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melis-writes · 3 years

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 26 - Bullets.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 25 [AO3] / Tumblr / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

You and Michael find yourselves facing death directly as assassins have breached the Lake Tahoe compound, attacking in the middle of the night. Both of your quick thinking and reflexes saves you, but not everybody in your family is safe and sound. Suspicions rise as the search for the assassins goes awry, and your brother Lorenzo takes his frustrations out on Michael for endangering your life--believing you've become naïve and gullible. As your relationship with your brother dwindles, you attempt to protect your family and gain more than you bargained for, finding yourself split between being the daughter of Don Ferrari and the wife of Don Corleone.

[WARNINGS]: Violent themes / Minor alcohol use / Graphic descriptions of injury.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Ended up finishing this chapter early, and it sure has been anticipated!! 😳🤞 Since this chapter is only focused on one scene from the movie, I was unable to use as many suggestions as I would have liked (I only go to use one 😭). Can't have smut during a time like this of course lmao, so I look forward to using tons for the next chapters! ❤ I also make my own gifs now, so expect quite a few to help paint out the scene!🤩 Since Vito and Sonny are alive in this AU, we get to see their reactions during the assassination attempt as well! Victoria's cunning and badass side has always been highly requested, and there will be plenty next chapter, but also quite a bit in this one as her quick thinking and intuition come into play! Lots of drama to expect as well, enjoy! 🤣

[SUGGESTIONS]: Anon for requesting: Vito and Michael bonding.

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.

In one moment, you were gazing back at Michael—confused as to why the drapes were completely drawn back to practically expose the entirety of your illuminated bedroom. A split second after, your eyes widened in horror to see Michael immediately duck down and onto the floor.

Michael had made out two shadowy figures engulfed in darkness, standing at a distance across from him to keep their identities hidden well but at enough of a length to shoot directly into the bedroom and at all sides.

From your angle in the bed, you weren’t able to spot out or even see any figures, to begin with. From the texture of the glass to the pitch black in the compound, Michael was unable to make out any features of the two assassins either—unknown to the both of you that they’re hired hitmen for the Ricci family.

Without any time to process or question what’s happening, bullets begin to fly at a rapid pace into the bedroom. Dozens shatter the windows completely, hitting the walls and trailing along to hit every angle of the bedroom as much as possible—all in an instant before your very eyes.

Your reflexes immediately kick up with the first few bullets breaking through the windows. You throw yourself off the bed, grabbing the blankets over top of your back to protect you from falling debris as you lay down as close as possible to the frame of the bed.

Michael lunges himself down to the floor, army crawling as quickly as he can without raising a muscle upwards. The next pair of bullets destroy a vase of flowers over your dresser and shoots out both of your lamps to pieces.

Twelve bullets fire over the mirror just across from you, shattering it to smithereens as you stare back at Michael in shock as he makes his way over to you in mere seconds.

The next hail of bullets begins firing at every other angle of the bedroom, hitting your nightstand just above you, the post of your bed, and over the back walls. Michael grabs at your arm, pulling you into his embrace and bracing you with his body.

Chunks of your bed frame fly off in contact with the bullets as parts of the walls crumble from the concentrated hit over several bullets over one area. You throw your hand back into the lower drawer of your nightstand, reaching inside to grab your handgun.

Michael hugs your body tightly, completely covering you as the bullets continue. You raise your head up in between Michael’s arms as he holds you down further to the floor, knowing that the next dozen will over your bed and towards the floor again.

You cock back your handgun, quick to raise it up to the gaping, jagged holes in the window as you fire back twice. Michael stares back at you in surprise, now noticing and processing the fact you shot back as the rain of bullets stops almost instantly.

Dropping your handgun but keeping it close to you, you shudder as you clutch at Michael’s dress shirt. You bury your face into his chest as he pants out, listening intently for another wave of bullets.

Silence kicks in as the last chunks of broken glass fall to the floor, confirming the end of the hail of bullets. Michael grunts, kneeling backward as he pulls you up to him, shaking you by your shoulders.

“Victoria—are you alright? Are you hit?!” He hisses to you in a hushed tone.

Michael’s hair now loosely dangles off his forehead as you shake your head back at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “N-no!”

Michael breathes, planting a quick, reassuring kiss over your cheek as he hugs you tightly in his arms. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Your hand brushes past his silky hair as you attempt to steady your breathing, nudging the handgun closer over to him. You swallow hard, nodding back at him frantically. “I think I may have hit one of them, Michael, I—”

“Shhh, shh, it’s alright.” Michael rakes a hand through the back of your hair, attempting to calm you down. “It’s over. It’s over now.”

Michael rubs up and down your arms tenderly, quick to pull the blankets off of you as he trails a hand down your sides, checking to see if you were hit or even skimmed by a piece of glass. Seeing you thankfully unharmed, he let out a shaky sigh of relief.

“Oh my God, the twins!” You whine out in panic, hearing alarms begin to blare and go off at every corner of the compound.

“It’s alright, come here.” Michael pulls you up to his feet with him, slowly beginning to rise as the sirens of his alarms and security grow louder and insistent. “Take the children and immediately go to the drawing room with the rest of the family, do you understand?”

You nod back at him, grabbing your handgun, “Michael, you know I could help you.”

“Not a chance in hell.” His eyes flicker down to your stomach as he shakes his head, “do as I say and make sure nobody takes a step out until I confirm it’s safe. Okay? Go!”

You swallow hard, quick to grab your nightrobe off your now tattered, bullet-ridden vanity chair and burst out of the bedroom without another word—Michael following from behind and out towards the front door of the residence.

Voices begin to break out into the night as various lights flash and angle towards every inch of the dark compound, illuminating everything in a blinding, white light. Sirens only continue to grow louder as Michael’s security and private hires scurry out of the compound, loading their firearms and racing to secure every entrance and exit.

“Mama!” The first cry you hear out through the hallway as you approach the bedroom of the twins across from each other is Verona’s.

You glance down at your firearm momentarily, quick to slip and conceal it between the pocket of your nightrobe as you shrug it on. You quickly push open the door to Verona’s bedroom, seeing Niccolo protectively hugging his sister, huddled in a corner—less fear in his eyes than Verona’s.

“Oh, Niccolo, Verona! It’s okay, I’m here!” You’re quick to notice the twins’ room hasn’t been affected in any manner as the children shakily rise to their feet, embracing your waistline. “Are you two alright?!” You kneel down, tenderly rubbing both of their shoulders.

“Yeah!” Verona pouts back.

“Mama, we heard everything!” Niccolo frantically glances around. “Where’s daddy?”

“Daddy’s dealing with it, alright? Don’t worry—Al and Rocco are with him. Come here, you two. Come quick, we have to get to safety.” You plant a quick kiss over both of their cheeks.

You scoop up Verona in one arm, holding Niccolo’s hand with the other as you race off down the hallway and towards the drawing-room.

“Victoria!” Your mother exclaims on the other side of the hallway, wrapping her nightgown around her. “What’s going on?!”

“Mama, come! Quick!” You gesture to her, not noticing her staggering movements. “Where’s the girls?!”

“We’re in here, Victoria! Come quickly!” Connie’s worried voice shouts out from the drawing-room across the residence.

“Come on, come on!” You nod back to your mother and the twins, avoiding as many windows as possible as you all enter the drawing-room—quick to throw the door shut behind you.

Two of Michael’s guards, heavily armed, race to the front gates that remain loosely open, quick to push them back in place, locked shut as another vehicle of security quickly pulls up. Several more rays of light begin to shine over the residence building, boathouse, and yacht deck.

“Secure the compound immediately! Double-check all entrances and exits!” Sonny shouts out to security by the gate, quickly loading his pistol. “Don’t let those bastards escape at any cost!”

Michael steps out to the front of the residence, raking a frustrated hand through his now tousled, floppy hair as his eyes quickly examine the damage done through the windows.

He turns his head at the sight of Rocco quickly rushing his way over with two other men approaching Michael.

