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melis-writes · 2 years

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

Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

Oneshot based in 1956, during the attempted assassination on Michael and Victoria Corleone.

"You’re delusional living in your head with all these fantasies of Victoria." / "She answered all of my questions about you with one word, you know that? Omertà."

With bullets flying over you and Michael during an attempt on your lives, the worst night of your life takes a turn for the worst as Michael's long time enemy and rival–Alphonse Ricci–forcefully has you kidnapped and held for more than just a ransom as his backup plan. Under pressure and suspicion of who betrayed the two of you, every move Michael makes in tracking your location down and bringing you back home safely is critical. With enough blackmail to ruin your life and career, Alphonse demands answers and isn't a patient man, using threats, intimidation tactics and sadism to get you to talk. Time is running out with your life on the line as you realize just what Alphonse's grand plans are for not just your future, but that of your entire family's.

[WARNINGS]: Heavy & explicit violence / Gunfire & firearm use / Depictions & themes of kidnapping/hostage situation / Ransoming / Graphic depictions of assault & battery / Character deaths / Graphic depictions of injuries & blood / Sexual harassment [groping/kissing] / Sedative usage / Sexual assault [groping, kissing] / Knife wounds / Biting / Explicit depictions of death.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The highly anticipated, next oneshot is finally here!! 😅 Thank you to the anon who requested this action packed oneshot! I hope I've done it justice with 100+ pages of thrilling content from start to finish for you guys! 👀 We see Michael in action, angst, hurt/comfort, a sneak peek of Connie and Leonardo's marriage, more quality time spent with the twins, how Michael handles the stress and pressure of Victoria's ransom and a short lived, but full out mob war too. There's a lot to tackle in this oneshot! 🙏🏻 Because of its explicit/graphic manner, please don't forget to read the warnings above! ❤

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

[ Night of the attempted assassination at Lake Tahoe, 1956 ]

“Victoria!” Connie shouts out at you—her voice shaky with tears as she hugs her two sons close to her. “Where the hell are you going?! Sure as hell not out there—”

“Connie, it’s fine!” You shake your head, pulling open the French doors to exit the drawing room. “This isn’t the first goddamn time bullets have flown over my head before!”

“Are you insane?!” Connie hisses at you, “you know it’s not safe! Are you trying to get yourself killed after what Michael told us?!”

“Just stay put and with mama!” You point at Connie, then back at your mother weakly laying on the couch with Sandra by her side—ensuring her fresh bandages are on tight enough to stop the bleeding. “I need to find my brothers and Michael.”

“You’re insane, I swear!” Connie calls out behind you as you’re quick to storm out of the room and towards the study at the opposite end of the central family estate where your mother was hit.

“If Michael finds out—VICTORIA!” You can still hear Connie yelling out your name behind you but ultimately ignore her, knowing you’ve never been and never will be cowering back and waiting for others to finish the job.

Barefoot and keeping your steps slow and silent, you keep your eyes focused on all sides of your surroundings.

You continue to move towards the other side of the compound by getting closer to the study, realizing just how eerily quiet it’s grown on this side of the estate then suddenly being able to see the walls surrounding the study up ahead blown off in small chunks and riddled with bullet holes.

Moving through the study, you press your back against any solid wall you approach to avoid being detected out of the shattered windows now flashing over with lights from security outside.

Like a shadow, you slip out the back door of the central family estate—slipping on a pair of your kitten heels you left outside—and move towards you and Michael’s estate—just towards the front of your bedroom window where the first shots were fired.

Keeping yourself hidden in the shadows and away from any source of light, you can already make out three heavily armed guards of Michael’s lingering both inside and outside of your bedroom, checking around for any further evidence and safety compromises.

‘What the hell?’ You furrow your brows, knowing that the two bullets you fired off didn’t just go into the air and disappear, let alone reflect off of the walls of the estate, a tree, or anything similar. You heard it hit someone, not something.

Continuing to stay out of sight of Michael’s men, you take another look at the shattered windows of your bedroom from a different angle, stepping back.

You can hear Al Neri, Rocco, and their men yelling overheard, guard dogs barking and the footsteps of security roaming hastily all over the compound which easily masks out any sound you could make.

‘If I had shot more towards the right, then I would have to stand here…’ You move back further, estimating the spot you assumed your bullet must have got to before your eyes land on a small pool of blood not far from where you remain.

‘My bullet didn’t fail me.’ A slight sense of relief washes over you as you begin to carefully track the little droplets of blood that lead a pathway outward to the drains.

It already strikes you that the drains are a perfect hiding spot as they’re almost always ignored by just about everyone except for the compound’s weekly cleaning services and after sundown from a lack of any light source natural or artificial, it remains almost pitch black inside and surrounding the outside.

‘I must have hit his lower body. His side, or perhaps his thigh?’ Normally as you’d assume, if someone got immediate medical attention or at least didn’t run around and move frantically, they wouldn’t bleed this much but clearly the assassins were in an obvious rush towards the drains and nowhere else.

You’re just about to follow the rest of the blood trail when you hear two sets of unfamiliar footsteps beginning to rush towards you.

Having spotted you the moment you made your way towards the blood trail, lurking in the shadows and analyzing your every step, Alphonse Ricci’s assassins hastily approach you to ambush you from behind.

Let into the compound from an inside betrayal of the family—a thought already in Michael’s mind but without certainty to pin the blame on Frank Pentangelli, Hyman Roth, Johnny Ola, or all three—you barely have any time to react to the sudden attack, just as planned.

Overpowered by the two men grabbing you from both sides knowing that if you were out here vulnerable and alone outside, it’d be the only chance they’d get.

Had Michael been in your exact position without men and away from any source of light, he would have been shot dead on sight, as per the men’s orders said.

While remaining in the darkness to avoid a lecture from Michael’s men or Michael himself that you’d never hear the end of, now the assassins grabbing you from behind by your neck and clasping a leather gloved hand over your mouth to stifle your screams are now used to their advantage instead.

Before you can fire the pistol you’ve already been able to grab out from the pocket of your nightgown, the guard who now grips your throat roughly pistol whips you over the side of the head with his own gun.

As a direct order from Alphonse wanting to have you subdued and taken quietly if all else fails—which it has—the assassins don’t have the intention to hurt you badly or leave a mark, but that’d have to wait until you’d stir from consciousness.

In that split second where the pistol is just about to collide with your temple, you’ve surprised both the assassins and yourself in a way by aimlessly firing your pistol straight into the stomach of the other assassin standing in front of you.

Hit at such a close range that the barrel of your pistol burns into the stomach of the assassin while you stumble back and crumple into the arms of the other, passing out.

The last thing you remember seeing is a dark figure in a three-piece, full black suit and a fedora tilted over his head to mask half of his facial features—the same man you’re not entirely aware you just shot.

Immense pressure and sharp feeling hit your forehead before you almost instantly lose consciousness before everything goes pitch black.

A trickle of blood drips down your temple and you’re knocked out cold before you can hear the second assassin you shot writhe in pain—forcing himself to stay quiet almost enough to bite his own tongue off.

“Shit!” The first assassin hisses, holding your limp body tightly in his arms. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Little bitch shot me,” the second assassin grunts, immediately applying pressure to his gunshot wound.

“Fuck, look—we’ll get that taken care of as soon as we can get the fuck out of here.” The first assassin gestures back with his thumb. “The faster you do this with me, the sooner it’s all over. Man the fuck up, for now, we’ve got a job to do.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to walk if it was you, asshole.” The second assassin mutters in pain, following the first assassin scooping you up bridal style in his arms.

The assassins continue making their way through every inch of darkness and shadow they can find on the compound before carrying you into the sewer exit.

The betrayer had of course told the men whether it was deliberate or not that the sewers and the drains were not only an ideal hiding spot nobody cared much about, but it’s also filthy from top to bottom.

Alphonse strictly ordered there not to be a speck of dirt or any unnecessary injury done to you if it could be helped and even then, there’d be absolute hell to pay for orders not followed down to every letter.

The assassin carrying you remembers being yelled at well, but also thinking about the rest of his pay and making sure while he walks into the drains with the second assassin limping behind him that he’d rather be covered in mud, guck, and shit for a million dollars than get a tiny drop even on the trim of your silk nightgown.

“Fuck,” the second assassin grunts, slowly down and barely being able to pull himself into the drains. “This fucking hurts. Do you have to move so goddamn fast?”

“You’re fucking slowing me down, man, that’s what you’re doing.” The first assassin narrows his eyes. “I’m getting the fuck out of here with her one way or another, you know how this works.”

“F-fuck you.” Giving up entirely from the weakness the second assassin feels hitting every inch of his body from blood loss, the man trips down into the sewer and rolls onto his back.

The first assassin barely looks back over his shoulder at his partner in crime, continuing to carry you through the sewers and out back the way he came—knowing Rocco won’t be there to stop him from getting you into a car and out of Lake Tahoe.

Rushing towards the drains if anything had made the blood loss worse over a mere few minutes, the second assassin had that sense of hope in thinking he’d just make it is now replaced with the prospect of death which would normally strike fear in his heart as he lays in murky, filth filled waters.

Assassinations were easy jobs for experienced mobsters—buttonmen, capos, or otherwise—but the concept of near-guaranteed death was practically branded on their foreheads when they were told they’d be paid a million dollars each by Alphonse Ricci for assassinating you and Michael Corleone.

The second assassin knew he’d either die a miserably painful albeit short death or go home a rich man and as the first assassin quickly pulls open the car door out back in the forest and secures you next to him in the back seat, all the first assassin can think of is how and when his corpse is going to be discovered.

“What happened back there? You got her?!” The driver clutches onto the steering wheel tightly, looking to the backseat.

“Yeah.” The second assassin pants, out of breath as he carefully lays you down on the leather seats. “Just Victoria Corleone, her husband’s not dead—he’s not even hurt.”

The driver immediately starts up the car, looking around him frantically. “Shit, shit, shit, where’s—”

“He’s probably fuckin’ dead, just drive!” The second assassin shouts, referring to his partner assassin now bleeding to death in the sewers. “He barely got through the goddamn drains with me, now he’s drowning in shit.”

‘Nevada license plate…’ One of Al Neri’s men hunched over by the bushes sees the license plate of the car that’s driving you away just by the last moment—too far to shoot at the tires from but still left with crucial information.

What the buttonman doesn’t know from the time he was able to slip out towards the back of the woods when he made out the shape of a vehicle is that Michael Corleone’s wife is being kidnapped and taken inside of it.

“If there’s a mark on her, the boss is gonna fucking kill you.” The driver warns, picking up speed through the dirt pathway leading out of Lake Tahoe. “You knocked her out, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” The assassin rolls his eyes, glancing at the dried-up blood on your temple. “I had to pistolwhip her, I had no other choice.”

“Was that before or after Jimmy randomly fucking died in the sewers?” The driver scowls, making eye contact from the rear-view mirror.

“Yeah, he got randomly fucking shot straight in the stomach by this bitch!” The assassin exclaims. “Had that tiny fucking pistol in her hands before we could see it.”

“The boss told us.” The driver attempts to calm his shaky breathing, driving faster. “She’s fucking dangerous and you need to treat her as such. We need to keep her incapacitated until we get back—no fucking exceptions.”

“I made sure she dropped that fucking pistol of hers back there, she’s not gonna pull that shit on us again.” The assassin reaffirms.

“It doesn’t fucking matter, man.” The driver shakes his head. “Armed or not, Victoria Corleone will scratch your fucking eyes out with her own nails if she gets the opportunity to. Do you seriously not know what the fuck we just did? Who we’re fucking with?”

“Yeah, I know what we just did.” The assassin attempts to relax his tense muscles against the leather car seats. “We became fucking millionaires, that’s what. So the job got a little dirty, better someone else kiss the dirt than me. Look at her now,” he gestures to your body. “Sleeping peacefully, still breathing, just fine.”

“Wipe that blood off her forehead at least.” The driver sighs. “I’m not gonna think about that money until I know I’m still alive by the time we get back to the boss.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Ruin your own fun.” The assassin reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a handkerchief and gently dabbing it over your temple to wipe as much blood off as he can. “We got in, we got the broad, we’re out. Now when we get back, have a fucking drink to calm your nerves, and then start counting your share of the bread. You’ll feel better, trust me.”

Connie, Sandra, and Esther remain in the drawing room as Michael asked, comforting the children and frequently checking on your mother who attempts to relax against the couch in a position that won’t press on her gunshot wound.

It’s only ten minutes later that everyone inside the compound’s estates begins to realize the noise of Michael’s men and guard dogs outside has started to grow quiet and is now replaced with the faint sirens of an ambulance approaching and Michael’s footsteps.

Connie tucks her boys in on the couches nearest to her with any blankets she can find in the drawing room, sitting on the carpet next to them and attempting to calm down.

While Esther and Ludovica seem relieved to hear the ambulance approaching the estate, Connie’s anxiety only grows further neither seeing nor hearing any sign of you since you rushed off.

Connie sniffles and wipes her tears off onto her blouse, watching as Ludovica is carefully laid onto a stretcher and taken out of the drawing room with Esther and a security guard following behind.

“Yes, Don Giuseppe will follow shortly…” Connie hears one of Michael’s buttonmen murmur but is unable to pinpoint who he’s notifying.

Sandra wipes the stray tears out of the corners of her eyes, sitting on the very edge of the couch Ludovica was laying on and remaining quiet.

Just before Connie can speak out to her, she hears another pair of footsteps growing closer and easily recognizes they belong to Michael, but Connie doesn’t hear yours following his.

The doorknob to the drawing room twists and Michael pushes open the door, stepping inside with some sort of expectation over his expression before it grows stone cold almost instantly.

Sandra immediately darts her gaze down, avoiding looking at Michael entirely as if she has something to be guilty for, but with the way Michael’s already realized you’re not in the drawing room as you were told to be, he now locks his eyes with Connie directly.

“Michael,” Connie whimpers, raising up her hand to him.

“Where is she, Connie?” Michael asks once, calmly. “Where’s Victoria?”

“I don’t know.” Connie swallows hard. “Michael, please.”

“Connie.” Michael’s tone of voice grows sterner. “I’m not going to ask you again. Give me a straight answer, now.”

“She said something about finding you and your brothers!” Connie bursts out into sobs again. “That’s all I know, I swear!”

“And you just let her leave?!” Michael glares, raising his voice so sharply that it causes Sandra to flinch. “What did I tell you?”

“I know, I know!” Connie protests, shaking her head. “I told her not to go, I tried to stop her but she wouldn’t have any of it! She just up and left!”

“And the two of you just sat here.” Michael points his finger back and forth at a sniffling Sandra and crying Connie. “Waited for her to come back the entire time, yes?”

“What else could we have done, Michael?” Sandra speaks out in a shaky tone. “Go out there and look for her while it’s dangerous?”

“We had no choice but to wait for her.” Connie’s voice cracks. “I’ve been dying just sitting here and waiting.”

“Don’t wait.” Michael loosens his tie, letting out a loud sigh. “She’s gone.”

“What?” Both Sandra and Connie say at the same time with wide eyes.

“Gone, she’s gone,” Michael says through gritted teeth. “My men and I combed the entire compound in and out—she’s GONE.”

“But Al and Rocco—” Connie begins.

Michael interrupts his sister. “What do you think Neri and Rocco were doing the past ten minutes? There isn’t a trace of her here unless one of you isn’t admitting to something?”

“Don’t be r-ridiculous.” Connie whimpers through her tears. “All she said was that she was going to find you and h-her brothers. Why would she leave the compound?”

“Rocco’s outside the compound searching the entire vicinity with his men and the dogs for anything—bodies included.” Michael glares at Connie and Sandra. “At this point, both of you can consider your sister-in-law missing.”

“Stop!” Sandra cries out, “you’re not implying—”

“Victoria DID NOT disappear into thin air, Sandra!” Michael yells at her, seething with anger. “Either she was taken out of the compound or went out of herself and is dead, do you understand me? If this is such a hard reality for either of you to grasp, start blaming yourselves as to why you didn’t stop her or call out for one of my men too.”

“She’s not dead, she can’t be!” Connie sobs louder as her sons peek out from under their blankets fearfully—having never seen their Uncle Michael this visibly pissed and stressed in their lives.

“I don’t want to tell my children we found their mother’s body outside of the compound.” Michael hisses, pulling open the door again. “And believe me, if I do, I’m willing to blame some of the people in this room.”

Outside by the blood trail belonging to one of the first assassins you shot, Al Neri crouches down to carefully examine the blood over the cobblestone path with a flashlight.

In his other hand, Neri clutches a tattered piece of silk cloth belonging to your nightgown, half stained with a muddy footprint from the men who overpowered you.

Unable to see any blood or otherwise on the nightgown but not entirely sure who the blood trail belongs to, Neri stands back and gestures to one of his men around him. “Stay here, keep the lights on the blood trail and keep the area clean. I’m going to get the Don.”

“When you don’t do as I say, Connie,” Michael pulls open the door, scowling at her, “when you blame everybody but yourself for your own actions or lack thereof, you disappoint me.”

Before Michael can continue, he turns his head towards the corridor where Al Neri quickly rushes in, calling out for Michael’s attention. “Don Corleone!”

“What is it?” Michael’s facial expression immediately relaxes. “Tell me you have some good news for once tonight.”

“I don’t know what to call it, sir.” Al Neri comes up to Michael, holding up the ripped piece of your nightgown. “I found a piece of Mrs. Corleone’s nightgown torn off from a struggle.”

“Let me see that.” Michael snatches the piece of cloth from Neri’s hand, looking at it closely in the palm of his hand. “This was torn right off.”

“Yes, sir.” Neri nods, “there’s some mud and a bit of a footprint on it too. Looks like it was stepped on and ripped like that.”

“So there was a struggle,” Michael murmurs, quick to close the door of the drawing room behind him so neither Sandra nor Connie gets to hear. “Just what the hell happened?”

“That’s not all.” Neri hesitates to make direct eye contact with Michael. “Not too far from it we also found a small pool of blood, sir.”

“Show me.” Colour drains out of Michael’s face as he follows Al Neri back outside of the central family estate and over to the blood trail not far from your bedroom.

“Just here, sir.” Neri points to where his men keep their flashlights aimed towards every drop of blood, no matter how small. “This section of the compound avoids any kind of light almost immediately, yet we found both the piece of Mrs. Corleone’s nightgown and the blood here.”

Michael crouches down towards the large splatter of dried blood, staring down at it directly. “This can’t be Victoria’s blood.”

“No sir, as it gets much heavier after this point onward.” Al Neri gestures with his finger towards the corner of the estate.

Michael exchanges a glance with Neri, standing back up and immediately making haste to follow the rest of the blood trail leading to the drains.

“This kind of splatter,” Michael mutters under his breath, “it shows someone was shot at close range. It’s messy.”

“I agree.” Neri leads Michael and the rest of his men further. “It’s messy and shows signs that whoever was shot is bleeding out and could not make it far.”

Michael presses his lips down into a firm line, thinking to himself it’s either your body that gave out somewhere hidden on the compound and this is actually your blood, or it’ll be the only time Michael feels relief tonight.

Neri knows this is the only thought on Michael’s mind following his boss’ silence, and he purposefully avoids any kind of eye contact or talking until they all approach the sewers.

“It stops right inside, sir.” Rocco’s voice calls out as he jumps into the small murky puddle leading into the drains. “Whoever got in bled out very quickly and didn’t make it far.”

Neri takes a step inside the sewers as Michael waits outside surrounded by the rest of the men, and it’s only a few moments later that the sounds of a body being dragged back towards the entrance can be heard.

Michael can’t ignore the relief his heart feels to see Neri and Rocco pulling out a man badly shot in the stomach and barely conscious instead of your body of all things.

“Sir.” Rocco looks up at Michael. “This man is still alive and has a pulse.”

“Finally caught one of the assassins, did you?” Michael mumbles—disappointment heavy in his voice. “Congratulations. Fish him out.”

Careful not to manhandle the assassin too much from the state of his heavy wounds, Neri and Rocco take him out of the drains and onto the grass surrounding it—forcing the assassin to sit up.

“Ohhh, God…” The assassin groans out in pain, still insistent on clutching onto his stomach like it’ll spare his life.

“Out of state,” Michael notes, knowing this is no regular buttonman from Nevada.

“C-can’t even die a peaceful death, can I?” The assassin lazily tilts his head back to look up at Michael.

