Hey Boss, I Can’t Come Into Work Today. No, I Can’t Come In At All, It’s Pacino Saturday. I Have

hey boss, I can’t come into work today. no, I can’t come in at all, it’s pacino saturday. I have to think and post about al pacino all day with the pacino girlies. yeah no it’s gonna be all day

Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader series, 18+ Smut] Oneshot – My One and Only.

Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

Oneshot based in 1957 (canon year of the fic's storyline).

"I guess I couldn’t let you and Michael enjoy the party all alone." / "I just made sure she was afraid of decomposing in the back of somebody’s car anytime soon so that’s why she kept her distance."

1957 marks seven years of prosperity at the Tropigala, a casino-resort under the Corleone family's ownership. Flying into Las Vegas to celebrate the milestone with Michael, all eyes and cameras are on the both of you alongside a luxurious welcome. As a time to relax and enjoy the weekend getaway with your husband, you look forward to the entertainment the celebration has to offer with excitement until you come across an unwanted and uninvited guest. It's been two years since you've last seen Rita Duvall–Fredo's past favourite ex-cocktail waitress, dancer, singer, actress and notorious mobster seductress. Two years ago, Rita was serenading Michael for his attention until threatened off by you, and this time she knows she can get a reaction out of you that you won't exactly be able to live down.

[WARNINGS]: Heavy, rough smut / Love marks & hickies / Oral sex / Dirty talk.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Requested by a beloved anon as a prompt, I accidentally found myself making this into a full sized oneshot! 😳 Oops. 😅 Just loved the idea of a jealous Victoria, mentions of trust issues due to Michael's lies in the past and reassurance play the central themes here in this oneshot! For those of you wondering, I've included the idea/concept of Victoria's evening dress and day dress she wears in this oneshot HERE, whereas you guys remember the scene of Michael "eating" that orange in the second film? 🥵 That's his whole look from head to toe here. 🥴 I've included plenty of Michael GIFs to get everyone's imagination going this oneshot and as anon requested, the best angry sex Michael and Victoria have ever had is in this oneshot!!

Moth To Flame [Michael Corleone X Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Oneshot – My One And Only.

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.

[ Las Vegas, 1957 ]

“I feel like with each annual celebration, it just gets more and more grandiose just to impress you.” You giggle, hugging Michael’s arm as the two of you enter the Tropigala accompanied by Ritchie Nobilio and Al Neri for security.

“Consider me impressed,” Michael says back sarcastically, wrapping his arm around your waist as photography cameras instantly begin to flash in both of your faces.

For the sake of publicity knowing you’ll both be on the front pages without a doubt tomorrow morning from attending such an event as the owners of the Tropigala, you and Michael stop by the photographs and allow them to snap a few pictures.

There are all smiles from your end as photographers call, “Mrs. Corleone, over here!”, “gorgeous dress tonight, Mrs. Corleone!”, and “welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Corleone!” amidst other humble requests for photographs at different angles.

It only takes one nasty “that’s enough” look from both Al and Ritchie for the photographs to finish up and step back, allowing you and Michael to comfortably enter the dining hall.

“Johnny Fontane, all of his dancers, more performers…” You point out, letting your eyes wander over the band stage in awe, “ooh, fancy, fancy.”

“Johnny wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Michael only turns his head to the side to spot Johnny in the midst of singing a melodic tune to a crowd of admirers at the very front of the stage.

“He renewed his contract with us?” You ask, walking with Michael towards the VIP section of the dining hall where your reserved table is with Michael.

‘Us.’ It can’t please Michael more to hear you refer to the Corleone family business as “us” and not just Michael and his brothers. You are a Corleone wife after all.

“He did,” Michael confirms, letting his hand linger over your waist before the two of you part and sit across from each other at the reserved table. “And he’s been renewing it for the past seven years—him and his friends from the movies both.”

“Mm, that sounds like Johnny alright.” You smile at Michael, propping up your elbows on the edge of the table and resting your chin over the back of your hands. “He’s made the Tropigala his own world.”

“Brings him and brings us good publicity, just as Pop would have wanted it.” Michael relaxes in his seat, smoothening out his black mohair suit before pulling out a pack of cigarettes and his cold encased lighter. “We’ll see him soon tonight.”

“And until then…” You peek down at the menu card placed in front of you on the table, eyeing tonight’s refreshments and meals. “We’ll make the best of everything.”

“If you want anything changed or substituted, let me know, darling.” Michael gestures to the menu, taking a cigarette out of his pack.

“Did you have a say in this?” A playful smile forms over your lips as you read French champagne, a bottle of Barolo—Italian red wine—from 1931 from the refreshments list alone.

“Our presence has a say in this.” Michael glances towards the menu. “They want to impress us through everything tonight and more so in specific, you.”

“Me?” You blush, meeting Michael’s eyes again. “And not the illustrious Don Corleone who owns the very building we’re in?”

“Depends who you ask.” Michael puts his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, opening the cover of his lighter. “All eyes are always on you during events like this and I’m always aware. Everyone wants to see Mrs. Corleone.”

“By everyone, I hope you mean just them.” You chuckle, turning your head towards a photographer who snaps another picture of the two of you sitting before Al almost swats the camera out of his hands.

“I won’t let them bother us tonight, darling.” Michael lights his cigarette, taking a small drag. “And we’ll be in our hotel room before the end of the event. Johnny’s estimated to perform until at least 2 AM.”

“Fine by me.” Your cheeks sting with blush as you watch Michael smoke his cigarette across from you; his eyes still over yours and his plush lips holding onto the end of his cigarette as he blows out smoke underneath him.

“Mr. and Mrs. Corleone,” a waiter approaches your table with a polite smile, extending his tray towards the table before setting down two glasses of sparkling water, two flutes of champagne, and two empty wine glasses with the bottle of Barolo.

“Thank you.” You show your appreciation towards the waiter as he pulls off the cork on your wine, beginning to fill both your and Michael’s glasses halfway through.

Michael remains quiet, continuing to smoke until the waiter sets the wine bottle down on the table and walks back off into the dining hall—leaving you and Michael alone.

“Before I get a good start though,” you chuckle, eyeing the champagne and wine—wondering which you should have a little taste of first—“would you excuse me for just a moment, baby? Going to use the restroom.”

“Of course.” Michael nods back at you, holding his cigarette in between two fingers. “I won’t have our dinner service start until you get back.”

“Don’t miss me too much.” You tease, rising from your seat and smoothening out your dress before grabbing your clutch purse.

You head out of the dining hall and make your way to the women's washroom nearby, adjusting your diamond earrings at the same time.

