Title: Sangue Protegge Sangue (Blood Protects Blood)

Author: Scribe

Fandom: The Godfather

Pairing: Sonny/Carlo (rape)

Status: Finished

Sequel/Series: The Sicilian Series

Archive: WWOMB, CKoS, others ask, provide credit and email address for feedback.

Criticism: Yes.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the estate of the late, great Mario Puzo.

Summary: When Connie's husband abuses her, big brother Sonny takes action in the most painful and humiliating way he can.

Author's Notes: The term Wop is used in this story to show Carlo's contempt for his wife's family. It in no way reflects my own beliefs. I played with the time line on this. In the movie, Sonny beats Carlo AFTER Michael kills The Turk and the police captain and flees America. I have chosen to have it happen before. There are historic records of male rape being used as a punishment and a tool of domination. That is what happens here. Sonny doesn't per se desire his brother-in-law, but the emotional high of rage is an aphrodisiac to Santino.

Translations: Capo di tutti capo roughly translates as 'head of all heads', in other words, the ultimate boss. Stronzo: bastard, shit. Cazzo: prick.

Warning: M/M rape.

Rating: NC-17

Sangue Protegge Sangue (Blood Protects Blood)

by Scribe

Sonny Corleone was fucking Lucy Mancini. He wasn't making love to her, he was fucking her. He didn't love Lucy. Oh, he liked her well enough. He was even fond of her, but love? He loved Sandra, his wife, and his daughters. He loved his family: Mom, Pop, Connie, Fredo, Michael...

Mikey.

Lucy gasped as Sonny's thrusts speeded up. It had been a nice, ordinary screw, then all of a sudden he's a rutting bull! She grabbed his ass and held on. She didn't know what the hell had
inspired this: probably a fantasy about some other woman. Whatever, she didn't care. She was getting the benefit.

Sonny closed his eyes and thought about Michael, how perfect his body had been: soft where it counted, but otherwise firm, sturdy, and almost as smooth as Lucy's. Gritting his teeth, imagining that the liquid heat that gripped him was his little brother's tight ass, he pounded his way to a climax.

When he was done he fell off of Lucy and stretched comfortably as she immediately got up to go douche. He had told her that she'd better be careful about that if she didn't want to catch pregnant, because he had no intention of using a rubber when he was sure he didn't have to worry about catching anything. And he didn't. Lucy was clean, and she damn sure knew that she'd better not be screwing around while she was bedding Sonny.

He listened to the gurgle of water in the bathroom. *Mikey again. Shit. Am I ever going to get over that? It was ONE time, more than eight years ago. Just one time.*

But what a time. The night of his daughters' birth he had gone to his parents' house to announce the good news and celebrate, only to find them gone, and Michael alone and drunk. He hadn't intended anything like what happened. Things had just... gotten out of hand. Michael had been a virgin, and maybe Sonny had been a little too eager, a little too rough with the kid. Maybe he should have started off by just rubbing off with him, but that ass... That ass had been too much to resist. And Michael had enjoyed it, he couldn't lie about that. The jism he shot all over Sonny's hand and the sheets proved that, didn't it?

But he was so distant after that. He'd gone off to that boarding school right after it, then college away from home, despite how Mom had begged him to live at home and a closer one. Then right into the army. He hadn't really kept in touch with anyone except Connie, they were still close, like they had been when Michael was little.

That hurt. Michael had been Sonny's pet when he was little, now... Christ, the kid actually seemed to AVOID him. He hardly said more than two words at a time when they met at family gatherings, like Connie's wedding. Speaking of which...

Sonny got up and started to get dressed. It was getting close to Connie's first anniversary, and he wanted to get another look around her apartment, to get some idea of what she needed. God knows that jerk she married couldn't provide her with what she deserved. He kept whining that the family wasn't giving him enough to run, all the while he didn't have enough balls to go out and accomplish anything on his own. If he had, Pop might have grown a little respect for him and given him more of the responsibility and power he craved.

Lucky came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a short robe. "You going so soon, Sonny?"

*Since when do I hang around? It's not like I've ever slept the night with her.* "Yeah. Gotta go see my kid sister."

