#high-profile mob lawyer

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

Everyone reading this knows that MAGA will try to tamper with the jurors--and even the witnesses—to help Donald Trump in his criminal trial that began Monday in New York. That is why the judge presiding over the case, Juan Merchan, ordered that the names of the prospective jurors be kept anonymous citing "a likelihood of bribery, jury tampering, or of physical injury or harassment of juror(s)."  While Trump’s lawyers will be provided with the potential  juror’s names so they can research them, Judge Merchan’s partial gag order expressly bars Trump from “making or directing others to make public statements about any prospective juror or any juror in this criminal proceeding” as well as witnesses. That is something you would expect in a criminal trial for a mob boss or leader of a terrorist movement.  But then again, Trump is both a mob boss and the leader of domestic terrorist movement as the head of the violent, criminal enterprise known as MAGA.

In fact, Trump has been called the “Teflon Don” after New York mobster John Gotti who escaped criminal convictions in a few high profile cases in the 1980’s.  Those cases are instructive as to what we may see from MAGA in Trump’s current case. In Gotti’s first well-publicized criminal case in 1986, his minions threatened a witness who conveniently got a case of amnesia in the courtroom and was unable to identify Gotti as the man who robbed and assaulted him. Gotti walked. And then in Gotti’s 1987 trial, a person named George Pape was able to get on the jury by withholding information that he was a close friend of someone connected to Gotti.  Once on the jury, Pape was paid $60,000 by a Gotti intermediary to help the mobster beat the case—which Gotti did. Pape was later charged and convicted for crimes in connection with this bribe. In 1992, though, when there was neither jury nor witness tampering, Gotti was convicted of very serious felonies.

Turning to Trump’s case, on Monday we already saw clear evidence that MAGA would attempt to tamper with Trump’s jury to help him. One of the most jarring and overt attempts came from MAGA Rep. Byron Donalds who told viewers Monday on Newsmax to get on the jury and vote to acquit Trump regardless of the evidence. I’m not exaggerating. The Florida Congressman stated, “My plea is to the people of Manhattan that may sit on this trial: Please do the right thing for this country.”  He continued, “Everybody’s allowed to have their political viewpoints, but the law is supposed to be blind and no respecter of persons.” At this point, if Donalds had ended his plea by saying please follow the evidence and be guided accordingly, that would be fine. Instead, this MAGA soldier directly told the people of Manhattan who might be watching: “This is a trash case, there is no crime here, and if there is any potential for a verdict, they should vote not guilty.”

Here is a sitting member of Congress telling people who watch the pro-Trump Newsmax that if they live in Manhattan and are called to be a juror on the case, they should ignore the evidence and vote to acquit Trump. All that was missing was the $60,000 payment that Gotti offered the juror in his case. Then there was Fox News contributor Clay Travis who Monday morning—with the Trump jury selection about to begin—made an even more direct appeal to his more than one million followers on Twitter to ignore the evidence and help Trump.  Travis wrote, “If you’re a Trump supporter in New York City who is a part of the jury pool, do everything you can to get seated on the jury and then refuse to convict as a matter of principle, dooming the case via hung jury. It’s the most patriotic thing you could possibly do.”

Travis—with the line “do everything you can to get seated on the jury” -- was telling prospective jurors to follow the Gotti playbook of withholding vital information from the court of their obvious bias. Then ignore the evidence and cause a hung jury. In response to Travis’s post, Democratic Rep. Eric Swalwell—a former prosecutor—tweeted: “Jury tampering. That’s what they do. *It’s a felony.”  And National security attorney Bradley Moss  wrote on social media, “Clay is arguably conspiring to commit jury tampering here by encouraging someone to deliberately engage in jury nullification.” Those two were the most in your face attempts at jury tampering. Others, like MAGA Rep. Elise Stefanik from New York, were more subtle in trying to influence prospective jurors in her home state. On Monday she wrote on Twitter that the judge presiding over the case was “corrupt” and that this was, “A 6-8 week show trial... Total election interference.” This line of attack-- echoed by many Republicans including MAGA Senator JD Vance-- is a more subtle form of jury tampering where these elected officials are intentionally attempting to influence prospective jurors about the case before they see the evidence.

Dean Obeidallah bringing the heat on MAGA jury tamperers in the Trump business deal falsification trial.

#Donald Trump #Byron Donalds #Clay Travis #People of New York v. Trump #John Gotti #Donald Trump Trial #Elise Stefanik #J.D. Vance #Eric Swalwell #Jury Tampering

[doctordisaster]

I was off tumblr for a good few years, and somehow I’ve returned to see the set of notable creators I follow on here having EXACTLY the same tense conversation with their fans that they were before I left. On the one side, it goes “no please do not send me your fan theories about how my in-progress work should go in the future.” On the other side it’s “but like I really really wanna.”

Typically the creators present a legalistic argument: if I hear your idea, it’s opening me and my collaborators to legal liability, plain and simple. This is true, and it ought to be offensive to nobody. Unfortunately, these weird fans then start trying to armchair IP rules lawyer their way into getting to do it anyway because they really really wanna, and the conversation just loops. It has apparently been stuck in this loop forever.

Occasionally one of the creators will get especially candid and reply “hey friend I have so many ideas already! That’s literally my job, you’ll find, so I’m good! :) You should go make something out of your idea instead of expecting me to do it for you! :) :) :) ” And the fan goes “but I really really wanna get you to do it for me” and, as before, the conversation loops.

I’m going to say the part the creators can’t say, for fear of running afoul of a shitty internet mob. Well-meaning, probably very sweet fan? Your idea sucks. I am not some high profile creative, but I constantly have clients or friends or just randos I met at a bar go “oh hey you know that thing you studied for years to learn to do and have been doing at your job every day and have been honing your skill and speed at for literal decades at this point? I’ve never done any of that but I think for your next project you should do THIS.”

And let me tell you: ‘THIS’ always sucks. It is invariably the stupidest, worst, most ineffective, dumb-shit approach to doing what I do that I’ve ever heard. It’s almost always the sort of thing you could never even attempt in a professional context and hope to stay productive, and on the rare occasions when it’s logistically feasible, it is on a conceptual level guaranteed to produce some of the worst work of your career. It is ‘graphic design is my passion’ without doing the work of pasting in the little frog.

I have been on tumblr a long time, and I have read the sort of fan concepts people like to share here. I am NOT a professional storyteller, but even I can tell that They. Are. Terrible. It’s always ‘what if no one ever did anything ethically troubling’ or ‘what if everything magically worked out perfectly for my pet favorite character’ or ‘what if your entire narrative universe bent itself into a pretzel to justify my personal idea of what is Right and Moral and Makes A Worthy Story and then everyone in the real world clapped.’

If you have a genuinely good idea, put in the effort to make a genuinely good work. If you aren’t willing to do the latter, I have some pretty serious doubts about the former.

[melis-writes]

Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader series, 18+ Smut] Oneshot – Evenings Like These.

Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

Oneshot based in July 1958.

"And since it's so important to you, spend time with the children and the guests instead of running off to New York this time." / "I'm obsessed with every inch of you."

July 1958 marks a grand, semi-annual dinner party held by the Corleone family for closest friends, colleagues, and business partners. One to remember in terms of splendor and memories made, Michael is largely absent in his office managing business deals both illicit and legitimate–adding to the growing wealth and power of the Corleone family just as Vito once did as Don. With little Vincent and baby James growing and the twins almost 10 years old, Vito and Carmela are present spending time with their grandchildren as Michael's absence from the family grows stringent and unbearable for you and the twins to ignore. You come to realize evenings like these are nights of revelation. The Corleone family nanny Esther reveals her dirty secret during the biggest party of the year, Sandra's guilt stems from a lie, Sonny's thoughts remain with what happened in New York, a swing dance becomes the highlight of the party and your appetite for an afterparty diminishes but lust for wanting to take control of the Don in bed after days left without intimacy grows.

[WARNINGS]: Smut & sexual themes / Rough smut / Spanking / Dirty talking.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: A whopping 72 pages or 26.4k words in all its glory! You can expect drama, a sprinkle of angst, a plot twist of surprise, arguments, teasing, jealousy, even a swing dance and heated smut are all in this oneshot. We get to see Vito, Connie and Sandra again, moments with the twins, how Michael runs the family business including his wealth, and how Michael and the reader's two cute little babies-Vincent and James-are doing! Just as so much can go right at one of the biggest, semi annual celebrations held by the Corleone, so much has a potential to go wrong. Expect the unexpected when it comes to all of the plot arcs and characters this oneshot.

1949. Your name is Victoria Ferrari, and you’re the only daughter of one of the most powerful mafia families in New York—the Ferrari’s. When the Ferrari family began to gain heavy influence and power, it struck a power imbalance with the Corleone’s. To bind the families together as one in an offering of peace, friendship and business, you are to be married to their youngest son, Michael Corleone. As you ensnare yourself in the life of a mob wife by Michael’s side, what you don’t know is his old ties with Kay Adams, your best friend from Dartmouth, and that he returned from Sicily a widower. A ruthless mob boss to be, you unravel Michael’s dark past and the brutality that has changed his personality. You find yourself adapting to your new life, betrayed by those you love most, and in high profile to Ferrari and Corleone family enemies. Falling deeply in love with Michael, you enter a life and marriage filled with secrets and darkness. Bearing his children, supporting his crime empire and following him into the shadows, you’re unable to deny your passion and desire to the new Don. When it comes to Michael Corleone, you are but a moth to a flame.

July 1958 marks the semi-annual celebration and dinner part of the season, held at the Lake Tahoe compound only for the family’s most trusted and longtime business associates, investors and partners, university benefactors and colleagues, lawyers, politicians, and bankers in the Corleone family payroll and friends you and Michael have been grateful to know for the past decade.

There’s a story to tell behind the name and face of everyone attending your family’s celebration tonight; men and women all working for the Corleone family one way or another like a small cog within a machine that is efficient with or without them.

As a result of your marriage with Michael almost nine years ago now, every guest has also become acquainted or in some sort of business with your family as well. Partnerships and business have always been done well, and a sense of trustworthiness and loyalty exists amongst these men and women rather than stringent greed for money alone. 

Still, even with the familiarity and business tactics, Michael has come to know from all of his guests, it’s never meant he’s actually trusted them. Michael never has and never will.

Michael doesn’t even trust Al Neri—his right-hand bodyguard and personal assassin even though Neri’s loyalty has been grandfathered in since Vito was Don.

There isn’t a bone in Al Neri’s body or a desire for all the money in the world to betray Michael or even come close to thinking it. Even if Michael was able to know and understand this, he still would not grant his trust.

Perhaps the men and women gathered today to celebrate don’t know how distrustful you and Michael truly are of them at the end of the day, but today is an exception as there’s a mix of keeping things both in business and personal. 

Familiar faces and well-known guests have always graced celebrations held by the Corleone and Ferrari families alike. 

Corleone hospitality at the Lake Tahoe compound is one of a kind in itself. A hired Italian band plays a soothing and relaxing melody that echoes throughout the compound, welcoming guests who walk past the dazzling lights and décor surrounding the estates.

Naturally, security is at an all-time high, but even Michael’s bodyguards and assassins are dressed like party guests—eating and making conversation to remain inconspicuous as if the only security available is by the entrance and exits of the compound instead.

The dining tables are set up elegantly to accommodate every guest without being overcrowded or too close to the next table. The finest silverware and dishes are used to grace the gourmet Italian menu and special dish selection for everyone’s taste.

Bottles of champagne and wine worth thousands of dollars are served, and the finest cocktails with low alcohol content are curated by a mixologist over by the bar. Only the best and most experienced chefs and servers that are paid very well by your family tend to tonight’s meal to leave a profound impression.

Just as all your guests were punctual when the dinner celebration began, fireworks were shown first—popping and blasting in the sky to welcome the evening of splendor before everyone. More are planned to be released towards the end of the celebration, as the dinner party starts at six and will end up at midnight.

You know well yourself that with these semi-annual celebrations, a grand party is in order as much as the continuation of Michael’s business is too. Michael’s popping in and out of his office every now and then to talk to his business associates.

Michael’s become accustomed to formality and celebration upfront but private business elsewhere. Although all business is in his favor tonight, Michael only wonders what other offers and requests he’ll have before him on Verona’s wedding day in the future.

Those who know, know. Michael Corleone is not just the head of the Corleone family—a well-known figure in New York and Nevada, but also a businessman whose dealings have always been lucrative. 

It’s only 7:32 PM, and Michael has already made five million dollars worth of deals before the dinner service has even begun. 

You only had a brief moment with your husband as the two of you made your initial rounds of meeting guests briefly, mostly to show your guests that the hosts would be as present and enjoying the evening as they were.

“Thank you for coming” and “how has your family been?” must have come out of your mouth at least a dozen times in the first five minutes of handshakes and hugs to old friends and colleagues.

The same sentiment is shared by your family, whose also fully in attendance, but you know all of your brothers, with the exception of Matteo (always brooding in silence) and Dante—who has never been as much of a social butterfly as his older brothers—are more than eager to greet who they know will make them the most money by the end of the night.

Lorenzo remains dressed lavishly in his best, three-piece, navy silk suit while holding a glass of champagne in one hand and his other arm wrapped around his wife Alina’s waist. 

The group of guests that gather around Lorenzo gaze at your brother in awe as he continues charming them with his charisma, while Alessio stands next to another full guest’s table—stealing all the attention from the conversation.

Leonardo, on the other hand, plants a soft trail of kisses over Connie’s cheeks by the bar, causing her to blush as the two talk amongst one another at the other end of the compound.

Throughout the beginning of the celebration, Niccolò and Verona have politely accompanied both you and Michael in meeting family friends and business partners who’ve only gushed and expressed how much the twins have grown and how much they resemble you and Michael. 

The squealing and “he’s so adorable!” increased tenfold when you held three-year-old Vincent’s hand and walked with him around the compound, carrying your youngest—one-year-old James in your arms.

Whether Michael was right beside you at the time or just a few feet away speaking with a business partner, his eyes were always on you and the children. 

He felt the warmth of emotion at the sight of his growing family, especially when James gives his daddy a little wave from afar or when Michael catches Vincent happily beaming up at him amongst the crowd.

“Mwah!” You surprise the twins by coming through the crowd and back to the family table, springing up from behind to give their cheeks a smooch. “There you two are.” 

Your eyes find Esther—the nanny—sitting just across from them at the table. She smiles back at you politely, sitting closely with Vincent and holding little James in her lap. “Welcome back, Mrs. Corleone. We’re just having a cookie break.”

“Cookie break!” Verona exclaims, holding up a chocolate-chip cookie in her hand.

“Enjoy it,” you let out a soft laugh, rubbing both of the twins’ shoulders. “And look at my little ones over here!” You move towards the babies, scooping up James from Esther carefully and planting little kisses over your youngest son’s face. 

“Hi!” You beam back playfully at James, who giggles, clutching onto the front of your dress with his tiny, balled-up hands. “How’s my little cutie? Not quite old enough to have a cookie break with your siblings, right? Mhmm,” you take your seat next to Vincent, happily munching down on a small piece of a cookie.

“Hi, mama.” Vincent proudly holds up a chunk of the cookie in his hand, “I got a cookie.”

“Hi, baby! You got a cookie too?” You pepper little kisses over your three-year-old son’s cheeks. “Mwah—geez, Esther,” you glance up at her, “nobody was exaggerating when they kept saying the children were just mini Michaels?”

You and Esther laugh amongst one another as you shake your head. “It’s true! They look so, so much like their father.”

“I see they resemble you very much, too, if you ask me, Mrs. Corleone,” Esther tells you with a smile. “Both their mother and father.”

“Grandma keeps telling me I have daddy’s nose.” Niccolò grins, biting down on his cookie.

“You do.” Both you and Esther flat out state at the same time, chuckling.

“And now dressing up in tailored silk suits and gelling your hair? You’re the spitting image of him.” You smile back at your son, letting Vincent hold your hand as you gently rub James’ back up and down soothingly. 

“Daddy coming?” Vincent peeks up at you.

Just as you’re about to answer him, you glance around you to find Michael nowhere in sight or near the other family tables—more than likely meaning he’s gone back to his office to speak with a business partner in private yet again.

“Daddy has business to take care of.” You plant a kiss on Vincent’s forehead. “You miss him?”

“Ya.” Vincent nods back at you, smiling shyly. “I miss daddy.”

“You and me both. He’ll be out soon, honey.” You give Vincent’s hand a reassuring, soft squeeze. “Don’t you worry?”

Although you know for yourself it’s no reason to actually worry about it, you can’t get your mind off of Michael’s whereabouts either—especially at such a celebration where the subject at every table is the hospitality of the hosts.

You let out a soft exhale and relax in your seat as you notice drink service beginning to start. Waiters and waitresses begin to spread out around the compound with large trays of champagne and wine—specifically avoiding family tables with children—and all you can think to yourself at this moment is: ‘I think I need a drink too.’

~

As the refreshment service kicks off in full swing, Niccolò and Verona hop from one family table to another; others occupied by their grandparents to their uncles, their aunts, and many more family members all close by to one another.

With Michael still inside his office and nowhere in sight, you join Connie and Sandra at the girls’ table with your sisters-in-law for a glass of wine—refusing to drink near the children.

It’s only when the twins spend some time playing catch with Tom and Theresa’s dogs is when Niccolò realizes his sister isn’t nearly as enthusiastic as he is.

Verona kicks a small pebble in front of her, glancing around the compound glumly as she waits patiently to see her father again. 

Distracted by everything around him, on the other hand, Niccolò remembers just how long it’s been since Michael was here with you and the children the moment he sees the saddened and confused expression on his sister’s face.

“Stai bene, Verona?” (Are you alright?) Niccolò peeks up at his sister as he approaches her.

“Sì,” Verona answers, but without any confidence. “Do you know what’s taking daddy so long?”

Niccolò furrows his brows in confusion, squinting his eyes as he attempts to look past the crowd and back towards the central family residence. “I think he’s still busy in his office like mama said.”

“In his office,” Verona repeats in surprise, glancing towards the estate herself for a moment before looking back at her brother. “Do you think daddy would be upset if we went to see him?”

“Why would daddy be upset?” A grin forms over Niccolo’s face. “We just have to ask to get in to see him, right? We should ask grandpa.”

“Grandpa will let us in?” Verona giggles.

Niccolò nods back eagerly, “grandpa knows best! Come on,” Niccolò gently takes his sister’s hand in his, leading her through the crowd with a spring in his step as the two skip off towards Mama Corleone and Vito’s table.

Vito is in mid-conversation with a middle-aged couple politely standing by the Corleone family table, making banter with the old Don right up until Vito notices his grandchildren coming towards him from the corner of his eye.

“If you will excuse me for just a moment,” Vito murmurs to the couple, giving them a dismissing nod.

Niccolò and Verona don’t even notice the couple briefly saying their goodbyes before joining the rest of the crowd by the courtyard—simply filled with eager curiosity and questions to ask their grandfather.

“Ciao, nonno!” (Hi, grandpa!) The twins chime out at the same time, making Vito chuckle as he leans off of his seat to hug both of them one by one.

“What brings the two of you rushing up here so quick?”Vito asks his grandchildren, smiling at them.

“We wanted to ask a question,” Verona sheepishly admits, clasping her hands behind her back.

“And what’s that?” Vito’s eyes flicker over Verona and Niccolo’s, easily able to tell they’re both anticipating something. 

“What if…” Niccolò ponders the question for a moment, “Verona and I went inside to see daddy?”

“Your father’s in the middle of a business meeting, but—” Vito pauses, letting out a soft sigh as he shakes his head. “That’s all the two of you have been hearing this evening this evening, isn’t it?”

“It’s like he’s never going to come back to the party, grandpa.” Verona pouts. “I had something special to tell him today.”

“But he is your father after all,” Vito nods at the twins. “Regardless of what he’s doing, he always has time for his family. Now that stiff bodyguard of his…” Vito licks his lips, gesturing with his finger as he tries to remember Al Neri’s name, “Neri. Yes. He may not think the same, so you’ll have to come up with a good excuse to get inside.”

“What should we tell him?” Niccolo’s eyes widen with excitement.

“The truth, of course.” Vito slicks a hand through his hair before adjusting Niccolo’s tie and the ribbons in Verona’s hair gently. “Look at the two of you—distinguished and esteemed business partners, yes? Very important people. Let Neri know that you’ve got important business to tend to, and it can’t wait. What are you going to ask him in there?”

“I wanted to see if daddy could take us on a trip to Reno on the weekend so we could spend some time with him,” Verona answers back shyly. “Or maybe some other time this month if daddy’s busy.”

Niccolo’s about to chime in but remains quiet as he frowns and realizes he can’t remember the last time Michael joined him, you, and the rest of their siblings on a trip to Reno to begin with.

“Then there’s your offer.” Vito chuckles, “go on, go tell him now before someone else gets in line. You know there’s no end to the people who want to see your father tonight.”

“Come on, let’s go!” Niccolò beams back at his sister as the two rush off together in a fit of giggles towards the family estate with only one objective in mind: get in to see Don Corleone himself.

~

Every corner of the Corleone family compound—let alone the various residences comfortably scattered within it—remains heavily guarded. It’s not a sight you nor the children aren’t used to seeing, but for any kind of social outing involving crowds and visitors, security is instantly tripled. 

There isn’t a corner or residence where two guards don’t stand by, and the only guards who visibly appear as security are the ones at every entrance and exit, guarding and parking guest vehicles. 

Every other security guard dresses to impress as if they were a part of the celebration themselves. While they aren’t allowed to imbibe alcohol on duty, other refreshments and the same meal service as the guests are provided to them by their post.

To the eyes of Corleone friends and colleagues, Michael’s elite security and assassins who would not hesitate to kill for their Don and would step in front of a bullet for the Corleone family, they simply appear to be wealthy businessmen enjoying the dinner service and walking around the compound in conversation.

Too young to notice a clear difference, Niccolò and Verona peek up at the two security men guarding the central family residence’s door. The guards don’t need to look twice or ask any questions as they recognize Don’s children and open the door for the twins.

Inconspicuous security remains on every floor but appears to the twins as other businessmen waiting to see their father. The residence is calm and tidy as usual, and nothing is out of the ordinary besides Michael’s security and sentry making surveillance rounds in the building.

As Verona and Niccolò quietly walk side by side towards their father’s office, they can make out very faint sounds of conversation coming from the room. 

Just as Vito had told them, Al Neri is to be found right in front of Michael’s office door and seems somewhat surprised to spot the twins waiting directly outside of their father’s office.

“Hi, Mr. Neri.” Verona chimes up as Niccolò gives him a polite smile.

Al seems momentarily stunned by Niccolo’s striking resemblance to his father with his gelled back hair and little silk suit.

Al gives the twins an acknowledging nod. “What can I do for the two of you?”

“Is daddy busy with a meeting right now?” Niccolò asks.

“He is.” Al nods, aware that he’s going to have to tell the twins any minute now that Michael isn’t going to be coming out any time soon.

“We want to see him next,” Verona says confidently.

Al raises a brow at her in surprise, “why not wait until your father is back out in the compound? He’s preoccupied with other matters at the moment and has asked not to be bothered.”

“That can’t wait.” Niccolò shakes his head, insisting. “We have to see daddy now. We have very important business to discuss with him.” Before Al can even respond, Niccolò continues in a much sterner voice, “don’t you know who we are?”

Al knows he has no jurisdiction over what the twins do or where they go. His job has always been to protect the Corleone family with his life, but he is strictly forbidden from “parenting” or lecturing the children in any manner—let alone getting involved with anything they do.

Niccolò and Verona are quite aware of this, and while they don’t abuse their little “power” over Michael’s men, they know that they’re at a much higher priority than any business meeting.

“Of course.” Al chuckles quietly, amused by the children’s antics. “What should I tell Don Corleone?”

“Tell him we’re going to make him an offer he can’t refuse,” Niccolò replies with a faint smirk over his lips—knowing he picked up that line from hearing Michael and Vito say it.

While Al knows of the twins’ playful nature, he’s also very well aware that, if anything, he’ll be approached by the two in this exact manner but on much less friendly terms in the future.

“Alright then.” Al nods back at the two, “if you would just wait in the living room for a moment, I’ll tell Don Corleone his next business partners have arrived.” Al Neri doesn’t have the luxury to say no or argue with the twins.

“Perfect!” Verona beams, nodding back at Niccolò before the two scurry back off into the living room—giggling quietly amongst one another.

~

“Hey, sweetheart.” Sonny winks, letting out a deep, relaxed exhale as he plops into his seat next to you at the table—balancing a champagne cocktail in one hand and a cigar in the other. “Miss me much?”

“Santino.” You chime out, amused by his disposition as you sip your cocktail. “With you spending all that time by the bar, I thought you’d be more than a little tipsy now.”

“Not even.” Sonny rolls his eyes, setting his champagne down. “It’s just like every other time with Mike ordering around these caterers. Nothing but champagne cocktails and red wine—I think I’m going to end up pissing a mixture of both by the end of tonight.”

You burst out laughing as Sonny grows amused by your reaction, grinning back at you as he leans back in his seat. “Yeah, you see what I mean? Mm, anyways,” Sonny takes a puff from his cigar. “How’s the party goin’ for you besides our lack of drink selection?”

“As good as it can be during every dinner party and celebration. You know me.” You smile back at Sonny, picking up your champagne cocktail. 

“Mrs. Corleone is quite the social butterfly,” Sonny grins playfully and wraps an arm around you, pulling you into a side hug. “Refreshments came out what—twenty? Thirty minutes ago? Are you sick of these cocktails too, or just not in the mood?”

“How about a bit of both?” You watch the bubbling champagne swish around in your glass as you give it a little wave. “After that little trick Connie, Sandra, Deanna, and I pulled with our cocktail party? I think I’m the reason why we aren’t allowed any other drinks.”

You and Sonny laugh in unison together as he gives your arm a gentle squeeze. “Here, here, mm—” Sonny puts his cigar loosely in the corner of his mouth and takes your champagne cocktail from your hand. “Maybe if you make him regret this too, we’ll get better drink service.” Sonny moves the champagne flute up to your lips, gazing at you expectantly. “Bottom’s up, darlin’.”

You place your lips on the rim of the glass as Sonny helps you drink down the champagne; Sonny’s eyes are lingering over your lips as you easily swallow down half of the glass. “Mmm…”

“And if Mike’s made sure everything here has even less alcohol content—” Sonny carefully sets down the champagne glass in front of you, wiping off the dribble of champagne by your bottom lip with his finger before popping it into his mouth. “Then you can taste…” Sonny takes his finger out of his mouth, “the drink better.”

You stare back at Sonny, momentarily stunned by not only his boldness at Michael’s absence but also what he’s done, which only amplifies Sonny’s playful mood from the look on his face.

It’s one thing to share champagne with one another and sit at the family table, but the memory of Michael almost having broken Sonny’s nose with his own hand is near and dear. That’s the only thing you remember as you shake your head and wipe off your mouth with a napkin.

“It’s sure as hell gonna take me a lot more than a few drinks to get drunk tonight,” Sonny takes the cigar out of his mouth, blowing out smoke as he keeps his arm around your shoulder. “Sandra would never let me, let alone Mike.” He chuckles to himself. “All in good fun then, whatever. I’ll lay back, have a drink or two, talk to the guests—you know how it is.” Sonny gestures around the compound with his free hand, holding the cigar in between his fingers. “Delicious food, pretty ladies—I mean damn, even Esther’s dressed up and looks pretty for once.”

Your eyes dart over to Esther—the family nanny under Corleone service—having already noticed her plum-colored, A-line dress she’s wearing for the evening. 

Esther’s appearance doesn’t match the tone or dress code of the party exactly, but she’s put some effort into her look for the evening to be respectful to the Corleone family’s celebration and not particularly stand out in her regular, non-formal wardrobe. 

“For once?” You raise a curious brow at Sonny.

“I mean, whatever.” Sonny shrugs his shoulders, “she hasn’t before, at least not enough for me to notice or care, buuuuut…” He clears his throat, smirking at you before gesturing to your black dress. “You, on the other hand, are gorgeous.”

‘More like ridiculously sexy, pull your panties off with my teeth if you wanted me to kind of gorgeous…’ Sonny thinks to himself.

“Thank you,” you pick up your champagne flute again—very well aware that Sonny’s eyes are still all over you and always will be whenever he gets a chance.

What remains unknown to the rest of you—including the twins—is that Michael continues to preoccupy himself with even more work to do. Making five million dollars in one night with the evening barely half over means procedure, more meanings, and lots of “legal” paperwork with Tom to legitimize it all. 

Sonny is well aware of his brother’s business plans for the night and, if anything, could care less about how bold and forward he’s being by flirting with you, his sister-in-law, behind Michael’s back.

It’s Al Neri standing by the guest tables towards the back of the compound that’s noticed every single move Sonny’s made towards you, down to his body language. Neri knows that all he’d have to do is tell Michael, but he is not quite sure if Michael shattering Sonny’s jaw would be best during a family celebration like this just yet.

~

“Thank you kindly, Don Corleone. You won’t regret it.” Enthusiasm and out of breath excitement once again leave the lips of one of Michael’s business partners. 

Now that the businessman’s dealings and interests are protected, and he knows he’s pleased the Don with a lucrative business deal that’ll benefit Michael before anyone else, it’s another six million in the Corleone family’s pocket but no end in sight to the business meetings coming in for tonight.

Michael gives his business partner a half nod of acknowledgment, much more concerned about finishing his current cigarette. Michael doesn’t bother to look up again from his desk until he hears his office door click shut.

Only when Michael hears Al Neri enter the office a moment after does he look up, only in expectation to hear the name and purpose of the next visit from his business partners. “Who's next?”

Al Neri clears his throat, not sure whether to quite literally admit to Michael that his children are to see him or to introduce the twins as business partners. 

Still, seeing no harm in keeping his word to the twins, as Neri knows any confusion caused will be cleared up the moment Michael’s own children enter the office, Al Neri answers Michael’s question. “Two business partners, Don Corleone.”

“Names, Neri.” Michael puts out his shortened cigarette into his ashtray.

“Frankly, sir,” Neri clears his throat, unsure whether he should still be holding back his smile. “They chose not to be named.”

“Alright.” Michael exhales, grabbing his cigarette pack off of his desk. 

Just a moment after Neri steps out of Michael’s office, he beckons for the twins to enter. Keeping their excited footsteps as heavy and steady as possible, Niccolò and Verona exchange excited glances with one another before finally entering the father’s office.

Across from Niccolò and Verona remains Michael in his dupioni silk, grey suit sitting upright in his leather seat by his office desk. 

Four cigarettes remain scrunched up and put out in the ashtray in front of Michael, and the curtains behind him that would otherwise reveal the ongoing celebration on the compound cover the windows entirely.

“Hi, daddy!” The twins blurt out at the same time, barely able to keep their enthusiasm.

Michael immediately raises his head and drops his pack of cigarettes back down on his desk without taking anything out. 

Surprised for a brief moment to see his children and Al Neri out of sight, Michael’s eyes warm with emotion for the first time since he’s stepped back into his office.

Michael pulls his seat back just in time for Niccolò and Verona to rush up into his arms, giggling. Hugging his children back in surprise and confusion, Michael glances down at the giddy twins with anticipation growing in their eyes.

“Niccolò—Verona, what are you two doing here? This is for business. Daddy’s doing business right now.” Michael runs his hand softly through both of the twins’ hair. 

“We have business for you too, daddy!” Verona bubbles.

“Yeah!” Niccolò adds. “We have something to tell you!”

“Could it wait when I step out?” Michael asks softly, being patient with the twins.

Verona’s smile immediately sours to a saddened pout. “But daddy…”

In truth, for the past few months, Michael has been much busier than before, but at the same time, it hasn’t been unusual for him to be either. 

In the past six months, Michael’s made more “friends” in powerful places from not just your father’s business partners and colleagues but also from all over Nevada and New York—including investors, more politicians, judges, and bankers in the Corleone family service and dealings.

Michael makes the final decisions on everything when it comes to Corleone family-owned real estate, businesses, investments, hotels, casinos, and anything else registered under the family name, whether it be a legitimate business or illegal mafia dealings.

It’s not that Michael’s unable to find a better time to do his business or that he manages all of it himself, but that the Corleone family’s rapid success this year of 1958 had bolstered—reminding Michael much of his father Vito when he first began his Genco olive oil business.

Even if it hadn’t been for consistent business meetings and offers made tonight, Michael nonetheless remains a busy man, to begin with, and always has since Vito went into semi-retirement. Still, Michael’s never been one to neglect his family and is aware that he’s capable of doing so unintentionally.

Just as Michael knows tonight is a special occasion celebrated by friends and colleagues, he also knows he’s not being neglectful to any of his children. If Michael can’t find a way to make it up to you or the twins the day of, he puts in an effort to do it afterward—something the twins have happily picked up on.

While little Vincent and baby James are much too young to realize this, the twins know regardless of how busy their father may be, Michael is a huge part of their lives and has never strayed away from spending a single free moment he could with his children.

On the other hand, you and Michael have both taught the twins growing up through decision-making that you two won’t simply say “yes” to every request the children make to protect them and teach them what’s good for them. 

You and Michael have always considered everything the twins have said and wanted to do and worked it out as parents to see if you could—whether it be to go out, buy a new toy, try a new hobby, and so forth. 

“Nooo, it can’t wait.” Verona frowns at her father.

“We’re gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse.” Niccolò beams proudly with confidence.

For what seems like the first time in many weeks, Michael chuckles in amusement at Niccolo’s response. “Did your grandfather teach you that phrase?”

“Yes.” Niccolò can hardly hold back his giggling.

“Alright.” Michael folds his hands on his lap, his expression and tone growing serious as he looks at the twins. “So you’re both business partners of the Corleone family. Who has what to tell me?”

“Me.” Verona happily takes a little step forward.

“Okay, Mrs. Corleone,” a faint smile can be seen on the corners of Michael’s lips. “Let’s hear your business proposal.”

“I was wondering if maybe you could please take us to Reno for the weekend, daddy?” Verona asks politely. “Or! Or maybe the weekend after that?”

“Reno?” Michael repeats. “How come you two want to visit?”

“Lots of reasons!” Niccolò adds, “the theater shows are so cool, and auntie Connie used to take us shopping, and mama found this lovely café we went to last time, remember?”

“Of course I do.” Michael ruffles Niccolo’s hair. “I’ll think about it, alright?”

Verona and Niccolò exchange glances with one another, having expected a much different response.

“That’s a no, daddy?” Verona peeks back at her father for confirmation.

“I’m not sure, darling,” Michael tells her. “I’m very busy with business lately, and I may be working this weekend or the next as well.”

