#michael corleone x reader

[lostloveletters]

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

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

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

Word count: 4.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wailing. 

Screaming. 

Arguing. 

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

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

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Your father’s a fool–”

Gianni shook his head. “A dead fool–”

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

Another cursed. “Selfish bastard!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should we go in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do they want to kill you?”

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

“You can stay.”

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

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

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

“Michael Corleone,” he said.

“Like the village.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You bid each other good night. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you miss it?”

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

“But you can’t go back.”

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

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

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

“How long have you been sick for?”

“Years. More than you’d believe.”

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

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

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

He hesitated. “Not how you’d think.”

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

“You’re here now.”

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

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

“Michael, you’re scaring me.”

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

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

“Then what’s there to be afraid of?”

“Nothing.”

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

“I can’t stay forever.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Michael,” you whispered.

“Don’t fight me, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart?”

“To my neck.”

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

“Me either,” you admitted. 

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

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

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

“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?” 

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

“I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You–You’ve been making me like you.”

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

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?”

“I guess not.”

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

“How–How much longer until I’m–”

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

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

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

#the godfather #michael corleone #michael corleone x reader #the godfather x reader #michael corleone imagine #michael corleone fanfic #the godfather imagine #the godfather fanfic

[a-boca-do-inferno]

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

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

warnings: angst

words: 1.0k

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

This was long overdue. 

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

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

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

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

Michael’s.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or so she hoped. 

#the godfather #michael corleone #al pacino #the godfather x reader #michael corleone x reader #al pacino x reader #the godfather imagine #michael corleone imagine

[chicaboom-chic]

More Than Business- Michael Corleone x Reader

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

Thank you @21witnokidz for the prompt.

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

WORD COUNT: 3967 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is Michael using me?

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

Is Michael using me?

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

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

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

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

Oh, God!

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

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

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

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

Connections that Michael might need.

No, this can't be. 

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

It can’t be…

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

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

Did Michael love you?

Did he not?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he love me?

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

But what else did I expect?

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

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

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

“Have you eaten?” Michael asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe I am overreacting?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widened immediately, and your mouth fell open.

Oh no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.” You sniffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I care about you.”

“I really do.”

He cares about me? You sniffed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t help but crack a small.

Michael loved you.

Michael loved you!

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

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

“That you love me? Please?”

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

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

You nodded. “Yes, do it again.”

“I love you,”

“I love you,”

“I love you.”

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

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

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

This story was an ungodly level of long and cringe.

Anyways hope you enjoyed it.

#michael corleone x reader #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone imagine #the godfather #the godfather imagine #the godfather fanfic #the godfather x reader #al pacino #al pacino x reader #al Pacino imagine

[daenysthedreamer101]

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

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

Imagine if you were the wife of Michael Corleone

#the godfather #michael corleone #imagine #y/n #michael corleone x reader #x reader #aesthetic #dark feminine aesthetic #al pacino #feminine aesthetic #dark feminine energy #dark femininity #dark femme #dark femenine #fem reader #wife reader #mob wife aesthetic #mob wives

[melis-writes]

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

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

18+, explicit smut read.

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

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

[WARNINGS]: Sexual themes & mentions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Everything should be fine.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

[ 1 Day Before The Las Vegas Gala ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Finishing up for the night?” Tom chuckles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘He was a Corleone too, after all.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

[ Next Morning ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘This man… I swear.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s right,” Michael nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Ah, Anthony…’

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

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

“Marina?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t Mrs. Corleon—”

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

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

[chicoca]

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

(Michael Corleone x Reader fanfic) (AO3)

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

Michael's and reader's pov

Reader has a name

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

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

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

Playlist

Warnings in each chapter

chapter one

chapter two

#the godfather #godfather #al pacino #michael corleone #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone au #the godfather au #fanfic #michael corleone fanfic #fanfiction #fic #ao3 fanfic #chicoca

[chaosfae-writes]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞

summary: sometimes love can only be felt from afar.

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

pairing: Michael Corleone x poc!reader

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

do not repost my works.

The pitter patters of little feet dash.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There you are!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

August, 1957

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

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

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

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

My Michael isn’t alone —- he has me.

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

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

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

Who am I?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It only makes his heart yearn for you more.

I would protect you.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Fredo.” Such a warm greeting.

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

“Thank you for watching the boys.”

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

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

A motherly glow.

“No worries, we were playing all afternoon.”

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

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

It’s comfortable — domestic, even.

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

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

“I would love to.”

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s home.

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

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

Only to you and his babies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

It’s late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A caricature of a man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A fantasy detached from reality to pacify him.

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

He can’t even take care of himself.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

It drives him mad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love solitaire!”

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

But so can he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fredo guffaws playfully, “Rookie’s luck.”

-

The living room is quiet, and warm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like the saint.”

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

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

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

A pregnant pause of comfort falls.

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

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

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

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

“Fredo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why couldn’t I have you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pin can drop in the dead silence.

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

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

A call for your name beckons in the dark.

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

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

Michael stayed quiet for a moment.

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

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

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

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

#chaosfae-writes #michael corleone x reader #fredo corleone #godfather fanfic

[mo0nchi-ld]

La Donna - Michael Corleone x Reader

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

Chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah she does."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello." Kay smiled and nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

#michael corleone #michael corleone x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #michaelcorleonexoc #michaelcorleonefanfic #doncorleone #the godfather #mafia

[fangirl-imagines]

Hiding in Sicily with Michael Corleone

#michael corleone #the godfather #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone imagine #the godfather imagine #the godfather x reader #al pacino #al pacino imagine #al pacino x reader #moodboard

[ddesfleurs]

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

chapter 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What else did you do?"

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

"How did you find out about her?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You."

"I?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's this about, Tom?"

"It's about Grace."

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

"What about her?"