Lucy leaned against the wall, watching as he tied his shoe laces. "You're always running off to be with your family." Lucy tried to make sure that it was just a statement, not an accusation.

Sonny looked at her sharply. "So? Family is the most important thing in the world to me, you know that."

Lucy thought, *So, go screw your family, then, if you love them so much!* She never said anything like that, though. Sonny didn't believe in hitting women, but he had his limits. Instead she said, "Sure. I know. Say hi to Connie for me, huh? I don't see her anymore."

Not surprising. Connie had quit speaking to Lucy when she realized that Sonny was having an affair with her. No one but Pop felt they could talk to Sonny about his infidelity, but Connie liked her sister-in-law, and supported her by snubbing her former friend when she found out that Lucy was Sonny's latest lover.

She followed him out to the front room. He put on his windbreaker, saying, "Friday, right?" Saturdays and Sundays he spent with his families. Friday night he spent with her. Unless there was some family get together. Or business. Or his buddies wanted to get up a card game. Lucy knew where she stood in the line of importance, and it wasn't all that damn high.

"Yeah, sure." He opened the door and she went to him for a good-bye kiss.

He pushed her back. "Luce, you wanna show yourself to the whole neighborhood? Christ, that robe leaves your ass hangin' out. Have a little respect for yourself, huh?" He dropped a quick peck on her cheek and was gone.

She shut the door, fuming. "Respect myself?" She wanted to destroy something, but even in her sorrow and fury she couldn't be a violent person. She snatched a magazine off the hall table and threw it.

It should have just fluttered harmlessly, but it caught a vase of flowers just right and knocked it over. Lucy cried out in dismay as the delicate porcelain shattered, spraying water and pink carnations across the floor.

Lucy squatted and began gingerly picking up the shards of porcelain, then sat on the floor beside the mess and started crying. After a moment she wiped her cheeks. *Fuck. I didn't used to be so emotional. It's that goddam Sonny. I wish I had the nerve to tell him to get lost. What good is he doing me? He'll never leave his wife. All I am is his whore, and that's all I'll ever be.*

She sighed and went into the bathroom to wash her face. She was feeling a little queasy, and opened the medicine chest in search of some Pepto. As she was reaching for the bottle of lurid pink liquid, her eyes fell on a sheet of paper taped to the inside of the mirror.

She frowned, looking at it. It was a calendar page for this month. There was a discreet red circle around a date. As Lucy looked at it, she suddenly realized that it represented a day that had come and gone more than two weeks ago. The bottle slipped from her fingers, shattering in the sink, and she almost started crying again. "Son-of-a-BITCH! When did I get so clumsy?"

She ripped the sheet off the mirror, put the lid down on the toilet, and sat on it. She stared at the paper. No, that wasn't a mistake. She should have started her period seventeen days ago, give or take a day. And she was NEVER late. Her courses had come every month within 48 hours of the expected day since she'd been thirteen.

She thought about the recent mood swings, and the nausea she'd been experiencing with no good reason. She opened the robe and stared down at her still flat belly questioningly. "But I douche. I douche every single time, right away." And she knew how hopelessly naive that statement was. It was almost as bad as whining, "But I COULDN'T get pregnant... he didn't kiss me/we did it standing up/it was my first time."

"Oh, no," she whispered. A baby? Unwed motherhood was NOT a good thing. She patted her tummy hesitantly. Not that she wouldn't WANT a baby, she'd love to have one. Maybe a little boy, a little dark-haired, dark eyed boy. She started to smile slightly. "So, family means everything to you, Sonny? Well, Daddy, I'm real glad to hear that."

**********************************************

Sonny drove to Connie's apartment, mind pleasantly occupied with thoughts of what he'd get her to celebrate her anniversary. Not that he really thought there was anything to celebrate. Carlo was a sorry excuse for a husband, in Sonny's opinion. But then, he supposed that no one would ever have been good enough for his little sister. Still, he couldn't help but wish that Connie had come a little closer to what she deserved.

And he couldn't blame it on her HAVING to get married. They'd been married close to a year, and Connie was only four months along in her first pregnancy. Sonny was really excited about this. He was finally going to get to be an uncle.

