Letters from a Lost Love

Chapter 2: Resetting the Board

The McGyver house

7:30 P.M.

If an outsider had walked into the McGyver house at 7:30 pm that night, they might not have noticed anything off about two adults having dinner. However, if a close friend had walked in, someone who knew both Michael Corleone and Ariella McGyver well, they might have noticed something different.

They might have noticed the way both adults were sitting, like they were preparing for war. Trading witty banter back and forth like this was a chess game. Which, in truth, it was.

Ariella knew she had to keep the upper hand here. She couldn't show any weakness in front of Michael. And her feelings for him were a definite weakness.

By contrast, Michael was completely composed, as if there was nothing going on at all. At least he appeared that way. Inwardly was a different story.

He watched Ariella intently, noting the way she moved, like a coiled cobra ready to spring at the slightest provocation. Her hair flowed over her like a fiery waterfall, her eyes sparking with passion. Michael couldn't help but be in awe of her beauty, so unlike Kay's. Kay was plain as paper compared to Ariella. Ariella reminded him at times of Apollonia, the only woman he had ever truly loved. After he'd lost her…but he wasn't going there tonight. Tonight was about Ariella and this proposition she'd made.

She might not be completely traditionally Italian, but she understood what it meant to be loyal and trustworthy. Two things Kay had never understood. While his marriage to Kay had been quite similar to what Ariella was proposing, there were a vast number of differences. He could trust Ariella with his life, with his heart. Something he'd forgotten how to do with the people he cared for.

After dinner, he helped her clear the table and wash and dry the dishes.

"You didn't have to do this, you know," she commented once they were finished.

"I wanted to," he replied simply.

Their eyes met, and she smiled.

"Thank you."

"It was the least I could do. That dinner was exquisite."

Ariella flushed lightly.

"Would you like to dance with me?" he asked, placing his hand over hers.

"What?" she asked, clearly caught off guard.

"Would you like to dance with me?"

"Is this some kind of trick?"

"No trick," Michael answered, leading her to the living room and turning on the stereo.

The opening notes of 'It's Now or Never' by Elvis Presley began to play, and Ariella slowly relaxed as Michael guided her around the room.

"You're an amazing dancer," she said softly.

"You're not so bad yourself."

"I've never done this before," Ariella confessed, looking away.

Michael turned her to face him.

"I find that hard to believe."

"It's true. I never danced with Charles or Benjamin. You're the first person…" she trailed off, a resigned look in her eyes.

"The first person to what?"

"Never mind. It's not important."

"Tell me."

He needed her to open up to him. It was the only way his plan was going to work.

And so far, things were falling into place. If only she would talk to him.

"Can we just…be here for a minute? Just dance? Please," she asked, almost pleading.

He nodded. If that's what it took, he was willing to wait a little longer.

"I'm sorry to pry."

Ariella nodded absently.

He decided to try a different tactic.

Holding her gently, he whispered the lyrics in Italian, pleased when he felt her shiver against him.

He caressed her cheek, his eyes taking in every inch of her face.

For a minute, time itself seemed to stop as he gazed at her.

What was happening to him?

He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind and focus on what he needed to do.

Don't get distracted.

Michael knew he should feel guilty for manipulating Ariella like this, but he couldn't help it. When he'd decided to take on the mantle as Don, he knew that the days of completely trusting people were over. Ariella was an exception, but he knew he couldn't put all his faith in her. She was still a person, after all. And after what Fredo and Kay had done to him, he wasn't going to make the same mistakes again.

"I'm right here," he crooned, his eyes probing into hers, drawing her in, he hoped. "I'm not going anywhere. Just…tell me what you want."

Ariella was silent for a minute, her mind working quickly to try and decipher what was going on. She knew him well enough to know this wasn't just a simple dance. But of course she couldn't tell him that she was on to him.

"I'm just…I'm so tired," she improvised, emphasizing the last word. "I'm tired of being alone. I lost the only man I ever loved, and I don't want to spend the rest of my life without someone." A partial lie, but a lie nonetheless. She had tried to love Benjamin, she really had. He had been the kindest, sweetest, most amazing man she had ever met. Ariella thought he was the answer to all her problems. But she knew better. No man would want someone as damaged as her. Her mother had abused her, had let men rape and use her for their own sick entertainment (and also so they could have an insurance policy on Vito Corleone's promises, not that he had ever found out about what Camilla had done), Charles, her first real boyfriend, had tried to kill Michael (and Ariella had risked her life to save him), and Benjamin, her second and last boyfriend, had died of cancer the year after she'd met him.

