A/N: Hey all! So, I was watching The Godfather and felt strangely inspired to write out the plot bunny bouncing in my head. Not sure where it's going ... or if it's even going anywhere...but here it is! Oh, and some things to note: this is placed in modern times, they live in chicago (not a fan of las vegas...), and Michael has 5 kids (Michael Jr. Anthony, Santino, Vincent, and Mia - in order of birth)...um...i'll let you know of any other deviations as they arise :D ENJOY! :D
Chapter One
Mia Corleone was the only daughter of the Godfather, a fact she both understood and embraced. She had known who her father really was since childhood, had known before her four older brothers had even become suspicious, and she had known before her mother had stopped pretending to be gaily ignorant of it all.
She would always remember the day her mother left – it was the last time she had seen Kay as her mother.
It was two days after her fifth birthday, which had been a splendidly over-decorated event. Having heard raised voices, Mia had wandered towards the source – her father's office. She stood uncertainly outside of the room, knowing she shouldn't listen in but unable to deny that insatiable curiosity her father swore would get her killed.
She caught snippets – mostly her mother – and swiftly realized her mother was done feigning obliviousness. Mia had already known by then, at that tender age of five, who and what her father was – even if she didn't fully understand what it all meant.
"Can't keep living like this Michael!" Kay exclaimed
Mia crept closer to the door to hear her father's response.
"You knew…married me."
"No. No, I didn't. I thought I was marrying YOU not your family," she shouted.
"Don't…to me. I am my family."
"I can't do this anymore," she declared quietly, so quietly that Mia almost missed it. Her eyes widened. She heard her mother's heels clicking toward the doorway, and Mia hastily scurried down the hallway and up the stairs. She sat there, face pressed between the balustrades, as her mother stomped out.
"I'm leaving you Michael."
Mia gasped softly.
"And the kids?" her father's voice was eerily calm, the undercurrent of suppressed anger barely audible to all except those who knew him well.
"I can't do this," she turned, and placed her hand on the front doorknob.
"If you leave, you're never coming back," there was a steely edge to his voice, and a promise.
"Why would I want to come back?" she whispered, opened the door and walked into the bright sunlight.
Her father had not seen her watching from behind the railing of the stairs, something she was certain of because he'd never show such emotion and weakness before her. And in that moment, watching her strong and powerful father's face crumple, she had sworn she'd never forgive Kay for doing this.
Michael Corleone had stuck to his promise. The next day he had told every guard and every member of the Family that Kay was no longer one of theirs. She was not to be allowed in the house or near the children. Ever.
But that wasn't the last time Mia had seen Kay. A few months later, her Aunt Connie had volunteered to baby-sit them for the day.
Aunt Connie had nervous and fidgety all day. Although Mia had initially attributed it to her aunt being unsettled around five rambunctious children, as the day wore on and Connie's anxiety increased, Mia wondered what exactly it was she was up to.
The answer became clear soon enough.
The doorbell rang, and Aunt Connie sprung up like a tightly coiled spring towards the front door. Mia followed her curiously, and watched as the door swung open and Kay awaited tersely behind it. The two women embraced swiftly, bound together not only by marriage, but the unspoken ties of living in this family.
Aunt Connie had hurriedly ushered Kay in, calling out in her high terse voice for the boys to come in, Auntie Connie had a surprise for them.
Her mother had smiled weakly at her then and reached forward to lift Mia into her arms. Mia shook her head at this and backed away, her hands and back against the mahogany, foyer walls as she scurried down the hall and up the stairs to the first landing. She could still see the proceedings, and her mother could see her there, sitting and watching.
She remembered how devastated her mother had looked then and how quickly she had buried that expression beneath a broad smile as her brothers raced into the house. Her Aunt had tsked at her, but said nothing else, knowing that it was fruitless to try to change her mind.
Her brothers had gone readily enough, eagerly jumping into Kay's open arms and excitedly babbling at her. Well, all of them except her oldest brother, Michael.
He had stood uneasily by, already mature for a boy of nine, as his three younger brothers greeted their mother. But after a few tense moments of her kneeling there, arms open and eyes hopeful, and amid the insistent shouts of their Aunt, he too had reluctantly hugged her.
Mia had watched from the landing as the six of them happily moved into the living area and she had listened as they had merrily reacquainted themselves. She heard her brothers' bright chatter, each one enthusiastically recounting old stories, their voices overlapping at times and her mother's softly murmured responses and tinkling laughter. A small part of her – a very small part of her, she told herself firmly – wanted to jump up and join them. To go in there and sit on her mother's lap and tell her own stories as her mother soothingly stroked her hair and as she played with her mother's jewelry and pretty blonde hair – so much prettier than her own dark, black hair.
But she had stopped herself, because she could still see the day her mother had left, could still hear the slam of the door behind her as she deserted her children, and still see her father's heart break before her very eyes. It was the last that was the most unforgiveable.
She was still sitting there on the landing, when she heard Connie insist her mother leave, and she heard them shuffle reluctantly towards the back door. Her aunt's voice became more piercing and adamant, as the time for her father's arrival ticked closer and closer. But from her position, she could see the front door open even as she heard her mother's tear-ridden voice.