“They’re still on the property.” Rocco breathes out, placing a hand upon Michael’s shoulder. “Please, Michael, please stay inside.”

Michael grits his teeth in frustration, gazing out towards the gate before he turns his attention back to Rocco, pressing his finger over his chest to warn him. “Keep them alive.” Michael turns back on his heel towards the entrance.

“We’ll try.” Rocco nods, catching his breath.

Michael stops in his tracks instantly, spinning back angrily and pointing a finger directly at Rocco. “ROCCO, ALIVE!”

The sound of the first bullet firing through your bedroom window is heard from the other side of the compound—muffled as it is, easy to confuse as fireworks or even a loud thud.

Lorenzo was the first to practically leap out of bed and grab at his pistol off the nightstand, attempting to pinpoint which direction the shooting was coming from before comforting his startled wife and taking her out into the hallway with him.

Joined by his brothers, Matteo stayed behind with Dante and the Ferrari wives to secure their end of the residence. Lorenzo immediately stepped out with Leonardo and Alessio—nightrobe or pajamas—it mattered not. All of your brothers were armed and spread out over the residence, signaling to each other in silence.

Leonardo was concerned with where and who the assassins were, refusing to waste time trying to understand why it happened, whereas Alessio was thinking how. It only became clear to Lorenzo in an instant that the bullets hadn’t entered Michael’s office but his bedroom, where he was very well aware you were vulnerable.

Lorenzo’s concern for your safety and well-being fuels a burning anger inside of him, separated towards both Michael and the unknown assassins. His growing, apparent dislike for Michael takes over the other, leaving him with one thought in his mind: 'Michael Corleone endangered my sister.'

It was no longer about coincidences or being in the wrong place at the wrong time, nor could it be excused by “she’s his wife and sleeps in his bed.” It was strictly about the fact that Michael had placed his wife in danger when he could have done it for himself. Lorenzo wouldn’t have cared half as much if bullets began flying in Michael’s office if you weren’t physically present yourself.

While Leonardo and Alessio had joined up to secure the main gates and entry points with Al Neri and Rocco, Lorenzo went straight for Don Corleone himself.

Michael lingered by the front door—a hand over his hip with the other raking through his hair as he gives out a frustrated huff. Naturally, the Don’s notorious brutality came from giving orders in the dark to seal the fates of others—sending the same methods of assassinations that had turned on him and you tonight.

Whether the shooting failed or succeeded meant nothing for Lorenzo, who believes he already has enough reasons in the world to dislike Michael. You only serve as a buffer for respect and good relations, but now your relationship and “interference” will only cause it to sour further.

Lorenzo storms over to Michael from across the compound residence.

Michael only has a split second to turn his head to face Lorenzo, who grabs at Michael’s dress shirt angrily, beginning to shake him.

“You son of a bitch.” Lorenzo scowls at Michael. “You couldn’t get yourself killed, so you had to drag my sister in it too?”

“How you ever got so comfortable with thinking you could touch me—” Michael throws off Lorenzo’s grasp with ease, shoving him off. “I’ll never know, but you have thirty seconds to explain yourself and your unwarranted hostility before I assume it was you who did it.”

“Me?” Lorenzo points his gun at his own chest, “are you out of your goddamn mind? You know my wife and kids are back there, fearing for their lives! As is yours, my fucking sister.”

“You like being difficult.” Michael pulls out his handgun from his back pocket, tapping it against the palm of his hand. “In the real world, you get killed for that kind of foolish behavior."

“You’ve got better things to worry about than what I hold in my hand.”

“You’re right, I do, and unfortunately, I’m here dealing with your childish outburst than the matter at hand.” Michael rolls his eyes. “What do you want, Lorenzo?”

“Where’s my sister, Michael?!” Lorenzo raises his voice.

“She’s inside.” Michael’s tone grows to match with Lorenzo’s. “Inside with the rest of the family, safe as she should be.”

“You better fucking hope she’s safe. I know this isn’t the first time you’ve endangered her life, isn’t it?” Lorenzo points an accusing finger back at Michael. “You want to make enemies? Fine, but make them alone. She doesn’t deserve this.”

“You think I do?”

Lorenzo scoffs, glancing off to the side. “I could care less because that isn’t any of my business.”

“Neither is Victoria.” Michael maintains stern eye contact with Lorenzo, his expression harshening.

“She’s my sister.” Lorenzo spits out.

“And she’s my wife and the mother to my children—not to mention a grown woman who can make her own decisions and fend for herself.” Michael asserts.

None of Lorenzo’s insults even come close to phasing Michael, who continues to maintain his collected, stern manner.

“She’s my wife and does as I say for our family.”

“You think you intimidate me…” Lorenzo glares into Michael’s eyes. “But that’s all talk and no action from you. You underestimate how my sister would feel—what she would say if she saw you like this.”

“She’s a Corleone.” Michael holds his eye contact with Lorenzo, “and she does and acts like a Corleone.”

“She’s a Ferrari, and you should know better by now that she won’t refuse her own blood first.”

“Since you’re ever so insistent, I’ll prove it to you.” Michael gestures his arm out towards the gates where Rocco and Al Neri are. “Find Rocco and ask for Victoria. He’s already under my orders to make sure she stays inside. We’ll see who she chooses to go to if that’s good enough for you.”

“Hope you aren’t too disappointed, Don. Wouldn’t want any harsh feelings between either of us, especially tonight when we should be looking out for our families.” Lorenzo replies.

Michael crosses his arms. “For as far as I’m concerned, the assassins are still on the compound.”

“It’s so like you to get others to do your dirty work, ‘Don’ Corleone.” Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “Maybe it’s not tonight, but one day you’ll see you actually need to act.”

“It’s alright, it’s okay—” Your heart thunders in your chest as you take the twins over to the couch, grabbing a throw blanket and quickly cuddling it over them.

“Daddy’s going to kill all the bad guys!” Niccolo exclaims out, completely certain of himself.

“Your father and all of your uncles—they just rushed out there without even thinking about it!” Connie huddles by an armchair with her two boys sitting by her side.

“Oh, God, Sonny’s out there too!” Sandra huffs, worry crossing over her eyes. “He just up and left!”

“What the hell is going on out there?!” Theresa shudders, rubbing at her arms.

“Someone’s breached the compound.” You rub at your temple gingerly, shaking your head. “It was supposed to be a hit—it came from the bedroom, and—” Your eyes grow wide at the sight of your mother shaking and struggling to breathe by the couch, a small pool of blood soaking through the side of her nightgown. “Mama?! What—”

“V-Victoria, I’m fine, I’m just—” Your mother shakes her head, pressing her hand down over the wound. “It just skimmed me. I-I didn’t even notice.”

“Grandma?!” Verona’s little eyes pool up with tears.

Sandra leans over to the couch, hugging the twins and blocking their view over to your mother. “Hey, hey! It’s okay, grandma is going to be alright! Come here, you two. Come here.”

“Oh my God, oh my God…” Connie takes her face into her hands, beginning to panic.

“Mama, quickly, let me see! Theresa—get me the first AID kit!” You gesture back at her in a hurry, helping your mother carefully push aside her nightgown to reveal the wound.

Your mother winces, biting down on her lip as she reveals a small, chestnut-sized but deep gash on her side—oozing with fresh blood and in desperate need of stitches. Feeling tears sting at your eyes, a wave of anger washes over you at the sight of your mother’s injury.

You practically tear open the first AID kit when Theresa hands it to you, rummaging through the kit to clean around the wound. You notice now that Sandra has picked up both the twins in her arms and heads off towards the end of the room, humming to them.

“Victoria—” Your mother grunts, gripping onto the arm of the sofa.

“Mama, I need you to stay as still as possible, okay?” You glance back up at her—eyes filled with urgency. “I need to stitch this up—Theresa, grab me that lighter over there. Breathe, mama, breathe!”

Your mother takes deep breaths, tilting her head back onto the sofa.

Theresa hands you the lighter within the first AID kit, cleaning the blood gently around her gash. You pick up a suture needle, flickering the flame over it to sterilize it.

