A/N: I wrote this while watching The Godfather. I always hoped maybe Michael wasn't going to be left by Kay, and then she did. It occurred to me that she never understood what had to be done in Michael's eyes. She didn't understand the family and therefore didn't understand Michael. This is just a one-shot of Michael musing on his past, now he's old. I might make the story longer, I don't know, I guess it depends on the interest. Rhea
Disclaimer: I own naught but the stuff you don't recognise.
She knew what went on in the family, she knew what had to be done, she knew and never asked anyone to change it. She'd grown up around it, even helped in some cases. She was from a unique family. She was allowed to understand the business, when her brothers were learning so was she. No one would do business with her, to the outsiders it seemed ridiculous that one of the Don's of the Five Families might do business with a woman. She was not that naïve, to think she would ever take over her family. That would be left to her brothers, or the man she married: not her. But because she knew, because she understood, she was a prime target for the sons of the New York families.
When I first noticed her she was nineteen. Nineteen and beautiful. Eyes, green eyes that were bright enough to start traffic going. Dark hair, with a slight reddish hue mixed in with the traditional Sicilian brown. Olive skin, so smooth, so soft like silk. She was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Not even Kay could ever match up to her.
She was a member of a family, a well known family; the Cavallisi family were as established as the Corleone's. My father was her Godfather, and her father was mine. We'd seen each other a lot as children, we'd play together, but as we got older, we went our separate way, her always in the background, listening to the meetings between her father, brothers and the consigliere: Antonio Dante.
She was sometimes even in the meetings between other families and her own, watching silently from the sides. I know that my father often would bring her into the meetings between him and her father, Marco Cavallisi. He wanted to know what she thought. He did not underestimate anyone my father, he knew she was bright, logical, knew what action was necessary and when. He once said it was a pity she would never get to run her family. My father, Don Vito Corleone said that if she ran a family, she would be a great Donna. Her oldest brother, Niccolò took over after her father died.
She was good at reading people. It was all the watching from the sidelines. She could read anyone like a book: even the best. She could sit for hours and watch people walk, sit, read, they could tilt their head a little and she would know what they were thinking.
She was everything anyone could have ever wanted. She was almost mine, and I Michael Francis Corleone left her for a wife who left me. She would've stayed, no matter what. I see that now, even though it's far too late. But I often wonder what might have happened if I had just seen what she was, what she meant to me.
Her name was Luciana Cavallisi and I... I've loved her for all these years, and not even known it.