“We haven’t been out for a while,” Niccolò glumly says.

“I know.” Michael takes Niccolo’s small hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We can all plan it together when I have more time, alright?”

“Okay.” The twins say out at the same time.

“When will you come back out, daddy?” Verona asks, gesturing out the office door.

“I’m not sure, sweetheart.” Michael looks back at his daughter. “Soon, I hope.”

“Will you see the fireworks with us, daddy?” Niccolò asks eagerly.

“I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises,” Michael replies, noticing the sad look lingering in his children’s eyes.

Michael lets out a soft, deep exhale before gesturing to himself. “Come here, you two.”

Little smiles form on the twins’ faces as they embrace Michael in a warm hug. 

Michael wraps both of his arms around Niccolò and Verona equally, giving their backs a little rub before planting a kiss on each of their foreheads and pulling away. 

“I love you both, and I’ll try to be out as soon as I can, alright?” Michael says back.

“Okay, daddy.” The expression on the twins’ faces lightens up as they nod back at their father, beginning to quietly exit his office together.

Al Neri gestures to one of Michael’s private security standing by in the living room to accompany the twins back to the family table outside. 

Neri then glances back into Michael’s office, knowing while he doesn’t have any further guests to speak with, this doesn’t account for the amount of paperwork to be done and decisions to be made.

Michael stretches out his arms before tightening his black silk tie. “Neri, I’m taking a restroom break.” He rises from his seat, glancing at Al. “I won’t be taking in any more guests for tonight, so close off the door for me, if you would.”

“Yes, Don Corleone.” Al Neri nods back, standing aside by the door so Michael’s able to step out. 

Michael runs a careful hand throughout the sides of his gelled hair, keeping it neat without any loose strands coming out while he makes his way towards the bathroom down the hallway.

~

After another round of small talk and greetings with a handful of colleagues, you find yourself wandering through the crowds of guests in the courtyard along with a half-full flute of champagne in your hand.

Michael is still nowhere to be seen, although the two of you are aware the

You nibble over your bottom lip, pretending as if you have somewhere to go and preferably back to the family table before another handful of guests distracts you in a meaningless, long conversation again.

You let out a soft sigh, feeling like you’re standing out of place at your own party. Your eyes glance up to see the Hagen family table near yours, where Tom and Theresa share a glass of red wine together; Tom’s arms around Theresa’s waist as she blushes and gazes up at her husband.

Their cuddling and clingy-like behavior only reminds you again how badly you wish Michael was with you doing the same. Of course, you remember Michael’s business plans and meetings take priority over something as dull (in his words) as a dinner party, and with the length of Michael’s absence, you assume to yourself that whatever he’s dealing with at the moment must be crucial.

You’re about to approach your family table when you notice Mama Corleone sitting with the children and speaking softly to Vincent and James in Italian. Esther’s nowhere to be seen either, which not only confuses you but strikes you as concerning, knowing her role as the nanny is to be with the children at all times.

At the same time, you’re not aware of the twins exiting the central family residence a distance behind you. Niccolò and Verona peek up and are the first to see Esther heading inside and taking a right turn towards the office wing with not so much urgency in her steps but enthusiasm like she can’t wait to enter. 

“Mama!” You hear Niccolo’s voice coming from behind you as the twins eagerly rush up to you.

You spin back to see Niccolò and Verona beaming as they approach you with excitement, simply happy to spot you out of the crowd.

“Hey, you two.” You smile back, rubbing both of the twins’ shoulders. “Everything alright? Where did you guys go?”

“We went in to see daddy.” Verona nods, rather proud of herself for admitting so.

“You went in to see daddy.” You repeat to yourself, a little stunned. “Oh, what for?”

“We asked if he could maybe take us to Reno this weekend or the next,” Niccolò tells you sheepishly. “We miss going with you and daddy again.”

“Yeah!” Verona bubbles, “maybe it could be fun, mama, and we could take Auntie Connie and Uncle Leo too.”

“Of course, we could.” You tell her, running your hands through her hair gently. “I would like that myself very much. I’ve missed Reno lately.”

“Yeah.” Niccolò pouts, enthusiasm draining from his voice.

Verona exchanges a sad glance with her brother. “Daddy said no.”

“No?” You raise a brow. “But why? It’s not like we’re going today or tomorrow.”

“Daddy says he’s very busy and can’t plan it yet.” Niccolò can’t hide the disappointed look in his eyes. “I know daddy has work to do; I’m just… I’m a little sad, mama.”

“And it’s okay to be sad. It’s something you two are looking forward to, right?” You give the twins a reassuring smile. “It’s true, your father’s been a little busy as of late, but Reno is only an hour away, so if we can’t go on the weekend, we could maybe go for a half-day trip after your studies are done for the day.”

“After school?” Verona’s eyes light up with excitement. “I like that idea too, mama.”

“But daddy would have said so, right?” You can hear the uncertainty in Niccolo’s voice. “What if he’s too busy for that too, mama?”

“So busy he couldn’t give you two a day of the week?” You begin to realize Michael’s absence is clearly getting out of control.

“Daddy said he couldn’t because he doesn’t know when he can take us.” Verona shakes her head.

“Hmm.” You hold back a frown, “tell you what—I’ll ask, and it’ll all be okay. We can officially plan a nice trip out to Reno once I have a talk with your father, okay?”

“Yes, okay, mama!” The twins look up at you with hope. 

“Good, good.” You gently pinch both of their cheeks. “Oh, and have either of you seen Esther around lately?”

“I saw her go inside.” Niccolò points back at the central family residence behind him.

“Oh.” You blink in surprise.

“Maybe she went to see daddy.” Verona shrugs, “I saw her go down that way.”

“Alright, no worries.” You hold back your concern, smooching both of the twins’ cheeks. “Be good now, alright? Let’s behave and be polite. Besides, Uncle Clemenza and Uncle Frankie want to see you two, so don’t keep them waiting.”

“Okay!” Verona giggles.

“Uncle Frankie and Uncle Clemenza are heeeere!” Niccolò gives you a quick hug before taking his sister’s hand and skipping off towards the family tables.

You can’t help but smile at the twins, all giddy and enjoying themselves. You make sure to watch them get to the family table with Clemenza and Frank Pentangelli before you turn back around to face the central family residence and decide to head inside and see Michael for yourself.

‘Enough is enough…’ 

It’s not that you question Michael’s business or have any suspicion of what he’s doing, but rather that you know the children don’t understand the nature of their father’s absence like you do. 

It’s not like you can just tell the twins: “Your father is Don Michael Corleone, the most powerful mafia boss in the United States who controls every major hotel, resort, and casino in the state of New York, Nevada and New Jersey, including the drug trade there and in Sicily too—not to mention other illicit deals and practices under the family criminal organization.” Although eventually, the twins would come to learn it soon enough through time and when they’re much older—if they choose to join the family business.

You walk into the manor with ease, ignoring the security guards scattered over the residence. Taking a right turn down the corridor, you notice the area around Michael’s office, including the living room, is completely silent.

‘Where’s Neri?’ You furrow your brows in confusion as you slow your movements, standing just a few feet away from Michael’s office door only to notice that Al Neri isn’t even outside of it as he usually is. 

Come to think of it, you notice none of Michael’s security is near his office, to begin with, and even as you remain silent and move closer towards the door, you still can’t pick up any sound of anybody being in the office—Michael included.

Met only with silence, your attention breaks from Michael’s office only to hear noise coming from further down the hallway. 

‘What…?’ Listening intently, you place your hand against the wall of the hallway and make your way towards the sound, which begins to lead you directly down to the nearest bathroom by Michael’s office.

The carpet beneath you muffles out the sounds of your heels, and with each further step you take, you can make out the shuffling of footsteps and two ushered voices coming from the bathroom.

You remain only a mere few feet away from approaching the bathroom entirely, but with each step you take and every passing moment, the anxiety growing inside of you begins to triple.

‘That’s Esther. I can hear her.’ Esther was last seen heading down this hallway, and you can now clearly hear her soft whimpers coming from the bathroom, not exactly something one would hear from somebody freshening up or simply using the bathroom. 

Michael is nowhere to be seen, but the side and back exits of the central family residence are off-limits for the party as the manor faces the front of the party, and you’ve even come to briefly see security standing in front of the other doors rather than beside them to let others through.

“Mm!” You hear Esther desperately attempting to quiet down what you can now clearly make out as moaning.

You can hear the sounds of two people in the bathroom without a doubt and begin to hesitate as to what to do next.

‘Michael…’ Your eyes consistently flicker back to Michael’s office door in some sort of attempt to convince yourself otherwise instead of what could possibly be the worst-case scenario. 

Feeling your heart thundering heavily in your chest, you turn away from the hallway leading down to the bathroom and walk back up to Michael’s office door. 

You grab the doorknob, twisting it to push open the door, only to see Michael’s office desk empty with nobody inside. 

‘Where the hell is he?’ Panic begins to ring out through you as you rake a shaky hand through your hair out of frustration. 

You can’t even find Al Neri, knowing he accompanies Michael everywhere at all times—except when he’s obviously spending time with his family or with you intimately, and he’s certainly not going to be in the bathroom with the Don either.

You take a few more steps towards Michael’s desk and notice a freshly put-out cigarette in the center of Michael’s ashtray, but his cigarette pack is missing, at least letting you know that he’s been here recently and just put this out. 

‘No. It’s impossible. He wouldn’t…’ Ridden with waves of anxiety crashing over you, you feel as if you’re practically dragging yourself out of Michael’s door. A sense of weakness hits your knees as you walk out of the office, barely able to shut the door behind you.

‘Would he?’ Taking in a deep breath, you force yourself to go back to the bathroom with regret but a morbid curiosity inside of you. 

‘This obvious? Where anyone can come in and hear?’ The tips of your ears and the nape of your neck prickle up from your anxiousness as you could have just sworn to yourself you hear a breathy moan coming from someone other than Esther from the bathroom.

‘Oh my fucking God. Esther…’ You flinch, stopping in your tracks to hear Esther now moaning loudly in the bathroom—assumingly unable to keep quiet for much longer to you.

“Yes, Mr. Corleone!” Esther moans shakily, almost instantly confirming your suspicions.

Your eyes begin to burn with tears at what you know you’re about to see next after noticing from the doorknob that the bathroom door isn’t locked. 

‘Why? Why this?’ Every step further you take feels like absolute agony, and you’re unable to deny the intensity of just how distraught and nerve-wracked you feel about walking in on this. 

Then again, if you choose to turn away and pretend you weren’t there but keep it to yourself, there’d be no possible way you could bring this up to Michael and “catch” him on it. 

“Have either of you seen Esther around lately?”

You know your husband well, and without any credible proof, if he truly didn’t regret what he did, Michael wouldn’t react to your accusation, nor would he “believe” you saw anything either.

“Maybe she went to see daddy.”

A desperate urge to be proven wrong surges through you as you can no longer stop yourself from directly approaching the bathroom door. 

“Neri, I’m taking a restroom break.”

You lightly lean your forehead against the door so as not to make a sound, reaching out a shaky hand and yet still being unable to find the courage to grasp the doorknob and burst in with it.

The idea of Michael fucking the family nanny, let alone at a party which would also explain his absence and right after he spoke to the children, is the only blow needed to tear apart your marriage and your family.

The fact that you can hear Esther now attempting to keep her moans quietly but failing miserably just like how you do pisses you off more than anything else—replacing your anguish with bitter rage.

With one swift movement, you twist the doorknob open and pull open the door as you normally would—knowing now it’s not going to matter if you burst in or make it look like you accidentally wandered in.

Your eyes widen in shock to see Esther pressed up against the sink with one thigh raised over it as Sonny slams all eleven inches of his cock into Esther from behind, tightly clutching the bunched up fabric of her dress.

If that isn’t enough of a sight to stun you, Sonny gazes back at you with a lazy look of lust in his eyes as if he’s used to getting caught like this, and it doesn’t matter. 

Esther clasps a hand over her mouth, horrified that you’ve caught her like this, as utter embarrassment and humiliation flushes through her expression. 

Relief should be the last thing you feel walking in on your own brother-in-law fucking the family nanny, but it dissipates every bit of worry that was eating you alive just a mere moment ago.

You clear your throat, blinking and diverting your gaze before quietly closing the door and turning back on your heel.

You let out a deep exhale, feeling a bit hot and bothered at the sight but also knowing had anyone else walked in onto it, there’d be hell to pay. 

Hoping Sonny learns to lock the doors of the bathrooms he goes to fuck his next mistress in, you tenderly rub your temples and take in deep breaths to ease yourself of the anxiety.

‘Michael, just where are you now?’ 

 ~

Michael cleared his throat quietly and lathered soap over his hands thoroughly as he washed his hands in the bathroom sink.

Having noticed for himself that the bathroom closest to his office was preoccupied already—but by whom and for how long unbeknownst to him—Michael’s used the next closest one by the lobby to his office while you were still out in the courtyard with the twins.

Having made it clear to Al Neri that he isn’t to take any further guests for business tonight, Michael stepped out into the back of the residence and towards the pool that remained still; a private clearing protected by his security for Michael to have a breath of fresh air before returning back to the party.

Michael adjusts the cuffs of his dress shirt before reaching into the pockets of his trousers and grabbing his cigarette pack with a lighter. 

Al Neri gives a nod of acknowledgment to the security standing around the pool area, distantly watching the party from the back of the residence in the shadows. 

Neri remains by Michael’s side but at an appropriate distance, leaning his back against the residence wall and remaining just as silent like the others.

Michael puts a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and holds his palm against the flickering flame of his lighter—quick to light it as he sits on the edge of one of the pool lounge chairs.

Taking a deep, initial drag, Michael lets his lighter slip back into his suit pocket. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, easing off the annoyance, stress, and dullness of every business meeting he’s had for tonight.

Michael tilts his head back and gazes up at the star-scattered night sky above him, appreciative that he can at least catch his breath and enjoy peace of mind here—even if it is just for a moment.

The only thought in Michael’s mind remains to be how he wishes he could have you by his side at the moment, enjoying some privacy with one another before becoming the inevitable center of attention again at the party. 

Michael lets out a quiet, deep sigh. He glances down at his grey loafers, his black silk tie dangling downward as he sits with his thoughts quietly.

Barely three minutes of peace pass before Michael’s head turns to face the back exit door he came out of, hearing disgruntled noises of a struggle and the semi-familiar voice of a man crying out.

“Please, let me see him!”

A few of Michael’s security immediately move towards the door while Neri wastes no time in standing next to Michael with another security guard.

“What’s going on?” Michael narrows his eyes, appearing more annoyed than anything else. He redirects his irritation to Al Neri, “I thought I made it clear I wouldn’t be seeing anyone else for tonight.”

“I personally guaranteed it, Don Corleone. There should not be.” A look of surprise and caution cross Neri’s face as Michael’s guards pull open the door, revealing two other security guards hauling and manhandling one of Michael’s guests by his arms.

Michael raises a curious brow but neither reacts nor says anything as a balding, middle-aged man named Alberto he’s familiar with in business and as a guest at tonight’s party, is practically thrown to the ground before him.

“Don Corleone, we caught one of your guests trying to get into the residence.” One guard harshly holds onto the man’s arm. “When he was told you were not taking any guests, he tried to get in himself and failed.”

“We’re prepared to contact authorities and have him and his family removed, sir.” The other guard says.

“D-Don,” Alberto coughs out on the ground, bewildered by the sight of Michael standing before him. “Don Corleone, please! Please, I’m begging you—I had to see you tonight, I had to!”

Michael exchanges a glance with Al Neri before flicking his cigarette ashes to the floor, appearing unmoved. “Must be something of great importance if you went to such risk to see me.”

“I would have waited as long as possible if it wasn’t, Don Corleone.” Alberto shakes his head, “I tried to reason with your men, but they would not listen to me, Godfather—”

Interrupting Alberto, one of Michael’s security guards kicks him in the stomach, which crumples the man to his knees. “We speak on the Don’s behalf when it comes to which guests he’s seeing. His safety and privacy are of our utmost importance. You do not stand before your Don as a respectful man due to your idiotic actions tonight.”

“Argh!” Alberto cries out in pain, “forgive me, Godfather! Forgive me.”

Michael raises his hand, signaling, ‘that’s enough’ before staring down at his guest. “What have you wishing to see me so urgently like this? I would have preferred to hear from you personally so I could have arranged to see you in my office sooner.”

“Yes, yes, absolutely!” Alberto nods frantically, still wincing in pain. “I tried to reach you, Don Corleone, believe me. I would have wanted the circumstances of our meeting to be different as well. I…” Alberto hesitantly looks up at Michael, unnerved by the mere power in Michael’s presence. 

Michael only remains closely acquainted with Turnbull, Klingman, Senator Geary, and the other businessmen he met in Cuba, whereas everyone else may just be a familiar name on a banknote or a common face seen from time to time at a party. Alberto is no different from Michael.

Alberto’s business may concern Michael because he owns several small motels for out-of-town workers and travelers, which has proven to be a profitable business due to its affordability and scope to all.

“Speak.” Michael looks down at Alberto, continuing to smoke his cigarette. 

“Don Corleone, my long-time business rival, seeks to blackmail me out of the industry completely! The madman knows he cannot get a reaction out of me, so he chooses to harass and threaten my family. I have just started my expansion, and I am being kicked out of my own business and state! I don’t know what to do, Godfather.” Alberto bursts out into tears, leaning down to Michael’s feet and bowing his head. 

“And why do you come to me for this?” Michael knows the answer to his rhetorical question but watches Alberto’s distraught disposition.

“I come to my Godfather first, nobody else.” Alberto sniffles shakily, kissing Michael’s feet. “Only my Godfather can help me. I trust in you with my life—with my children’s lives, Don Corleone.”

Al Neri tenses at the sight of Michael being touched and carefully keeps his eyes on his Don and Alberto cautiously. 

Michael remains nonchalant, blowing out smoke around him. “This motel business of yours—is it your only source of income?”

“Y-yes. I am not a wealthy man Don Corleone, nor do I have the mind as you do for business. I just wanted to feed my children and take care of my family, but I have death threats at my door, and I lose customers by the week. I’m afraid they’re being bought off or threatened as well!” Alberto hiccups throughout his sobbing. “I-It was my dream to own a little chain of motels since I was a growing boy, you see. I scrubbed floors and worked hard for every penny I had so I could support my family. This isn’t fair to me, Godfather.”

“I agree.” Michael nods stiffly. “This can not stand.”

“Don Corleone.” Desperation grows in Alberto’s voice as he gets back to his knees. “I come to my Godfather in my hour of need.” He clutches his hands together, “I’m always happy to provide your men mattresses and hideouts when needed. Always! Please honor a humble associate of yours with your assistance, I beg of you.”

Smoke trails from between Michael’s lips as he lets his cigarette fall to the floor, crushing it with the heel of his shoe. “I respect your honesty and integrity, Alberto. You are right. Nobody else can help you now. Stand up; let me see your face properly.”

“Y-yes, Don Corleone.” Alberto scrambles up to his feet, brushing off the dirt and dust from his suit. 

“Hm.” Michael gazes back at him, clearly able to tell Alberto put himself through hell and back just to see him alone—already a good show of his character. “You assisted my father back in ’47 when we went to the mattresses with Tattaglia and Barzini. I haven’t forgotten that, and neither has he. You’re a good man, Alberto.” Michael mirrors Vito perfectly without even trying to do so. “Your rival may as well be blackmailing me. I’ll help you.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, Don Corleone! Forgive me for asking, Don Corleone,” Alberto squeezes his eyes shut, eternally grateful to even hear a response from Michael. “But how shall it be done?”

“Bribes and relocation won’t do you any good in your line of business.” Michael tightens his tie, “nothing puts out a rival from a business like killing him. This will serve as a warning for the rest.”

“Thank you a thousand times over, Godfather.” Overwhelmed with emotion and thanking Michael endlessly, Alberto takes Michael’s hand and kisses his ring, lowering his head. “Grazie. Grazie mille, padrino. Ti sono per sempre grato.” (Thank you. Thank you so much, Godfather. I am forever grateful to you.)

Michael allows Alberto to kiss his ring, remaining still and gazing down at the man in his mercy. Even as Alberto respectfully pulls away, he staggers over his own feet and chokes on his tears from how relieved he is—knowing Michael always keeps his word.

“He’s ruthless, cruel, and cunning. His silence is lethal, but his eyes speak for him. His patience and patience alone decides whether you’re even worth considering—it’s what keeps you alive. He’s the brutal side of his father incarnated; that is who Don Corleone is.”

~

Michael was nearing the end of his conversation outside with Alberto by the time you had entered the central family residence to look for him. By the time Michael had returned to his office shortly after, you were back outside at the party trying to find him with no luck.

You know, it would almost be downright embarrassing at this point to ask the guests where their own host is when you, of all people, should know before anyone else. 

You quickly gave up on your search within the courtyard and throughout the party, knowing you’d be able to spot Michael anywhere with just the slightest clue. No individual of his build with slicked back, dark hair in a grey, silk, Dupioni suit was to be seen with the family or with the guests outside.

As soon as one of your security guards let you know, “Don Corleone never left the central family residence, Mrs. Corleone,” you made your way straight back inside now with frustration and impatience in your disposition.

Embarrassed you’ve been running around for the last ten minutes just trying to find your own husband, you feel some relief spotting Al Neri standing outside of Michael’s office as usual now.

The two of you say nothing to one another and only exchange acknowledging glances as you approach the door. Neri gives you a respectful nod which is both an invitation inside and an indication there’s nobody seeing Michael or in line to do so.

Although you’ve probably walked into Michael’s office hundreds of times, you still can’t brush off the butterflies you feel whenever you push open the door and peek inside.

Michael remains sitting at his desk, carefully signing several papers neatly placed in front of him on his desk. A freshly lit cigarette rests on the side of Michael’s ashtray to his left, and the scent of cigarette smoke and Michael’s cologne mixes—lingering in the air.

From where you stand, the light in Michael’s office gleams over his heavily gelled hair, causing both his 18k gold watch and wedding band to glisten and reflect. 

You take a step inside of Michael’s office and quietly close the door behind you, and although Michael’s been aware of your presence since you approached the door, he neither reacts nor looks up.

Blush stings your cheeks at the sight of your husband, regardless of how much running around you’ve been doing to find him. You’ll never get used to the sight of him like this, let alone his presence, from how ridiculously attractive he is.

“Hi, baby.” You sigh softly in relief, finally having Michael all to yourself and right in front of you for what seems to be one of the first few times this evening.

“Hello, darling.” You hear Michael say back quietly, not bothering to look up at you.

Recognizing how busy Michael is, your eyes dart over to the paperwork scattered before him on his desk, now beginning to approach him.

‘Fuck...’ Remaining quiet, you place your hands down gently on Michael’s desk and peek over at your husband as you admire him.

Michael’s side profile, for one, is something else to behold. Your eyes dart over the shape of his Roman nose down to his pouty, full lips over to his jawline and cheekbones. 

The butterflies swarming in your gut and a familiar tug of arousal is nothing new as you know when it comes to Michael, you’re insatiable—in bed with him or not.

“Do you need something, Victoria?” Michael asks expectantly. His tone of voice is neither distracted nor demanding, but it clearly tells you he’s busy and anticipating whatever you have to say will be as quick as possible.

Although you’ve practically chased around the compound for the past ten minutes looking for Michael, you find yourself a bit stunned by his question and unable to immediately answer.

“When are you going to come back out to the party, baby?” Is the only thing that comes out of your mouth as you wonder to yourself if Michael’s noticed your staring. 

“Who's asking?” Michael continues to keep his attention on his paperwork.

“Me. The twins. The family. Your guests.” You stare back at Michael in disbelief. “We’re the hosts, and you’ve barely been seen out there, Michael. When will you be back out with me?”

“I’m busy, darling,” Michael answers flatly, picking up his cigarette and taking a drag out of it.

 Both of you know by now that answer will neither suffice nor work as an excuse.

“Yes, I can see that.” You momentarily glance over at his paperwork, “but I’m asking you something, baby.”

Michael blows out smoke around him before putting down his cigarette. He almost seems irritated by the question but, at the same time, completely unphased. “Is my absence a problem?” 

Taken back by his question, you frown and furrow your brows. “At this point? Well, yes. Is it not that way to you, or do you prefer to do work instead of spending time with us?”

Michael lets out a soft sigh, setting his pen down. He licks over his lips and puts his cigarette between his fingers before turning his head to face you and giving you his full attention. “No.”

“The twins just came up to me all excited to make plans with you and…” You shake your head, “you just refused?”

“I didn’t refuse.” Michael’s answers are short and concise. “I said I would have to consider a day.” He puts his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, inhaling a drag.

“Yeah.” Disappointment forms over your expression. “That’s been your classic answer to everything for the past two weeks. What’s going on, Michael? This isn’t like you.”

“This isn’t like me?” Michael stares back at you, deadpan. “I’m working. I have a business to handle, so how many times do I need to repeat this?”

“Stop.” You mumble back at him, crossing your arms. “You’re being much more distant than usual, and I know you know that.”

“I don’t see it that way.” Michael blows out his cigarette smoke away from you. 

Frustration begins to hit you at Michael’s stubbornness, knowing it’s always been at an all-time high when it comes to his work and the “family business.”

“It doesn’t matter what you see right now, does it?” You frown at him. “Michael, I’m serious.”

“Victoria,” Michael flicks off the ashes of his cigarette onto the ashtray, looking increasingly annoyed. “What do you want from me right now?”

“Come out to spend some time with us at the very least.” You say back and insistently notice pure irritation in Michael’s eyes at your response as he keeps his cigarette loosely in the corner of his mouth. “Not just tonight but with us in Reno this weekend or the next, even if it’s just for half a day or something.”

“Not for this weekend and not for the next either.” Michael turns back to face his paperwork. “I can’t.”

“And why’s that?” At this point, you’re grasping nothing but straws by continuing to ask Michael.

“Because I have business.” Michael’s response is much more stern this time. “I expect you of all people to understand.”

“Of course I understand, but this is getting ridiculous, Michael. Seriously. You’re not even listening to me.” You scoff.

“I am.” Michael stares back at you. “But I hate repeating myself, Victoria, and that appears to be all I’m doing at the moment.”

“Getting anything out of you is like squeezing blood from a stone, you know that?” You roll your eyes. “God forbid I take you away from your paperwork to spend some time with your wife and children.”

“If you’re going to insult me out of frustration, I suggest you’d be better off spending time with our guests.” Michael glances up at you, putting the cap back onto his pen.

“You’re deflecting everything I say. How can I not get frustrated right now?” You huff. “Forget Reno and the party—do I also have to remind you that this happened again last night? All I wanted to do was snuggle up with you, but you were holed up in here until 3AM. This isn’t just about tonight, you know that.” You shake your head, tucking a curtain of your hair behind your ear. “We haven’t even had sex—”

“You want to have sex with me?” Michael asks you outright.

Your face flushes red as you blush furiously at the sudden question he’s caught you off guard with. “I—Well, yes? I mean—yeah—we haven’t had sex in days now, so—”

“I’m aware of that.” Michael cuts you off. “I don’t have to tell you why again, do I?”

“Michael, really? Do you hear yourself right now?” You raise both of your brows at him, now very much annoyed yourself. “If I have to hear that wo—”

“I’m busy, Victoria. That’s all there is to it. When was the last time I walked into your office at the courthouse and asked you to have sex with me?” Michael places a new pen in front of him.

“You—I—what?” You blink back in surprise, “we didn’t—you didn’t—”

“Exactly, I didn’t.” Michael continues calmly. “The last time was four days ago. This isn’t an issue that you need to bring up.”

“We had sex almost every single day.” You point out. “We cuddled together in the morning and snuggled at night; now I’ve been clutching a cold pillow because you’re in here until God knows when. That just happened so suddenly—am I not allowed to be upset about it after being used to your intimacy like that?”

“I never said you weren’t. All I’m saying is that it’s not a grand and drastic change like you’re making it out to be. This is beyond my control.” He tells you, “when I have business, I have business—and it comes first. Everything else can wait. I’m the Don. I have to take care of our family. And now, if you can’t already tell, we’ve surpassed the conversation of our party guests, who are most likely waiting to see you as you waste your time and my time in here, as well as the trip planning for Reno. Now we’re talking about sex.” Michael clearly doesn’t look amused. 

“You sing a different tune in bed.” You roll your eyes. “All I’m saying—”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Victoria.” Michael scolds you sternly. “I told you for the last time, I’m busy.”

"Busy, busy, busy," you purposefully roll your eyes again, throwing your hands up in the air as your diamond bracelets clink against one another. "I don't want to hear that fucking word anymore! The children can't spend time with their father, and now—"

"Quiet!" Michael sharply raises his voice over yours, silencing you immediately. "That isn't remotely true, and you know it. I spend as much of my time with you and the family as possible, Victoria—"

"Why are you being so difficult with me, Michael?! It's like I'm talking to a fucking brick wall!" You scoff. "You're not exactly proving that to me right now, are you?"

"Have some dignity, won't you?" Michael narrows his eyes at you. 

"For what?" You leer, "for wanting to spend time with my husband?"

"I'm not going to argue with you, Victoria, nor am I going to fight with you on this. Not here, not now, not ever! Do you understand me?" Michael tosses his pen down onto his paperwork carelessly, rising from his seat. "I've repeated myself to you a thousand times, and I've had enough."

"Oh! Look at that!" You gasp dramatically, gesturing to him. "You've suddenly decided you're not busy now, isn't that right, Don Corleone? Because if you were as swamped with business as you claim to be, you wouldn't be able to raise your head or put down your pen for one minute."

"Victoria—"

"And before I suffocate in here—" You snatch the cigarette out of Michael's mouth, stamping it out on the ashtray. "I want you to come out and spend time with the family."

"What the hell are you trying to do?" Michael glares at you, pulling the ashtray aside. 

You ignore his question outright, "if not for me, then see your children at the very least."

"You sound like I never spend time with our children. What are you implying? Do you have something you need to tell me and get off your chest?" Frustration crosses Michael's expression. "Because it sure seems to me like you only came in here to argue with me."

You force a weak smile. "It's not like you're going to come back and forth to your office again throughout the evening or stay in here until the crack of dawn, right? Better yet, let me get all of your pillows and blankets, and you can fucking stay—"

"Watch your language—"

You continue, purposefully cursing. "In here all by your fucking self. If you want, you can even sleep next to your fucking paperwork while the children and I will just make appointments when we want to see you. How's that?!"

"You're phenomenal, darling," Michael says back sarcastically, staring at you with disappointment. "That's the way you choose to speak to me over this? I wonder if it's the same with the cursing and yelling in your court sessions, hence why nobody bothers to argue with the one and only Victoria Corleone."

"Wow." You stare back at Michael in disbelief, feeling your eyes sting with tears. "Who was it that needed to get something off their chest again? Me or you?"

"Could you please leave now?" Michael asks you impatiently, gesturing to his desk. "If this conversation is done, I'd like to return to my work."

"Yeah, don't worry, I'll go." You brush him off, turning on your heel as you force back your tears. "My apologiesfor wasting your time, Don Corleone."

"And since it's so important to you, spend time with the children and the guests instead of running off to New York this time," Michael adds, picking up his pen again.

You clutch onto the doorway and immediately turn to look back at Michael after hearing his hurtful comment as tears begin to pool in your eyes.

Michael doesn't notice you staring at him, only aware of your presence still in his office. He flips to the next page in his current document folder and continues adding notes and a signature before you make your way out of his office.

'Forget it.' Unable to hold your tears back for long, you storm off down the hallway and refuse to look back or even at Al Neri, who frowns at the sight of your angered disposition.

'Forget I even fucking bothered.' Anger washes over your bitterness and how upset you realize you've gotten over Michael's recently growing absence.

'And if the guests ask where their gracious host is, I'll say that the lovely, elusive Michael Corleone is BUSY. Fucking busy!' You blink away your tears and push open the front door, walking back into the courtyard.

"And since it's so important to you…"

Michael's comment stings every time it replays in your head. There hasn't been one time where he's used the fact you left for New York to separate from Michael during your first and only lengthy, nasty fight—until now.

Michael made it more than obvious that not only does the whole affair bother him when it comes to the both of you fighting, but at the same time, he doesn't take your absence or separation after an argument seriously anymore either.

You could make a dramatic exit and head off to New York or anywhere else you'd like, and it would no longer have the impact it did on him beforehand. 

Tried once and done, Michael remains more so bitter about being apart from the children for a week who had no idea what was going on—let alone what happened with Sonny. 

Michael knows it doesn't solve anything, and it just makes matters worse. 

Michael will never forget that either, although his bitter attitude towards it doesn't show as Sonny knows better than to ever try such a thing with you again if he values every bone in his body. 

Although Michael respected your decision to have some space, it still hurt him regardless of whether he expressed it or not. He had much to ponder for himself, but Michael never anticipated you actually physically leaving. 

That part has never resolved any of your fights—as few as you've ever had them throughout the last eight years—and that's become apparent to the both of you. 

Still, both of you have learned from the experience, especially in the sense that while you both may prefer to cool off and take your mind off of the matter, at the end of the day, you and Michael having a heart-to-heart conversation with one another in private has always mended things the way you've both wanted it.

As soon as you're out of his view, Al Neri gives a little knock on Michael's office door with his knuckles to enter.

"Come in," Michael calls out, lighting another cigarette he holds in the corner of his lips.

Neri only takes one step into Michael's office, still holding onto the doorknob. "Sir, Mrs. Corleone has just returned back to the party outside."

Michael lets out a soft exhale, taking a drag from his cigarette and paying more attention to the design over his lighter's case than anything else. "Get her a bodyguard, please. It's crowded out there, and I want to ensure her safety and comfort."

"Yes, Don Corleone." Neri gives a nod, quietly closing the office door behind him.

Stepping back out to the courtyard amidst the grand celebration and party again, the first thing you come to notice is the obvious world of a difference there is between how frustrated you've felt versus the hearty banter and party splendor your guests and family are a part of.

Brushing your stray tears off of your face, you take a deep breath and feel more annoyed by the whole ordeal with Michael's absence inside more than anything else now.

Your colleagues from Dartmouth, associates and legal team from court, friends from New York and Nevada alike, as well as other friendly faces you and your family have been seeing for years surround you 

having nothing but a good time.

'I know all these people. Michael knows all these people.' Fine wine and gourmet dining being served, no disruptions or inappropriate behavior, party service in full swing, and memories that'll be talked about for years to come are all happening before your very eyes.