Humming quietly to yourself, you push open the doors and instantly pick up on the scent of sanitation, perfume, and general cleanliness in the marble-decorated and spacious bathroom.

You glance to your left towards the stalls only to see one is occupied before moving towards the grand set of mirrors by the sinks.

You set your purse down next to you and open it, reaching in to grab your favorite crimson red lipstick.

You pull off the cover of your lipstick, lean in towards the mirror, and apply a light yet fresh layer over your lips to perfect your pout before the majority of the celebration for tonight begins.

You hear a flush of the toilet from the preoccupied stall behind you and only a few seconds pass by before the door is pushed open.

You continue minding your own business, pressing your lips against one another and double-checking how your lipstick appears under the light—completely unaware of who else is in the washroom with you.

Rita Duvall, notorious for her private performances, exotic dancing, and singing amongst many other vibrant talents around Mafiosi and corrupt businessmen and lawmakers alike, steps out of the bathroom stall in a satiny, scarlet-draped dress.

Out of your line of sight, you remain satisfied with your makeup for tonight and lean back—twisting your lipstick back down before clasping the cover on it and putting it back into your purse.

Rita doesn’t need to approach the sinks to know you’re here in the washroom with her; she knew it the moment she heard a pair of stilettos accompanied by your favorite, signature floral perfume she’s only ever smelt on you.

Still, you’re preoccupied with the items in your purse, now grabbing out your perfume and setting it down on the counter just as Rita begins to approach the sink next to you.

“Well, well, Victoria Ferrari Corleone.” A wry smirk grows over Rita’s lips as she sets her matching red gloves on the counter. “Not so much of a surprise now, is it?”

“Rita,” you acknowledge—instantly annoyed but hiding it over your expression and body language very well as you glance at her. “I could say the same for you.”

“Expected me, hmm?” Rita turns on the sink tap, beginning to rinse off her hands. “I guess I couldn’t let you and Michael enjoy the party all alone. Who else would provide the entertainment?”

“Johnny Fontane is doing just fine in terms of tonight’s entertainment.” You reply, diverting your attention back down to your perfume bottle.

“Oh, I’m aware.” Rita chuckles, lathering soap over her hands. “I’m hoping I get a moment to speak with him tonight, I think the Tropigala would be very lucrative for my career.”

“If you think you can just ‘show up’ to one of my casinos, resorts or hotels to ‘perform’ and have it your way, you’re very wrong.” You state, spraying some perfume over your collarbones.

“Oh, it’s yours now?” Rita throws her head back in laughter. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“You’d be surprised.” You’re not phased by her immature antics, putting down your perfume bottle. “It’s public record. Even a waste of talent like you could ask one of your mobster boyfriends for some proof.”

“Hmm, yeah.” Rita washes off her hands, turning off the sink tap. “Maybe you’re right about that. I should ask my newest one about it as soon as I can—that husband of yours. Michael fucked me so good last week, after all, I should really catch up with him.”

Holding back any reaction whatsoever, you place your perfume bottle back inside of your purse, but can already feel the tips of your ears and the nape of your neck prickle hot at Rita’s words.

Rita lies to you on purpose—she hasn’t been able to personally approach Michael let alone go anywhere near him since the family celebration you two held at the compound over two years ago, but anything to get a reaction out of you when it comes to Michael more than pleases Rita.

“In what, your wildest dreams?” You roll your eyes, smoothening out your hair. “Another fantasy of yours?”

“You wish, sweetheart.”

Rita holds up her wet, left hand in front of you—pointing to her empty ring finger. “Maybe I’ll be just as lucky as you one day, dazzled out in diamonds and custom-made perfume. Michael’s told me how much he wants to spoil me.”

“You’re pathetic.” You close your purse, holding it between your arm. “And clearly in need of some help. Those daydreams of yours are starting to heavily impact the intelligence you barely have.”

“Aww, are you jealous of me, sweetheart?” Rita puts one hand on her hip, facing you. “Upset that your husband, your brothers, in-laws, and all can’t get enough of me? Am I taking the spotlight away from you just a little too much?”

“I don’t even waste my time thinking of someone as low as you.” You begin to walk past her, “and if I were you, I’d behave instead of acting like a spoiled brat obsessed with storytime. I own the building and my security knows what to do with unwanted guests and their chatty mouths.”

“No amount of fancy perfume you wear is going to mask out my scent on Michael, Victoria,” Rita calls out behind you as you begin to exit the washroom. “And you can wear all the pretty lipstick you want but every time you kiss him, you taste my pussy on his mouth.”

Frustrated to no avail and almost shaking with anger, you pull yourself together and take a deep breath—making it your sole mission just to get back to the dining hall before you decide to redecorate the Tropigala’s washroom with red.

‘Why the hell is she even here? Whose the one planning all this ‘entertainment’ and having that woman at our hotel?’

Before you even get back to your reserved table with Michael, you approach your personal bodyguard—Ritchie Nobilio—at the end of the dining hall whom you don’t bother to greet but rather hand him your purse.

“Mrs. Corleone.” Ritchie blinks, holding onto your purse.

“I’m going up to my hotel room now.” You state firmly, making it clear to Ritchie that nothing can change your mind. “You can let Michael know, and tell him he can continue the dinner service and eat here by himself.”

“Right.” Ritchie frowns, clearing his throat. “Will do, Mrs. Corleone.” He reaches into the pocket of his dress suit, handing you his spare key to the hotel room.

Without another word or glance to Ritchie, you take the key out of his hand and walk out to the hallway as quickly as you came out of it to get to the hotel suites.

‘If she’s planning on going near Michael tonight and he lets her, who am I to interrupt or do something? I’m done, I’m sick and I’m tired of these party tricks.’

You want to be better than your anger but when it comes to Rita Duvall, everything hits a personal nerve.

‘This woman only stays in Nevada just to spite me. There’s nothing she does but spite me and let her sick fantasies roam free in her head about my husband. That’s it. That’s all there is to it, and I’m supposed to believe Michael isn’t aware?’

This woman has the ability to be where you are because although you detest her and Michael could care less about her, she’s a pretty little thing your brothers and brothers-in-law are used to seeing, and Mafiosi from the other crime families love the comfort of a charismatic, beautiful woman surrounding them.

‘I want an explanation as to why the hell Rita’s here and I want it from Michael—nobody else. Has he seen her? Has he? I wouldn’t be surprised.’

You’ve seen all of Rita’s dirty, cheap tricks and it isn’t uncommon knowledge she’s an escort too—something you could care less about but she’s been in Fredo’s bed on more than one occasion while he was married to Deana and it’s how Rita’s always been able to get favors and gifts.