Maybe she just wasn't meant for love.

But whenever she looked into Michael Corleone's eyes, all that despair just went away.

He was a ruthless, cold-blooded killer, that was true. But he wasn't evil. He had his reasons for doing things. He'd had to kill Fredo, it was just an act of self-preservation. He'd had to take out the heads of the other families, they were all planning on killing him. Nothing he did was by accident. It was all just a matter of survival. And no one understood that better than Ariella.

People might criticize him for having trust issues, but Ariella knew after years of working at his side that trusting the wrong people could get you killed. And she wasn't going to let that happen. Michael Corleone had been the only person apart from her sister that had shown her any form of true affection. There was nothing she wouldn't do for him. She was as loyal as Neri.

"Is that why you proposed this match? So you wouldn't be alone?" Michael inquired, his brows furrowing.

"Yes. I'm sorry for the deception."

"There's no need to apologize, Ariella. None at all."

"So what happens now?"

"Now…" he replied, hiding a smirk, "now we talk."

He watched the mask slide back up.

Oh, you can't fool me. I've got you exactly where I want you.

Ariella went to sit on the couch, her hands clenching slightly.

This is going to be interesting.

He chose the chair directly across from her, wanting to be able to read her better.

He sensed that she liked being in control, but not for any reasons of vanity or arrogance. His shrewd mind told him that something terrible had happened to her, moments in which she had had no control over the situation, and her almost desperate need for power stemmed from that.

It wasn't going to work tonight, however. Tonight, he was in charge, and he would make sure she knew it.

"Earlier you started to say I was the first person to do something. Finish your thought."

Ariella crossed her arms over her chest.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Usually, he would respect her wishes, but this was different.

"Look, if we're going to be married, we'll have to trust each other. From now on, there are no secrets between us."

"Does that mean…"

"I didn't say I accept. I said there are no longer to be any secrets between us."

"That goes both ways. I know you too well," Ariella retorted.

You think you do.

He gave her a cold stare.

"That's not going to work on me."

In a low voice, he said, "Tell me what you meant."

"No."

"Why are you being so stubborn?"

"It's a free country."

"Damn it, woman! What is it going to take to get you to talk?"

Ariella laughed. "I knew I could break you."

Michael sighed. He couldn't afford to lose. Not now.

Not when he was so close.

"Fine, I'll take pity on you just this once. What do you want to know?"

"What you meant by your comment. What was I the first person to do?"

"You were the first person I danced with," she replied, rather quickly.

"That's not it."

He searched her face, trying to find the answer.

"Was I the first person to make you feel something?"

Ariella didn't reply, and he knew he'd hit on it.

"Why can't you let me in?"

"Why can't you? Everybody who knows you, who cares about you, you push them away. I know it's because you need to protect yourself, but don't protect yourself so much you end up in a cocoon."

"I could say the same for you."

Ariella's eyes flashed.

"You know nothing about me. You don't know what I've been through, so you don't get to pass judgement on my choices."

Michael leaned back in the chair, trying to read between the lines of what Ariella was telling him.

"Someone hurt you. Tell me about it."

"Not tonight."

"Yes, tonight. Tell me. As a friend."

Ariella sighed.

"It was a long time ago."

"Was it your mother?"

"Yes, mostly. The things she did to me…I'm still suffering."

"What happened?" Michael asked, leaning forward.

"She abused me every chance she got. There was this room in the basement…she called it a 'punishing room'. She left me locked in a cage for hours, sometimes even days. It was like something out of a horror movie, or a BDSM-type situation."

Michael was horrified. "Did she…"

"No, but she allowed men to do whatever they wanted with me. It started when I was ten."

"Do you know who the men were?"

"Some of them were your father's clients. It was an insurance policy my mother had schemed up, to make sure your father kept his end of the bargain. Others were men she knew from God knows where."

"She allowed you to be raped so she could keep tabs on my father?! What kind of sick person does that?" Michael asked, barely concealing his rage.

"Someone who doesn't care about the repercussions of her actions."

"How long did this go on?"

"Three years. Then she set her sights on another goal."

"Which was?"

"Getting me completely into your family. She wanted me to marry you. It was just pure chance that I started to develop feelings for you."

"Of course it was."

"I'm not lying, I swear."

"Prove it."