*I'm an uncle, twice!* Michael's excited exclamation when he'd heard about the twins flickered across Sonny's mind. He'd been so happy, so proud. Sonny resolutely pushed down the other memory, the memory of that same young voice, hurt and confused, saying *Stop it, Sonny! I don't like you touching me!*

He knocked at the door and waited, listening to footsteps approach from inside. The door opened on a chain. Good, she was being cautious. A sliver of face appeared at the crack. "Sonny. I... I wasn't expecting you."

"Since when I gotta have an invitation, Con? Come on, lemme in."

"I'm kinda tired."

"What is this? I came all the way over here just to see my little sister, and she's too tired to see me for a minute?" Connie hesitated, then shut the door. Another moment, and she opened it.
He stepped in, and she moved away from him, turning away. Puzzled, Sonny shut the door. "What's the matter?" When she didn't respond he went to her, touching her shoulder. "Huh? What's the matter?" She turned to him.

Sonny froze, biting his knuckles in a sudden fit of emotion. No, froze was the wrong word, because a flame of rage had ignited in his belly when he saw the cut lip and the bluish bruise spreading up her cheek and around her eye. He knew instantly what had happened. It was so clear that Connie didn't even try to deny it. She saw the look in his eyes and said frantically, "It was my fault!"

Sonny's voice was quiet. "Where is he?"

"Sonny, please, it was my fault." Her brother stared silently. "Sonny, it was my fault! I hit him. I started a fight with him. Please..." Her voice broke. "let me be. I hit him, so he hit me. I didn't--I--"

Sonny took her in his arms, rocking her comfortingly. "Sh sh sh sh sh. Okay. I'm just--uh--I'm just gonna get a doctor to come and take a look at you, all right?"

Connie clutched at him, crying. "Sonny, please don't do anything!"

"Hey, what's the matter with you?" he chided gently. "What am I gonna do? You think I'm gonna make that baby an orphan before he's born, or what? Hm?" Connie laughed reluctantly. "All right." He kissed her forehead. "I'm gonna go talk to a doctor and send him to look at you. You go lie down, right? We gotta make sure the baby is okay."

She wiped her face. "Yeah, Sonny." She started toward the bedroom, then looked back at him pleadingly. "Sonny? It really WAS my fault." She shuffled into the bedroom. Sonny's smile faded, and his eyes got hard. He whispered. "No, it wasn't."

*********************************

Carlo and a few of his toadies were lounging outside the building where he ran the tiny bookie concession his in-laws had given him. it was shit, and he knew it was shit, but he ran it like he was capo di tutti capo.

Carlo watched as a plump man left the building, adjusting his tie. "That fat slob's still bettin' the Yankees pretty heavy?" One of the men nodded. "You tell 'em to stop takin' action on 'em, all
right? We lost enough money last week on the game." He didn't add *And my wife's family wasn't too fuckin' pleased about it.*

He was really getting pissed with the Corleones, all of them. His wife was a whiny bitch, her old man was a niggardly stuffed shirt who wouldn't admit it was time for him to retire and leave the business to younger, more vigorous people (like, say, Carlo), Sonny was a hot-headed peasant, Fredo was a pathetic weakling, and Michael was a prig. He was beginning to think that he'd made a bad bargain. He'd expected so much, being Don Vito Corleone's only son-in-law, and now this: a pathetic bookie operation that couldn't even let him keep a mistress like any other self respecting hard guy.

And it would have been difficult enough to get out of it before. Now that the stupid cow had gotten herself knocked up he was well and truly caught. It was aggravating. Just last night she'd given him a hard time about going out to see his girlfriend, and he'd had to slap her around a little, just to show her where she stood in their relationship.

When the two big cars came roaring up the road and screeched to a halt right in front of him, he knew something was wrong. When four bodyguards piled out of one, and Sonny Corleone got out of the other, blood in his eye, he knew he was in trouble.

Sonny threw a sawed-off broom handle at him, bouncing it off his chest even at that distance. "You! Carlo, come'ere!" Carlo started to back peddle. "Come'ere, come'ere!"

Carlo had observed Sonny's encounter with the photographer at his wedding. Somehow he knew that, if Sonny caught him, he wouldn't get off that easily. He ran. It was a short chase. Sonny caught him before he could go a half a block. "You bastard!"