“You taste my pussy on his mouth!”

Something like that affects the family in the worst kind of potential scandal possible, and you know Rita does it because she can and to purposefully spite you, knowing you get jealous over Michael, but Deanna never had a shred of jealousy towards Fredo.

‘Michael wasn’t with me last week.’ You pick up your pace, just glad nobody else is in the surrounding hallways as you get onto the elevator. ‘He was at a business meeting with Don Cuneo in Reno. Another casino-resort. Do I have to guess who was there too?’

“Michael fucked me so good last week after all.”

“Mr. Corleone?” Ritchie approaches your reserved table, catching Michael’s attention. “Sir, I wanted to inform you Mrs. Corleone is retiring for tonight back to your hotel room.”

“What?” Michael stares at Ritchie, unamused. “And her reason?”

“She just approached me and wanted me to notify you, sir. She didn’t give me a reason.” Ritchie gestures to your purse in his hands. “She was visibly upset and didn’t want to return back here for the dinner service either.”

Michael’s eyes flicker around the dining hall as his shoulders tense up. “Did you give her one of the suite keys?”

“Yes, I did.” Ritchie answers.

“Stay here.” Michael gets up from his seat, looking towards the end of the dining hall. “I’m going to go see her.”

“If anyone questions your absence, sir?” Ritchie stands next to Michael’s empty seat.

“You can tell them to stop asking questions they aren’t entitled to.” With that, Michael turns on his heel and comes out of the dining hall undetected—going towards the hotel suites.

This isn’t a “convince me to come back downstairs” type of anger you feel but one of the only times you feel is too much of a difficult mood to get out of.

As soon as you got up to your hotel room, you kicked off your heels and went straight for the bedroom where you slipped out of your black, cocktail dress and took off your full set of jewelry with your hands shaking in anger.

Before Michael made his way to the suite room, you pulled on your bathrobe—otherwise just in your matching black bra, panties, stockings, and garter belt and fixed yourself a glass of sparkling water.

Having wiped off all of your makeup and now sitting on the edge of the king-size bed with your back towards the door, you mentally scold yourself for feeling so upset and off the edge from Rita trying to get a clear reaction out of you.

Knowing you’re inside and otherwise waiting for a reaction out of Michael this time (or so he assumes), Michael calmly approaches the suite door and unlocks it with his key before stepping inside.

You hear Michael enter and ignore him—your mood already ruined, your expression glum as you stare into your glass of sparkling water with a million questions buzzing in your head that rotate around one in particular: what the hell does this woman want with me and my husband?

With your back turned to Michael, you can hear him enter but you don’t turn to look at him even though his eyes are on you.

“Wish you’d join me downstairs for the night we were supposed to celebrate together,” Michael speaks, stepping out of his dress shoes.

“I’m not in the mood to be convinced.” You mumble back, sipping your drink. “But don’t let me ruin your evening.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you do no such thing.” Michael approaches the doorway of the bedroom. “You left me downstairs and now I find you up here. Ritchie won’t give me any reasons why and so we’re back to playing the guessing game.”

“No, we’re not.” You narrow your eyes, turning to face Michael. “You know why I’m here.”

“Victoria, to be frank with you, darling, no, I don’t.” Michael eyes your bathrobe and your dress for the evening hung up by the closet. “What exactly could happen to you for a few moments in the restroom for you to storm off like this?”

“I’d ask myself the same thing, but I know better.” You scoff, “your favorite plaything approached me in the washroom—that’s what happened.”

“My…what?” Michael furrows his brows.

“Rita Duvall, Michael.” You snap, “come on, seriously? You didn’t see her at all here?”

“No.” Michael stares back at you. “I wasn’t under the impression she would even be here, to begin with.”

“Must be your special invite.” You roll your eyes, almost spilling your drink entirely when setting it down on the nightstand. “Because she definitely seemed invited, very grateful to you which was all she talked about. Why do we even need to have this talk? Why do I have to repeat to you that I DON’T want to see that woman?!”

“You don’t,” Michael answers plainly, stepping into the bedroom. “As I said, I wasn’t aware of her presence here although I’m not surprised.”

“You’re not surprised?” You scoff, crossing your arms. “Of course, you’re not.”

“I mean our invited guests are allowed to bring one other person with them. You can play your guessing game with which mobster decided to take her out to the best hotel-casino in Nevada.” Michael shrugs off his suit jacket, neatly setting it aside. “There’s your explanation, though I’d hope you wouldn’t let your anger have you jump to other conclusions.”

“God, Michael…” You shake your head in disbelief, “why are you talking down to me like this? You think my reactions are unwarranted?”

“I do because it seems to me like petty jealousy.” Michael stands by the foot of the bed. “I don’t know this woman, I don’t speak to her, I don’t go near her, and yet when you hear her name or you see her, you become—”

“I become what?” You interrupt, your eyes challenging Michael.

“You become jealous.” Michael finishes his sentence. “And that’s why I believe your reactions are unwarranted. They make no sense, they’re not based on any foundation.”

“I guess I was just dreaming at our family party at Tahoe when she came to rub your shoulders and serenade you.” Your eyes begin to sting with tears. “How she sang to you, kept her eyes all over you no matter where she was and now she walks up to me in the restroom and tells me how good you fucked her last week, how every time I kiss you, I taste her pussy on your mouth?”

A look of disgust crosses over Michael’s face, but it’s not at all enough to convince you. “I’m tired, Michael! I’m tired!” Your voice breaks. “And yes, I AM jealous! I am! I am because I love you because I don’t want to share you! I want to be selfish with you because you’re my husband, my life partner, my best friend, and the father to my children. Why would I want some sleazy whore getting comfortable with you? Thinking she can show up to our parties just like that? Talk so casually about having sex with you. You give absolutely no reaction and you leave me without answers—I don’t know who to believe anymore!”

You throw your hands up in the air, getting off the bed. “What do I have to do?! Do I have to threaten to leave you again so you stop fucking playing around with this ex-cocktail waitress?”

“You’re accusing me of cheating on you?” Michael scowls at you. “Start listening to the things that are coming out of your mouth, Victoria, and don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I’ll do you a favor instead!” You burst out into tears, pointing a shaky finger at Michael. “Because believe me, a divorce would make for a much less impactful scandal than if you’re caught and on the front page with your face buried between Rita’s—”

“ENOUGH!” Michael snaps, slamming his hand down on the dresser next to him as hard as he can. “Enough! I won’t hear any more of this! I’m not cheating on you. I never have and I never will—what part of that is so difficult for you to comprehend, Victoria?!” Michael lunges towards you, grabbing your hands into his. “What have I done that even I’m not aware of that’s abused your trust? Hmm? I wish I knew for once why it’s so easy for you to accuse me without any proof.”