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

#michael corleone #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone fanfic #michael corleone imagine #michael corleone x oc #don corleone #the godfather #the godfather x reader

[areaderinlove]

kinktober

alr yall ik i have some requests that i still didn’t make but i want to participate as much as i can in kinktober even though october is going to be shit cause i have reset exams but anyways give me your request and lemme tell you ill do my best 

#anthony bridgerton fanfic #anakin imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #frank castle imagine #michael corleone x reader #darkling x reader #natasha phoenix tracenatasha romanoff #marc spector smut #steve harrington imagine #eddie munson x reader #andrew garfield peter parker x reader #pete maverick mitchell #carlos sainz jr imagines #carlos sainz jr smut #bran stark imagine #jon snow imagine #daemon targaryen imagine #ser harwin strong #kinktober #requests

[lostloveletters]

Reader-insert fics for The Godfather. You can also find these fics on my AO3.

I do not take fic requests.

Do not interact if you’re under 18, a terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

MICHAEL

Give Me Shelter, The Night Is Dark - Michael Corleone x Reader (Vampire AU, smut, female reader)

SONNY

One of Those Nights - Sonny Corleone x Reader (Smut, female reader)

#the godfather #sonny corleone #michael corleone #michael corleone x reader #sonny corleone x reader #lostloveletters masterlist

[a-boca-do-inferno]

satisfaction (michael corleone x reader) [request]

summary: You see an unexpected side of Michael.

warnings: fluff

words: 0.3k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe you could get used to this Michael.

#the godfather imagine #the godfather x reader #the godfather #michael corleone #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone imagine #al pacino imagine #al pacino x reader #al pacino #doodle

[deadvilesworld]

I just started getting into the godfather and can’t help but feel disappointed in the lack of Sonny Corleone fan fiction. IM GETTING SCRAPS HERE. Young James Caan ( RIP ) played Sonny so well and for being one the most iconic and famous films of all time, I’m sad not see as much godfather ( Sonny ) fanfics. Thank you for attending my TED talk.

#the godfather #marlon brando #james caan #sonny corleone #michael corleone #fredo corleone #connie corleone #don corleone #vito corleone #Sonny corleone x reader #disappointed #i'm sad

[melis-writes]

Victoria touching herself for Michael to watch. 😳

😳 😳 How many of us girlies can sit still while doing that in front of Michael Corleone…

‘God…’ With your head slightly tilted back and lost within self indulgence, your eyes remain half open while soft, hot breaths escaping your lips with each moan.

Michael’s plush, full lips wrap around the end his half-finished cigarette as he keeps his eyes scouring over your body in both entertainment and amusement; arousal pulsating over his body.

Kneeling on the center of the bed with your legs spread as wide as you can keep them, your fingers toy over your dewy clit—spreading your wetness over the folds of your pussy again and again.

Michael’s lustful gaze over you only intensifies your arousal pumping through you, rushing warmth to your skin as your breathing begins to hitch on and off.

Michael’s half shrugged off overcoat loosely hands over his shoulders and arms as he sits upon the armchair in the corner of the bedroom, facing you.

Michael’s tie is almost completely loosened; five of the buttons on his dress shirt undone to reveal a peek of his chest hair, his leather belt on the floor with one hand resting over his thigh while he smokes with the other in what one may describe as almost elegant yet cautious.

Not once does Michael take his eyes off of you or your actions, and while he watches you tease and please yourself, you feel his eyes directly locked with yours but over every inch of your body at the same time.

Michael notices the way your tongue wets your lips, how you squeeze your eyes shut when you edge off your growing orgasm and how the muscles in your body strain towards the rush of pleasure constantly hitting you.

“Perfect,” he whispers out, watching you slick two fingers inside of your pussy in and out in perfect rhythm; the sloppy sounds of your arousal’s lubrication being nothing but music to his ears.

“M-Michael,” you breathe, bucking your hips out of reaction as you feel more of your wetness begin to trickle inbetween your thighs.

“Good girl,” Michael comments back—speaking in a soft, ushered tone as he watches your thighs begin to quiver again. “Hold yourself back for me, again.”

You give a small, shaky nod as you continue to rub over your throbbing clit with your thumb; your fingers practically sliding over your pussy from how wet you’ve grown.

“You…” You moan softly, squeezing your eyes shut for a brief second, “love watching me do this to myself, d-don’t you?”

Michael’s gaze hardens over you at your question as he gives you a slow, stern nod—blowing smoke out towards you. “Are you talking back to me?”

“N-no, Don Corleone,” you whine, slowly beginning to add a third finger in.

Michael lowers his cigarette, putting it out upon the crystal ashtray next to him; noticing how your actions begin to slow down from an inevitable orgasm attempting to push through.

“Don’t,” Michael speaks out, gesturing for you to come to him.

“I was—” You pant quietly, moving your hands away.

“You’re not going to let yourself cum,” Michael states, interrupting you. “Come here.”

Blushing furiously, you slowly get off the bed and begin to get down on your knees; careful with your thighs shaking again before you look up at Michael obediently.

“You’re doing so well,” Michael purrs, reaching towards the fly of his dress trousers. “Come here. You won’t come without me this time.”

#godfather au #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone #michael corleone x reader smut #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone smut #smut prompts #moth to flame fic #moth to flame fanfic #godfather x reader #godfather smut #canon #vichael

[chicoca]

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

Chapter two: can't take my eyes off of you/ ao3

Song: can't take my eyes off you - engelbert humperdinck

Warnings: Violent descriptions and suggestive acts.

Words: 7.6K

dedicated to my beloved @yezzyyae ♡

A few days before his arrival, Michael and Nina face their own forbidden desires. A look at Nina's engagement. And small encounters.

Read masterlist for summary and playlist <3

Don Tommasino’s house remained relatively silent, even with all the soldiers hanging around. What he could always hear was the melody that the little radio, in the kitchen, was playing. Some italian ballads with romantic tones that set the mood for silent afternoons. Sometimes, when he came down unexpectedly, he dared to think that you were there in the kitchen, dancing slowly to the music, feeling the notes in your being.