Pushing away any negative feelings you know aren't worth dwelling on; you know your guests and family are what's most important right now. After all, the situation with Michael's absence does need to be talked about, and it will because after all is said and done with the party, it'll be unavoidable.

The night is still young, and you've never been one to abandon a party or any type of social gathering early. Deciding to head back to your family table, you smile to look over to your side and see the band no longer playing a soft melody but an upbeat tune the guests are loving.

'Everyone's having such a good time…' You don't even need to take a seat at the table to be noticed, already giving waves and mouthing "hellos" to guests who are happy to see you walk past them again.

"Welcome back, darling." Connie raises her champagne glass up to you as you approach the table. "Much needed bathroom break?"

"Much needed." You nod, preferring to leave the subject matter there as you take your seat next to her. "Ah—" You take a quick glance around you to the other family tables surrounding yours. "Have you seen Sandra?"

"Yeah." Connie chuckles, "she's puking up everything she had to drink. I told her wine and champagne wouldn't mix well."

"Do I even have to ask where Deanna has gone either?" You sigh at first but burst into a fit of giggles with Connie.

"Not a coincidence, so it's best we don't ask." Connie can barely contain her laughter as she tries to sip her champagne. "I think they'll both be back in a bit, considering neither of them would miss the dance for the world, especially Deanna."

You force back your surprise, having already forgotten there was going to be a slow dance, let alone a dance to begin with. Anxiousness winds in your gut as you realize you're either going to have to pretend you're seriously occupied with something or disappear outright when the dance begins. 

Having your guests and family see you sitting out, highlighting Michael's absence, and not being able to dance with him at your own party would be outright humiliating, to say the least.

"I look forward to Sandra's dancing skills then." Masking your own disappointment, you reach your hand up and take a flute of champagne off of a nearby waiter's tray.

"There's no way she won't be tripping over her own feet at this state." Connie savors the taste of champagne over her lips. "Bad news for Sonny."

"Since when does Sonny dance?" You grin at her.

"Oh, please don't remind me." Connie shakes her head, laughing. "I rather they all just miss it—" Her tone falters to distraction as a beaming smile forms over Connie's face. 

She sets her champagne flute down immediately and waves across the courtyard to your brother Leonardo who waves back at her, gesturing to a few of his colleagues and then back at her to let Connie know he'll be joining her for the dance shortly.

'Lucky, lucky…' The smile on your face fades as you quickly take a large sip of your champagne, reveling it in and your growing jealousy. 

You're about to be the only one left at the family table at this rate, taking care of a drunk Sandra and outspoken Santino when you know you should be clutching onto Michael's shoulders in both dance and in bed. 

'Michael…' You let out a deep, drawn-out sigh as you rub your eyes, squeezing them shut. 

No matter what you do or where you look, you're constantly reminded of Michael's absence from his own party, and now all you have is time to think about when everyone will unmistakeably notice it too.

"You know, the longer you avoid the dance, the more people will notice." You hear Sonny say to you from behind.

"I'm not—" you turn your head back to see Sonny now approaching the table, looking a little "flustered" or, as you'd truthfully say—"freshly fucked”.

"How ironic." Connie rolls her eyes, "and where have you been?"

Sonny smoothens out his tie and suit jacket, exchanging a quick glance with you. The unmistakable "Sandra-lets-me-do-this" look in his eyes peeks back at you this time, but your mind is much too occupied with how to get the burned image of your brother-in-law pounding the nanny in the bathroom out of your head. 

 Sonny clears his throat before he stands by you and Connie. "Bathroom break. All those champagne cocktails had to go somewhere."

"And speaking of the dance," Connie eyes the two of you. "It seems like both of you are avoiding it. Where's Michael and Sandra?"

"Drunk." Sonny answers.

"Busy." You answer back at the same time as Sonny.

Connie raises her brows at the two of you, unimpressed but also surprised to hear the answers. "Oh, okay."

"I thought you were avoiding it." Sonny glances down at you. "Considering you went back inside."

"Victoria avoiding a dance? Never." Connie chuckles in amusement.

"I went to see if Michael was finished with his business, actually," you try your best to hold back a bitter tone as you rub your temples gingerly. 

"Yeah, you're gonna be waitin' forever, sweetheart." Sonny chuckles, shifting his weight to the other foot.

"And what were you doing inside?" You shoot Sonny a disapproving look.

Although you know it's technically none of your business who Sonny's fucking, you wouldn't have quite imagined he and Esther had anything going on with one another. Then again, you could have quite literally been in Esther's position back in New York with Sonny's attempts of seduction. If it's anyone's problem now, though, it'll be Sandra's. 

"Usin' the bathroom, as I said," Sonny smirks down at you.

'Using the bathroom or using Esther?' "Oh yeah?" You let out a soft sigh, relaxing in your chair.

"Oh yeah. You look exhausted, Vic." Sonny's eyes flicker over you.

"I feel worse than I look," you mumble, crossing your arms. "This isn't how I expected one of our biggest celebrations of the year to go out. One gracious host isn't around to experience their own party, and the other one is well…" You gesture to yourself in annoyance, "sitting here moping about it."

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, honey, but if Michael's still not coming out, then he isn't going to make any exceptions for a dance." Connie shakes her head, glancing down at her champagne flute.

"And a dance like this?" Sonny points out to the courtyard, seeing couples joining each other for a faster-paced, upbeat dance. "With Mike?" Sonny lets out a laugh, "right, right."

Sonny looks back over at you and notices you stare back at him, completely unamused with your arms crossed. "Do I look as horrible as I feel?"

"Honey, you look fine." Connie sighs softly. "Forget about Michael. If he wants his friends and colleagues to talk about how he barely showed his face around this year, that's his problem, not yours."

"And," Sonny takes a step towards you, extending out his hand. "All eyes are gonna be on Victoria Corleone regardless of what she's doin' or not. You see all these people out there?" Using his free hand, Sonny gestures out toward the dancing couples and occupied tables. 

"It'll be the talk of the season, is all I can say." Connie swishes the remainder of her champagne cocktail around in her glass.

"Exactly. So?" Sonny coaxes his hand towards you. "Care to join me for a dance, then? If Mike's not gonna come out, what's the point just moping about here, eh? This is just for fun."

You can't help the smile growing over your face as Sonny and Connie chuckle and grin at your reaction. "Alright, just for fun." You decide, placing your hand in Sonny's.

The bodyguard Al Neri assigned to you watches cautiously from a distance, pretending to sip at a champagne cocktail next to the other security guards behind your table. 

"Just for fun," Sonny repeats with a playful grin, pulling you up from your seat. "I got my old man and mama dancin' but not my sister-in-law? C'mon." You feel Sonny rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand before leading you out to the courtyard—knowing curious eyes are beginning to fall over the two of you.

"Hope my dancing skills don't make you too jealous," Sonny jokes, lacing both hands with yours. 

"Been practicing?" You hold onto Sonny's hands loosely.

"Somethin' like that." Sonny chuckles before looking over his shoulder back at the band, still playing an upbeat, lively tune. "You ready? Don't fall too behind."

"We're not waltzing, so how bad can it be?" A playful smile spreads over your lips as the two of you begin dancing.

"I've never seen you swing dancing, darling." The two of you begin to rock side to side on both feet. "Have your guests?"

"Depends who you ask." You say with pride as you take a few steps back from Sonny, his arm extending to hold your hand. "My colleagues from Dartmouth definitely know."

"Is that right?" Sonny lets out a laugh, pulling you back in and placing his hand around your back in dance. "Mike's missin' out, I see."

"And?" you begin, holding both of Sonny's hands as he twirls you around.

"And?" Sonny's eyes gaze over your dress, flowing over you as your hips move in rhythm with the music.

"Everyone else is watching too." You tell him with a smile, moving back and forth to the beat. 

"There she goes!" Connie calls out, cheering you two on. "Wow, Vic!"

With the band coming to notice your fast-paced dance at the center of the courtyard, they happily pick up their tune to a full swing style song. Other couples and guests around the two of you begin to join in with one another, too, enjoying the lively, energetic air around you and Sonny.

"Let them. I love it." Sonny remains astonished by how quickly you can keep up with him. "Damn, you're amazing." Sonny takes a few steps back in dance before pulling you in closer to him as you repeat the same movement.

"The Don asked me to keep an eye on that one." Your assigned bodyguard murmurs to the other next to him, inconspicuously gesturing to Sonny. 

"His own brother." The other comments, watching you both dance. "The Don's reasoning is always concise."

"With one-sided chemistry like that, I don't blame him." The bodyguard adjusts the collar of his dress shirt. "But Don Corleone will be out any minute now."

"Let Mrs. Corleone know then?" The other raises a brow. "Or at least have the band end the music prematurely?"

"We're not in any position to interrupt or deem authority over Mrs. Corleone." The bodyguard replies. "Her safety is of utmost concern, observations second. We'll let the Don know accordingly when he asks."

"Thank you." You gaze up at him. "It's just a dance, right?" Moving from side to side, Sonny twirls you to the right side of his body before doing so on the left.

"Hell of a dance, hell of a dancer," Sonny comments as you pull away from him to the right, swerving your hips. "What else would it be?"

"You tell me." You give Sonny the same disapproving look you did back in New York, spinning around. 

"Uh-huh." Sonny lets go of your hands for you to twirl against his body before he embraces your back from your side. "My offer's always up, you know. Is that what came to mind when you saw Esther and me?"

"The only thing that came to mind is how there's no such thing—" You let Sonny dip you down as you swing your feet up. "As you and I, right?"

Sonny takes a moment to answer, almost disappointed, as he lifts you back up. "Right."

"Good." You hold one hand with Sonny's and clutch onto his shoulder with the other, continuing to dance. "You're my brother-in-law, and I love you like one, but that's all."

"You hurt me." Sonny chuckles, hiding his disappointment as you pull away from him to swerve your hips again. "But I get it, believe me. No trouble from me; I respect you and Mike."

"As I to you and Sandra, of course, but that's not what your eyes say." You two join hands again in another twirl. 

If there's anything you've always been, it's certainly observational, and it's not like Sonny's made his gazing and staring unnoticeable, to begin with. You've always picked up on it, and while harmless, you know now you don't want the one-sided chemistry to get to his head again for his own sake.

"Who said I was trying to hide it, pretty lady?" Sonny chuckles, pulling you back into his embrace as you both dance from side to side. "I'm definitely not the only one lookin'."

Back at the central family residence, Michael tightens his tie over his collar before adjusting his silk suit jacket and stepping out the front entrance for the evening.

You slide over your heel smoothly, spinning around Sonny. "You know Michael charges much less for a funeral."

Al Neri remains behind him with another bodyguard to Michael's side, accompanying the Don back out to the courtyard.

"Believe me, my jaw and nose are aware of that." Sonny grins, dancing in unison with you perfectly. 

Your bodyguard and other security men notice immediately, as do some of the less chattier guests. One of the first few people to spot Michael beside his own men are Connie, Theresa, Tom, and Mama Corleone, who've all been enjoying tonight's entertainment, but none stand or call for Michael just yet.

"That's why we're just dancing, right?" You both waltz around each other in a fast-paced manner. "Just for fun."

From the very moment you can be spotted in Michael's line of vision, his eyes find you first, and they find you immediately. 

"Just for fun, honey." Sonny winks, blocking your way with his leg before picking you up by your hips with one hand, the other scooping up your thighs as he dips you down low. "Just for fun!"

"Oh!" You throw your head back in laughter, squealing as your hair remains almost an inch from touching the ground. "And you say I'm a dancer!"

Guests watching from their tables and even those who are mid-dance stop to applaud and cheer at you and Sonny swing dancing with one another.

'Michael's out?' Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of Michael standing by his bodyguards as he lights a cigarette—directly watching you and Sonny enjoying yourselves in the dance.

In all truthfulness, you rarely have a chance to dance at your own parties and celebrations due to Michael's strict refusal of anything besides a formal and proper slow dance. While you can understand that knowing your husband is like the back of your hand, your intentions are harmful and just to have a little fun—nothing more.

It's why you don't act caught or distraught, throwing Sonny off or trying to get away from Michael. Your intentions are clear, and your feelings towards Sonny are non-existent, other than the fact you love him as your brother-in-law and nothing more.

'The only thing missing from a would-be scandal are reporters.' From Michael's perspective, now growing somewhat irritated as he eyes the two of you, he thinks Sonny's putting on a show with you for all he cares and knows, and it doesn't sit well with Michael, to begin with.

Your hips come into contact with Sonny's as he spins you around again before you hop down and hold a hand with him. At this point, you've become aware of Michael's presence out in the courtyard and not too far a distance from you, but with the fast pace of the dance, you're unable to keep your eye on him.

Of course, it would not only mean the world to you but also be overwhelming joyful and fun if you and Michael shared a swing dance together, perhaps even on more intimate terms, if Sonny's lying at all about his intentions and feelings towards you again now, there's nothing you can do about it, but you will refuse to cater to it if it shows its obvious prominence. 

Michael gives a forced, polite smile and acknowledging nods here and there to guests surrounding the family table before he takes his seat directly facing the courtyard. From the moment his eyes divert from the guests, it stays rigidly over you and Sonny dancing before him. 

What others would describe simply as Don Corleone's gaze, you're one of the very few besides Vito and Carmela who can tell the look in Michael's eyes simply isn't dead of emotion but filled with impatience towards you and disgust towards Sonny.

Whether Michael has decided to sit directly facing the two of you for you to either notice or for the dance to stop is unclear to you, and Sonny has barely noticed his own brother's arrival as he remains fully indulged and focused on the energetic dance.

The band continues to play a boastful, lively tune not just for your swing dance but for the guests and couples participating in it scattered around the courtyard.

Connie tucks in her chair closer to the dining table, resting her elbows over it and placing one hand on top of the other in a completely relaxed state. Her diamonds and glistening jewelry glimmer under the illumination of the evening's décor and lighting, and it's only when Michael's eyes flicker to her with a look of disapproval, knowing that Connie's obviously enabling this, that Connie smirks back at her brother. 

Unphased by Michael's reaction to begin with and never having shied away from being petty or purposefully getting on her brother's nerves in the past, Connie is also aware of the fiasco that occurred between you and Sonny in New York. 

After discovering the nature of Lucy Mancini's affair with Sonny at her own wedding to Carlo, Connie gave up blaming and redirecting her anger to Sonny's mistresses and brushed off her brother's adultery and promiscuity completely. 

If Sandra couldn't control it or if she simply let Sonny go on to relieve himself with the sex hazard in his pants, then it would be Sandra's problem alone—even if it happened at Connie's wedding.

Connie knows Sonny's always found you to be attractive. He may have confessed to her on more than one occasion and sober too. As a matter of fact, Connie was always under the impression Sonny would make a move on you if he could—but she didn't think something would ever occur unless he had done so before your engagement with Michael, let alone married to him. 

In truth, Sonny made a move or at least attempted to when seeing he had a chance or that his behavior and attraction seemed reciprocated when he found a woman absolutely irresistible.

This notion never just implied appearance alone, but everything to do with a woman's personality from her mannerisms, her engagement in conversation, and mutual chemistry. 

Sonny had been attracted to you the moment he saw you—something he shared in common with past flings and one-night stands, but you were the only woman he mistakened had hidden feelings or sexual desire towards him.

Part of the reason why is because Sonny thought you had awaited him to make a move when Michael wasn't and couldn't be present, and secondly that your relationship with him was always warm and close with a possibility it could lead to more.

Then again, any relationship could always lead to something more if two people put in the effort and desire together. One-sided was all that could be described the ordeal in New York, and it's something you don't want to think or talk about out of disgust and embarrassment.

You never knew Sonny felt for you the way that he did, and to this day, you still don't know, nor do you want to know if he attempted to seduce you out of pure sexual attraction, genuine feelings, or because that's how he consoled people.

You could be throbbing and soaking into your panties for days on end, alone with no sight of Michael or any notion of when you'd see or hear from him again; you could have all the opportunity in the world just to sneak away and have sex with someone else—not necessarily Sonny while being able to justify it to yourself and you still would never do it. 

It's not in you. It has never been, and it never will. The possibility of entertaining Sonny's seduction would only ever exist if Sonny was single, and so were you, and not for any reason to be together or have sex in the first place.

Going from a sexy, stern, and dominant man like Michael to his brother—rugged, passionate, and outspoken is not a possibility or idea you want to entertain.

There isn't a single bone in your body that craves another man in any form, way, or shape. You'd sooner vomit in your mouth just thinking about it. Michael Corleone is the only man for you, and you accept nothing more, nothing less. 

Your feelings have tripled and gotten deeper, more affectionate, more sexual, trusting, and loving over the last nine years of marriage to Michael, and they only intensify further, just like the way Michael feels for you. 

It may have been a risk to entertain a relationship the way that you did, but Michael never forced you, nor did you both feel uncomfortable or incompatible. It was one of the best decisions you ever made in your life, one you never doubted, questioned, or regretted. 

You went to bed that night in New York crying yourself to sleep, clutching a photograph of Michael in his uniform—fell asleep to thoughts of your husband even when you had all the reason in the world to ask for space and be upset with him.

Your heart has and always will belong to Michael Corleone. That'll never change. Not in New York when the perfect opportunity presented itself to be anything but faithful to Michael and not over a harmful, playful swing dance with your brother-in-law.

A nearby waiter serves Michael a champagne cocktail in front of him before moving aside to serve other guests. Michael pulls the cocktail closer to him, and by doing so, he takes his eyes off of you and Sonny for the first time in minutes.

'Pretending not to care, or does he actually not care?' Connie's aware from her brother's body language that he's expecting the dance to end and to see the two of you coming back to the table shortly after, but nothing more. 

She can't tell how Michael feels at all about the dance nor how he's truly reacting to it from how well Michael always remains poised to be emotionless and intensely stern. 

Michael only raises his eyes to look upon you once more as he raises his champagne cocktail up to his lips.

Rushing back into another fast-paced waltz around the courtyard, you both step away from each other again with one last twirl—arms extended as the dance is just about to come to an end as onlookers giddily clap and cheer on throughout the music.

Michael only takes one sip of his champagne cocktail when he sees Sonny pulling you in by your arm back to his embrace and dipping you down low one final time as he leans in close to you. 

Knowing the dance is to end with a kiss over the lips, there's no indication that Sonny will or won't kiss you right then and now to Michael. 

In a split second, as Michael watches Sonny dip your body down gracefully and lean over you, he no longer realizes how harshly he's clutching onto his cocktail.

While Michael's body language and face read no emotion whatsoever or give off any indication as to what he's thinking, Michael feels shortness of breath hit him, accompanied by the feeling of possessiveness and jealousy flooding through his body hotly.

Al Neri, Michael's bodyguards in close vicinity, as well as Tom at the other table with his wife and children, are the first to instantly notice the cocktail glass shatter in Michael's hand.

Without even being aware of it, the glass breaks in Michael's grasp, and champagne spills onto the table—getting some on his hand and soaking the remainder through the tablecloth. 

Connie's eyes widen in shock, but even she remains still and quietly stares back at Michael in astonishment as tiny pieces of glass scatter over the tablecloth. 

The sound is at too much of a distance for you or Sonny to properly hear and discern it. Sonny pulls away and extends out his free arm gleefully as the upbeat tempo of the swing dance finally comes to an end without a kiss.

Al Neri shoots a glare at the waiter that immediately causes the waiter to quickly clean up the mess over the tablecloth and scoop away the glass as if nothing ever happened.

"Is this another one of your hidden talents that pop up every now and then?" Sonny chuckles, letting go of your hand.

"Something like that." You joke back, "you're quick on your feet, dancer boy." 

"Let's just say I learn quickly, eh?" Sonny grins proudly, smoothening out his suit jacket.

Amusement fills Connie's expression at Michael's reaction as she watches the waiter begin to clean off the mess as quickly and as best as he can. Now Connie knows if anything, Michael is certain to be jealous. 

Michael simply lets the shards of glass fall out of his hand, completely unharmed and without care, as he continues to gaze back at you and Sonny. 

Had this been a slow dance, things may have been very, very different indeed, but then again, so would intentions. 

"Mama! Mama!" Verona and Niccolò squeal, giddily rushing up to you from their tables in excitement. "Wow!"

Sonny smiles at his approaching niece and nephew before running a hand through his curls and turning back to face the family table. Sonny's eyes spot Michael wiping off his hand with a napkin and staring at him expectantly; nothing gets through to Sonny to spoil his playful mood for tonight.

"Hi, you two!" You let out a soft laugh, hugging both of them. "What did you guys think of my dancing skills?"

Connie clears her throat and rises from her seat with her champagne the moment she sees Sonny approaching. Unbothered and rather amused by all of this herself, Connie knows better than to keep herself between Michael's irritation. 

"You were so fast, mama!" Niccolò exclaims. "How?!"

"Can you teach me?" Verona giggles. "I wanna dance too!"

Heading off towards Tom and Theresa's table, Connie's out of sight from the moment Sonny stretches out his arms and plops back down on his seat next to Michael. "Well, look who it is. Nice of ya to come out for once, Mike." 

Sonny's eyes flicker to the mess over the tablecloth still being cleaned by the waiter, who Michael outright ignores as he stares back at his brother with a severe look of annoyance and disappointment over his eyes.

It only takes a second to register to Sonny that Michael's broken his champagne glass, and not in a sense it tipped over or fell to the ground. For what seems like the first time in forever, Michael makes it visibly clear to Sonny—the only person now at the table—in the calmest and eerie manner that he's upset and irritated with him.

Only when the waiter next to Michael finishes cleaning up the last shards of broken glass and serves a new cocktail before leaving does Michael speak out to his brother. "I wouldn't have expected to walk back out into my own party to see my brother dancing with my wife." 

"Aw, Mike." Sonny chuckles softly, glancing back to you momentarily to see you playfully dancing with the twins.

"Like this! Just like this!" You twirl Verona around as she bursts into a fit of giggles.

"We were just dancin'." Sonny shrugs back to Michael. "A swing dance here and there—ya know, nothin' harmless."

"It's unacceptable, Sonny," Michael speaks in a quiet, calm voice. "Because when has it ever 'just' been that simple to you with Victoria?"

"Mike—"

"Have some shame." Michael's eyes burn back into Sonny's. "You're a married man with four children, and this is the type of behavior you choose to showcase."

"Oh?" Sonny raises a brow in genuine disbelief that Michael's scolding him over this. "My kid brother's gonna lecture me about dancin'? I was doin' it right in front of you—you saw me. Are you gonna give this same talk to Victoria over a dance? Come on, Mike. That's not like you."

"Victoria isn't the one who tried to provoke a sexual affair." Michael points out, keeping his voice stern. "That's my wife, and if you can't control your attraction to her, then you will control yourself in public. When you don't, not only do you lack dignity and respect towards yourself and to her, but you disrespect me, and that makes me very angry."

Sonny stares back at Michael, considering his words. "Then dance with her—"

"Don't tell me what to do, Santino." Michael slowly pushes the cocktail away from him. "What I choose to do and not to do are not invitations for you to act in my place. Do something like this again, and I'll hurt you very badly."

Before Sonny can even react, Michael rises from his seat and makes his way directly towards you. His demeanor is neither bitter nor serious, but rather even after shattering glass in his bare hands like Michael's been searching for you since he stepped outside of his office.

Noticing Michael out of the corner of your eye, you raise your head and blush at the sight of him instantly. In what you would expect to be a conversation made next, you blink in surprise as both you and Michael turn your heads to hear more of your guests clapping and cheering for you two.

Just then, you see Mama Corleone step down from the gazebo the band is performing in, gesturing and whispering something to them in an excited manner before waving at you and Michael. "Dai! Dai!" (Come on! Come on!)

A soothing, slow melody fit for a formal dance begins to play, and the atmosphere of not only your guests but the twins, Tom, Sandra, and even an absolutely wasted Deanna cheer and coax you and Michael to join in the dance.

"Mr. and Mrs. Corleone!" Connie calls out, clapping her hands together.

"Don Corleone." You can't help the growing, amused smile on your face as you take a step toward Michael.

"Mrs. Corleone," Michael greets you back, lacing a hand up with yours and placing the other over your hip.

"Looks like you made it in time for the dance after all." Your cheeks burn with blush as you avoid his gaze.

"I told you I would, wouldn't I?" Michael joins you in dance as you wrap your free arm around his shoulders lovingly. "Though I may have been more inclined to come out sooner had I known my own wife of nine years as a dancer."

You giggle, shaking your head. "If only I was that talented. How would you ever find out if you don't dance yourself?"

"I don't entertain such ridiculous notions." It's just the answer you'd expect from Michael. "But I won't refuse a dance like this with my wife."

"You missed me." You point out teasingly. "Not much to look at in the office, is there?"

"If I'm not looking, it appears someone else is," Michael murmurs, immediately killing the mood.

"Oh, please." You let out a soft sigh. "Some ambiance and liveliness here are what we needed."

"You needed or what Santino needed?" Michael asks you rather coldly.

"Michael," you frown at him. "You're the last person I'd ever expect to hold a grudge like that."

"I'm not holding a grudge, Victoria," Michael tells you plainly, planting a kiss over your cheek. "I'm simply observing, and I'm telling you what I see, which is very different from what you choose to ignore."

"I feel like you and I both have better things to talk about tonight than a swing dance." Your playful disposition easily wears off.

"And where should we start? With how close you've grown to Santino or—"

"I have not." You say through gritted teeth. "Don't try to change the subject, Michael. You're the one who was absent for almost the entirety of your own party. Are we going to talk about that?"

"No," Michael replies plainly. "We already did. There's nothing more to say."

"Everyone's watching us; are you aware of that?" You whisper back to him, avoiding looking around you.

"Yes. Is there a problem?" Michael presses the side of his cheek gently up against yours in a much more intimate embrace throughout the dance.

"You're making the dance sufferable, is all." You mumble under your breath. 

"Believe me, I have plenty I want to talk to you about after all of this is over." Michael reminds you, "and yes, we can start with Santino. I'm not happy about this at all, Victoria. Stop rolling your eyes at me."

"I'll walk off." You threaten. "It's not like the whole dance relies on me being a part of it."

"And do you expect me to follow you?" Michael raises a brow at you. "Because I won't. Then you'll have to lecture yourself all night for 'ruining' your own party in front of all your guests and colleagues." Michael's barely phased by your threat. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Wow, really? What are you doing, Michael?" You scoff quietly. "I mean, honestly? First the absence, now the pettiness?"

"You or me?" Michael kisses your cheek sweetly again. "I haven't done anything."

Becoming increasingly difficult to balance how you feel blushing due to Michael's affection, arousal, and anger from your last conversation with Michael. You're barely able to focus on what you're trying to say. 

"I know what you're doing." Michael continues, squeezing your hand gently. "With Sonny? You did that on purpose."

"Very funny." You reply, knowing he's mentioning the dance you shared with Sonny. "One of us had to enjoy the party and entertain the guests, and that happened to be me. You're overthinking it."

"Yes, you've done enough entertaining for the night, sweetheart." Michael narrows his eyes. "It always has to be your way, doesn't it?"

You pull your head back away from him, smirking as you know you're more than capable of getting on Michael's nerves as much as he is to you right now. "Why not? I'm a Ferrari daughter. I always get what I want."

"You need to watch your attitude." Michael stares back at you. "This isn't over."

"Aw." You pout dramatically at Michael, "but the dance is, baby." You peck a kiss over his lips before pulling away from Michael just as the music comes to an end—growing more upbeat for the next dance. 

"Victoria." Michael's eyes burn back into yours, a universal sign for "come here" you'd love to obey if you weren't amusing yourself by teasing Michael like this. 

"There's nothing to talk about, Michael." You beam back at him, using his own words against him. "We're at a party, I'm the host, and I'm very, very busy right now. I've got work to do, guests to see. Very busy!"

Fixing up a smile and running a hand through your hair, you head off down the courtyard towards the tables reserved for your sorority sisters from Dartmouth. "Ladies, ladies! Hi!"

Michael makes it more than clear through his disposition that he's not amused. Although he doesn't see his absence as a problem or anything to remotely make a big deal out of, he does accept it's what has upset not only you but the twins as well tonight.

Had Vincent and James been a little older to understand, there'd be no doubt that they'd be asking the same questions about Michael's whereabouts. 

With two more small children in your family, it's imperative now more than ever to have Michael spend as much time as he can with the babies as they grow.

Without a further glance in your direction, Michael approaches the family table once again for the sole purpose of picking up his lighter and cigarette pack off the table.

"Why don't you sit down?" Michael hears Connie's voice as he raises his head up to see his sister approaching the table again. "You haven't been here all night."

"I'm here now." Michael ignores her request, taking a cigarette out of his pack. "I'll be seeing my own friends and colleagues now."

"You have friends?" Connie scoffs, staring at her brother in disbelief.

"You sound surprised," Michael comments nonchalantly, putting a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. "Not that I understand what for." With that, Michael holds onto his lighter and slips his cigarette pack back into the outer pocket of his suit jacket.

Connie stares back at Michael, expecting him to say something more or to head off to Tom's table, but he turns away from her almost immediately after and walks over to one of the VIP tables reserved for special colleagues and friends.

"Sandra!" You call out, spotting her from a short distance near some guests. "Come on over here! Come!"

Sandra's eyes brighten when she spots you and the girls at the table, picking up her pace and approaching the table. "There you are! Can you believe Theresa has already called it a night?" She lets out a soft sigh, "I thought I was going to get lost in that crowd all by myself."

"The night is still young!" One of your friends bubbles at Sandra.

"Very true." You beam back, "I know she's more than tired from insisting on running most of the preparations for tonight, buuuut—" You pluck a champagne flute off a nearby waiter's tray, handing it to her. "It'll be just us girls now."

"Oh, thank God." Sandra lets out a sigh of relief, taking a big gulp of the champagne, which causes you and the girls to laugh. "Mm, I needed that. I'm not as tipsy as I look."

"How drunk you are may have been exaggerated by Sonny and the others." You chuckle. "You look fine."

"Not enough to get me drunk, but I wish." Sandra swishes the champagne around in her glass. "You know I feel like I've acquired a taste for these things thanks to Michael constantly having a limitless supply of champagne cocktails at every damn party?"

You and Sandra both burst out in laughter, separating your conversation from your other friends. "Well, after that little happy accident we had with a bottle of whiskey and many cocktails later…" You playfully roll your eyes, "this is our punishment."

"Has it helped you dance?" Sandra grins, gesturing at your cocktail. "I never even knew you had moves like that, Vic."

"No, no, I'm no dancer." You brush off the notion, "but I've been to enough parties to know that if I don't learn how to swing dance, I'm not gonna have any fun."

"I love it." Excitement flashes in Sandra's eyes. "I think you inspired all of us to pick up a few dancefloor moves back there. It looked so energetic and fun."

"It is!" You tell her but feel your smile beginning to fade from the obvious. "You were okay with all of that, though, right? You know—dancing with Sonny."

"Why would I be?" Sandra blinks, a little confused by the question. "I don't even know where my own husband picked up those moves from, but he's impressed me a lot too. He's gonna have to show me!"

'Oh, thank God.' You brush off your anxiety. "There's still plenty of time for a dance; why don't you join him in one?"

"Eh," Sandra shrugs shyly. "I mean, I would, but I've surprised myself today enough just by being able to walk."

"What do you mean?" You take a slow sip of your champagne.

"Um…" Sandra covers her mouth, blushing. "I mean with that health hazard in Sonny's pants."

"Oh." Your eyes widen as you both burst into a fit of giggles. "You're serious?"

"Oh yeah." Sandra bites down on her lip. "I literally feel ruined down there. Ugh," she glances down at the hem of her dress, clenching her legs. "Last night was amazing, and lately, I'm just reveling in the foreplay we have—you know, to build up arousal because—" she lowers her tone to be only audible to you, "—he's so fucking big, it'll hurt otherwise."

"Oh my God, Sandra." Not that you're all too surprised yourself from what you thought was a crowbar poking against your thigh when Sonny made that move on you back in New York. 

"Lots and lots of lube too." She lets out a breathy sigh. "Oh well, we've been more intimate with each other lately but trying to avoid having another little one after four kids. You?"

"Definitely." You can't help the smile growing over your lips, hoping Sandra will change the conversation any moment now.

"All the better, I say." Sandra shrugs her shoulders. "His dick is a party favor in itself." She rolls her eyes. "Seductive and seducing every other woman and whatnot."

'Awkward…' You neither expected Sandra to talk to you about Sonny's dick or about her sex life in the middle of a party tonight.

Sandra's eyes lock over yours as her smile fades, and that familiar tinge of anxiety hits you once again. She remains quiet for a moment before frowning, "I'm sorry, Victoria. I really am."

"What do you mean?" Your eyes widen in surprise. 

"It wasn't right of me to be upset with you about…" She gestures her hand back to Sonny, who jokingly shakes Tom's shoulders back at his table. "All of that." Sandra's clearly referring to the little incident in New York. "That wasn't your fault. It's not like you went along with it or even started it to begin with."

"It's okay, Sandra." You place your free hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring rub. "Really. I understand. It's all water under the bridge now."

"Still, it wasn't okay how upset I was with you at your own mother's funeral." You notice the distraught look in Sandra's eyes. "I was petty and giving you the cold shoulder when you needed love and support the most. It's my fault, Vic. I can't keep Sonny on a leash, but then again, nobody can—I shouldn't blame the women he chooses to go after, but I did, and it was very stupid and childish of me to do so. I've been meaning to apologize to you, so I'm sorry it took a while to get to that too, through…this conversation." She gives out a weak laugh. 

"No, no. I understand." You smile warmly at her. "I really appreciate that, thank you. I let bygones be bygones, really. I was just as confused and upset as you by the whole thing. Uh—are you and Sonny okay between one another, though? I mean, I know it's been some time, but…" Your mind roams back to Michael's words.

"With Sonny? You did that on purpose."

"Those kinds of things tend to linger a while longer than we think even after everything is said and done." You finish your sentence. 

"Oh, we're both fine, don't worry, honey." The smile on Sandra's face grows wider as she embraces you in a warm hug. "Sonny and I definitely talked about it, and I know there's going to be no more of that behavior."

You hug her back, careful to keep your champagne flute away from her. "Oh, really? That's good to hear." You force confidence back in your words as you pull away from the hug.

'No more of that behavior? He just asked me if I wanted to fuck again tonight.' The urge to smack Sonny or at least hope he was joking now hits deep. 

"Did you and Michael ever talk about it?" Sandra asks.

"After I came home? No." You clear your throat. "We had one conversation about it, and everything was pretty clear. Still, what he did in return was harsh. Really harsh."

"Maybe so." Sandra shrugs. "But you may just be thinking that because Michael's reaction came out as a surprise to all of us. Sonny deserved it," she sighs, her eyes flickering back to his table. "Even Pop said so."