“Laying in shit and mud within the sewers is as peaceful of a death as it gets for a rat like you.” Michael pulls out his pistol from his suit pocket, aiming it directly at the bullet wound on the assassin’s stomach. “I can make it much quicker for you. You will tell me your name and who you work for.”

“I’m dyin’, Don Corleone.” The assassin lets out a hacking, bloody cough. “Does i-it really look like I’m in the position to answer your questions?”

“Answer him, now.” Rocco kicks the assassin in the side, causing him to howl out in pain.

“You can still talk, that’s obvious.” Michael cocks his pistol. “Don’t think this can be the end of you that easily. I can get that wound of yours patched up and then slowly torture you by pulling out the stitches myself. So start. Talking.”

“You’ll find o-out soon enough.” The assassin chuckles weakly. “Oh, you’re everything they s-said you were, Don Corleone. Threats and all… Can’t you see this is a-all a game?”

Drenched in the rancid scent of the sewers and completely soaked in mud, the assassin's clothes drip with waste matter as Rocco and Neri pull him up to his feet now.

“Taking my wife is some kind of game to you?” Michael furrows his brows.

“A-ah, that wasn’t me.” The assassin shakes his head. “T-that was my partner, of course. How am I gonna…gonna take out the pretty lady when she did this to me?” He gestures to the bullet lodged into his stomach. “T-that wife of yours sure is somethin’… Sure doesn’t go down without a fight but… Lookin’ at me now, I’d say she doesn’t go down without a murder.”

“If you don’t want that bullet pulled out of you right now you’re going to start confessing.” Neri threatens. “Tell us what your boss planned.”

“We were supposed to kill you.” The assassin smirks up at Michael. “But we always had a Plan B, as you can see… Take the wife if all else fails, you know? Hell of an aim that wife of yours has huh? Killing two of us.”

“I’ll take this body count off her hands.” Michael fires his pistol twice straight into the heart of the assassin as Neri and Rocco let the body drop out of their hands and to the ground.

“Sir?” Neri looks up at Michael expectantly for his next order.

“This isn’t a Plan B.” Michael holds his pistol up, examining it. “This was supposed to happen to begin with. They took Victoria.” He lowers his gun down to his side. “And unless I’m dead wrong, they have her alive and they want her alive.”

“Who?” Tom’s voice breaks out as he approaches Michael and his men, out of breath.

“Alphonse Ricci, who else?” Michael’s voice drips with venom just mentioning the name. “Get rid of the bodies—all of them. I want this place cleaned up, spotless as if nothing happened. You two—” he points at Neri and Rocco. “I want your men to search and investigate every inch of the entire compound and its surroundings. Seal up the estates with security at all times. And one more thing.” Michael specifically stares into Rocco’s eyes. “Keep an eye on your own men, just in case.”

Michael knows there’s a traitor within the compound, and he’s never going to shy away from settling for the idea that there may be more than one.

Having the dried-up blood on your temple from being pistol-whipped unconscious is the only courtesy Alphonse’s assassins give you for tonight.

While you’re still out cold and laying in the back seat, the assassin sitting next to you takes his time properly and tightly restraining your ankles together and your wrists behind your back.

None of Alphonse’s men are risking any further surprises or movements from you tonight.

Far off from Lake Tahoe now, the destination of the car is still within Nevada and the driver’s able to relax knowing for certain he’s not being followed from any side.

Thirty minutes further into the drive within the night and the pitter-patter of rain beginning to surround the car becomes full out, pouring rain.

Soft, quiet jazz music plays in the car for some peace of mind; the roads remain slick and muddy from all the rain and making a mess over the car from how fast the speed limit allows on the highway.

“She ain’t awake yet, is she?” The driver looks up into the rear-view mirror.

“No, thank God.” The assassin mutters, taking off his fedora and setting it on his lap. “I got her all tied up at last, though.”

“Good.” The driver sighs in relief. “Make sure whatever you tied on her is tight, so she doesn’t surprise us like fucking Houdini.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” The assassin chuckles, glancing down at his fedora before back at your body; his eyes begin to widen in realization at your belly. “Shit.”

“What?” The driver’s tone of voice grows alarmed. “What is it?”

The assassin pauses for a moment, placing his hand against your small—yet noticeable when looking up close—baby bump. “Shit.”

“WHAT?” The driver repeats, practically yelling. “Don’t freak me out up here man, tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“She’s pregnant.” The assassin shakes his head. “Fucking shit.”

“What?!” The driver exclaims out in surprise. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Yeah, man.” The assassin nods, pulling his hand back. “Uhhh, not far along from what I know with my lady but Corleone is definitely pregnant.”

“Did she fall when you—”

“I don’t know, man!” The assassin’s voice tightens from panic. “It all happened so fucking fast, I don’t remember! She fell right into my arms, she couldn’t have hit the ground or anything.”

“Goddamn it.” The driver hisses under his breath. “Have some fucking integrity with yourself. Pregnant or not, that’s still a woman and this is nothing but a surprise.”

“Yeah, I know.” The assassin mumbles, rubbing his face glumly. “Last thing we need is something to happen to that baby.”

“That’s Michael Corleone’s baby.” The driver clarifies. “That means more than one thing, for the boss too. She’s even more valuable now to us than you think. The boss said no harm should come to her at all unless necessary when restraining her.”

“Listen, man.” The assassin sighs loudly, getting fed up with the constant back and forth lecturing. “I KNOW. I know that.”

“Then let me remind you again, because it’s your ass on the line, not mine!” The driver narrows his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “My job is just to drive.”

“Uh-huh.” The assassin rolls his eyes. “Well, lucky you then. I guess we can’t all drive away from certain death and torture, away from dozens of security cards and Michael Corleone’s multi-million dollar home.”

“Listen, pal, I know I’m not that lucky, but that braindead brother-in-law of this broad got us in and he got us out.” The driver points out, “you wanna thank someone for being alive? Thank him. As I said, I’m just doing my job. I got a family to feed at home and we all have a part to play.”

“Don’t we all?” The assassin mutters out a rhetorical question. “My job is basically done. She ain’t hit too hard either and I cleaned up that blood. But she’s gonna catch a cold if we get her out of the car like this.”

“I have my trenchcoat up here in the front seat.” The driver gestures with his hand. “You can wrap that around her. Keep her warm at least.”

“That’ll do.” The assassin leans up, grabbing the trenchcoat off the front passenger seat. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night after all. I wouldn’t have expected her to be fully and warmly clothed in bed.” The assassin places the driver’s trenchcoat over top of you like a blanket. “She looks fine now.”

“As I said, man, we’ll let the boss decide that. Are there any visible marks on her forehead?” The driver asks, concerned.

“Well,” the assassin leans over to you for a closer look. “It’s not swollen or anything but there’s definitely a small gash.”

“Fuck’s sakes.” The driver sighs quietly to himself. “We could both get killed for this. Just keep it clean until we get there if you can. It’ll have to do for now. We’re taking two people to the boss now, not just one.”

Michael Corleone is the type of man who has both the patience, money and time to not only have his estate’s compound and the vicinity searched, but all of Lake Tahoe.

Nothing differs from the fact he got his mother-in-law an ambulance with a private doctor and Doctor Katherine for familiarity by Ludovica’s side, and repairs were done to the bedroom windows and walls at 3AM by private contractors.

While Leonardo remains inside the central family estate comforting a crying Connie and her two sons, Giuseppe, Vito, Matteo, and Alessio remain in the boathouse with their men increasing security and fully searching every dead body for clues.

Getting away from the thundering rain, Michael remains in the living room with Tom and Sonny, sipping whiskey on the rocks quietly and is on his third cigarette out of stress.

Tonight, nobody leaves or enters the compound except for the contractors who’ve been searched so thoroughly that Michael could pull out a list of their ancestry if he wanted to.

Everyone in your family and Michael’s is now aware you’ve been kidnapped. Your brother Matteo remains silent as he had been when he heard the news, while Alessio refuses to hide how distressed he’s felt throughout the night.

Giuseppe and Vito remain calm, but the distant and glum look on their faces shows that they too are concerned and deep in thought.

Everybody knows this kidnapping isn’t to kill or do something for the show. Everyone also knows Alphonse and his men will never get away with this, and those personal emotions must not be allowed to interfere in what must be done.

Such is true of Michael whose facial expression and body language have been unreadable to all except Connie this night. While he hides his emotions well as always, the anger swelling inside of Michael is immense.

As Michael finishes his third cigarette in silence, it’s then that Lorenzo walks into the living room—his hair still glistening wet from coming out of the boathouse and getting caught in the rain.

Nothing about Lorenzo reads ‘friendly’ or in the mood for conversation with the way he angrily approaches Michael and Tom by the fireplace, interrupting their silence. “Which one of your men do we have to kill for causing all of this, Corleone?”

“Hello to you too, Lorenzo.” Sonny rolls his eyes at the sudden show of attitude.

Michael looks up from his ashtray as if he hasn’t noticed Lorenzo coming in at all, and for Lorenzo’s sake, Michael chooses to ignore his tone of voice against him too. “If there was a quick fix to this situation such as putting a bullet between someone’s eyes, it would have happened already.”

“There’s never a quick fix with you, is there?” Lorenzo maintains his dance from where Tom and Michael sit.

“You can whine all you want, but it’s not going to change what happened tonight,” Michael says firmly as if he’s completely unbothered by tonight’s events.

“We’re not going to get anywhere if we don’t start from one place at a time.” Tom points out but is directing his words to Lorenzo. “We know who did this, but we still don’t know how or why.”

“Yeah, how the hell did they even get into the compound?” Sonny crosses his arms.

“It’s not an outside job, but those who’ve come inside physically have already been dealt with,” Michael replies plainly.

The room grows quiet as Lorenzo runs a hand through his hair. He silences himself from being about to speak out as the sound of Leonardo trying to hush a sobbing Connie comes out from the drawing room.

“Ignore her.” Michael puts out his shortened cigarette. “She’s just hysterical.”

“You know you can’t pin the blame on Constanzia for my sister’s own independence. Victoria would never make a stupid or selfish decision, even if her life was on the line.” Lorenzo narrows his eyes at Michael.

Michael pulls out a cigarette from his pack and doesn’t bother to look up at Lorenzo nor answer him until he’s lit it and put the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “You really aren’t in any position to talk about my sister when yours is missing.”

“That’s your wife too, might I remind you.” Lorenzo scowls.

“Believe me, I know.” Michael locks a cold gaze with Lorenzo. “I know. My pregnant wife was kidnapped. MY wife. An attempt was taken on my life, her life, and my children’s lives. Now your mother is injured and my wife is missing. This has more to do with me and my family than it ever has anything to do with you.”

“Lorenzo,” Tom clears his throat awkwardly, wishing to avoid another verbal confrontation between Michael and Lorenzo here and now. “What we really need to worry about now is if Victoria’s being taken out of state or not. We can narrow down our options and get this done and over with.”

“Do any of you think she’s being taken out of state?” Sonny scoffs.

“Not a chance,” Michael answers Sonny. “We have airports and the surrounding borders on high alert.”

“Everybody in Nevada knows Alphonse is in Nevada then. He wasn’t lurking around Las Vegas for no reason.” Sonny mutters under his breath in annoyance. “If he’s smart, he’ll keep Victoria there.”

“Exactly.” Tom sighs, relaxing in his seat.

“The goal has never been to take her far away, if anything Alphonse has done in the past has told us something.” Michael takes a short drag out of his cigarette.

“That rat is just doing what he can.” Lorenzo grits his teeth, attempting to calm himself down. “Anything he can just because he has the ability to do so.”

“That’s what happens when you’re a man with no real power.” Sonny snaps his finger. “And I swear if they harmed Vic—”

“There’ll be hell to pay regardless,” Michael adds, speaking in a calm and low voice. “His men were stupid enough to talk before they were killed. There’ll be a ransom as they hold Victoria hostage, no doubt.”

“Then Ricci is really as stupid as they say he is if he wants money.” Lorenzo turns his attention to the set of drinks on the coffee table. “He’s drowning in his family’s wealth as is.”

“It’s never been about money.” Michael continues smoking his cigarette. “It can’t ever be that easy for him.”

“This is all some kind of sick game to him.” Tom frowns. “Kidnapping a pregnant woman.”

“The people who orchestrated this assassination and kidnapping have no idea we know as much as we do, and I intend to keep it that way.” Michael sets his gold lighter upward on the table before him. “Death is not going to be the release they think it is. They want us chasing them down in cars and infiltrating every hideout they have for information.”

“Yeah, they’ll expect it any minute now.” Sonny agrees.

“Well?” Lorenzo raises his brows, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“We’ll wait.” Michael brushes him off.

“Excuse me?” Lorenzo holds his glass up, staring at Michael in disbelief.

“As I’ve said before, we’ll wait.” Michael gives Lorenzo a nasty glare. “We’re not about to give them what they want like an instant reaction or there’ll be more unnecessary bloodshed and civilians involved.”

“Mike’s right.” Tom nods glumly. “There’ll be a whole shootout, damage to the city, and no proposition.”

“So what? You’re going to wait for Ricci and his rats to give you a call with a ransom, then act?” It couldn’t possibly be more of a mirror opposite than what Lorenzo would personally do.

“I don’t play into anybody’s hands,” Michael states clearly. “Nobody is getting in or out of this compound tonight, including you. Nobody goes after Victoria tonight.”

[ 3:30 AM ]

With everyone else finally asleep in the estate, only Michael, Sonny, and Tom remain awake at this hour as if they’re expecting further news.

In reality, nobody’s truly getting any real rest after tonight and Michael certainly isn’t going to be one to lie to himself that sleep will resolve the thoughts buzzing in and out of his mind, still keeping him alert and wide awake.

Tom examines the documents he’s taken from the study that he and Michael’s informants had gathered about Alphonse and the Ricci family over the past seven years—specifically looking for any criminal charges on his men and the fact you prosecuted his brother back in 1949.

Tom can’t stop himself from looking up at how crowded and littered Michael’s ashtray has become, let alone the fact Michael had a small glass of whiskey tonight to calm his nerves too.

Others may not notice or even care, but Tom knows this is the pinnacle of Michael being under stress even though he handles it well.

Sonny on the other hand couldn’t be any more different from Michael himself. Sonny can’t help but showcase all of his emotions, no matter how severe they are like Lorenzo—hence why Sollozzo referred to Sonny’s anger as his “famous temper” which may as well be infamous.

Had Sonny or Vito still been Don—Sonny may as well have been ripping Michael apart for refusing to act on getting his wife back right away, and Sonny may have run off after you himself.

Still, Sonny knows better than to argue with Michael or act against him, so he keeps his grumbles and opinions to himself only.

Sonny has to remind himself as he’s done so several times before that you’re just his sister-in-law, not his wife, nor will you ever be and he needs to care about you appropriately.

“Mikey…” Tom begins with a soft sigh, looking up at his brother. “You should really consider getting some rest now. It’s almost 4AM.”

“I’m aware of what time it is, thank you, Tom,” Michael murmurs through his cigarette.

“It’s not like anyone’s getting a wink of real sleep tonight.” Sonny stretches out his arms with a grunt.

“True, but what will sleep deprivation offer us tomorrow morning?” Tom frowns.

“We can only speak for ourselves,” Michael speaks up again. “You tell me what we learned tonight, what both of you think, and only then will I consider sleep.”

“Fair enough.” Tom clears his throat, taking another look down at the documents before him. “Well, we know Alphonse Ricci is behind this whole thing but he hasn’t personally left a calling card or any kind of physical evidence proving this. No ransom either.”

“It’s too early for that.” Michael taps off the ashes from the tip of his cigarette. “For all we know, he doesn’t have Victoria where he wants her just yet.”

“True.” Sonny checks the time on his wristwatch. “Probably still on the way to God knows where the bastard wants her taken to.”

“Hopefully, Victoria’s alive,” Sonny mumbles to himself.

“What about the twins, though?” Sonny asks. “I’m curious what you told them about all this, Mike.”

“They know that Doctor Katherine is at the hospital with their grandmother and so is Victoria. Isn’t that right?” Michael shoots both of his brothers a look, expecting them to keep up with the story should the twins ask.

“Yeah.” Sonny scratches the back of his head. “Of course.”

Tom nods, knowing obviously the twins can’t be told their mother is (potentially) hurt and kidnapped and nothing must hint at that in any way. “My question is why would someone like Alphonse want to transport a corpse to him? Err—” Tom’s quick to clear his throat, noticing the poisonous look in Michael’s eyes at the concept of you being killed by Alphonse’s men. “Ahem, what I mean to say is that it wouldn’t make any sense to hurt Victoria for Alphonse.”

“True.” Sonny tugs on his curls, nodding. “That stupid bastard always has had a bone to pick with the Ferrari’s—always will, always has. Don Ferrari’s men brutalized a lot of his own back in the day or so I hear; made a damn fool out of his father at times.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.” Michael could care less about how Alphonse feels. “A man who doesn’t respect himself will never have the empathy to respect others.”

Tom shuffles the documents over the coffee table around, taking a look at a different one detailing Alphonse’s family history. “And either Alphonse knows Victoria’s pregnant already or he’s going to find out… If he has a ransom of any kind, he could double it just for that.”

“The fuck?” Sonny furrows his brows in frustration. “Why the hell does that matter to him? It’s not like they took her with the baby in her damn arms.”

“Because it means Alphonse has taken two people, not just one,” Tom answers with a frown.

A scowl twists over Michael’s expression. “If the baby or Victoria is harmed in any way, I’ll make Don Ferrari’s supposed brutalization look like child’s play with what I’ll have done to Alphonse’s entire family.”

“Damn right.” Sonny chuckles quietly. “Just like how I would. It’s the right thing to do when it comes to that fucker.”

“I get that,” Tom lets out a shaky sigh, “but maybe that’s what he wants us to do. Maybe he’s hoping we panic and overreact.”

“It’s not an overreaction, Tom.” Michael clarifies. “It would be done much after Alphonse’s own death. He will not be alive to see it.”

“You’re right, Mikey.” Tom rakes a hand through his hair. “I uhh—I hate to say this but after looking at all the facts, I don’t see how this is any different from any other business negotiation but Alphonse has taken your wife from you. That makes it personal now, Mike. So that means personal actions and personal emotions come into play with things like this. We can’t afford to treat it as business.”

“I can and I will.” Michael reaffirms. “Let the ransom come to me and I’ll decide further.”

“If there is any.” Sonny points out. “Alphonse might just be doing this for fuck all.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Tom plops back down in his seat with a loud sigh. “He isn’t beyond doing things just because he can.”

“It’s because he doesn’t follow any code of honor.” Michael rests his chin over his fist, putting out his cigarette. “There’s a reason why civilians aren’t killed or involved, for one. If he has any common sense, then he’ll know if he hurts Victoria or does something stupid, all the crime families would turn on him and not just because they fear Don Ferrari. If they let it go by them that Victoria’s harmed or killed, all of our names would be smeared. Any one of us would have to kill Alphonse unless we want another full-out war and headlines that the government needs to crack down on ‘the mafia’ again.”

“Yes, it would also mean we’d lose considerable strength with the police force and they’d have to turn on all of us for an investigation that may come from the FBI. It gets very, very messy.” Tom rubs his temple tenderly, growing increasingly stressed.

“That’s really not a fuckin’ option for us at this point.” Sonny throws his hands up in frustration. “I doubt Alphonse would dig his own grave like that—“

“He already has.” Michael remains calm and unphased. “He just happens to have one foot in it already.”

“He’s definitely working with someone else.” Tom avoids looking down at the documents again. “Mikey, there’s just no way Alphonse has that kind of power or muscle to pull off something like this by himself—let alone that attempted assassination. It’s not like the old days anymore.”

“I assumed that much,” Michael replies plainly.

“I thought those old fucks Barzini and Tattaglia knew better than to join up with him again.” Sonny scoffs.

“They’ve never known better.” Michael moves his cigarette pack closer to him over the coffee table. “We will not underestimate them either way. Someone else is involved and I know it.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Sonny turns to face Michael.

“We’ll wait.” Michael gives the same answer as earlier tonight. “We’ll wait for a ransom or whatever comes further just as Alphonse will await a reaction. If he’s expecting me to go ballistic, however, then he proves yet again he doesn’t know me at all.”

“And as for Victoria?” Tom asks quietly.