As every Saturday he had planned an outing to Palermo, in the company of his bodyguards. It wasn’t like they could defend him. The reality was that they served as witnesses and backup for anything that happened in Sicily. He didn’t know much, but they told him things were tense between The Families. New businesses with new faces arrived. Men deported from the United States who managed to establish themselves as new mafiosi. Prostitution, drugs and corruption already invaded Sicily. But these men appeared more aggressive, and that was bad to the Don. Because he was an old–fashioned man, his domain didn’t contemplate things beyond the management of territories and alliances with the wealthiest men in town. His power within those large spaces attracted the attention of the new mafiosi, causing their protection to be weakened. 

The Quintana family had control of drug trafficking in Corleone, especially heroin, which is why they had the power to intimidate the new mafiosi. By having a large hectares of crops and a lot of men in production, they dominated that business. Like the new mafiosi, the Quintanas also wanted to own the lands that Don Tommasino managed, as well as his contacts with the elite and politics. Don Tommasino didn’t mix with the new forms of extortion, having the police on his side and Lieutenant Gaspare Pisciotta, he was protected from any ambush.

That’s why the war didn’t end. Men died from side to side but no one gave in. Don Tommasino wasn’t going to, much less Guido Quintana. But time has passed and the Dons, even without retiring, have granted opinions from their heirs. Simone supported his father in maintaining the land and promoted new perspectives on the trafficking business. And Leandro, for his part, had an alliance in mind, because, according to him, the De Rosas and the Quintanas could be much stronger if they were united. Of course, that meeting ended in an altercation where Don Tommasino profoundly refused to involve you. Leandro promised that it would be his only attempt to mediate peace, since he didn’t intend to be soft on his enemies. For Don Tommasino that was final, but he didn’t count on Leandro finding you in Paris while you were studying. His plan was almost perfect. Court you, fall in love, get married and inevitably become part of the De Rosas, you being a Quintana. It would be something irreparable for the clan.

Sadly for him, your soul was too indomitable to fall for a man thirsty for your father’s power. You knew it the third or fourth time he spoke to you, but you still couldn’t walk away. Leandro appeared in many places, persuading you with presents, pretty words and smiles. When that didn’t work he was honest with you. He admitted that he would hurt your father, even though he didn't want to because that meant hurting you. For him there were two ways to get what he wanted, and there was a good way and a bad way. You had to decide.

Although you never wanted to get involved in your father’s business, you were aware of it and supportive of his decisions regarding what the family meant. You met politicians, greeted their wives, talked to their daughters while your father made deals in his office. You knew how it worked and your father wouldn’t lie to you if you asked. At the end of the day you understood the value of his work, and you loved him so much that you didn’t have to think twice. Leandro wasn’t a bad man, he didn’t treat you badly, he didn't threaten you directly, and he never tried to do anything to you.  For you, he was just asking you to help, and how could you not do it if it meant your father’s safety.

When your brothers found out they swore death to the Quintanas. Even Guido didn’t agree to form such a bond. But you got stubborn. Leandro was capable of murdering your entire family in order to ascend and dominate all of Corleone. He was hungry for power and your family was just an obstacle that, for better or worse, he had to deal with. The Quintanas were known for being bloodthirsty and cruel. They had no mercy with women, children or babies. They had killed entire families, including pets. They left no trace of anything after stealing it all. 

You took it as a duty. Something you could do and live with. Leandro was attractive and educated. He could be a good man if he put his mind to it. You wouldn’t be the first woman to marry for convenience. And even though your father never wanted that fate for you, it seemed that the world chose to reduce your life like that. It was ultimate. You agreed to get married with the promise that your family would be fine, like a guarantee of the mafia. Leandro didn’t plan to disappoint you, with the commitment to marry you, Don Tommasino granted some land that would only be given with the birth of the firstborn Quintana–De Rosa.

You hadn’t thought about being a mother yet. But you knew that Leandro had it in mind and wanted to get you pregnant as soon as possible. Therefore, your wedding would be in a week. Planned in less than a month. A month that you left college, abandoning your artistic dreams in the name of your family. You could still write and publish, you have been doing it for a while. Also teach literature at a local school. But your great aspirations were already a thing of the past. Travel the world, learn, live your experiences deeply. You planned to be free, with the power that being your father’s daughter gave you. For a moment you seemed to escape the fate of every woman in the Sicilian mafia. But time came to you with the face of a man whom you will have to tolerate your entire life.  That’s your destiny.

So Michael was a surprise to you. The obvious attraction was clear, and maybe in another world you would have tried something. But it was impossible, Michael seemed to be an inaccessible man in his own tumult of problems. You had your own. So, no matter how hard it was, avoiding him was the best, because in his presence you seemed to talk more, and flirt, and be who you were before Leandro appeared.

You knew that that Saturday he would go out to Palermo with his guards. That’s why you stayed in the kitchen helping your mother with lunch. He wouldn’t eat at home, preferring to take a couple of sandwiches for the road. As an irony of life, your mother asked you to debone the chickens that he would take. So now, with the ballad playing in the background, you shook your hips gently while you sank your fingers into the oily flesh. Behind you your mother was talking about the decorations that would arrive tomorrow. But you couldn’t pay attention, because you heard those footsteps approaching.

At the entrance to the kitchen he appears with his hair combed carelessly, wearing all dark, pants and dress shirt under a large coat, and he stands there with his gloved hands crossed, waiting to be noticed. 

He’s behind you, you know it by the tingle that runs down your spine, it feels warm like drinking coffee on a cold day. His perfume and the smell of soap, that only visitors use, impregnated your senses with his essence, a delight that you took with your eyes closed.

“Good morning, Michele. Ready to go, I see” Your mother said cheerfully.