“You wouldn’t leave p-proof,” you hiccup, beginning to sob.

Although seven years have passed, when it comes to women like Rita Duvall, the concept of jealousy, the fact you know your brothers themselves whored around before they settled down, and Michael’s own brothers continuing to be unfaithful to their wives after years of marriage mix in with the bitter memory of when you thought you were Michael’s “other woman”, being cheated on when you discovered Michael kept his first marriage away from you.

Your trust issues and fear of being cheated on spike up when all of those memories come to mind and make you think: how am I any different than these poor women who experienced unfaithfulness?

“That’s not your real reason, is it?” Michael looks you in the eye. “What is it, Victoria? What actually has you so dead set against me from the beginning?”

“Your brothers cheat.” You croak out, noticing confusion in Michael’s expression. “They cheat… All of them e-except Tom and he isn’t even—” You hiccup again, “they cheat all the t-time and it’s become so normalized I forget it’s even happening in f-front of my own eyes. I’m surrounded by it and this woman is obsessed with you—who am I not to be cheated on, Michael? Tell me!”

Michael lets out a soft sigh, not indicating he’s just about done having this conversation with you nor is Michael going to go off on a tangent to explain to you that he’s aware of his brothers’ promiscuity and cheating habits but he’s a different person altogether.

No, Michael understands exactly where you’re coming from and what you mean.

Just as you remembered the fear that gnawed over your heart when you assumed for just a moment that Michael was being unfaithful to you when you discovered his wedding photographs with Apollonia, Michael is still aware the memory remains bitter; it stings and it made the topic of faithfulness and cheating extra sensitive for you.

“You’re my wife.” Michael reaffirms, giving your hands a gentle squeeze. “You aren’t just somebody out there and you never will be. Do you think women like Rita challenge that? Change that? Who is she to stand before a woman like you? Do you ever think about that?”

You sniffle, remaining quiet and gazing into Michael’s eyes as you begin to feel the warmth of reassurance.

“I love you, Victoria,” Michael states, looking you in the eyes. “I love you and only you and that’s why I only want to deserve having a woman like you as my life partner. Last week I was in Vegas, yes,” he nods, “but I was with Don Cuneo at his private residence. We only visited another one of our establishments briefly. Photographs were taken at both places and there was no entertainment. Not a chance anyone else would be there—Rita or not. I can prove this to you easily. I can have a third party prove it to you too if you don’t want to hear it from me.”

You let out a deep, shaky sigh, nodding glumly at your husband. “A-and what about that first time? When she was at our estate performing and…” You grit your teeth, feeling a rush of anger accompanying your jealousy. “Singing to you, touching you.”

“Victoria, it was nothing.” Michael shakes his head as you let go of his hands. “It’s what she does, that’s how she gains attention. I ignored her, gave her no attention whatsoever, and then she left—”

“No, she didn’t!” You raise your voice, breaking into tears again. “She only backed away because I threatened her afterward, otherwise why wouldn’t she return to serenade the Don—the man who hired her band—and give him extra attention all throughout the night?! I just made sure she was afraid of decomposing in the back of somebody’s car anytime soon so that’s why she kept her distance. Don’t you ever lie to me!” You point an accusing finger at Michael. “Don’t you ever lie and say that you ‘ignoring’Rita’s antics was the reason why she avoided you. Because you didn’t do anything in the first place, she’s now vocally fantasizing about fucking you!”

“Victoria, for the love of God what do you want me to do about that now? What in all honesty can do or say to change all of this for you? Tell me something.” Michael begins to grow irritated.

You wipe your tears off of your cheeks, shaking your head. “Nothing. Nothing… It’s all done and over with now as you said anyway. Just nothing.”

“You’re not upset about that or what happened today.” Michael takes a step towards you as you turn your back on him. “You’re jealous. I know you.”

“Yeah, I bet you do.” You hiccup, saying so sarcastically. “Maybe I am… So just let me be jealous in peace if it bothers you so much.”

“It doesn’t.” Michael places both of his hands over your hips, pressing his chest against your back. “You don’t think I feel the same way when I see how men flirt with you? How their greedy eyes look all over you?”

“You’d never admit to being jealous.” Your tears stop as you continue wiping your face off with your hands.

“I would admit to being a lot of things.” Michael embraces you from behind, pushing back a curtain of your hair over your shoulder to kiss the nape of your neck. “You’re not upset with me right now. That’s completely different. We don’t have to go back downstairs, you know.” Michael’s hand feels at the plush fabric of your bathrobe.

‘God…’ You mentally scold yourself for finding yourself instantly aroused by Michael’s touch and his breathy, low voice speaking to you now.

“You want attention, that’s all.” Michael’s already got you and your jealous fits figured out. “You have me here with you, so why not admit to that too?”

“Mm, I don’t think so.” Feeling like you’re the one calling the shots tonight, you pull away from Michael’s embrace and shrug off your bathrobe, letting it fall off your shoulders and to the floor.

Michael’s eyes instantly dart up and down your body, admiring every inch of you from top to bottom—especially paying attention to the way your garter belt adorns your thighs, how the silky smooth fabric of your stockings shines under the bedroom light, and the lace of your bra and panties clinging to your skin.

“I already have my own ways of relaxation for tonight.” You clear your throat quietly, purposefully crawling over the bed to tease Michael and give him a full view of your ass. “Since you don’t want me—"

“Who said I don’t want you?” Michael instantly presses one knee down on the bed, grabbing you by your hips as you squeal out before he pins you face down on the bed. “Hmm?”

“I don’t know.” You hide your grin against the bedsheets, arching your back against Michael’s growing erection. “Maybe you were just showing me it all evening.”

“Not a chance.” Michael grips a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back abruptly but not enough to hurt. “Trying to tease me now because you want the attitude fucked out of you?”

“You don’t deserve me.” You tease, reaching your hands back to teasingly inch off your panties.

“I think—” Michael almost tears off your panties entirely, throwing them off your ankles. “You’re just begging to have the attitude fucked out of you.”

“Definitely don’t deserve me—ooh!” You let out a soft moan as Michael gives both of your thighs a firm smack, running his hands in between them.

“You and your attitude—” Michael keeps you pinned onto the bed by pressing his hand onto your back with one while he unbuckles his belt with the other. “Are only going to get you so fucking far, Victoria.”

