Michael Corinthos coming at you! Still working out the details about who's going to be in the story or not. Honestly keeping it hidden from myself (if that makes any sense) is what keeps me writing and interested, so this isn't very planned out. Hope to continue seeing reviews. Thanks.

Fallen Star

It was common occurrence for Michael Corinthos III to find solace in an evening walk. Hands deep in the pockets of his slacks, his suit black as though he were coming from a funeral, shoulders hunched against the New York chill, he went about his business in silence and solitude. Aside from the two body guards trailing him at twenty yards distance, he was always alone. The fact that half the city feared him and the other half loathed him helped to maintain the isolation he found such peace in.

Though he wasn't quite yet forty years old, Michael had the experience and sense of a man twice his age. It only seemed suiting, considering he'd observed Port Charles' most successful mafia bosses since childhood. Those keen observations and reflections, along with the damage of his tumultuous growth into a young adult, molded him into one of the most respected bosses on the east coast. Like his father, he was feared, ruthless, and at times unpredictable. Like Jason Morgan he was meticulous, rational, and unemotional in his work. Michael harnessed the best of both strategies. He was fair, smart, and professional about all Corinthos organization affairs and for that earned a reputation of esteem.

Anyone who truly knew the mob boss, not those who observed him from a frightened distance, frowned on him with pity whenever he passed. It was apparent the man was suffering with just a single glance into his eyes. In his eyes one could see all the stories. The pain of each was enough to captivate a lifetime but Michael withstood many. From his dramatic childhood of kidnappings and parental feuds to his adolescence spent in a coma after a bullet to the brain, to the brutal murder of his step-mother and the imprisonment and rape that followed, to the loss of his first love after recovery, Michael had endured tragedy time and time again. And yet the pain that haunted him most deeply, gnawing at his heart and leading him down the street in a somber haze, was the last blow he could take.

The loss of his Starr.

Perhaps they'd moved to fast. They were hurting, recovering from deceased loved ones. And yet they healed each other. Michael buried his soul into the last safe place and Starr cowered into him like a haven in a storm. They fit each other. In fact, Michael didn't doubt that she was the only one to understand him. They were married by the time he was twenty-six. The ceremony was small and though Todd had thrown a fit, Starr became his wife and accepted all the dramatics that were his life.

It wasn't the business that killed her. He was always worried it would be. Working for his father wasn't his first choice, but Michael found it a simple, rewarding place. He managed a string of warehouses around the waterfront and with a well-developed business sense, attended to Sonny's investments and exchanges with newfound interest. If the Corinthos Organization was a company, Michael was surely on his way to becoming executive vice president.

All the while Starr struggled to find a new spot in his life. Marriage was an adjustment and while Michael enjoyed his work and coming home to a blushing bride, Starr found the guards and hours restraining. Her dreams were on the road, chasing a career as a musician. With Michael she was stuck and it wasn't long before she was resentful. Soon he came to represent the force holding her back from singing her way to fame. He was a successful provider, a tender lover, and a loyal companion, but it couldn't sustain her.

The minute Cole Corinthos entered the world, however, everything changed. Starr was a mother again. The baby boy was water in a drought. Michael reveled in the place of father and Starr found peace in another child. For a little while, they were happy again. Hardly a year later Caroline was born. But even with such joy, the peace of family life proved only temporary.

It wasn't long before Starr's frustration and resentment returned. While Michael left for long shifts and meetings at his father's side, Starr was at home, drinking, loathing her existence as a trapped housewife. Even now, Michael bullied himself for not seeing the signs. She was a good mother. Cole and Caroline were always at the forefront of Starr's attention but when maternal duty eased with the help of nannies and helpers, she wandered into depression and the poison that would one day ruin her; cocaine.

By the time Michael realized all that was wrong, which took a shamefully longtime as his role in the Corinthos organization became more prominent, there was no chance at winning Starr back. She refused treatment and when Michael prepared to forcibly instate her, she was gone.

John Fucking Zacchara.

It was too much of a coincidence for Michael that the man was suddenly making appearances in his wife's life up to the night of her death. Johnny would still feed Starr wild fantasies of pursuing a singing career and in the heat of their arguments it wasn't uncommon for her to use reference to him in the heat of battle; "Johnny supports my music, why can't you! You're my husband!"

The simple phrase was usually enough to send Michael fuming from the house. By that time Johnny and Michael weren't yet sworn enemies but the Zacchara organization still lingered as a threat. Catching the mob prince talking with his wife turned Michael's stomach hard. He knew Johnny was just trying to get to him. But what he hated most was that Starr refused to realize Johnny's motives. She truly believed her life was still out there waiting for her. That Michael had trapped her with his business and their children. She buried herself in drugs and isolation.

Until one night she broke.

Michael found her overdosed in their bedroom. He knew the moment he saw her that she was gone. And he knew that he was gone too. He spent nights hating himself for not getting her help. For not saving her. For being at work too long and for failing to give her what she wanted. And his sadness became hatred. Hatred at the last man to see Starr only hours before her death.

John Fucking Zacchara.

In his depression, in his anger, and revenge, Michael Corinthos accepted Jason Morgan's offer to head the organization. He had little else to invest his spirit in. Starr's mother, Blair, took the children. The custody battle had been an absolute mess. Carly was ready to murder Blair herself. But in the end a mob boss with no mother was not suited to raise young children. Cole and Caroline Corinthos went to live with their grandmother in Pennsylvania, separated indefinitely from their father.