You looked over your shoulder as he approached and leaned on the counter. For a second he looked at you in the eyes, but you turned around avoiding him.

“Buongiorno Signora De Rosa… Buongiorno Nina (Good morning Mrs. De Rosa… Good morning Nina)” The way he curled his tongue saying your name almost gave you a shiver, so slow it seemed like he was savoring naming you.

“Nina, saluta il ragazzo… Dio, questa ragazza è tra le nuvole (Nina, greet the boy… God, this girl is in the clouds)” You turned around looking briefly at your mother. You blushed a little at the embarrassment you felt, if Michael noticed it he made no attempt to show it.

“Buongiorno Michele, sarai a Palermo tutto il pomeriggio? (Good morning Michael, will you be in Palermo all afternoon?)”  You asked, going to wash your hands from the chicken grease. 

You were wearing a long skirt that swayed with every step you took. Michael couldn’t help but look at your hips, as the fabric hugged your curves for a few precious seconds before releasing them. 

“Starò lì per qualche ora… (I’ll be there for a couple of hours)” He answered. 

You turned and took the plate with the chicken to the counter. Your mother had already cut the bread, so your job was to fill it and wrap it. Under his watchful gaze, you began to prepare his food. 

“Well… Nina has to try on her dress. Oh! Michele, is very very pretty” Your mother said, making gestures in the air, imitating the fabric falling from the veil.

“Oh really? When is the wedding?” His eyes seemed to pierce your being. You didn’t know what he was thinking, but you wondered why he looked at you that way.

“Next Saturday! Oh mi Dio! sarà bello bello (Oh my God! It will be beautiful beautiful)” Your mother exclaimed enthusiastically “You are gonna be there, don’t you Michele?”.

“I don’t think so. I’m not invited” His passive tone of voice failed to demonstrate the clear intention of questioning you. For your part, you could only look at him with a raised eyebrow, not quite understanding what he wanted from you.

“Oh but of course you are invited! It’s a big celebration”.

“Mama, I don’t think is a good idea” You interrupted “Michele needs to go unnoticed. Leandro’s entire family and ours will be hanging around the house. I don’t think it will be good for him… for you” You finished saying with your eyes fixed on him.

He just shrugged his shoulders and stood up, no longer leaning on the counter in front of you. You were finishing making the sandwiches when he stole a piece of chicken from you and put it in his mouth.  You don’t know exactly what it was, but his intense gaze, the way he left his fingers suspended against his lips and the soft way he chewed enthralled you. The last thing was his tongue passing over his lips, tasting the tips of his fingers. It was in the almost smile that he formed, the small vestige of what he noticed that provoked you. You couldn’t understand what happened until your mother held you by the shoulders.

“It’s ready, Nina. Can you go out and call your brother?” Your mother’s request brought you out of trance. You didn’t look at him again, you didn’t want to know what face he had.

Michael watched you leave. He followed you with his eyes until he stopped in your absence. Even so the kitchen kept your perfume, he would recognize it anywhere after carrying it in his pocket for days. Your handkerchief folded in the left pocket of his coat, just above his chest. If he concentrated he could feel the folds and the light weight pressing against him. He thought if maybe he would be able to imagine your hand in the place of that handkerchief.

You, leaning on the door frame, gestured for Calogero to come in. That day only your brother and mother were in the house for lunchtime. Your father had to make many agreements with the Quintanas. Agreements in which you didn’t actively participate, at the request of your fiancé. Your father promised you that everything was going well, that’s why you didn’t worry when you knew that he was sharing with people that, for a long time, he called enemies.

Calogero told you he would be in in a second, so you decided to come back to the kitchen. Thinking about seeing Michael caused a strange feeling, a childish emotion that exploded in your chest with the desire to giggle for nothing. It made you want to run or jump in order to expend this ball of excitement that made no sense to you. It was dangerous, a break in your perfectly planned scheme that involved no one but Leandro. A part of you wants to feel the same emotions for your fiancé, it would be much easier that way. But there were so many differences, and you didn’t even understand where that attraction, that seemed to push you towards him, came from.

You thought about going to your room. Pretending that you had to do something. To wait for him to leave so you could walk freely around your house. You didn’t even think that he was looking for you, that he was stealthily watching you from behind, with your handkerchief pressed to his nose. He admired your silhouette still near the half-open door. The cold made your skin crawl, and for a second you felt a tug in your stomach that served as a warning, as if you were an animal, you felt the presence on your back, and you turned around so quickly that you hit his hand, the one holding the handkerchief, throwing it down.

“Oh! Che spavento (Oh! What a scare)... I’m so sorry Michele, I didn’t see you” You made to bend down to pick it up but he stopped you.

“Don’t worry, it was my fault” He said as he put one of his knees on the ground to pick it up. His head stayed close to your hip and as he looked up you admired his bruised face in the pale winter light.

“You should let a doctor look at that injury” You didn’t control yourself. You raised your hand to gently run your fingertips over his jaw. You felt his rough skin against yours, a warmth that you didn’t expect to receive.

Michael avoided closing his eyes when he felt you caress him. He slowly took your wrist and moved it away from his face. He rose until he was standing, still holding you. When he noticed this he let go, and tried not to focus on the warmth he still felt from having touched you.

“Don’t worry” He said without adding more.

You watched him put your handkerchief in his pocket and then adjust his coat. With a paper bag with his food ready, he was going to ask you to move out the door. At that moment Calogero entered.

“Buon pomeriggio Michele, goditi Palermo! (Good afternoon Michael, enjoy Palermo!)” He said as he grabbed you by the shoulders, almost carrying you along with him “Ho fame, sorella, mangiamo! (I'm hungry, sister, let’s eat!)” He almost didn’t wait for you to go to the dining room. 

Behind you Michael had already left and was talking to Calo and Fabrizio. Without looking at him again, you followed your brother. Michael briefly watched you leave. He asked one of his guards to close the door and began walking, thinking about the fresh air he would have in Palermo.