“Do you not know who Victoria is at this point, Tom?” Michael sighs, looking up at his brother. “She’s not one to overreact, to begin with. I want to protect her and bring my wife back home safely, but when she’s there and we’re here still figuring out her location, I know she can handle herself—and she must. Every move we make is critical and this could cause her and the baby harm if anyone steps out of line. I won’t abide failure.”

“Yeah, Tom.” Sonny relaxes in his chair, patting the armrests. “She’s a Corleone wife, after all, ya know? Much higher status than before. She’s a part of the two most powerful mafia families in this country and their business. So she provides as many opportunities to Alphonse as Mike’s death would if everything went in his favor tonight.”

“They know exactly who Victoria Ferrari Corleone is.” Michael nods slowly. “Victoria is much more valuable alive rather than dead, unlike me. I want my wife back, Tom.” Michael looks up at his brother before redirecting his gaze to Sonny. “I want her and our baby she’s carrying back unharmed and safe at any cost. Any cost. I’ll personally make sure I do this, and I want my brothers by my side when it’s done because there’s just going to be more bloodshed now. Are you with me?”

“Yeah, Mike.” Sonny sits up. “I am.”

“Yes, me too.” Tom nods. “Anything you need Mikey, we’re here.”

Still well within Nevada, your destination straight to Alphonse isn’t in Las Vegas, Reno, or rather anywhere most people have even heard of, but a near ghost town called Silver City—forty minutes away from Lake Tahoe.

Alphonse himself can’t be seen anywhere near Reno or Las Vegas, let alone take you there now with Michael’s men on the lookout, crawling by the borders of the state too meaning California was never an option.

Alphonse is smart in the sense that he knows nobody will think twice about taking you to a sleepy little town and even then, it’ll be all the more entertaining for Alphonse to see you try and get to this empty wasteland before figuring out where exactly you are or what to do.

The rain stretches out the drive longer as expected, but as Michael was still talking to his brothers at around 3:30 AM, you arrived in Silver City by the same time.

Depending on where and how you look at it, Silver City can resemble nothing but a near ghost town and nothing else, an abandoned junkyard within a half-empty desert or beautiful in its own way.

Where you’re taken to in specific is nowhere near the rest of the scarce population in Silver City, but an isolated, old ranch-style manor—Alphonse Ricci’s only welcome place to hide in Nevada.

As the car approaches the manor, Alphonse’s men who maintain positioned strategically around the property shine their flashlights over the car immediately—causing the driver to brake abruptly to shield his eyes.

“It’s us, come on! Get that shit out of my eyes.” The driver sticks his middle finger up to the door.

“Yeah, yeah, asshole.” One of the guards calls out from the distance as the flashlights are only lowered to illuminate the path up to the manor which would otherwise be ensnared in complete darkness.

“Hurry up and get in here already.” Another guard speaks out. “Took your sweet ass time.”

The assassin in the back of the car with you rolls his eyes, thinking it’s not worth his time to even bother saying anything back.

He scoops you up into his arms carefully, still with the driver’s trenchcoat wrapped around you to keep you dry and warm before taking you out of the car. “We’re here now, aren’t we?”

“There was a damn storm if it wasn’t obvious.” The driver shuts the car door behind him as he steps out.

“Doesn’t matter.” A deep voice cuts in as one of Alphonse’s capos pushes steps out onto the porch. “As long as you weren’t followed and Victoria Corleone is unharmed.”

“She put up a hell of a fucking fight, I’ll tell you that.” The assassin grits his teeth, holding you tightly.

“Seriously?” The capo raises his brows in disbelief and disappointment. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ joking.”

“Yeah, why?” The assassin scowls, “you don’t see Jimmy with me, do you? What do you think she did to him, invite him over for tea?”

The guards with the flashlights by the front of the porch quietly exchange a glance with one another before the capo asks another question. “What exactly happened?”

“She fucking shot him last second, motherfucker bled out in the goddamn sewers before we could even get out.” The assassin huffs, glaring at your limp body.

The capo rolls his eyes, beginning to hear his men snickering in the back. “So at about 2AM, Victoria Corleone in nothing but a nightgown and a pair of heels killed one of you?” Before the assassin can come up with an answer to the rhetorical question, a wad of spit flies in his face.

“Fuck you!” You weakly pry open your eyes, struggling in the assassin’s arms.

“Oh, whoa!” The assassin grunts, “there she is—what perfect timing.”

“Good morning, sunshine.” The capo chuckles, motioning for his men to sit down as he can tell your wrists and ankles are bound so tightly you’ll be incapable of doing anything but flopping around like a fish. “She’s not as helpless as she may want you to think. Get her to stand up, I’ll let her walk.”

“Careful so she doesn’t dislocate your jaw with a kick.” The assassin mutters, forcing you down as the driver assists him.

“Don’t worry about me, kid.” The capo takes out a switchblade from his suit pocket, showing it to you first with a wry grin over his lips before cutting the ropes around your ankles with ease. “She knows when she’s outnumbered, isn’t that right? Ah, let me take a good look at her.” The capo rises back up to his feet, looking at you with the driver’s trenchcoat wrapped around your shoulders loosely. “Mhmm.” The capo tilts your chin up but is only met with a scowl from you. “You know,” he begins, “you can spit on my face all you want but it’s only gonna make your stay here a lot more uncomfortable.”

“Is that a threat?” You hiss.

“Yes.” The capo seems more irritated with the gash on your temple than your comments.

“You’re a bad liar.” You grunt, refusing to stay still.

“Yeah?” The capo raises both of his brows, pushing you inside the estate. “And how would you know?”

“If any one of you wanted to hurt me, you would have already.” You narrow your eyes, stepping inside the estate by force.

“You’re very smart, Corleone.” The capo chuckles to himself. “You definitely live up to that mythic reputation of yours, because a ‘smart man’ would have never come to underestimate a mafiosa like you. Now, WALK.” He gives you another forceful push.

“I’m walking.” You say through gritted teeth before purposefully jerking your ankle to the side—a risk to break your ankle but only doing so to dig the tip of your heel into the carpet and break it off entirely. “Ow, fuck!”

“For fuck’s sakes, someone take those fucking shoes off of her.” The capo rolls his eyes, pulling you back by the binds on your wrist.

Pretending you neither care nor notice you left a mark on the rug, you stand still as Alphonse’s men throw off your kitten heels quickly.

“Take her inside.” The capo points at a closed-door around the corner of the estate. “The boss has waited for her long enough.”

You look up ahead of you, having already used up much of the energy and strength you had since you awoke.

Now, drowsiness and weakness hit you from all sides as you remember just how hard you were hit in the head as you’re dragged into the room.

Alphonse’s men leading and pushing you further into the estate control all of your movements so you can’t even jerk your muscles if you wanted to.

From the moment you enter, you’re able to make out a well-furnished, large office room as your surroundings. Across from you is a fireplace crackling with a warm glow and the faint scent of fresh, burning wood.

A large, crimson patterned Persian rug adorns the maple floors and the wallpaper is in an old Victorian style.

The only painting on the wall is a large portrait of Niccolo Machiavelli directly behind the office table, but small sets of black and white photographs of the Ricci crime family dating back to the 1800s are scattered around on the office desk, on the ledge of the fireplace and on the coffee table to the right of the room.

It’s more than apparent to you that Alphonse has been running his operations here for quite some time. You can’t just call it a hideout or a dump—this may as well be home.

Just as you begin to process what kind of room you’re in, you’re left to stand in the center while Alphonse’s men take their seats by two leather armchairs near the fireplace like you aren’t in the room, to begin with.

You watch them light up cigars out of a gold-plated case, relaxing as Alphonse now enters the room as well from another door concealed within the wallpaper.

You turn your head to see Alphonse Ricci facing you directly—locking eyes in a deadly gaze as a sardonic smirk forms on his lips. “The beautiful Victoria Ferarri; I’m so glad you could make it all this way to come to see me.”

Alphonse only takes a few steps towards you from where he entered, and suddenly you feel two pairs of rough hands on you dragging you by your shoulders up to him directly.

Alphonse notices the pissed expression on your face and the drowsiness in your eyes, cupping your face gently. “Was it a rough ride coming here, darling? Or was it the time?” Alphonse raises his right arm to show you his glistening, gold wristwatch—the exact same 18k model Michael wears.

Your eyes widen in realization, giving Alphonse his first anticipated response of the evening.

“Ooh, that’s got you awake, isn’t it?” He grins. “But I’m far from being a rude host. I can see when my guests are tired. Maybe we should have that heart-to-heart talk I’ve been waiting years for later—when you’re settled in.”

You pull your eyes away from Alphonse’s watch as he lowers his wrist, saying to him, “fuck you.”

Alphonse rolls his eyes and lets out a soft sigh before shrugging his shoulders. “I expected you to say as much. Sweet dreams then, honey.”

He raises his fist, striking you harshly over the gash on your forehead which instantly knocks you out again; this time making sure you fall helplessly into his arms.

Once again, everything surrounding you has become pitch black as you fade into unconsciousness.

The longest night of Michael’s life passes by agonizingly slow with Michael laying in a half-empty bed, forcing his eyes shut and “sleeping”. His security and men remain on high alert now instructed to do so 24/7 in alternating shifts, knowing there’ll be no peace at the Lake Tahoe compound for as long as you’re absent from it.

Speaking of your absence, it’s what’s killing Michael on the inside. It doesn’t matter how many times Michael tosses and turns in the bed—he hates to turn around and see your side empty and cold, but at the same time wants to do so with some silly hope inside of him that you’ll be there.

Michael feels more bitter and frustrated now left alone with his personal thoughts in the bedroom he always shared with you.

To make matters worse, Michael can still smell your perfume and favorite body wash lingering on the sheets and your pillow.

Instead of trying to forget or get his mind off of you, Michael forces himself to face the direction of your side of the bed before squeezing his eyes shut.

‘I promise I’m going to get you back here safe and sound, Victoria. This’ll all be over soon, and everyone who has a part to play will pay with their lives for what they’ve done.’

Running on barely three hours of sleep, Michael is up first thing at 6AM with the rest of the family except the children who remain guarded inside, sleeping soundly.

Breakfast is brief and quiet, filled with tension as everyone knows today’s going to be about business and nothing else—especially as Giuseppe and Michael await a ransom.

Around 6AM, you too stir in your sleep as if your body’s attempting to wake you, but you can also hear hushed whispering around you.

For all you know, you think you’re still tied up and presumably laying on the Persian rug from where you must have fallen from that blow to your head, but you’re wrong.

Your wrists were untied and your body can tell it’s laying over a soft mattress of some unknown bed.

The reddened marks over your wrists and ankles begin to bruise overnight, so tender and sore to the touch that it could cause you to cry if someone touched them.

Still incapacitated and heavily drowsy, your vision is too blurry to see anything around you and you can’t pry your eyelids open to save your life.

You do feel a trickle of some liquid running down the side of your face; your gash hit by Alphonse on purpose, now darkened and mottled.

In reality, you’re completely unaware you’re laying next to Alphonse in his bed, tucked under warm blankets and over black, silky sheets.

Alphonse lays next to you half-naked, smoking a cigarette and leaning his back up against a propped-up pillow; a heavenly sight to you when it’s Michael in this position.

“Awake already, huh?” His eyes dart over to your exposed back from your nightgown, and when Alphonse notices your body twitching as if you’d awaken, he holds his cigarette between his lips and reaches for your binds on the end table next to him.

You whimper, feeling a stinging pain from your wrists being tied up behind you again but Alphonse keeps his movements as gentle and slow as possible not to hurt you.

“Sorry sweetheart, this is just for your own safety for a little while longer.” As soon as your wrists are secured to Alphonse’s liking, an injection follows next.

You have no idea what’s happening to you when you feel the prick of a syringe poke into your arm, but it instantly drugs you into deep sleep again.

“I don’t want you awake just yet, kitten.” Alphonse brushes your hair behind your neck, slowly pulling out the syringe and noticing your body going limp. “After I’ve had a talk with that pathetic excuse of a husband of yours, it’ll just be me and you. You’ll see.”

Just as expected, putting everyone on edge but relieving them at the same time, the telephone on Michael’s office desk begins to ring.

Sitting around Michael’s office are Tom, Sonny, Giuseppe, Leonardo, Lorenzo, and Vito—all exchanging expectant glances with one another as there’s no guessing who's making the phone call this early in the morning.

Michael’s expression remains cold and unreadable, and as he picks up the telephone and holds it up to his ear, Michael doesn’t even bother saying ‘hello’. “Alphonse.”

“Good morning, Michael.” Alphonse’s tone of voice is more amused than anything now that he finally has leverage over Michael. “I see you’re smart enough to figure out the rest here.”

“Cut the theatrics and bullshit.” As stern as Michael’s tone of voice grows, he holds back his anger and any indication of the frustration and stress mounting on him from last night. “I knew it was you.”

“So you did.” Alphonse chuckles. “That was the easy part, congratulations. Though if you didn’t assume it was me, I’d be questioning your judgment. What a rough night it must have been for you, Don Corleone.”

“On the contrary, I’d say the same for you.” Michael grips the telephone against his ear so harshly his knuckles turn white. “All of your men and the assassins you sent are dead, rotting away in the sewers of my estate.”

“Ah, yes.” Alphonse doesn’t seem the slightest bit phased by the death of his own men. “All except for the one who took your precious wife to me, right? You’re not gonna include him?”

“Doesn’t make a difference, does it?” Michael's eyes glare down at the burning tip of his cigarette; his voice completely drained of emotion. “I’ll kill him too and he’ll join the body count with you soon enough.”

“Bold.” Alphonse grazes his tongue over his front teeth. “I’ll believe it when I see a bullet lodged in the back of his head with my own two eyes. For now, he has a promotion, a big payday, and is enjoying his breakfast next to me. Speaking of, how does Victoria like her coffee? Oh, or does she prefer tea?”

“Don’t fucking touch her or do anything to my wife, do you understand?” Michael narrows his eyes. “Even you know you don’t need to touch her.”

“Victoria’s a sensitive topic, isn’t she? And all I asked was about tea or coffee. You’re killing my fun here, Michael. Touching her is half the fun. I don’t just have her here with me because I can, I have her by my side because I wanted to marry her, and do business with her and her family. That hasn’t changed. I have history with Victoria, hence why I’m actually eager to catch up with her here, but don’t worry—I’ll give her princess treatment. Victoria will be as safe and as sound, as she can be with me, provided she doesn’t do anything stupid. Then of course I can’t guarantee I won’t get a little rough with her.”

“You’re a sick man, Alphonse. You’re delusional living in your head with all these fantasies of Victoria.” Michael grits his teeth.

“Please.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, looking over at you bound over the middle of his Persian rug on your stomach. “I have your wife bound like I’m putting her on a spitfire laying on my favorite Persian rug. It’s a nice view I can get used to—and I will. I have the fireplace on too, to keep her nice and warm considering she’s still in that dainty, sexy nightgown of hers. And I see you managed to knock her up again, huh? You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I owe you no such justification or insight on my private life with my wife. I would have thought by now you could come up with more elaborate, believable lies. You can stop with the bullshit, I know you hurt her.”

“Well,” Alphonse drags on his words, “it’s not like she’d go to sleep if I asked her nicely too, so maybe I had to do a little something. You know I don’t like hurting women—especially pregnant women. Were you two planning on having another little Corleone or was this a surprise?”

“I know what game you’re playing.” Michael continues to speak in a monotone, calm voice. “You don’t need me to remind you again that when I find you, I’ll put you down like a dog. If you’re half the man you claim to be, you’ll know better than to hurt her or our baby.”

“I’ll take good care of her, bigshot.” Alphonse props his feet up on his desk. “Don’t stress yourself out so much, army boy. From now on, I’ll do you a favor. Whenever I want her to be asleep and unaware, I’ll drug her. You know I won’t lay my hands on her in that state. Actually, I’d prefer to see if she could fight me equally.” He laughs to himself, “I know she’s got a hell of an aim with a gun but unarmed, even my best men are afraid she’ll scratch their eyes out.”

“And you expect me to believe a word you say?” Michael exchanges a look with your father. “You’re nothing but a liar.”

“I’m a lot of things.” Alphonse shrugs his shoulders. “I’m a man of taste too. You know…” He grins, quick to change the conversation. “Your wife looks good in that nightgown of hers, did I mention that already? It barely covers her ass or those thighs too. Tell me—what should I do to her next, Michael? Should I cut her? Make her cry? Or should I make her moan?”

“If you’re expecting some sort of reaction for me, prepare to be gravely disappointed,” Michael tells him.

“Awww.” Alphonse frowns. “I was hoping I’d get some kind of reaction. I’m telling the truth as I know it and see it. I don’t care if you believe me or not. Also, thank you to your little friend for letting my men into your compound so easily. It’s quite unfortunate you’re still alive but I’m starting to think this backup plan of ours is worth much, much more than your miserable life. Look at you, you’re eating right out of my hand.”

“Enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame, I see.” Michael rolls his eyes. “Revel in it, Alphonse. I guarantee you it will be brief; numbered like the days of your life.”

“All bark and no bite.” Alphonse brushes off Michael’s threats. “Why not just do this the easy way? You want your wife back and money isn’t a problem. I see a solution! I want twenty million dollars sent to me in cash.”

“You’re not getting anything, Alphonse, and I will have my wife back.” Venom drips from Michael’s words. “Try again.”

“You must be really stupid then.” Irritation crosses Alphonse’s tone of voice. “Why wouldn’t you just give up the cash if you want your broad back so badly?”

“I know you too well, that’s why.” Michael answers. “You have no intention of giving Victoria up. You made this personal.”

Out of anger, Lorenzo can no longer hold back his tongue. “You know what you’re doing is against the honor code of the mafia. All seven families will come for you and hunt you down.”

“Ooh, I even got the attention of one of the Ferrari brothers! This must be my lucky day. Sorry—Lorenzo, isn’t it? As much as I admire your handiwork, I was hoping to hear from your father instead. I bet he’s there with you now, isn’t he, Michael? In that case.” Alphonse clears his throat, raising his voice louder over the telephone. “It would have been avoidable, Don Ferrari, if you even bothered to give me the time of day. Now that I have your daughter you care about me? I always knew I’d get to you one way or another. Good thing this is between me and Michael and that I like Victoria’s company. Do you all want to kill me so badly? Come and get me, wise guy. Twenty million by 3AM tomorrow night, Corleone. Make it worth my while by coming tonight and I’ll see if I can lower the offer to twelve. Time’s ticking.”

“Or else what?” Michael scoffs. “You think we’re all quaking from your idle talk? Nothing but threats from a schoolyard bully.”

“Or else?!” Alphonse repeats, increasingly growing frustrated. “Or else you can face the fact I won’t provide any mercy to that knocked-up wife of yours. I’m not fucking around, Corleone!” With that, Alphonse slams the telephone down, hanging up.

In truth, Alphonse has no intention to kill or harm you and your baby. Regardless of being a sorry excuse of a mafioso—let alone a decent man—Alphonse’s feelings for you are still there and felt strongly.

Even if Michael isn’t reacting the way Alphonse is expecting him to, there’s no doubt that there must be some sort of hatred boiling in Michael’s heart deep down—especially after this telephone call.

If in some sort of way Alphonse can get Michael emotional, then it’ll provide the perfect opportunity to catch Michael off guard and subsequently have him killed.

As a result of that scenario, Alphonse would want and have you all to himself as his wife in return for sparing your family after killing the most powerful mobster on the continent. One way or another, he’d win like that.

Alphonse’s intention behind his every word and action is to kill Michael and only to kill Michael—it’s never truly been all about you, but at the same time, you’re still very dear and personal to Alphonse too.

You overheard some of the conversation while unconscious but you’re unable to make sense of much from the drugged-up state you’re in.

Alphonse on the other hand giving away he’s taken you somewhere in Nevada and expecting a ransom is done on purpose to get this over with as soon as possible, and by that he means finally killing Michael.

Unlike you, Michael is a lot more deadly alive than he is dead no matter his brothers or his men who won’t be able to lift a finger after Alphonse has Don Ferrari’s options narrowed down with you by his side.

Besides, Alphonse has had countless days and endless hours pondering just how he was going to orchestrate the attempted assassination on both of your lives, and if all else failed, he was going to make it a living hell with you as the example.

Alphonse hasn’t even bothered to have the phone call made to Michael from elsewhere; he no longer cares if his location can be traced or not because Silver City is no short car ride even in Michael’s best Cadillacs.

Alphonse has the advantage all around. He expects Michael at every moment and his men are prepared for his arrival anytime.