"How am I supposed to…"

"Prove it," Michael repeated, his eyes hard as stone.

Without another word, Ariella got up and walked away.

She returned a few minutes later with a bundle in her hands, dropping it into his lap.

He opened it quickly, letters spilling out.

Ariella watched him intently as he read the letters to himself.

When he was finished, he looked at her.

"When did you write these?"

"When I was in college. I was maybe nineteen or twenty. I never sent them to you because it was never the right time."

"I see."

"So?"

"So what?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're a good writer," he replied, knowing exactly what she meant, but not rising to the bait.

"I meant…"

"I know."

The minutes ticked by as they sat in silence.

Michael waited. Waited for her curiosity to get the better of her.

Finally, she spoke. "Does it at least prove I wasn't lying?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. Your mother could have put you up to this."

"I'm no one's puppet."

"And yet you do everything I say."

"Because I care about you. I always have."

"You have a choice. You could walk away."

"Is it so hard to believe that I want to be near you?"

Strike one.

Michael stood up quickly, grabbing the front of Ariella's dress and hauling her off the couch.

"How about now?" he growled.

"Stop trying to scare me. It won't work."

"I know you hate losing control like this. Fight back. Show me what you're made of."

"Absolutely not."

"That wasn't a suggestion," he said, wrapping his hands around her throat.

"I am not going to…"

"You dirty little whore," he murmured, pushing her back against the wall.

Ariella's hands gripped his wrists tightly.

"Get. Off. Me. Now."

"Make me."

She pushed back, kneeing him in the groin. Hard.

"When I tell you to get off me, you do it."

Her tone brooked no argument.

Michael's eyes rolled back in his head, and Ariella smirked, satisfied.

Then he laid a hand on her shoulder, his fingers digging into her painfully.

His eyes darkened in a fascinating mix of anger and desire.

"Is that all you've got?" he taunted.

"That was just a test."

She spun him around so he was against the wall and pressed her lips to his neck, drawing blood.

"Let me show you what real domination is, Don Corleone."

Michael snarled, pulling Ariella's hair so hard strands of it came through his fingers.

Eventually, he let her up, enjoying the way his blood dripped down her chin.

He crushed her to him, wanting to taste her.

She moaned in his mouth, and he smiled against her lips.

"Enough," he said at last, stepping away from her.

Ariella opened her eyes, her mind spinning.

He kept his expression controlled as he asked, "Still want to be near me?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation.

"Glutton for punishment, are we?"

"If it's you doing the punishing, sure."

"Interesting."

"You don't look surprised."

"What is there to be surprised about? You've had a feisty tongue since the day I met you. I wouldn't want to change that now."

"Good."

"But you belong to me."

"I know."

"No, you don't know. I'm only going to tell you this once: you belong to me. Those other men, they're nothing. You're mine, whether you like it or not. Whether we're married or not. I don't love you that way. I will always show you affection, like I always have, and I will care for you as much as I am able, but I don't love you the way you want me to. And I won't apologize for it."

"I don't expect you to. There's only woman you love, and it's not me. And I understand that."

He could see she meant every word.

Maybe this could work. If he didn't have to give her his heart, he could do this.

"You're sure you're all right with my terms?"

Ariella nodded.

"Yes, I am. I'm not walking into this blind, and I don't expect anything from you but respect. You don't even have to tell me anything about the rest of the business if you don't want to. I won't ask questions. And I won't judge you. Ever."

"You've stuck with me this far, it seems only fair that I be completely honest with you about my affairs. If you were another woman, I wouldn't tell you anything. You understand that, right?"

"I do."

"But you and I have been best friends all our lives. I trust you in ways I don't trust anyone else. I know you would never betray me."

"Never. I'd die before I hurt you like that."

Michael nodded, seemingly satisfied with her responses.

"I trust you with my heart, but it doesn't mean I love you."

"I know," she said softly.

Ariella was furious. Furious at Fabrizio for destroying the one person Michael loved, furious at Kay for all the crap she had done to Michael, furious at Fredo for wanting to kill his own brother.

Her temple throbbed. How did Michael keep this much anger in him all the time and not deal with it?

Who says he doesn't deal with it? What do you think all those killings are for? Besides, you've dealt with enough yourself. How do you handle it?

"Ariella?"

She blinked, meeting Michael's eyes with a wan smile.

"I'm fine."

He stared at her, knowing she was lying.

She thought she was going to pass out.

