lie. - Michael Corleone

- Five

1946

I didn't know my father that well. However I do remember his funeral. I was young so I didn't really understand why everyone around me was crying. At home, my mother, dressed in all back and a cigarette in hand as she sobbed, caught a glimpse of me staring at her. I remember her summoning me over to sit on her lap as she tried to hold back her tears.

"You know mi amore, love and power can be a dangerous game but that it was the funnest game to play." She told me, stroking my hair.

"I don't understand." I told her, furrowing my eyebrows.

"Y/n, there are two things you need to know in your life; follow your heart, and don't ever betray the Corleones." She said to me firmly and I, still confused as back then I only knew them as family friends, nodded. 

Although I don't know why she felt the need to tell me that day, I understood. And to this day, I have never strayed from those two rules my mother told me to follow. 

I stood outside Michael's apartment door, just standing still and thinking. I prayed to God he wasn't looking at me through the peep hole, but I was too lost in my spiraling mind to even worry about it.

I remember thinking about how absurd this all was. As I had said before, I knew Michael would probably be the best fit to run the family business - he had a cold side, but smart, composed in his anger. But for some reason, I never thought I would see the day he actually would change - he also had this hidden sweet and charming side, an inner innocence that I absolutely adored.

I plucked up the courage to finally knock on the door for my 'daily check up', and Michael answered almost immediately after. I was met by those dreamy hazel eyes and my breath hitched slightly. 

"Hey." I stated quietly, as if scared to actually talk. His eyes light up a bit.

"Hey." He replied. "Come in."

I couldn't help but steal glances at Michael as I nursed a sore jaw. We were sitting in the small living room, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

Me, feigning nonchalance, finally broke the silence. "So, how's the jaw? Holding up okay?"

Michael, his eyes meeting mine briefly, responded with a wry smile. "It's seen better days, but I'll survive. It's annoying to talk like this"

I nodded, crossing my arms. "Well, you did get yourself into quite the mess. You're going to be speaking like you have food in the left side of your mouth for a while."

He chuckled nervously, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Yeah, well, trying to handle things the family way got a bit messy." Something about the way he said 'family way' made me annoyed. 

I tilted my head, my face flat with no emotion. "The family way, huh? Little Mikey is getting into the dirty work finally." My tone carried resentment and Michael could tell, looking up quickly to read my face.

Michael's eyes met mine again, a glint of worry shining through. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

I shrugged, leaning back a little. "You know Michael, you always resented the family's ways, you even tried to bring a poor innocent girl into this mess of a business."

Michael's jaw tightened, and he shot back, standing up abruptly, "She wasn't innocent, and you know it. You think I wanted her involved? I tried to keep her out of it, but she wanted to be with me."

I scoffed, frustration bubbling within me. "Oh, how noble of you. Protecting her innocence by dragging her into a life of crime and danger. Real heroic, Michael. And don't give me that bullshit, you knew she wasn't fit for this life."

His eyes blazed with anger, mirroring the storm within me. "I'm doing what's necessary for this family. I'm stepping up when others are too blinded by sentimentality to see the bigger picture."

I stood abruptly, my anger reaching its peak. "Blinded by sentimentality? Maybe some of us still believe in something beyond power and control. Maybe some of us actually care about the people we love."

Michael pointed.hus finger at me, the tension between us palpable. "And what do you care about, huh? The hospital? Patching up wounds while turning a blind eye to the realities of the world? You're living in a fantasy, Y/n."

My eyes narrowed, and I retorted, "At least I'm not sacrificing everything I used to believe in for the sake of power."

Michael's eyes bore into mine with a mixture of defiance and urgency. "You don't understand the choices I have to make."

"Choices?" I spat, my words a reflection of the hurt and frustration swelling within me. "Who told you you needed to kill Sollozzo and McCluskey, huh? You volunteered, Michael!"

The room crackled with tension, and he stared intensely into my eyes. "How do you know about that?"

Silence lingered for a moment, broken only by the heavy breaths from my yelling. I turned my gaze towards the window, attempting to divert the intensity of the situation.

"Y/n, how do you know?" He raised his voice again, and my attention snapped back to him.

"I heard you. How the hell else, Michael!" I declared, and he sighed, the gravity of his actions settling in.

"Why do you suddenly care, huh? Why do you suddenly care about Kay, about what I do?" Michael's question cut through the air with sharpness.

"Because..." I began, only to cut myself off with a breath. My voice softened, carrying a weight of sorrow. "Because." It was difficult to articulate. As I spoke, Michael's expression shifted, a hint of guilt softening his features.

"Say it," Michael urged, his tone changing, and I felt a sharp knot in my chest, a tingling sensation welling up in my eyes.

I looked down at my feet, shutting my eyes tightly, determined to suppress the tears threatening to escape. I heard his footsteps near me and I suddenly feel his hands as they cupped my cheeks, forcing me to look up. The warmth of his touch contrasted with the emotional storm between us. I shook my head as a tear slipped down my cheek.

"Shhhh." Michael hushed as his thumb grazed my cheek to rid of the tear. 

God those eyes, they had much beneath them, I got lost in them as he looked down at me. His lips brushed gently against mine, a fleeting moment of connection that left me breathless. 

"Y/n, I'm sorry," Michael whispered softly against my lips, an apology that hung in the charged air.