Kay tried to steady herself, to focus on the road, to do anything but think of Michael- Michael, who had appeared and looked like a specter of death, Michael who had wordlessly shut the door on her even as she had reached for a last touch of her children, Michael who had seemed to stop smiling and wore a permanently broody, haunted expression.
Suddenly her whole body broke out in chills and she had to pull over just to let the trembling pass.
Perhaps this is how Michael had felt after the War.
Connie and Tom had mounted a joint campaign to convince her that she (and the kids, of course, Jesus, never the kids) was never under any threat of harm but Kay still felt as if she had escaped the chopping block.
The shivering had abated finally, but she didn't feel like moving. Hadn't felt like moving since- well- since the baby. The abortion had sapped her of everything. It had hurt, physically, but more than that, it had hurt her inside.
She wondered if she should continue to her Hotel (she had, out of sheer pettiness, chosen a Hotel that was not owned by the Corleones) or better just sleep in the car. Unlike NYC where you couldn't step out without being in danger of a hit-and-run, the Nevada desert stretched endlessly around her. It should have been peaceful after her ordeal, but Kay felt creeped out.
She shouldn't have stopped. She should have taken Tom's offer of being driven back, but she had wanted out of Michael's presence and everything to do with him as fast as possible.
She started her ignition, but nothing happened. She tried again, almost jamming the key in her panic. Nothing, again. No shuddering of the engine, no start sound. The car was dead, probably something wrong with the battery.
Her nerves felt frayed, her composure almost undone when Kay remembered the family she was dealing with. Tom would never let her leave without escorts, which had irritated her in the past. For the first time, she was glad for the Corleones and their Sicilian thing.
In 10-15 minutes she was sure a Corleone car would be here, and they could figure out the trouble with the engine. Or maybe, she thought albeit not without some guilt, she would let them give her a lift.
Suddenly there was a knock on her window, and Kay smiled sourly to herself. They must have been right at her heels with the way they had covered the distance. She rolled down her window so that she could hear better.
"Mrs. Corleone, we're with the family", the man said, gesturing for her to open the door.
She had never been the most observant when it came to remembering which henchman was who, but this one looked familiar to her.
"It's Ms. Adams actually", she said coldly (a lie, she had yet to change her name, but it gave her pleasure to see his face fall).
There were three men in total, and one was tinkering with the engine. Strange, the family always insisted on 4 minimums for the escort missions.
The man who had knocked on her window motioned for her to sit inside, and on seeing the reluctance on her face, told her that they would get the car towed back to the estate and personally escort her to her Hotel.
Sitting in the car, she was sure now that she had seen the man before, and even more sure that she did not like him- there was a strange glint in his eyes, and he had peered around her car as if expecting someone else.
Did Michael send him to spy on her, see if she had a lover ferreted away in the backseats?
Kay felt even more on edge now. The men did not seem interested in any conversation, but the man in the front (him again!) kept glancing back at her. She cleared her throat, hoping her awareness of him would make him stop, but it only made him turn and flash her a smile.
And then it came to her, why he had seemed so familiar.
Because the last time she had seen that smile and those eyes (predatory eyes, a flat tan instead of the honey brown they should be) had glinted at her it had been in the papers with a headline calling for Michael Corleone's blood (COP KILLER, that's the word they had used, all capitals and bolded).
She really should have taken Tom up on that offer.
Michael watched Anthony play with Fredo from the boathouse window.
Anthony was a quiet kid, but with his uncle, he whooped and ran like a kid his age should. He would hate to see Anthony go back to looking forlorn after Fredo... after Fredo was dealt with.
He sighed, turning away, a headache brewing between his brows. The sight of Fredo always brought one on these days.
Connie was still trying to get them to reconcile but even her efforts were petering out. Not with Kay and the kids though, he thought bitterly and tried not to linger too long on her defiance of him.
After their reconciliation, Connie had returned to normal- mostly- but now she had an edge he had never noticed before. Mary had taken to her like a duck to water and even Anthony seemed buoyed by her presence, besides her two boys were good company for the kids.
It had stung when Kay had accused him of not caring who Anthony ran around with and what the button men were teaching him, so he had this would remedy it a bit.
But there was no going back for Kay and him, none at all despite how much he wanted it.
Oh, he had wanted, desperately, to feel nothing, but he had felt frightened to see her.
Frightened that she would take the kids away, frightened that he would never see her again at all, frightened because for a second she had looked at him not with the square confident gaze that had drawn him to her, but like a helpless sheep looks at the big bad wolf.
So he had closed the door out of instinct- to spare himself the pain- and Anthony, who had been sullen and uncooperative with his mother, had looked at him with betrayal.
And now he would have to take away Fredo too, and he supposed Connie would want nothing to do with him either afterward. A husband was one thing (and Carlo hadn't been one in the true sense of the word, from what he had gleaned from the family gossip) but a brother…that was another thing entirely.
The headache had only risen in crescendo and he wished he had Tom, here, right now. Not to talk- after Kay, he hadn't felt the need to talk, just relay orders- but just be.
Maybe Kay had been right- these days he felt more and more like Don Corleone, Michael slipping him from him. Everything had started to feel like business- Fredo most of all, but Connie and Tom and everyone else too.
Only his children kept him tethered (literally, often he would wake up, sometimes wheezing for breath, with Mary sprawled over him and Anthony with his now-asleep arm curled around him. His body would hurt the rest of the day, but he cherished being held so strongly and fiercely), but for how long? They had to grow up (it hurt him, to imagine how small they had been not too long ago) and besides, he had decided.
After this business with Fredo and Roth (and fucking Pantiangelli, of all people) was settled, he would send them away, to Kay. It would do them good.
Where was Tom, he wondered while rubbing his forehead. He hadn't realized how much he had relied on him, how much he needed him until Theresa had told him about the hotel, the offer. She had laughed it off, and so had Tom, but Michael had known then that Tom would not stay with him forever.
Even now he could feel the panic build in him. These days, Don Corleone's prime emotion seemed to be fear.
Somebody cleared their throat and he knew Tom had come.
Little did he know that in 15 minutes, his deepest fears were about to be confirmed.