**

“Raccontaci qualcosa di New York (Tell us something about New York)” Said Fabrizio while eating. 

The three men were sitting on the dry grass. That particular day it wasn’t so cold and the humidity had decreased.

“Sai che sono di New York? (How do you know I’m from New York?)” asked Michael.

“Noi ascoltiamo. Qualcuno ci ha detto che eri importante – a big-a shot (We heard. Somebody told us you were real important)” responded Fabrizio. Calo, next to him, nodded.

“I’m the son of a big shot” That made both men curious.

“L’America è ricca come dicono? (Is America as rich as they say?)” Fabrizio asked again, Michael noticed his interest in his country. Calo rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Smettila di seccarmi con queste cose sull’America rica!! (Stop bothering me with this rich America stuff!!)” Fabrizio just laughed while Calo grunted in boredom.

“Hey, take me to the America! If you need a good lupara in America” Fabrizio says while palming his gun “Take me, I’ll be the best man you can get!” He ends by saying with genuine enthusiasm.

“I’ll think about it” Michael said, looking around. Fabrizio applauded at his response “What’s going on there?”.

In the distance, in a small straw house, an altercation was taking place between four men. One of them, an old man, was on his knees praying with his palms together. Michael could see the difference between them, the standing men carried rifles similar to those of Fabrizio and Calo, they were talking to each other stiffly while they pointed at the house and the old man. Suddenly one of them kicks the man in the chin making him scream in pain. Another of the men points the gun and shoots into the man’s back, causing the other two to fire a burst of bullets at high speed.

“Merda! Andiamo! Andiamo! (Shit! Let’s go! Let’s go!)” Fabrizio exclaimed, taking his lupara and sliding through the grass until he reached the street. Michael and Calo followed him.

“What’s happening?” Michael asked somewhat crouched, the three of them moved downwards.

“A punizione” Calo said.

When they were further away they stopped. Michael looked back waiting for one of the men to appear but there was no one.

“What’s a punizione?” Michael asked.

“Some men rob these shacks that serve as shelter for soldiers… The owners, the clan, punish with death” Fabrizio said, passing his hand over his forehead, he looked nervous.

“That old man robbed that house?” He asked incredulously.

“Probably not. But they surely saw him nearby and he didn’t have backup to defend him” Michael looked at him intently, as if he didn’t fully understand what he was saying “Look, there are rules here that you don’t know. That’s why we walk with you wherever. Anyone could accuse you of something and kill you instantly”.

“Morto morto (Dead dead)” Calo whispered, Michael ignored him.

“Don’t worry. You just have to go unnoticed. Do not go to places with many people, especially with people from other clans” Fabrizio warned.

“The Quintana family will come to the wedding” Calo mentioned, Fabrizio nodded to it.

“Devi essere atento… Careful (You have to be careful)” Michael nodded, starting to talk down the hill “A wedding!” Fabrizio suddenly exclaimed.

“Un matrimonio (A wedding)” Calo followed.

“Quella bella donna si sposa, è così carina (That pretty woman is getting married, so pretty)” Fabrizio said, bringing his hands to his chest. 

“Pretty pretty” Calo said.

“Cosa darei per una donna così. È instruita… e ha un corpo! (What would I give for a woman like that. She is educated… and has a body!” He made the faint of your hips with his hands and grunted in ecstasy.

“Un bel corpo, ben formato (A good body, well formed)” Continued Calo.

Michael remained silent.

“What a pity that she’s going to marry a Quintana” Fabrizio proclaimed sadly.

“Pensa che Nina lo guarderebbe! (He thinks Nina would look at him!)” Calo said mockingly. He elbowed Michael to make him laugh.

“Why it’s a shame that she marries Quintana?”.

 “Why?! That man is the devil” Fabrizio exclaimed, Calo next to him nodded “L’hai visto con il vecchio? (Did you see that with the old man?)” Michael nodded “Ha fatto lo stesso con un bambino (Did the same with a kid)”.

“Lo sapevano tutti, aveva lasciato il corpo per strada (Everyone knew, he left the body in the street)” Said Calo.

“And she knows that?” Michael couldn’t imagine that, knowing that information, you would marry him.

“No no, that girl doesn’t know anything” Fabrizio hit his forehead in a mocking gesture “According to what they say, she returned from Paris with the man on her arm”.

“The Don wasn’t happy, no no” Calo added.

“True! But the wedding will happen anyway, it’s a surprise”.

“Why?” Michael asked again.

“Guardalo, che curiosità (Look at him, so curious)” Calo giggled, Michael ignored him.

“Quintana e De Rosa are enemies” Fabrizio commented, approaching a tree to rest “They have fought over Corleone for years. Don Guido hates Don Tommasino. Some say they have a personal conflict” Calo nodded at that and pointed to Fabrizio.

“They say Don Tommasino had an affair with Don Guido’s wife” Fabrizio laughed.

“No no, that isn’t true. But whatever, they hate each other, so they never agreed on anything. So, when his daughter appeared with Leandro Quintana proclaiming they are going to marry everyone was shocked”.

“Shocked!” Calo repeated.

“And no one knows how that happened?” Michael asked. Calo looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“So curious for girl Nina, eh?” Michael rolled his eyes and sat down.

“I just have questions… That guy, Leandro, is he really bad?” Fabrizio sighed and adjusted his lupara.

“Yes, he first killed when he was twelve years old. He killed his dog because it barked so loud. We all knew he hated the De Rosa family, he wanted to have it all in Corleone. Maybe he loves her, we don’t know, but that man is crazy” Fabrizio said. 

They were silent for a moment, which Michael appreciated because his mind was full of you. Leandro didn’t seem like a particularly aggressive man when he met him. He remembers the handshake, the cordial smile and the soft kiss he left on your cheek, which continues to surprise him. For a Sicilian he was quite daring with his fiancee. But what he still keeps in his mind was your downcast gaze and the lack of reciprocity with him. He knew there were parts he still didn’t understand, but you seemed to be indecipherable even in your transparency. 