"I suppose." You definitely remember Vito saying Sonny was glad to still be alive after Michael rocked his jaw and nose. 

"Sonny's learned from it, I can tell." Sandra seems reassured by her own words. "He's changed. And speaking of husbands…" Sandra's eyes suddenly light up. "I know all eyes were definitely on you and Michael tonight, especially with the way he was holding you during your dance."

"Oh." You blush, taken aback by the sudden change of conversation. "Thank you. I was looking forward to having a little dance with him all night."

"I bet." Sandra runs a hand through her hair with a playful grin. "The way he was looking right at you? Oh, you had to be there by the sidelines to see it. You guys are the perfect couple, honestly!"

Michael's own friends from his years at Dartmouth, as well as two private attorneys, a judge, a high-ranking detective, and two businessmen, remain at the table he takes a seat at and is warmly welcomed in response.

Connie sees Al Neri and Michael's other bodyguards approaching the table at a distance, keeping their eyes on the Don and his friends for general security purposes. 

Connie's gaze darts back to you with your sorority sisters, university colleagues, and coworkers from New York and Nevada alike gathered at a table in close proximity to Michael's.

From where Michael sits, he gets a perfect side view of you at your table with your friends, and although you know the table Michael sits at is occupied by his closest friends, you're neither aware of Michael being there at the moment nor do you look around. It's Michael whose gazing at you.

Hoping to be able to spend the rest of the evening with you, Michael's getting a taste of his own medicine now as you're the one who's occupied with others.

~

The official afterparty the Corleone family hosts is always specially reserved for closest friends, esteemed few guests, and most important business partners. 

Even the concept of an afterparty being scheduled is only known by the chosen guests alone and isn't uttered to anyone else throughout the main celebrations throughout the evening.

Since an afterparty is only held a scarce few times a year after such grand celebrations, guests rarely change and aren't just chosen by you and Michael alone but by the entire family.

As a result, the afterparty is much more private and relaxed, but the company is shared with those your family trusts the most and has known for many years, whether they be colleagues, associates, or childhood friends.

Only three of your closest friends remain to be your guests for tonight, who've also gotten along very well with Sandra and Connie since you introduced them all at your very first celebration with the Corleone family.

It's always been nothing but a relief to have everyone get along and remain distracted by the company of Sandra and Connie, who can drink and talk for hours on end, unlike you. It gives you some much-needed time to yourself if need be, such as if you need to handle something or head back inside the house.

As much as you enjoy socializing with friends and family, just like everyone else, you too have a social tolerance, and surpassing it only mentally exhausts you and does no good.

Mama Corleone sits by the garden with her childhood friend from Sicily, sharing a conversation over a glass of white wine as Vito does the same with close friend Amerigo Bonasera and family physician Jules Segal by the docks.

Tom and his fellow graduates from law school—also friends of yours—occupies himself with stories of passing the bar exam with some of Nevada's biggest hotshot attorneys at a table in the courtyard.

Michael remains in the boathouse only a short distance away from the gazebo with his friends, admiring the lakeside view of his yacht with them in deep conversation over cigarettes. 

Still feeling the buzz of the evening's celebrations over you, you take the opportunity to make an excuse to go to the bathroom and pick up another bottle of wine for the girls when in reality, your mind has been on the twins instead.

Michael and you haven't spoken to each other since the dance you shared earlier on in the evening, but neither of you had a chance to with your guests and formalities getting in the way. 

The twins have enjoyed the entirety of the party with the children of the guests, running around and snacking on treats while playing with Tom and Theresa's dogs until they quite literally exhausted themselves. 

Esther had to take Niccolò and Verona inside for a much-needed nap, and unbeknownst to you, Michael had shortly excused himself to his friends before taking in little Vincent and baby James inside himself.

With your two youngest sons still being infants, napping, throwing toys around, and aimlessly peeking around while shaking anything that makes a rattling or crinkling noise is just part of their routine. 

Still, Michael didn't take his sons back inside and put them to sleep himself to prove a point to you or to prove your point. He knows now more than ever after his third and fourth child entered the world that time spent with the babies is detrimental and prolonged absences aren't even remotely acceptable.

Michael and you both want Vincent and James to know their father is always around, to recognize him instantly, and not have to burst into tears to get some attention from their parents. So far, the concept has failed miserably, thanks to Michael's recent business ventures.

Esther remained inside for the rest of the evening once the children came in to take their naps. Your residence remained quiet otherwise, with nobody else in or around it except silent sentry and security as usual.

Keeping an eye on Vincent and James sleeping soundly, Esther took Niccolò and Verona to you and Michael's bedroom to play with their toys as you and Michael had always allowed it.

It was getting late after all, and with the afterparty about to kick in and other children heading home, Niccolò and Verona happily chose to pick out their favorite toys and spend some time back in residence instead.

You and Michael have never barred the twins from entering your bedroom or any other part of the house, for that matter. 

Much of the time, you prefer to breastfeed James while bouncing Vincent on your lap as you watch the twins play with their toys in front of you in the bedroom too.

Michael's office is mostly off-limits for just about anybody, but even the twins call it "the boring room where daddy does business" because it contains nothing but Michael's desk, seats, and bookshelves along the wall. 

If Michael isn't working or having a business meeting with anyone, he too doesn't spend any time in his office unless absolutely needed. Even for general peace and privacy, Michael spends time in the living room, on the balcony, by the pool, in the garden, and in the study, if he isn't in another residence on the compound.

Exhaling softly and feeling yourself relax after both the frustration and expected excitement of tonight's party, you smoothen out your black dress and walk past your security to the front door of your residence.

Stepping in, all is calm and quiet but the sound of the clock ticking upon the living room's wall. 

As you let the door close behind you and slip off your heels, you walk down the corridor and towards the bedroom, where you're able to pick up the sounds of the twins talking softly and playing the closer you get.

“Mi piacciono i cavalli.” (I like the horses.) Verona picks up her wooden set of horses with a smile. “Voglio costruire una piccola stalla per loro!” (I wanna build a small stable for them!)

“E gli animali della fattoria?” (What about the farm animals?) Niccolò picks up a toy cow, peeking down at it in the pile of his other toys. “Possiamo metterli in una stalla vicino ai cavalli?” (Can we put them in a barn next to the horses?)

Approaching the doorway and resting your hand against it, you can't help but smile at the well-behaved twins happily sharing and playing with their animal toys together. 

“Sì! Vuoi costruire un fienile con me? Ho dei giocattoli qui.” (Yeah! Want to build a barn with me? I have some toy pieces here.) Verona nods excitedly.

"Bene!" (Okay!) Niccolò scoots in closer to the toys near him and Verona.

Safety and security have been practically tripled since the assassination attempt on your and Michael's life in 1955. 

Neither you nor Michael or the twins had ever felt unsafe or doubted security before. Coming to know it was Fredo who allowed the assassination to occur half successfully in the first place let you and Michael know that it truly had nothing to do with the security measures you two had imposed on the family compound in the first place.

Still, it was no reason to back down, especially after that life-threatening experience and your mother's death as a result of poisoned bullets raining down on the residence. 

Security is always heavily prominent 24/7 but much more intensely and rigidly imposed when it comes to you, Michael, and the children especially.

"Ciao, voi due." (Hello, you two.) You softly greet the twins, walking into the bedroom. 

"Ciao, mamma!" (Hi, mama!) The two chime in at the same time, looking up at you. 

“Vi state divertendo con gli animali della stalla?” (Having fun with the barn animals?) You gesture down to their toys, stroking both Niccolò and Verona's hair.

“Faremo per loro una stalla e una stalla.” (We're gonna make a barn and horse stable for them.) Niccolòproudly admits. 

"Molto bello. Mi fai vedere quando è costruito?” (Very nice. Will you show me when it's built?) You chuckle, crossing your arms.

"Noi!" (We will!) Verona tells you excitedly, putting another toy horse next to her other one.

The sight of the twins safe and sound playing with their toys before you remind you of how they had come peeking in by the doorway in the middle of a thunderstorm when they were just four years old, eyes wide and scared.

Michael would've been the last one to go through with the idea of having the two twins snuggled up between you and him in bed during a thunderstorm, but being a father had changed him in many ways. He wasn't even entirely aware of back then.

Changing and adapting to motherhood and fatherhood, both of your lives changed for the better as you and Michael started a family of your own. 

You both knew whether you'd like it or not—accept it or not—you and Michael would always be the first and most important role models in your children's lives. 

The twins—let alone Vincent and James—never saw you and Michael fighting or heard the two of you raise your voices over each other. Of course, this didn't mean the two of you didn't argue as any normal couple does, but you both made sure never to do so near the twins. 

Niccolo and Verona have not only told the family but also mentioned amongst themselves how much they think their parents love and care about each other. It shows through your and Michael's actions and words towards one another, a healthy, caring love with compassion and understanding that you want the twins to learn from too.

“Di questo passo, voi due giochereste con i vostri giocattoli tutta la notte.” (At this rate, the two of you would be playing with your toys all night.) You hear a deep, velvety voice belonging to Michael come out from behind you—surprising you. 

'When did he…?!' Your eyes widen as you glance back to the doorway to see Michael standing by it, his emotionless eyes flickering up to you momentarily before looking back down at the twins.

“Non possiamo, papà?” (Can’t we, daddy?) Niccolo hugs onto one of his toys.

"Se solo." (If only.) Michael takes a few steps inside the bedroom, planting a kiss on both of the twins' heads. “È quasi mezzanotte ed è ora di andare a letto.” (It's almost midnight now and time for bed.)

"Dadddyyyy…!" Switching to English, Verona extends her arms out to her father as Michael hugs her warmly. "Can you tuck us in?"

“I will,” Michael murmurs, ignoring you as Niccolo rises to his feet. “And tomorrow, you two can play again as much as you’d like.” 

"Promettere?" (Promise?) Niccolo peeks up at Michael with hope, picking his toys off the ground.

"Prometto." (I promise.) Michael rubs Niccolo’s shoulder reassuringly. "Dì la buonanotte a tua madre, per favore." (Say goodnight to your mother, please.)

“Buonanotte, mamma!” (Good night, mama!) The twins ring out in unison to you. 

“Buona Notte.” You beam back at the two, giving them a little wave. 

Michael walks out of the bedroom with the twins, letting the door remain ajar as the three head back down the hallway—speaking inaudibly in soft Italian to one another.

You let out a deep sigh, still finding yourself flustered from Michael’s sudden presence. Clearing your throat and knowing a talk is obviously in order between you and Michael, you shake off the thought and close the bedroom door fully.

You pull apart the ribbons from your hair, letting your hair down from your updo and running your hands through it as you make your way over to the bathroom.

Combing through your soft hair and putting it up into a loose bun, you begin to wash off your makeup by the sink and cleanse your face with cream and moderately warm water.

You grab a small face cloth and soak it into the water, turning down the temperature a little bit before gently scrubbing any residue of the cleansing cream off of your face and eyes.

Once you dry off your face and hands, you hum quietly to yourself as you begin to nudge down the short sleeves of your dress off of your shoulders.

Just about to undress and strip down, you walk out of the bathroom as your dress’s sleeves cling loosely to your breasts and chest. You gasp out in surprise yet again to see Michael standing by your vanity table, leaning a hand against the chair by it and tapping his fingers against it impatiently. He remains across you, still dressed but without his suit jacket on, keeping one hand in the pocket of his dress trousers.

Blush stings your cheeks once more, especially standing before him with your breasts threatening to spill out of your dress at any moment. “Do you have to surprise me like that every time?”

Michael doesn’t answer you, simply gazing at you the same way he did when the two of you were slow dancing back at the party. 

An expectant look crosses his eyes as he takes his hand out of his pocket and gestures for you to approach him. “Come here.”

‘Stop…’ You know every inch of you wants to get down on your knees and crawl to Michael no matter how irritated you were with him earlier. 

Something in you desperately pulls you towards Michael like a moth to a flame with the way his smoldering, dark eyes look at you, the command in his voice, and how his slim fingers beckon.

Unable to hide that you’re blushing, you step towards Michael and approach him. Michael’s eyes dart over your dress first as if he’s admiring but cautiously analyzing the fabric quietly.

Michael’s brows furrow as he looks over at your breasts, barely covered by the dress, and you can’t help but feel disappointment in realizing that although you’ve been dressed like this for hours throughout the night, it’s the first time Michael’s actually taken a look at your appearance. 

“You look beautiful,” Michael’s tone remains soft and quiet. 

Your cheeks flare red with blush again at his compliment. “You clean up pretty well yourself. Didn’t get to look at me too much tonight?”

“Not nearly as much as I’d like to,” Michael softly exhales, gazing up at you. “No.” Michael reaches out his hand and touches the collar of your dress, pulling at the fabric of your breasts gently before coming to a pause. 

You watch his movements, too flustered to move or react until you notice Michael furrowing his brows in disappointment. “Did you go out like this?” Michael rubs his thumb over one of your nipples, causing you to bite down on your lip.

“Of course I did. You saw me.” You tell him, looking down at his fingers.

“Without a brassiere?” 

“I couldn’t exactly wear it with a brassiere, could I?” You place your hand gently on top of Michael’s. “It’s an off-the-shoulder piece, baby.”

Michael stares back at you. “You danced with Sonny while wearing this?”

‘Oh, I see what this is about. Ha.’ You can’t help but feel amused at Michael’s clear jealous disposition. 

A smirk spreads over your face. “Why, what’s wrong with it?”

“Answer me.” There’s that stern look growing back in Michael’s eyes.

“I did.” Holding onto Michael’s hand, you pull down the fabric to reveal your breasts. “This is what I wore all evening.”

“I can see your nipples through this.” Michael points out. 

Teasingly squeezing them together, you’re in too much of a playful mood now to take any of Michael’s reactions seriously. “Oh yeah? Then suck on them.”

“Victoria.” Michael raises his brows at you, severely unamused by your comment. 

“I’m getting undressed now, don’t worry.” You chuckle, turning your back to Michael as you lean over and inch off your dress bit by bit over your hips. “Wanna watch?” You glance over your shoulders, wanting to tease him badly.

You notice the irritated look in Michael’s eyes almost instantly changes to an erotic curiously filled with interest at your movements. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“But you’re still watching.” You let your dress fall off your hips and pool to your feet just as quickly as you feel Michael’s hands grabbing your hips.

Gasping out in surprise, you feel Michael pin you up against the wall by the bed instantly but without remotely hurting you. 

Only in a pair of lace panties you giggle as Michael tilts your chin up to face him roughly before squeezing your face. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this.”

“Tell me what, Don Corleone?” You let out a muffled giggle.

“Stay away from Santino, Victoria.” The possessiveness and anger in his disposition only helps the wet patch grow in your panties, severely turning you on. “Your intentions aren’t the same as his, and you know that. God, do I need to move him out of here to make you listen?”

“I didn’t do anything, baby.” You grin back lazily at Michael, tilting your head back against the wall. “If he wants me, that’s on him. I only want you. Besides—how did you even see?”

“I see everything.” Michael breathes against your lips, pressing his body against yours. “And I was very well aware you were dancing with him. So what do you want me to do, huh? I was too busy, so you went with my brother?”

“You’re so jealous that you’re spinning this into a whole different story,” you sloppily kiss Michael’s fingers. “It was just one swing dance, baby. I can do whatever I want.”

“Actually, you can’t.” Michael narrows his eyes. “With Sonny? No, you can’t. Not without justifying it.”

“I think you’re pushing it.” You smirk back, bucking your hips up against Michael’s growing erection through his dress trousers.

“I’ll push it even farther, baby.” Michael squeezes your face harshly, giving it a shake. “I’ll fucking push it.”

“Push it then.” You moan, feeling his cock brushing up against the fabric of your panties.

“Everything you did tonight was just to get a reaction out of me,” Michael tells you through gritted teeth, but even you can easily see how severely aroused he’s grown.

“That’s your jealousy talking—oh!” You squeal out in excitement as Michael clasps a firm hand around your throat, hauling you over to the balcony. “Michael!”

“What’s the matter, huh?” Michael tugs on a fistful of your hair with his free hand, pushing you down onto the lounge chair by the ledge of the balcony. “You want to put on a show? We can put on a show.”

You lick over your lips, grinning back at him as your breasts press up against the velvet of the lounge chair. “Where everyone can see and hear us, huh?”

“Who said anyone can see you from up here?” Michael narrows his eyes, quick to snatch your panties down your ass. “Hearing you is a whole other story.”

“Ah!” You quickly clasp a hand over your mouth as you feel Michael’s hand smack your ass harshly. “N-not fair.”

“You wouldn’t know anything about that,” Michael speaks to you in a low, husky tone as he spanks you again over the same area. “You don’t play fair.”

“Punishing me?” You breathe, clutching onto the sides of the lounge chair as you arch your back.

“Punishing you?” Michael gives you a disapproving look, “I’m making sure—” He spanks you even harder, his wedding band hitting your now reddened skin. “—that you enjoy this.”

“F-fuck,” you whimper, pressing the side of your face up against the lounge chair as Michael continues to spank you. 

“But after this, all you’ll do is beg.” Michael presses one knee down on the edge of the lounge chair, keeping full dominance and control over you by pulling your hair back and locking your thigh between his legs tightly. “And I won’t give you a damn thing.”

“A-acting like you’re not getting off to this,” you let out a shaky giggle. “You don’t wanna fuck your frustrations out on me, huh?”

“Does it surprise you—” Michael watches as your skin glows pink from spanking you rapidly in succession, each hit harder than the last. “—that I don’t?”

“Mm!” You moan again as you feel Michael purposefully brush his fingers up against your clit. “Y-you’re bluffing.”

“I’m. Not.” Michael tilts your face roughly to face him. “And everybody can hear you.”

“Maybe I should moan louder, then.” You breathe heavily, “so everyone can hear how Michael Corleone’s spanking me naked up on our balcony.”

“I’m doing no such thing.” Michael’s hand comes down on your ass again as harshly as he can hit—the tingly, stinging pain mixing in with the pleasure of how aroused you’ve grown, especially naked out on the balcony where there’s the thrill of being seen and heard.

“If you want me—” Michael kneels off the lounge chair, pulling away from you. “then you’ll take what’s yours, but I’m not giving you what you want.”

“I don’t deserve it, huh?” Wincing, your thighs tremble as you carefully lay down on your side, spreading open your legs before Michael. “Not now and for the last few days either? Mm, Michael Corleone doesn’t want me anymore.”

Michael stares back at you, his eyes darkening with lust as he watches you teasingly slick your hands down your wet pussy lips. “Maybe it’s because I like watching you squirm.”

Michael loosens his black silk tie and begins to unbuckle his belt—acting as if he’s unphased. “Or it’s because I want you to want me.”

Michael turns away from you, letting his belt fall to the ground as he runs a hand through his hair—breaking through his neatly slicked look to casually tousled and relaxed.

‘Fuck. Now he’s the one teasing me?’ The knot of arousal only grows more in demand in your gut as you bite down on the corner of your lip in frustration. 

Loving to tease but hate being teased yourself, you get off of the lounge chair and follow right behind just as Michael wants you to.

“You want me, Victoria?” Michael sits on the edge of the bed, a few buttons of his dress shirt undone to reveal a peek of his chest hair and skin.

“You have no idea...” You make sure to firmly close the balcony door behind you. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’ll do what I want.” Michael grips the bed sheets with both hands, tilting his body back. 

“This is your way of making this all up to me, huh? Your absence.” A slow smirk forms over your lips as you approach Michael, placing a hand over the remaining closed buttons on his dress shirt. You keep your eyes on Michael as you begin to undo the rest of the buttons one by one. “I know what you want.”

“Seduction alone won’t suffice, baby.” Michael’s tone falls low. 

“It doesn’t for you, that’s for sure.” Your eyes dart over Michael’s chest hungrily as you throw open his dress shirt, nudging it off his arms. “If you’re all mine now, then I’m gonna do whatever I want with you.”

Michael doesn’t reply back to you, knowing he’d never admit or let go of his pride as to just how much it turns him on to see you in control, taking out your dirtiest desires on him. 

You’ve very well guessed the same and can feel his dark eyes watching your movements as you let his dress shirt crumple to the floor. “Fuck,” you roam your hands over Michael’s chest before quickly clasping them over his wrists. “Undress.” You gesture to his dress trousers, “take everything off.”

You easily notice how Michael’s muscles clench with arousal as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his dress trousers and briefs, inching both of them off down. 

From the moment Michael’s erect cock springs free, you grab onto the fabric of his trousers and briefs, pulling them off him entirely before immediately straddling Michael. 

“Victoria,” Michael’s breath hitches as you press your pussy down directly onto his shaft, his hands eagerly squeezing your hips. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” You inhale sharply, raking a hand through your hair to brush it away from your face as your let your hands roam over Michael’s shoulders and biceps. “Mm…” 

Desperate to keep his mind off of your warm, wet pussy dripping onto his shaft—alone grabbing your hips, raising them up before ramming his cock into you—Michael gazes up at you expectantly.

“And I’m obsessed—” You hover over Michael, keeping your pussy angled onto his shaft as you trail the tip of your nose up from his chest towards Michael's collarbones. “—with every inch of you.”

Michael takes in a soft, shuddering inhale at your touch against his skin. 

“Not that I ever had to tell you…” You press your warm lips against his torso, kissing back down while squeezing and letting your hands wander over Michael’s arm muscles. “How bad I want you all the time.” 

“Mm,” a soft moan escapes Michael’s lips as you slowly grind your pussy over his cock, sliding your hands down Michael’s arms to lace both hands with him tightly. 

“No more absences.” You breathe hotly against Michael’s neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses. 

“Fuck,” Michael lets out another breathy moan, unlacing both of his hands from yours and wrapping his arms around your waist to press your body down onto his.

You chuckle at Michael’s reaction, more than pleased by it as you cup a hand over his cheek, tilting Michael’s face towards you as you seal a kiss over his lips. “Or I’m coming into your office and fucking you right then and there on your table.”

“Think I’m avoiding you, baby?” Michael grunts out quietly as you lean back up.

“You couldn’t if you tried.” You smirk wryly at him, slightly bucking your hips up as you position his cock against your entrance. “You can do your work that way; I don’t care.”

“Oh, fuck,” Michael moans loudly, catching you by pleasant surprise as you take his cock inside of you.

“Mm,” you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel every inch of Michael entering inside of you.

Michael’s hands hold onto your hips, keeping them in place as he grunts softly before sighing in ecstasy. “I can feel all of you in this angle.”

“Perfect, baby.” You breathe out, watching your thighs shake a little as you begin to bob your hips up and down on Michael’s cock.

“Ohhhh, yes!” You cry out as you buck your hips against Michael’s at a speedy pace, finding the perfect rhythm. 

From the deep angle that Michael enters you, your pussy contracts at every sensitive spot inside of you his cock comes into contact with.

Sensations of repeated pleasure build and rock through your entire body with each thrust of Michael’s cock. Riding him fully in your control, Michael feels himself pulsating inside of you with arousal—building up an intense orgasm. 

“Yes, yes—” Michael’s full lips remain pursed open, relieving shaky breaths as he watches you bounce on his cock—taking in each and every inch of him again and again. 

Michael struggles to keep quiet himself—a rare occurrence that does nothing but fuel your arousal hearing his velvety voice ring out with moans as you fuck him. 

“Faster, baby, faster.” Michael pants, beginning to slam his hips upward to yours.

The bedroom fills with the sounds of your wet pussy sloshing against Michael’s soaked shaft. You let out an out-of-breath giggle and glance down momentarily to see his cock easily sliding in and out of you.

“Michael,” you half-whimper, half moan as you clutch onto his chest. “Oh, fuck yes! S-so good! So fucking good!”

Michael’s grasp over your hips presses so harshly that it could bruise your skin, only amplifying your orgasm building in your gut from multiple overlapping sensations. 

“H-happened to staying quiet, huh?” Michael grunts, thrusting his hips upward at an even faster pace than before. “S-say my name again.”

Filled to the brim with Michael’s cock, skin slaps against skin as Michael pounds into your pussy like a wild animal over and over again. 

“Michael—Michael,” you groan out, unable to stop your thighs from shaking against his body.

Everything about having Michael submit fully to you as your hips control both of your thrusts and movement is rhythmic ecstasy. 

“God, I love it when you say my name like that—" Michael inhales shakily, moving his hand upward to squeeze at your jiggling breasts as you ride him. “Because you love taking this cock in you, don’t you?”

Michael’s tousled hair sticks to sweat forming over his forehead as you continue to bring him to uncontrollable, loud moans. 

“Y-yes—mm! Harder!” You press down on Michael’s hands over your breasts as you can feel your knees growing weak from your orgasm about to unwind. 

Excitement surges through you in a frenzy of arousal just in the way Michael parts his lips open and rolls his eyes back in pleasure.

“Uh! Oh my God!” You squeal out as Michael’s cock slips out of your pussy.

Both of you let out an exhale as Michael props himself up on his elbows, grasping his cock and tapping the shaft against your pussy.

“C’mon, baby,” Michael locks eyes with you as he guides his cock into your pussy. 

Feeling the thick warmness of Michael’s cock fill you up again, you whine as you wrap your arms around Michael’s shoulders, who now sits upright. 

“G-gonna cum, gonna cum—” You groan, tugging on Michael’s dark hair as he buries his face between your breasts.

“Oh, baby.” Michael’s legs shake against yours as he reaches the tipping point of his orgasm, holding back and edging it. 

Michael slicks his fingers over your dewy clit, toying with it at the same rapid pace that you continue to fuck him with.

Your clit aches to be touched and the only thing muffling out your moans is Michael’s mouth hotly pressing up against yours, now sloppily tongue kissing you.

You dig your nails into Michael’s shoulders, stealing moan after moan from his lips as your wetness begins to trickle down your thighs and onto Michael’s pubic hair.

The pressure of having all thick, eight inches of Michael inside of you is nothing short of sublime. Michael’s gaze towards you is filled with nothing but an insistent lust and desire, obsessed with the way you curve and move your hips over his cock.

Edging your own orgasm as Michael is until you know you can’t take anymore, you swear to yourself your body’s hitting new heights of pleasurably ecstasy from the way your muscles begin to tense up.

A string of spit separates as you two pull away from the full-mouthed kiss; both of your sweaty bodies collide with one another as you refuse to let your hips relent, riding Michael’s cock.

“’ Atta girl,” Michael smacks your ass with both hands, both of you dazed, gazing back at each other as Michael’s bedroom eyes burn back into yours. 

Crying out and cocking your head back, Michael nuzzles your neck lovingly and holds your body against his. You gasp deeply to feel with a final thrust that Michael’s cums inside you—thick spurt after spurt flowing inside of you. 

“Oh, I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” You shriek out in pleasure as your orgasm releases out of your control.

Michael’s eyes snap open as he lets out a low moan, breathing heavily. You hold your hips in place, glancing down to see your legs trembling uncontrollably against Michael’s waist as an aftermath of your orgasm. 

The relief of the intense orgasm is heavenly, washing over every inch of your body in nothing but sheer, tantalizing pleasure. 

“Shit,” Michael hisses out, feeling you clench around his cock.

In each other’s embrace and both panting for breath, you swallow hard as Michael presses his forehead against yours. 

You give out a little gasp as Michael roughly grasps your throat, applying pressure to the sides so as not to hurt your windpipe before looking you in the eye. “I like fucking you like my personal whore in bed just as much as I do making love to you as my wife.”

Blush stings your cheeks as your face flushes red at Michael’s words, let alone how your arousal still doesn’t back down seeing his hair a ruffled, sweaty miss and Michael’s pouty, full lips still glistening wet from your kiss.

“When I tell you I’ll make something happen, I’ll make it happen. I don’t want to hear you say the word ‘absence’ again. I’m always going to make time for our family, understood?” He breathes.

“Y-yes,” you can barely form the words together to describe how erotic you find it when Michael clasps a hand over your throat.

“Good.” Michael’s eyes dart over your face and down to how his slim fingers are wrapped around your throat. “I know you’ll only ever beg for my cock,” Michael buckles his hips upward, tapping his shaft against your pussy. “No matter who you’re dancing with—isn’t that right?”

“Michael,” you look away out of embarrassment, whining softly.

“Look at me when I talk to you.” There’s a familiar, demanding sternness in Michael’s voice.

You peek back up at him shyly, unable to see any anger or sign that he’s upset. 

“Or do I need to fuck the answer out of your mouth?” Michael moves his hand from your throat to your hair, giving it a harsh pull.

“Mm!” You wince as he forces you off of his lap and onto the bed, coaxing your head towards his cock, still soaked with his and your cum.

“I think I do.” Michael narrows his eyes at you. “Do I have to tell you twice?”

“Never, Don Corleone.” You breathe against the tip of his cock, clutching it with one hand. 

“’ Atta girl,” Michael murmurs, guiding your head as you slowly take his cock in your mouth—looking into his eyes. “It’s my turn to have my fun with you.”

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

[like-i-need-a-hole-in-my-head]

Lawyers exit Hong Kong as they face campaign of intimidation

By JAMES POMFRET, GREG TORODE, ANNE MARIE ROANTREE and DAVID LAGUE

Dec. 29, 2022, noon GMT

Anonymous threats sent by text message and email. GPS tracking devices placed under a car, and Chinese “funeral money” sent to an office. Ambushes by reporters working for state-controlled media. Accusations of disloyalty in the press.

These are some of the methods deployed in a campaign of intimidation being waged against lawyers in Hong Kong who take on human rights cases, have criticized a China-imposed national security law or raised alarms about threats to the rule of law. While some of Hong Kong’s leading rights lawyers have been detained in the past two-and-a-half years, many others have become the target of a more insidious effort to cleanse the city of dissent – part of a wider crackdown by the ruling Communist Party on lawyers across China, say activists, legal scholars and diplomats.

Michael Vidler, one of the city’s top human rights lawyers, is among them. Vidler left Hong Kong in April, a couple of months after a judge named his law firm six times in a ruling that convicted four pro-democracy protesters on charges of illegal assembly and possession of unauthorized weapons. Vidler interpreted the judgment as “a call to action” on the city’s national security police “to investigate me,” he told Reuters in an interview last month in Europe. He asked that his location not be disclosed.

Michael Vidler (center), seen here in 2016, was one of the city’s top rights lawyers. In April, he left for Europe after being vilified in articles in state-backed media. REUTERS/Bobby Yip

The event that precipitated his hasty departure, Vidler said, was the appearance of articles in the state-backed media in Hong Kong about him. One said he was the representative of an “anti-China” group. Within days, the British national left his home of three decades.

Vidler tried to make an inconspicuous exit. He sent a suitcase to a friend before flying out. On the day of departure, he met the friend with the suitcase and went to the airport. But on arriving, reporters from state-backed media outlets were waiting.

They “descended on me as a mob at the check-in counter, taking photos of my travel documents,” Vidler said. His last-minute flight plans were known only to his wife, the airline and immigration authorities, he said, which “clearly shows that this information was provided by official sources” to the media.

“This was in my view state-sponsored intimidation and harassment,” said Vidler, whose wife and children later left Hong Kong. A government spokesman called Vidler’s characterization of events “baseless and erroneous.”

Other high-profile departures include former Bar Association chairman Paul Harris. He left his home of decades for England hours after being called in for questioning by national security police. Harris, too, was hounded by reporters from state-backed outlets at the airport as he departed.

Hong Kong was shaken by anti-government protests in 2019, including this dramatic one at the city's famed Lion Rock. The next year, Beijing imposed a draconian national security law. REUTERS/Athit Perawongmetha

The intimidation is having a broad chilling effect, as less prominent lawyers also flee the city. A major catalyst is Hong Kong’s national security law, which was imposed in June 2020, after a wave of anti-government protests shook the city the previous year. The law includes life sentences for vaguely worded offenses such as subversion, secession and collusion with foreign forces. Facing or fearing prosecution under the law, or concerned about threats to Hong Kong’s freedoms, many lawyers and legal academics have quietly departed, mostly to Britain, Australia and North America.

One Hong Kong solicitor who has relocated to England told Reuters that she knew of at least 80 Hong Kong lawyers who had moved to Britain since the security law was imposed in June 2020. Another lawyer, now living in Australia, estimated that several dozen Hong Kong lawyers had moved there.

Some are preparing for the possibility they may never return. Kevin Yam, a commercial solicitor and now vocal critic of Beijing’s crackdown in Hong Kong, said he took his mother’s ashes with him when he departed for Melbourne in April. “I wanted to be fully prepared, given the way Hong Kong is going,” Yam said. “If I couldn’t ever get back to Hong Kong, I didn’t want to leave her there.”

Since Chinese leader Xi Jinping came to power a decade ago, the ruling Communist Party has intensified its persecution of human rights lawyers and legal activists on the mainland. Prominent rights lawyers there, including Ding Jiaxi and Xu Zhiyong, are among hundreds who have been detained, harassed and jailed.

This suppression spread to Hong Kong in the aftermath of the city’s sometimes violent anti-government protests in the second half of 2019. Martin Lee, Margaret Ng and Chow Hang-tung are among the veteran human rights lawyers who have been arrested.

Leading human rights lawyers have been arrested in the crackdown. Among them: Democratic Party founding chairman Martin Lee, seen before his sentencing in 2021. REUTERS/Tyrone Siu

City leaders deny that a purge of the profession is under way.

“There is no truth in the alleged harassment or intimidation of ‘human rights’ lawyers” by the government, the Hong Kong Chief Executive’s Office said in response to questions from Reuters. “We dispute and strongly object to your highly suggestive questions and biased, baseless and false accusations against the Hong Kong National Security Law (NSL) and law enforcement actions taken by law enforcement agencies.”

In the case of Vidler, the Chief Executive’s Office said, the judge had not suggested “that a lawyer could be guilty of a criminal offense by providing legal services.”

Any actions by law enforcement were “strictly in accordance with the law” and had nothing to do with a person’s “political stance, background or occupation,” the office said.

Asked about Vidler’s alarm over the ruling that cited his law firm, the Judiciary said it “does not comment on court judgments” and that judges do not “make public comments on their judgments.” Any suggestion of “inappropriate conduct” by a judge, it said, could only be made “when supported by solid grounds and evidence. Surmise and innuendo fall far short of what is required.

In Beijing, the State Council Information Office and Hong Kong and Macau Affairs Office did not respond to questions from Reuters.

For this article, Reuters interviewed more than 50 lawyers and legal academics in Hong Kong and abroad.