“I’ve got you, mama, stay still for me. Don’t move an inch.” Quick with your fingers and familiar with the first AID kit that you’ve worked with before on numerous occasions, you prepare the suture without letting your hands shake or drop anything throughout the process.

“Alright, mama, take a slow, deep breath for me—I want to make this as painless and quick for you as possible, okay? I need to get your wound closed up. Bear with me!” You force yourself to ignore your mother’s distraught whimpers of pain as you use your fingers to pull the wound together.

You stick the first suture from the needle through the skin, out the wound, and back through it from the other side and out of the skin as your mother winces in pain. Theresa watches in utter surprise to see how you pull the skin together, tying it off with a double knot and clipping at the excess.

“Easy now…” Not too tight nor too loose, you secure the first suture, working back with the next halfway between the end of the wound and the last stitch. You only repeat the process two more times before the wound is completely sealed in just a few minutes.

“Oh, thank God!” Theresa sniffles, handing you a roll of gauze as you begin to carefully wrap it around her side, sighing out in relief as Connie kneels her way over to the three of you.

“Victoria, sweetheart—oh, oh, God, how? How—” Your mother croaks out, steadying her breathing as she gazes back at you in shock. “How…how did you—”

You shake your head at her, rising to your feet, “it’s nothing I haven’t taught myself. Don’t worry about that right now. Stay put, okay? Lay down as you are, don’t lay a finger on the bandages.”

“Where are you going, Victoria?!” Connie frowns back at you. “Sure as hell not out there; you know it’s not safe!”

“This is nothing, Connie! Bullets have flown over my head before!” You pull open the door, glancing back at the three. “Just stay put and with mama—I need to find my brothers and Michael!” You brush off the two, quick to storm out of the drawing-room and towards your study as fast as your feet can take you.

“You’re insane, I swear! If Michael finds out—” You hear Connie shout back behind you. “Victoria!”

“Stay by the door.” Rocco cautions one of the guards by the front entrance, quickly rushing back off towards the gate as five other guards make their way over to him, covering ground. “Move out and release the hounds!”

With the entirety of the compound completely surrounded and secured, a private hire by the hounds' cage quickly pries off the locks and throws them open. Five German Shepherds sprint out, barking as they separate onto different sides of the compound, with one going into the drain tube.

You tighten your night robe around you, holding your handgun upwards with both hands carefully wrapped around it and off the trigger. Slipping out the side entrance, you immediately lean your back against the wall, analyzing your surroundings and keeping your breathing and movements as quiet as possible.

Rotating lights flash all over and around the compound, leaving not an inch to succumb to the night’s darkness. Everything around you is perfectly illuminated, and you easily make out Michael’s security and private hires arming themselves and roaming around with their guard dogs.

You keep your eyes focused on your surroundings as you keep moving towards the other side of the compound, where you and Michael’s bedroom remains on the ground floor. From the corner of your eye, you can see three heavily armed guards just outside your window and one inside the bedroom, checking around for any signs of struggle or evidence leftover.

You furrow your brows, knowing you didn’t hear the two bullets you fired off go into the air and disappear. T'hey must have hit something or someone, but what?' Out of sight from Michael’s men, you take another look at the shattered windows from an angle, stepping back.

'If I had shot slightly from the right, then I’d have to stand here to get a perfect view of the bedroom…' You move back a bit further, finding your hypothetical spot as your eyes land onto a small pool of blood not far from where you’re standing.

'My bullet didn’t fail me.' A small sense of relief washes over you as you carefully begin to track the trail of blood droplets leading outward to the drains—a perfect hiding spot as no lights shine directly over or inside of it.

'I must have hit toward his lower body. His side, or leg perhaps?' You’re just about to continue following the rest of the blood when you hear footsteps rushing towards you, coupled with a familiar voice.

“Mrs. Corleone!” You hear Al Neri calling out from behind you.

You rise to your feet, pointing your firearm downward as you turn your head to see Al make his way over with two men, bewildered to see you. “Mrs. Corleone, it’s not safe here! You shouldn’t be outside.”

“One of them is hit.” You ignore Al’s warning, pointing down at the fresh blood over the pavement.

“Hit?” Al glances down, his eyes widening.

He looks back up at his men and gives them a small nod. “Track it down immediately; we might still be able to catch them alive.” Al’s men waste no time as they begin to track the blood trail with one of the German shepherds, leaving the two of you alone.

“Mrs. Corleone—”

“Victoria. Call me Victoria, please.” You correct back quickly, shaking your head. “Where’s Michael?”

“He just went inside to find you, Mrs—Victoria.” Al gestures back to the residence, “please, you really shouldn’t be out here. Michael explicitly forbad it. The intruders are still on the property—it’s dangerous. They must have struggled to escape after—”

“I shot one of them, Al.” You interrupt him again. “I fired twice, and I know one of my bullets hit them. This blood trail is all that you got, so make use of it, and let me—”

“I can’t let you do anything, Victoria.” Al frowns back at you, “I know who you are, believe me, but Michael will not allow it. He’d have my head if he knew I let you stay outside this long. Please, we don’t want anything to happen to you, and he’s looking for you inside.”

You sigh out, putting your handgun back into the pocket of your nightgown. “At least tell me where my brothers are.”

“They’re with Rocco and I back at the gates.” Al points behind him, “Don Ferrari is there as well. They were one of the first to arrive before security even made clearance.”

“Alright, good, let them know immediately about this, do you understand?” You point a finger down at the bloodstain. “Hounds tracking or not, they’re going to want to see this.”

“Lorenzo is also looking for you,” Al mentions, a look of discomfort crossing his face knowing it directly intervenes with Michael’s orders. “He’s back by the gates with Rocco.”

You glance behind Al for a moment to make out the armed guards by the gate before glancing back at Al with your quick decision. “Tell him to come find me once this is all over. I’m heading inside to find Michael.”

“Will do, and one more thing—Victoria?” Al glances back at you as you’re just about to head back around to the side entrance.

“Yes?”

Al’s eyes dart from the distance of the bedroom window before they land back on the droplets of blood, in disbelief himself before he faces you again. “Your aim is incredible.”

“I’m aware, thank you.” Without another word, you turn back behind the residence building again towards the entrance you came out of.

Against Michael’s wishes, you had stepped outside just as he had made his way back in with a handful of men. The living room and your study, as well as other consequent areas surrounding the bedroom and your residence’s half were immediately covered by security continuing to roam around.

Clearance was given over the bedroom foremost, more so concerned with the surrounding area and the fact a separate shooting—albeit a short one—was also fired into the library where your mother was by herself.

Initially, the hit and targets made sense to Michael. Naturally, he assumed they were for him, though it could have also been for the both of you out of convenience. While you weren’t really considered “high profile,” you were known with your status and name for the past five years, consistently and publicly by Michael’s side as well. None of that rules out the possibility of a planned, double assassination.

Confusion hit at the target of your mother in the library where the drapes were drawn back as well. Bullets didn’t begin to fire through until well after you and Michael had ducked, meaning the hit over either one of you came first, which would signal the next.

It was when your mother noticed the drapers herself and the light peeking through that she went to close them and saw a figure looming right against the window. Quick on her feet, as you had learned from her, she had ducked too, shielding herself with the various bookshelves between her, but not before a bullet had grazed her side.

Out of adrenaline and fear, she hadn’t even felt it hit her or knew where the bullet landed. She had ignored the pain and sensation entirely until she began to regain her senses with you and the girls in the drawing-room, then feeling the burning and stinging of her gash.

What Michael didn’t know was that he was the only one targeted, and it had nothing to do with you. Alphonse Ricci’s terms were clear—you weren’t to be harmed at all costs, and if Michael was injured, he would need to be killed immediately, and you would have to be taken.

Had you gotten injured or killed yourself or alongside him, you would have been considered nothing but collateral damage—much to Alphonse’s fury, but that would seem to be an unavoidable one.

Of course, Alphonse had not planned for his men to simply come in and out looking for you and Michael. Instead of keeping his backup plan for another planned shooting that would most likely not be guaranteed to ever take place, he decided to go through with it on the same night.