Before she could do anything, Michael said, "Sit down."

She obeyed, waiting patiently.

Michael sat next to her, turning her to look at him.

Then he reached up, gently massaging her temples.

Ariella soon lost herself in his eyes, slowly forgetting her anger.

"How did you know?"

"We're very similar, you and I."

He kissed her forehead.

Then he was pressing gentle kisses all over her face, down her neck, up and down her arms, until she thought she might really pass out.

"I can be dominant and aggressive, but I can also be gentle and caring," he whispered against her skin.

He straightened up.

"Better?"

"Better," she answered.

She wanted to ask him a question, but decided against it.

He saw right through her. "Ask."

Ariella sighed. "Why don't you smile more often?"

"What is there to smile about?"

"But surely your children…"

"I love my children. Never doubt that."

"I don't. I just thought…"

"You haven't smiled in thirty years, Ariella. You think I don't notice that?"

"My situation is different. You chose this life. I didn't choose to be raped."

"True, but you did choose to work for me."

"I don't regret that."

"So what's your point?"

"I guess I thought…it doesn't matter what I thought."

"Yes, it does. Stop doing that. Stop assuming your opinions aren't valued. I chose you because of your strong opinions. Because of your honesty and your loyalty and trustworthiness. I want you to tell me when you think I've done something wrong. I'll listen to you. You know I will. I might not always agree, or always put it into practice, but I will consider it."

"Thank you."

"No need to thank me. What were you going to say?"

"I know you don't love me, but do you think…if Apollonia were alive and you were married to her, even with everything that's happened, do you think you would be happy?"

It was a thought that had crossed Michael's mind many times over the years since Apollonia's death. He had loved her with everything in him.

"It's a silly question. Of course you would."

"It's not silly, Ariella. I honestly don't know. I love her. She would definitely make me happy. But after everything I've done…I don't know that I deserve happiness."

"Of course you do! How can you say that?"

"I killed my own brother! Apollonia was killed because of me! I betrayed my family. And you think I deserve happiness? I deserve a jail cell. Or a grave." Michael retorted bitterly.

"No. You had to kill Fredo, he would have destroyed everyone. Apollonia did not die because of you. She died because of Fabrizio's greed. And your family? They would never hate you for what you've done. Would they be vastly disappointed? Yes. Would it break their hearts? Most definitely. Would they still love you? Of course."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I love you. Your children love you. Anna loves you. You have people in your corner who would die for you. Like Neri. He isn't going anywhere. And neither am I. I'm yours, Michael Corleone. Now and forever."

With that, Ariella pulled him to her, kissing him fervently.

"You don't have to love me for me to love you back. I love you regardless. You can count on it."

Their eyes met, and Ariella could see him visibly relax.

"Would you like to stay here tonight?" she asked gently.

He nodded, touched by her concern.

"Neri's outside, in case you were wondering."

Ariella rolled her eyes. "I know. He's been staring at me all night, making sure I don't hurt you. Which I would never do. I'll sleep here and you can take my bed."

"I'm not kicking you out of your bed, Ariella."

"All right, then. Whatever you want."

Ariella went to find him some clothes. Thankfully, her mother had never thrown anything out.

She returned a few minutes later.

"My father was about your height, maybe an inch taller. These should fit."

"Thank you."

"Of course."

Half an hour later, the two of them were lying in bed together.

"It's certainly been an interesting night," Michael said, turning to look at Ariella.

"Yes, it has."

"I hope I didn't scare you too badly."

"Not at all. I like your aggressive side."

Michael laughed softly.

"I've never heard any woman tell me that before."

Ariella was too focused on the sound of his laughter to reply.

"What?" he asked, puzzled.

"I can't remember the last time I heard you laugh that wasn't completely terrifying."

"Oh."

"It was beautiful. I want to keep hearing it."

She trailed a hand across his chest, then began tickling him.

He tried to keep from laughing, but couldn't.

Ariella smiled.

He quickly gained the upper hand, however, straddling her and tickling her ribs.

"Stop it, Michael!" Ariella exclaimed.

"Say please," he growled.

"Pretty please?"

"No."

Ariella's mouth fell open.

"You wicked…"

"Oh, I'm wicked, am I?" he said, continuing his exquisite torture.

"Okay, okay, you win! I surrender."

"That's what I like to hear," he murmured, kissing her softly, then falling back against the pillows.

He held her securely against him as they both drifted off to sleep.