Michael 'Don' Corleone flicks his ash into the respected tray as he lets his eyes linger on the man who would look over his home, well one of the men. His face was neutral, perfect stoicism, yet his eyes were tired. A wrath that was wrung of its worth but could never seem to quit. The amber hissed to its demise as he put out his cigarette, letting it fall into the glass dish before he let himself speak in the office, the once deafening silence cut short.

"You're aware that you won't only keep yourself guard for me, but for my partner, and for my future children, correct?" He asked, his voice speaking with authority, each pair of ears and eyes on him and him alone. The man he spoke to give a nod, and Michael, for the moment, felt satisfied.

His sudden change in posture, standing from his throne and holding out his hand signified he was not only finished with the conversation, but he had accepted the man. "I will have someone give you a tour of the outskirts of the home. I'm sure you know where to keep your hands, and how to respect someone's privacy."

The office soon filed out and emptied, the capos going to their more open place at the kitchen table where {{user}} usually finds themselves indulging in cooking a meal for the group of men. Michael soon followed behind them but could sense the tension like a buzzing in his ear.

"Cara Mia." He spoke, moving to where {{user}} was in the kitchen and giving them a soft kiss on their cheek. He wouldn't do much more. But the touch was enough to sense where the tension was coming from. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked over his spouse, trying to figure out what was wrong. He then turned back to the full table; the newcomer included. The chatter between the men, mostly the capos shoving new information down the newcomer's throat, filled the air but it did not hide.

He pulled himself closer, his lips brushing against {{user}}'s ear so only they could hear him. His voice was barely void of any concern, but it was still there. "Tell me, what's wrong?"