His instructions were clear to Johnny Ola, who orchestrated the shooting with the remaining few men loyal to the Ricci family: “Fredo had made it very clear Victoria’s family stays on both sides of the compound—residence or not. Regardless of who, find out who remains the closest to the Don’s living quarters, whether it be a child, her brothers, or someone else. Michael is your ultimate target, but you are not to leave the Lake Tahoe compound until you’re certain you’ve killed one of the Ferrari’s.”

Don Alphonse Ricci’s planned hit had failed miserably, to say the least, but it succeeded on other fronts besides death. Was it truly safe to be affiliated with the Corleone family? To stay with them, to begin with, if their compound was susceptible to a breach? Michael wouldn’t waste his time pondering such questions, but Lorenzo Ferrari would and did.

A shooting in the middle of the night with both family’s children around—one bullet fired, unmissed, matched with two in return from you. You hadn’t lied when you told Connie this wasn’t the first time you had bullets flying over your head—nor was it the second or the fifth.

Your attention to detail played out well, although you would have never guessed it to be followed by an assassination attempt. You had trained yourself well growing up, constantly involved and around the mafia and its rivaling families.

If it’s one thing you know better than the back of your hands, it’s bullets, assassinations, and death. The first one flew over your head when you were sixteen, and your reflexes alongside your quick thinking, ability to stay calm and focused only emphasized your desire to fight back just as it did tonight.

Your adrenaline took over you in a way like none other. You were able to ignore the tender, sore pain in your feet from a night of dancing with it, and it only bolstered your courage to step out and hunt the assassins yourself. You didn’t even have to think twice about it.

Engulfed in anger and shock from the assassination directly after the celebration dinner, Michael was initially unable to let it all sink in. His wife did not just come with the title of being Don Ferrari’s daughter, but with the same skills as her father that made him feared throughout New York and Sicily.

“She said something about finding you and her brothers, Michael!” Connie protests out, gesturing to the door in frustration.

“And you just let her leave?” Michael glares back, “I thought I made myself very clear when I said—”

“Michael!” You push back to open the door to the drawing-room, stepping inside. “I’m here; it’s alright.”

Michael’s eyes immediately dart over to yours, flicking up and down over your body for any visible signs of harm—even a scratch over your nightrobe. His expression is filled with both relief and frustration in that split second before he makes direct eye contact with you.

Blush immediately fills your cheeks as your eyes meet his. With his suit jacket shrugged back on, Michael has one hand in his pocket and the other holding a half-smoked cigarette. His once brushed and lightly slicked back hair now remains parted from the left and tousled, waved over his forehead.

Just the sight of him as such with his signature stern look is enough to cause the butterflies in your stomach to twist and turn about at the most inappropriate time and setting you could think of.

Your eyes briefly break from his, much to your own surprise to see Connie standing a few feet away from him, sighing in relief to herself quietly as she takes her seat upon one of the armchairs again.

Theresa sits upon the corner of the couch where your mother was, now nowhere to be seen. The brief look of confusion in your eyes is relieved by Michael’s reassuring ones, telling you all that you need to know. 'He must have called for Doctor Katherine. So does that mean the assassins are…?'

Michael’s expression twists into a scowl as if he’s read your very thoughts, all occurring in a manner of mere seconds. “Victoria, where were you? Did I not tell you to stay here with Connie and the others for your own safety?”

“Michael, I’m fine!” You protest out, “I was just around the property—”

“Still not listening to me.” Michael narrows his eyes as Connie gazes back down at the floor. “Did you go out to see your brothers?”

“No, I didn’t even see them out there. Al told me they were by the gate with my father, but…” You blink back at Michael in confusion, now beginning to head up towards him. “I stepped out because I knew I had hit something or someone—there’s a blood trail right outside the windows, Michael. I got Al to track it down with his men.”

Michael’s eyes soften at your response, secretly pleased with your decision to return to him without seeing your brothers, and specifically Lorenzo, but mostly at your safe return without going elsewhere in the compound against his wishes.

“Leave it to him now and him only.” Michael brushes you off. “I’m aware of what you did, but it’s not apparent to you that you could have put yourself in harm's way? There’s a pair of assassins out there—it’s unacceptable you leave the compound even for just a moment, do you understand? If you were hurt—”

“But I’m not.” You pout back at him, “I’ve been through this before, Michael, just ask my fa—”

“Your father would be disappointed in you just as much as I because you’re a mother and potentially expecting.” Michael’s eyes cautiously glance over your stomach.

You frown, your eyes meeting with Theresa’s. “Is mama…?”

“Alessio’s fiancé—the nurse—is with her in the other room.” Theresa eagerly nods back at you. “She’s doing just fine. She just wanted to rest.”

“Thank God.” You rub at your temples gingerly.

You peek back at Michael, who clears his throat quietly to catch your attention. He carefully sets his cigarette over the ashtray, gesturing you to approach him with his finger. “Come here.”

Deepening blush returning to your cheeks, you walk up to Michael, who slips his hand out of his pocket, gazing over at you. He places both hands over your shoulders, rubbing them tenderly before letting out a sigh. He knows he can’t stay mad at you for long or have a longer scolding in front of your sisters-in-law.

Michael slides his hands down your arms and to your sides as he gives your hips a gentle squeeze. Looking into your eyes, he asks, “are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You breathe out as his arms embrace your waist as he pulls you in for a loving hug.

Your heart begins to race as your chest is pressed up against Michael's, feeling his warmth as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. The scent of his cologne lingers back up to your nose as the comfort of his embrace melts the worry and fear in you almost immediately, granting you a sense of safety by his side.

“Don’t ever disobey me again, understand?” Michael murmurs quietly, only audible for you to hear as he pulls away from you. Before you can even answer him, he trails his fingers down your lips, never leaving his eyes off of you for a moment. “Ever.”

“Yes, Michael.” Flushing red, you nod back at him.

Your little moment is interrupted by the door clicking open again as you turn to see Sandra carrying a sleeping Verona in her arms. Esther, the nanny, remains behind her, holding Niccolo, giving you and Michael a polite smile before she enters in front of Sandra, gently laying Niccolo over the couch next to Theresa, snuggled up in a blanket.

“There they are, all asleep…” You whisper, pulling away from Michael.

You carefully take Verona from her arms, sitting next to Theresa and Niccolo as she stirs from her sleep in your arms. Planting a little kiss upon her head, you lean your back against the couch and wrap your arms around her, letting her sleep over your chest.

Esther sits quietly by Sandra and Connie as Michael picks up his cigarette once more, keeping his distance from the children as he smokes the last bit of it. One hand back into his pocket, the room falls to silence as he slowly makes his way around, lingering by the sofa and armchair for a few moments.

Gazing at his sleeping children, you keep your eyes down and your ears keenly listening to pick up on anything going on outside. One of the first things you notice about the windows is how tightly drawn back the curtains are now.

Keeping your flustered disposition to a minimum and eyes upon the floor, you hear Michael slowly walking around the couch, now approaching the center of the room as he takes a final, long drag of his cigarette.

Michael drops his arm to his side after taking the drag, coming closer to the ashtray as his eyes land back on you again. Unnoticed by you, you remain quiet, stroking Verona’s hair gently as your mind buzzes with a million unanswered questions.

Michael puts out his cigarette, only pulling his eyes away from you for a moment before his gaze returns. Before him doesn’t remain a frightened or unnerved woman, but a daughter and wife of the mafia that made it easier for Michael’s assassins to be hunted down without batting an eye.

Michael had the utmost confidence in you, as much as he won’t admit to your face. The mere facts lie at hand to prevent him from doing so: you could be pregnant again with his child, and you’re a mother of two, not to mention he would never forgive himself, let alone have your family do so if there was even a slight risk of you getting hurt.

He believes and is very well aware of your prowess even before tonight, but his mind doesn’t lay in how you or he can react to an assassination. It lies with who did it, how, and why—all questions Michael knows he won’t have straight answers to by the end of the night.