“Try me.” You challenge, looking over your shoulder for a split second to see Michael’s fully erect cock spring out of his dress trousers.

“Shut up.” Michael turns your face away from him much to your pleasure before raising your hips up to his waist. “You don’t think I know all of your little dirty tricks?”

“I think you’re more jealous than me.” You say back, gripping onto the bedsheets.

“Say that again.” Michael presses his shaft against your pussy, feeling its dewiness drip over his cock as he pushes it in between the lips of your heat.

“Oh—” Your eyes snap open, feeling intense arousal crawling through your skin. “I w-will.”

“I don’t think so, not like this.” Michael eyes your body as your thighs begin to shake a little over the bed; he’s barely done anything to you yet and you’re already throbbing and extremely turned on.

In truth, you’ve absolutely no desire to fight back against Michael but rather want to get the attitude fucked out of you over and over again under Michael’s dominance—the best way he can make up anything to you tonight.

“Say it.” Michael grips your face roughly, tilting your chin up but he doesn’t give you the chance to reply as his lips crush over yours in a sloppy kiss.

Droplets of precum begin to slick down Michael’s shaft as he bucks his hips, teasingly pressing the tip of his cock against your pulsating clit.

“Mmm,” you let out a muffled moan, unable to answer Michael.

“Can’t talk back to me now, huh?” An aggressive and demanding Michael is more than welcome to you now.

Michael pulls back, spreading your ass cheeks apart with both hands before leaning his head down and breathing hotly over your sensitive clit. “Talk. You want this, don’t you?”

“Mmmmm, yes!” Your knuckles turn white from how harshly you clutch the bedsheets. “D-deserve it! B-because you don’t deserve it!”

“You don’t think I deserve you?” Michael narrows his eyes, refusing to wait for a reaction or reply of any kind.

Instead, taking you by surprise, Michael plants a sloppy, full-mouthed kiss over your clit—suckling over it.

“Oh, YES!” You cry out, clasping a hand over your mouth almost instantly.

Ignoring you, Michael clutches harshly onto your ass to keep your legs spread—the feeling of his warm, wet tongue licking over your clit sending sparks of pleasure inside you.

You pull your hand off your mouth, rolling your eyes back to feel Michael’s mouth slobbering over your pussy and lapping up your wetness with his tongue.

‘Worth. It!’ Whiny little moans escape your lips as Michael doesn’t relent in his pace, now grinding his tongue and lips against your sex.

“M-Michael, Michael—” Face flushed scarlet and moaning out your husband’s name as your body begs for more, Michael keeps his teasing at it should be—sweet and short.

Michael parts his tongue away from your pussy slowly, a string of spit separating from his mouth before he

pulls you back over to him by your hips. “What was that? Hmm?”

“Maybe you should…” You breathe out, looking back over your shoulder to challenge him once more. “Just give up already. Go and fuck Rita—do yourself a favor and leave me alone so I can go find someone else—”

Michael clasps his hand over your mouth, instantly silencing you as he scowls. “Shut the fuck up.”

Not only does his irritation build from how serious your tone of voice sounds but also from how difficult you’ve been acting towards him.

“You think that’s what I fucking want, hmm?” Michael roughly shakes your face, bucking his hips up instantly and impaling your pussy with his cock.

“Mm!” You moan loudly against Michael’s hand before he pins the side of your face onto the bed—still keeping his hand right over your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Find someone else?” Michael grunts, thrusting deep inside of you with no mercy—pushing all eight inches of him in. “I’ll teach you to listen to listen to the things that come out of your fucking mouth.”

‘Oh fuck, yes.’ Desperate to feel Michael’s cock going in and out of you, you push your hips back against his but you’re easily overpowered by the position he has you in.

“I’m going to ruin you,” Michael breathes out, gripping your ass and slamming into you again and again.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Michael’s cologne and your perfume mix around one another, accompanied by the scent of sex.

Just from the angle Michael fucks your pussy in roughly, you can already feel a powerful orgasm being coaxed out of you.

As you peek back at Michael, you only meet his narrowed eyes and as if to punish you for looking back, Michael instantly picks up his ruthless pace while fucking you.

“You’re mine.” Michael leans down, hissing in your ear before wrapping a firm hand around your throat. “Mine.”

Not even halfway through being fucked into a state of bliss, you’re already feeling the heights of euphoria have the best angry sex of your life with Michael.

Michael feels your pussy humming and clenching against him as your orgasm continues to build still fucking the ever-living life out of you by the minute.

The bed begins to shake, causing the headboard to rattle against the wall as Michael pounds into your pussy like a wild animal over and over again.

Your moans grow louder and more desperate, calling out Michael’s name several times to feel more and more.

Fucking you like a ragdoll fully under his dominance, Michael notices how your ass cheeks redden from hitting his hips at such a rough and quick pace. “You want this, huh? You fucking love it. You love being fucked like a dirty whore!”

“Y-yes!” You can barely even nod back at Michael, only focused on how your body begs for his cock to fill your hole again.

“Every other man can fucking dream,” Michael slams in and out of you mercilessly, “because you’re mine, and nobody else will get to do this to you.”

You shriek out, brought to loud and uncontrollable moans. “Please, please!”

Michael’s hair once neatly slicked back comes apart from the heat and friction surrounding you two; his hair now begins to curl against the sweat forming on his forehead. “Now she knows how to beg, huh? How sweet.”

Ignoring your pleas for more, Michael raises your ass upwards and watches his cock slick in and out of you as fast as his hips can possibly thrust.

“Fucking. Whore!” A low moan comes from Michael who jerks his hips and hits your G-Spot consecutively. “You love taking in my cock, don’t you? This is how you wanted me to shut you up?”

Being fucked into nothing but pure bliss, you gasp out and curl your toes in response to feeling Michael cum inside you—still refusing to slow his thrusts.

“Just as you should be.” Michael squeezes the sides of your throat, “filled with my fucking cum, thinking over everything you said twice.”

Just the sight of Michael dominating you and taking control from behind turns you on like none other—now grabbing onto the headboard to hammer inside of you.

“Gonna cum! I’m g-gonna cum!” Your eyes prickle up with tears from how good every sensation flowing inside of you is.

The very mention of your orgasm approaching causes Michael to fuck you even harder, as rough as he can be—turning him into a wild man.

“Who would have known—” Michael breathes, hearing his cock sloshing into your pussy. “That the little slut needed my cock to shut her up?”

“Mmmm!” You let out a weak, out-of-breath giggle.

“You love arguing with me, I know you do.” Michael pushes your face back down on the bed, taking all of his sexual frustrations out on you. “Now you can’t get a single word out, can you?”

