautiful, delicious maidens, which excluded the entire male population, older women, and any woman that wasn’t pretty enough to fit the standards of a king. It was difficult to find such a fine specimen in the jails, especially with all the women they had already sent to Giganterra. Not to mention, women were far more hesitant to commit crimes when even the most petty infraction could result in such terrible life-changing consequences. In Minimaterra, women were taught from a young age about the dangers, with parents warning their children that they would be gobbled up by the giant king if they misbehaved.

After convicts, the next tier for selection was volunteers. In exchange for their noble sacrifices, the king honored a request, or provided one of their family members with a lifetime stipend. Although this method was effective in procuring more desirable individuals, it was not sustainable in the long term. Such a commitment placed rising financial burdens on the royal treasury over time. Minimaterra was a peaceful and reasonably prosperous kingdom, but resources in their limited territory were finite. The humans had no opportunities for trade with other kingdoms to facilitate economic growth, since Giganterra walled them in on all sides and kept them isolated from interstate commerce. The coffers would run dry eventually. When that happened, and he could no longer buy people’s cooperation, the human king would be forced to conscript free women against their will, an unsavory notion he wished to avoid if possible.

“Have we gotten any volunteers yet?” the king inquired, leading into the next logical point of inquiry.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Gio replied. Even though he was in the presence of royalty, he couldn’t stop himself from shuffling his feet uneasily. “A woman named Candy signed up this morning. She was babbling on, some nonsense about following her destiny and finding true love. She said she just had to visit Giganterra at all costs. I think something is off upstairs, but she is quite physically attractive, so she will be perfect.” When Gio reported to the king, he didn’t spare details: He knew the king wanted all the available information, so he would be more knowledgeable in making informed decisions.

“Okay. Was she the only one?”

“No, your grace, there was one more. A woman named Eren. She was very… shall I say... fiery? She had a savage look to her, like she was about ready to stab somebody, but still enough feminine beauty to appeal. Another quality candidate, in my humble opinion.”

“Hmmm. So three women. We still need two more. And with only a few days until the deadline...” the king mused gloomily, grinding his teeth. “Gio, bring me some refreshments. And fetch me entertainment. I need a break.” Gio bowed and left to carry out his orders. He held the position of an advisor, but he was more than happy to serve the king with anything he required. The king rubbed his face with his hands. He slumped down, remaining on his throne, as if clinging to whatever authority he could muster.

Gio came back quickly with a bottle of mead and an elaborate charcuterie board loaded with a variety of exotic cheeses, meats, crackers, nuts, and fresh fruit. He was accompanied by the court jester, Cesar, who put on a show to entertain the king. He juggled, performed acrobatics, recited humorous limericks, and told jokes. The king didn’t smile or laugh, but Cesar was unbothered. He was a goofy, confident, outgoing guy with a vibrant personality, unable to be dampened by the more serious king.

Another servant entered the great hall and came near the throne with a deferential bow, waiting to be noticed. The king gave him permission to speak with a wave of his hand. “Your Majesty, there’s a mother with her daughter who is requesting an audience. They’re here to offer themselves as tribute.”

King Charles’s heart jumped in his chest. “Send them in,” he ordered, releasing the servant. He indicated to Cesar to halt his routine and the jester stood off to the side, hands clasped stiffly behind his back. The servant returned leading two women behind him, a haggard older woman with a stern mien with a much younger, thinner girl who looked barely old enough to be of age. The timid girl was hunched over, hugging her arms around her slim body like a shield.

“You offer yourselves for tribute?” the king asked, his voice echoing in the empty hall. He leaned forward to look down upon the commoners.

“Not me—her,” the mother proclaimed, roughly shoving her daughter forward. The young lady looked miserable and scared, her eyes darting around the room as if seeking an escape. King Charles regarded her thoughtfully. She was rather plain, with bushy, ratty hair and limbs like twigs. She appeared to be unkempt and sickly, as if mildly underfed, with no curves and a flat chest. The king frowned. She was hardly the ideal candidate to satisfy King Richard’s perversions, but he was getting desperate. They could probably hide her flaws with makeup and padding.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

Her mother cut in before the girl could reply. “Her name is Addison,” she interjected. “How much can I get for her? I heard I can get payments for life?” Addison cringed, ever so slightly, but kept her mouth sealed shut. She seemed just as afraid of her aggressive mother as being sold off against her will.