You peek your eyes back up to Michael, only causing you to blush further as you realize he was gazing over you the entire time. Intricacies of the assassination aside, the look you give him is one of concern: none of this would matter if it didn’t involve the family, but it did.

Your mother got injured, and it could have been worse. The twins could have been harmed or killed in the hail of bullets themselves. A million other ways for this night to become a complete tragedy play out in your head, only reflected in your eyes back to Michael.

Noticing your expression, Michael purses his lips, turning his head away from you. Without another word, he straightens out his suit jacket, leaving to meet with his father and brothers with one thought on his mind: the assassins are already dead.

With both family residences officially secured, Michael makes his way down the hallway and to the other half to the private living room used by the Corleone family—often filled with his brothers lounging about or Vito and Carmela relaxing together.

Such casual relaxation and any notion of a carefree attitude are practically non-existent as Michael approaches the door, quietly pushing it open to see Vito sitting across from him at the table.

Michael takes a step in, closing the door behind him as he makes eye contact with his father. Vito gazes up into his son’s eyes—his expression softening as he gives out a little sigh of relief. He rises to his feet as Michael walks up to him, coming to face to face with one another.

“Michael.” Vito places both hands over his son’s shoulders, rubbing them gently.

“Father, how are you?” Michael murmurs back to him, his voice low and filling with concern.

“I’m fine.” Vito nods back at him, “your mother and I are fine. We heard everything—the commotion and all. Your wife and children—are they alright?”

“They’re doing okay, pop.” Michael replies, “Victoria’s mother was injured, but it’s all under control now.”

“Dear God,” Vito mumbles, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s as if it was over before it even started. Look at you.” Vito pats Michael’s shoulders, glancing up and down at him. “They caught you by surprise—whoever they are, but they didn’t catch you at all. Did they teach you that quick thinking in the military?”

“They did.” Michael nods.

Vito cracks a small smile, always having avoided the topic of the war or Michael’s days in the army due to years of his continuous disapproval of Michael fighting for strangers—a country that wasn’t his blood.

Before him remained many versions of his son that reminded him of his youth in New York. Michael was not only his youngest son, but a war hero, a Don, a father, and a husband. The family and the mafia’s characterized solely by his principles and cunning.

“Come here,” Vito whispers, pulling Michael into an embrace.

Michael hugs his father lightly, relaxing his muscles as Vito pats his back, relieved of the tension and unease the evening carried over him as he feared the worst for his son and daughter-in-law. Michael could sense his father’s worry and concern from just the look in his eyes, let alone a father-son hug Michael hadn’t felt in months.

Two muffled pairs of footsteps break out from down the hall—coming from Sonny and Tom as Michael and Vito pull away from each other. Vito pats Michael’s cheeks with both hands lightly, giving him another nod as he takes his seat with Michael.

Michael shifts in his chair as he sits down, intertwining his hands together upon the table as his father speaks up.

“Michael,” Vito rests the side of his face against his fingers, speaking softly. “I’ve always wanted you to carry on the legacy of the family and our business, but I’ve always supported you either way—even when you went against my wishes. I retired to our family a long time ago, so tonight, I cannot offer you advice the way a Don would, as I no longer am one, but I will offer aid as a father and as a businessman.” He gestures his free hand towards the door, knowing Sonny and Tom are to arrive at any moment. “You know your enemies far better than I.”

“I know, father. And I’m grateful for your insight.” Michael is briefly interrupted by the sound of knocking over the door. “Yeah, come in.” He raises his voice louder for his brothers to hear.

The door pushes open to reveal a rather flustered and irritated Sonny attempting to steady his temper with a solemn yet concerned Tom behind him, still in his nightrobes. The two waste no time shutting the door behind them quietly, making their way over to the table to take their seats.

“Santino, you’re a mess.” Vito points out to him, noticing his disposition and how his dress shirt has crinkled and loosely buttoned-up, hanging loosely off his shoulders. “You couldn’t let Michael’s men do their job?”

“Michael’s men.” Sonny scoffs, slouching back in his seat. “Michael’s men my ass—no offense, Mikey, but they haven’t been able to do shit so far. We can’t find ‘em.”

“So what’s Rocco been up to this entire time?” Michael raises a brow, keeping his tone calm and collected. “He has all of our men with Neri at his disposal.”

“He’s got nothing but his own dick in his hands,” Sonny mutters, clearly agitated. “I went out there to see if I could find them myself. Fuckers are either dead or hiding to only postpone the inevitable.”

“Mikey, are you alright?” Tom’s eyes flicker onto Michael’s.

Michael gives a small nod, taking out his pack of cigarettes from inside his suit jacket’s pocket. “Everyone’s fine, Tom.”

“And Victoria’s mother?” Sonny rakes a hand through his curls. “They caught that poor woman in their line of fire.”

“They did it on purpose.” Michael cuts in, slipping his cigarette in between the center of his mouth and lighting it. “We weren’t their only targets for tonight.”

“But what’s the significance of shooting Don Ferrari’s wife? She isn’t involved in the mafia anymore, is she? I mean, I knew she helped with smuggling operations back in the day, but…” Tom shrugs to himself, unable to make sense of it.

“She may not have been chosen specifically,” Michael answers, taking a small drag of his cigarette. “But I assumed they weren’t going to go down without some form of terrorization or at least one body.”

“But they failed,” Vito adds.

“They failed, but we still can’t find the bastards,” Sonny grumbles, pulling the bottle of Courvoisier cognac towards him from the table along with one of the shot glasses.

“What can you tell us, Mikey?” Tom sits up straight.

“There’s a lot I can’t tell you, Tom.” Michael leans in, eyeing both of his brothers. “That goes for the both of you. I know that’s upset you in the past, Tom, but up until today, I’ve had my reasons, and I had to make sure.” Michael holds his cigarette between his fingers, “I had to make sure I could protect both of you.”

Sonny pours himself a shot of cognac, listening with Tom, who nods back intently at Michael.

“Don’t take it the wrong way. It has nothing to do with a lack of trust or confidence, but it’s because I admire you two. You’re my brothers, and I love you.” Michael affirms, “and it’s because of that I had to keep things secret from the family. At this moment, you’re the only three that I can completely trust.”

Vito purses his lips, knowing Michael purposely excluded Fredo out but for an abundance of reasons even clear to him when he was choosing one of his sons to succeed him years ago.

“Fredo?” Michael looks back towards Vito. “Ah, he’s got a good heart, but he’s weak, and he’s stupid. This is life and death.”

Sonny grimaces, knowing he loves his brother deeply, but Michael doesn’t have to confirm to him his beliefs about Fredo because he was already under the impression himself.

“Tom, you’re my brother.” Michael places a hand over Tom’s arm. “You are. I’ve always considered you one.”

Tom takes a deep breath, troubled by the events of tonight and in a mix of emotions himself. Tearing up a little, he swallows hard. “I’ve always wanted to be thought of like a brother to you, Mikey—to the family. A real brother.”

“You’re my brother,” Michael repeats back at him softly.

“And mine, Tom.” Sonny gazes back over at him. “Since the day you came home with me."

Tom makes eye contact with Vito, who gives him a warm, reassuring smile of agreement. Sonny slides over another shot glass, this time pouring in cognac for Tom and moving it over to him.

“Sonny.” Michael redirects his attention to his older brother, taking another drag from his cigarette. “You’re gonna take over. You’re gonna be the Don.” Sonny raises his brows in intrigue as Michael continues, “if what I think has happened, has happened, I’m going to leave here tonight. I give you complete power, and with Tom—” Michael’s eyes dart over to Tom. “Over Fredo and his men, Rocco, Neri, everyone. I’m trusting you both with the lives of my wife and my children—the future of our family.”

Tom glances back down at his drink, “if we catch these guys, do you think we’ll be able to find out who's backing them up?”

“We’re not going to catch them.” Sonny shakes his head.

“He’s right.” Michael agrees, flicking off the ashes from the tip of his cigarette. “Unless I’m very wrong, they’re dead already. They were killed by somebody close to us.” Michael nods back to his father. “Someone on the inside whose very, very afraid they’ve botched it.”

