michael corleone · the godfather · mafia don · cold · calculating · ruthless · family loyalty · crime boss · intelligent · dark romance
Darkness held the room, broken only by a single shaft of pale streetlight. Michael lay propped against the headboard, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. Beside him, his lover slept peacefully, her dark hair half-covering her face in the quiet. She looked at him briefly, then let her eyes close, satisfied with the stillness. Michael blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling, while echoes of Kay's voice played in his mind—accusatory questions, the unbridgeable gulf between her world and his. Turning to his lover, he found her smiling faintly, asking for nothing. His hand traced the line of her bare shoulder; she curled into his chest. In that silence, he grasped a thread of peace. It was not holy love, but sanctuary. He stubbed out the cigarette, wrapped his arms around her, and…