Hong Kong’s lawyers have been a thorn in Beijing’s side since the former colony’s handover from the British in 1997. As a profession, lawyers have taken to the streets in six silent marches since the handover, in protest at what they perceived as threats to the city’s legal system and freedoms. Lawyers were also prominent figures in the mass public demonstrations against proposed national security laws in 2003, the pro-democracy Occupy Central protest movement in 2014 that paralyzed parts of the city, and the rallies in 2019 following the government’s bid to introduce laws allowing the extradition of criminal suspects for trial on the mainland.

A key target in the campaign of intimidation has been the two legal professional bodies that represent and regulate Hong Kong’s legal fraternity – the Law Society and the Bar Association. Mainland officials have long sought influence over these two influential bodies, according to senior Hong Kong lawyers.

Unlike China or the United States, Hong Kong has a British-style split legal system, in which barristers serve as advocates in courts and solicitors deal directly with clients. When necessary, solicitors hire barristers to represent clients in court or provide specialist legal advice.

Judges wearing wigs at a ceremony to mark the beginning of the new legal year in 2017. Former colony Hong Kong has a British-style legal system. REUTERS/Bobby Yip

The Law Society represents the city’s solicitors and has more than 13,000 members. The Bar Association represents Hong Kong’s 1,600 barristers. By law, the two bodies regulate their professions, with the power to qualify barristers and solicitors. By convention, both recommend who represents the professions on the Judicial Officers Recommendation Commission, a panel that appoints and promotes judges.

For several weeks last year, a hotly contested election for the Law Society’s governing council became the arena in which the intimidation campaign played out. The target: a group of four candidates, the so-called “liberals,” who believed the Law Society should take a stand on issues including freedom of speech, judicial independence and the rule of law. They were opposed by a group of candidates, the so-called “professionals,” who believed the body should focus more narrowly on its role in regulating solicitors while expanding business ties with the mainland.

The “liberals” already held seven seats on the 20-member council. If they prevailed among the city’s solicitors, they would be in the majority.

A barrage of hostile coverage by pro-Beijing media outlets in Hong Kong and official pressure was unleashed on the liberal group.

In the days leading up to the August election, the Hong Kong leader at the time, Carrie Lam, issued a warning at a news conference: If the Law Society got involved in politics, the government would consider cutting ties with the body. The threat implied that the Law Society would lose its role as part of the administration of justice in the city, multiple lawyers in the city told Reuters. The People’s Daily, the official mouthpiece of the Communist Party, called on the Law Society not to become a “politicized group.”

In the weeks ahead of the election, Reuters tallied more than 30 articles and editorials attacking the liberal candidates in pro-Beijing media outlets in Hong Kong. They were accused of being “independence advocates” for Hong Kong and having “ulterior political goals.”

At the same time, at least one member of the liberal group was receiving anonymous threats. Three days before the election, Jonathan Ross, a commercial lawyer, announced publicly he was pulling out of the race, citing personal risks. Ross told Reuters he had received anonymous threats via WhatsApp.

Henry Wheare, a solicitor specializing in intellectual property law who was one of the liberal candidates, said he didn’t receive any threats but that the media allegations leveled at him and the other liberals were a “complete lie.” Another member of the group, Denis Brock, a commercial lawyer, did not respond to a request for comment.

It is unclear if the pressure swayed the city’s solicitors, but on August 24, the liberal ticket was soundly defeated. All five lawyers in the professionals group were elected, giving them a clear majority on the council.

Former Bar Association Chairman Paul Harris, seen here on the Bar’s website, also left the city.

Law Society President C.M. Chan said all elections for the body’s governing council, including the 2021 election, were conducted “in a fair and transparent manner.” The Law Society, he said in response to questions from Reuters, “has spoken up in the past and will continue to speak up in future to defend the rule of law and to uphold the integrity and independence of our judiciary.”

The Bar Association, which traditionally has been more outspoken on rule-of-law issues, faced even more intense criticism by Chinese officials and the state-controlled media. One target of the pressure was Harris, its chairman and a veteran human rights lawyer.

Before he became head of the Bar, Harris had been vocal on social media. “China’s determination to crush Hong Kong is a sign of weakness, not strength,” he tweeted a month before the National Security Law was imposed. “The regime knows it is illegitimate and unpopular and the contagion of criticism is spreading. But being weak is likely to make it even more cruel than before, if that is possible.”

After the law was imposed, Harris tweeted again on July 1: “I, a Hong Kong permanent resident and British citizen, can now be seized in the street by Mainland agents, taken to the Mainland and never heard of again, with no legal redress.”

After becoming Bar chairman in January 2021, Harris was more restrained in his criticism of the authorities. But shortly after he was elected, he held a press conference where he made relatively restrained criticism of the national security law. He said he hoped to “explore” if there was any chance the government would agree to some “modifications” that would make the law consistent with Hong Kong’s existing laws and legal protections.

Harris’ departure was given extensive coverage in the pro-Beijing Wen Wei Po. Source: Wen Wei Po website

Beijing unleashed a barrage of criticism. China’s top representative body in Hong Kong, the liaison office, accused Harris of unprofessional conduct, personal arrogance and ignorance. The office said the security law could not be challenged.

In April last year, then-city Chief Executive Lam threatened to intervene in the Bar Association if there were “instances or complaints about the Bar not acting in accordance with Hong Kong’s law.” In August, the People’s Daily described the Bar as a “running rat.”

Under sustained criticism, Harris didn’t seek a second term as Bar chairman when his term ended in January this year. Nevertheless, a few months later, on March 1, he was summoned to a police station and interviewed by national security police. Within hours of his interrogation, Harris left Hong Kong for England, where he now resides. Photographers and reporters from pro-Beijing newspapers were waiting for him when he arrived at Hong Kong airport that evening. One of the outlets published a video of his departure.

The Bar Association did not respond to questions from Reuters.

Asked about the campaign of intimidation against lawyers, including the cases of Vidler and Harris, the Hong Kong police said the department did “not comment on individual cases.” Carrie Lam and the liaison office did not respond to requests for comment.

“After they disqualified me, it was very clear the writing was on the wall.”

Barrister and former lawmaker Dennis Kwok. He says he received threats – including Chinese “funeral money” that was sent to his office – before abruptly leaving in 2020. REUTERS/Tyrone Siu

Harris’s exit was a clear message to his fellow barristers, said Eric Lai, a legal academic who left Hong Kong in 2020. “It shows that if you openly disagree with the authorities, you will be harassed, not just by the media, but also by the authorities,” said Lai, now a non-resident fellow at the Georgetown Center for Asian Law in Washington, D.C.

The pressure has worked. Once ready to challenge the authorities on legal issues, the Bar Association has fallen silent on the national security law’s radical reshaping of Hong Kong’s legal and political system, according to lawyers and human rights campaigners. The association said nothing about the circumstances of Harris’ departure.

A review of press releases published on the Bar Association website shows that since January this year, the Bar has made no critical comments on the national security law. The law has been widely condemned by international legal bodies and rights groups including the United Nations Human Rights Committee.

“The Bar Association used to be critical of government actions, issuing statements on legal reforms and other legal issues,” said longtime Hong Kong human rights activist Patrick Poon, now a visiting researcher at the Institute of Comparative Law at Meiji University in Tokyo. “Nowadays you don’t see those statements any longer,” said Poon, who left Hong Kong after the security law was introduced.

Lawyers who served in Hong Kong’s Legislative Council have also been targeted.

Barrister and former lawmaker Dennis Kwok told Reuters he received threats before abruptly departing Hong Kong in November 2020. He said he is now working at a boutique law firm he set up in New York and is a senior research fellow at Harvard University’s Kennedy School.

A prominent pro-democracy activist, Kwok was hit with sustained criticism from mainland authorities and pro-Beijing figures for his role in employing a filibuster to paralyze the city’s Legislative Council and block legislation opposed by pro-democracy lawmakers. He was also denounced for meeting top U.S. officials and lawmakers on a visit to Washington in early 2019.

Former lawmaker Kwok says this GPS device, with a SIM card, was found planted under his car. REUTERS/Handout/Dennis Kwok

In mid-2020, Kwok found GPS tracking devices under his car “twice in one week,” he said. He provided Reuters with a picture of one of the devices – a small, black rectangular case containing a SIM card to relay positioning data to another device.

Threats were delivered to his office, he said. On one occasion, Chinese “funeral money,” fake paper money sometimes burned by the graveside in a folk tradition, was sent to his office with a note, Kwok recalled. “‘You will be needing these very soon,’ the note read,” he said.

In November 2020, Kwok and three other pro-democracy lawmakers were ousted from the Legislative Council after China’s parliament ruled that sitting members could be disqualified if deemed a threat to national security. That month, Kwok quietly slipped out of Hong Kong. He said articles in the pro-Beijing press, calling for his arrest and accusing him of being a foreign agent, also spurred him to leave.

“After they disqualified me,” he said of the Chinese parliament’s move to oust him, “it was very clear the writing was on the wall.”

Police officers escorting a van carrying a suspect charged with violating the national security law in July 2020. The law has been a major catalyst driving lawyers out of the city. REUTERS/Tyrone Siu

Legal Exodus

By James Pomfret, Greg Torode, Anne Marie Roantree and David Lague

Photo editing: Edgar Su

Art direction: Eve Watling

Edited by Peter Hirschberg

#hong kong

[dankusner]

Jurors’ anonymity

Why is the Trump trial jury anonymous?

The brief and imperfect history of anonymous juries in the US

While former President Donald Trump is spinning conspiracy theories about people infiltrating the jury in his hush money criminal trial, the judge in the case is finding it difficult to protect jurors’ anonymity.

Anonymity for juries like the one being formed to hear charges in New York against Trump is supposed to add a layer of protection for jurors doing their civic duty.

Once reserved only for cases involving violent criminal enterprises, the practice is becoming more common.

It’s usually employed for high-profile cases but also at will by judges in some states.

Rules vary.

The concept of anonymous juries is still relatively new; the first in US history was empaneled in New York in 1977 for the trial of Leroy “Nicky” Barnes, a drug kingpin known as Mr. Untouchable, according to The New York Times.

Barnes, famous for avoiding conviction, caught the attention of then-President Jimmy Carter, who told the Justice Department to take special care with the case, which yielded a guilty verdict.

Even the lawyers in that case weren’t permitted to know the identities of the jurors, a step further than the precautions in place for the Trump trial in New York.

Both prosecutors and Trump’s defense have been poring over the social media profiles and pasts of potential jurors in Judge Juan Merchan’s courtroom.

Merchan issued an order in March agreeing with prosecutors that most information about the jurors would be sealed.

Trump’s lawyers did not disagree, according to the order.

A separate Trump-related jury, the one that found Trump liable for sexual abuse and defamation of E. Jean Carroll, was fully anonymous – like the one that convicted Barnes – and the identities of jurors were not known to lawyers on either side.

In this hyperconnected social media age, anonymity is hard to achieve.

One juror who had been sworn onto the panel on Tuesday was excused by Merchan on Thursday after she said her anonymity was blown.

“Yesterday alone, I had friends, colleagues and family push things to my phone questioning my identity as a juror,” the former Juror No. 2 told Merchan.

Merchan admonished the press for publishing information that could identify jurors.

“We just lost what probably would’ve been a very good juror,” Merchan said in court. “The first thing she said was she was afraid and intimidated by the press.”

Trump, ever trying to chip away at the justice system that is prosecuting him, seeded a new conspiracy theory by posting a quote on social media, attributed to Fox News host Jesse Watters, that “undercover Liberal Activists” were trying to get on the jury.

Set aside the fact that there is no evidence to support this claim – and consider that the prosecution needs every juror to agree with them to get a guilty verdict, while Trump just needs one to vote for acquittal to result in a hung jury.

Meanwhile, a special hearing on whether Trump has violated a gag order for his continued social media attacks is set for next week.

Maybe Trump remembers one of the most infamous, anonymous jury incidents, featuring another famous New Yorker, the mob boss John Gotti.

The anonymity of jurors in that case from 1987 allowed the jury foreman, who just so happened to have organized crime connections, to contact Gotti and, in exchange for bribes, guarantee a hung jury.

The informer who turned on Gotti, Salvatore “Sammy the Bull” Gravano, also told authorities the juror, George Pape, had been bought off. Pape voted to acquit Gotti, but so did the 11 other jurors.

The contaminated acquittal stood since the Constitution protects against double jeopardy, according to a New York Times report at the time. Gotti later went to prison after a subsequent conviction on different charges.

Clearly there’s a massive difference between a major push by the federal government to go after organized crime in the 1980s with racketeering charges and Trump’s prosecution for the Class E felony of falsifying a business record in furtherance of campaign violations.

But the unyielding support Trump commands from his supporters and the violent things they will do on his behalf, like storming the US Capitol, suggest this is the type of case where anonymity is clearly warranted – although the practice of anonymous juries is in tension with the Sixth Amendment of the Constitution, which guarantees a public, fair and speedy trial by an impartial jury.

Merchan told news outlets to better refrain from reporting details that could unmask the jurors, like physical descriptions, and prohibited them from including elements that are on a jury questionnaire, like their places of business.

There is known, public information about the jurors – their genders, professions, family situations and more – that it’s reasonable to think they could be unmasked by determined internet sleuths or loose-lipped acquaintances.

Investigations into the jurors are also being conducted in real time during this process.

Trump’s defense was scrolling through old social media posts and asking jurors about them.

Prosecutors are looking for flaws with jurors.

Another juror, a Puerto Rican grandfather who had said he finds Trump “fascinating and mysterious,” was also dismissed Thursday.

The exact circumstances of his dismissal are not clear, but prosecutors informed the judge their review of criminal records showed a person sharing the man’s name was arrested in the 1990s for tearing down political advertisements.

Thursday’s court session ended with a full, 12-person jury being seated.

These jurors will be asked to take on the weight of sitting in judgment of a former and maybe future president.

“Jurors show up, and a lot of times, they don’t think they’re going to end up being selected for whatever reason. And so when they go through the process, as soon as they’re sworn in a panel, that can be pretty jolting,” the jury consultant Alan Tuerkheimer told CNN’s Omar Jimenez in an interview on Max. “That can be for a regular case. So think about this case,” he added.

[college-girl199328]

The "largest-ever international drug takedown" in Toronto Police Service history was halted in court on Monday after all charges related to the case had been filed.

The Public Prosecution Service of Canada confirmed to CBC Toronto on Tuesday that all charges in the high-profile investigation dubbed "Project Brisa" have been stayed, as first reported by the Toronto Star.

No reasons for the stay were provided to the court in this case.

In June 2021, investigators announced the results of Project Brisa, a six-month investigation focused on an international drug smuggling ring that saw more than 1,000 kilograms of drugs, including cocaine, crystal meth, and pot, being transported between Mexico, California, and Canada using modified tractor trailers with hidden compartments.

In total, 182 charges were laid, and 20 people were arrested in connection with the investigation, which estimated the street value of the seized drugs to be more than $61 million.

The Crown indicated that the charges were being stayed as a result of a combination of witness issues, disclosure issues, and delays in the progress of the proceedings.

CBC Toronto has not been able to independently confirm why the charges have stayed.

Toronto police had not responded to a request for comment as of late Tuesday afternoon.

One of the lawyers representing a person who was charged as part of the case said his client is "looking forward to moving on with his life."

He appreciates the careful consideration that must have gone into the Crown's decision to stay the proceedings.

At the 2021 news conference, Ramer called the quantities of drugs seized "frankly staggering."

The social cost that this amount of illicit drugs inflicts upon society is immeasurable. 

This isn't the first time a large-scale police investigation into organized crime in Ontario collapsed before the court.

In 2019, an 18-month, $8 million joint investigation involving eight different police services, including York Regional Police, the Canada Revenue Agency, and police investigators in Italy, resulted in charges against nine people in Canada who police alleged was part of a criminal organization with ties to the mob in Italy.

Two years later, it fell apart after charges stayed because police allegedly illegally intercepted phone calls as part of a multimillion-dollar probe into suspected mob activity in the Greater Toronto Area.

Toronto criminal defence lawyer Trevin David, who was not involved in the case but represents people facing drug trafficking charges, says police may go big at the press conferences in large busts like Project Brisa but should be "realistic" when it comes to convictions.

Whether or not this was a large-scale criminal enterprise, whether it was or wasn't, ultimately will never be determined because this case will likely never see the light of day.

Sometimes these prosecutions can be very resource intensive, and the more steps that are taken, the more vulnerable they are to collapse.

Bassi said his clients are "thankful" for the outcome of the proceedings.

They are both relieved that the Crown has stayed the proceedings, and individuals are grateful to be able to put these matters behind them. 

[sunskylegacy]

Mini maps minecraft 1.7.10

You can also set waypoints and remember deathpoints.

Indication of slime spawning chunks (Does not work in multiplayer after minecraft 1.2).

Automatically generate the block colors from your texturepack.

Expression of dynamically changing lighting.

Video Feature: Opening Night: Altar Boyz at Broadway.Rei's Minimap Mod 1.7.10 adds a minimap to minecraft! With this minimap you can easily find caves, mobs, and set way-points! Screenshots:.

Video Feature: In Rehearsal: Altar Boyz at.

^ " 'Charmed' Casts Jimmy Tatro and Scott Porter (Exclusive)".

^ "The 'Parenthood' Love Story You Didn't See: The Scoop on That Surprising Finale Cameo".

^ "Scott Porter Welcomes Baby Son McCoy Lee Porter".

^ "Scott Porter Marries Kelsey Mayfield".

"Several Pilots Remain In Contention With Cast Options Extensions Pickup Decision On CW's 'HMS' Expected Next Week".

^ "Miss Tv Girl: Scott Porter Joins "The Good Wife "".

^ "Scott Porter's account info on a Heroclix player's website".

Scott Porter profile, accessed April 23, 2010.

^ "Scott Porter on Not Partying in College, His Advice to Aspiring Actors".

At the height of the 1990s boy-band boom, an a cappella group called 4:2:Five (featuring a young Scott Porter of NBC's Friday Night Lights) met with Sony, but when the executives suggested adding backing tracks and choreography, the members walked. "Cappella Dreaming: 10 Voices, One Shot". Called 4:2:Five, the five-member group is made up of Geoff Castellucci, Earl Elkins, Michael Kilgore and Layne Stein of Lake Howell High School and Scott Porter, a recent Lake Howell graduate who now attends the University of Central Florida.

^ Edwards, Jennifer (December 3, 1998).

" 'Completely Different': A Cappella Band Discovers Harmony In Natural Voices". Much love to all my virtual friends out there! Thank you!" (Tweet). "Just wanted to say I'm overwhelmed with all the birthday wishes. Peter Quill / Star-Lord, Scott Summers / Cyclops Marvel Ultimate Alliance 3: The Black Order Guardians of the Galaxy: The Telltale Series Their daughter, Clover Ash was born in August 2017. In May 2015, Mayfield gave birth to their son, McCoy Lee. One of his groomsmen was screenwriter and director Jamie Linden, a schoolmate at Lake Howell.

In April 2013, Porter married casting director Kelsey Mayfield, a former University of Texas cheerleader whom he met on the set of Friday Night Lights. In 2017, Porter portrayed Colton "Colt" Cruise in the EA Sports game Madden NFL 18 's Longshot mode. Porter also voiced another main character, Lukas, in Minecraft Story Mode by Telltale Games and Mojang. In 2013, he debuted in the second season of the video game series of The Walking Dead by Telltale Games as Luke, one of the main characters in the series. The series debuted on The CW in September 2011. Porter played a lawyer in the medical dramedy series Hart of Dixie alongside Rachel Bilson. BuddyTV ranked him #10 on its "TV's 100 Sexiest Men of 2010" list and #34 in 2011. Also in 2010, he starred in the pilot of the television series Nomads, which was developed for The CW, but it was not picked up by the network. In 2010, Porter joined the cast of CBS's legal drama The Good Wife as Blake Calamar, an investigator for Lockhart & Gardner, a law firm. Porter portrayed "Randy" in the 2010 film Dear John, which was adapted from the novel of the same name by Nicholas Sparks. He eventually performed for Off Broadway with another a cappella band, Toxic Audio. He was part of his high school's choral department and was a founding member of the groups 4:2:Five and Mosaic. Porter performed and sang the song "Someone to Fall Back On" in Bandslam, and his song "Pretend" was included in the soundtrack. He is a fan of HeroClix, filming unboxing videos of upcoming sets for the WizKids Facebook page. Porter is a fan of comic books and has auditioned for several comic book hero roles. That same year, he was paired with The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants star Alexis Bledel in the romantic comedy film The Good Guy, which premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival. He played Bobby in the remake of Prom Night and Ben Wheatly in Bandslam, released in August 2009.

Porter also played the character Rex in the film Speed Racer (2008), which was directed and written by the Wachowskis. Porter also played the role of Colin Thompson, the more visible part of the duo that fronts the fictional band PoP!, in the movie Music and Lyrics (2007). In 2006, he temporarily took over the role of Casey Hughes in the soap opera As the World Turns, a role originally performed by Zach Roerig. Prior to joining the cast of Friday Night Lights, Porter played Matthew in the original cast of the Off-Broadway hit Altar Boyz in 2004.

#Mini maps minecraft 1.7.10

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Mafia hires good accountants

High-profile leaks like the Pandora Papers and financial collapses like Carillion have shone a spotlight on the role that “the professions” play in enabling international finance crimes, which include both money-laundering and the underlying (ghastly, violent) crimes that produce the money to be laundered.

For example, the Sackler family knowingly and deliberately created the opioid epidemic that has killed more than 800,000 Americans so far, and then used the best, most respectable, highest price bankruptcy lawyers in the country to secure a deal that let them keep billions and deny justice to their victims.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/23/a-bankrupt-process/#sacklers

High-priced, ultra-respectable firms of economists generate millions in billing every year ginning up plausible-seeming, opaquely complex “analyses” that monopolistic firms use to bamboozle regulators into allowing them to undertake anticompetitive mergers that destroy the real economy, communities and jobs:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/21/re-identification/#eu-antitrust

And then there are the auditors — four giant firms have gobbled up all their rivals and merged with one another, while “diversifying” into offering “consulting” services that leave them hopelessly conflicted and signing off on fraudulent books that lead to catastrophic collapses and billions in tax fraud:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/05/behavioral-v-contextual/#ge-fraud

The corruption of the audit industry is especially deadly, since auditors are meant to be the umpires of the world, providing oracular “ground truth” to claims about how companies conduct themselves and what they’re making and spending:

https://onezero.medium.com/the-inevitability-of-trusted-third-parties-a51cbcffc4e2

The great finance capitals of the world, like London, are the epicenters of the enablers of global finance crime, where the great and the good have waxed fat on the massive fees they charge to post-Soviet kleptocrats who have colonized both the city and the nation’s politics:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/07/the-klept/#pep

But for all the attention paid to consultancies, lawyers, economists and other elite enablers, the accounting profession itself is rarely named when scandals erupt. Which is a mystery, since the keeping and auditing of financial ledgers is so key to corrupt practices.

A late-2021 paper called “Does the Mafia Hire Good Accountants?” by a group of academic accountants in the US, Italy and Germany, offers a tantalyzing explanation for the conspicuous absence of accountancy from the list of professions involved in global crime:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3957650

The paper uses a fascinating and robust methodology to examine the honesty of mafia accountants: they comb the national police’s database of mafia-related persons for accountants, then examine the audit records, tax records and legal history of those accountants’ non-mafia clients.

They conclude that if a business uses a mafia accountant, it has better, more honest finances than a business with a non-mafia accountant (!). Specifically: “private firms serviced by accountants with [organized crime] ties have higher quality audited financial statements, as evidenced by lower levels of abnormal working capital accruals, fewer small earnings, fewer tax restatements, and lower levels of discretionary revenues. Further, these firms receive more modified audit opinions, and pay higher fees.”

The authors suggest that when the mafia chooses an accountant, they have to choose between two mutually exclusive strategies:

I. Hire a stupid accountant that you can trick into signing off on dirty books; or

II. Hire a smart accountant who can turn your dishonest business into one that is honest on paper, even if that erodes your profits.

The authors make a compelling case that the mafia choose the second strategy. What’s more, they show that even accountants with known mob connections have no trouble finding non-criminal clients (“it is disheartening the Mafia can hire seemingly good accountants who appear to suffer no adverse reputation effects from their Mafia ties”).

Perhaps that’s because the mafia is so crucial to both the Italian and global business world: the authors quote a 2017 ISTAT study that says that 12% of Italian GDP is mafia activity and a 2011 UNODC study that attributes 3.6% of global GDP to Italian mafia groups.

But it would be a mistake to think that just because the mafia has clean books that it runs good businesses. Businesses that are run or colonized by mobsters aren’t good firms — they pay poorly, produce low-quality goods and services, and engage in a variety of crimes and regulatory violations.

This is a fascinating and clever analysis, though it’s short on recommendations. The most concrete policy proposal the authors advance is for police to maintain a public registry of accountants under investigation for mafia ties, and to bar those accountants from practicing until they are cleared.

#pluralistic

[florrickandassociates]

TGF Thoughts-- 5x07: And the fight had a detente...

This episode is a wild ride, so if you haven’t seen it yet and you aren’t spoiled, don’t read this. Just go watch it.  

Ave Maria plays over a photo montage of cancelled men, including Kevin Spacey, Louie CK, and Scott Rudin. (Scott Rudin, if you don’t know the name, is a Broadway/Hollywood producer who treated his assistants like absolute shit. He’s the inspiration for the possessed producer episode of Evil—I think it’s the third episode of the series—and Robert King does not like him one bit.)  

And then the episode opens with Wackner, Del, and Cord discussing the Armie Hammer cannibalism ordeal. Whew, this is not what I wanted to be thinking about first thing on a Thursday morning. I do not think I can put into words how boring I find debating whether or not someone should have been “cancelled.”  Cancellation is usually about rich people facing consequences for shitty actions, and those consequences have never involved anyone’s rights being infringed upon, so why should I care about someone being cancelled? And, while I know that society/people on Twitter don’t always understand nuance, I’d like to think that when it comes to the most notable examples of cancellation... no one is losing their livelihood over false or minor allegations.  

There are so, so, so many issues in the world. Cancellation affects a handful of high profile, usually white, straight, male, celebrities. Why should I give a shit about, like, Louie CK not being able to make as much money as he used to? I just do not and cannot find it interesting.

I’m not surprised David Cord and Del Cooper find this topic interesting—Del likely hates worrying that all of his comedians could get cancelled and put him in a financially tricky spot; Cord probably says things like “Woke Mob” unironically. And as for Wackner, he almost certainly has a skewed understanding of what actually happens when someone’s cancelled and sees a place where he can step in and add some order. Blah. It’s just so boring.

"People are getting canceled without a trial, no evidence presented against them,” Wackner says. This is not it, Wackner! This is such a strawman argument. We don’t need the legal system to adjudicate people being assholes to each other, and in cases where a crime is committed or a particular individual can sue for damages, that is what happens. If you act shitty and then your sponsors realize you’re toxic and drop you, like, it is what it is. You can feel free to respond via a Notes App screenshot where half of your apology is actually just whining about cancel culture and then you say “I’m sorry if anyone took offense at what I did” instead of saying “I’m sorry I said/did hurtful things” and when people don’t take that seriously, maybe it’s because you didn’t take it seriously, either.  

“There are a lot of reasons these accusations never go to trial. The victims finally get to accuse the victimizer face to face,” Wackner explains. Were the victims asking for this?

Marissa shares my question, noting that if the victims don’t want to speak up, then the victimizer would have the court to himself. This raises a new question: who is even bringing these cases? Are Wackner, Cord, and Del just deciding they want to do things as cases and then getting everyone else on board? This sounds bad!  

Apparently, according to Wackner, “if #MeToo relies on mob rule, it’ll exhaust itself.” What... evidence is there for this? I get why people panic about the POSSIBILITY of this happening, even though I don’t share their panic, but is there any actual evidence that #MeToo is losing steam because of false allegations because cancellation isn’t a formal process? I don’t believe there is.  

The test case we have the pleasure of seeing this week is about “Louie CK two,” whom I shall refer to as LCK2 instead of learning his name.  

Now, suddenly, Marissa is asking one of LCK2’s victims to testify. She doesn’t want to participate because it’s just another way for LCK2 to get his career back. Marissa decides to be idealistic and say this is a real opportunity to confront LCK2 with his crime. I suppose she isn’t wrong, and that is what happens next, but, again, meh.

Apparently David Cord is going to defend LCK2. You know what would get cancelled in five seconds? A David Cord funded show that has David Cord actually on it, railing against cancel culture! Can you IMAGINE the thinkpieces?

God, when is this episode going to move on from this extremely irritating premise?

Marissa decides she wants to be the prosecutor. Wackner says if she prosecutes LCK2, she has to prosecute the academic who used a word that sounds like the n-word and lost her job for it.  Marissa thinks the academic shouldn’t have been fired, but Wackner insists she has to take both cases.

“Let’s go into court,” Wackner says, and, thank goodness, we do go into court: REAL court, where we are talking about REAL issues.  

In court, Liz and Diane are suing the police over the death of a black girl who was tased by the police. Her friend is on the stand and it’s quite emotional. Also, Diane tries to pass Liz a note and Liz ignores it. Why would you have two name partners on this case if they aren’t even going to try to work together?  

You can tell things are tense between two TGF characters when they talk at the same time in court but are on the same side.  

Hiiiiii Abernathy! ILY!

The victim had a heart condition, which the police lawyer argues is the actual cause of death. Police lawyer also argues that since this witness posted some ACAB lyrics on Instagram, she must be biased. Eyeroll.

Liz calls the other lawyer racist; the other lawyer tries to make Liz look like she is only on her client’s side because she’s black and that Liz is being absurd.  

Cancel culture court happens. We’re dealing with the academic case first. I don’t feel like talking about the cancel culture shit too much, so here is my take on this case as a whole: (1) I don’t think the actual word in question, which isn’t actually the n-word, is enough on its own to get someone fired (2) I also don’t think anyone can use that word, regardless of its meaning or history, without understanding how it will come across. (3) The teacher did not get fired for simply using this word once (4) This teacher believes that anyone who is from a group that’s been marginalized in history should have to confront that marginalization with as little sympathy and respect as possible because it will help them be more resilient. So basically, if you are from the dominant group then you don’t get challenged. She believes it is her job to do this. She is an egotistical asshole who has no business teaching.  

Cord wants everyone to have to say the full word in question. He says this pretentiously (though I don’t think saying “Said word” is that pretentious, tbh) and Wackner rules against him and also makes him wear a powdered wig for using “obtuse language.”

Marissa is not trying at all with this case at first, since she doesn’t believe in it. That’s shitty, Marissa. If you want to be a lawyer at a firm like RL you’re going to have to fight for all of your clients.  

Marissa makes a Latin joke and ends up in a powdered wig, too.  

The prof says, in one sentence, that she didn’t know what she was doing using the word and also that the black student who took offense thinks college is supposed to be warm, cuddly, and unchallenging. So it was a challenge, then, prof?  

I like this student. And I love that she calls Marissa out for obviously not trying.  

“The optics matter. Racially,” Diane says to Liz, who agrees. Diane, strategically, makes it about gender first (the cop is male, some jurors may react to a woman questioning a man), then makes it about how she should be the one questioning the cop since Liz is black. It would make the jury more “comfortable” (hey, there’s that word again!) Diane says. She says she is being pragmatic.  

Diane says that she could be “more dispassionate”. Be or come across as, Diane? Either way, Liz, who knows full well what the optics look like given that this isn’t her first time in court, doesn’t agree with Diane that they need to come across as dispassionate.  

Then Diane just changes the subject to the firm drama. “Liz, you’re shoving me out of my name partner position because of my race.” Like that’s the issue!  

“I am doing nothing. You are the one who got our racist clients to whine to STR Laurie about us,” Liz counters. “Those clients bring in a great deal of money, and they are not racists,” Diane insists. Yes. Sure. Diane just happened to choose white male clients who were “comfortable” with her to talk to. I have no doubt they’d have reacted poorly to any change in representation, but Diane was counting on those particular clients having some discomfort with their new lawyers.  

Liz calls her out and Diane’s still trying to play it like she just had to inform her long-term clients and it just had to be done this way. But, when Liz asks if Diane thinks the clients would’ve had the same reaction if their new representation were to be white, Diane says that maybe her clients are worried about racial grudges. So, what you’re saying is you knew exactly what you were doing, huh, Diane?  

I get why Diane doesn’t like being pushed out, because who would, but Diane, this isn’t about you. And if you didn’t want to make it about race, perhaps you shouldn’t have appeared on a panel about how great it is that your firm is majority black? You can’t have it both ways.  

Liz notes that Diane felt “entitled” to her name partnership. This is accurate, though based on revenue and stature I don’t think it can be denied that Diane deserves name partner status (generally speaking). Diane went over to RBK, was like, “sure, I’ll be a junior partner, thank you so much for the opportunity, I can’t even pay my capital contribution right now but what if I were name partner in three months?” and that is both entitlement and knowing one’s own worth, but mostly entitlement.  

(Liz does not act entitled, but if we want to get into who deserves their partnership more—again generally speaking, not their partnership at a black firm specifically—it is definitely Diane! Liz literally only has this job because her dad was important.)  

“I think that Barbara Kolstad was shoved out because you felt entitled to her position,” Liz shouts. OMG, a mention of Barbara?!?!?!??!?!? THANK YOU, WRITERS!!!

(This is a slight bit of revisionist history but I’ll allow it, and I think it’s right in thought even if it’s not right on the details. Barbara wasn’t shoved out—Barbara chose to go to a different firm that offered her a better deal—but I don’t think Barbara would’ve been on that trajectory had it not been for Diane’s presence at the firm. Barbara was in charge of a firm that shared her values when, suddenly, her partner decided that they needed to pursue profit over all else and needed Diane to execute that strategy. Maybe no one made a move directly against her, but Adrian and Diane changed the mission of RBK until it was no longer somewhere Barbara wanted to work.

“We can’t work together if you don’t respect me,” Diane screams at Liz. “No, we can’t work together if you use race cynically,” Liz responds. Diane gets even angrier, swears a bunch, and then says “You want to come after me, you come after me with an honest argument about my lack of competence, my lack of worth.” Diane, you are fighting a completely different battle here! You can be entitled and also correct and also good at your job. This is what you used to accuse Alicia of all the time. The fact you’ve turned this into something about your skill level when it’s about the meaning of having a black firm is only proving Liz’s point.

“Your unworthiness—which you don’t seem to want to acknowledge—is that you can’t be the top dog in a black firm,” Liz says. Exactly. But Diane just storms off.

Now the cop is on the stand. He did not know the victim had a heart condition. Uh, obviously, why would he have known that?  