Having Michael constantly in his state of stern calmness and coldness to all fucking you this rough, sloppy, and relentless is heavenly and only adds to how severely aroused you are.

The pressure of your orgasm builds up in your gut almost unbearably so; your clit is engorged from being stimulated as Michael’s manhood comes in contact with it with each thrust.

Your breasts bounce against the bedsheets as Michael becomes so lost in you that he’s thrusting harder than ever without losing his rhythm, now utterly oblivious to his surroundings or anything else.

Unable to take any more of your orgasm edging with Michael cumming inside of you a second time, you scream out Michael’s name as you cock your head back and feel your orgasm rush through you.

Michael licks over his lips, keeping you pressed up against his body to ride out your orgasm as your thighs shake uncontrollably against Michael. “Did I say you could cum?”

“M-Michaellllll,” you whine, feeling both of Michael’s hands cupping your breasts. “I-I couldn’t—”

“Couldn’t what?” Michael tilts your chin to face him directly, looking you in the eye. “Couldn’t do what you were told?”

“Oh?” You giggle, clutching onto Michael’s shoulders and holding in your whimpers as his cock is still buried deep inside of you. “You’re gonna punish me for that too?”

“What use is a punishment if you beg for it?” Michael squeezes your breasts together. “You like being fucked this hard, you like edging out your orgasm, and you love getting spanked.”

“That doesn’t stop you, does it, Don Corleone?” Attempting to catch your breath, you let yourself fall back on the bed with Michael’s arm around your waist.

“Don’t say stupid shit like that again.” Michael hovers over top of you, placing a finger against your lips. “Or I’ll make sure you can’t sit for a week straight.”

“Mm,” you pout back at Michael, running your hands up and down his biceps. “Don’t threaten me with a good time now, baby.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Corleone are preoccupied with business matters at the moment and do not wish to be disturbed” generic excuse also served to be the perfect lie for last night as even though you and Michael had the best angry, make-up sex of your lives, the two of you decided to go at it for two more rounds before retiring for the night and without thinking twice about returning to the party.

Of course, neither you nor Michael made the dinner event downstairs an entire waste by not attending, since Michael had room service bring up the entire meal service to the suite—including the full bottles of champagne and Italian wine.

The official celebrations won’t exactly be “over” until the two of you make the drive back to Lake Tahoe, meaning photographers and overly curious journalists (especially from your early absence last night) will be more than glad to accompany you for breakfast.

Sore as ever and snuggled up on Michael’s chest all night right up until the alarm goes off at exactly 7:00 AM.

All it takes is Michael slamming his palm down on the alarm and almost sending it flying off the nightstand (and causing you to giggle as a result) to silence it just to spend a few more minutes cuddled up naked in bed with you.

“Mm, I think we have a problem, Don Corleone.” You can barely hold your giggles in as you trace lazy little circles over Michael’s chest.

“And that is?” Michael’s muscles relax into the bedsheets as he rakes a hand through his messy bed hair.

‘My God…’ Your eyes gaze up at the smoldering sight of Michael naked, one arm propped up against the mattress with his other hand stroking through your hair gently.

“Too sore, might not be able to sit up at all.” You laugh quietly against Michael’s chest.

Michael chuckles—his morning voice deep and still laced with some sleepiness as he kisses your forehead. “Appearances matter, Mrs. Corleone.”

“Using my own words against me, huh?” Grinning, you bite down on the corner of your lip and slowly begin to sit up in bed.

“Mmhmm.” Michael’s eyes flicker down to your exposed breasts before meeting your eyes again. “Neither of us is going anywhere or doing anything until we shower at the very least.”

“Then the world can wait for us.” You lace a hand with Michael’s, tugging to get him out of bed.

“The world doesn’t have a choice.” Michael chuckles breathily, throwing the covers off of him.

You already know if you take another peek back at Michael that you may as well just go for another three rounds just at the sight of your naked husband alone.

“You have to promise me one thing though,” your usual enthusiastic tone returns to you this morning as you and Michael enter the spacious hotel bathroom.

“After last night, I’m the one making promises?” Michael pulls aside the shower curtains, angling the shower head towards the wall.

“Why not?” You tease, removing the protective cover off of a new toothbrush by the bathroom sink. “This time I think it’s one you can definitely keep.”

“Very funny,” Michael comments, adjusting the shower water. “Let's hear it, then.”

“I want to gel your hair before we go downstairs for breakfast,” you blush, squeezing some toothpaste over your toothbrush.

“Because…?” Michael pulls the shower curtains shut halfway, still walking around the bathroom completely naked before opening up a cabinet to grab some towels.

“Because I want to, that’s my reasoning.” Giggling, you look into the mirror and can see Michael towards the back of the bathroom as you begin to brush your teeth.

“I won’t object to that.” Michael sets down two fresh bathrobes and an additional pair of towels for his and your hair over the bathroom counter.

Michael embraces you from behind and plants a warm kiss over the side of your neck as you continue brushing your teeth before he grabs the second, new toothbrush and begins to do the same.

Blushing, you finish up and wash off your toothbrush before pecking a kiss over Michael’s cheek and hopping into the shower first. “Mwah.”

“Mm.” Michael watches as you step into the shower, letting the hot water rinse over your naked body—particularly over the hickies trailing around your back, over your ass, and above your sex.

“Come onnnnn,” you call out, purposefully keeping the shower curtains open a little for Michael to see the water running over you.

Michael rinses out his mouth, cleaning up and setting his toothbrush aside before approaching the shower. “Insistent, are we?”

“Come in!” You pop your head out, giving Michael a wet kiss and trying to pull him inside.

“You come to me.” Michael pulls you into his arms instead as he gets into the shower, causing you to squeal as both of you are caught under the hot water.

“Mm, you don’t give me a break, do you?” You wrap your arms over Michael’s shoulders, standing under the water with him.

“Over just what, exactly? Maybe I like to keep you on your toes.” Michael steals a kiss from his lips; the water soaking through his dark hair.

“Over looking like this all the damn time,” you whine quietly, reaching for a bottle of shampoo—unable to ignore the way the water runs over Michael’s chest, clinging onto his chest hair.

“Haven’t seen yourself lately.” Michael grabs your ass with both hands, pulling you closer to him. “You know, the freshly fucked last night and soaking wet look is a good one on you.”

“You’re gonna tease me this early in the morning?” Your cheeks flush red from embarrassment as you.

“Can’t get enough—” Michael kisses in between your breasts, making momentary eye contact with you, “—of you.”