Racing down the steps, she launched herself at her father, who nimbly picked her up, his hand drawing her head close to him. She could feel him stiffen upon hearing the exchange in the other room, and she steadfastly kept her head against his shoulder and clutched him tighter.
He strode into the other room, and all sound died down. Mia lifted her head and saw her mother standing outside the door, her brother Vincent a few feet in front of her. Her father said nothing and shut the door in her mother's teary, shocked face.
Wordlessly, he had stalked back to his office, still carrying her, and Aunt Connie had followed behind him, frantically attempting to justify herself. He had pivoted at the door, stared coldly at her until she stopped gibbering, and closed the door. Settling himself in the large, squashy chair behind his desk, he finally breathed a heavy sigh, and Mia snuggled closer to him.
They sat in silence for the rest of the afternoon.
Mia never knew what transpired between her father and Aunt Connie after that day. Needless to say, she was no longer a frequent visitor (not that she ever really was) to the house, and clearly was never trusted with the children again.
But, she and her father had only grown closer since that day. She had always been precious to him, being his only daughter in a house full of men and boys, but something changed that day when she chose him over Kay, something she still couldn't put her finger on.
Yet, despite their closeness – or perhaps because of it – Mia had always felt the need to prove herself to him, that she was as smart as the boys, as brave, as fun, as strong, as good.
And that was exactly what she was going to do today, she nodded resolutely to herself in the mirror, shrugging off those old memories. She straightened her exquisitely-tailored suit jacket, adjusted her blouse, and smoothed out her skirt before smiling broadly in the mirror.
Perfect.
Mia hurried down the stairs and stopped at the front door, calling out to her father, "Daddy, I'm going out."
"Wait."
She grinned to herself as her father walked out of his office. "Where are you going?"
"To work," she rolled her eyes, where else would she be going in a suit for Christ's sake?
"Don't roll your eyes at me. And since when do you work?"
"I told you yesterday!" she protested indignantly.
He furrowed his brow.
"You weren't listening to me, were you?" she accused.
"Yes, I was. Yesterday you said you were looking for work."
"Yeah, so today I'm going to work."
"All right. Have fun."
"Aren't you going to ask me where I'm going to work?"
"No."
"Fine. I'll tell you anyway. I'm working at a strip club," she stifled a laugh as she watched a few guys that worked for her father gape. He, of course, didn't blink.
"Well have fun," he turned to leave.
Mia pouted.
"Nice daddy. Really? You don't care if I work at a strip club?"
He turned back to her, "Of course I care sweetie. But if you really want to work at a strip club, who am I to stop you?"
"Mean," she pouted again.
He sighed. "You win. Where are you working?"
"At the Chicago Tribune!" she grinned excitedly.
"Really?" he asked her curiously, his full attention back on her.
"Yes!"
"Congratulations honey," he smiled, a rarity which she reveled in, and hugged her tightly.
"Thanks daddy. And bye, I'll see you tonight," she opened the door and paused. "Oh and I'm glad you don't mind me working at a strip club because a guy offered me a modeling gig. Bye," she chirped.
"Funny," he called after her.
"I'm glad you think so, because I'm not joking," she yelled back as she got into sixteenth-birthday gift, a gorgeous black Miata.
"We'll talk about this when you get home," he said sternly.
"Whatever you say Daddy," she grinned as the car revved to life, and then immediately cranked up the music.
"Mia," he called out warningly.
She rolled her eyes, and obligingly turned it down a little. "Spoil sport," she muttered.
"I heard that."
"Good," she yelled as she rolled out of the driveway and through the gates of the estate, waving spastically to Jamie in the booth who made a face in response.
**
"My daughter. Working at a newspaper," Michael marveled to himself as he returned to his office. He shut the door securely behind him and sat down at his desk.
Reclining back, he thought about his youngest child. Although he knew that parents were supposed to love their children equally, and he did love all his children, he knew that his only daughter would always hold a special place in his heart.
She was so much like him.
And so completely different.
Michael was a hard man, the marines and years of running a crime family had guaranteed that but Mia… Mia had all of his strength without any of his brutality. She had his will, his drive, his sense of obligation, and his intelligence but none of his coldness, his ruthlessness. God knows she wasn't perfect. Prone to selfishness more than selflessness, flights of fancy, and narcissism, Mia was far from perfect. But in this life of darkness and sin, she was undeniably good.
She had grown up well, was a fiercely independent and capable girl, woman, he corrected himself, despite his laxness with her. He could never be as hard on her as he was with his sons, and was well aware that he spoiled her – not that it seemed to have hurt her any, he pondered. Today, Mia had proven just how independent – managing to find a respectable job within a day, without any subtle nudging and string pulling on his part.
There were many times when he had wished she had been born a boy, but those thoughts were always quickly dismissed. Mia was too bright, too kind, too ambitious, and too good for the life he lived. It was better this way, better that she would never need to worry about her dreams being stymied by the Family – the way mine were, he thought unwittingly.
But that wasn't fair. His father had never wanted this life for him either, but it seemed fate and circumstance had conspired against him, and things were as they were. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his desk.
There was no use thinking of things that could never be.
A/N: Read and review? Please? Is this worth continuing?....? :/