With the location of Alphonse’s estate in Silver City, there isn’t a single square mile Michael and his men can properly conceal themselves out in the middle of nowhere.

Having been in Silver City now for years, Alphonse has eyes and ears everywhere now and knows the place like the back of his hand.

There are no trees let alone any buildings anywhere near his estate to conceal any kind of ambush—let alone support it.

Even if Alphonse details all of this to you himself, it’ll never change your mind about Michael. You have the utmost confidence and trust in your husband that’ll never change—in a ghost town or not.

With the time limit of 3AM either tonight or tomorrow night depending on when Michael makes his move, Alphonse wants to spend as much time with you as possible.

After putting down the phone, Alphonse takes a deep breath and calms his nerves; his huffs of frustration turning into soft chuckles of amusement.

There’s a power to be felt in Alphonse’s veins from being able to get Lorenzo Ferrari’s attention over the telephone, at the very least.

‘Bingo.’ Alphonse knows your family is going to be eating out of his hand soon enough.

Taking his feet off his office desk, Alphonse rises from his seat and smoothens out his suit jacket.

As the capo nods and begins to exit the room, Alphonse slowly paces around before approaching you—still noticing how weak you are under the influence of what would otherwise be normally used to knock a patient out for a short surgery.

“It should have always been like this.” Alphonse murmurs, clasping his hands behind him/

‘I wanted her from the very beginning.’ Alphonse approaches you, kneeling down and caressing the side of your face—noticing you don’t stir.

‘Still a little heavy. This’ll last in her system for a little while longer.”

Alphonse eyes the reddened gash over your forehead. “You’re going to be the grand prize here, aren’t you? Although I wish you’d just make your own way to me. Hope you didn’t miss me too much, beautiful.” He runs his hands through your soft hair.

Alphonse is still wildly attracted to you; his feelings had never changed from when he first asked your father for your hand in 1948.

Now that Michael knows Alphonse had you sleep next to him in his bed for the night, Alphonse expects it’ll drive him off the rails if it hasn’t already—whether Michael wants to show it or not.

Alphonse pulls his hand away from your hair, still concerned with the gash on your forehead, but never regretting his own actions.

“Get someone to look after that gash on her forehead and clean it up,” Alphonse orders one of his capos in the room without raising his eyes off of you. “Then I want her back here, fully tied. I have some questions for Victoria Ferrari when she awakens from her beauty nap.”

Your father and brothers began to immediately track down the call from the moment Michael put down his telephone; remaining occupied with finding a location or at least a close proximity to wherever you may be.

Michael’s outside of the estate and by the docks to his yacht with Tom, Sonny, Neri, and Rocco by his side; silent as they listen to their Don.

“You two are my best men and assassins.” Michael eyes both Neri and Rocco. “I don’t need to remind you of that, however, if anything, last night was a grand disappointment for both of you. It was nothing but failure. If you make any of the same mistakes, get sloppy or let yourself go, then you’ll die with Alphonse’s men. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes, Don Corleone.” Rocco and Neri say back.

“Don Ferrari and his sons are close to tracking down a location. At the very least we’ll have that by today.” Michael directs his words to his brothers.

“It sounds remote.” Tom sighs quietly, crossing his arms. “No way Alphonse could be hiding out in a big city or populous town around here.”

“That’s almost for certain.” Michael agrees. “We will have the advantage of ground if he’s isolated somewhere. Nevada is filled with ghost towns, there’s no end to them.”

“Yeah, but that’s the problem.” Sonny frowns. “We can’t be seen at all if he’s out in the middle of ass nowhere.”

“What do you think?” Michael raises a brow at Rocco, most of Michael’s disappointment and suspicion still lingering towards Rocco from last night.

“Difficult, but not impossible.” Rocco answers.

“Getting close and using the element of surprise will aid us well,” Neri adds. “It’ll cause just enough confusion for our men to get in.”

“Good,” Michael says. “Then we’ll also bring in our snipers from afar. None of our cars or men can be seen.”

“How will we know where to hold out ground?” Tom asks.

“It doesn’t matter, Tom,” Michael tells him sternly. “If we have to go in shooting still on the road, then so be it. Whether the vicinity is completely barren or not doesn’t concern me in the slightest. It’ll be done, I’ll be there to see it.”

Regardless of who this could have happened to, it’s almost completely unheard of to have the family’s Don present during guaranteed bloodshed and violence; the glances Tom and Sonny exchange with one another saying it all.

Michael’s brothers both know this can and will be dangerous for everyone involved, but especially Michael’s since he’s the prime target. Still, Michael’s word and decision are final—it can’t be argued with by anyone.

“Right after an attempt was taken on your life, Mike?” Sonny scratches the back of his neck. “Are you sure?”

“We both know Alphonse is truly after me, not the money. Even if I were to do something as ridiculous as deliver him twelve to twenty million dollars in cash, that provides us no guarantee of Victoria’s life and safety. He won’t stop there either.” Michael narrows his eyes, looking towards the dock. “Even if he did let Victoria go, we’d have thrown money at the problem. Then we shouldn’t be surprised when a knife lands on our backs or more bullets fly over our heads upon his next move. If I don’t go—” Michael’s eyes meet his brothers again. “Alphonse will kill Victoria and take the money. I’m not having my wife’s corpse dragged out of whatever hole he’s hiding in. If Alphonse wants me, then he’ll have me—but not in the way he thinks. We won’t bring any money. He’ll know why we’re there.”

“I agree, sr.” Rocco points towards the parking area towards the outside of the compound. “We’ll take our best vehicles and scatter so we won’t be pinpointed together and we won’t be heard coming at the same time either. We’ll have to go at night though to get as close to some sort of stealth.”

“You know what you have to do.” Michael nods in approval. “Handle it with Neri. Once we’re inside, everything will come to a quick end. I will personally kill Alphonse, is that understood? None of you will incapacitate him unless absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, Don Corleone.” Neri and Rocco respond back.

Michael, Sonny, and Tom’s heads turn to hear the door of the boathouse being pushed open; Lorenzo and Leonardo stepping out towards Michael and his brothers.

“Well?” Michael asks rather impatiently to the two.

“Silver City.” Leonardo looks up at Michael, shaking his head. “Alphonse has taken Victoria to Silver City. We know exactly where they are now.”

“A damn near ghost town just forty minutes from here,” Lorenzo mutters under his breath. “Just perfect. I expected as much.”

In reality, Alphonse expects Michael and his men to show up as soon as possible—no need to wait until tonight because Alphonse wants Michael to underestimate him.

Michael may have mentioned bringing his best snipers, but Alphonse already has his own positioned on the roof to ensure the best protection possible.

“Corleone and company will be here soon,” Alphonse smirks, smoking a cigar. “Instead of shooting out bedroom windows this time, we can have a lot more fun lodging bullets into each and every one of Corleone’s men—after him, of course,” Alphonse speaks loud and clear for not only all his surrounding men to hear, but you too—still tied up and laying on his Persian rug. “I’ll kill Corleone myself, otherwise where’s the fun in all of this?” He shoots a cautionary look at his men. “Disarmed at most by any one of you but not maimed, if I’m making myself clear. He deserves to be put down like a dog and I’m going to be the one to do it to him.”

Eyes squeezed shut but fully in consciousness, you can’t help but let out a giggle at Alphonse’s ridiculous comment.

Alphonse’s men exchange glances with one another before giving their boss a nod and exiting his office room—leaving just you and Alphonse alone in it.

Alphonse turns on his heel to face you laying upon the carpet, raising a brow. “I see Mrs. Ferrari-Corleone is awake now.” He speaks to you in a mocking and taunting tone as he walks over to where you lay.

Still, in pain from your throbbing gash which stings every time you move and raise your head, you can only tilt your head up slightly from the carpet—still letting out soft giggles.

“Is something amusing, sweetheart?” Alphonse stops right before you, looking down. “Or do you just enjoy being tied up like this?”

“You’re so fucking stupid.” You breathe out, surprising Alphonse with your words. “Put him down like a dog? Please.” You let out another laugh.

“I’m glad you find this funny, considering the little predicament you’re in.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, crouching down to you.

“Oh, cut the bullshit.” You glare at him, “I’ve been in worse situations.”

“Is that so?” Alphonse grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging it roughly and causing you to yelp out in pain. “I could have assumed that much, knowing you’re a Ferrari daughter and a Corleone wife, but how many times can you say you’ve been in such ‘situations’ pregnant?”

Instead of answering, you simply giggle again, smiling up at Alphonse but only meeting a scowl from him.

“I’ll have you know I’m a patient man,” Alphonse warns you, letting go of your hair. “But even I have a limit.”

“I don’t give a shit who you are or what you are.” You mutter back. “You’re a f-fucking failure to me.”

“Even though I have you here?” Alphonse scoffs. “You can downplay it all you want if that comforts you, darling.”

“If you weren’t a coward, you wouldn’t have tied me up, to begin with.” You grit your teeth.

“Believe me, baby,” Alphonse runs a hand through your hair as you struggle to pull away from him. “I’ve thought about doing that actually, but I don’t want to get into a scrap with you. I have a habit of breaking a lot more bones than I initially plan to. Instead, I’d rather see you tied up like this in that sexy nightgown of yours.” Alphonse gestures to your back where your wrists and ankles are bound together with rope.

“Pervert.” You grunt out. “You’re sick.”

“Oh yeah?” Alphonse chuckles. “Then you slept rather soundly in this pervert’s bed last night. You know you could have just woken up and run off, right?” Alphonse’s taunts are nothing but an attempt to make you feel as he’d now describe like a ‘helpless whore’.

You rest your head back against the carpet—generally exhausted from trying to strain your muscles against the ropes. “I’m not stupid enough to do things that’ll get me killed. You know, considering I was unconscious due to a head wound or maybe being fucking drugged by something. Can’t exactly get up and leave when you want to.”

“Smart girl.” Alphonse stands upright, grinning at you. “You already knew what kind of state you were in, huh?”

“Do your worst.” You glower.

“Maybe I will.” Alphonse snaps back. “You’re in no position to be talking to me like this.”

“Michael will do anything to you that you’ve already done to me,” you breathe out, “and trust me—he knows how to make it hurt a lot more.”

“Oh yeah?” Alphonse crosses his arms. “That’s nice, sweetheart. I guess we’ll have to see in about an hour or so what that pretty boy husband of yours is capable of truly doing. I have the upper hand here—I have all the men. This time he can’t attack and blow up this entire estate; not unless he wants to scrape off the ashes of his dead, pregnant wife for a second time.”

“So confident.” You mumble, “much more than the average street rat.”

Instantly pissed from the insult, Alphonse crouches back down and grabs your face roughly, forcing you to face him. “I didn’t fucking bring you here to insult me, Victoria. I can make you stop talking.”

“Do it.” Your breath hitches. “You could, but you won’t because you love hearing me talk.”

Right then and there, Alphonse’s expression warms into a smirk. “Yeah? Now you’re telling me the obvious, baby.”

“I’m not your fucking baby.” You form a quick wad of saliva in your mouth before spitting over Alphonse’s face.

“Fuck’s sakes!” Alphonse grunts, flinching and immediately raising his hand up to slap you but stopping himself.

“What’s the matter?” You taunt, having not moved a muscle. “Can't do it?”

Alphonse looks into your eyes, still noticing there are definitely the effects of the drug he injected you with still inside you. “Don’t push me, Ferrari. I still have a lot to talk to you about after I kill your husband.”

“My last name is Corleone.” You correct as Alphonse lets go of your face and move away from you. “As I s-said—do your worst. I’ll still be lying here laughing when you fail.”

“Ha,” Alphonse says sarcastically, reaching back for his cigar upon his desk. “You know you can say whatever you want now, honey. I do love a good conversation before we have to get down to business. And like you mentioned, maybe I do like the sound of your voice a little more than I should, and I certainly do love everything else about you.” Alphonse’s eyes greedily dart to the way your ass and thighs look bound up with rope.

“Yeah, I bet you do.” You scowl against the carpet. “Considering this is as close to a woman you’ve ever gotten in our entire life.”

“Have quite the smart mouth, I see.” Alphonse comments, checking the time on his gold wristwatch.

“Fuck you.” You tilt your head away from him, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Tsk, tsk. Be patient, darling, you’ll be able to do so soon enough.” Alphonse shakes his head at you, leaning back to relax in his seat.

He wonders to himself if true fear will actually hit you once the boldness of the drugs is out of your system and Michael’s actually dead. Then Alphonse knows you’ll talk and do anything to save your baby’s life and your own.

Michael watches the sun begin to set beneath the lake, melting into the hue of the orange and pink sky from the boathouse otherwise crawling with security like the rest of the compound and surrounding lake.

Day or night—security is tripled as if there’s an active threat as Michael’s insistent on finding an invulnerability within the compound itself and signs of betrayal.

While getting you back home safe and sound is Michael’s only goal and intention, it’ll mean nothing if there’s a way it can repeated at your own home again.

Michael’s seeing nothing but red just thinking about how this was done at his own home with you as one of the targets, and he hasn’t let the fact that there’s a traitor on the inside—whether it’s one of his own men or family—evade him either.

Michael can be a patient, calm and understanding man, but he despises it when his control is compromised.

Michael never came to believe he or any of his homes have vulnerabilities, but it’s not like he considers you collateral damage either.

While Alphonse believes all of this will provide him with the perfect opportunity to kill Michael and ruin the Corleone family name with it, Michael knows this will be the first major blood spill of an entire crime family and the worst since he had all of his enemies killed on his honeymoon with you in Sicily.

As a result, every action Michael takes will send shockwaves throughout the country to the other crime families, and consequences—if any—will be felt later, but devastatingly.

Now as Michael remains still with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the security boat roaming over the lake, his mind is on the twins who are with the governess and doing their daily studies for the day.

Niccolo and Verona are both still under the impression that their mother is by their grandmother’s side at the hospital and will be back soon; a promise Michael personally made to them.

Michael’s thoughts are momentarily interrupted by a knock on the door of the boathouse. He neither reacts nor moves a muscle, already expecting Sonny, Tom, your father, and your older brothers. “Come in.”

While Tom leads the way into the boathouse first, opening the door, he politely stands back and allows Giuseppe to enter first, then himself alongside everyone else.

No greetings are given nor is another word spoken; several pairs of footsteps can only be heard inside from the men as the door shuts behind them by one of Michael’s guards.

Visibly stressed and with no intention to hide it, Lorenzo’s been smoking a cigarette since before entering the compound. His only worry is about you as his sister—Lorenzo couldn’t give a fuck personally about Alphonse Ricci or any of his antics.

Lorenzo for one would like to strangle Alphonse to death himself, but he knows he has no power or influence whatsoever while in Lake Tahoe—let alone in this situation because of Michael.

All the men in the boathouse including Michael know very well that kidnapping a “civilian”—otherwise known as someone who is not involved in business—has led to devastating consequences for the mafia in general regardless of family or location and perpetrators have ended up regretting it in heinous ways.

Whether the other crime families speak out about what’s to come or verbally support Michael’s movements against Alphonse matters very little to everyone in the room; they’ll all come to thank Michael and be grateful in the end for putting the nuisance of Alphonse Ricci out of his misery.

Michael only turns back to face Giuseppe, shaking his father-in-law’s hand as Giuseppe enters.

Calm, cool, and reserved like Michael is, Giuseppe’s eyes still show he’s bitter and emotionally exhausted due to this whole sordid affair; a look Michael knows and feels well too.

As the men take their seats over the leather couches across from one another, Al Neri moves towards the bar quietly to prepare drinks.

Michael turns around to face his brothers and brothers-in-law only when he hears them sitting down comfortably. Michael’s the last to join them, taking his seat on the last remaining armchair in the midst of both couches.

“Don Ferrari,” Michael speaks softly, wanting to hear from him first.

“Michael.” Giuseppe clears his throat. “Simply put, my boys and I know what we need to do and how to do it.” Giuseppe’s attention redirects to his sons one by one. “Lorenzo will go in unseen after the initial ambush. Matteo has prepared the vehicles for all of our men, and Alessio’s snipers will take care of the rest from far. I’ll have my own men surround the place with yours on the lookout both inside and outside.”

Your brothers glance up at Michael for confirmation as Al Neri sets down a tray of iced whiskey for everyone on the coffee table.

“It’s best if we act as soon as possible—tonight before this ‘time limit’ Alphonse has given us,” Leonardo speaks up.

“We won’t,” Michael replies flatly, taking a drink off the tray.

Annoyance instantly twists over Lorenzo’s facial expression whereas Matteo and Alessio exchange glances with one another. Michael is just aware of how your father eyes Lorenzo to calm his temper, whereas Tom and Sonny haven’t spoken a single word until now.

“Mike,” Sonny raises his brows at Michael, perhaps the only one able to ask him such a question due to being his eldest brother, “are you crazy? We’ve got the muscle, the location, and the men—”

“We won’t go,” Michael repeats firmly, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Not yet.”

Lorenzo puts out his cigarette, refusing to look at Michael. “And your reasoning behind that is?”

“Alphonse wants us there, and he wants us now,” Michael explains, holding his drink above his lap. “I’m not going to eat out of his hand and give him the benefit of the doubt.” Lorenzo’s opinions in general are unimportant enough to Michael that Michael’s barely ever bothered to even face him when speaking.

Giuseppe remains silent and patient, only wishing to listen to Michael as the rest of your brothers take their drinks just as quietly.

“We’ll go on my word or we won’t go at all,” Michael adds.

“Surely you don’t need me to remind you that my sister’s life is on the line, Don Corleone.” Matteo frowns, heavily disapproving of Michael’s plan.

“No, I don’t need you to,” Michael says back casually.

Tom clears his throat and shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “Um, respectfully, Matteo, we have no reason to believe Victoria’s life is actually on the line.”

Lorenzo practically scowls at Tom’s words as Alessio adds his opinion. “She’s being used as leverage.”

“Correct.” Michael nods.

“I hate to think of it, but…” Sonny shakes his head. “If Victoria was going to be used as collateral damage to that fucker Alphonse, he would have most likely hurt her and we would have found out one way or another—on the phone or not. He would want us to know that.”

“So what, the best course of action is to just wait until that happens?” Lorenzo scoffs.

“Who said that?” Leonardo frowns at his brother, nudging him. “Come on.”

“What if Alphonse sends us her fucking ear or a vial or her blood? Make her scream over the phone? Some macabre shit Alphonse has always been into?” Lorenzo continues, narrowing his eyes. “We need some sort of gruesome proof my sister is being tortured in order to act?”

“Idle threats will be made. That’s the least to be expected from a man like Alphonse.” Giuseppe sighs deeply, “And perhaps they’ll be made so believable they would spring any man into action immediately, but that is where none of us will make that mistake.” Giuseppe specifically eyes Lorenzo as he continues to speak. “Alphonse would not have done this if he feared Michael. He does not, and he doesn’t care about his own men dying at the hands of Michael either. He’s selfish. While the may suit him personally as a Don, it would be his own undoing if he had a shred of credibility to his family name.”

“Father’s right.” Leonardo agrees. “Alphonse resents Michael. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume that’s all he’s consistently done over the past few years anyway. He wants to get a personal reaction out of Michael beyond what he’s seen already.”

Giuseppe raises his drink up to his lips. “He wants to see how Michael will react, nothing more. This is all some amusing little game to him.” He takes a small sip of his whiskey, savoring the taste on his tongue. “The real reason why Alphonse hasn’t tortured Victoria or done anything ‘gruesome’, is because of me. Our family. He fears me out of his fear and ‘respect’ that Alphonse claims to have for me despite kidnapping my daughter and more than likely hurting her in the process. I never had to say a word, I never had to raise a finger.” Giuseppe sets down his drink—his expression darkening. “Alphonse is showing me he feels this way about me because this is business with me but personal with Michael. Victoria’s his wife, but she’s my daughter. This is the truth.” Giuseppe gestures down at the table with his finger. “Alphonse has a lot on the line—a lot he can lose and he knows this. Right now, all he’s done is place himself in a limbo of instability. He can lose everything or I can guarantee his wins. He’s gambling with the life of my daughter but he shows how to make the cogs in his little machine work, otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

The room remains silent except for the clinking of whiskey glasses and cigarettes being lit as everyone continues listening to Giuseppe. “Alphonse bought Barzini and Tattaglia’s respect with money and luxury he never worked for. His father bought him the very red carpet he trampled his own dirt on years later. But after he fell out with two of the most powerful Dons at the time and with the Corleone’s shift of power, Alphonse lost everything. Right now, what he’s regained he can lose again. It’s nothing but money and his life. For as long as Victoria is Michael’s wife, Alphonse cannot lose her either. He can’t lose what he’s never had.”