Liz is aggressive in court; Diane thinks this is the wrong strategy. Without knowing who is on the jury, I have no idea which one of them is correct.  

The next move is to get the cop’s ex-wife, who he abused, on the stand.  

Goodie, it’s cancel culture court. Things go well for Marissa, but Del wants to know why Marissa wasn’t that passionate about the n-word case. Marissa says she feels like it’s not the n-word, like that is a valid reason to not represent your client to the best of your ability. “It is. It always is,” says Del.  

Marissa heads back to RL, and as she walks, the camera follows her and moves through the space until we end up in Liz’s office, where she gets a news alert about the cop from the COTW. He’s been killed, seemingly in retaliation for his actions. The news is quick to suggest the trial might’ve encouraged the killing. “Oh, fuck.” Diane says as she watches the news. Aaaand credits (at 20 minutes in!)  

From the promos, I thought this was going to be a Very Serious Episode about police brutality. From the opening, I thought it was going to be an insufferable episode about cancel culture. I was wrong! (Though, I suppose, some of the cancel culture stuff is still insufferable.)  

Yay for Carrie Preston, who directed this episode. I read an interview with her and she talked about how there’s a “look book” for directing TGF episodes and I have never wanted to see anything as badly as I want to see this look book. (Am I exaggerating? Probably. But I might not be.)  

After credits, Marissa finds Carmen and Jay to ask them if “n-word-ly" is offensive. She acknowledges she’s being annoying but they let her continue anyway. Jay finds it offensive. Carmen does not. This seems fitting with their characters, and I love that this scene acknowledges that not every black person is going to have the exact same reaction to everything.  

I want Carmen to have more to do! While I’m glad the show isn’t forcing her to have a large role in every plot just because, I feel like she’s gone missing for the middle part of the season. My guess is that their priority with Carmen is setting her up to be an ongoing part of the cast who grows into being someone we want a lot from rather than forcing her plots from the start... but surely we could get a little more of her! I doubt she’s a one-season character like I assume Wackner will be.  

The cop’s murder changes the vibe in court. Abernathy calls a moment of silence in his memory. “We’re fucked,” Liz whispers to Diane.  

And indeed they are. The cop’s ex no longer wants to talk about how abusive he was—she wants to talk about how great he was. Whose idea was it to still put her on the stand?! Idk about legal procedures but this seems like a really avoidable mistake!

Diane argues that the cop’s death has prejudiced the jury. Abernathy decides to call a “voir dire de novo,” using an obtuse Latin phrase that would not be permitted in Wackner’s court. (Love the little parallels in this episode, like this, the transition between courts earlier, and how much of Marissa being called out on her whiteness feels like a thematic extension of everything going on with Diane.)

Cancel culture court continues. Carmen shows up.

I don’t really get how June, the victim of LCK2, potentially losing a headlining gig for a bad set instead of retaliation from LCK2, scores him a point. One, if she was a rising store, one bad set shouldn’t have damned her career. Two, isn’t it enough to prove that he masturbated in front of women who didn’t want him to do that???????  

Having June perform her act with no prep in Wackner’s court so they can judge whether or not she is funny is a wildly bad idea. So now Wackner is an arbiter of humor as well as cancel culture?  

This whole system is silly and I reject the whole premise but June should not lose two points for the logic that Wackner + the audience don’t find June funny --> June must’ve had her career derailed because she just isn’t funny (how’d she book the headliner gig, then?) --> LCK2 scores points??? He still masturbated in front of her without her consent!  

Using cancel culture to show Wackner’s court is going too far/slipping into bad territory: I’m on board with this. Using Wackner’s court to actually comment on cancel culture: Ugh. The writers seem to be trying to do both.  

Lol at Abernathy having Stacey Abrams’ book on his desk.

Marissa argues the n-word case more passionately, because these writers love to make situations that seemed clear cut seem more uncertain. It’s no coincidence they have the sexual harassment case look murkier (though, again, June being bad at comedy does not negate the sexual harassment!) right before they have the n-work case begin to tilt in favor of the professor’s cancellation.

Hahah what bullshit about trying to prepare the students for a world that won’t be kind to them. Do you seriously think your black students need YOU to prepare them?  

This lady thinks history classes have to describe rapes in detail to get students to sympathize. No, no they fucking do not.  

She also says she’d use the n-word if she were teaching a topic where it might come up. Um, no?

Mr. Elk (this is what I call Ted Willoughby, Idiot Reporter, after he said “things of that elk” in his first appearance) is attacking Diane and Liz on his show. Diane and Liz are, apparently, “Marxist slip-and-fall lawyers” and Mr. Elk plays a clip of Diane saying cops need to be held accountable. Obviously, this was before the cop’s death and meant to be about the legal system, but it looks like Diane’s calling for his murder. I also love how they go out of their way to only pause the clip on unflattering frames of Diane.  

Liz wants to use this in court—I forgot that Liz is super sneaky but this tracks; she is always quick to use things to her advantage and we’ve known that about her since her strategy with the DNC in 2x07 (to make outlandish allegations and then drop them before presenting proof). Julius wants to get Liz and Diane security.

That security is, apparently Jay. I think they’ve shown Jay as security before when Lucca went viral. I didn’t understand it then and I don’t understand it now.

I was, briefly, worried for Liz and Diane’s safety, especially after I saw all the angry cops waiting for them in court. Then I thought, oh, well at least they’re in court, they should be safe from being shot there. Then I remembered 5x15. Then I laughed at myself.  

Liz’s new strategy works and Abernathy uses more Latin. But, they can’t get any more jurors thrown. (They’re going for a mistrial.)

Oh, Carmen is back again! She did SO MUCH in that court scene where she appeared and then disappeared! She’s chatting with Marissa and spots LCK2 in the RL offices.  

Apparently, LCK2 negotiated a contract with Del, with David Lee’s help. (Why would David Lee be doing entertainment law?) Suddenly everything makes sense to Marissa.

She calls Del to the stand. This—and, honestly, everything after this—makes me wonder how much of this would ever make it to air. Why would Del televise this?

What a shock—Del wants LCK2 back on his streaming service (which I don’t think has a name LOL).  

Somehow Marissa’s questions become about Wackner and whether or not Wackner is an impartial judge, which doesn’t seem like the core issue. Wackner has made it pretty clear that his stance is that he doesn’t care if others are corrupt around him or try to use him; he’s going to be impartial no matter what. Why not play that up instead of making the entire show look staged and Wackner look complicit, Marissa?  

Like, why is Marissa asking Wackner if he’s prejudged the case?! Why isn’t she just trying to like, get him to declare a mistrial because there is a conflict of interest? She can make a version of this argument without accusing Wackner of PREJUDGING, which she knows—I know, so she knows—will set him off. Wackner truly believe he thinks he is impartial. It’s not smart strategy to question that (even if we all know that Wackner is not impartial!)

Wackner blows up at Marissa and shouts at her. He tells her to get the fuck out of court.

This is certainly dramatic, but again, would Del ever choose to air this? I doubt it.  

On her way to work, Diane notices hot pink spray paint in the elevator. When she exits the elevator, the whole firm is gathered in the lobby. Someone has painted COP KILLERS across the elevator bank. “Security doesn’t know how they got in,” Jay says. “Of course they don’t,” Diane responds. “They suggest we call the cops,” Jay says. I love this little exchange. I wasn’t exactly wondering how someone got in, but I like the show making it clear how unprotected Diane and Liz are right now and why.

Julius appears and says that Mr. Elk is saying something new. Diane and Liz sit down to watch and the tone of this episode completely shifts.  

I had forgotten completely that Liz’s dad’s assault issues are out in public until Mr. Elk called him “a disgraced civil rights leader.” It doesn’t feel like they’re out in public! Also I would believe Mr. Elk calling him disgraced for no reason at all.  

Y’all, when Mr. Elk said the name “Duke Roscoe,” my jaw dropped. WHAT A CALLBACK.  

This scene, and really, everything in this plot from here on out, is a delight. It just keeps going and going. It is the best kind of fanservice.

1x11 has been, for no real reason, on my mind since 5x04. It popped out to me as an example of this show’s humor so I talked about it in that recap. I nearly mentioned it in my 5x06 recap when Diane laughed at Julius’s suggestion that they start a firm together. I rewatched 1x11, by complete chance, like two weeks ago. How weird that I'm somehow on the show’s wavelength about this!  

Also I made a joke about Mr. Elk last week without knowing he’d be back this episode. I would like to think I conjured this.  

(1x11 is a really pivotal episode for TGW, even if it isn’t one of the most notable episodes overall. It's composer David Buckley’s first episode and that ending, with Diane laughing, is one of the earliest moments of TGW showing its sense of humor and playing to its strengths.)

Mr. Elk notes that they “rarely see” Kurt, which is apparently evidence that Diane is a lesbian. Hahahahahahah. Mr. Elk also wouldn’t want to note Kurt, despite his recent controversy, because to his viewers, Kurt’s beliefs would make Diane seem more sympathetic.  

GUYS, THE WRITERS DECIDED TO MAKE A CALLBACK TO AN ICONIC MOMENT FROM AN EPISODE THAT AIRED OVER A DECADE AGO AND THEN BUILD ON IT. I cannot express how fucking happy this makes me.  

Now, Mr. Elk says, Diane and Liz are an item!  

What’s better than Diane laughing hysterically at the original allegations? Diane doing it again, eleven years later, JOINED BY LIZ.  

This also works super well to cut the tension between Diane and Liz. I assume this isn’t the end of the name partnership drama, but I think it might be the end of Diane and Liz being pissed at each other. Since the name partnership drama was never really about Diane and Liz (Liz seems to want Diane to stay on...), I’m fine with that.  

Because this is an episode full of callbacks that delight me, Del asks Liz when he gets to meet her son! HER SON STILL EXISTS!  

It sounds like Liz and Del still aren’t fully official, which clarifies why they don’t seem to be a couple in public.  

Del brings up the Diane rumor (jokingly) and Liz jokes along. I love that we get to see this playful side of Liz.  

Wackner’s watching his outburst with regret. Del calms him down and notes that this is good TV (why... would Del air this... it makes DEL look worse than anyone!). Wackner calls Marissa to apologize; she picks up and accepts his apology.  

Abernathy calls Liz and Diane into chambers. He’s worried he was “insensitive”-- he's noticed the tension between Liz and Diane, but now he thinks it was a lover’s spat.

Diane puts on a poker face and leans in towards Liz. She starts nodding attentively and thanks Abernathy. Liz smiles and doubles down: she’s not just going to play along, she’s going to milk it. She gets a juror kicked for homophobia, which means a mistrial. Shameless. I love it.  

Diane and Liz playing off each other as Abernathy tries to look like as much of an ally as possible is comedy gold.  

Diane even calls Liz darling. Omg.  

LCK2 is on the stand, being charismatic and annoying. Of course he is. This is what happens when you give someone who is known for being able to connect with a crowd... a crowd and the benefit of the doubt.

LCK2 is talking about “stupid women” in his new set. Why... is Del giving that a platform at all? See, the fact that Del thinks it is not only interesting but also somehow essential to let LCK2 make jokes about sexual harassment is why I can’t take this episode seriously. Why should I be more outraged about someone who did something shitty not getting a trial for his shitty but legal behavior than I am about powerful people continuing to offer shitty people platforms? Only one of these seems outrageous to me.

Wackner decides that the professor did something “awful but lawful” and that’s it. So you’re saying that if it isn’t illegal, it doesn’t get decided in your court, either? What was the point of this, then?  

The professor says she doesn’t want that—she wants the school to know she’s being punished so she can get her job back. The student storms out, rightfully. Wackner’s job isn’t to offer someone who wants punishment some form of penance, like she can exchange community service hours for offensive remarks. It’s to... well, idk what it is to do, since this whole thing doesn’t really make sense and he makes the rules, but I don’t think his verdict has to be about giving anyone what they want. I’m disappointed that Wackner comes up with a punishment and I don’t think it’s going to get her her job back.  

LCK2 loses, too, because he hasn’t made amends. Wackner doesn’t want to fine him because he’s too rich for a fine to matter. Cord argues that LCK2 deserves a second chance. I mean, sure, but is he being denied a second chance? He doesn’t deserve an easy path back to his fame just because he wants it.  

Wackner mentions prison. At first I was like, oh, that’s a nice throwaway line that he mentioned prison! This ties into what I was saying a few weeks ago about how Wackner likes the institutions that already exist—he just thinks they’re imperfect! It’s fitting that he’s not a prison abolitionist!  

And then the episode actually went there: Wackner, thanks to David Cord’s private prison company, actually sentences LCK2 to prison. This is deeply uncomfortable (and of questionable legality). Wackner’s system is just going to recreate prison? Worse, private prison? He’s creating an unchecked, privatized legal system?! This sounds bad! Kudos to the show for taking this to some place so dark—I knew Wackner’s system would start to show cracks, but I didn’t realize they’d go this far.  

And I’m not sure what the end game is with this! All I know is I’m not on board with Wackner sending people to prison (except as a plot—I am very on board with this plot) and neither is Marissa.

I do not think viewers of the reality show will like the prison twist or the fact that Cord is financing a court and prison! Can you imagine the scandal!

And what do the contracts look like that allow Wackner to sentence someone to prison? Can LCK2 leave any time he wants? If so, then how does the prison sentence help? If not, is that legal?  

Del wants it to be a 2 week sentence, not 3, because this means LCK2 will have to miss his taping in two weeks. I have many questions. (1) Is Wackner’s show airing live? If not, then why do they need to rush the taping of the special? They could push it quite easily. (2) Why can’t they push the taping? This guy is a huge deal and enough potential $$ that Del wants to rehabilitate his career... so why does the taping have to be on this particular day and time?  

Is there really an Exxon Mobile case, I wonder?  

I like that we spend a good amount of time watching Marissa’s reactions to this latest addition to Wackner’s court. Combined with the score, Marissa’s facial expression serves to underline that private prisons are not good here! This isn’t Wackner getting legitimate methods of enforcement... this is just opening a pandora’s box of highly questionable extrajudicial practices.  

I do love that this episode ends up here: it starts out like it’s going to be about cancel culture silliness and ends up being about the escalation of Wackner’s tactics.

Funny how both of the cancelled people end up being found guilty by Wackner, huh! Almost like they actually did something wrong and faced the consequences!  

Liz and Diane get called in to talk to Liz’s favorite department: HR. They’re asked to sign “love contracts” to confirm things are consensual. I find it hilarious that HR gives them the paper before even asking if it’s true.  

Liz grabs a pen and signs. Diane follows her lead. They look at each other and smile politely at HR.

I am... not sure how to read this last scene! Is it a fuck-you to HR? A way of easing tensions? A way for Liz to get people to stop talking to her about removing Diane as name partner because no one will want to ask if they’re really involved? Something else? Help me understand!

Curious to see where things go next. I can see LCK2 coming back for another episode but it also wouldn’t surprise me to never see him again. Similarly, I could see some glances/discussion of Diane and Liz’s romantic relationship next week, or I could see it never being mentioned again, or I could see it being mentioned next season out of the blue.  

#tgf thoughts #the good fight

[theunvanquishedzims]

Where is my fic of Steve Rogers, Matt Murdoch, and Kurt Wagner bonding over being bi Catholic superhero drama queens. Where do they talk about their personal struggles with sexuality and faith growing up in the 1940s, a Catholic orphanage, and a German circus run by witches. (Were they witches? I remember magic and a giant demon lady and it turned out to be his adopted mother and sister, who he was also dating because they weren’t THAT kind of brother and sister.)

I want Steve to run into Matt shortly after being defrosted, maybe at the gym Matt boxes at. Boxing was a national pastime and now it’s fallen by the wayside in favor of more glamorous fighting styles. It’s nice to just get in a ring and punch someone, and they’re surprisingly compatible fighters, both slightly too fast and hitting too hard, coming out the other side grinning bloody teeth at each other. Matt smoothly lying (telling the truth) about his blindness forcing him to focus on his opponent until he can almost predict their movements. Steve fumbling with the cover story SHIELD gave him about being a soldier recently returned from war, being slightly too honest about feeling out of touch and like he wouldn’t fit in normal life with everything he’s seen and done in the war.

I want Matt to show up at SHIELD next Sunday morning to pick Steve up for church completely unasked, Steve fumbling into the nicest clothes he owns that isn’t a dress uniform, Matt loaning him a tie and whisking him across the city to Hell’s Kitchen. Matt whispering cues through the service, remembering John Mulaney at the last minute and hissing the correct words so Steve doesn’t say AND ALSO WITH YOU. Pointing out the priest he confesses to that can handle the mention of beating up bad guys without running screaming. Going out to lunch and discussing how Matt’s church is different from Steve’s old one, going back to Foggy’s to watch that John Mulaney show because he’s the only one they know with a tv, Foggy groaning over there being TWO of them.

Months or years later, running into Kurt at the Tower because Tony’s the one who developed the image inducer technology. Steve’s heightened vision being able to pick out the micro nuances where the hologram doesn’t quite keep up, most people would be able to shrug it off with a vague sense of unease, but they stand out to him like glowing red flags. Matt just feeling the buzzing and prickle of electricity all over his--skin? Fur? This man is very hairy and also has a tail. Why is no one saying anything about the tail. Steve almost citizen/Avenger-arrests him but Tony comes to vouch for him and they have their little Mutants Among Us revelation in the private upper floors. Steve apologizes very sincerely and they chat about Germany and circuses, another nearly-bygone relic that Steve misses. Matt is feeling left out, but jumps in when Kurt mentions being Catholic.

After that they’ve got weekly mass and lunches, and hey friendship is weird but wonderful. They give each other fashion tips! Kurt is European and flamboyant, Steve is solidly insisting that the only improvement on slacks and a button-up is a leather jacket, and Matt is literally blind. They get by. Matt introduces them to his tailor, after some private talks Kurt brings all his pants in and gets proper tail holes incorporated. Steve gets sticker shock every time he goes to a department store, but being able to buy at thrift stores and get them fitted is much more in line with his upbringing. Matt’s wardrobe gets some splashes of color that Kurt meticulously coordinates and bans him from freestyling with.

Weirdly enough it takes a really long time for the superhero thing to come up. Like a reeeeaaaaaally long time. Like shading into identity porn amounts of time. Not on purpose. Steve Rogers is a popular name in the US and doubly so in military families, nobody connects Steve the Army vet with Captain America unless they’re majorly into WWII military history, and the kind of guy who’s majorly into WWII military history is the kind of guy Steve tends to avoid outside of bar fights and university lectures. Everyone thinks the new Captain America guy is an Army recruitment stunt anyway.

Matt is blind, has had several high-profile cases against mob families, and lives in a dangerous part of town, nobody is surprised when he shows up places looking a little roughed up and growling about the darkness in mankind’s souls. Concerned, yes, ready to take on the mob, yes, surprised, no. He likes punching things though, so they leave it when he says he’s got it handled. A lot of debate stems from Matt’s growling, they all have strong opinions about morality and crime and institutional oppression. They have varying degrees of optimism/pessimism about God’s judgement and forgiveness, and wildly different ideas about the criminal justice system. (Again: 1940s soldier, US lawyer, and minority immigrant whose typical response to legal authorities is: *smashes a 40 on the ground* SCATTER!)

Tony introduced Kurt and told them he was engineering him the image inducer, but neglected to mention that it was part of his deal with the X-Men to field test his tech*. Nobody knows what he does for a living. Performer? Translator? Model? Escort? He knows a lot of rich people, like the Starks and Worthingtons and Frosts. He travels pretty frequently and brings them back souvenirs. Foggy is just happy that there is someone cheerful and level-headed in Matt and Steve’s Fight Club of a friendship, until Kurt backflips into the boxing ring with a fencing sword and shouts HAVE AT THEE, and oh no there’s THREE of them now.

(Tony is one of the silent investors in the X-Men. It started as just donating an old mansion the Stark family had to house at-risk “genetic minority” youth, then he wanted to help with the renovations to make it suitable for young mutants to practice controlling their powers, and then everyone got a little carried away and suddenly there were some extra basement floors. A few super computers. Something called a Danger Room, which is a misnomer because it’s totally safe, Tony promises. Possibly a donated jet or two, though they shot down his idea of painting it school bus yellow and claiming it as a school fleet vehicle on their taxes. He thinks the whole “X-MEN” thing the media came up with is hilarious, they’re just a bunch of persecuted minorities trying to rescue and educate kids, occasionally scuffling with another group doing the same thing on the other side of the moral line. He stays in his lane and looks forward to their tech challenges as a fun side project. “Full-body hologram” was a winner, even if it took a few tries to get the tail right.)

Just. More interaction between people who can conceivably interact on the regular, not just meet once in a big showdown based on mistaken identity, realizing We’re All Good Guys Here, shaking hands and then never seeing each other until the big world-ending team-up episode. Give me that sweet sweet bonding. We’re fanficcers, we don’t have to worry about coordinating between movies and shows and who’s going to space in their comic this week. We can just say “hey these guys have a lot in common, how about they get lunch sometime.”

#zims has too many feelings about super heroes #steve rogers #captain america #matt murdoch #daredevil #kurt wagner #nightcrawler #x-men #avengers #long post

[theculturedmarxist]

By Gary Brecher.Republished from the Radio War Nerd subscriber newsletter. Subscribe to Radio War Nerd co-hosted with Mark Ames for podcasts, newsletters and more!. Posted with THE EXILED.

There’s a gigantic, well-organized, extremely violent fascist group with tens of thousands of active members in Germany right now.

And nobody notices.

You’d think all the fascist-hunters would have sniffed it out by now, but it goes right by them as if these guys were invisible.

Which is odd, because this group is not trying to hide, or pretending to be harmless. They’re not shy about it, and it’s not just talk. They have quite a record. They’ve been rampaging for decades, and if anything they’re stronger now than they used to be. They’re closely linked to CIA and Nazi groups; they’re very busy beating, burning, and murdering minorities of all kinds, and boast quite openly about hating literally everyone who’s not a member of their own ethnic group and sect, even suggesting that members go on “hunting expeditions” against minorities which they’d already almost wiped out back in the 20th century.

This group recently held massive, open rallies in the cities of Germany, and it’s only in the last few years that the government has even attempted to ban the public symbols and salutes of this massive fascist group.

There’s something grotesquely comic about this. We have a swarm of fascist-spotters who’ve spent the last few decades waiting for fascism to emerge in Germany when it was marching around, shouting at the top of its lungs, beating minorities, celebrating genocide, and supporting ethnic cleansing right in front of their damn faces.

I’m talking about the Gray Wolves. And I defy anyone to find a more successful, out-front, no-kidding, massive, effective, ruthless fascist organization anywhere in the world. They’re adapting quickly, and even have their own fierce Wiki defenders.

Here are a few highlights from their long, successful career:

In 1978, Gray Wolves started pogroms against Alevi Kurds in Maras (also known as Kahramanmaras) in South-Central Anatolia.

Location is important here. Maras is due north of Aleppo across the Syrian border, NW of Kobane, and above all just up the road from Gazantiep. Gazantiep is a key city for right-wing Turkish nationalists, a city dominated not just by people who are ethnically Turkish but who identify as rightwing Turks of the most intensely nationalist kind. This kind of population lives in a state of siege, glories in that feeling, and is almost always willing to lash out against the sea of minorities they imagine surrounding them. That’s why Gazantiep keeps making the news as a nice convenient safe house for IS and their Turkish allies, some of whom killed 57 Kurds at a wedding in 2016.

It’s important to emphasize that people who are ethnically Turkish are not a bloc. Some of the bravest people on earth, languishing in the Turkish state’s prisons or buried in unmarked graves, are proudly Turkish by ancestry.

And then there are the young men who join the Gray Wolves. Those men are murderous fascists, and it’s cowardice to pretend not to see that.

Violence by these men against minorities has never stopped, but it hit its peak — more like the highest peak in a mountain-range of a graph — in 1978, before the Anglosphere had any handle on sectarian violence in the Middle East.

The target of the Gray Wolves in Maras was a double minority: Alevi Kurds. Alevi Muslims are often considered heretics by Salafists and other Sunni fundamentalists. They were massacred with impunity in Ottoman pogroms. Erdogan’s AK Party, which very much wants to revive Ottoman practice and Ottoman borders, openly considers the Alevi heretics fair game for the Gray Wolves’s death squads.

Those who were killed in 1978 were not only Alevi, but Kurds — and the Turkish state, which embraced Wilsonian ethnic nationality with a vengeance, a terrible vengeance, hates Kurds simply for being Kurds. So the Kurdish Alevi of Maras were a natural target twice-over.

The campaign against them built up for weeks, as pogroms usually do, with the unpredictable pace partly a result of working with unstable, violent mobs but also part of a strategy to terrorize the victims, who never know when things will go from bad (very bad) to even-worse.

The details of the massacre are very typical, sickening but not unusual:

Witnesses to the massacre.

Seyho Demir: “The Maras Police Chief at the time was Abdülkadir Aksu, Minister of the Interior in the last AKP government. The massacre was organised by MIT (the Turkish secret service), the Nationalist Movement Party (MHP) and the Islamists together… As soon as I heard about the massacre, I went to Maras. In the morning I went to Maras State Hospital. There I met a nurse I knew…When she saw me, she was surprised: ‘Seyho, where have you come from? They are killing everyone here. They have taken at least ten lightly-wounded people from the hospital downstairs and killed them.’ This was done under the control of the head physician of the Maras State Hospital. Everyone knows that such a big massacre cannot be carried out without state involvement. In the Yörükselim neighbourhood they cut a pregnant woman open with a bayonet. They took out the eight-month foetus, shouting “Allah Allah” and hung it from an electricity pole with a hook. The pictures of that savagery were published in the newspapers that day. The lawyer Halil Güllüoglu followed the Maras massacre case. The files he had were never made public. He was killed for pursuing the case anyway. Let them make those files public, then the role of the state will become clear.”

Meryem Polat: “They started in the morning, burning all the houses, and continued into the afternoon. A child was burned in a boiler. They sacked everything. We were in the water in the cellar, above us were wooden boards. The boards were burning and falling on top of us. My house was reduced to ashes. We were eight people in the cellar; they did not see us and left.”(EZÖ/TK/AG)

All accounts agree that the massacre not only happened with state collusion but state encouragement. No one was punished. Many were, in fact, promoted, and hold high positions in Erdogan’s government today.

That’s the pattern here: the Gray Wolves as the street-fighting wing of the state. The parallel is closer to Indonesian Islamists in 1965 than the SA in 1930s Germany, but so many people have trouble taking any fascism clearly unless it can be soldered to 1930s Germany that I may as well make the analogy for, as they say in the academic biz, heuristic purposes.

The Gray Wolves ideology is very widespread and acceptable in many (not all) communities in Turkey. This leads to a lot of more or less lone-wolf killings (as it were), as when a soldier who was a member of the Gray Wolves killed a fellow soldier for being an Armenian a few years ago.

Older readers might remember the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II back in 1979.

The assassin was one Mehmet Ali Agca, a longtime member of the Gray Wolves.

He had a track record of killing leftists and other enemies on behalf of the “Idealists” (seriously, that’s what the Wolves call themselves):

“The weapon used in the Feb. 1, 1979, murder of a Turkish newspaper editor, Abdi Ipekci, for which Mr. Agca was convicted, was supplied by a member of the Idealist Clubs, according to the Turkish authorities. Other members helped Mr. Agca escape from prison. Still others prepared a false passport for him. And on the day of the killing, he went to the National Action Party offices.”

Note the familiar pattern: Ali Agca kills a leftist editor who’s annoying the Turkish state, gets caught, and manages to escape with a lot of help from Turkish intelligence.

They hardly bothered to hide their collusion in the escape. The Turkish state was killing a lot of leftists, a lot of intellectuals, a lot of minorities — the usual suspects for classic fascists like Ali Agca.

But as you older readers might recall, nobody in the media talked about Ali Agca as a Turkish fascist. He was, for Cold-War purposes, smeared as a Bulgarian agent.

The “Bulgarian connection” never made much sense, but it served the US/UK/Israel/Saudi intelligence agencies’ PR purposes. Remember, Turkey is NATO — very, very NATO.

NATO might survive the loss of many other small European states, but it could not survive losing Turkey. So the US/UK state will always side with the Turkish state and help them cover up fascist atrocities, blaming them on the Soviets until those useful patsies took their final dive.

Blaming Bulgaria rather than the obvious suspects, the Gray Wolves to which this thug Ali Agca had been murderously loyal all his life, was especially bizarre since there was an obvious sectarian motive: the Gray Wolves hate Christians, as they hate all other minorities, ethnic or religious, and make a point of staging provocations at all occasions when the remnants of what was once a huge Christian minority dare to show themselves in public.

Orthodox Christians are the Wolves’ preferred prey. They prefer not to do anything too bloody to high-profile Western targets like a pope, but when you squirt sectarian hate into weak minds and itchy trigger fingers for generations, some of the lads are going to pick the wrong victim.

Perhaps that’s what happened when Ali Agca went from NATO-approved murderer of leftists and Kurds, to shooting the Pope. We’ll never know, because it was quickly twisted into the ridiculous “Bulgaria did it” farce by the guys who enjoy a few cocktails with their opposite numbers from Ankara at all those NATO conferences.

And we’ll never know how much daily violence this massive fascist gang inflicts. Occasionally the Turkish state gets irritated enough to send a suicide bomber or two to kill Kurdish peace demonstrators, as it did in Ankara in 2015, killing 86 demonstrators and maiming a hundred more. But that state, our NATO ally, supports a whole madhouse of Arab and Turkmen jihadis as well as its own stable of disposable Gray Wolves assassins, so it may never be clear whether it was the Wolves, precisely, who pressed the detonators.

But it’s a statistical certainty that somewhere along the long line from greenlighting an attack like this and sending red-hot ball bearings splattering into the bodies of teenagers with peace banners, many of the men involved were members in good standing of the good ol’ Wolves.

Violence by the Gray Wolves is a constant in Turkey, usually unreported — especially now that Erdogan’s party has imprisoned thousands of journalists and intellectuals, and terrorized the rest into quietism or collusion. We may never know how many Kurds are murdered daily in the southeast of Anatolia, because no one who matters, in the Turkish state or its many powerful allies in the West (e.g. the Michael Flynn story) want you to know about it. It’s rare for those stories to make the news at all, but God knows you can’t forget them once you’ve read them.

In fact the Gray Wolves are going mainstream, and winning a lot of votes.

Fascism is mainstream in Turkey, getting more mainstream all the time — and has been since the violent dissolution of the Ottoman Empire. The Gray Wolves have quite a pedigree, a classic fascist genealogy.

Fascism is often strongest in the ruins of a defeated empire, and that was the situation in the former Ottoman Empire in the 1920s. The Empire had once ruled from Central Europe to Iraq, flowing and ebbing over the centuries (with a peak in the 16th century). At its peak, it was a fearsome conquering force.

There’s a great novel by the Albanian writer Ismail Kadare detailing the unstoppable waves of special forces that the Empire could unleash on strongpoints that held out against conquest.

The Ottomans took a long time to fall from that 16th c. peak. They were still around, partly because Britain and France always supported them against the bogeyman of the late Victorian Era, the Russian Threat.

Propped up by the two big powers of Europe, the Empire managed to survive a coup in 1908 by young officers who would go on to a career in defeat and genocide, because they guessed wrong on which side would win the oncoming Great War.

The Young Turks, as these officers were called, sided with the up-and-coming, efficient military of the neighboring empire: Germany. They guessed wrong, but not before they managed to exterminate the harmless Armenians who had recently been patronized as Turkey’s “model minority” for their docility. And this genocide went so well, so quietly, that Hitler, contemplating the genocide of the European Jews, allegedly demanded of any squeamish nay-sayers “Who remembers the Armenians?”

You get a lot of horrible echoes like that in this story. At any rate, no one cared to remember or notice the extermination of the Armenians, but the winners at Versailles were typically vengeful against the former Ottoman Empire — not by any means for wiping out the Armenians, but for being German allies, and losing.

Britain and France, now joined by the US, were as vengeful toward the former Empire as they had been lenient during its bloody final years. Ottoman rule over non-Turkish territory was erased. For a few years there was some doubt whether even Anatolia would remain a Turkish state.

Then, as most of you know, came Mustafa Kemal, soon to become Kemal Ataturk, a hero of Gallipoli (a Turkish/Ottoman victory that stood out proudly in the great defeat).

Ataturk was a typical elite young officer of the early 20th c. Those were very dangerous people, those young officers. Often impressive individuals, but completely ruthless and immensely fond of violence. That goes for all of them, right across the Continent — Hell, right across the world.

Ataturk formed a nucleus of former officers from the Great War. (Again, the international echoes are clear enough; suffice to say that these guys were the most dangerous, formidable demographic in a few generations, perhaps since the emergence of the Napoleonic elite.) They fought well, and then they went about making Turkey a monoethnic state, without mercy.

For a while, that state was professedly secular, but since it had already killed or driven out most religious minorities, the monoethnic state became, under the AK party, avowedly mono-sectarian as well.

The current chant of the Wolves many, many supporters is “My heart is Turkish and my soul is Muslim!” You must be both: ethnically Turkish and orthodox, Sunni Muslim as well. No mercy for anyone who fails either test, which means that a lot of Kurds, a lot of Alevis, a lot of secular Leftists, end up dead or in prison.

The evolution of the Gray Wolves is a classic fascist Genesis story, and the behavior of its hundreds of thousands (perhaps millions) of supporters is classic fascist violence. Why don’t more people notice that?

I hate to speculate, because the range of possible answers all boils down to cowardice, conformity, and the odd Euro-centrism one finds in the strangest places. They don’t get noticed because they’re not European, maybe? Fascism of the 1930s was European, and that’s the only kind amateurs notice? Odd, because Turkey is European enough to be the cornerstone of NATO.

This would not be the first time that the interests of what you could call the NATO Deep State aligned all too perfectly with the more gullible pockets of the Left. In fact, it’s very closely related to the phenomenon of not noticing, or trying very hard not to notice, the sectarian ultra-violence of the Syrian “rebels.” But this time, since Turkey is a NATO ally, it’s the violence of the state and its fascist proxies that is ignored. I struggle to come up with any other reason that the Gray Wolves get so little attention.

All I know is that we have a massive, ultra-violent, highly effective, classically fascist movement killing minorities every single day, and there’s an odd silence about it.

I would love to ask one of the innumerable online fascist hunters why they hunt stray curs and slink silently past the cold stare of the Gray Wolves. Perhaps it’s not so much any of the excuses I suggested above; perhaps some hunters just prefer smaller, easy prey to the real thing.