He wanted to know why you looked at him that way. Why did he feel that you asked something from him every time he saw those beautiful eyes. He would give you whatever you wanted if his soul was weak, but he knows his limits. And even though his desires went beyond being nice to you, he couldn’t allow himself to be a man to you. If Leandro really was who they said he was, it was better for Michael to stay aside and just have the joy of looking at you for these months that he had left in Sicily.

**

The day seemed calm. After lunch the only thing left to do was do nothing, since you didn’t have things scheduled. The wedding was approaching and the preparations were ready, the only thing left to do was say “I do” and be a Quintana. It still seems like a dream when you think about it. Marrying Leandro and starting a family. He had already confessed to you that he wanted at least five children, something that left you silent, causing him to laugh. In your mind there was barely the possibility of having one, you didn’t want to think beyond that, but five babies, you were already tired of just imagining it. Even so you accepted, the only thing you asked him was that you wouldn’t be involved in his business.

For your father the business was a man’s job, which didn’t involve women or children. Being a little soft to you, he let you know a few things when you were curious. But it was a curiosity fueled by concern. Seeing your father tired or angry made you alert and controlling, you wanted to know what was happening and what to do. There was very little you could do, but you could try to understand, give him an ear for his angry babbling, be someone he can trust. 

You were spoiled, you had always been a daddy’s girl, no one could blame you if he was around and your brothers were the same. But that would end, you knew it when you saw your father’s disappointed eyes. Being Leandro’s wife would distance you from him, it would put you in a position in which he couldn’t intervene. His sadness was so big that he cried when he found out that you were getting married, that even with his greatest efforts he could not keep you away from danger.  Leandro promised to never hurt you and, although it was difficult for him to admit it, he actually believed him. But that wasn’t the problem, it was what that marriage meant. A contract between families that would make them partners for life, unbreakable the moment the heir is born. What will happen when Leandro wants his son to be the Don of both families? Death, death between cousins and brothers like the old royalty. 

Protecting the family condemned it in the future. But you only thought about the present, that your father’s health was becoming more and more compromised, that Simone has not yet married or formed his own life to take on a power. If you could guarantee that Leandro wouldn’t murder anyone and would be prudent in his decisions with your family, then there was nothing to fear and nothing else mattered. 

Now, sitting against the trunk of your favorite tree, you were reading Felicia Hemans.

“Lonely she stood:–in her mournful eyes // Lay the clear midnight of southern skies, //And the drooping fringe of their lashes low, //Half veil'd a depth of unfathom'd wo. //Stately she stood–tho' her fragile frame //Seem'd struck with the blight of some inward flame, //And her proud pale brow had a shade of scorn, //Under the waves of her dark hair worn” You murmured following a beaten rhythm.

“... She had been torn from her home away, // With her long locks crown'd for her bridal day, // And brought to die of the burning dreams //That haunt the exile by foreign streams.” You stopped and caressed the pages of the book. The Sicilian captive, how ironic, you thought as you sighed.

You closed the book and stretched out on the grass, you spread your legs letting your skirt rise slightly, you felt the strands of grass touch your shins and you giggled involuntarily at the tickling. 

You felt suddenly liberated, with the clear sky above you like a light blanket. The time seemed eternal. You were in a pause that calmed your soul until it left you drowsy. You almost closed your eyes, but the pale blue was too beautiful to ignore it. You wanted to paint the sky. You raised your hands and moved your fingers in the air, simulating invented faces that little by little coincided with already known lines. Round and big eyes with a roman nose that fell at its tip to the cupid’s bow, there its fleshy shape delighted you. 

What greater beauty was that hidden among forbidden pleasures? 

Michael seemed to completely invade you without doing anything at all. He had bewitched you and now you swarmed to desire him and ignore him. Why wasn’t he the one who found you in Paris? You could imagine him with his clean and smiling face, being just a college student. Has he ever been like that? Free, as you once were? He was a man of war, he was a man of the mafia, but would he be a free man? Could he be the one you would draw in your dreams? Your eternal dreams where life didn’t imprison you in this reality. You dared to think that in another world it would be different. But what would you know? You didn’t even know if he left any woman in New York, if so you would have the excuse to not fantasize about him anymore, he would be a forbidden man, as forbidden as you were.

Life hasn’t smiled on you for a few months now, and now you only have to wait for what destiny has in store for you, because there was not much else to do.  You deeply believed that Michael’s arrival could mean something. Your spiritual impulse wanted you to believe that you saw signs, but you couldn’t fall for those things. You were already sunk to believe that there was an escape in the form of a beautiful man. 

Now a little annoyed with yourself, you got up to go home, picked up the book in a huff and adjusted your skirt. Your hair retained traces of grass and leaves, tangled in a bun at the nape of your neck, with thin hairs contouring your face. 

Without wanting to be in your own body, you left your place to cross the stream, with stones placed by yourself, you crossed your improvised bridge and walked to the fence. Your used and folded book dangled from your hand as you climbed and threw yourself to the other side. You landed on your feet. When you saw that none of your father’s men paid attention to you, you walked to the back entrance. 

When you entered you suddenly ran into Michael. He was wearing a simple dress shirt with his black pants and suspenders. He quickly noticed your disheveled appearance and, without showing it, he found himself shocked when he felt the pressure of your body with his. 

You pulled away quickly, your red cheeks, whether from how annoyed you were or how embarrassed you felt, gave you an adorable touch that almost made him smile. He could feel his own warmth on his face, the blood pumping rapidly through his veins. 

“I’m sorry” You spoke quietly, not looking him in the eyes because you knew you couldn’t escape his gaze.

“Hi Nina, Where were you?” Michael asked as he removed a leaf from your hair, surprised you looked at him. 