“All he did was grow up the eldest son to a mobster who actually made his bones in New York and Sicily.” Matteo rolls his eyes. “His father was a real man—that I could respect.”

“But being born the son of a Don doesn’t make you a mafioso.” Giuseppe relaxes against his seat. “There’s nothing credible to show Alphonse has even made his bones. When and how did it happen? Questions I don’t personally care about.” He holds up his hand, shaking his head. “Alphonse thinks he’s in our world and that he’s one of us, but he’s never seen it. He’s never tasted what it’s like to be a mafioso. People mistake Alphonse regularly for a buttonman a con, a spoiled son of a dead man so he’s desperate to fit into a world that never had the mold for someone like him, to begin with. He behaves foolishly and erratically yet at the same time you cannot blame him because he never entered our world, to begin with. He doesn’t respect or abide by our code because he doesn’t know the code. The only thing I can give Alphonse credit for is that he’s a goddamn phoenix. He rises from his own pitiful ashes no matter how bad the last downfall was. I know men who would have killed themselves after that humiliating stunt with Barzini and Tattaglia. He carries on, however. He knows I can change his life, and bring him into my world. Only I can do that alone.”

“So then if Alphonse takes Michael out of the picture…” Sonny begins, “then I guess he’d really have ‘made his bones’.”

“That’d make him a true gangster to be feared, yes,” Giuseppe replies. “Unlike Alphonse, I have a choice. I don’t grant out mobster titles or redemption—this isn’t charity work. I’ve seen types like him before all my life, albeit much quieter and bigger failures. I’ve dealt with them all the same. I prefer they disappear. This all goes back to Michael’s plan.”

“So,” Matteo clears his throat, folding his hands on his lap. “If Victoria isn’t some sort of ‘collateral damage’ to Alphonse, then mother was certainly a target.”

“Shut up.” Alessio nudges Matteo harshly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Michael raises a brow, his curiosity growing. “I’m interested in what made you think that.”

“She was shot and now she’s in the hospital getting a poisoned bullet out of her body,” Matteo says sarcastically. “I think that’s quite obvious.”

“Your mother wasn’t targeted.” Al Neri suddenly speaks up by the bar.

Heads turn towards Al Neri who first glances at Michael, seeing approval to speak further through his eyes.

“Excuse me?” Matteo scowls. “I don’t recall anyone asking for your opinion here.”

“I’m the one who secured the study.” Al Neri continues, ignoring Matteo outright. “I found out just how your mother got shot, so I believe I have more than enough authority to speak on the matter. Your mother wasn’t targeted in the least bit, Matteo. She was the collateral damage.”

Lorenzo appears just as offended as Matteo, but both give Al Neri silence as their response.

“Is that what you really think?” Lorenzo licks off the whiskey from his lips.

“It’s what I know.” Neri reaffirms, taking a step out of the bar. “I saw and picked up the fragments of the bullets scattered in the study.” Neri specifically emphasizes the plural of ‘bullet’. “They were all shot out in a panic of trying to shoot Don Corleone and Mrs. Corleone because the assassination attempt was fixated all on the first floor. Mrs. Ferrari simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was never a target, and the bullet never directly hit her. It skimmed her side and left a fragment.”

“Yes, all of that is correct.” Giuseppe glumly agrees. “It’s tragic, but it’s separate from what’s happened with Victoria. Believe me,” he shoots a look at Matteo. “Those who were involved with your mother’s injury will pay dearly regardless. For now, we can only hope she heals and recovers well with the best doctors in Nevada looking after her. Now, if you would excuse us.” Giuseppe gestures for his sons to leave the boathouse.

Matteo puts his arm over Lorenzo’s shoulder as they rise from their seats, making their way out of the boathouse in silence. No further words are spoken until the door shuts yet again.

“Michael,” Giuseppe faces his son-in-law. “You’re a smart, young man. I trust you as my son-in-law and as my favorite business partner. I always have. I know you won’t ever let any harm come to my daughter and you don’t trust that viper’s words when it comes to her either.”

“I knew you’d seen it my way, Don Ferrari.” Michael forces a small smile at his father-in-law. “This is no longer just about Victoria, but our baby too. It’s two people we’re protecting; my wife and the future of this family. So we’ll wait.”

[ Afternoon Hours ]

Time, silence, and lack of inaction all speak for themselves. The afternoon is halfway over and Alphonse is more than aware he’s heard nothing from Michael or his men whatsoever, let alone have him rush into Silver City to come to get you.

Michael’s not coming for you. Nobody is, no matter what you keep assuming.

Your lack of appetite doesn’t surprise Alphonse who offered you numerous gourmet meals periodically throughout the day, but you’ve accepted water as the only kindness from him.

Still, while you weren’t thinking about hunger for yourself, you were for your baby. As disgusting as it was to basically have Alphonse literally spoon-feeding you, at least it was a brief moment in time where Alphonse wasn’t irritating you with the sound of his voice.

You’re still relatively unharmed except for a bloody gash upon your forehead which only appears more prominent and fresh looking after it's cleaned; something that only pisses Alphonse off further with his men.

After leaving you bound up on the carpet to enjoy lunch with his men, Alphonse enters his office room with a refreshed look on his face—stretching out his arms.

Appearing very relaxed and content, Alphonse turns his attention to you upon the rug almost instantly. “Hello again, darling. Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

“Leave me alone.” You grumble, forcing yourself not to move as much as possible from how heavily the ropes dig into the bruised rings around your wrists and ankles.

“Ah, come on, sweetheart.” Alphonse pushes an armchair over to where you lay, sitting down on it and folding one knee above the other. “Mm, that’s much better. You know, last night could have been so much more fun if your husband just showed his face.”

“Fuck you.” You scowl up at Alphonse.

“Nice to see you too, baby.” Alphonse chuckles. “Relax. Everything’s going to be all over soon.”

“If by ‘all over’ you mean with your death, then by all means I await it.” You rest your cheek against the Persian rug. “Otherwise I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Alphonse gazes down at you, fake pouting. “Don Corleone was supposed to be on his way to rescue you and ‘exact revenge on me. How tragic.” He bursts out into laughter, “yeah, for him it is at least. It’s a no man’s land here, baby. All desert. Empty. No trees or anything for miles and miles, and I know this place like the back of my hand.” Alphonse points at the back of his hand, giving it a pat.

“Of course you do.” You roll your eyes back at him. “I can tell this place is a forgotten wasteland without even having to look outside, so who would be surprised you’re here?”

“Please.” Alphonse scoffs. “I could say I’m not surprised by your attitude either but it’s fine, I’ll let it slide because you’re going to become a widow tonight.”

“Funny joke.” You speak against the carpet. “Too bad it’ll never happen.”

Alphonse gives you a wink, smiling warmly. “I like your optimism, baby. It’s going to turn me on a little bit breaking your heart tonight.”

‘And if this disgusting bastard’s plans actually worked out? Then what…?’ You think to yourself, staring up at him. ‘He’s so confident.’

“Word will spread like wildfire that your husband is dead, first of all.” Alphonse pats the armrest of his seat. “That’s going to be a hell of an afterparty we, unfortunately, don’t have too much time for. Your father will want to see me negotiate business that’ll now be completely unavoidable to him, so,” Alphonse pushes his seat back, crouching down in front of you. “You won’t have to worry about a thing, baby. I’m going to take very good care of you.” He brushes back a curtain of your hair behind your ear. “Just like how I would have if you married me back then. It’s okay, though.” Alphonse gently rests his index finger against your lips to silence you. “We all make stupid decisions, but at least you won’t regret this one. For starters, never will your life be in danger ever again.”

You jerk your head away from Alphonse, sneering. “My life is in fucking danger right now because of you, asshole.”

Alphonse laughs, shaking his head. “Aww, baby. What danger? You lying on the ground on my favorite Persian rug is called ‘being in danger’? You and that little baby growing inside of you are just fine, protected by all my best men. If I know you well—and I do—” Alphonse leans in closer to your face, “you like danger. And that was all last night.”

“What are you going to do then, huh?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, nothing.” Alphonse shrugs his shoulders carelessly. “Just that first you’ll marry me and I know your father will be supportive—if not extremely eager to do so. Then I’ll adopt those twins of yours from the goodness of my heart and erase that Corleone name off of you three. It’ll take some time but the twins will call me their father soon enough.”

You force yourself not to headbutt Alphonse directly in the face, almost shaking with anger now. “That’ll never happen, you sick fuck.”

Alphonse rolls his eyes, pulling back. “Where’s your optimism now, darling? You’d rather I put a bullet in you and Michael’s heads and let your children become orphans?”

“Yes!” You snap back.

Alphonse stifles back a laugh, grinning at you with wild amusement. He cups your face forcefully before directly kissing your gash—causing you to cry out and pull your head back. “You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, Victoria, but with a big bump like that on your head, I know you can’t think clearly. It’s okay.”

Alphonse nudges your head back down to the carpet. “It’ll all make sense to you in a few days. This is pretty big, I understand, and as for that baby of yours…” Alphonse slides his hand underneath your stomach, forcing you to flip onto your back. “Uh huh…”

You tense up from the sudden movements but for the sake of your baby’s safety and health, you don’t bother to fight or move back; your lack of response is noticed and approved by Alphonse.

“He or she will grow up knowing I’m their father, but the next time you get pregnant, it’ll be our child.” Alphonse smiles, admiring your tiny baby bump. “And well, we’ll have a few more too. One big happy family, as they say.”

“You’re a sick fucking bastard!” You snap out, squirming back down onto your stomach. “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole even if my life depended on it.”

“It just might if you keep talking like this.” The smile fades off of Alphonse’s face as he nudges your gash harshly.

“Ahhh!” You cry out in pain, trying to pull your head away from him.

“Be nice to me, Victoria.” Alphonse’s voice begins to grow low and demanding. “I won’t have to hurt your feelings and break every bone in your body if you’re nice to me. Now.” Alphonse pulls back to sit back on his armchair. “We have much to talk about, you and I, and you’re going to give me the answers I want, right?”

“And if I don’t?” You grit your teeth, still squirming in pain from your throbbing head.

Alphonse sighs loudly, crossing his arms. “Baby, you already know what’s going to happen to you yet you ask me to repeat it. You like hearing my voice, huh?”

“Nothing about you is clear or certain.” You shudder over the carpet. “Considering your repeat history of failures.”

“Yeah?” Alphonse raises both of his brows. “I guess I don’t mind repeating myself to you about what I’m going to do if you don’t talk. Let me put it this way, sweetheart.” Alphonse pulls out a switchblade from his outer suit pocket before kneeling back down in front of you, aiming it for your face.

You neither flinch nor react when the blade snaps out and almost brushes up against your face—impressing Alphonse tenfold. “Uh-huh, I see. Father taught you not to be afraid of knives either, huh? Well, how about like this, then?” He points the switchblade to your baby bump, causing you to flinch.

“Bingo,” Alphonse smirks, moving the switchblade back up to your face. “Now, you start talking and giving me answers, and in return, I won’t make you cry and carve up your baby or that pretty face of yours. Shall we get started?”

As you feel the side of the cold, sharp blade pressing up against your cheek, true fear hits you from the possibility of Alphonse quite literally harming your baby and killing you in the process with his sick mutilation teasing.

‘Where are you, Michael?’ A single tear rolls down your cheek out of fear as you swallow hard. ‘Where are you, my love?’ But what you don’t know is that Michael isn’t coming for you.

Seeking comfort and solace from last night in the garden with her husband, all Connie can do is bring herself to tears again and again—unable to stop herself from crying.

Connie sits on the rattan garden bench she’d always share with you while the two of you tended to the garden, now next to her husband Leonardo comforting her.

Leo holds Connie in his arms, rubbing up and down her arms to comfort his wife but letting her release her emotions and cry out without stopping her.

Tears spill down Connie’s cheeks as she clutches onto Leo for comfort, feeling his warm lips kissing her forehead. “It’s alright, darling. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“B-but it’s my fault.” Connie hiccups, still unable to live with her guilt. “It’s—”

“Nobody’s fault, baby.” Lorenzo gazes at Connie’s red, splotchy face from sobbing as he shakes his head. “Absolutely none of this is your fault. We’re going to get through this together, and Victoria’s going to be back safe and sound before any of us even know it.”

“But I-I should have tried harder to keep her there!” Connie cries out, unable to push out the blame on herself after Michael practically embedded it in her with his shouting.

“Baby, baby.” Leo cups Connie’s face gently, looking into her eyes. “Listen, sweetheart. I know my sister well and when Victoria has something on her mind, nobody can stop her. Not me, not you, and not even Michael no matter what we’d be inclined to believe. Nobody’s words would hold her back.”

Connie sniffles, pausing for a moment as tears roll down her cheeks. “Sounds like Victoria, alright… She’s a f-fighter.”

“She is.” Leo agrees.

“I just hope…” Connie lets out a weak sigh, “I just hope Victoria’s fighting now and that she’s okay.”

“Believe me, honey,” Leo wipes off a stray tear from Connie’s cheek with his thumb. “If anyone’s fighting, it’s her. Victoria’s going to be okay and all of this will be over soon. I know how you feel—I’m much too impatient myself and I can’t stop thinking about it, but we’re going to get Victoria back. No exceptions.”

“Y-yeah but Leo,” Connie hiccups, “Victoria’s pregnant too.”

“I know, but so are you.” Leo places his hand over Connie’s month-old, small baby bump. “And I hate to have you and our little baby too stressed. I want to comfort you both.” He leans down, kissing the bump.

Connie smiles weakly at her husband, lacing a hand on Leo for reassurance. “Theresa was saying the same thing all morning.”

“How’s she taking it, baby?” Leo leans back up, holding Connie’s hand.

“Not well either.” Connie shakes her head, clearing her throat. “You know… That Sollozzo guy took Tom back in 1946? Theresa…she thought she would never see Tom again. And well, you know what happened to Sollozzo after.”

“Same thing is coming for Alphonse and is men,” Leo murmurs, planting a soft kiss over both of Connie’s hands. “Trust me.”

“That relieves me, strangely enough,” Connie admits glumly. “I really don’t want to be a part of whatever Michael’s doing, ever, and I didn’t want the same with papa either. But maybe I’m too harsh on Michael.”

“What do you mean exactly?” Leo continues gently rubbing over Connie’s baby bump.

“Sometimes I think of Michael as insufferable.” Connie shrugs her shoulders, glancing down at her baby bump. “Because of the man he’s become but I think he’s just trying to be strong for all of us, you know? It’s not easy. And now… Michael’s pregnant wife is kidnapped and as much as I don’t want to think about it, they probably hurt her, Leo. I know she wouldn’t just let anyone lay a finger on h-her without putting up a fight.”

“Exactly, I know.” Leo nods, frowning.

“I’m just worried for Michael.” Connie’s eyes meet up with Leo’s. “I-I don’t know what all of this will do to him. He’s… He’s always so cold and serious, so stern. Nothing gets past him, he refuses to be any other way. Now, this is getting too personal. I don’t think it matters if Victoria’s alive or not at the moment, Michael’s never going to recover from this. His humanity’s never going to recover from this.” Connie’s voice begins to shake as her throat tightens. “Because t-that’ll be three women in Michael’s love life that are dead or hurt in some sort of way because of him.”

[ Lake Tahoe Estate Docks, Early Evening Hours ]

With a perfect view of his yacht docked by the boathouse and the beautiful, glistening lake before him, Michael watches as the last of the sunlight begins to melt into the sky from his patio table.

Since Verona had an accident where she slipped off the deck in the past, Michael’s made sure now that both the docks and the edge of the lake are properly secured for safety.

Michael remains alone, drinking a cup of black coffee as best as he can “enjoy” it—only doing so to push aside how physically and mentally exhausted he’s been for the past two days.

Michael hasn’t diverted his gaze from the lake since he’s sat down, raising his coffee cup to his lips then back down again and again—completely unhappy and numb of any emotion.

Verona steps outside of the central family estate—just having finished her one-on-one studies with the governess.

The sight of her father just across by the docks, dressed in a three-piece navy suit is one Verona will always be able to happily spot.

While Michael doesn’t notice Verona’s presence out on the estate grounds, Verona excitedly makes her way over to her father and calls out for him. “Daddy, hiiiii!”

Michael turns his head at the sound of his daughter’s voice, noticing Verona waving at him as she skips up to the docks.

Michael waves back at Verona, watching now as she slows down her pace as she approaches the docks and begins to walk the rest of the way over to her father—remembering the little accident she had there before.

“Hi, daddy.” Verona greets Michael again, happily standing by the table.

“Hi, darling.” A faint smile forms over the corners of Michael’s mouth as he sets down his coffee cup. “How were your studies?”

“Good, goooooood.” Verona tightens the silk ribbons in her hair. “I just finished!”

“Done for the rest of the day?” Michael rests the side of his face against his fist; his elbow propped up against the armrest of his seat.

“Yeah.” Verona lets out a soft sigh, still smiling at her father. “I miss mama. I wish I could see her for my break time.”

“Me too, honey. Me too. But she’s with a great doctor and your grandmother right now.” Michael lies.

It’s not that Michael hates lying, but he prefers not to do so to his children unless necessary. He’s so used to lying at this point that he doesn’t feel anything towards it anymore—it doesn’t even feel wrong.

Verona nods back at her father, completely understanding. “I bet there’s a lot of great doctors just like Doctor Katherine there.”

“Without a doubt.” Michael straightens his posture over his seat, gesturing to his lap. “Come here.”

Giggling, Verona eagerly gets up on Michael’s lap as he wraps a protective arm around his daughter—seeing how interested Verona grows in Michael’s coffee cup upon the table. “Ooooh, daddy is drinking that coffee stuff again.”

Michael chuckles quietly. “Yes, but there’s no need to wonder about the taste.”

“Why not?” Verona asks curiously. “Is it not that…aaaah, ‘decaf’, no anti-sleepy time coffee?”

“Not this time.” Michael shakes his head.

“Why, daddy?” A frown immediately breaks over Verona’s face. “That stuff in coffee is bad for you, and this too!” She points at Michael’s cigarette pack on the edge of the table. “All very, very bad!”

“True, you’re very right. My apologies.” Michael pushes aside the cigarette pack, gesturing to the coffee. “What about my coffee? Can I still have it?”

“Hmm…” Verona ponders the question as Michael takes another sip of his coffee, looking at her for approval. “Daddy works too hard and looks kinda sleepy.” Verona giggles, facing her father. “Today you can have some of that coffee stuff.”

“Thank you for your concern.” Michael hides his smile behind his coffee cup, taking another sip.

“I wanna make sure everyone’s happy and healthy.” Verona snuggles up to Michael’s chest, hugging her father. “Allll the time.”

Michael puts his empty coffee cup down, kissing Verona’s forehead. “Looks like we definitely have a future doctor here, don’t we?”

“Maybe one day.” Verona gives her father a beaming smile. “Would you support me, daddy?”

“Of course, I would. Your mother and I will always support both you and your brother without a doubt.” Michael tells her.

Verona giggles to herself and hugs Michael again. “Daddy, I have a secret to tell you.”

Michael can sense the eagerness in his daughter’s tone of voice. “Hmm? What is it?”

“I’ll tell you.” Verona whispers, leaning up, but before Michael can wait to hear her say anything in his ear, Verona smooches her father’s cheek instead. “There. A kiss for daddy.”

A rare, full smile crosses Michael’s lips as he looks back at Verona. At the very least, Michael knows his children are still safe and happy, and he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t think Verona’s optimism—whom she very clearly got from you—isn’t giving him a semblance of hope.

“I love you lots, daddy.” Verona hugs Michael’s arm, resting her head against it. “Lots and lots!”

“I love you too, honey,” Michael tells her as he tilts his chair to fully face the view of the lake with Verona.

“Lots and lots?” Verona’s eyes wander over the beautiful, glistening waters of Lake Tahoe before her.

“Lots and lots.” Michael nods, relaxing his muscles against his seat and watching the flow of the lake.

Verona enjoys the view next to her father for a few moments; feeling a warm breeze flowing through her hair and giving a sense of pure relaxation to the two of them who can’t possibly feel its full effects considering the circumstances at hand.