Gary Brecher is the nom de guerre-nerd of John Dolan. Buy his book The War Nerd Iliad. Hear him read his comic memoir Pleasant Hell in audiobook format.

Subscribe to the Radio War Nerd podcast & newsletter!

#war nerd #gary brecher #john dolan #gray wolves #fascists #turkey #young turks #kemal atatürk #kurds #alevi muslims #NATO #erdogan #ottoman empire #neo-ottoman empire #ethnic cleansing #ali acga #turkish nationalists #turkish nationalism #nationalism is cancer #imperialism

[adamdriverwrites]

Carpe Noctem || Part 3

Plot summary: Mob boss’s daughter & bodyguard au ft. Kylo Ren. Based off this plot bunny (x)

Warnings: nothing worth mentioning. So your basic mentions of death, swearing, implications of crime.

Word count: 3888

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Reader

A/N: Here is part 3! Thank you to everyone who commented, I never knew this many people would like my story! I can’t believe the amount of people who have liked and reblogged so thank you so much xxx

Taglist:  @helloimindelaware, @dandydragonz​, @musicalcoffeebean, @driverficarchive, @hazydespair, @maybell88, @bikinibrattoms, @fanfic-fangirl, @stillreadingfantasy​, @0nevergrowoldnevergrowold0, @sarasxe, @um-well,

Masterlist here

You sat in your parked car outside the Supremacy. The facade of the building was seemingly unchanged since you had last seen it all those years ago. It was a large, two story building in a relatively nice neighborhood. Dark stone stretching almost half a block, black windows obscuring a view inside, and a neon red sign with 'The Supremacy' in a cursive font hanging over the door.

It was a long shot coming here, but you were still working up the courage to go to Mallory's apartment. You figured this was a suitable stepping stone. She had mentioned her friend in passing conversations, had apparently worked at the establishment for years. You didn't know what time she worked, day or night, and she probably wasn't even here today but you didn't want to head back home right away. And it was a long shot in which you were wiling to investigate a little further. You had to start somewhere.

There was a lone member of security outside the front doors. Black clothes, tall figure, imposing; completely  the modus operandi of your father's workers. There was no line to get in, not unsurprising given it was mid afternoon on a Friday so you straightened your leather jacket and walked up to the bald, intimidating bouncer.

His eyes looked you up and down, before quirking an eyebrow. "ID?"

You pulled your ID from your pocket, where it was nestled in between your card and your phone and handed it to him without fault. He looked it over, eyes checking the photo matched your profile before he looked back at the driver's license. His brown eyes widened profusely, and he handed it back to you.

"Sorry, Miss Snoke." He stepped the side, an arm outstretched to welcome you into the establishment your father owned. You entered a dark hallway, bass in the music traveling further, blackout curtains separated as you walked through. Your eyes were assaulted by bright, colourful lights. Dancing wildly around the room in perfect time with the music. Four elevated stages, with poles that stretched to the ceiling were placed around the room, seats arranged the stage. Tables were littered in between and a long bar was nestled against the far wall. It was slightly more busy that you thought it would be, your expectations exceeded to see a woman dancing on a stage, six men littered around her in various seats. A few more patrons sat at a table, two women talking to the group, flirting and petting the men in their suits.

You had never actually been in the Supremacy. But it was a classier joint than you extrapolated. Surfaces looked clean, and the air was fresh with a hint of perfume. Black furniture, and red silk curtains hanging from the ceiling provided some tables extravagant privacy on the wall opposite the bar. Large stairs in front of you wound up to the second floor. Another set of double doors were open, revealing a long hallway that disappeared. A glass railing on the second floor surrounded the deck, and you noticed it linked all the way around to a second floor office. The front wall of the office consisted entirely of glass, a suitable viewing precipice for whoever ran this place for your father now.

You spotted a male bartender working, polishing glasses and stocking the bar. A young man, maybe in his late twenties, blonde hair and blue eyes, black uniform t-shirt that simply had 'The Supremacy' in the same font. You walked forward, weaving through the empty tables before you stepped up to the bar. He looked up, smile painted on his previously vacant face, and put down a glass and a polishing rag.

"Welcome!" His eyes raked over your form quickly, and it felt like he was vaguely ogling you. "What's your poison?"

You gave a half assed attempt at a smile, "I'm not here for a drink."

"Hmm," he hummed in interruption, leaning forward on the bar. "A dance? A job, then?"

You bit your lip, "No-"

"I mean, you've got a great body but, darlin’, this is one of the best clubs in town. Girls are dying to dance here."  

You were sick of him interrupting you. Ogling you. You had little patience today, so you decided to tell a half-lie just to shut him up. "I know. My Father owns this place." You had no idea of the waiting list to work here, but you pretended. 

His face stilled and he leaned back slightly. You pulled your ID from your pocket once again and waved it in front of his face for good measure, then placed it back into your jacket. "I want to talk to Lacy. Is she around?"

He reeled, "Look, I didn't mean no disrespect, I had no idea-"

"I don't give a shit." You interrupted him in turn. "It's important, I just want to see Lacy. I don't know her stripper name but I know she works here."

"She's not in, she hasn't been in for a few days, I don't know her work schedule but I can get the manager? He'll know more than me."

You nodded your head. "Okay, sure."

He leaned over, leaning his hand under the bar, he pressed something and his eyes averted up to the office you had spied previously. He withdrew his hand and picked up the glass and rag once more. "He'll be down in a moment. Wait here."

You nodded, and watched as he moved down the bar slightly, back to restocking the glasses on the wall.

You gazed around, music changing as the dancer walked off the stage after collecting her money, another dancer filling her spot. The men didn't move, cigars between their lips and drinks in hand, patiently waiting to get their fill. All men looked successful, and had amber liquid swirling in their glasses. Suits adorned their bodies and shiny watches adorned their wrists. It was easy to assume this was a classy establishment, catering to more high paying clientele.

Which confused you slightly because this business had originally started as a front. It was a way for your father to launder money from his other ventures that were less than legal. Or a way to siphon a small amount anyway - he had a few legitimate businesses for this purpose now but the Supremacy had been one of the first.

Clearly, the Snoke name was still among high standards of rich and elite of New York. Your father had all sorts of friends in all sorts of places, and almost all of them owed him favors. Politicians, lawyers, moguls - clearly they all wanted to be a part of something bigger, something mysterious. The Snoke crime family.

A blur out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. At the top of the stairs you noticed a tall figure in a dark, all black suit. Pale skin, bright red hair, and a caustic confidence you could feel from basically halfway across the room.

Armitage Hux.

You didn't fight the smirk that curved your lips as your eyes locked with his. A chilling smirk mirrored his lips and he made his way down the stairs. Eyes completely focused on you.

You couldn't believe he was still alive - let alone running the fucking Supremacy. His father had been an advisor of your own. A part of a small council that ran the whole operation. Hux had been around when you were a kid, though he was closer to Ares' and Roman's age than yours.  

He had been a smarmy, confident piece of shit growing up. Like a lot of people, he was at your house often. You didn't start getting to know each other until you were a little older, around 12 or 13, before you left for boarding school. You still thought he was a cocky shit, but the two of you had something in common.

A disdain for Lyon.  

He seemed to rub a lot of people the wrong way, though you never seemed to mind him too much. But you were a good judge of character - you knew he was manipulative, cunning, cruel even. But he had always had a good head for business, and was loyal to the Snoke family and the Order. If you knew what you were expecting, then it wasn't that bad.

Hux approached the bar, green eyes piercing as he walked closer. He spoke your name with an almost unbelievable exhale. "I didn't know you were back in town."

"Well, you don't know everything."

"Ah, but I do. That's my expertise." He came to stand in front of you, looking you over before leaning against the bar nonchalantly. He looked exactly the same as you remembered, if only aged slightly, soft wrinkles around his eyes. Otherwise his hair was still perfectly gelled back, not a strand out of place, his clothes still immaculately pressed with his usual stiff and rigid posture.

"Never the less, to what do I owe the pleasure?" His eyes shifted to the bartender behind you and he flicked his finger, his attention returned to you. Pale green eyes absorbing your figure. "Tell me you're here for me." You knew you were rather heavy in the chest area, and had an ass to boot, but you weren't under the allusion you were pretty, or gorgeous by any means. In fact you felt particularly plain enough to go under the radar. Though since being home, you hadn't felt more like the opposite. You figured it was the stark growth spurt you had under gone since you were last back home. Last everyone knew - you were just a teenager. Prepubescent and awkward.

"Not quite," you huffed, "I actually just wanted to talk to Lacy." His head raised slightly, eyebrow cocked before realization dawned on his face but you spoke anyway. "She was friends with Mallory."

"Oh... yes. I'm sorry for your loss, I suppose.” You wanted to smile at his awkwardness before he sighed.  “Your father has been... never mind. You came all the way here just to talk and reminisce with a stripper?"

Again, you felt the instinctual need to lie, but resisted. "I just wanted to hear some things about Mallory's life, since I've been gone so long." It wasn't a lie, technically.

The bartender's presence interrupted your conversation, and he placed two glasses of scotch down on the bar before making himself scarce. You didn't want to drink, though now it was placed in front of you, you wanted to knock the whole thing back.

"Anything for you." An almost evil, calculating smirk curved his lips. "But first, let's catch up in my office. You owe me that much."

"I don't owe you anything."

He hummed out a laugh, signalling something you didn't know to the bartender and gestured up the stairs towards his office. It was a short walk, though his close presence felt behind you made it feel longer than it actually was. You reached his office, and he opened the double doors, allowing you inside before shutting them behind you.

It was a big area, not wide, but particularly long as it recessed into the building. Half of the office was glass, giving a perfect view to the club below. It was dark grey walls with a flourish of a red velvet couch. A desk with a few papers were scattered on it, and you noticed it was devoid of any type of computer. You guessed your father was still paranoid about any digital trails leading to evidence that could prove hurtful.

"Please, take a seat." He gestured to the red velvet seat situated opposite his desk. "It’s been a long time. What have you been up to all these years?"

You walked forward, taking a sip of your drink before collapsing into the comfortable seat, eyes watching Hux as he rounded the desk and followed suit. "Studying..." you shrugged, "working... enjoying life away from my family."

"It would appear so." Hux's eyes flashed with something, and a smirk graced his lips again. "He sent you off to boarding school, you graduated, and never came back. Clearly you were off having fun."

"Fun is for children."

"Which you are not." Again Hux looked over your form.

"You know what he's like, it’s why I didn't come back. Why are you still here?"

"I've worked hard to get where I am today, my loyalty and allegiance to the First Order and the Snoke family-"

"And look what you have to show for it; a strip club?"  You interrupted his tirade. "You've done far more than Lyon has and less to show for it. You respect nepotism?"

His nostrils flared at the mention of your brother and you knew that he was still a sore spot for Armitage. "That is but one instance. Not everyone of import in the Order is of your father's blood."

You nodded, "Phasma?"

"Ren."

It was your turn for your nostrils to flare and you quirked a brow. "My father's bodyguard?"

"That's a simplification. I wish his duties were that insignificant."

"Well they are now."

"What do you mean?"

"He's been tasked as my bodyguard while I'm here."

Hux leaned forward at this, elbows resting on his desk, his interest suddenly focused. "Is that so?"

"Why is that so interesting?" This piqued your curiosity. "What does he do for my father exactly?"

Hux seemed to choose his next words carefully. "Ren is his... fidus Achates, his saboteur, his right hand man."

You got that sense with how often he was in your father's office. He was even in his office when he had kicked Lyon out earlier. If anything that was conducive to the fact that he was more trusted than any other man you knew about in the Order. Even when you were a kid, your father didn't have any men that seemed permanently glued to the shadowy corners of the room.

"Whatever problems your father has, Ren makes them go away."

"So like his hitman?" You ask.

"More like a rabid animal." Hux spat the words, and you gathered there was a little contempt from the red headed man. "Kept on leash by only your father and let loose whenever he pleases. You thought he was ruthless before you left? Well, Ren is solving every problem with bloodshed and violence."

"Unnecessarily?" You sipped your drink, leaning back into your seat.

"No, your father points his finger, and Ren takes care of the rest... destroys everything in his path."    

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. "If he’s so important why would my Dad assign him to me?"

This made Hux smirk. "Precisely."

You had your perceptions about Armitage, you had known him since you were young. While you didn't trust him exactly, you trusted that you knew him well enough to talk about Mallory.

"He thinks something happened to Mallory."

"I know." Hux sipped the amber liquid. "We've talked about it. While Ren handles the... messier assignments, my strength is acquiring knowledge and intel."

"And what have you found out?"

"Nothing." He didn't look like he was lying, not that you were sure what that even looked like. "Not yet, anyway. Is that why you're here?"

You sipped your drink again, if only to stall time before you answered. "I just wanted to talk to Lacy, but yes."

"And now look at you, talking to me. Isn't this so much better?"

Your mind couldn't help but wander, back to Kylo. So much mystery surrounded him, leaving you in the dark and Hux was finally providing a little light on the situation. And he seemed rather accepting to share. You made a mental note to think of some questions to ask him, hoping that he would give some truthful answers.  

About to open your mouth, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you pulled it out of your pocket to see a message from your father. And two missed calls.

Where are you? We're having an early dinner. Just family.

You withheld a sigh that wanted to escape, and you looked back to your company. "I've got to go." You threw back the rest of your whiskey and put it on his desk before standing up.

"So soon?" Hux mirrored your movements. "You just got here."

"I'll see you soon."

He grabbed a pen and paper off his desk, handing it to you. "write down your number, when Lacy comes in I'll let you know."

You wanted to question his helpfulness but decided against it. Feverishly writing down your digits and handing it back to him instead. "Thanks, Hux."

"Of course."

Leaving the Supremacy left you feeling a little defeated. Even though Hux said he would text you when Lacy was next in, it meant today had come to a standstill, stagnant in your search for information. Your next plan was to head to the penthouse, see what possessions of Mallory's was still around, however, your fathers text had brought that idea to a standstill. Maybe you could go later tonight, when everything had calmed down? Jumping back into your car, you sent a quick reply to your Dad

Just at the store getting tampons, leaving now.

You hoped he was grossed out enough by a woman’s basic bodily functions to not want to reply. Starting your car, the V8 grumbling loudly. You pulled from the curb and headed to the direction of your house.

Seeing Hux again after so many years was a refreshing change of pace. He acted the same as he did all those years ago and looked the same too, save for a few wrinkles displaying the passage of time. The two of you catching up was good, and he had divulged some impertinent information regarding your new ‘bodyguard’ that proved fruitful. You hoped next time he would be even more forthcoming.

The drive home was shorter than you expected, just less than an hour. Traffic was light, and you were pulling into the Snoke driveway before you knew it. You wished it had dragged on longer, you half preferred sitting in your car than going inside to drink and eat with your family. You hadn't shed a single tear at the funeral earlier today, and you expected the strong facade you had adapted was going to falter.

As you drove down the long winding driveway, rounding the towering willow trees either side you came into view of the house, and then the garage. The electronic door at the very end already open, you didn’t have time to be confused as a tall, dark form came into view.

Kylo.

He was standing in your spot, a cigarette dangling between his fingers as his dark eyes stared at you. His stoic form didn't move until you came forward, moving so you could park your car in the area he had occupied. You killed the engine once you parked and didn't have time to open your door before he had done it for you.

"Welcome home." You grabbed your belongings from the seat beside you and looked up at the man standing over you.  Once you were clear, he shut the drivers side door, and blocked the way to inside the house. You tried to maneuver around him but he moved to defer you.

This caused you to sigh. Your eyes darted up to meet his.

"Yes?"

"Your father’s been worried."

You rolled your eyes. "I was gone for a few hours, so that's his problem."

"And his problems become my own." He stepped forward, the small distance between you became even smaller. "If you don't want me to come with you then you at least need to tell me where you're going."

It was obvious now what he was getting at. Your little field trip to go see Hux had apparently not gone unnoticed. Or, well, to the store to get tampons if your message was to be believed. You didn't think your father was going to be enforcing the whole bodyguard thing so intensely, or so quickly. Though an idea came to mind.

"You seem like a moderately intelligent guy..." Your eyes looked over his form. "Built for brute force rather than a boring protective detail of the little old likes of me." His full, pink lips encompassed the cigarette to take a puff and it almost momentarily made you falter. His hum pulled you from your thoughts of what they could have felt like and you continued. "I have a proposition for you."

"And what would that be?"

"Surely you have more important things to deal with. Which is why, if you want to do your own thing while I do my own, that's totally understandable - in fact, its actually preferable." For the first time since you've been home you tried to plaster a welcoming smile on your face. Trying hard to seem like a demure little girl your Dad had painted you to be.

Kylo expelled a huff of breath, something akin to a laugh. Your smile faltered slightly at the thought of him laughing at you.

"Your father relies on my ability to perfectly..." he searched for the proper words, throwing his cigarette over your shoulder onto the concrete behind you. "execute whatever he asks of me."  

"And you can do that, really make a difference!" It was hard to try appear as chipper as you were. Manipulation was a hard game, and you were not a happy person. "Instead of following me to the mall, or to see my friends while I'm here, you can strive to make my Dad proud."

You weren't much of a shopper, and you had no friends here to speak of. It was a low shot, but you hoped by his assumptions on your gender and what most women liked to do, you could get away with the lie.

"Your father informed me of your shrewd capabilities." You didn't know it was possible but he walked forward another step, closing the distance between you two. You had to strain your head to look up at him. He spoke with a deep conviction that conveyed anger being tethered by a small sliver of control. "It's why he chose me for the job. I won't be swayed so easily, especially by a spoiled little princess."

Your smile faltered, and you felt your rage flourish at his words.  Suddenly, you couldn't be bothered with this shit. You would think about it later, when your mind wasn't so clouded with the thought of Mallory. "Good luck." You moved past him, looking over your shoulder as you walked into the door that led to the house, shooting him one last look. "Haven’t you heard? I’m cursed.”

He watched you walk away, exhaling the last cloud of smoke through his nostrils. The door to the garage slammed before he dug his hand deep into the pocket of his pants, pulling out a small gps tracker. Getting down on the floor, he leaned underneath your car by the rear wheel frame. Pulling off the small adhesive backing, he pressed it to the metal where it would be hidden. Flicking the switch to activate, he quickly paired the device to the app on his phone before getting up, and following suit into the Snoke manor. 

#kylo x reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo x you #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren au #kylo ren imagine #carpe noctem #adam driver #adam driver x reader

[melis-writes]

Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 5 - Married.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 4 [AO3] / Tumblr. / Chapter Masterlist / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

Officially ending your friendship with Kay much to your dismay over Michael Corleone's engagement to you and your refusal to let him go with your growing feelings and jealousy, it's finally the day of your wedding. With everything planned to perfection, you approach your husband to be in a beautiful ceremony, surrounded by both your family and the Corleone's. Michael is unable to hide how smitten he is for you, opening up his soft and shy side to you unseen for years. Putting the past behind him, he marries you with a desire that burned inside him like none other.

1949. Your name is Victoria Ferrari, and you’re the only daughter of one of the most powerful mafia families in New York—the Ferrari’s. When the Ferrari family began to gain heavy influence and power, it struck a power imbalance with the Corleone’s. To bind the families together as one in an offering of peace, friendship and business, you are to be married to their youngest son, Michael Corleone. As you ensnare yourself in the life of a mob wife by Michael’s side, what you don’t know is his old ties with Kay Adams, your best friend from Dartmouth, and that he returned from Sicily a widower. A ruthless mob boss to be, you unravel Michael’s dark past and the brutality that has changed his personality. You find yourself adapting to your new life, betrayed by those you love most, and in high profile to Ferrari and Corleone family enemies. Falling deeply in love with Michael, you enter a life and marriage filled with secrets and darkness. Bearing his children, supporting his crime empire and following him into the shadows, you’re unable to deny your passion and desire to the new Don. When it comes to Michael Corleone, you are but a moth to a flame.

[Night Before the Wedding.]

Your workday was a welcome distraction from the smoldering presence of Michael Corleone—only growing in attraction with the rings on both of your fingers to prove it and mark it official.

Your professional life can only compare to Tom’s—a fellow lawyer—yet so different in the world of law compared to your family and the Corleone’s reality of crime.

All you ever did in that regard was observe and respect it—your Sicilian upbringing raised you as such.

Tom is special in the sense he practices law but only represents one client—Vito Corleone. Ironically, you’ve been prosecuting criminals since you graduated from Dartmouth—picking and choosing your cases from the most serious to high profile as you please.

Laying across your bed with your pillow to your back, dressed in nothing but a pale pink, silk nightgown and wrapped in your satiny nightrobe, you glance down at your work folders and document before you, reminding yourself once again you’re procrastinating once more.

You graze your teeth against your bottom lip, feeling anxious at the thought of picking up the phone and trying to reach Kay again, even though at this point you feel you desperately have to.

Of course, it would never change her mind about you or Michael, and from the sounds of it, there’s been more than Kay's ever lead on in her relationship to Michael.

Sounding like a distant, complicated relationship that had its spark and fire in the past, you witnessed something completely different yourself.

'There was no love in his eyes when he looked at her…' Still, you can’t pull yourself to feel bad about that at all.

You noticed enough for yourself that it’s engrained in the back of your mind.

You’ve run the scenario a thousand times over in your mind, reanalyzing everything and just trying to figure out some sort of way to reconcile with Kay.

'What’s there to say? What more can I do but apologize? Do I even need to say I’m sorry? Sorry for what?' You pause for a moment, blinking at how harsh your thoughts just got.

The jealousy begins to trickle in as you lean over to your night table, picking up the telephone and holding it up to your ear as your fingers hover over to dial.

'But he’s mine, and nothing is going to change that. Not even a phone call. I need to do this.' You dial away, reaching the operator who tries to get you on the line with Kay.

You wait patiently, wrapping the coiled phone line around your index finger as you hear a soft click, connecting you to her.

You almost drop the phone in sudden surprise. “K-Kay?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment, but you can hear her sniffling loudly in the background. “Victoria… What—what do you want? Why are you calling me?”

“Kay…” You begin, taking a deep breath. “I have so much to say to you that I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Does it start with ‘yes, I’m marrying Michael Corleone’?”

A frown crosses over your lips as you begin to feel the tips of your ears and the back of your neck prickle up in embarrassment. “What?”

“If you’re marrying him, I don’t want anything to do with you. You’d be just like him.”

“You have no idea—”

“On the contrary, I actually do!” She raises her voice, causing you to flinch a little. “I know everything now. Don’t lie to me, Victoria. Anything but that. Please, stop acting like I’m stupid. Engagement, marriage…all of these things are a two way street, aren’t they? This isn’t Sicily. What are you going to tell me next? That oh, you just couldn’t resist the charm of Michael Corleone?”

“Why don’t you start by explaining to me why you never told me about Michael Corleone?” You emphasize his last name, almost spitting back over the telephone. “If we’re such good best friends, why the hell not? Why are you so mad at me when you hid all of this from me to begin with?"

“Oh, you’re right.” She forces a frustrated laugh. “Completely my fault. Sorry I couldn’t compose myself seeing my best friend next to the man I thought I was going to marry. And I have a lot to explain to you? I don’t have to, Victoria!”

“I don’t either.” A silence fills the line. “I don’t have to justify anything to you, Kay.”

“You sound just like him. I hope he breaks your heart, and trust me, he will.”

Click.

“For the love of God…” You slam the phone down, covering your face with both of your hands as you let a deep breath.

Composing yourself, you raise your head from your palms, letting out a deep, shaky breath and pushing the phone further away from you on the night stand.

Does it start with “I’m marrying Michael Corleone”? You repeat in your head, pursing your lips. 'I am.'

Your head peers up as your thoughts are momentarily interrupted by the sound of familiar footsteps, looking up to see your older brother, Alessio.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury…” Alessio pops up by the doorway of your bedroom, mocking you with a feminine voice. “I urge you to take a look at the facts once more before you come to your final decision…”

“Hey!” You chuckle, relieved to have a break through your emotions. “I do not sound like that!”

“Don’t you think it’s ironic as a criminal prosecutor you’re marrying…a criminal?” He teases, walking into your room and plopping down on the end of your bed.

“You say it as if we're any different.” You roll your eyes, scooping up your court documents and folders from the Centre of your bed.

“Yeah, you're right.” He stretches out his arms. “Sounds like the media's talking when we word it like that."

You grin, setting the files inside the drawer of your night table. “That’s different.”

“What I think, as your brother, is that your marriage will be nothing but different, especially to him.” Alessio pokes at your arm.

“Everyone says that.” You murmur, unbothered by the comment as you wrap your arms around your knees. “I mean… It’s Michael Corleone.”

“Exactly.” He points out, “that’s what I’m trying to tell you. It’s Michael Corleone, for crying out loud. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was Vito’s successor in the future.”

“Santino is heir in line, though.” You knit your brows, “you really think that?”

Your brother’s eyes widen dramatically as he gives you an obvious nod. “Yeah. I’ve spoken to him and his father, he’s something else. You can clearly tell Don Corleone favours him. I have a feeling he wasn’t that way before.”

'Interesting.'

“People change.” You shrug, “Michael's told me some things about his past.”

“Well,” Alessio sighs, patting your bed, “as long as he’s transparent with you. It’s hard to figure out a Corleone, unless…you’re Sonny. That guy does not shut up.”

You giggle back, stifling a laugh. “I’ll figure him out.”

A smile forms on your face as you peek down at your princess cut, diamond engagement ring. It’s the sense of relief that calms the storm in your life—you don’t think you’ll ever be used to the way Michael gazes longingly at you, and you don’t want to either.

“Victoria?” Your mother’s voices comes out as the two of you glance up to spot her peeking by the doorframe. “There you two are—how is the bride to be? Oh, you know you can’t be staying up too late tonight, you need all your sleep for tomorrow!”

“I know mama, I know.” You smile warmly at her as she enters the room; tears beginning to form in her eyes. “Oh, are you crying?”

“How could I not? My daughter is getting married tomorrow!” She embraces you warmly, cooing. “Oh, I’m so happy for you, my dear. I’ve waited twenty-five years to see you walk down the aisle.”

“With a Corleone.” Your brother murmurs, looking half concerned. “Michael Corleone.”

You raise your brows, shooting him a look of annoyance. It’s increasingly clear Michael has intimidated some of your family.

“Alessio.” Your mother frowns at him, crossing her arms. “Please. It’s to be expected marrying into another family like ours. This is a new chapter for both of our families.” She turns her attention to you, placing her hands on top of yours. “I can tell you’re nervous and excited, sweetheart. You and Michael are meant to be, I can see it. Your father and I wish you a lifetime of happiness in your new family.”

“I’m ready for anything, mama.” You nod at her. “I’m ready to marry him.” Tomorrow.

~

[ Day of The Wedding. ]

You gaze upon yourself from head to toe in the mirror across from you, finally coming to the realization of everything. 'I’m getting married today. I’m marrying Michael Corleone…'

You take a deep breath, swallowing hard as the similar sensation of excitement and a strain of anxiety mixes into the knot in your gut. Every time you envision your fiancée standing before you in mere moments from now, you can feel your heart beating so hard within your chest as if it’ll burst at any moment.

You haven't seen him since the engagement party as both of your families were preoccupied with furnishing your new villa not far from the Corleone residence, legally signing documents off and half way through conversations with wedding planners.

You’ve been glued to your mother, Carmela, Sandra and Connie’s side since you awoke, almost ready to walk down the aisle.

Your mother didn’t and doesn’t want to stress you during the planning of your big day nor on it, being her gentle self as she asked for your opinions, wants and confirmations during the planning.

It leaves you on the afternoon of your wedding day after spending the entire money getting dolled up, and stepping into your wedding gown—courtesy of Michael Corleone.

Don Vito Corleone and your father had a friendly argument over who would pay for what, catching your family off guard when the Corleone’s secretly signed cheques to pay off for the entire wedding—another feat to impress you and keep you comfortable, no doubt. Your family is to provide security, especially from the media and in charge of the logistics of the wedding.

“Here, Victoria.” Connie speaks quietly, at awe with your wedding gown as she ever so gently slips your thin, lacy veil over your face. “There…”

Your hair is styled in a low, tousled and sleek updo with perfectly shaped curls and waves flowing down your shoulders, affixed with a white, lace pearl-encrusted tie holding it together.

“Thank you.” You give her a small smile, smoothening out the neckline of your dress and turning around to face the girls, your mother and future mother-in-law included.

Their eyes widen in astonishment as Sandra holds her hand up to her mouth and you find Carmela almost on the verge of tears.

“I can’t wait for Michael to see you like this.” Her voice tightens as she tenderly rubs your arm, unable to contain her excitement.

“Are you ready, Victoria?” Your mother hands you your flower bouquet of white roses wrapped in the same lace pattern over your dress.

“Yes.” Taking hold of the bouquet, you step out of your dressing room, the sound of the Italian orchestra fills your ears as you hear cheering and hooting; the sound of forks and wine glasses tinkling as the crowd of guests dance around, laughing and enjoying themselves.

Your eyes examine all over for any sight of the Corleone men, only spotting Tom and Clemenza dressed in suits, standing by the orchestra and talking amongst themselves.

At one of the tables up ahead, you see Sonny running a hand through his hair as he lazily sips wine, making conversation with the other guests.

Barely visible to the guests just yet, the signal started for the beginning of the wedding as the loud chatter and noise of the guests began to die down, only allowing the orchestra to play the sweet melody of your wedding march.

Some of the guests, including the Corleone’s began to shift around in their seats as you spot out Fredo and Don Vito Corleone entering in.

Your attention briefly shifts to Sandra’s twin daughters—your chosen flower girls who begin to walk down the isle, tossing white and pink rose petals all around.

The priest takes his place at the altar, asking everyone to stand as a wave of anxiety hits over you once again.

Your eyes widen, spotting Michael now at the altar in the blink of an eye, dressed in an immaculate, black suit—a red white rose tucked in his suit’s front pocket as he patiently awaits you, looking over at the entrance you’ll be coming out of.

You take only two steps when your father greets you from the side, locking his arm through yours and escorting you down the aisle as guests begin waving and cheering—the clapping almost drowning out the orchestra.

With each step you take towards Michael and the aisle, you feel your knees tingling and growing weak, thankful for your father by your side to be your strength.

Cameras flash as familiar faces wave and beam over at you, making you feel at ease.

Up ahead, now only a few feet from you, Michael stands. His hair slicked back neat without a single stray strand and a faint smile is over his lips as Michael faces your direction.

Your wedding dress hugs and hangs off of your body perfect. Pure white in the silhouette of a cathedral-style ball gown with a Basque waistline. Puffy, yet elegant as it daintily hangs off your shoulders. It’s a short sleeve piece with a corset lace back, tulle fabric, and a thin layer of sheer fabric adorning the entire gown, trimmed with lace all around. Adorned with a floral lace pattern trailing down the front of your dress, you’re a sight to behold before all.

You notice how Michael’s eyes immediately soften as you now stand directly in front of him and next to the priest at the altar, who smiles at both of you.

Your father gives you a loving hug as you hear “oohs” and “awws” from the guests moving around, trying to see you over everyone else.

You hug him tightly, watching as he rubs Michael’s shoulder reassuringly before he takes his spot with your family behind you as Michael’s family does the same for him.

Absolutely stunned by your appearance, Michael takes into account all that you are, almost about to grow impatient to remove your veil and finally kiss your lips.

“You may now be seated.” The Italian accented minister gestures with his hands to the guests who begin to do so.

He takes a moment for the atmosphere to calm as he clears his throat, beginning to speak. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness this man and woman join together in holy matrimony.”

You can’t hide the growing smile on your face as you listen, gazing at your soon to be husband. “We are here to share and support this commitment of love for Michael and Victoria as they choose to spend their lives together.”

The minister’s eyes fall on the both of you. “Michael and Victoria, your marriage will be a lifelong promise to love, honour, respect and trust each other through all—the good, the bad, and unexpected. This union represents the love and commitment you have to one another as you promise to share your lives and dreams as one.”

Your little brother Dante skips up to the aisle as the ringbearer, coming forward and presenting the rings.

You can hardly blink back the tears in your eyes of joy, seeing you brother happily looking up to you and Michael in admiration.

“Michael, please repeat after me.” The minister begins as Michael picks up one of the gold, wedding bands first. “I take you to be my wedded wife.”

“I take you to be my wedded wife.” He professes, keeping his eyes locked on yours, and continuing to repeat the minister’s words one at a time. “To have and hold from this day forward, till death do us part.”

You feel the butterflies swarming in the pit of your stomach as you watch him gently slip over your wedding band on your free hand as you begin to take his.

“Victoria, please repeat after me.”

You begin your vows, steadying your voice. “I take you to be my wedded husband. To have and hold from this day forward, till death do us part.” Your hand brushes underneath his as you take his gold band, placing it over his finger.

“Now, please join hands.” You extend your hands to Michael as he clasps them gently in his, almost as if you’d break if he holds you too tight. “Michael Corleone, do you take Victoria Ferrari to be your wife?”

Your heart skips a beat as Michael looks into your eyes—his intense gaze burning back to yours, completely focused. “I do.”

The minister diverts his attention now to you. “Victoria Ferrari, do you take Michael Corleone to be your husband?”

You tense up momentarily, hearing Kay’s words ringing through your head.

“What are you going to tell me next? That oh, you just couldn’t resist the charm of Michael Corleone?”

“I do.” You speak out, as Michael’s gaze warms and a wide smile forms on his lips—sending your heart rate into a frenzy.

The minister begins a small prayer in Italian, blessing over both of you. “With the power invested in me, in accord of the law of the state of New York, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

The orchestra begins to play a loud harmony as the crowd bursts into applause, cheering around in glee.

Michael gently pulls off the thin veil over your face and cups your face with one hand. His lips collide over yours in a full, deep kiss.

Your eyes flutter shut in response, absolutely melting between his lips as you kiss him back. The kiss is filled with longing and desire, a passion you’ve never felt before and then some.

Gently pulling away, you turn your back to the crowd and giggling before you toss your bouquet behind you with all the force you can muster.

“Friends and family, it is a delight to present Mr. and Mrs. Corleone!”

Connie, Sandra and her girls shriek in laughter, jumping up and down with the other ladies as one catches your bouquet, almost missing it by an inch in the crowd.

Applause is heard all over as the orchestra’s fast paced music begins and Michael takes your hand, leading you to the centre of the courtyard when he spins you around, getting into position for dance.

“You’re breathtaking.” He whispers to you as the two of you waltz to the music together.

You’d blush at the compliment instead of having your muscles writhe in arousal if he didn’t add, “and you’re all mine,” in a hushed tone to the end of it.