“Mmm I was in my place, reading” You showed him your book which he took while looking at the cover.

“Who is she?” He pointed his thumb at the face of Felicia Hemans.

“Felicia Hemans, she was a great poet, one of the most read in the english language” Michael still held the book, his long fingers monopolizing the cover, leaving your fingers with almost no space.

“What’s your favorite?” You looked at him a little confused, Michael noticed the tilt of your head and your inquisitive look “Poem, your favorite poem”.

“Oh! The Sicilian captive, that’s my favorite one” He raised his eyebrows a little, almost imperceptible, but you noticed it “A woman who sings about her homeland and how she must die far from it”.

“That’s sad, why do you like that?” Michael didn’t let go of the book, instead he changed the position of his wrist making your fingers brush against the back of his hand.

“It’s beautiful, her pained song due to the abandonment of Sicily, the love for her home makes the poem fall into a wonderful melancholy. The feeling of distance is necessary when you aren’t where you belong” Your words pierced him in the utmost sincerity. His eyes with a softer touch, almost rounded on the edge of a tenderness, gave you a new facet of him.

“Can I borrow it?” You looked at him delighted and nodded effusively. You dropped the book, losing his touch, but quickly took his hands with enthusiasm.

“Yes, yes, you can read it in its entirety and then we can comment on it!”.

Since you left college you haven't shared your readings with anyone. There wasn't any interest in your family, and only Dr. Taza read but you didn’t see him enough to talk as you would like. That Michael wanted to read one of your favorite poems took away any trace of annoyance, and you even forgot that you wanted to get away from him as much as possible. Now you just wanted to share this with him.

“I’m not a skilled reader, don’t expect much from me” You shook your head as you let go.

Michael could feel the waning touch of your hands against his, he wanted to squeeze them in order to keep your warmth.

“Read it. I have more books in my library, maybe I can lend you others later, so you don’t get bored while being here” Michael nodded in agreement.

You wanted to go further into the house, to show him some of the things you had. You were enthralled by the idea of showing him one of your passions. He followed you from behind, watching as your walk moved your disordered clothes in a fluttering swat that he tried to ignore.

“Do you know any writers? Anyone you would like to read? I have many americans in my books” You didn’t notice his gaze on you, so focused on showing him your great collection.

“Poe, I think, I read him in school” Michael said.

You walked down the right hallway opening a door where a large library was located. Michael admired the large shelves and long sofas that were in the center. You approached a corner, put your index finger on the spine of the books and began to read the titles, looking for a specific one. You moved your head from side to side following the letters with your back leaning forward. 

Michael could observe the depth of your hips. Round, somewhat pompous, with a softness that, he imagined, must be pleasurable. Your innocently suggestive posture provoked him enough to feel the tension of his body under the clothes. For being in winter his insides felt genuinely hot, almost feverish. He attributed it to being inside the house where the temperature remained warm. Even so, his tense neck had the impulse to turn to continue looking at the room. But impossibly enthralled, your body attracted him enough to surpass his thoughts. For no reason, he compared that curve with his well-known Kay, and for a moment he urgently needed to drink water.

“Here it is!” You said, taking one of the books. You turned around and noticed his stare, a little flustered, you showed him the book “For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams” You recited.

“Annabel Lee” Michael responded with the title of the poem, he took the book in his hands. It had a dark and thick spine, it looked old “Is it inherited?”.

“Yes! It was my grandfather’s. Most of these books belong to the family” You couldn’t help but keep talking “I used to spend a lot of time here when I was a kid. My brothers called me a mouse for hiding and hunched over in this corner” You pointed to your favorite spot, a little armchair.

“I was like that too. Quieter than my brothers” You felt a little tingle knowing that you shared something.

“How many brothers do you have?” You asked, sitting down. Michael sat down too, not too close to you, but close enough to feel his weight on the couch.

“Three and a sister” You looked at him attentively, something he took to continue talking “She… She got married recently”.

“How was it? I guess american weddings are different” Michael shook his head slowly, leaning on his side with his leg bent over the cushion and his arm dangling from the backrest. His entire posture directed at you.

“Most of them were italian. I think all of them, except my companion” That caught your attention. Resting your elbow on the backrest and turning to look at him completely. Both of you looked comfortable on the couch.

“Companion? Your girlfriend?” You asked.

“You could call her that” His somewhat evasive tone made you frown.

“Something happened?” That brought out another shine in his eyes.

“No, nothing happened”.

“And how did she take it?” Michael gestured for you to explain “The fact that you are here, without knowing when you will return”.

“She understands” His passivity made you want to believe him.

“Will you marry her?” That question took him by surprise.

“I don’t know, maybe I should” Even though you asked, you didn’t like his answer and that made you a hypocrite, you knew it.

“Would you do an american wedding? Considering that she is one”.

“No, I don’t think so. Maybe at another time in my life I would have said yes, but I have the need to follow my… Desires” His intense stare made you blush slightly.

“And what are those desires?” You swallowed, you felt nervous even though you didn’t understand why.

“You would like to know”.

Before you could answer, a knock on the side of the door frame announced your mother at the entrance to the library. She looked at you carefully for a second, and then sighed.

“I have dinner ready. Michele, my husband wants to see you” At this Michael nodded and stood up. He didn’t look at you again before disappearing through the door. Your mother looked at you and crossed her arms.

“Cosa fai? Non puoi restare da solo con Michele. Leandro si arrabbierebbe se lo sapesse (What are you doing? You can’t be alone with Michele like that. Leandro would be angry if he knew)” You stood up and rolled your eyes at your mother.

“Non lo saprà (He won’t know)” In response to her silence you added “Non lo saprebbe, vero? Dato che stavo solo chiacchierando, non è che io sia invisibile (He’s not going to know, right? Because I was just chatting, it’s not like I turned invisible)”.