The gentle grasp Verona has while hugging Michael’s army begins to grow shaky a few minutes later, and six-year-old Verona can’t stop her eyes from tearing up while thinking about just how much she misses you, and how she’s worried for the health of her grandmother too.

Without having to look down and see her tears, Michael can already sense his daughter growing upset in his arms.

He neither blames her nor does he call it out, knowing Verona’s feelings are valid and if anything, he’d prefer her to cry and express her sadness than keep it all inside like Michael does personally.

Michael strokes Verona’s hair gently, soothing her until her tears come to a stop. Being in her father’s presence and looking out onto the calming view, Verona feels safe, protected, and comforted by Michael—watching the day slowly come to an end.

While Michael can think of nothing but you, especially from Verona’s resemblance to you, his heart remains firm in decision that he’s not going to come to get you just yet, nor has he sent out the men for tonight. He will continue to wait for as long as he feels necessary.

[ Silver City, Alphonse Ricci’s Manor]

Aware of the time himself, Alphonse cuts to the chase by revealing one of his main intentions and priorities for kidnapping you in the first place; questions he demands answers to that only you can give.

“Hell of a mafia wife, aren’t you?” Alphonse chuckles to himself, once again sitting before you and admiring the way his switchblade looks up against your skin.

You shudder from the touch of the cold metal over your cheek, not in fear for yourself but only for your baby.

You think to yourself that a sick fuck like Alphonse will no doubt only try to scare and threaten you with his switchblade, but then hit your actual vulnerability—your unborn baby inside of you or at least around it; a fear tactic your father taught you.

Had you not been pregnant, Alphonse may have just already stabbed you in your back or somewhere you’re neither expecting nor able to protect from how you’re tightly bound.

You know these types of intimidation tactics well—basic mobster wannabee actions that are mostly talk and the rest hope.

You already know that if a real, powerful Don actually wanted answers out of you, you would have already been severely hurt by now and how is another question of gruesomeness you don’t want to think about right now.

“Is that supposed to be a question or what?” You force yourself not to roll your eyes back.

“It’s a good thing that your pretty little mouth is moving so I don’t have to do things the hard way,” Alphonse replies with a smile.

“I thought this was the hard way.” You eye the blade held against your cheek.

“You flatter me, honey.” Alphonse smirks wryly, “but I’ve gotten a little too used to teasing you with my favorite blade, and since you’re being such a good girl and cooperating…” He pulls back the switchblade.

“Don’t call me a ‘good girl’ or any of that shit.” You narrow your eyes.

“Maybe I won’t as long as you can keep that attitude to yourself.” Alphonse cautions you. “Now, you know how this works. You answer my questions and—”

“Yeah, yeah.” You grunt out, “save your speech. I know what you want.”

“Do you?” Alphonse raises his brows. “Must have been waiting then, huh?”

“The element of surprise really isn’t your advantage here.” You scowl.

“Ah, that’s funny.” Alphonse stretches out his arms with a grunt. “The last time I checked, you were taken here in the blink of an eye before you could suspect anything. Seems like a hell of a surprise if you ask me.”

“Sure, if we think about the technicalities.” You tilt your head up to look at Alphonse. “But everyone knows you did it, so where’s the fun in that? Was your intent really to get caught so quickly? Or did you think we’d blame another mobster?”

Alphonse sighs dramatically. “I’m going to be the one asking the questions, darling. This is about you, not me.”

You roll your eyes at Alphonse’s response out of irritation, but he notices immediately. “You know I can make things a lot worse for you right here, right now.”

“I find it amusing that you think you have the power to ruin my life.” You snap back.

“Oh, don’t I?” Alphonse points at his chest. “I’m a walking blackmail machine, baby.”

“Great.” You reply, “then you must know just about everything on anyone, huh?”

“That’s right.” Alphonse grins.

“That’s a fantastic way to get yourself killed.” You tell him. “What mobster would want someone like you alive?”

“I’ll tell you exactly why.” Alphonse tosses his switchblade up in the air, catching it back upright before pointing it between your eyes. “Because the Barzinis and Tattaglias gave up on me a long time ago thanks to your fucking husband. What he doesn’t know however is that he actually did me a favor. Let’s hope all that power hasn’t gotten into Michael’s head because the crime families fear him more than they admire him. Nobody’s going to rush to Michael’s rescue if something happens to him. Everyone will be sitting tight and watching just as they’re all going to do so tonight. Nobody’s going to kill me, Victoria.” Frustration grows in Alphonse’s voice. I have the upper hand here, otherwise, you’d be dead already.”

“Oh yeah?” You raise your head up shakily, revealing your gash between peeks of your hair. “Why the hell am I not dead yet?”

“Honey, if you have a death wish, that’s your own personal problem.” Alphonse tosses his switchblade up in the air, catching it upright. “If I want to kill you, I’ll do it my way; fast or slow, and not when you request it. You’re more useful to me alive than dead right now but I have been known to change my mind.”

“Not a generous man, are you?” You say back sarcastically.

“I’m many things.” Alphonse gazes at you. “And you can get to know me all you want right here, right now.”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” You spit out.

“No, you don’t.” Alphonse smiles sardonically at you. “And the more you learn about me, sweetheart, the less I need to learn about you because I know exactly who you are. You’re not just a mafia wife, you’re a whole lot more than you give away.”

“You don’t even know where to begin to figure me out.” You say through gritted teeth.

“You’d be surprised as to how much I know about you.” Alphonse leans in closer, lowering his tone to a husky whisper. “I’ve had pictures of you all over my walls since 1949.”

“You’re sick,” you hiss, trying to pull away from him.

“You call it sick and depraved, I call it admiration.” Alphonse reaffirms. “You’re a beautiful woman, you know that? You haven’t even aged a bit. I know you take care of yourself very well, even after two kids and now on your third… Yeah.” With his free hand, Alphonse tilts your face to the side, but his eyes land on your baby bump instead.

You pretend you don’t notice Alphonse’s steady gaze, fearing you’ll only give him the reaction he’s looking for to harm your baby in any kind of way.

“You have that motherly glow,” Alphonse murmurs quietly. “Barely pregnant, but it’s there.” He pulls back his hand. “We’ll see it again when you carry my child. That’s when you’ll be the most beautiful, you know. As beautiful as any cold-blooded killer can be.” Alphonse’s eyes flash with amusement. “That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“Couldn’t I ask you the same question?” You breathe out.

“Maybe.” Alphonse shrugs his shoulders carelessly. “I can call myself a lot of things but you’re too cocky to admit you’re a murderer. You’re not just a killer, but you’re a corrupt lawyer. You negotiate in deals men don’t expect you to be in and then you get them all killed. You make damn good blood money and you move all the chess pieces around without anyone suspecting a thing. Nobody can do or say anything about you. I’ve already figured how well you play this role of supportive wife and dedicated lawyer, but you’re a true gangster.”

You keep your eyes locked on Alphonse, neither confirming nor denying the truth.

“It runs in your blood.” Alphonse rises up to his feet, clutching his switchblade and moving behind you.

You remain as perfectly still as you can and shiver yet again to feel the cold metal of Alphonse’s blade pressed up against one of your veins on your wrist.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Alphonse asks, running his hands over your skin.

“I’m nothing like you.” You wince, feeling your gash beginning to throb once again.

“Oh, of course, you aren’t.” Alphonse lets out a laugh, walking back over to face you directly. “I’m not the one with Ferrari blood running through my veins now, am I? Our children will be lucky in that regard since they will. All I’m saying is that your little secret is out, Victoria. I’ve seen you in the pictures.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” You swallow hard, trying to ignore how badly the ropes tied around your wrists and ankles practically burn into your bruises.

“Like hell I don’t.” Alphonse scoffs, sitting on the carpet right in front of you. “The photographs speak for themselves, honey. I’ve seen them. You’re all dolled up next to that Corleone, then hidden just as Don Ferrari’s daughter, or so they say. You’re seen one day, then never again the next. I call bullshit on that. I recognize you like the back of my hand.”

“And what the hell are you going to gain for it?” You raise your voice, thoroughly sick and tired of hearing his.

“Everything. I have all the facts and information to not only bring your career to a fucking end but to imprison you for life. You’d never see your children again and you can give birth in a cold, shitty prison for all I care. Better yet, be put in the worst prison Nevada has to offer, like the shit hole you locked my brother up in.”

You burst out laughing, unable to take any of Alphonse’s words seriously. “Your brother was a dirty fucking street rat. He was messy, he got caught and I prosecuted him. It was nothing personal, you entitled piece of shit. Is his incompetence my fault?”

“Better wipe that fucking smirk off your face before I do,” Alphonse warns you, holding out his switchblade.

“Poor little boy.” You pout, mocking him. “You keep flaunting around that tiny shaving razor to threaten me but won’t MAN THE FUCK UP AND USE IT!”

In one swift movement, Alphonse pulls his hand back and slaps you across the face—causing you to squirm onto your side with a grunt.

“I can hurt you in a lot of other ways before giving you a painful death if you don’t do what I tell you to fucking do!” Alphonse shouts.

You crack a smile, laughing weakly. “Oh, you’ll have to do a lot more than that, I’m afraid. Did you really just bring me here to reminisce about the successes of my life and the failure of yours?”

“No, you know what you’re fucking here for!” Seething with anger, Alphonse is in no further mood for games.

“Yeah, yeah,” you force yourself back onto your stomach. “Fucking enlighten me then so we can get this over with.”

“I want to know about the Tropigala.” Anger flashes in Alphonse’s eyes as he slows down his speech, making sure you hear every word carefully. “I want to know who made the deal, who signed it, and why that hotel was taken from me without a single word even though my family’s name was all over it. I want to know who paid off the license, where the money went, EVERYTHING! I want to know the shareholders name by name.”

You remain quiet for a moment, unphased by Alphonse entirely. Your eyes dart back down to the carpet out of disinterest as you simply say, “omertà.”

Alphonse raises both of his brows at you, repeating, “omertà? You think this is some kind of fucking joke?”

“Omertà,” you repeat, louder.

Omertà is the cold silence amongst Mafiosi; a code of honor. No questions or information of any kind about the family business is ever uttered, no cooperation with outsiders, authorities, or men like Alphonse for that matter.

Nothing is given but silence, and you will never give Alphonse the answers about what Michael did with the Tropigala even if it means your death.

You swore the code of silence to yourself and your family when you made your bones as a mafiosa and you understood it far before you were even involved in the family business.

“You know about Michael’s deal, Victoria.” Alphonse scowls down at you.

“Maybe.” You smile up at Alphonse innocently. “But that’s really none of your business, is it?”

“Won’t talk, huh?” Alphonse eyes the reddened mark growing over your cheek from where he slapped you. “Maybe that Corleone slaps you so much in bed you actually enjoy it. I’ll have to try something else.”

“’Cause, you’re a wife beater?” You scoff. “All that talk about marrying me and putting a baby in me but all you want to do is bruise and hurt me. How’s that going to look in any publicity photographs?”

Alphonse blinks at you in confusion, shaking his head. “You’re the one making me do this.”

“I’m doing no such thing.” You gesture down to the carpet with your chin. “I’m laying here on your favorite Persian rug. I’m exhausted, starving, my body aches all over and you’ve bruised and hurt me. I’ve been like this since you brought me here, so tell me what I’ve honestly done to you from down here that’s intimidated you so much?”

Alphonse lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. He gazes at you momentarily, noticing your expression has softened from bitter to exhausted once again.

“All really good questions.” Alphonse reaches out his hand towards you, caressing your face gently. “I have the time to answer them, you know. No point in trying to make this quick, and you know why?” A smile breaks out on Alphonse’s face before he bursts out in laughter, startling you a little. “Because!” He throws his hands up in the air, “that husband of yours isn’t coming here for you after all! My men have this place cornered and he’s still nowhere to be found, baby. Don’t you know what time it is?”

“What?” You shudder out, feeling dread beginning to trickle inside you from realizing Alphonse is right.

“I’ve given him a deadline and he didn’t even bother to show yesterday.” Alphonse pats his gold wristwatch. “No sign of him today either on his last day, so Michael is most certainly not coming to get you, honey. So, what do you say?” Alphonse snaps his finger, gesturing to one of his capos.

The man who mocked you at the front door and shoved you in here in the first place rises from his seat by the fireplace, pulling the telephone off of Alphonse’s office desk and over to him.

“Let’s give Don Corleone a courtesy call, shall we?” Alphonse takes the telephone from him, setting it down. “He forgot to pick up his own wife!” Still laughing, Alphonse begins to dial the number. “Maybe I’ll even let you talk to him.” Alphonse winks at you. “We’ll give him a call to remember.”

[ Lake Tahoe Estate Docks, Evening Hours ]

“Soooo many fishies in the water, daddy!” Verona points towards the lake, spotting the silhouette of a lake trout not far from the docks. “Look!”

“That’s right.” Michael looks over into the water with his daughter sitting on his lap. “Now you know why your uncles don’t go anywhere else to fish.”

“There’s no need.” Verona giggles. “Not with this many fishies! What kinds are in there, daddy?”

“Well, lake trouts for sure, like that one right there.” Michael points out one of the fish. “But there are also rainbow trouts and brown trouts—”

“Rainbow trouts?!” Verona gasps, her eyes beaming with excitement. “Are they really colorful like that, daddy?”

“Not exactly.” Michael chuckles, “but up close you can definitely discern them from other trouts.”

“Wowie.” Verona claps her little hands together. “Uncle Fredo always goes fishing here on the docks, daddy. He says it’s his lucky spot.”

“Mhmm.” Michael relaxes back in his seat, taking a deep breath. “Do you have any interest in fishing, sweetheart?”

“Hmm.” Verona ponders the question, shrugging her shoulders. “Maaaaaybe. I like watching Uncle Fredo teach Niccolo because he really likes fishing, but the fishing stick thingys they use look so heavy!”

“It’ll be easier to get a hold of them once you two both grow older,” Michael tells her. “They’re very durable.”

“For the best of the best fishing trips!” Verona exclaims. “Maybe when I’m done my swimming lessons I’ll go fishing with them.”

“That sounds like a plan, darling.” Michael’s eyes wander to one of the boats his security pace along the lake, still on the lookout for any potentially suspicious activity.

“Do you fish, daddy?” Verona peeks back at her father.

“No.” Michael shakes his head, “I don’t really have an interest in it.”

“But daddy, you like seafood, right?” Verona pokes Michael’s arm.

“I do.” Michael gives Verona a faint smile. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Verona nods, “fishies can be very tasty. I bet those fishies there are tasty.” She points again at a different fish disappearing into the depths of the lake.

Just as Michael redirects his attention back to the lake with Verona, he already hears a pair of very familiar footsteps behind him, and an instant annoyance settles into Michael. “Considering everything, Santino, could you not leave me to a moment of peace with my daughter?”

Verona’s eyes widen, surprised Michael heard Sonny approaching them in the first place. As she turns around, she immediately smiles at her uncle. “Hi, Uncle Sonny!”

“Hey, kiddo.” Sonny forces a warm smile at Verona before raking a hand through his curls.

Michael can already tell Sonny’s very stressed by his body language alone, and can already guess what the premise of this conversation is going to be about.

“Sorry, Mike.” Sonny clears his throat. “But A—” Sonny cuts himself off, knowing he can’t be giving away any detail of what’s really happening to Verona or any of the children for that matter. “Uh, Mr. Ricci is on the phone and he says it's urgent.”

Michael doesn’t budge, still keeping his gaze over the lake. “Alright. I’ll be there. Keep him on the line.” Only then does Michael glance over at Verona. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Daddy’s got some business to attend to again.”

“It’s okay,” Verona says, completely understanding as she hops off of Michael’s lap. “I can go wait inside, daddy. Maybe you can teach me to play chess again?”

“Absolutely.” Michael leans over, kissing his daughter’s forehead. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay, daddy. See you inside!” Verona happily rushes back off towards the estate as one of the security guards follows her at an appropriate distance just for the sake of safety.

While Sonny’s already halfway back towards the boathouse, Michael follows behind calmly with both hands in the pockets of his dress trousers.

There isn’t the least bit of concern or visible stress over either Michael’s facial expression or his body language; rather he appears more numb and unhappy than anything else as he follows Sonny back inside the boathouse.

From the moment Michael enters, he sees Tom across from him in the room holding up the telephone to his ear appearing unnerved and in a state of distress.

Even as Michael makes eye contact with his brother, Tom isn’t relieved in the slightest but looks all the tenser and burdened.

“Look,” Tom gives out a sigh, “he’s here. You can talk to him now.” Tom holds out the telephone to Michael, almost desperate to let go of it.

Michael walks up to Tom and takes the telephone from him, holding it against his chest to silence any outgoing sound first. Michael doesn’t say a word to Tom but looks at his brother with expectant eyes that read: ‘is Victoria alright?’

Tom understands the look in Michael’s eyes, but he shakes his head and mouths back, “this is getting worse.”

Michael raises the telephone up to his ear, remaining silent a moment longer before finally speaking out. “This must be the only social interaction you’ve had all day. Why are you still calling me?”

Alphonse bursts out laughing on the other end of the phone, completely relaxed and even overjoyed in a way. “Did business get in the way, Don Corleone? You forgot to come get your precious wife.”

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” Michael says back sarcastically. “Who said I ‘forgot’ to do anything?”

“So are you aren’t coming then?” Alphonse’s irritating laughter comes to an end as he angles the telephone over his ear in such a way that you can also hear everything being said on both sides.

“You’re a dead man either way.” Michael reminds him. “And you’re not getting anything you want. The sooner you accept this, the easier it’ll be for you.”

“Rather confident for a man who can’t reach me.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, speaking in a taunting tone.

“You’re not untouchable, Alphonse,” Michael replies calmly, unphased. “You went through all this trouble to reach the line just to tell me you miss my presence after all.”

“Oh, please.” Alphonse snorts, sitting cross-legged on the Persian rug. “I’m just getting bored is all. You hear this, Corleone?” Alphonse flicks open his switchblade again, grazing the tip over the wooden floors next to him. “I know all sorts of ways to get your attention, and that’s a lot more than anyone else can say.”

“You thought wrong,” Michael replies, listening as keenly as he can to make out any sign of your presence next to Alphonse.

“Well then, let’s see when you come out of your little lair and face me like a real man. Since you’re taking your precious time, I might just have to show you how much fun I can have with your pretty life wife laying on the ground here next to me. She’s in that sexy nightgown, might I add—it flatters my switchblade.”

“Petty threats still aren’t beyond you, I see.” Michael rolls his eyes, still unmoved as he expected you to still be secured with Alphonse.

“I’m a man of my word and I’d hate to look like I’m all bark and no bite—unlike you—so I thought I’d give you a call and prove how serious I am.” Alphonse lets his switchblade drop from his hand and onto the floor. “When I have you dead, your wife will be widowed and then with the great Don Ferrari’s blessing, I’ll marry her right away so she doesn’t have to spend one day grieving over your sorry ass.”

Tom rubs his temples gingerly, lowering his gaze as Sonny stares down at the ground, listening to the phone call as if they’re both still recovering from something else they heard on the telephone before Michael arrived.

“But for that to happen,” Alphonse continues, “I need you to actually be here so I can kill you. I’m not a fan of damaging my favorite things, Corleone, but unfortunately, my future wife here has a pretty nasty gash on her forehead, and this is all your fault of course. If you had just died last night, she wouldn’t have to be roughed up.”

Michael narrows his eyes, beginning to glare down at the telephone. “You were the one who made the choice to hurt her, Alphonse. Nobody else made that decision for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just collateral damage.” Alphonse brushes Michael off. “You know she put up a hell of a fight, so getting her here was like wrestling a goddamn grizzly bear with your own hands. That’s what I’ve been saying to her too, you’re a hell of a mafia wife, aren’t you baby?” Alphonse roughly grips your face, giving it a shake.

You cry out in pain from how violently Alphonse shakes your face, applying pressure to your cheekbones and jaw on purpose just to hurt you.

Your voice immediately alerts Michael and gets his blood boiling from anger in a split second; Michael’s knuckles turn white from how harshly he grips the telephone. “Don’t fucking touch her, Alphonse. I hate repeating myself.”

“What’s that? Hmm? Huh?” Alphonse lets go of you, continuing to taunt Michael. “I don’t think I heard you, Corleone. I don’t think Michael heard you say goodbye to him loud enough either, darling. Use your words.”

