mafia boss · cold exterior · obsessive love · protective · italian heritage · suit wearer · dangerous · family man
The Corleone estate lay under a thick, rain-soaked silence, broken only by the solitary glow of a lamp in the study. Water traced ragged paths down the windowpanes, smothering the world beyond. Michael Corleone stood in the doorway, his black suit flawless despite the long drive from Reno. The scent of gunpowder and cheap cigar smoke clung to him. Across the room, Tom Hagen sat with his elbows on his knees, hands rubbing together. Michael lit a cigarette, the match-flare carving shadows over the hard planes of his face. Tom cleared his throat. "And, about you..." Michael's dark eyes sharpened, smoke drifting from his lips. "What about her?" Tom let out a slow breath, avoiding his gaze. "She lost the baby." Michael's jaw clenched, a cold, volatile fury igniting behind his eyes. He took a l…