And so Michael Corinthos III was alone. He had his family but even now that seemed sparse. His brothers, Dante and Morgan, wanted little to do with him as they fought to bring down his illegal activities. His sister, Kristina, had married his sworn enemy. All that was left were his parents. Carly checked in on him religiously, scared that one day he would find a reason to stop getting out of bed in the morning. Between him and his father, there was newfound common ground. Sonny understood his son's pain all too well but the two said nothing of it.

Yes, the only place Michael could find solitude was in a breezy walk, with no one to remind him of his shattered past or the ugliness that dictated his lifestyle. As a light sprinkle of rain misted down on his withdrawn face, he slipped into Kelly's, one of the many things that hadn't change in Port Charles despite the wear of many years. The diner was sparsely occupied. A young couple sat in the corner and a man at the counter. Michael gave them friendly nod, but without any effort to be conspicuous, the patrons made a fast exit.

"Uncle Michael," an expecting voice greeted. Popping out from the kitchen and greeting the mob boss void of the fear most viewed him with, was one of Kelly's young waiters. "It's good to see you."

"Evening Dominic," Michael said. He thought of offering a meek smile but as usual, his mouth refused to take the shape. Instead he gave his nephew an approving nod. He took a seat at the counter, while his bodyguards waited outside.

"Can I get you the usual?"

"Please," he nodded. The social interaction was already too much but Michael felt like being gracious. Lulu and Dante's oldest son and middle child was of the few who didn't seem to have a problem with his choices. In fact, though Dante discouraged it, Dominic seemed to idolize his uncle Michael for unknown reasons. For this, especially in a world where so many turned a back to him, Michael was grateful. "How's your brother Angelo?"

"Good. He's not working tonight, he's got baseball practice," Dominic answered from the kitchen. The nineteen year old slapped two cheeseburgers onto the grill and dunked in a fresh batch of fires.

"You still studying at PCU?"

"Yep and flipping burgers to pay the rent. Mom insists I can live at home but I've got to get out of there or I'll go nuts," Dominic said. "I'm staying in an apartment with a buddy."

"Well I hope you still see your mother from time to time. I know Lulu, I think she'd kill you if you think you can just up and move out of the house."

"Oh no worries, I see her all the time. I got to get a decent meal from somewhere. We can't all survive on chili, fries, and burgers," he teased as he continued filling Michael's order. "How are things with you?"

"Fine, thank you for asking," Michael replied.

Dominic's dark brown eyes caught a glint of the light, revealing a childlike enthusiasm as he pondered his next question. He licked his lip and anxiously crossed his arms across his chest. "You know, I hear a lot of things around here about the business, and I was just wondering how things were going? I mean, Kristina comes in here from time to time and she doesn't say much. It's like she doesn't even know who we are anymore. And I hear old Johnny Zacchara is going to make a move on…"

"I don't like to talk about business, Dominic," Michael cut him off dryly. When his eyes met his nephew's they were infused with coldness that suggested nothing more was to be said.

"Of course," he nodded. "Sorry."

The two existed in silence as Dominic finished packing the burgers, fries, and a bowl of chili into a to-go bag. "Thank you," Michael said. He gave a sigh. "I'm sure Dante tell you all the time, but I hope you're careful, Dominic. Curiosity has been known to be lethal. "

Dominic nodded. "I know. Have a good night," he told him. Michael slowly made his way through the empty diner, stopping only when Dominic anxiously spoke up. "Uncle Michael, if there's ever a chance for me to help out, you know, get a job under you or something…"

"No," Michael almost shouted. He turned to face Dominic with a face void of emotion and hardened by all that consumed him. His eyes narrowed on the young man with vehemence. "You don't want to be involved in this business. You may think you want to, but you don't. I wouldn't let you. You understand?"

"Yes," Dominic said gently.

Michael tried to soften his composure as to not appear completely dispassionate. He nodded, slowly shifting his dinner to his other hand. "Good. Keep studying. You'll find an honest, rewarding living. I don't want to hear these thoughts from you again. Dante would kill you."

"Yeah," Dominic agreed again. "You're right. I'm sorry…"

"It's okay, I just want what's best for you…"

Before more could be said, one of Michael's bodyguards, a hefty retired linebacker named Iggy, hurled through the diner doors, eyes wild with intensity. "Mr. Corinthos," he breathed. "We have a problem."

"What is it?" Michael asked. He was already tensed and ready. Suddenly he was the Corinthos everyone expected him to be. He was ready to be as ruthless and cold as he needed to insure the stability of his business. A spurt of adrenaline warmed through his veins, the familiar vile that sustained him through every tragedy. He was prepared for the worst because in his thirty-eight short years, he'd already experienced the worst. Behind him Dominic tried to listen in, eyes wide and engaged.

Iggy shook his head. "It's your father. Someone blew up his car. His guards are both dead. Police are there now. What do you want to do?"

Two options existed for Michael. Find the bastards who made a move against his father and his empire or go to the hospital to see him for what could possibly be the last time.

But for the mob boss, for the head of the Corinthos organization, for one of the youngest, most respected east coast bosses, there existed only one option: retribution.

"Get the car ready and call TJ. Now's the best chance we have at finding who did this."

Without a word Michael turned his back on his nephew, leaving his dinner on the table.