Not once during any of the wedding’s festivities does Apollonia cross Michael’s mind, even though he knows it’s his second wedding and you do not.

No longer a widower but a husband to you, it’s as if you’ve unlocked a completely different side of Michael. He no longer looks tense or serious by any means, rather his expression is soft, warm, and filled with love. Michael looks at you with pure admiration, unable to get enough of your beauty.

It’s one of the only times Michael's able to adore you from head to toe, constantly having to remind himself to keep his hands back and not trail them all over your body before your wedding out of respect for the traditions and values you both grew up with.

Reassurance lies in the bottom of Michael's heart as he knows nobody is out to get him or you—he can keep you safe and love you all at once.

The nature of Apollonia’s death has hardened Michael's heart in a way that he knows he’s going to be overprotective of you, his new wife.

A full Sicilian wife, and an educated, young, and beautiful one at that. You match Michael in ways you aren’t even entirely aware of just yet.

It’s everything Michael could have wished for and more during the ceremony. All of his and your family and friends to watch you two tie the knot and celebrate. No more hiding, no holding back until the curtains can be drawn.

It’s one of the Americanized traits about him—how Michael actually prefers to have his wedding. The only thing replaced in Michael's mind was Kay with you, something he was easily able to do without second thoughts.

You’re all Michael can think of as he holds you, dancing along to the orchestra’s tune.

You can easily tell how Michael feels for you based on just his body language and expression, right then and there.

Nothing forced, nothing arranged as much as it quite literally is. He’s free to express himself and bond with you, gazing upon your face as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“He loves her, you can tell.” Tom smiles, taking a small sip of his cocktail as he stands next to Sonny and Fredo. “See the way he’s looking at her?”

Sonny chuckles, crossing his arms. “He’s not going to be able to deny this one.”

Vito takes a step in-between the boys, placing both of his hands on their shoulders each. “They say when a man looks at a woman like that…it’s that he’s been hit by the thunderbolt. They make a very beautiful couple.” Vito being the only one between Fredo, Tom and Sonny to know of Michael’s past marriage to Apollonia and the way Michael has described how he was stunned by her. It seems as though not a single remanent of that remains now.

As the song slows down, Michael comes to a closer, romantic embrace with you; his arm is wrapped around your waist lovingly as you rest your chin on his shoulder.

Your one hand is around his back as the other is intertwined with his hand up.

Your eyes flutter shut as you sigh quietly in relief, soaking in the joyous moment and how your nerves have calmed down in Michael’s arms.

'Mrs. Michael Corleone…' As you open your eyes, you look out amongst the crowd, seeing other couples joined in dance or dinner as the wedding is on in full swing.

Something catches your attention from the corner of your eye as you find yourself flinching a little, seeing what seems to be a woman dressed in a formal, red dress with white polka dots and a matching picnic-style hat; her blonde curls peeking out from the sides.

'Kay?' You pull back a little, catching Michael off guard as he whispers into your ear in concern, “what’s the matter?”

“I—” you begin as your eyes examine the crowd once more, unable to find a hint of the woman you swore you just saw. “Michael…is Kay here?”

Michael raises a brow in disbelief. “Kay wasn’t invited—why would she even bother?” He now turns his head over to look as well.

“Do you think there's a chance?” You whisper back quietly.

“None.” Michael tells you. “With all the security here, she would only be able to watch from afar more than welcome to watch.”

“You’re awfully calm about it.” You peek into his eyes, feeling somewhat reassured.

“I’ve made my peace.” He kisses the back of your hand as your torsos press against each other. “And I won’t let anyone ruin yours.”

Little did you or Michael know Kay Adams was indeed in the back of the crowd, dressed similarly to everyone else as to not bring any attention to herself.

Her straw hat covers his eyes as she hangs back by a nearby tree, unable to believe it herself when she heard the news earlier from someone else.

Having to go see her for herself to confirm the unbelievable, Kay watches the two of you waltzing together in tears.

Her lips tremble as she holds a napkin up to her eye, watching it soak easily. Kay feels her heart ache within her chest as if it was bleeding to spot Michael’s happy expression—something she hadn’t seen since they were together at Connie’s wedding, since they spent the Christmas holidays together, since they last had meaningful, passionate sex at the hotel room.

Several mixed feelings of anger, hurt and betrayal swarm inside of Kay who knows she’s helpless to do anything but watch. Kay already despises herself for never being able to pull the emotions out of Michael that you do for the past three years.

#the godfather #godfather #al pacino #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #godfather au #michael corleone smut #michael corleone x reader smut #my writing #michael corleone #moth to flame fanfic #the godfather x reader #al Pacino x reader #godfather x reader #alfredo james pacino #melis-writes #moth to flame fic #1972

[longitudinalwaveme]

Villainy Squared

Dramatis Personae

Batman/Bruce Wayne, the heroic but grumpy crime fighting vigilante

Harley Quinn/Harleen Quinzel, the eccentric and dimwitted girlfriend of Joker

Harvey Dent/Two-Face, the angry D.A. turned mob boss who bases his decisions on coin flips

The Riddler/Edward Nygma, a childish, riddle-obsessed technological genius

The Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane, a psychopathic psychologist; obsessed with fear

Script

Act I

(Enter Riddler and Two-Face from different directions)

Riddler: Riddle me this, Gotham! What has- (Pause) Two-Face? What are you doing here?

Two-Face: Out of the way, Nygma. This is the Second National Bank, and I’m going to rob it.

 Riddler: But this is my heist! I’ve been planning it for months! You can’t just interrupt months of detailed planning because of your obsession with the number two! Why, I’ve already set up my riddle-based death traps of doom in there!

Two-Face: Tough luck, Nygma. You should’ve known better than to gamble on  the Second National Bank with me on the loose. Now get lost. (Shoves Riddler to the ground)

Riddler: Ow! (Stands up, brushes himself off) That was entirely uncalled for! And I’m not going anywhere until you find a different bank to rob. This one is mine! Mine! All mine!

Two-Face: Do you really want to tussle with me, Nygma?

Riddler: You aren’t so tough. I can take you. Probably.

Two-Face: (Laughs) A skinny little nerd like you? In your dreams, loser.

Riddler: I’m not a loser! Why, I’m Gotham’s greatest criminal mastermind and the smartest person in Gotham! You’re just a dumb thug!

Two-Face: I may be a thug, but I’m far from dumb. I was a lawyer before I turned to crime, remember? You have to be smart to get through law school!

Riddler: Whatever you say, Two-Face, whatever you say.

Two-Face: (Grabs Riddler by collar) Look here, punk. I’d feel bad fighting a weakling like you, so I’ll give you one last chance to leave. If you don’t, I’ll beat you to a pulp. Got it?

Riddler: But-but I can’t leave! I spent ten thousand dollars on this heist! If I don’t make a profit, I’m gonna be broke! Those riddle traps aren’t cheap, you know.

Two-Face: That’s your problem, Nygma, not mine. Now leave, or it won’t be just your bank account that’s broke.

(Enter Harley)

Harley: Hi, Two-Face! Hi, Eddie! What are you guys doing here?

Riddler: Hi, kid. I’m trying to rob this bank with the help of my riddle-based death traps of doom, but apparently Two-Face had a similar idea, and so we’re now having a difference of opinion regarding who should rob the bank.

Two-Face: (Shakes Riddler a bit) Yeah, and Nygma was just deciding to leave the bank robbing to a professional. What are you doing here, Harley?

Harley: Mister J sent me to rob the bank to fund our next comedy show.

Two-Face: Well, tell that green-haired freak that Two-Face beat you to it. This is my bank to rob, not his or anyone else’s. Isn’t that right, Nygma?

Riddler: Y-yes, sir. Just let me go and I’ll be out of your hair- (Aside) And out of money again! This stinks! How am I supposed to get respect when this keeps happening?

(Two-Face releases Riddler; Riddler rubs his neck)

Harley: Uh, I don’t think Mister J will like the idea of you taking his money, Two-Face.

Two-Face: Well, that’s too bad, because I’m taking it anyway.

Harley: Couldn’t the three of us just split the money, Two-Face? That way, we can all get what we want, and we don’t have to fight over it.

Riddler: Kid, we’re villains. We don’t share money with anyone, not even adorable little things like you. Sorry to disappoint.

Harley: But we’re friends, aren’t we?

Two-Face: No, we aren’t. At best, we’re acquaintances. Now you two had better get lost before I lose my temper. Like I said earlier, this is my heist, and I don’t share.

(Harley starts crying; Enter Scarecrow)

Scarecrow: Greetings, citizens of Gotham. You are about to participate in the largest experiment in mass hysteria ever recorded, courtesy of me, the Scarecrow! (Notices others) Wait- what are the three of you doing here? You’re not part of my experiment.

Two-Face: Go away, you sadistic creep. I don’t want anything to do with a sicko like you.

(Harley pulls out improbably long handkerchief to blow nose)

Scarecrow: Scared, Two-Face? You should be. And Riddler, how nice to see you.

Riddler: H-hello, Scarecrow. I-I was just leaving. See you around! (Tries to exit, only for Scarecrow to grab him and pull him back)

Scarecrow: Leaving so soon? Why, the experiment has only just begun!

Two-Face: (Mutters) Experiment, my foot. (To the others) I thought I told all three of you to leave! This is my bank robbery, not a fear experiment or a way to fund stupid jokes or a way to prove intellectual superiority! Now go before I get violent!

Scarecrow: Leave intimidation to me, Two-Face. You lack the proper finesse to be truly frightening to anyone-except for cowards like Riddler, of course.

Riddler: I-I’m not a coward! I’m a genius! (Aside) Why, oh, why did I have to pick the one bank in Gotham that three other supervillains wanted? It’s going to ruin me, and then I’ll never be able to prove that I’m better than Batman! It’s not fair! They cheated me! They cheated! (Pouts)

Harley: (Notices the Scarecrow, runs to him, hugs him) Hiya, Professor Crane! It’s nice to see you! How have you been?

Scarecrow: Good evening, child. I have been doing well, and I have conducted many fascinating experiments in fear. How have you been?

Harley: Great, Professor Crane!

Two-Face: (To Harley) You actually like this psycho?

Harley: Of course! He was my professor of psychology!

Scarecrow: And she was my favorite student. Her grasp of the physiological and psychological effects of fear, as well as the names and causes of many phobias, was astounding. (Pause) Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I have a fear experiment to conduct.

Two-Face: Oh, no, you don’t. No one’s committing a crime in that bank but me!

Harley: No, I’m robbing it for Mister J!

Scarecrow: Child, my experiments are much more important than petty thievery, and there are plenty of other banks for you to rob. Couldn’t you attack one of them instead?

Harley: Mister J specifically told me to attack this one, Professor Crane. Couldn’t you do your experiment somewhere else? Or just wait for me to rob the bank before you start your experiment? I really wanna impress Mister J, and he’ll kill me if I don’t do what he says.

Two-Face: Why do you stay with that clown? He’s such a creep!

(The three ad lib an argument)

Riddler: Fellow villains, I have a brilliant solution to our problem! (Pause) Hey, guys, I have an idea! (Pause) Is anybody listening to me? I said I have an idea. (Pause) BE QUIET SO I CAN TELL YOU ALL MY PLAN!

(Other villains stop arguing)

Scarecrow: So, you finally grew a spine. I’m impressed, Riddler. What’s your idea?

Riddler: We all want to attack the same bank, but none of us are willing to team up or take turns, right?

Harley/Scarecrow/Two-Face: Right.

Riddler: So why don’t we bet for it? I have a fine set of cards at home, after all. The winner of the game gets to rob the bank-or spread fear gas, as the case may be- and the other three have to help them. Does that sound like a brilliant plan or what?

Harley: I love games! I’m in!

Two-Face: Everybody has equal odds of winning. That sounds fair to me. But I’ll have to flip my coin to decide. (Flips coin) The coin says that it’s a good idea. Let’s play.

Scarecrow: I normally dislike games, but, as this one will allow me to spend time with Harley, study three severely disturbed individuals, and get assistants for my experiment, I will play your game as well, and study how much you suffer from Ludophobia- the fear of losing-by so doing.

Riddler: Terrific! Let’s go to my Riddle-Lair.

(Exit all)

Act II

(Enter Batman on the phone)

Batman: Hello? Hello, Commissioner Gordon. Is something wrong? (Pause) The Scarecrow’s escaped from Arkham, too? That makes four high-profile criminals on the loose. Do we have any leads as to where they might have gone? Mmm-hmm. Uh-huh. Make sure that Gotham’s citizens know not to attempt to engage them. The last time someone tried that, they ended up in the hospital. Thanks for telling me about his escape. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Well, I’ll start looking for him-and Arkham’s other three escapees-straightaway. Good-bye, Commissioner. (Puts phone away) Hello, audience. I am Batman, the guardian of Gotham City. I have been protecting the innocent citizens of Gotham City from its large collection of lunatics, mob bosses, corrupt politicians, psychopathic psychologists, and ordinary thieves and thugs, and I have also trained my ward, young Dick Grayson, to help me fight crime as Robin. However, he is in Washington, D.C. for a field trip, and so I am single-handedly striking fear into superstitious, cowardly criminals until he returns. However, I am currently facing a much more serious problem than usual: namely, the fact that Harley Quinn, Two-Face, the Riddler, and the Scarecrow have escaped from Arkham and are running amok. Each one is a dangerous criminal in their own right, and the idea of all four on the loose simultaneously would be enough to strike strong fear into the hearts of the good people of Gotham. Therefore, I must quickly defeat and recapture all four criminals before they can start committing crimes-or, worse yet, decide to team up. To the Batmobile, audience! (Batman pantomimes getting into car and then driving it) My sources tell me that the Riddler is hiding out in an abandoned publishing facility, while Harley Quinn is in an abandoned amusement park and the Scarecrow is in an abandoned haunted house. Two-Face is probably in one of his many apartments, but I’m not sure which one he’s in, so I should probably look for him first. Tell me if you see anything, audience. Thank you.

Act III

(Enter Riddler, Two-Face, Scarecrow, and Harley)

Harley: Nice place you got here, Eddie.

Riddler: I know, right? I took over this publishing facility after it was abandoned, added a few personal touches, and wallah! Instant masterpiece of home decorating!

Two-Face: If you like neon green question marks, maybe.

Riddler: Who doesn’t ?

Two-Face: 99.9% of people who aren’t you.

Harley: I like it. It’s so shiny and pretty!

Two-Face: That’s because, you, like Nygma, have the attention span, maturity level, and taste of a six-year-old.

Riddler: I do not have the brain of a six-year-old! Why, I’m the world’s greatest criminal mastermind! If I wasn’t a mature adult, I couldn’t be.

Two-Face: One, your claim to that title is very, very debatable. Two, even if you are a mastermind, your crimes are based on riddles, puzzles, and brainteasers. You’re an adult who uses children’s games for your crimes, and you throw hissy fits when you lose. Even I can’t deny that you’re a genius when it comes to tech and wordplay, but you have an extremely immature outlook on the majority of life.

Scarecrow: In other words, Riddler, you’re a technological and linguistic savant. Your skill in those areas far outstrips your capability in any other aspect of life, and in terms of social behavior you are extremely delayed to the point of it being clear that, emotionally and socially speaking, you’re still a small child. And Harleen has regressed to that point as well, in large part thanks to the Joker. Both of you are adults who act like children, and it’s why you’re insane.

Riddler: Whatever. You’re just jealous because neither of you has a brilliant mind like mine. (He grabs a box of cards and sits down at a table with them)

Scarecrow:  (To Two-Face) And, of course, his delusions of grandeur make his mental issues worse. (Both laugh and sit down)

Harley: Professor Crane! Two-Face! Stop being mean to Eddie! (Sits down)

Riddler: Yeah, stop being mean to Eddie-er, me!

Two-Face: (To Riddler) Aww, did we hurt your feelings? Scarecrow: (To Two-Face) Knock it off, Two-Face.

Two-Face: Why? It’s fun to watch Nygma freak out.

Scarecrow: I told you to knock it off! I don’t particularly care for Riddler, either, but we’re upsetting Harleen by making fun of him, and I hate it when she gets upset.

Two-Face: Who are you, and what have you done with Jonathan Crane?

Scarecrow: Harleen is my only friend, all right? I’m allowed to be nice to one person, aren’t I?

Two-Face: So, the big bad Scarecrow has a soft spot, huh? How cute.

Scarecrow: Mock me again and I’ll give you a faceful of fear gas.

Two-Face: Okay, okay, I’m sorry!

Scarecrow: That’s better. So, Riddler, what are we playing?

Riddler: I was thinking poker, but it’s really up to you three. I mean, I’ll win no matter what we play, so it doesn’t matter to me.

Two-Face: (Flips coin) The coin says we play blackjack.

Scarecrow: I was hoping to play rummy, myself, but as I am here to win, not to enjoy myself, I don’t particularly care what we play.

Harley: Um, the only card game I know how to play is Go Fish. Can we play that?

Riddler: You’ve never played a card game besides Go Fish? Really?

Harley: Really really, Eddie.

Riddler: Why?

Harley: All the other ones confuse me.

Riddler: I see. Since I don’t feel like teaching you to play poker, I guess we’re playing go fish.

Scarecrow: Very well. As I said, this  is merely an opportunity for me to study human behavior, nothing more. Go Fish is as good a game as any for that purpose.

Two-Face: No way are we playing Go Fish. That game is for little kids, not super criminals. Can you imagine how we’d look playing a game for little kids?

Riddler: Well, according to you, Harley and I act like children anyway, so why wouldn’t we play a kids’ game?

Two-Face: Okay, then, imagine how I’d look playing a kids’ game.

Harley: Aww, you’d be adorable , Two-Face!

Two-Face: Not the point I was trying to make. I wouldn’t look adorable, I’d look stupid, and nobody in the underground would ever take me seriously again. I am not playing Go Fish!

Scarecrow: All right, then you forfeit the game and have to help whichever one of us wins carry out our crime.

Two-Face: Fine! If that’s how you’re gonna play it, then I’ll ask my coin whether I should participate. (Flips coin; groans) Deal me in.

(Riddler deals and the four play Go Fish, ad libbing all the while)

Riddler: Yipee! I won! I won! I actually won! And you two thought I was a joke!

(Two-Face and Scarecrow grumble and glare as Riddler does an obnoxious happy dance)

Harley: Congrats, Eddie! Do you mind if I steal a little something for myself to keep Mister J happy while we’re helping you?

Riddler: Of course not. I may be a psychotic maniac, but even I don’t want to see you get hurt by that barbaric clown again. Speaking of which, you should really find a new boyfriend who treats you with the respect you deserve.

Harley: Whaddaya mean, Eddie? My puddin’ loves me!

Scarecrow: No, he doesn’t. If he did, he wouldn’t threaten to kill you for failing to fulfill his requests. I’ve told you this a thousand times before-he doesn’t love you, he’s using you.

Harley: Well, maybe Mister J is a little rough sometimes-

Riddler: A little rough? He pushed you out of a fourth-story window! What’s a lot rough for you, having him drop a nuclear bomb on you? Oh, wait-he was willing to do that, too!

Harley: But I l-l-love him!

(Harley starts crying again, Riddler pats her on the back awkwardly)

Two-Face: Does anyone else find it a little odd that three supervillains are lecturing someone about how they’re in an abusive relationship?

Scarecrow: Maybe a little. But then again, I used to be a psychologist. I know the signs of an abusive relationship when I see one.

Two-Face: You do? I thought you only cared about fear.

Scarecrow: I may be fascinated by the effects of fear on the human psyche, but that doesn’t mean that I have completely forgotten everything else I learned in order to become a psychologist. And besides, that poor child’s fear of disappointing the Joker, while invigorating for me in the abstract, is also what keeps her from leaving him. Fear plays a large role in such abusive relationships, and as such, I know a lot about it. (Pause) Poor child. Poor, poor child.

Two-Face: Why does her relationship with the Joker bother you ? You’re the psycho who deliberately makes people see their worst fears for your twisted “research”!

Scarecrow: That doesn’t mean I entirely lack standards, Two-Face. And, even if it did, that doesn’t mean that I want the only person in my entire life who ever wanted to be my friend to be constantly abused by the clown who claims to love her.

Two-Face: Okay, you have a point. (Examines his gun)

Harley: Why does everyone think that my puddin is abusing me? He doesn’t mean anything by what he does to me. (Blows nose)

Riddler: We think he’s abusing you because he is! He threw you out of a fourth-story window, drove you insane, got you involved in battles with a crime fighting ninja, throws you around, hits you, never listens to what you have to say, lies to you, makes fun of you, makes you do things against your will, and ignores you when you’re not convenient. What else would you call that?

Scarecrow: It’s simple psychology, really. He follows the standard pattern of abusers: he pretends he’s nice to win you to his side, then he makes you think that you can’t live without him, and once he’s convinced he can control you, he starts with the abuse.

Harley: But I love him!

Riddler: Is loving him worth him trying to kill you when he gets angry?

Harley: Yes.

(Riddler and Scarecrow groan)

Scarecrow: Child, if you stay with him, he will kill you. I am very similar to him, so I know that he is incapable of love. At best, you are a diversion to him. At worst, you are a punching bag. You need to break up with him and find someone else-preferably someone else who is less prone to creating gigantic explosions.

Riddler: My vote would be that you turn “puddin” into pudding, but that’s neither here nor there. Either way, you should ditch that creep and move on with your life.

Harley: But where would I go?

Riddler: Poison Ivy likes you. Maybe you could go live with her.

Harley: Thanks for the suggestion. You guys are the best friends a psychotic nutcase could ask for. (Blows nose) From now on, I’m done with that homicidal, abusive clown.

Scarecrow: Wonderful! And if he tries to bother you, I’ll give him a nightmare that he’ll never wake up from.

(Harley hugs Riddler, who looks thrilled, then hugs Scarecrow)

Riddler: (Aside) I got hugged by a girl! Score!

Two-Face: Can we go rob the bank now, please? I’m as fond of weird counseling sessions as anyone else, but if we don’t get going soon, I’m going to forget our deal and rob the place by myself using my own plan.

Riddler: Okay, okay, we’re coming. Don’t have a cow.

Harley: You know, now that I’ve broken up with Mister J, I don’t really need to rob the bank, so I’m going to go find Ivy. Good-bye!

Riddler: Atta girl, kid! Bye!

Scarecrow: Farewell, child.

(Exit Harley)

Two-Face: You two really are crazy.

Riddler: And we wouldn’t have it any other way. Let’s go rob that bank!

Commercial Break!

Act IV

(Enter Batman)

Batman: I’ve checked the hideouts of Two-Face, Harley Quinn, and the Scarecrow, but they weren’t at any of them. That means that they must’ve teamed up with Riddler for some reason, and they must be hanging out here, at the abandoned publishing facility Riddler uses. I hope that, whatever nefarious crime they’re planning, they’re still here now, because if they aren’t, I’ll have to deal with panicked civilians.

(Enter Harley)

Harley: Hi, Batman! (Does double take) Batman?

Batman: Surrender  quietly and things will be much easier for you, Ms. Quinzel.

Harley: Great! I was just looking for you! (Hugs him) I’m breaking up with the Joker, so I need to go to Arkham to get away with him and meet up with Red.

Batman: (Confused) You’re surrendering?

Harley: Yeah! I’m breaking up with the Joker, so I need to go to Arkham so that he can’t get me, and this is the quickest way to do it.

Batman: All right. (Handcuffs her) Why the change of heart regarding the Joker?

Harley: Eddie and Professor Crane told me he was abusing me, and they made sense, so I decided to leave him and become my own person again.

Batman: I’m glad to hear that, Ms. Quinzel. I wish you the best of luck with your attempt to break the cycle of codependency and abuse.

(They pantomime getting into the Batmobile and driving to Arkham in it. Harley throws her hands in the air like she’s on a roller coaster)

Harley: WHEEE!

(Batman stops the car and lets her out. They ‘walk inside’ Arkham)

Batman: Good-bye, Ms. Quinzel.

Harley: Good-bye, Batman. (Hugs him) And next time, you can call me Harley. Everybody does.

Batman: Good-bye, Harley. (Aside) Now I just have to hope that the other three have kept out of trouble.

Act V

(Enter Riddler, Scarecrow, and Two-Face)

Two-Face: If this plan fails, I’ll make you eat your hat.

Riddler: Fail? I’m a genius! So long as Batman doesn’t show up, my plan can’t possibly fail!

(Enter Batman)

Batman: Hello, gentlemen.

Scarecrow: (To Riddler) Congratulations, Riddler. You jinxed your own plan. How predictable.

Batman: I assume that asking the three of you to come in quietly would be too much to ask.

Riddler: How did you solve my riddles, Batman?

Batman: I didn’t have to. The three of you left a trail so obvious that anyone could have followed you here.

Riddler: You didn’t solve the riddles I sent you? Then I won! I won! I actually won!

Batman: Sure. Whatever makes you happy. (Aside) It’s like fighting a six-year-old.

Riddler: And now, I’ll kill you with a riddle-based death trap of-

(Batman knocks him out)

Batman: There’s your prize, Nygma.

Scarecrow: Did you see Harleen, by any chance?

Batman: Yes, I did. I took her to the asylum myself, in fact. Why?

Scarecrow: I was hoping that she would find a way to keep herself safe from that lunatic. Good for her! (Pause; Brandishes fear canister) It’s time for you to face your fears, Batman!

Batman: No, it’s time for you to face the law. (Knocks fear canister out of his hands) Why did you willingly help Harley, Crane?

Scarecrow: That’s personal information, Batman. (Tries to grab fear canister, is knocked out by Batman)

Two-Face: (Makes a run for the bank) Looks like I get the money after all! (Is knocked out by Batman)

Batman: Good night, Dent. (Pulls out phone) Hello? Commissioner Gordon? It’s Batman. I have three criminals for you to arrest. They’re right outside the Second National Bank. Thank you. (Puts phone away) I can’t believe that the Scarecrow and the Riddler care enough about Harley to try to get her away from the Joker, but it’s beneficial anyway, as it means that I might not have to deal with Harley Quinn any more. Who would have expected that?

#batman #batman rogues #dc comics #fanfic #theater

[ziasann]

here lies our sins

for @stoistical

"It is in my best interest to present a new evidence in this court, your honor."

"Proceed, counsel." 

Lawyer Dazai Osamu stands up from his seat, all the while feeling Chuuya's burning gaze in his back as he approaches the judge with a file in hand. Judge Kunikida accepts the papers, and reads its content. Dazai prances around the courtroom, determined to explain what had been given.

He doesn't want to pull out this card, however, if it means winning his daughter, Aya, into his arms...then.

"These are medical records of Nakahara Chuuya who had alcoholic tendencies and abuse, as well as nicotine addiction." 

As expected, Chuuya immediately jumped in defense. 

"Objection, your honor! Never had my alcohol intake ever led to any type of abuse with my daughter!" Rage bristles in Chuuya's icy eyes. Dazai did his best to hide his flinch, had he been more vulnerable, his actions will be transparent to his opponent.

He had to be strong, for Aya. For their daughter.

"And will we ever give a probability to let a poor child, nevertheless, a young girl, be exposed to an alcoholic and smoking parent? Will we only take caution after an accident happened? When we could have done something to prevent it beforehand?" The jurors seemed to nod at his statement, good, he needs their ultimate decision to win this case.

"You think you're any better, Mr. Dazai? As brought up by the previous proceedings, your mental state wasn't in any better shape. Not even consulting a doctor or a therapist about your suicidal attempts. Do you want your daughter to come home with a dead father? What kind of daughter you'd raise if everyday she's scared going home to a dead body?!"

By this point, Chuuya was making his way to Dazai. His steps loudly thudding the waxed floor. 

"If we're bringing up previous trials, and environment, do you think she's safer when you have shady visitors in your apartment every time you take a case? Your clients in your practice are part of the criminal world, Chuuya, mob bosses, gang lords, and mafia men, I was there when you received them back then. And I am sure you're still receiving people like them now."

"Do you think I'm not capable of protecting a child?" Chuuya retorted.

"You weren't even capable of protecting yourself!" Dazai shouted. 

The judge pounded his gavel, the new information slipping in. Kunikida took on the weight of two intense parents fighting for custody of their child. As if his interference wasn't important to their debate.

"Order, Mr. Dazai and Mr. Nakahara. Elaborate your last statement to the court, Mr. Dazai."

Dazai glanced at Chuuya once, they both knew what incident Dazai will bring up. And Chuuya helplessly knew to what extent Dazai will use in order to win this case.

"Your honor, Mr. Nakahara had been kidnapped once by the underground people while working on a high-profile case." 

"Is this true, Mr. Nakahara?" Kunikida asked.

"Yes, your honor," Chuuya said deflated. "But it was years ago-"

"This appeal had been made years ago, your challenge to the judgement had proven there were no new constituents as to have custody of the child, Aya Koda, to you, Mr. Nakahara." The judge announced, "As such, the judgement will never be rescinded, you will only have visits to your child supervised by the Social Welfare Services twice a month."

"Goddammit! Are you happy now, bastard?" 

A slap to Dazai's face, and Chuuya walks out of the courtroom.

He was never happy to begin with. 

***

"I said it once, I'll say it again. Quit being an underground lawyer, Chuuya. I'll move back in with Aya. We'd drop the appeal." Dazai said as he found Chuuya by the parking lot, smoking his favorite cigarette.

Chuuya spat out the cigarette, and stepped on it.

"You think I can just quit as easy as that?" Chuuya faced him.

"I was a criminal lawyer once, Chuuya, now I'm a human rights lawyer. You think you can't change?" Dazai questioned.

"You were once a criminal lawyer, yes, I remember that. Infamous demon attorney Dazai Osamu. We used to be legal partners, I remember that too. Until one day, you quitted being a criminal lawyer, and do you know what I had to sacrifice in order to protect you and our child? They wanted you back in the underworld, Dazai! But I don't want you back there so I sold my soul and told them I'd win all their cases as long as you and Aya are safe!"

Chuuya was shaking by the end of his statement.

"Fuck it, I said too much!" Chuuya left the premises, riding on his car and driving full speed away from the shell-shocked silent Dazai.

After all those years, the reason why the underworld no longer contacts him...just because of Chuuya. 

If only the world was simpler, their family would live happily in it.

#soukoku #soukoku au #soukoku lawyers au #insp rogue lawyer #drabble request #Nakahara Chuuya #Dazai Osamu #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #chuuya x dazai #koda aya #bungou stray dogs #zia's prompt ask #skk #bsd #y'all this isn't an accurate depiction #mostly fanfiction

[theartofdyingrp]

    E L I J A H  D E  L U C A   -

age: thirty-eight years old occupation: consigliere affiliation: solano faceclaim: james marsden  availability: open

Elijah De Luca, fourth born son in a New York crime empire, never felt like he had a place. He grew up in the shadows of his older brothers, one poised to inherit the duties of their father, one trained to be his right hand, while the third played the role of muscle, executing plans in the field. Eli was young, smart and scrawny. The De Luca Mafia could do without. His parents weren’t terribly interested in what he did or how he did it, but rather than rebel craving attention, Eli worked hard towards escape.

Since he was a boy, Eli dreamed of the west coast. Specifically, southern California. The year-round sun called his name to put the industrial grey of New York behind him. He had no animosity towards the family he grew up in, but was desperate for something to call his own. Eli worked hard in school, earning himself a full ride at Stanford. He didn’t need the cash, but any way to break out of the De Luca family chains was welcome. He felt if he took any tuition money from his parents, he’d be indebted to them and Eli demanded his independence.

At Stanford, Eli was introduced to the rest of his life. Coming from a fairly influential family, he was tapped by an elite secret society where he met Adrian Solano. The two had similar upbringings and hit it off immediately. Studying law, Eli had no intention of involving himself in the mafia, but his friendship with Adrian changed that. He could see a future in which he played a pivotal role shaping the organization by his best friend’s side.

Adrian was a leader, that much was clear to Elijah, but the heir to the Solano empire knew how to let loose. Having fun without worry of consequence wasn’t Eli’s strong suit so while Adrian ushered him into the world of girls and parties, Eli used his head to ensure Adrian didn’t flunk out. The Solano family welcomed Eli with open arms and quickly became his surrogate family. He would go over for Sunday dinners, charm Adrian’s mother and sister and talk shop with his father and brother.

Four years of an undergrad followed by even more time in law school, Eli eventually graduated and was ready to enter the real world. Practicing law in California, especially when you had family and close friends in the mob, meant defending criminals in court. From petty drug deals to white collar, high profile fraud charges, Eli made a name for himself in the judicial system. While Eli wanted to pave his own way in the world, he couldn’t turn his back on his old life entirely. Besides, his best friend was the heir to an entire crime empire. Adrian was bound to get in trouble one day; he’d need Eli to be well-versed in the world of criminal law.

Over the years, Eli watched Adrian’s life fall into place while his world just stood still. It wasn’t until Luis Solano fell ill that his life took a turn. Adrian started taking on more and more responsibility, needed Eli’s help to handle it all. Preparing for his father’s untimely end, he asked for Eli to be his consigliere, a position highly regarded and respected in classic mafia structures. Eli’s always been Adrian’s most trusted advisor. This just made it official.

Being in the room when Luis asked Adrian to shoot him was the most difficult thing Eli’s ever been through; he can’t even imagine how hard it was for his best friend. Eli watched as Adrian pulled the trigger and saw the life leave his eyes as he did, the same way it left Luis’. Eli knew that Adrian would never be the same. His temper flared and some loyalists began to fear him, but Adrian never did anything to hurt the business; no, he just took it out on his wife. Lissa stood by while Adrian changed and let his grief and guilt take over. It was honourable; Eli was sure if he was in her position, he wouldn’t have been as strong. Though, when she asked him to help her find a decent divorce lawyer, he couldn’t refuse her wishes.

Eli knew about the affair and it killed him to watch his best friend ruin his relationship with the woman who loved him. It wasn’t something he could understand; he couldn’t empathize. All he knew was that he had to be a rock for both Adrian and Lissa. Even if he failed, he had to try. He stayed in Lissa’s apartment late at night and held her when she cried, drinking the bottles of wine she brought out, mostly so she didn’t drink it all herself.

The emotion filled nights led him to admit something he hid for almost two decades. He loved her. And he told her. He wasn’t expecting her to kiss him first. He knows it’s a betrayal to Adrian, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Though, little Sylvie running around telling everyone how much she loves to having her Uncle Eli over for dinner so often proves to be a little nerve wracking; he’s not sure what would happen if Adrian ever found out the truth.

   C O N N E C T I O N S   -

adrian solano: best friend lissa briganti: interest

#lsrp #lsrpg #crime rp #mob rp #bio rp #solano #elijahbio #open