Shyly gazing up at Michael, you let out a shaky breath. “Definitely teasing me now.”

“I know I’ve got your attention.” Michael gently tilts up your chin with his finger, running his thumb against your wet bottom lip. “Just as I had it last night.”

“Not upset, are you?” You bunch your soaked hair up in your hand, pulling it over your shoulder. “About what I said…?”

“Should I be?” Michael sighs in relief under the running hot water.

“Certainly gave me a reaction.” You watch as Michael works his slim fingers through the shampoo he’s slathered in his hair.

“You’re the only person on earth who gets a ‘reaction’ from me.” Michael lets the water rinse through his hair.

“But even then you can hide it well, huh?” You smile playfully, making sure to get shampoo through the ends of your hair.

“See, you have your answer.” Droplets of water land over Michael’s eyelashes as he lets the hot water drip down his naked body. “It generally had me upset, yes, but I knew you didn’t mean it. As you never do.”

“Oh?” Your eyes widen in surprise. “And you know this how…?”

“Because,” Michael watches water run down every inch of your skin under the showerhead with him. “Had you been upset enough with me, we wouldn’t have slept together, but I wouldn’t let you go to bed angry with me.”

“I know.” You pout back at him, squeezing the excess shampoo out of your hair. “At least you wouldn’t have to ‘play the guessing game’ with me about it anymore.”

“I know how she makes you feel, baby.” Michael begins to foam up some body wash over his arms and chest. “I don’t want you to come close to feeling those same emotions again. At the very least, nothing near what you were saying last night.”

“Just to get you turned on and jealous.” You squeeze the loofa in Michael’s hand, causing more of the frothy body wash to drip over his chest.

“It did something,” Michael still wouldn’t admit to being jealous outright, pressing his chest against yours and closing off any space between the two of you. “It made you sore, it made you beg.”

“What’s a girl supposed to do?” you blush furiously as his hands roam over your breasts, sharing the body wash with you. “You know just how I like it.”

“Rough,” Michael states out, gently caressing and soaping up your body against his. “Soft, sensual, just about anything there and in-between.”

“Show me something else tonight when we have the chance to sneak away, hmm?” You teasingly suggest, watching the way the water dribbles down Michael’s plush lips and chiseled jawline.

“I can promise you that already, baby.” Michael leans in for another kiss.

Depending on both of your daily schedules regardless of where both you and Michael are, there’s always an insistence on joining one another in a shower or a bath.

It never entirely has to be sexual either, although you and Michael know it very well could be, there’s nothing more relaxing and soothing than sharing a hot shower or bath with one another before starting your day or ending it.

Still, with Michael’s business trips, early meetings, and days you’re expected at the courthouse, showering and having baths together has been somewhat of a rare pastime you always want to make up for.

Without enough time to properly dry your hair and style it for the morning which would matter little to you had you been anywhere else but at the Tropigala, you improvise perfectly by using a few of your own hair products and gel to pull off a perfect French twist look with ease.

As Michael carefully shaves off his stubble, you stand behind him still in your bathrobe and almost fully dry, working to gel through Michael’s hair.

The clean slicked back look—whether it’s parted from the side, the middle, or slicked right back from the center—is one classic hairstyle you’ve been surrounded with seeing your brothers and father have anywhere for any occasion.

Timelessly sexy and the preferred, clean look for a mafioso, you’re very well aware Michael never leaves the house without his hair neatly styled one way or the other and you’re obsessed with any of his looks with any of his suits.

It’s not the first time you’ve gelled and styled through Michael’s hair, but you can definitely count it as a rare occasion on your fingers.

“You’re the only one I know who enjoys this,” Michael murmurs out a comment, washing the shaving foam off of his razor.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You chuckle, dipping your fingertips into Michael’s preferred high shine and high hold gel pomade before working it through Michael’s hair. “It reminds me of when we first got married.”

“Mm?” Michael continues shaving alongside his jawline. “How so?”

“Well…” Blush hits your cheeks as you comb through Michael’s hair to spread around the product evenly first. “I’d wake up and there’d you’d be, already dressed and ready to go for the day; new suit, cologne on, hair done and everything. I like that, I always have, but I like getting ready with you like this more.”

Michael doesn’t answer you, but the curious glance you two exchange from looking into the mirror causes you to giggle quietly as you continue styling his hair.

You part Michael’s hair towards the left side of his scalp but without doing so that would show a full, clear part.

From there, instead of gelling and slicking Michael’s hair back and towards the nape of his neck, you slick his hair horizontally to the side.

Humming quietly while Michael begins to finish up his shaving and use a wet cloth to wipe off the shaving foam from his cheeks, you dip your comb and fingers back into the gel pomade every now and then to get a clean, perfectly slick look.

Not a single strand of Michael’s hair sticks out, is loose, or appears frizzy. Once you get towards the sides of Michael’s hair, you slick it back neatly to the back.

Instead of a fully slicked gel look through the middle and completely clean look, there’s a slight bit of volume in Michael’s hair where you parted it to the left and combed it left and right instead of straight back.

Michael’s dark hair gives a clean, healthy shine from the gel, and his shower without a gritty hold or any product clinging to his skin all within five minutes.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so used to it if Niccolò wasn’t always so adamant about looking like his father.” You beam, closing the tin top of the hair pomade and setting the comb down.

“Can’t blame him, can we?” Michael pats an aftershave lotion over his cheeks and jawline before washing off his hands. “You work quickly,” Michael glances at both sides of his hair in the mirror, impressed. “Thank you, darling.”

“Don’t have to thank me for that.” You lean in, kissing Michael’s cheek and inhaling the scent of his heavenly aftershave. “Mmm, look and smell so good.”

“I haven’t got my cologne on just yet.” Michael moves his head to steal a quick kiss from your lips. “Are we pressed for time?”

“Almost,” you sheepishly admit. “Better get dressed before the photographers practically show up at our suite door.”

“Not that I would be surprised.” Michael shakes his head, smoothening out his bathrobe. “May as well.”

Your day dress for breakfast today at the Tropigala is sleek and elegant; a white empire drape dress that hugs at your hips and has a cinched bow over your collarbone.

Your hand is just as quick as flicking over a small wing of eyeliner over your eyelids, applying a coat of mascara, and using white pencil eyeliner for your bottom lid but you already find yourself more than distracted being able to see Michael behind you in the mirror.

Just as you’re applying a medium tone of coral lipstick over your lips, your eyes dart over to Michael who lets his bathrobe drop by the hotel closet.

A tug of sudden, deep arousal pulls in your gut at the sight of your husband naked, pulling on a pair of briefs and watching the way Michael opts for a wine-red dress shirt that hugs his back and arm muscles as he pulls it over himself.