“You think it’s one of your people? Neri or Rocco having something to do with it?” Tom clears his throat.

Michael exhales deeply, setting his cigarette down. “All of our people are businessmen at the end of the day, so their loyalty is based on that. One thing I learned from pop—” Michael redirects his attention to Vito “—is to try and think as the people around you think. On that basis, anything is possible. Anything.”

“What about…” Sonny grazes his teeth over his lips, uncomfortable at the very suggestion. “Victoria’s brothers? Do you suspect them?” The very question piques Vito’s interest.

“I suspect everybody at all times, Sonny,” Michael answers plainly. “As hot-headed and overzealous as Lorenzo Ferrari maybe, he would never do something so stupid. He’d never endanger himself or his own family. His thoughts are with his sister tonight, and he has enough blame to pass over me.”

“That’s ridiculous, Mikey.” Tom frowns. “Why would he accuse you of anything? Weren’t all of us potential victims, or could have been if we were in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“You’re right, Tom, but an assassin wouldn’t have to target my bedroom if he wanted to kill me.” Michael continues smoking his cigarette. “It’s clear Victoria is involved somehow. That makes it very personal to me. It’s a separate conversation I’ll be having with her father as well.”

“Victoria?” Sonny raises a brow. “What about her?”

“She’s proven more resilient than anything.” Michael grazes his tongue against his teeth. “She fired back at them mid shooting, which you can thank for leaving that blood trail.”

“Holy shit,” Sonny mutters to himself, clearing his throat. “I mean, I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but still.” Sonny pours himself another shot, taking a cigarette for himself.

“Even if she had a target painted on her back, she could handle it like the rest of us, but she won’t. I won’t allow her.” Michael’s expression falls stern. “And I certainly don’t believe I need to get into the reasons as to why not, but I’m not having the mother of my children doing Neri or Rocco’s work for them. I’m leaving it up to the two of you to let them know that as well.”

“It’s this Ricci business that keeps coming up.” Vito sighs quietly. “He would surprise us all if he wasn’t involved somehow.”

“If he’s involved, then he’d only confirm my theory that this was an inside job.” Michael’s eyes harden at the very name of Don Alphonse Ricci.

“Are you going to have him killed?” Tom takes a small sip of his cognac.

“Soon, after I know enough.” Michael nods back. “I’ll kill him myself.”

An hour has passed by since the shooting, leaving only shattered glass and chunks of drywall and furniture lying in a wake of dust. No bodies, no suspects—nothing. Michael’s men don’t falter their search, now roaming the entirety of the compound in groups of two or three with hounds, flashlights—heavily armed.

All entrances and exits to and from the compound are fully secured, including the surrounding pathways and road, yet nothing has come out of it still. Michael’s men keep their eyes now both in worry and suspicion at Rocco Lampone, who continues to lead the search.

With each passing moment that the assassins are not apprehended or found in some way, the same thoughts trickle into everyone’s minds: Someone let them out, or it’s an inside job—both very dangerous thoughts to spill out knowing that if Michael shared the same sentiment, Rocco wouldn’t see the light of day without a doubt.

Your father came in to comfort you, then his grandchildren, reassuring them about their grandmother briefly before Doctor Katherine arrived on the compound grounds. One of Michael’s private hires accompanied her for the sake of security as well as on grounds for cautious suspicion. With the Ferrari residence heavily guarded, Doctor Katherine provides your mother medical treatment and antibiotics as your father remains by her side.

Leonardo’s your only brother that didn’t nearly spend as much time with security as the others. Instead, he accepted that Rocco had failed Michael and consequently the Corleone and Ferrari families together with the inadequate search party. Whether Leonardo would tell Michael what he thought of it and his own suspicions this evening completely relied on whether Don Corleone figured enough for himself already.

Matteo had remained behind in residence, only speaking with the guards surrounding it before ushering his nieces and nephews back to sleep. He assured they were sleeping soundly and wouldn’t be disturbed before he briefly stepped out for a breath of fresh air, making small talk with the guards on updates of what was going on.

Matteo didn’t lose faith in Michael, as did neither of your brothers except for Lorenzo. Matteo, Alessio, and Leonardo believed in the wit and cunning of Don Corleone, not just as a business partner but as a brother-in-law. Whether Michael found the assassins or not mattered very little to the three; they knew Michael would easily figure out who to blame for the lack of apprehension, and so far, all eyes were on Rocco Lampone—including Al Neri’s.

Leonardo entered the Corleone family residence to ensure Niccolo and Verona that all was fine and everything was back to normal—somewhat half lies. The twins both remain defiant in that they refuse to go to sleep until they see their parents head back inside to do so, so the least Leonardo can do is remain by their side alongside Connie, whom he comforts with her head over his shoulder and a hand wrapped around her waist.

Alessio continues the patrol with Al Neri by the boat club and Michael’s yachts, leading the search over a raft by the lake. Lorenzo is the only one who remains in the center of the courtyard, just by the Corleone residence, taking a well-needed cigarette break.

Having not seen Michael for the past twenty minutes and still remembering Al Neri told you Lorenzo was looking for you, you’ve stepped out into the courtyard as well—reassured of no danger.

“Lorenzo!” You call out, approaching your brother from around your residence building.

Lorenzo turns his head to face you, surprise and disappointment sinking into his eyes at the late encounter. Lorenzo takes a small drag out of his cigarette, holding it between his fingers as he lets his arms fall to his sides.

You let out a soft sigh of relief as you stand face to face with your brother, who wastes no time wrapping his arms around you in a protective hug. “Victoria—where have you been?”

“What do you mean?” You peek your head up from his chest, hugging him back. “I’ve been with the children and Michael, just trying to sort this all out.”

“Did Michael tell you to?” Lorenzo keeps his cigarette away from your body, furrowing his brows.

“No?” You blink back in confusion.

You’re unable to say anything as else as Lorenzo sharply cuts in, nodding sternly at you. “Then don’t. This isn’t something for you to figure out. Leave it to him and his men to clean up this mess.”

“Has there ever been a mess?” You frown back at your brother, almost certain he’s not going to give you the answer you’ve eagerly been waiting for all night.

“No.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “No bodies, nothing. I can’t tell if they’re dead, sinking into the bottom of the lake, or made their way out. Either way, it doesn’t look good.”

“I know, I was—”

“No, you don’t know.” Lorenzo lowers his tone, almost scolding you in a sense. “You don’t know anything, Victoria. This is out of your area of expertise, and you shouldn’t have gotten caught up in it. Either those pieces of shit are still out here buying their time, trying to find some way to escape once they memorize the patrols’ movements, or worse—this is all an elaborate plan that got fucked up from the inside, and the assassins are walking among us. Either way, how the hell could I let my baby sister get involved?”

“You blame Rocco and his men?” You pull away from Lorenzo’s arms.

He turns his head to the side, taking another short hit from his cigarette before facing you again. “No, I blame Michael. Whether you were targeted or not too doesn’t concern me because I know damn well you wouldn’t have been if it wasn’t for Michael.”

“Lorenzo, you know this isn’t Michael’s fault.” You protest back, “do you honestly blame him? How could any of us—”

“How did anyone breach this—this fucking palace?” Lorenzo extends out his arms, scoffing loudly. “This goddamn compound makes the Godfather’s manor look like Verona’s dollhouse. He’s got men crawling in every inch of Lake Tahoe, and you still mean to excuse the fact not one but two people just casually found their way in and still weren’t noticed? They shot at you two, then our mother, and nobody noticed? Don’t you see how that doesn’t make any sense, Victoria?”

“Lorenzo—”

“No, listen to me.” Your brother shakes his head. “This whole dinner party was a farce too. A celebration of five years—five years of what? Peace? Prosperity? Happiness? Safety? That piece of shit promised me on the day of your engagement ceremony he would protect you with his life—” Lorenzo points a finger at your chest, “—keep you away from the idea of these very things. Why am I celebrating five years of his incompetence over shitty wine and chopped liver?”