“Fuck you!” You spit out to Alphonse.

“Ah, there she is.” Alphonse sighs deeply.

“You’re never going to get away with this, you bastard!” You shriek at him.

“Mhmm, you’re talking, baby, but you’re not saying what I want you to say.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, picking up his switchblade again and pressing the tip of it against your gash.

“Ah!” You wince, bursting into tears from the stinging pain as blood begins to spill from your gash once again.

“Yeah, don’t like that, do you?” Alphonse grips your face so tightly as he continues to poke the tip of his switchblade over your gash that even if you tried to jerk your head back or move away, you’d end up having your entire forehead deeply cut into.

On the verge of frustration and pure rage, Michael begins to see nothing but red—speaking through gritted teeth. “Stop. It.”

“Should I?” Alphonse chuckles. “Yeah, maybe I should. She’s bleeding all over my favorite Persian rug.” Alphonse lets go of your face but not before slamming it down on the rug to hit your gash once again.

You burst into tears from the pain but force your body to remain steady on the carpet to lessen the pain.

Tom takes in deep quiet breaths, knowing that Michael’s not going to be able to hang up or brush aside anything Alphonse is saying or doing now over the telephone as he’s practically torturing you.

“Ah, I do applaud you on one thing though, Michael.” Alphonse sets his bloodied switchblade down. “Regardless of how all of this is going to go, you’ve benefitted my future so much. My future wife here definitely doesn’t talk; she doesn’t give away anything. A Ferrari alright… She answered all of my questions about you with one word, you know that? Omertà.”

‘Omertà.’ The word buzzes in Michael’s mind as a familiar one.

“She still won’t budge,” Alphonse mutters. “Giuseppe taught all his children not to talk, huh? I’ll have to ask my future father-in-law more about it. It fascinates me. Unfortunate for Victoria though, considering she’s still your wife at the moment. I’m going to have to rough her up real bad since she won’t talk, Michael. But don’t worry.” He adds in quickly, “she’ll heal from everything in my arms. I always kiss and mend after I hurt.”

“You’ve nothing but an agonizing, slow death waiting for you and every one of your little hired mercenaries, Alphonse. Never forget this.” Michael hisses.

“Is that so? In any case, don’t try anything smart now, Corleone. Stay on the line, won’t you? Unless you want me to really hurt her, that is.” Alphonse sets the telephone down facing upward so Michael can hear both you and Alphonse clearly.

“Listen closely now.” Alphonse crawls behind you, hovering over top of you; his knees around both sides of your body. “I’m going to make her purr like a kitten.”

Michael slams his fist down against the table with such force that the telephone almost shakes off it completely. “What the fuck are you doing to her, Alphonse?!”

“Listen closely and you’ll know.” Alphonse chuckles, still hearing you whimper quietly in pain. “Once more chance, baby.” Alphonse hikes your nightgown up towards your ass, letting his gold-adorned hands roam down your inner thighs. “Answer me. Who sold the Tropigala to Michael Corleone? Tell us both, darling. Michael’s listening.”

“Omertà.” You groan out.

Michael presses his lips down together, seething with anger and barely able to keep still anymore.

“Still nothing?” Alphonse squeezes your thighs. “That’s a shame. You’re lucky you’re so beautiful, more so than in those photographs. The camera doesn’t capture your real beauty. You better tell me if that Corleone ever even bothered to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” He leans down, giving each of your thighs a warm kiss. “With everything you’ve done and with who you are, you deserve to eat on diamond plates.” Alphonse continues to let his hands wander around your legs and thighs. “Dinner parties, meeting politicians. You’ve got all of Nevada eating out of your hand and New York kissing your feet. I don’t have to tell you Corleone doesn’t deserve someone like you. Now…” Alphonse rests his hands over your ass. “Tell me, was it Senator Geary who sold Michael the license to the Tropigala? Who was behind that deal? Tell me.”

Instead of bothering to answer anyone, you jerk your leg back up swiftly and kick Alphonse directly in the face; the heel of your foot colliding over the bridge of his nose.

“FUCKING BITCH!” Alphonse grunts, clutching his bleeding nose.

Sonny grips into the leather armrest of his seat so hard that his fingernails almost rip through it entirely.

Tom gasps a “oh my God” to himself and immediately looks towards the door of the boathouse—needing some air.

“YOU NEED TO LEARN YOUR FUCKING PLACE WITH ME!” With blood still dripping down his nose, Alphonse pins both of your legs back down and leans right over, biting as hard as he can into your thigh.

You let out a howling scream of pain—feeling your lungs burn and blood dripping out of the bite wound from Alphonse’s teeth breaking your skin.

Alphonse’s breath hitches as he pulls back, wiping a mixture of his and your blood off of his mouth—tasting your blood off of his teeth.

“MICHAEL!!” You shriek again, clutching weakly onto the fibers of the Persian rug as your thigh twitches from the pain.

Just as Alphonse leans over to speak onto the phone once again, Michael grabs the telephone—his hands shaking violently with anger as he throws it across the room and lets it smash to pieces against the wall.

“We’ve got to fucking go.” Sonny springs up to his feet, out of breath from his own anger.

“Get up!” Michael gestures to Tom, Neri, and Rocco. “Completely disregard our previous plan, there’s going to be no snipers, no speaking in. Alphonse is fucking torturing her. We’re going to Silver City now and we’re going to kill every single one of them on sight, instantly. DO I MAKE MYSELF PERFECTLY CLEAR?!”

Leaving you whimpering on the floor, Alphonse scowls down at you as he moves off your back. “I’ve been real nice and considerate with you, darling. I could have let your fucking throat dry up or hooked you to the wall like a piece of meat.” Alphonse rises to his feet shakily. “I let you sleep in my bed comfortably and I didn’t knock the sense out of you every time I had the chance, did I? But you…” Alphonse snarls, rubbing the bridge of his nose cautiously. “You weren’t considerate at all. I can make your life a miserable fucking hell in here, darling, and the fact I have to keep reminding you tells me a lot.”

“Go fuck yourself.” You grunt out against the carpet. “You don’t even have the ability to make my life a ‘miserable fucking hell’. You already live in one.”

“Good thing I’m going to share it with you then.” Alphonse glances at the smeared blood over his hand. “You did this all to yourself, you know.”

“Yeah, and you deserve everything that’s come crashing down upon you since your father was put down like a pest.” You hiss. “Ever heard me cry out for mercy here?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Alphonse grit his teeth, pointing an accusing finger at you. “Don’t you ever talk about my father like that again.”

“Your father was a fucking miserable little weasel obsessed with money and whores.” You raise your head up, glaring at Alphonse. “Your family stood out from the others since your father’s time and I see you’ve changed nothing.”

“You’re not the least bit intimidating to me, I hope you know that even though you try to fucking piss me off.” Alphonse scowls down at you.

“Funny.” You let out a weak chuckle. “Your men shit themselves in my presence, why don’t you talk about that?”

“That’s because these men respect you.” Alphonse gestures back to his capos who have otherwise been practically invisible in the room from silence and their backs turned to you. “One day you’ll respect them because they’ll be protecting you with their lives.”

“How worthwhile is that protection if I can take them all down by myself?” You scoff.

“Is that why you cried like a little slut when I put you in your place?” Alphonse kneels in front of you. “Hmm?”

“Please.” You ignore Alphonse’s eye contact with you. “I’ve felt worse pain, but it didn’t mean I enjoyed having your nasty mouth on me.”

“Felt worse pain, huh?” Alphonse watches your thigh still trembling and trickling with blood from his deep bite mark. “Made your bones like crazy, but you and that baby inside of you are going to go out real sad if you don’t start talking.”

“You can do whatever you want to me.” You breathe out, “but you leave my baby the hell alone.”

“You think you’re special because Michael came in you?” Alphonse rolls his eyes, sighing loudly. “I’ll be doing that to you tenfold myself. That ‘baby’ inside of you—it’s like what? Not even the size of a grain of rice yet? If anything ‘happens’ to it, it’ll be your fault. But it won’t be much of a loss at this point anyway, you can always try again.”

“You know there’s one thing about all of this that I’m really going to enjoy.” You let out a deep breath, trying to avoid the vicious pain in your thigh.

“What part?” Alphonse rests his back against the leg of his armchair. “The part where you marry me or I impregnate you?”

You ball up a wad of spit in your mouth before letting it land on the Persian rug. “It’ll be part where you die. I’m no sadist but I think I’m going to enjoy watching it happen.”

“Long time coming, huh?” Alphonse leers at you.

“You have no idea.” You grunt.

Ignoring your comment, Alphonse reaches into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, taking out the handkerchief and wiping your forehead with it without taking extra care around your gash.

You grit your teeth in pain and silence yourself, taking it as Alphonse smiles at the blood stain over his handkerchief when he pulls it back. “There, there, pretty baby. I’d think you’d come to be exhausted from talking like this all day, hmm?” Alphonse trails his thumb over your bottom lip; admiration replacing the otherwise pissed look in his eyes. “Beautiful lips… Hate to see them shaking like this in pain.”

You remain completely still, fearing that if you attempt to move out of the way or try anything against Alphonse again, this time he won’t hesitate to hurt your baby directly even if it doesn’t look like it.

In reality, you could practically vomit over Alphonse’s face from how nauseous and disgusted you feel from him even laying a hand on you, but you force it all back.

Acting as if you’ve given in to him, you remain quiet and calm which only pleases Alphonse further.

“Easy, baby.” Alphonse tilts your head up with both hands gently, causing you to whimper. “You know, I’ve always wanted to do this to you.” Alphonse leans in; his nose tracing around your jawline and neck as he inhales the faint scent of sweet, floral perfume over you.

From the way Alphonse has your body raised against his, pressure is applied to your legs and the bite mark over your thigh practically feels as if it’s on fire.

You hold in the pain but cannot manage to stay completely silent. Alphonse hears your soft whimpers and takes them as a sign of weakness before pressing his forehead against yours.

Without saying a word, Alphonse inches closer and closer to your lips, and all the “don’t do this!” screaming in your head stops nothing as his lips collide with yours.

You squeeze your eyes shut in disgust so as not to look directly at him as Alphonse gives you a full-mouth kiss. You don’t return it nor do you part your lips against his, simply remaining completely still and hoping for the kiss to come to a quick end.

“God,” Alphonse murmurs softly as he pulls away from you. “That love bite will heal, baby. I want to almost forgive you just from that kiss alone. Does Michael make good use of that mouth, I wonder.”

Tears sting your eyes as you stare down at the carpet, knowing it’ll be no use to tell him to let you go or do anything else.

“You’re very beautiful, Victoria.” Alphonse strokes your hair gently, noticing your glassy eyes filled with tears. “Even when you cry. You’ve always had that Ferrari fire in you, but it’s unfortunate it got you hurt today. It’ll raise the Ricci family to newfound heights, and on a personal scale…” Alphonse caresses your face with the back of his hand. “I can’t wait to start a family with you and sleep next to you every night.”

It's that comment that sends you over the tipping edge, and you can no longer hold back the disturbed look on your face.

“What?” Alphonse chuckles. “Don’t act so surprised, darling. Isn’t that what happened to your sister-in-law?”

“W-what?” You say weakly.

“Constanzia Corleone,” Alphonse tells you. “Married one street rat mobster wannabee, right? That Carlo Rizzi or whatever his name is. That didn’t work out, so what did she do? Well, I hear she was a very, very smart girl to go and marry a man like Leonardo Ferrari. One doesn’t work out so onto the next, real mobster it is. She secured her future with a very powerful man whose also fathering her sons, right?”

“D-don’t talk about Connie.” You narrow your eyes at him. “Never talk about my sister.”

“Relax, baby.” Alphonse gives you a playful grin, “my eyes are only for you, but you know what I’m talking about. If anything happens to that brother Lorenzo of yours—who I’ve no doubt will finally meet with me today—then Leonardo will become the Don. What’s going to be the difference between you and Constanzia then? She’ll be the wife of the second most powerful mobster on the continent, after me.”

Before either of you can speak further, you notice Alphonse’s eyes instantly widen in shock, and in a split second, he pins his body down to the floor.

Immediately after, a hail of dozens and dozens of bullets making the attempt on your life look like child’s play begins to hail through the mirror—hitting every corner, every angle, every wall and shattering the windows to smithereens.

There isn’t even time for Alphonse’s capos to respond as their bodies can barely drop to the floor with constant gunfire riddling holes through them.

“That motherfucker finally came, huh?!” Alphonse keeps himself flat on the floor.

You burst out in hysterical laughter, no longer able to control yourself or hold back. You know Michael and his men are here and that this has all come to an end; it couldn’t possibly be more amusing than how it already is to you right now.

“Go to hell, go to hell!” You say through your laughter as Alphonse pulls you up into his arms, attempting to protect you.

All you can hear are the sounds of men hollering outside, bodies falling, and screams of pain accompanied by consistent, rapid fire.

“I’m taking you with me, darling.” Alphonse’s eyes glance up to the ceiling as he keeps you up against him, hearing the sound of a heavy thump before watching the body of his sniper falling right off the roof. “SHIT!”

In truth, Alphonse’s men have grown lazy and sloppy after realizing Michael neither came yesterday night nor at the time Alphonse expected him to today either.

As a result, a vast majority of his men drop dead from being unprepared, unable to shield themselves from the bullets fired against them.

Alphonse grunts, struggling to pull out his pistol from the inner pocket of his suit. “They know what they’re shooting at, huh?” Alphonse yanks a fistful of your hair, pulling you up onto his lap and pressing the barrel of his gun up to your temple. “Then they won’t get to you or me now.”

“Do your worst if you can.” You breathe out, grinning at the window.

It wasn’t hard for your father to have all the roads leading to Silver City cleared and kept that way an entire day before, sending assassins in the best cars available with no exceptions.

Your brothers went sent off to Silver City with Michael and your father’s best men, but Lake Tahoe isn’t left unprotected either.

Giuseppe himself stayed back with his capos, Alessio, Tom, Fredo, and tight security both in and around the estate complex including every pathway and road leading up to it.

Neri and Rocco have personally accompanied Michael who drove himself, surrounded by the cars of his security on every side of the road for protection should Michael approach any vehicles of Alphonse’s men or have bullets littered over his trail.

Neri sits in the back seat with Rocco next to him, fully armed. Ritchie Nobilio is in the front passenger seat by Michael, aiming out the window with two pistols in both hands—ready for anything.

Michael is armed to the teeth himself, calm but ready to kill. Everyone knows blood will be spilled today, marking a new mob war between the Corleone and Ferrari families versus the Ricci’s.

Michael will not rest until he personally kills Alphonse and confirms his death and he will only consider you safe when he sees you unharmed in person unless it absolutely can’t be helped; the last resort Michael has made sure all of his and your father’s men are very well aware of.

The vehicles surrounding Michael’s that drove up front shot off the snipers with silencers and any of Alphonse’s men scattered around the vicinity of Silver City, so neither Michael nor any of his and your father’s men were even heard approaching Alphonse’s Estate as nobody was alive to raise the alarm beforehand.

Neri was the one who took out Alphonse’s sniper and one of Michael’s men easily took his spot, blending into his surroundings.

Michael and Giuseppe’s men parked their vehicles on every side of Alphonse’s manor to surround his men completely, relentlessly shooting and circling around.

Although taken by surprise, Alphonse’s men snap back into action and prepare to shoot back—taking as much cover around the manor as they can find.

Michael’s vehicle is hidden behind a blockade of others, and he easily steps out without being seen and crouches against the car next to Ritchie.

Both Michael and Ritchie glance up towards the roof of the manor, seeing Matteo perched up top and taking out the remaining men outside the front. After firing another shot, Matteo signals the area is clear for Michael and Ritchie to enter.

If you knew it was your brother hiding up on the roof and picking off Alphonse’s men like mosquitos in the vicinity, you’d neither be impressed nor surprised.

Matteo was always skilled with firearms, and he was the one who taught you all about accuracy, aim, and bullets all those years back.

Lorenzo and Sonny remain with their men towards the back of the estate, back to back, and move towards the garden as stealthily as possible while taking out Alphonse’s men.

“Fucking bastards.” Sonny hisses, firing a bullet into another guard’s chest and watching him topple into the swimming pool—seeping blood into it.

“That’s the last of them.” Lorenzo huffs, moving towards the entrance of the garden and reloading his pistol. “I like your fire, Corleone. They never had it coming.”

“These assholes don’t stand a chance with us, brother.” Sonny gives Lorenzo’s shoulder a pat as both men press their backs up against the entrance door. “Ready to give ‘em hell?”

“Never been more ready in my fucking life.” Aiming his pistol toward the door, Lorenzo kicks it down and doesn’t hesitate to fire a few rounds in immediately.

“What’s wrong now, huh?” You breathe out, noticing the storm of bullets has come to an end, leaving no intact door or the protection of windows. “Nothing to protect you anymore.”

“Nice sudden, but will be short-lived confidence, Victoria.” Alphonse keeps his pistol on you, firmly holding you in his arms. “I’m a lot smarter than you think. If they want to come here and corner me, they’ll have to do so knowing your life is now on the line too, darling. I can shoot out your brains and redecorate my Persian rug with another shade of red whenever I want.”

‘Michael… Michael, where are you?’ You let out a shaky breath, keeping your gaze to the windows in case one of Michael’s men or Michael himself spot you and know your exact location within the estate.

Rocco moves to defend around the back where Lorenzo and Sonny’s men begin to rush in after them, and Neri remains close to Michael at all times.

Michael stands by a pile of bodies by the front door, examining the blown-out windows around him but keeping his back away from it just in case.

From where Michael and Neri stand, both of them can clearly hear shouting and gunshots coming from the side entrances and almost exclusively upstairs.

It’s never once eluded Michael that one of the men he’s brought here to protect him and subsequently secure you back home may be the very traitor who helped Alphonse orchestrate the attempt on his life in the first place, hence why Michael couldn’t care less now if either Neri or Rocco dies tonight.

‘This is life or death.’ Michael thinks to himself, keeping completely still as he can hear one of Alphonse’s men now rushing towards the door he’s standing by.

As soon as the front door pulls back, Michael takes a lunging step back and fires his pistol directly into the head of the assassin.

Brain matter and blood splatter over the shattered pieces of the windows, other dead bodies, the front door, and Neri; narrowly missing Michael with the mess but still staining his navy suit with droplets of blood all over.

Michael exchanges a glance with Neri before nodding at him, beginning to move inside the estate and take cover underneath the closest staircase.

Neri shakes his head, seeing the other set of stairs on the opposite side of the room leading up to the same place upstairs; dozens and dozens of rooms. “There’s too many to infiltrate all at once, Don Corleone.”

Michael holds his index finger up against his lips, ushering for Neri to remain quiet. “Listen.”

The two remain silent for a moment, listening so keenly that Michael would be expecting to hear bugs crawling in the corners of the estate at this point.

Sounds of a struggle and gunfire only come from some of the rooms upstairs and downstairs, but others remain completely quiet.

“Soundproof,” Neri whispers, figuring it out.

“Exactly,” Michael whispers back.

“Our men can go into each room, but we can’t,” Neri tells Michael. “Mrs. Corleone could be in any one of these rooms.”

Michael’s eyes dart from the doors upstairs over to a piece of something he spots over the carpet on the other side of the foyer.

Michael stealthily moves to the other side of the room, noticing what looks to be a snapped-off piece of a high heel.

Crouching down, Michael points out the piece to Neri, watching his eyes widen.

Michael reaches his hand down to pick up the broken piece of your heel, but not before analyzing the way it’s scraped and dragged over the carpet—pointing to a specific direction down the hallway.

“Victoria’s high heel.” Michael holds up the piece in his hand. “Make no mistake about it.”

“And the mark.” Neri murmurs, following it on the carpet. “This was done on purpose.”

“Victoria left us a little message.” Michael’s eyes fixate on one of the soundproof rooms the marks lead to. “Unless I’m dead wrong—” Michael cocks his pistol, pointing it towards the door. “Someone in specific is armed to the teeth in that room.”

“The angling of the room, Don Corleone.” Neri reminds Michael. “From where our men shot, that was one of the first rooms to be cleared with initial fire.”

“Regardless,” Michael glances back at him. “Going into that room without knowing what exactly we’re facing is suicide.”

“Wait for my signal, sir. I can confirm it from the outside since the windows are completely shot through.” Neri says, beginning to move back.