Topping his look off with a navy jacket, and matching trousers, Michael tucks a baroque patterned day cravat neatly into his collar instead of a tie and approaches you by the vanity table provided by the hotel where he reaches for his cologne and sprays it over himself a modest amount.

“Ready to go with only two minutes to spare?” Michael extends his hand out to you.

“I’m sure everyone’s just dying to see us.” You laugh, nodding and taking your husband’s hand as you get up from your seat.

From the very moment you and Michael exit your suite and make your way towards one of the dining patios outside, both your bodyguards Ritchie Nobilio and Al Neri are quick to accompany you two from the crowd of expectant photographers.

Not bothering to stop by for questions or give the photographers the angles they want for their pictures, Michael gives an acknowledging wave and you a polite smile on your behalf before leaving the line of sight of the photographers.

Michael keeps an arm around your waist, walking close side by side with you as your eyes widen in delight to see the beautifully set up, private table by the garden and water fountain with you and Michael’s name reserved on it.

The glass walls that separate the private, luxurious outdoor patio look into the midst of the dining hall where it’s now less crowded than it was last night, but still filled with guests and patrons enjoying their breakfast.

“Darling,” Michael murmurs, pulling your dining chair back for you to sit on first.

Blushing, you take your seat across from Michael and tuck your chair in—being served immediately by two nearby waiters who set down a plate of freshly baked biscotti, two glasses of water accompanied by two cups of just brewed cappuccinos, five selections of fruit jams, a frittata and chocolate-banana stuffed crepe for both you and Michael.

“Thank you,” Michael tells the waiters as you smile up at them, speaking out to you after they leave. “How’s that for the Tropigala’s warm welcome during breakfast?”

“A major, lovely improvement from Klingman’s days running the hotel.” You admit, placing a piece of biscotti next to your crepe.

“I’ll say.” Michael holds back rolling his eyes at the thought. “My father was stunned when the news came that Klingman gave up the Tropigala’s license.”

“Was that before or after Al beat it out of him?” You giggle, beginning to eat your crepe.

“Neri has his ways.” Michael shakes his head, stirring his cappucino. “Now Klingman spends the rest of his days chatting about how the Corleone family has a monopoly on casinos, resorts, and hotels in Nevada.”

“I’d say that’s a bit of an exaggeration.” You dip your butterknife into the raspberry jam, spreading it over your piece of biscotti. “I don’t think we’ve even—” Your butter knife drops from your hand and clings against the side of your plate as you stop talking.

Michael’s just raised his coffee to his lips, pausing and noticing you stopping mid-sentence. “What is it, darling?”

Your eyes lock onto Rita Duvall’s on the other side of the glass wall inside of the dining hall. Leaning against the wall with one arm and grinning at you and Michael, just the sight of her alone causes enough bitter annoyance and anger to spoil your appetite.

Michael turns his head back, noticing Rita whose eyes now meet Michael’s out of pleasant surprise he even bothered to turn back and look at her.

More than pleased to divert Michael’s attention from you, Rita continues shyly gazing at your husband and her eyes light up in excitement when Michael sets down his cappuccino to rise up from his seat.

‘Where is he…?’ You stare at Michael, unable to speak out as he smoothens out his jacket and rather calmly makes his way towards Rita like he’s been expecting to see her all morning.

You force your eyes down onto your food, picking up your butter knife again only to feel your anxiety flaring up inside of you seeing Michael beginning to approach Rita inside the dining hall.

“Mr. Corleone, hello.” Rita blushes, politely greeting Michael and reaching out her hand to shake his.

Michael approaches her upfront, refusing to shake her hand but not appearing to be in a foul mood either. “Miss Duvall, I wasn’t aware you attended our annual celebration last night.”

“I was Senator Geary’s guest.” Rita admits, “I admit, it was a surprise for me to come by as well but I thoroughly enjoyed the meal service and all the entertainment, so thank you.”

“You should keep your appreciation and thanks to those who work here, not myself.” Michael’s voice remains stern towards her. “Just as you should stay away from Victoria.”

“Aww,” Rita pouts at Michael, “did she send you in here to talk to me?”

“No.” Michael stares at Rita coldly. “It was my choice. I would have done the same had I seen you last night.”

The smug look on Rita’s face begins to fade almost instantly.

“You’re a grown woman,” Michael continues, gesturing to her. “And I can’t stop you from any of your so-called ‘fantasies’ but keep in mind I’m aware of the things you say to my wife about me.”

From where you sit, you have a perfect view across from you of Michael and Rita speaking to one another, but it’s already apparent to you that it’s Michael doing the talking considering how taken back Rita appears.

“Mr. Corleone—”

“Leave.” Michael lowers his voice. “Enjoy your last breakfast service here, then never find yourself welcome here again, near me or my wife before the journalists catch wind of a desperate admirer in a state of delusion with sexual fantasies towards the owner of the Tropigala. Believe me when I tell you a story like that won’t do well for you or the Senator’s reputation.”

Overprotectiveness spikes up in Michael as he gives Rita a departing scowl, walking away from her as if he never had that conversation with her, to begin with.

You pretend to remain preoccupied eating your breakfast casually, instantly feeling relief from your anxiety and any annoyance from Rita’s nearby presence as Michael returns to your table.

“What was that all about…?” You swallow down your food, staring at Michael in surprise.

“Nothing important.” Michael takes a sip of his water, looking at you. “Just had to remind an unwanted guest that she can’t and will not talk and act the way she does to my wife.”

You cover the smile growing over your mouth with your hand. “Oh? She’s still there, looking at you in dismay, you know.”

“I don’t care,” Michael replies plainly, putting his water down.

“Still looking, still looking, and…” You lace your hands with Michael’s free one on the dining table before pulling him a little closer to you.

Leaning to the side, you move in and plant a loving kiss over Michael’s lips right as Rita stares and watches the two of you inside the dining hall.

When you pull back, you only part your lips from Michael’s for a second before kissing him over and over again—each kiss deepened and returned by your husband until Rita huffs, throwing her purse over her shoulder and going to exit the Tropigala.

“You’re mine and only mine,” you tell Michael as you sit back in your seat. “You know I take no issue with letting other people know.”

123 notes View Post

lovefoxgoddess

2 years ago

Michael in a brothel has to have a good reason.💀

One might ask themselves for the next chapter of Moth to Flame Part II: “What the hell is Michael doing in the front row of a private club with Rita Duvall putting on an erotic show?”

Well, what Victoria doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right? 😶😅