“That is correct,” the king confirmed. “But it must be her choice, not yours.” He stared at Addison expectantly. She hesitated. Her mother prodded her hard in between her shoulder blades. With her mother’s glare blistering her back, Addison reluctantly nodded.

The king felt an unsettling twist in his guts. He knew accepting her answer would be morally wrong. She was clearly under duress, being manipulated, threatened, or abused for the gain of a heartless family member. Yet, he felt trapped. Either way, he would have to send somebody, whether they wanted to go or not, with brutal consequences for failure. Presently, he lacked a sufficient quantity of maidens. He couldn’t allow himself to feel sympathy for this girl, just because she looked young and pathetic. He had to consider the greater good.

“Alright. I accept.” He turned to the servant that guided them in. “Take care of the details, please.” The man dutifully nodded and escorted the pair out. The king sighed and poured himself more mead. He needed a stiff drink.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty? If I may be so bold?” Cesar piped up, stepping towards the throne.

“Proceed,” the king allowed, draining his glass.

“I heard King Richard requested men as well as women this time around. I’ve given it some thought, and... I’m willing to make the sacrifice! I will go to Giganterra!” the jester announced, raising his pointer finger triumphantly. The bells in his hat jingled merrily with the motion.

King Charles looked him up and down, baffled. “Cesar, I appreciate your selfless bravery, but that won’t be necessary. We will have enough male convicts to fill the quota.”

Cesar’s face fell, but he set his jaw with determination. “But... quality is important! I’d be a better choice than some lowlife thug!” King Charles realized he did have a good point. Cesar was gifted with a strong, lithe build, and he was exceedingly handsome, with bright green eyes, wavy brown hair, a sparkling smile, and toasted skin. If he were a female candidate, his selection would be a no-brainer.

Even so, the king shook his head. “No. I don’t understand why you’re being so insistent.”

Cesar, spurned a second time, resorted to begging. He crumbled to the floor on his knees in an overly dramatic display of supplication, clasping his hands above his head. “Oh, please! Pretty please, sire, let me go! I really wanna!” he whined, giving the king doe eyes. The action was made more ridiculous with his particolored outfit and bells.

The king was nonplussed. “Why?”

“Because...” Cesar began, and paused with a blush. He decided to lay all his cards on the table. “Because I want to meet the giantess princess!”

“What?”

“That’s the reason why he’s asking for men, isn’t it? We’re well acquainted with his preferences by now; we know he has a thing for pretty ladies, not men. The men must be for his daughter! Oh, please, your grace, let me go! I so badly want to go!” He’d fantasized about giantesses since he was a young lad, and now was his chance to finally become acquainted with one in the flesh: huge mountains of soft, warm flesh, preferably with bulging breasts, a slim waist, and toned thighs and buttocks. He could hardly contain his lust as he prostrated himself before the king.

“You really want to go that badly?” The king shook his head in disbelief, yet for the first time that day, Cesar was finally able to make him chuckle. “Alright, Cesar: I shall grant you your wish. May God have mercy upon your soul.”

“Oh, thank you, sire! Thank you!” Cesar bowed and thanked the king profusely. He grinned from ear to ear, flashing his flawless white teeth. He would do everything he could to please the massive princess.

The humans still needed one final person to satisfy King Richard’s boundless lust and gluttony. As the days passed, and the deadline drew nearer, the human ruler became more desperate, calling for a single brave soul to step forward and save them all. They needed a miracle to avoid calamity.

Offering oneself as a sacrifice to the giant king was considered a noble, courageous, and selfless act, a form of martyrdom for the sake of humanity. Such a concept could appeal to those who wished for a larger purpose, wanted to inject meaning into their empty lives, or, in a darker vein, those who did not consider themselves valuable. As tragic and ghastly as this reality was, King Charles was in no position to refuse those lost souls who willingly gave up their lives.

Jackie, a resident of Minimaterra, found herself in an intolerable position. A year ago, a close friend of hers who had suffered a catastrophic personal tragedy chose to sacrifice herself. Jackie mourned the loss deeply and always wondered what happened to her, after she was taken. Her friend had no close family left, so she specified that Jackie should receive the stipend from the royal treasury in exchange for her life. With every payment, Jackie stewed deeper in guilt and despair. She didn’t want money, nor did she want to materially benefit from her friend’s demise: She wanted her friend back.