“Dovresti essere invisibile se sei fidanzata con un uomo del genere (You should be invisible if you’re engaged to a man like that)” Your mom hit your shoulder, you whined a little and rubbed yourself.

“Non pensare cose che non sono, e non dire niente a Leandro, sono affari miei cosa gli succede (Don’t think things that aren’t, and don’t say anything to Leandro, it’s my business what happens with him)” Your mother just looked at you disapprovingly.

“Non fare cosa che non dovresti. Ricorda, buone azioni, buoni risultati (Don’t do things you shouldn’t. Remember, good deeds, good results)” You walked away from your mother to go to the dinner room.

“Non preoccuparti, non farò nulla (Don’t worry, I won’t do anything)”.

**

In Don Tommasino’s office, Armando and Andrea were both sitting while the Don was talking to Michael.

“... It has these beautiful peach trees. I’m sure you would like to see them, I can arrange for you to go next week” Said Don Tommasino while drinking.

“I would like that… Isn’t the wedding next week?” Michael asked, that made Armando look at him.

“Oh! Don’t tell me. Yes, it will be held here at the house. All those Quintanas here as if nothing had happened” His voice showed annoyance, he slammed the glass down on the table and made a gesture at Armando “Where is that bastard?”.

“Leandro? Taking care of a few things, he sent flowers to Nina yesterday” Don Tommasino laughed mockingly, and Andrea smirked knowing that he would say.

“That ugly shit! I saw them last night. They were orange. Damn orange! Doesn’t he know that his fiancee hates orange?” Armando covered his mouth to laugh and gestured to Michael before speaking.

“Nina doesn’t hate orange, he does” He says pointing his chin at his Don “You’re just overprotective of your kid, but remember Nina is old now”.

“No man would keep up with my daughter. There isn’t a man on the face of the earth capable of being equal to her” He suddenly looked at Michael “Your father must have felt the same about your sister”.

“I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there when the whole engagement happened”.

“You will understand when you have a daughter, I swear” Michael nodded at the glass that Armando offered him.

“If you don’t mind me asking. What’s the problem with Leandro?” That prompted Don Tommasino to sigh deeply as he passed his hand over his forehead.

“The Quintanas have been a problem for years, ever since they wanted to dominate Corleone, fleeing from Giuliano like rats. At first I didn’t think it would be a problem, we don’t have the same businesses. But they want to have things that I have and that has caused many deaths. Now, Leandro is another problem, a much more dangerous one now that my daughter is marrying him” Michael put the glass on the table and leaned back in the chair.

“Why is she marrying him, then?” Armando served another glass to Don Tommasino, Andrea remained silent.

“My daughter is a martyr, Michele. She has always been like that, when she was little she cried for killing spiders and when she was an adolescent she dared to challenge me for Calogero. Seek the good for all… And unfortunately Leandro knew what to do. Did you know that I sent her to Paris? to France, so that she could study and become an educated woman. That fucking bastard found her, I don’t know exactly what he said to her, but when she returned I could feel that something had changed. She had that look she’s always had when she does something that will make me angry. She is equally altruistic and stubborn” He sighed again angrily.

“Don’t be so angry, Nina knows what she’s doing even when you don’t believe it” Armando responded, he offered another glass to Michael but he denied.

“I don’t bless that marriage” He grumbled.

“Anyways… Will Michael be able to attend that wedding?” Armando asked.

“I don’t want to lock you, it’s not natural. But a lot of people will be here and I don’t trust those idiots. I could take you to Doctor Taza” Michael thought about it before denying.

“I would like to be here, I have never been to a genuinely italian wedding” He lied “Don’t worry, I’ve introduced myself under a different name and won’t be in the spotlight”.

“Okay… Just be careful, please”.

**

At night Michael seemed to have no rest, he looked at the ceiling without a hint of sleep, even when it was already after one in the morning. He was used to sleeping early, but since he arrived in Sicily he only seemed to have insomnia. Among the recurring images in his head he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Even with all the worries locked in the back of his mind, the first thing that came up was the question of what to do. What to do with this interest that seemed to grow every time he saw you. He didn’t know what caused him to desire to possess you. 

If he was honest with himself the last thing that mattered to him was your engagement, even though he refused the idea because your fiancé, soon to be husband, was a man whom he shouldn’t confront, not while being hidden under the protection of Don Tommasino. It was too risky to even think about you, and he didn’t understand why with every second that passed he felt like he was infatuated with you. 

He remembered the afternoon where he dared to look at your body, and imagined beyond what was allowed. He wanted to know if your skin had the same tone on the curve of your thighs, the curiosity of feeling the soft texture under his fingers, caressing the inside with the slowness of a tickle. Would you be ticklish? Maybe you would giggle amidst the moans that he would gladly listen to. His imagination flew to what you would be like then, if your face would light up with the lust of his touch, if your eyes would mist through those long lashes. He could imagine your long neck stretched out, perfect for him to bite and mark, for your husband to see and know that there was a man pleasuring you, that that man was Michael.

He doesn’t remember if a bold idea had ever excited him so much. Something forbidden. Maybe that made his interest rise, the fact that you were someone outside his limits. And wouldn’t you know it, Michael has been discreet as he should be, but what would happen if he let you know? If perhaps you would dare to be a disloyal woman, even if it means danger. For a second he allowed himself to be selfish, forgetting anything, he just thought that in that same library, in that same couch, you would be there for him, as he wanted and he would do whatever thing he imagined. Curious to know what you would be like blows his mind in a multitude of scenarios. You bent over, stretched out and ready for anything. 

In his ecstasy the exhaustion came in a sudden explosion. His dry and surprising orgasm made him gasp in surprise. He lifted his sheets and looked down with his eyebrows furrowed. Like a fucking teenager, he couldn’t remember the last time his imagination was real enough to provoke him. Knowing that he was already a lost cause, he got up to go to the bathroom. The last thing on his mind was berating himself for having crossed a line that would now lead to more.

CHAPTER THREE

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