For The Better (two) ~ Michael Corleone
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Summary: (y/n) is back to living life alone, and it’s not long until she finds company to divert her thoughts from the fight whilst Michael keeps on trying to find a way to win his wife back.
Words: 4.2K
Approximate reading time: about 20 mins
A/N: since i received so many likes and reblogs on the first part (which i'm incredibly grateful for), i decided to continue it. i hope it didn't turn out too cheesy and bad. if there'll be the same amount of interest in this part too, i'll maybe write a prologue even! something about how they met maybe. i hope you enjoy ♡
previous chapter
The days seem to end faster than before since I always find something important to do, not like when I was still living in the house.
There I had to keep myself busy with cleaning, rearranging the photo frames on the shelves and walls in our shared room with Michael, reading or just (slightly impatiently) waiting for him to finally finish work and be able to spend some time with me.
Now I have all the freedom I wanted, I spend every minute with something to help make this world a better place.
It feels good to help people in need, and it's never enough to make me fully satisfied, but I have to admit that even though it's the most important thing in my life and I love doing it with every fibre of my being, I almost only do this with such motivation and force to keep Michael Corleone out of my mind.
It's pretty effective, I have to say. Diving into my work even when it's the middle of the night is enough for me to stop thinking about my husband and the life I've been living until only two weeks ago.
Usually I work until I'm so dead exhausted that I faint from tiredness and only wake up in the morning when I have to leave for another meeting or something else that's work-related.
Habits from my previous lifestyle stay with me, for instance, I always keep the small revolver I got a few years back (a unique one specifically designed for me) in my handbag, ready for using.
I still keep an eye on the news of that world, the one I left behind, only hoping that I won't find anything terrible about the Corleone family, my family.
Every day I notice someone who's watching over me, probably because Michael ordered it, and about every three days Connie, Fredo or even Tom appears at my door to ask about me.
These conversations always go the same. They ask me how I'm feeling, I politely answer. They ask me if I had changed my mind about leaving them, I say no, not yet. They ask me if I need anything, money or protection, I say no, I'm fine. They incidentally tell me about how miserable Michael's feeling, and I close off all my real emotions, pretending that it doesn't affect me, when in reality, it feels like another sliver is breaking off from my heart every time I hear his name.
Usually as soon as they leave, I break down crying right there on the floor, and stay there for at least another hour or so until I can calm down and convince myself yet again that what I did was the right choice.
Weeks go by like this slowly turning into months, and the only difference is that the number of occasions of a Corleone visiting me is slowly starting to get rarer and rarer with time until it all comes to an end. None of them knock on my door anymore, trying to convince me to come back.
I think they accepted the fact that I've chosen. And that my decision simply can't include their lifestyle. Not for now, anyway. I told Michael I need a break, and I'm keeping myself to it.
I'm slowly getting better, mentally and physically as well, I can feel it in my blood and my bones. I feel much calmer all the time, anxiety and fear completely disappearing from inside of me, only that little emptiness stays. The part of me that loves him, misses him and needs him. The part I closed off when I walked out of his office that night.
I manage to make a couple friends even in this short amount of time, all through work or living in the same neighbourhood, and I even start to live a more proper social life, occasionally going out to pubs, even a couple parties as well, or simply just the pictures once in a while.
No one seems to know who I am, or more precisely who I was, no one connects me to the Corleone family anymore. And for this little while it feels nice to be just (y/n). Not (y/n) Corleone, not Mrs Corleone, just plain old (y/n).
One Friday my friend Marjorie convinces me to accompany her to a party held by one of her friends, and then only a couple hours later I'm standing on the staircase leading to the front door of a huge house, my arm linked with my friend's.
Music slightly sweeps out through the door as we wait for it to open, then the usual greetings and introductions take place as soon as Marjorie's friend opens the door.
Only an hour later I find myself sitting on the stairs inside the house, half-heartedly listening to the chaotic noise the music and people's chatter causes, but mostly I'm just deep in thought.
