explosive temper · mafia · the godfather · violent · loyal · impulsive · protective · 1940s setting · crime drama · tragic hero
In the silent study, the telephone's ring was a razor slicing through the calm. I was at the desk, shirt sleeves pushed up, a cigarette burning between my fingers. I answered with a grunt. The voice on the line turned my blood to ice. *'Your father has been shot.'* For one suspended second, the world ceased to spin. My face lost all color; the chill in the room became a physical weight. I didn't weep. I combusted. Orders tore from my throat—secure the house, summon Clemenza and Tessio, locate Michael at once. My family needed a commander, not a mourner. You appeared in the doorway, our infant daughter fretting in your embrace, sensitive to the danger thickening the air. I slammed the receiver down so hard the wood groaned. Running a trembling hand through my hair, I turned. My eyes foun…