Her conscience gnawed at her every day as the calls for tribute became more urgent, and the pressure on her increased. No amount of tears sufficed as proper penance. She felt empty inside, despite overflowing with sadness and remorse. A grim idea surfaced in her mind, one that couldn’t be suppressed once it began to fester. While she feared what may happen to her, she sought to fight against her own insignificance and existential nihilism and do some good for her fellow man. For better or worse, she gave herself up to the giant king.

And thus, all the tributes were chosen: Candy, out of an earnest desire for love; Jackie, out of a sense of guilt and selfless justice; Eren, from a thirst for vengeance; Addison, too timid to stand up to her greedy, overbearing, abusive mother; and Cesar, out of pure horniness. The remaining two, Tanya and a male convict named Graham, were chosen against their will, and would not learn of their damnation until the giants came to collect them.

As a courtesy to the brave souls who self-selected for tribute, King Charles elected to meet with them personally on the day before they were sent off to a grim, yet uncertain, fate. He assembled all the volunteers together, excluding the prisoners. Most of them, with the exception of Cesar, had never been inside the castle before, so they were awed by the lavish opulence of the furnishings, the high ceilings and wide corridors, and the fine art pieces. The servants herded them like lambs into a private room with luxurious couches and gourmet refreshments.

They partook in the fancy hors d’oeuvres, some of which were so rare that the commoners had no idea what they were actually eating. Overall, the mood in the room was tense and gloomy. Addison huddled awkwardly on a corner of the embroidered couch and eyeballed the food hungrily, as if afraid somebody would slap her hand if she tried to take some. Eren seared a hole in the coffee table with her thousand-yard stare as she angrily munched on an appetizer and fantasized about slicing open the throat of a giant in glorious, bloody revenge. Jackie withdrew into herself, accepting her destiny with melancholic stoicism. Candy and Cesar were the only two who were chipper and chatty. Candy was oblivious to Cesar’s flirtatious advances as she prattled on about fortune tellers and handsome knights, stars blinding her vision to the gruesome truth.

A servant announced the entry of King Charles, and his subjects all stood up and clumsily bowed, not used to being in the presence of royalty. The king acknowledged them and gestured for them to sit; they scrambled to obey. “Thank you all for coming,” King Charles addressed the small group. “The salvation of humanity rests upon your shoulders. Our civilization would crumble without your noble contributions to the cause.

“As a token of our thanks, I invite you all to enjoy a night of luxury in my palace. You will be provided with lodgings of the highest caliber. Eat and drink and be merry to your heart’s content, for tomorrow your lives will permanently change.” The king omitted that he provided such accommodations to keep the tributes from backing out of their obligations.

His expression grew serious and intense. “I have one more thing to ask of you, from those who have already given their all.” He paused before uttering words of startling gravity. “You need to do anything you can to assassinate the giant king.”

The air seemed to suck out of the room as everyone sat in stunned silence. Eren’s face contorted into a malicious grin. The king continued to speak. “We’ve tried, in the past, to smuggle in weapons or poisons, but our efforts failed miserably. King Richard’s royal taste tester is a giant with an exceptional nose for detecting poisons of any kind, so we weren’t able to hide any toxic substances in sufficient quantity to kill a giant. And, of course, weapons significant enough to maim a giant are too difficult to conceal.”

“But we aren’t going to give up so easily. You will likely be dehumanized, locked up, and powerless at your size, but don’t underestimate yourselves. Do what you can. Use your eyes and ears and voice. Gather information, foment dissent, endear yourselves to his enemies, use any scrap of influence you can get to worm your way into the minds of those with strength. Divide and conquer!”

The assembled parties nodded, the cogs in their minds turning and scheming. “Good luck to you all. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” the king concluded, excusing himself from the room. He sent in the servants with bottles of drink and sumptuous meat dishes and desserts for his guests to enjoy their final night of freedom. They ate and drank and reveled in luxury, yet the king’s words hung heavy in the back of their minds. No longer were the tributes resigned to their fate; they had a mission to accomplish.

Chapter 6

#giant #g/t #giant/tiny #tiny #g/t writing #giant tiny #g/t story #sorry if this chapter kinda sucks I struggled with it and had to rewrite it twice #but the following chapters are much much better and worth the buildup!#it's hard to introduce so many characters so quickly but necessary for the story to happen

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