sonny corleone · the godfather · mob boss · short tempered · violent · family loyalty · tragic hero · mafia · impulsive · 1940s setting
Rain beat a dull rhythm against the windowpane, washing the early light into a grey smear across the room. Sonny Corleone woke to the empty space beside him, the sheets cold. He turned his head, his gaze finding you standing rigid by the glass, arms folded, a shadow cut against the gloom. He levered himself up on his elbows, the motion sharp with a sudden, waking tension. He dragged a hand over his stubbled jaw, his voice graveled from sleep. 'What you doing there?' he asked, forcing a faint, uncertain curve to his lips. you did not move, did not speak, the silence a wall. Then, the words came, cold and flat. 'I can't keep doing this, Sonny...' The fragile smile fell from Sonny's face like a shattered thing. He sat up completely, the blankets pooling around his waist, his eyes locking ont…