No other preliminaries: Sonny just started beating him. Back down the street Sonny's bodyguards were holding back Carlo's few underlings, who frankly weren't too keen on going to their boss' rescue. Carlo operated on the principle of always making sure his subordinates KNEW they were subordinate, and he didn't generate a great deal of loyalty.

Sonny used both his fists and his feet. Carlo was too scared to make any kind of real retaliation, even though he was a match for Sonny in size and strength. The thing was, if he really HURT Sonny, he was likely to end up in a landfill somewhere, and he knew it. The most he could do was try to defend himself a little and pray that Sonny's rage expended itself before he was seriously hurt.

Sonny was snarling at him as he beat him. "You hit my sister, huh? You gonna use Connie as a punching bag, stronzo? She's pregnant, asshole! She's carryin' YOUR baby, an' you knock her around!" Face, belly, kidneys, face... Carlo was pretty sure his nose was broken. He'd been proud of his nose: short and straight, not like the beaks some of those Wops had.

Sonny kept trying to drag him out into the middle of the street. Carlo instinctively grabbed hold of the metal fence that surrounded the stairwell that led down to the basement entrance of a building. Sonny jerked at him, swearing violently in American and Sicilian while Carlo shrieked, "I'm sorry, Sonny, I'm sorry! Jesus, God, don't kill me! Don't kill me!"

Sonny kicked him. "Not only a woman beater but a fuckin' coward, too!" He suddenly bit Carlo's knuckles, and Carlo let go of the fence, howling in pain. Sonny heaved him over the railing he'd been clinging to.

Carlo was lucky that it was only a few steps deep, or he could have been brained. As it was he was stunned. Sonny came down the steps, into the well with him. He tried the door and found it unlocked. Shoving it open, he grabbed Carlo under the arms and dragged him into the dim interior.

Carlo started to kick frantically, certain that Sonny had brought him here to murder him without witnesses. "No, Sonny, please! Ya can't! They saw you take me in here. If you kill me, they'll talk. You'll hafta kill all of them, too, and if you do..."

A violent blow to his head stilled him. "Shut up, asshole! I ain't gonna kill ya. I promised Connie I wouldn't, dammit. You're shit, but she fuckin' loves you, so I ain't gonna kill you. But you're
gonna wish you was dead."

Carlo felt a wash of relief. *Okay, I'll live. I'm gonna be in pain for awhile, but I'll live. And while there's life, there's a chance for revenge.*

His thoughts were interrupted when his brother-in-law hauled him to his feet and threw him face down over a large packing crate. "Drop your pants."

"What? Sonny, I don't understand..." Sonny punched him hard, right over his kidneys, and Carlo yelled. He was going to piss pink for awhile.

"Why should I waste my energy on you? Beatings are for men, Carlo. You--you I'm gonna strap. Drop your goddam pants." With trembling hands Carlo undid his pants and pushed them down while Sonny took off his belt. "What? You think you get to have padding? All of it, cazzo." When Carlo hesitated, Sonny ripped his underwear down, baring his ass. Doubling the belt in his fist, he swung it, hard.The leather slapped across Carlo's ass with a muted pop, and he yelled. "Ah, shit, ya baby! That ain't nothin' compared to what you're GONNA get."

"Sonny, I said I was sorry! It's enough..."

Sonny put his free hand on the back of Carlo's neck, pushing his face down on the rough wood. "It's enough when I SAY it's enough." He started to swing the belt in a quick, steady rhythm, his force increasing till it sounded like firecrackers going off when the strap connected with Carlo's bare butt.

Carlo jumped and squirmed, but he couldn't escape. He was weak and dizzy from the one sided fight and the fall, and he was off balance in this position. Sonny controlled him easily. It was humiliating, and it HURT. He'd almost rather have had the beating. Like Sonny said, men took beatings, little boys took whippings. And this was bad. His old man had been one of those that believed in grounding or removing privileges as punishment. Aside from a few light swats with a soft hand from his mother, he'd never experienced corporal punishment. This was a hell of a way to start. Every time the belt landed now, it was like he was being licked by fire.