“Lorenzo!” You exclaim, sharply raising your voice.

The attitude and absolute venom spitting through your brother’s voice normally would not surprise you had it not been directed specifically at Michael and Michael only. In a state of shock from how much he pours out to you in frustration and bitter hatred, you can scarcely believe the words coming out of his mouth, much less that he actually believes what he’s saying.

You scowl back at him. “Not only are you better than this, but you know better than this. That’s my husband you’re talking about; that’s the father of my children you’re talking about! What would father think if he heard this coming from you? Are you not aware of your father’s successor? One day, you can’t just come up to me mid-assassination and tell me your woes about Michael Corleone. You’re going to have to tell them to his face—”

“Then I will!” Lorenzo narrows his eyes.

“No, you won’t!” You hiss back at him, completely unaware Al Neri is listening to the entire conversation between you two. “You won’t because you’ll have gone and ruined everything father spent his entire life doing! Running molasses into Canada with the Godfather, helping him establish his olive oil business back in Sicily—they’ve been childhood friends, keeping this peace, avoiding mob wars, and strengthening our families! This personal relationship, this bond, and peace we have between each other is the only thing keeping us at each other’s throats because at the end of the day, mafia is mafia, and mafia demands blood—mafia wants power and money. It doesn’t share. It competes—it kills, and it flays alive. How much longer can you tolerate one another if the other family has more resources—more wealth and political protection than you?” You grab Lorenzo’s arm harshly, causing him to drop his shortened cigarette.

“You can’t, and you don’t, because the nature of our business—the nature of our family doesn’t allow it. Cosa nostra, Lorenzo. This is the most powerful our family has ever been, and we haven’t had to spill blood between the families in five years—not here, and not in New York. I thought you knew that was what we were celebrating tonight. That has no meaning to you? You’re so caught up in hating Michael—bickering with him—attempting to get a reaction out of him that you’re embarrassing the family! You’re no better than Santino, and there’s a clear reason why the Godfather refused him as heir. You’re not going to do this, Lorenzo.” You press your finger at the center of your brother’s chest. “Because I won’t let you. It won’t be Michael Corleone standing in your way to destroy father’s legacy because of your temper tantrums—it’ll be me.”

A painful silence fills the air between the two of you as both of you lock, bitter gazes of anger and defiance against each other. It doesn’t mark five years since Lorenzo and you had a disagreement of any nature or like this, but the first time ever.

You always had a close and warm relationship with all of your brothers equally, and you can’t remember the last time you fought or screamed at any one of them because you simply never did. They remained protective over you in a way you did over them in return. None of your brothers ridiculed or mocked you, hurt you, or doubted you.

It was Lorenzo who dropped you off on campus on your first day of law school. Lorenzo helped ease your nerves on your first day of court. Lorenzo taught you how to drive. Lorenzo bought you your first automobile the day you came home with your license. Your eldest brother supported you thick and thin through everything, as you did to him.

You supported your father’s decision to name Lorenzo his successor. Not only did you go to your father about the family business, but you held your brother to his honor and respected him, asking him next as if he was another Don. You selflessly offered to be your brother’s consigliere, or at least a personal lawyer if he saw a need to, but what you didn’t see or anticipate was his hatred towards your husband—Michael Corleone.

It feels as if the two of you stabbed each other in the front at the same time, Lorenzo’s eyes filling with disgust and disbelief. He slowly shakes his head at you—an immense disappointment sinking into his expression. “You’re just like them now, you know that? And this is what I feared. Losing my sister to the Corleone’s—having her forget whose daughter she is. Who she really is. Why do you even keep the Ferrari name, Victoria?”

The tips of your ears and the nape of your neck prickle hot as a wave of shock washed over you at his question. You purse open your lips to reply back, only to find yourself speechless.

“You’re a Corleone now, aren’t you? Michael Corleone’s lover, Michael Corleone’s lawyer. You took the idea of creating peace between the families for father so far, that what we have now isn’t peace between the families, but we’re stuck in your love triangle, and now the lines of loyalty to whom seem blurry to me. You could argue with me over a million things, but I’ll be damned if I say I expected to disagree with my baby sister about Michael fucking Corleone. What is all this, huh?”

Lorenzo’s words sting, and they hurt. It doesn’t occur to you to say anything back, not knowing how to counter the blatant disrespect to your face from the future Don Ferrari. It’s as if he spat in your face like you were his enemy, someone he looked down upon. In nothing but a brief second, Lorenzo downplayed and mocked at every moment you spent with Michael—everything you did with him and for him.

Your eyes harden to an emotionless, icy gaze that would cause Lorenzo to do a doubletake if he wasn’t so infuriated with you.

“AHHH!” A blood-curling scream cries out, causing the two of you to immediately turn your heads to where the sound is coming from—Fredo’s side of the residence.

'Deanna.' Without another word nor a glance to your brother, you turn on your heel, sprinting as fast as you can over to the sound of Deanna’s shrieking. “There’s blood on my window!!”

Seeing a couple of Michael’s men now begin to scour over Fredo’s residence like an army of ants, you notice Fredo and a security guard struggling to hold Deanna, who now wildly flings herself around.

“Deanna! Deanna, stop!” Fredo grunts, trying to catch his wife, who runs in circles around the trees.

Deanna continues hollering out for help as loose leaves cling onto her revealing, silk nightgown, threatening to slip down her shoulders. “Right—right there!”

“Deanna?! What’s going on?!” You approach her as Fredo shakes his head at you—humiliated at the sight of his wife throwing another scene in one night.

“Right out my window!” She howls back to you as Fredo and the guard grab onto both of her arms. “There’s bodies by the window! I wanna get the hell out of here!! They’re dead!”

You take a step back and grimace as Fredo hauls her back into the central residence, barely able to cling onto her as is. “GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

“Get her back inside!” Fredo calls out, and you notice him make eye contact with a figure behind you.

Spinning back, you see Lorenzo only a few feet away from you, startled by Deanna’s screams as well, but it’s not who Fredo is staring at. Turning your head to the side, your eyes widen to see Michael walking across the courtyard and over to Fredo’s residence.

When you look back, Fredo is nowhere to be found, and Lorenzo freezes into place—the nasty scowl on his face only continuing to sour at the sight of Michael. Peeking back at your husband, you find your heart beginning to race in your chest at the very sight of him, mixed with the adrenaline of Deanna crying out about bodies.

With two heavily armed bodyguards walking in front of Michael but to opposing sides and another two behind him in the same way, you notice Alessio, Leonardo and Matteo stand next to each other, a few feet of distance behind Michael—holding their firearms upward as they accompany him.

Michael’s approach is slow and lethal. He walks with one hand in his pocket, his head tilted down, and his eyes filled with vengeance and anticipation. It doesn’t take you long to figure out he’s going directly for Deanna’s bedroom window, where she proclaimed to have seen bodies and blood on her window, but not before coming right towards you.

Michael’s domineering presence remains persuasive, dangerous, intimidating like divinity in motion. His guards surrounding the area stand down, lowering their heads in allegiance and respect to the Don as he passes by them.

Niccolo and Verona peek out the window from the drawing-room, having slipped right under the curtains to take a look for themselves. Their eyes widen to see their father accompanied by their uncles—mobsters surrounding mobsters.

Niccolo watches in awe as his father makes his way by you, admiring his cool temper and determined spring in his step. “Daddy’s gonna get all the bad guys.” He whispers back to his sister, equally as surprised at the sight.

Feeling Lorenzo’s eyes burning onto yours as Michael ignores him outright, you make your way over to Michael just as he comes, joining his side much to confirm to your brother that everything he thinks of you is true.

Rocco and Al Neri join ahead with a dozen men shining their flashlights over as you all come to approach Fredo and Deanna’s bedroom window by the drains—picking up a steady pace while walking.

“Over here, there’s two of ‘em.” Rocco gestures as you all come to a stop by the sewer drains leading out to another part of the lake.