“Fire a warning round if it’s just that fucking rat in there. Two if it’s fully armed.” Michael orders, beginning to make his way to the door as Neri exits out front.

Neri army crawls over the trail of dead bodies by the porch, remaining out of sight from any of the rooms and windows regardless of whether there’s sound coming from it or not.

Neri’s able to raise his head just a little bit towards the window pane to make out you being forcefully held in the corner of the room in Alphonse’s arms with a gun pressed up to your head.

Although Alphonse remains highly alert and still alarmed, he manages to keep calm with you as the bargaining chip for his life.

Neri also notices both of Alphonse’s capos have bled out to death; the cause being quick shots to the heart with the other holes in their bodies as décor from Michael’s men.

Neri angles his gun towards the inside of the room and holds his breath, firing the one shot to the corpse of one of the capos right by Alphonse.

“There you are, fucker!” Alphonse grunts, firing his pistol three times in the direction of Al Neri.

Narrowly missing, Neri still fakes out a loud cry of pain and throws his body down with a thud onto the other corpses beneath him as a tactic to show Alphonse he’s dead, but in reality, Neri will be waiting there to kill Alphonse himself if anything happens to Michael.

You wince from feeling the heat of Alphonse’s gun firing close to your face, but Alphonse had surprisingly shielded your ear closest to the pistol just before he fired.

As soon as Michael hears a single gunshot, he kicks open the door and aims his pistol directly at Alphonse’s head.

Alphonse is quick to aim his gun right back to your forehead, bursting out in laughter—bordering near insane. “Welcome, Don Corleone! We missed you.”

Your eyes widen in shock at the sight of Michael standing in front of you; his suit dripping with fresh blood.

Your semi-relieved, partly stunned expression is immediately noticed by Alphonse. “Ooh, finally the reunion we’ve all been waiting for, huh? Missed this pretty little thing?” Alphonse pulls harshly on a fistful of your hair, causing you to wince in pain.

Michael makes eye contact with you only for a split second, but it’s all that takes for you to tell that behind those cold, emotionless eyes of his that Michael’s more than just relieved to see you.

Alphonse or anyone else for that matter making you cry would be more than enough reason for Michael to kill everyone here, but he’s also noticed your tear-filled eyes and the bloody gash over your forehead with just one, brief look.

“Let her go and face like a man, coward.” Michael places his finger over the trigger of his pistol.

“No, I don’t think so and you won’t persuade me otherwise. I have leverage, can’t you see?” Alphonse gives your face a rough shake. “I had a lot of fun with this pretty wife of yours, but you already know that.”

“You talk too much.” Michael takes a step closer, keeping his gun aimed directly between Alphonse’s eyes.

“I’m already loaded and ready.” Alphonse runs the pistol over your head and through your hair. “And I’ll kill her faster than you can put me out, I guarantee you that.”

“I could have made your death much quicker if you did what I said.” Michael scowls.

“Ha.” Alphonse snorts. “I could say the same for you but here you are, blood on your new suit and no ransom money. I should just kill Victoria because I can—take her to hell with me. Look, seen this yet?” Alphonse pushes the hair out of your face aside, revealing your gash clearly to Michael.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You grunt out.

“I played with her a little too hard and made a bit of a mess, but don’t worry,” Alphonse smirks sardonically. “I kissed it better, see?” He lets his free hand roam up your bare thigh, revealing a peek of your panties in the process to show Michael the bite mark.

“I’m going to enjoy putting you down like a dog just like I did to your own men.” Michael keeps himself calm and steady despite the pure rage he’s never felt before growing inside of him like a wildfire unchecked.

“You don’t even know who you’re talking to!” Alphonse spits out. “I could kill this pregnant bitch and still find a way to take the rest of your family down with you.”

“What I find more amusing is that you expected me to believe you’d give all of your sickest fantasies up for twelve to twenty million dollars?”

Alphonse laughs again out of breath, continuing to hold onto your hair. “You know me so well, Don Corleone. I want Victoria so fucking bad you have no idea. So,” Alphonse aims his pistol back at Michael’s head. “Maybe I should kill you instead, then fuck her in front of your corpse to celebrate!”

You scream and attempt to jerk around in Alphonse’s arms, but it’s much too late. He squeezes his finger around the trigger and fires his pistol…only to hear it click empty.

“What the fuck?!” Alphonse tries firing again and again, but the pistol still clicks empty.

Out of fear, Alphonse’s face drains of color as his hands tremble and the pistol falls to the floor. “You were lucky!”

“I don’t believe in luck.” Michael fires his gun at one of Alphonse’s kneecaps, causing him to let out a blood-curdling scream and let go of you.

Even with a completely shattered kneecap, Alphonse attempts to crawl towards the fireplace after practically throwing you off of him.

Michael quickly pulls you up to your feet by your arm, exchanging a glance with you that shows his relief again, but this time mixed with his own fear that Michael was under the belief he could have lost you.

You can’t even begin to fathom the relief you feel in your heart seeing Michael again, and although there’s never been any doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t, you feel as if with everything you’ve gone through these past two days without Michael’s love and safety is enough to cause you to faint on the spot.

The split second of horror you felt breaking your heart the moment Alphonse attempted to fire his pistol is now replaced with a horrible wave of anxiety as you could have just possibly witnessed your husband’s own death in front of your very eyes.

Without a word spoken to one another, Michael’s quick to throw off the ropes from your wrists—not struggling the least bit with the ties and refusing to take his full attention off of Alphonse now clutching his bleeding knee and attempting to move towards the fireplace to grab the fire poker.

“I had unfinished business with you, Alphonse. Face me when I fucking talking to you.” Michael turns to Alphonse once again, this time shooting his other kneecap and causing Alphonse to scream out and burn his hand in the process.

With your hand binds off, you quickly work the ropes off of your ankles—gritting your teeth and taking in sharp breaths from how badly bruised both your wrists and ankles are; sickening shades of mottled violet.

“E-even if I was going to die from the start, it was all worth it.” Alphonse pants out, unable to move any farther from his broken kneecaps. “J-just to… Just to get you like this is worth my life any day.” He weakly points up at the pistol in Michael’s hands. “And whose the coward now? Facing an unarmed man with a gun. W-where’s your honor, you dog?”

“What the fuck would you know about honor?!” Michael shouts, his voice resonating throughout the room in bitter anger. “Man to man is the way you want it? That’s never been a problem with me.”

Michael tosses his firearm towards you and you quickly reach your hand up to catch it mid-air, clutching it to your chest and still trying to catch your breath.

As you weakly move towards the smashed window before you, you still aim the pistol steadily in case of any further threats or danger.

“Then who would I be if I denied you the opportunity to have your bones broken with my bare hands?” Michael speaks through gritted teeth, pulling Alphonse up to his feet by his shirt.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Neri pretending to play dead on top of the bodies of Alphonse’s men, and you sigh out in relief seeing he’s personally fine.

“Y-yeah, you’re nothing to me but another fucking army punk.” Alphonse coughs, sneering at Michael.

You can’t nor would you ever distract or stop Michael now, but you know you’re not going to remain in this God-forsaken room any longer like a helpless hostage still.

“Bold words from someone who will never walk, let alone see the light of day again. You were going to kill me and marry my wife? Shame I wouldn’t be able to come to the wedding, right?!” Michael snaps back sarcastically.

Before you can even turn back on your heel to look back at Alphonse and Michael, one of Alphonse’s injured assassins makes a break towards the porch but not before you aim and shoot directly at his throat.

“Nice shot.” Neri grunts, leaning up against the house wall.

“T-thanks.” You say back shakily. “No excuse.”

“I’m going to kill you just for thinking about her, you know that?” Michael snatches the fire poker out of Alphonse’s loose grip, raising the pointed edge up to his throat.

Alphonse can barely breathe from the pressure Michael holds over his body, only needing him to make one wrong move to squirm free and kill himself in the process if Michael doesn’t plunge the fire poker into Alphonse’s throat already.

Although Michael doesn’t pay direct attention to it, you, him and Neri are aware gunshots have grown completely silent in the house.

“Jesus fuck!” You hear Sonny’s voice as he and Lorenzo burst into the office room. “There he is! Mike’s got the bastard at last, huh?”

“Victoria!” Lorenzo’s eyes widen when he spots you by the window and his eyes only continue to grow in worry at the sight of your injuries.

“I’m fine, Lorenzo. Really.” You swallow hard, showing Lorenzo the pistol in your hand.

Your brother scowls at Alphonse practically being crushed under Michael’s hands before he runs up to you but hesitates to embrace or touch you. “God, you’ve no fucking idea how glad I am to see you alive and well.”

“Need privacy, Mike?” Sonny smirks at the sight of Alphonse whimpering and wincing under Michael’s grasp.

Michael doesn’t take his eyes off of Alphonse for a second, drawing blood from his throat by continuing to push the tip of the fire poker up into Alphonse’s neck—listening to him grunt out in pain. “Watch me do this and you’re not going to smile for a long time.”

“There isn’t a thing this motherfucker doesn’t deserve and we’ve made this place a house of corpses.” Sonny signals out the doorway for his men to start following out. “By all means, do what you need to do. I’m going out to bring the car over.”

“Make it quick, Mike.” Lorenzo forces himself to stay back, wanting nothing more than to tear Alphonse to shreds with his bare hands if he had the chance to. “Then we’re blowing this shit hole to pieces. We’re leaving nothing behind.”

All Michael demands back is, “take Victoria out. I don’t want her seeing this.”

“Victoria,” Lorenzo gently takes your arm, wrapping it over his shoulder to support your weight and help you get out of the manor considering how deep the bruises are welted over your ankles and with your thigh still quivering from the bitemark it sustained.

You clutch onto your brother like your life depends on it, utterly and completely exhausted but still holding onto your pistol and insistent to get the hell out of here.

“Nobody will bother to even utter your name because they’ll remember what I did here.” Michael watches as Alphonse’s blood begins to drip down the fire poker. “I hate repeating myself, but I’ll never tire of repeating how much I’ve enjoyed taking every single one of you out like flies.”

“Y-you would have never even gotten here if it wasn’t for me.” Alphonse smiles weakly. “I’ll f-face my death like a man if it’s coming to me. Who turned y-you into a bloodthirsty sadist? I did. You’ll have to thank m-me sometime—tell your kids sometime.”

“Give Luca Brasi my best in hell for me.” Michael grunts, gripping the fire poker as tightly as he can in his hand and impaling Alphonse through the eye with it, killing him instantly.

Out of the manor and having seen nothing but heard enough, you almost collapse of exhaustion by the front porch before Lorenzo scoops you up into his arms carefully.

Alphonse’s body drops to a thud as Michael lets go, only pushing the fire poker further through his head.

Alphonse’s corpse remains sprawled out on the floor by the fireplace—his suit jacket wrinkled and turned over revealing a small photograph tucked within the inner pocket.

Michael leans down to quickly take it out of his pocket, examining the photograph to see it’s a recent one taken of you at the Tropigala last month.

The photograph shows you sitting on the edge of a grand piano, wearing a draped, short white dress that hangs off your shoulders, giving a peek of sexy cleavage and flattering your figure.

You had one matching white stiletto loosely dangling off your right foot and barefoot on the left; your hair styled in loose curls, soft smokey makeup over your eyes, and scarlet lipstick.

Michael glances back at Alphonse’s body in disgust, although not the least bit surprised he’d be holding a photograph of someone else’s wife in his pocket.

Michael keeps the photograph for himself, tucking it into the pocket of his dress trousers and walking out of Alphonse’s Silver City manor like he just came out of a dull business meeting—not a massacre leaving over fifty people dead.

“Daddy, daddy!” Michael can already hear the voices of his children ringing out in his head, desperate to return home and reunite with his family safely. “Daddy’s my hero!”

“Where are you going, daddy?” Michael remembers Niccolo asking as he was just about to drive off to Silver City. “Are you going to get mama?”

“I love you, daddy, be safe! Drive super safe!”

The peace and serenity Michael finds in remembering his children’s voices and the memories you and he have made with them is interrupted as Michael can’t get the sickening sound of Alphonse’s hysterical laughter chiming in his head like a broken record.

Michael’s distressing thoughts and remorseless bitterness only fade off his expression once he sees you safely laying in the back seat of his Cadillac; your thigh carefully propped off the seat so as not to touch the bite wound.

“Michael!” You cry, extending out your hand as he approaches the vehicle you’re in.

Michael notices Al Neri is sitting in the driver’s seat next to Ritchie, starting up the car and waiting for him to get in.

Michael pulls open the door and gets inside swiftly; the car takes off amidst the others as soon as Michael shuts the door behind him.

“She’s gonna blow, boss.” Ritchie glances back, opens the window of the vehicle, and gestures with his hand once you’re all at a safe distance to detonate the dynamite set up inside.

Michael cups both hands over your ears tightly as explosions go off in the estate, swallowing it up in raging flames.

You can’t hear Michael speak to you, but you can read off his lips that he says, “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

Michael holds you tightly in his arms, careful not to touch any of your bruises or the otherwise horrific-looking bitemark over your thigh—just relieved to have the love of his life back in his arms relatively safe and sound.

Not once did you think about your own life and safety while held ransom with Alphonse. Your mind always went back to the children and the unborn baby inside of you—even Michael, but never yourself for one moment.

The very thought of having to live without Michael or your children for one kills you and as much as you want to stop thinking about it, you know the idea won’t stop haunting you until you’re out of this Godforsaken ghost town.

As Michael holds you in his loving and protective embrace, you can’t help but burst out sobbing in his arms.

“Easy, baby. It’s all over now.” Michael murmurs, slowly pulling back and examining the gash over your forehead before placing one hand over your baby bump. “My God.”

You whimper, feeling your knees grow weak from exhaustion as your thigh continues to tremble from the insisting, stinging pain around the bitemark.

“Jesus Christ, he’s a fucking animal,” Michael mutters under his breath as he notices just how badly Alphonse bit you. “How bad does it hurt baby? We’re going to get you medical attention immediately at home.”

“It’s…” You hiccup, trying to stop yourself from crying. “Not the worst thing in the w-world, believe me.”

“Whole place is on fire.” Al Neri glances at the rear-view mirror, noticing the bellowing smoke trailing behind them back at the estate.

“Let it burn.” Michael scowls, his expression only softening when he gazes back at you. “Baby, you have to tell me what happened in there—not now, but I have to know.”

“Nothing.” You sniffle, looking up at your husband and clutching onto his arms for balance. “Nothing happened.”

“What?” Michael furrows his brows in confusion. “What do you mean nothing—”

“Omertà.” Your voice quivers.

Al Neri and Ritchie stare at each other for a moment, remaining quiet after hearing you utter the word.

“Omertà,” Michael repeats softly.

“I’ll never talk.” You wipe the tears off your eyes with the sleeve of your nightgown. “And I never did, even if it would k-kill me.”

Once you arrived back at the Lake Tahoe compound surrounded by dozens of guards and security both in and out of cars, you had no intention of upcoming any of the lies Michael had told the twins other than you were at the hospital with your mother who is still recovering.

The fresh, throbbing gash on your forehead, the deep aching bruises over both your wrists and ankles let alone the deep teeth marks over your badly bruised thigh would never live up to some sort of fantasy-based tale about what “happened” in a hospital.

You’d be upfront with the twins, telling them you and Michael “got rid of all the bad guys” and you got hurt in the process, but that it was nothing serious and you’d heal over time.

You didn’t want the twins to worry about you and just the thought of seeing their little eyes water up as they cry seeing their mother injured would be enough to break your heart for two lifetimes.

You’d have to convince the twins just like how you convinced yourself that you're fine, and all gashes, bruises, and injuries of any kind heal with time and care—something you desperately need.

When Michael scooped you up into his arms gently to bring you inside the compound, you refused to be anywhere else or with anyone else but your husband.

Since you also didn’t want anyone at home to see you before getting medical treatment, your arrival was kept a secret from everyone except your father.

Michael took you inside the boathouse—a pinnacle of privacy—and brought Doctor Katherine in to clean and tend to your wounds. It was a relief to hear from Doctor Katherine after a full examination that your baby was fine too.

You were given some painkillers to help subside the pain from your head; the gash on your temple was now bandaged along with your thigh.

You felt fine, mostly numb with achy muscles just grateful to be free of those tight bounds after being forced to lay down tied up like an animal being brought to slaughter.

It was the bitemark over your thigh that hurt the most because you thought Alphonse was going to tear a chunk of your flesh off of you from how hard he was biting.

The gash being poked open with a switchblade was agonizing enough, but the feeling of having someone’s entire mouth over your thigh biting in with full force is a different type of pain you never want to feel again.

As soon as Doctor Katherine left the boathouse to give you and Michael some privacy, your husband pulled you up on his lap gently where you cried in his arms until you physically couldn’t anymore.

Michael knew what you needed then wasn’t reassurances, but his presence and him alone. He remained quiet, he gently caressed your skin, gave you little kisses, and let you sob your heart out.

“Michael,” you croaked out as you wiped the last bit of tears from your eyes. “You know I could have l-lost you today.”

“Baby, do you hear yourself?” Michael frowned at you. “We could have lost you. Don’t think about me—”

“How couldn’t I?!” You hiccupped, your eyes glassy and filling with tears again. “All I could think of was you and our babies! Our babies…” You put a shaky hand over your baby bump. “Forget me, but not our family—not you.” You narrowed your eyes at Michael and cupped his face weakly. “You scared me half to death back there! Michael, he had a gun held up to your face! How could you approach him like that?!”

“He didn’t have any bullets left in his gun—” Michael began to tell you before you interrupted him.

“But what if he did?!” You burst into tears yet again. “He would have killed you—WHAT IF?!”

“Baby, listen to me.” Michael placed both hands over your shoulders firmly. “I already thought of all that before I came in there to find you. The first thing I looked at was the pistol in his hands—Al and I listened to him firing shots. I would have never approached Alphonse the same way if I knew he even had one more round in that pistol.”

“S-still.” You shook your head and hugged your husband tightly. “I w-was so scared, I don’t even want to think about it. I-I had to at that moment and I just—I can’t. I can’t!” Sobs rack through your sore and aching body. “I was so scared that I would lose you and our babies.”

“I know, baby. I know.” Michael embraced you tightly and comforted you. “I’m here with you and our children. Everything’s going to be alright. That is never going to happen to you ever again.”

Your tears soaked into Michael’s dress shirt and as much as you believed everything he told you and how Michael and Michael alone could relieve your heart of any pain and suffering, you still could not get past the fear of losing your husband forever.

“I-I don’t know what I would do without you. Never being able to see you again, or seeing you d-dead.” You dug your fingernails into Michael’s suit jacket and raised your head up to face Michael. “Never scare me like that again, never! I don’t care what’s h-happening, never do that to me.”

“Never again, darling.” Michael cupped your cheeks and gave your lips a gentle kiss as he felt you whimper against him. “I promise you this. Just the way you want it to be. You know I love you too much to ever think about a day where I can’t be with you anymore, Victoria. Do you know how I felt since you were gone?” Michael’s eyes darted over yours. “I’ve had no peace, not a single moment’s rest and I lied to our own children to protect us but I promised myself I’d get you back and I have you now back with us, safe. I made that bastard pay for what he not only did to you but to all of us.”

“A-always the hero.” You sniffled and weakly smiled at your husband. “I-I knew you’d come. I never doubted you, my love. E-everything you do has a purpose, that’s why I love you, Michael. That’s why I trust you with my life.”

“And I trust you with mine.” Michael lowered his tone to a whisper and spoke softly to you. “I love you and only you so much, Victoria. That is never going to change. Anyday, anytime, I would take a bullet for you and our children gladly. I would die for you, never forget this. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you and our children. The rest of the world can burn for all I care, but they will not have you.”

“I love you, I love you.” You whimpered out weakly and kissed Michael’s lips. “C-can you please just hold me? Everything hurts and… And I just want to be held.”

“Yes, baby, of course.” Michael rubbed up and down your arms, letting you snuggle onto his chest. “For as long as you want, you can lay here in my arms.”

‘This is the life I’ve chosen, the life I’ve lived and continue to live with no regrets, no remorse.’

The last of your silent tears escaped your eyes as you felt the strength, love, and trust in your husband’s embrace; one of the only moments of peace you’ve felt since you returned home knowing everything is finally over now.

‘This has always been about life or death.’

You’re safe, you’re loved, and you’re back home with your children. You’re right where you want to be and nowhere else and you wouldn’t want it differently.

‘Omertà.’

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