Sonny was breathing hard as he swung the belt, listening to the leather whistle through the air before the sharp crack as it fell against Carlo's quivering buttocks. Someone who didn't know Sonny would have thought that he was raging out of control, but that wasn't true. For Sonny, he had shown remarkable restraint so far. If he'd let himself go, Carlo would have been dead by now.

But what he'd done so far still wasn't enough to cool the fury that was bubbling inside him. Sonny knew that if he didn't find some way to quench it, he WOULD kill his brother-in-law, and he couldn't have that: he'd promised his sister.

As he laid another bright red stripe across the welts that already crisscrossed Carlo's rump, Sonny suddenly realized that he was hard. This happened often when his temper got out of hand. It must have something to do with the massive amounts of adrenaline that was dumped into his bloodstream, the high level of emotions. In any case, it was the classic fuck-or-fight proposition. Up till now he'd always fought, and had managed to damp down the urges before he actually killed anyone, but he was close now. The temptation was there to just smash Carlo's head against the brick wall till what little brains he had oozed out his ears. But he couldn't, so that left only one option.

Carlo almost sobbed in relief when he heard the belt hit the floor. It was over, thank God. He didn't realize what was going on when he heard the sound of a zipper being undone. Then Sonny said, "No, you ain't a man, Carlo. But you ain't a woman, either, so what does that make you? Huh? I guess that makes you a bitch, and what do you do with bitches?"

Carlo's eyes opened wide in horror as he felt Sonny grab his hip with one hand, blunt fingers bruising, and pulled aside one cheek with the other, baring Carlo's anus. Carlo scrabbled at the planks he was lying over, panting, "Jesus, Sonny, no! NO!"

His voice rose in a scream as Sonny entered him with one hard thrust. No preparation, no lubricant, no experience. It felt like he was being reamed with a burning baseball bat. Carlo shrieked worse than a sixteen-year-old virgin being raped on her wedding night.

Sonny cuffed him on the back of the head, knocking his bruised face back into the boards. "Shut up, asshole! Just take your fucking medicine and SHUT UP!" He began to fuck the other man with short, punishing jabs. Carlo didn't even try to endure it. He sobbed, begged, and wailed as Sonny pounded into his rectum.

Sonny moved quickly toward climax, but it was from pure physical stimulation. It was a little difficult, even uncomfortable at first. But after the first few strokes the blood eased the way a
little. He found nothing at all attractive about Carlo, but the man's ass was tight and hot, and his squirming made it clench even tighter.

About halfway through the rape, Carlo gave up. He didn't faint, but he went limp, whimpering as Sonny finished satisfying himself. He moaned again when he felt the hot pulse of sperm deep in his bowels as Sonny emptied his balls.

When he was through Sonny pulled out and used Carlo's underwear to wipe himself clean before putting his cock away and zipping up. Then he grabbed his brother-in-law by the hair and dragged him upright. Staring into the frightened, pain-filled eyes he said, "You touch her
again, and I'll kill you."

When he let go, Carlo collapsed. Sonny started to walk to the door, then turned back and landed one more kick for good measure before leaving.

Carlo wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball on the floor and just cry, but he couldn't. His men would be coming to check on him shortly, and he couldn't let them see him like this. He couldn't let anyone know. If word ever got out that Sonny Corleone had fucked him in the ass, his life would be over. No one would ever take him seriously again. Sonny? Sonny would survive the incident without too many repercussions. He was, after all, the Don's son, and this
would be viewed as a crude way of exacting justice for Carlo's treatment of his sister.

Carlo managed to pull his pants on and fasten them. He hid his ruined underwear behind some boxes, and prayed that he wouldn't bleed so bad that it would run down his leg before he could get somewhere and do something about it, maybe use some toilet tissue as a plug.

He pushed himself shakily to his feet and leaned against the wall as he heard footsteps and voices approaching the outside stairwell. They'd find him still standing when they came in.

Carlo closed his eyes, and thought, *Fuck you, Sonny. Fuck you and your family, all the Corleones. You try to keep me on the outside, but I still have an in, and one of these days I'm gonna use it. You're gonna be very dead, and I'm gonna be very rich, and then we'll be even. I'm gonna fuck you worse than you ever THOUGHT about fucking me.*

END