You blink to see two bodies floating in the muddy water, dressed in black suits, now drenched and still armed. As the flashlights shine over the corpses, you notice both of their thoughts are slit deeply from ear to ear, still bleeding red. It doesn’t look as if they’ve been killed that long ago, suspiciously enough.

“Looks like they were hired out of New York.” Rocco continues, making sure his men keeping shining light over the dead men. “I don’t recognize them. We won’t get anything out of them now.”

You notice Michael’s bitter expression only growing more irritated as Rocco continues to speak. He exchanges a look of annoyance with you before turning his head back to the corpses. “Fish them out.”

Two men hop in the water, first pulling the firearms off the body and tossing them aside over the dry grass before hauling up the soaked bodies. You remain still as your brothers, Tom, and Sonny take a look at their faces themselves, shaking their heads and remaining quiet.

“Hired out of New York,” Tom murmurs to himself, glancing up at Michael, who now glares at Rocco.

“And you say you just found them here?” He doesn’t even take another look at the corpses.

“Yes, sir. Fredo’s wife had been—”

Michael raises his hand to silence Rocco, refusing to hear any more. He lets out a stiff sigh, brushing him off with a gesture. “See if you can find any piece of identification over them—anything for the investigation.”

You glance back at Michael with concern growing in your eyes but notice a growing scowl in his expression as he stares back at the corpses. You remain quiet as your brothers begin talking amongst one another in hushed tones and examining the bodies up close.

Michael squeezes your hand, whispering in your ear, “see if your brothers notice anything. I want you back at the residence immediately after.”

You give Michael a quick nod back, watching Al Neri accompany him back towards the Corleone family residence without another word.

Entering the residence quietly, Michael pushes open Niccolo’s ajar bedroom door, seeing his son curled up next to his sister in two beds pushed together. Verona’s bedroom remained close to the study where your mother was shot at, and for the sake of security and safety, the nanny—Esther—had the twins spend the night in Niccolo’s bedroom further up the hallway.

Hearing it from the nanny himself as Michael had entered the residence, his eyes softened at the sight of his two children snuggled up between their blankets—only half asleep.

Assuming they’re fast asleep, Michael approaches the beds and pulls up Verona’s blanket over her before doing the same to Niccolo. Just as Michael tucks his son in, Niccolo stirs and slowly turns over on his back, waking his sister as well.

“Niccolo, Verona,” Michael whispers softly, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Verona lazily rubs her eyes, extending a small hand towards her father. Michael takes her hand into his, holding it as he gives a smile to his children, now safe and sound.

“Everything’s going to be alright.” Michael keeps his soft tone as he continues speaking with the twins. “Try to sleep, okay?” He runs a hand through Niccolo’s ruffled hair, caressing the side of Verona’s cheek next as she nods back at her father.

“Daddy…” Verona croaks quietly, her voice laced in sleep.

“It’s okay.” Michael leans in, planting a kiss over Verona’s cheek and forehead, then Niccolo’s before he pulls away. “Did you two like the dinner party?”

“We got lots of presents.” Niccolo peeps back quietly. “And food.”

“I know.” Michael runs a gentle hand through his son’s hair again, squeezing Verona’s hand lightly. “Did you like them?” He glances back at Verona.

“Yeah.” She smiles back sleepily. “I got lots of toys. But daddy, I didn’t know the people who gave them to us.”

“They were friends.” Michael nods, smoothening out their blankets. “Friends and family who love you two very much.”

“Daddy, did you get a present?” Niccolo whispers out.

Michael chuckles quietly. “Why would I need presents when I have you two?”

Verona shifts in her bed to get comfortable. “Because we can give you lots of presents too, daddy.”

Michael murmurs back to her—the smile on his face growing. “How about you two draw me a picture? It can be of anything you want. Can you do that?”

“Mhmm.” The two nod back at their father.

Michael gazes at both of his children before letting out a soft exhale. “Niccolo, Verona—I’m going to be leaving very early tomorrow, alright?”

“Can you take me with you?” Niccolo offers.

“Me too, daddy,” Verona adds.

“No, I can’t.” Michael shakes his head, holding both of the twins’ hands in his. “You both know I would if I could, but this is a little different.”

“Is mama coming with you?” Niccolo yawns, covering his mouth.

Michael rubs a thumb over his son’s hand. “Your mother’s going to be here with the two of you, and I promise I won’t stay long. It’s just going to be for a couple days.”

“Why do you have to go, daddy?” Verona asks. “Why can’t you stay with us?”

“I have to do business, sweetheart.” He answers her. “Just for a few days.”

“I could help you.” Niccolo lazily shrugs back at his father. “With the bad guys too.”

Michael gives out a soft laugh in response. “I know, and one day you will. Both of you will.” He raises the twins’ hands up to his mouth, giving them both a small kiss. “You can do something for me while I’m gone, Niccolo. Take care of your sister, alright? Take care of each other while I’m away.”

“And mama too?” Niccolo asks quietly. “Mama can take care of one hundred bad guys.”

“That she can.” Amusement twinkles in Michael’s eyes. “But everyone looks out for each other in the family, no matter what. It’s important. Bad guys or no bad guys. I want you both to try and get some sleep now, alright? It’s late.”

“Daddy.” Niccolo clutches his father’s hand. “I love you.”

“Me too, daddy.” Verona smiles, hugging her blankets. “I love you and mama.”

“I love you too, as does she.” Michael murmurs softly, kissing the twins’ forehead again as they begin to curl back up into their blankets.

Niccolo and Verona’s eyes flutter shut as their breathing relaxes, steadying as they try to drift off to sleep. Michael remains by their side, stroking both of their hair gently. Unable to get the image of bullets flying over his and your head, a wave of anger washes over him, only remedied by the sight of his children.

Vowing swift vengeance for himself and his family, Michael’s family buzzes with unanswered questions and growing suspicions. Two names cross his mind repeatedly as suspects he simply can’t ignore: Hyman Roth and Lorenzo Ferrari.

Before him, Michael sees the future of his family. He sees his two children, resembling both him and their mother. Niccolo may not know his father has noticed, but Michael’s aware of his soft imitation of his father, looking up to him as a role model, wanting to be just like him in the same way he notices his daughter’s intelligence and selflessness.

Traits Michael and you both know will aid the family business, let alone their own personal lives. Ensnared forever in his heart, Michael knows his wife and children remain to be his only weakness. Such a weakness that’s been tested tonight will be returned tenfold in pain, promised by Don Michael Corleone.

As you gaze upon the soiled corpses laid out before you without a clue as to who sent them, nor who they are, a shiver goes up your spine. Had you just remained a moment longer in bed, you’d have joined the body count, riddled with bullet holes and dead in an instant.

Once again, you’ve grazed your lips against that of death’s, but remained off of his doorstep. It’s been far longer than five years, but what about the past five years now?

'Five years.' Yet everything changed in an instant. The promises of safety, security, happiness, a fresh start from it all with the children, and expansion of the Corleone family business were only celebrated a mere few hours ago.

“Victoria?” Al Neri’s voice breaks your line of thought.

You remain crouched down, your eyes burning back at the lifeless ones of the corpses. You don’t answer Al for moments, indulging in your silence as crickets chirp around you, and you easily filter out the soft conversations your brothers have behind you.

The thought of someone only anticipating your deaths after the grand party doesn’t surprise you; rather, it intrigues you. Five years gone, five years waited. All of Michael’s enemies were wiped out one by one all that time ago—leaving only one struggling to maintain what remaining power and legitimacy he had.

'Five years too late.' You wonder if the same name has crossed Michael’s mind or even that of your brother’s. Of course, it would have. The question doesn’t lie at who did it, but rather who did this.

The blood trail left over the courtyard and outside your bedroom window is evident from the two gunshot wounds almost right next to each other on one of the men’s thighs. The cuts upon both men’s throats are almost down to the bone, completely slashed open. It looks as if one swift move sliced everything open instantly, but for someone to do the same to a second individual almost at the same time?

Your gaze flickers up to Al Neri, then Rocco’s, only carrying distrust and suspicion towards him.

“Get rid of the bodies.”

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