Michael Corleone never wanted to be a part of it, his family's crime, but things happen. Everything was in his hands. But she entered to hold that hand and stand beside him without questions.
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1946
Days had passed since the night at the hospital, new years eve had just gone by. I oscillated between nursing Vito and attempting to aid Michael's broken jaw, my sole priorities in those tumultuous times. The hospital granted me a single day off, a rare respite, and I had already briefly seen Michael in the morning.
During the phone call, I found myself in the company of Connie. As she handed me a cup of coffee, I couldn't help but express my concerns.
"Connie, I know it's none of my business, but this needs to stop. I can't keep coming over here and seeing you like this," I told her solemnly as we settled on the sofa.
"You avoided my question, Y/n. What happened with you and Michael that night?" Connie pressed, attempting to divert to a less serious topic.
"Nothing, Con. I just helped him with his jaw," I answered vaguely. She gave me a scrutinizing look before laughing.
"Don't try to fool me, Y/n Aguilar. You two are suddenly always close to one another, standing next to each other when we're all together. Always looking at one another," Connie shook her head, and I leaned back against the cushions.
"I don't know. What do you want me to say?" I huffed, my own confusion mirroring in my words.
"I want you to tell me if there's anything going on between you two," Connie stated firmly, placing her coffee cup down and meeting my eyes. I could sense her determination not to let the subject slide.
"You wanna know? OK, fine, I'll tell you what I know," I replied, equally determined. "In all honesty, I don't fucking know, Connie. I care for your brother so much that I start to question if I love him or not. But he wants a woman who's the opposite of the family. He wants someone who's pure and hasn't seen the stuff we've seen, so he can hang onto that tinge of his longing to be completely disassociated from his roots. Someone like Kay. And that's fine, Connie, that's fine. I'd wait for your brother, but I'm not one to wait a lifetime, or worse, be a mistress."
I concluded my rant, taking a deep breath and exhaling. Connie blinked at me, somewhat shocked. She continued to stare, so I pulled out a cigarette, placed it between my lips, and lit it. As I sat back against the sofa, inhaling the smoke, I couldn't help but reflect on my need to quit this habit.
"You're right, you know. About Michael. He wants someone who'll remind him of that perfect American life. At some point, he needs to realize that a girl like Kay won't be able to handle it all, no matter how hard she tries," Connie responded, and I shrugged.
"He won't, though. And that's what makes me so confused when he hits me with those eyes that seem so full of interest," I stated dryly, looking at her with a defeated expression.
"I know you're not fully Italian, but you're still half, and the other half is at least Spanish. Y/n, he's so blind; you two are perfect for each other," she almost yelled, and I shrugged yet again.