"How come a beautiful lady like you not being out there on the dancefloor?" A male voice suddenly speaks above me out of nowhere.
I spin my head around in curiosity, seeing a young man slowly walking down the stairs behind me. I scoot to the side to give him more space to walk by me, a shy smile on my face from the given compliment.
"I guess I'm not in the mood for it at the moment," I admit with a shrug.
"Glad I'm not alone then," the man chuckles as he passes me, stopping at the end of the stairs, his arm held out towards me. "I'm John, by the way."
"I'm (y/n), nice to meet you."
"Mind if I join you?" John signals towards my seat and with a polite motion of my arm I let him sit next to me.
We spend the following one or two hours talking before I decide to eventually go home. John immediately offers to walk me home, and I gladly take his offer. Who would want to walk alone at this late hour anyway?
Throughout our walk I try to make myself confess to him that I'm married, I don't want him having false hope, I don't want to give him mixed signals. But I just can't. There's never a moment I could say something like this.
And a part of me feels so good that after such a long time, a man shows interest again in me.
In the end, we part ways and I close the door behind me, leaning against the wooden surface, the weight of the truth still pulling me down.
It's not like you did anything wrong, I have to remind myself. You had a conversation with an interesting person, then walked home with him so it'd be less dangerous out in the streets. There's nothing wrong in it.
But somehow it still feels bad. The fact that I've spent time with a man without Michael's knowledge makes it feel like I'm doing something bad.
It's not like I'll ever meet John again.
Oh how wrong I was.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Third Person's Perspective:
Michael's unstoppably pacing up and down in front of the desk in his office, impatiently waiting to hear the latest news about his wife.
He doesn't even notice how late it is in the evening, all he cares about is to finally hear a knock on his door.
Half an hour later he's raging. The poor young boy he sent out tonight to watch over (y/n) stands in the corner, fear clear in his eyes. He's never seen his boss act so mad before.
Michael already forgot about the boy, all he can think about is the image of his wife and another man inside his head.
Could (y/n) really get over him this fast? Did he mess this up so bad that it truly is over?
Suddenly he feels like crying, again, and this makes him even more angry. He can't believe he acts so childish. A grown man should never cry. At least that's what he learnt in this world.
He storms out of the room without taking further notice of the now obviously shaking boy, determined to talk with Tom as soon as possible.
- - - - - - - - - - - 1 week later - - - - - - - - - -
Michael slowly gets out of the car, his eyes never leaving the outline of his wife inside the café on the other side of the street.
He decides to stay in the shadows, and luckily he finds a free table at the café opposite to the one (y/n) is sitting in.
He sits down, and whilst pretending to read the newspaper in his hands, he keeps an eye on her.
Ever since he found out about that other man, he himself goes every time to watch them interact instead of sending someone else.
There have been already a couple meetings he have stormed out from because of this, nothing seemed as important as his wife.
His wife. His. Is she even still that? He ponders, chewing on his bottom lip until he feels the familiar taste of blood on his tongue.
His glance travels back towards the other side of the street, trying to figure out with examining eyes what she feels from the way she moves and behaves.
He can almost swear there's nothing flirty or romantic in her behaviour, nothing but a simple friendliness, and that wouldn't be surprising. (y/n) has always been the kindest person he ever met in this world.
But still, that little voice in his mind keeps repeating that on that Saturday night, he walked her home, arms linked, looking cozy from what that poor kid he sent out to watch her reported.
His heart aches every time he sees her smile, or when her shoulders lightly shake as she's laughing away at something the man said because it's not him that made her happy.
Still, he can almost even hear the sound of her giggle in his ears, the most beautiful sound ever existed. Oh, how much he misses to hear it.
He feels his fingers curl, nails digging into the skin of his palm as anger sparks up in chest again.
He would do anything just to be able to talk with her, hear her voice and feel her presence around him again.
He needs her to survive, to stay alive, more than anything or anyone, now he knows it, and he can only hope that he'll be able to tell it to her soon.
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(y/n)'s Perspective:
John takes the truth like a true gentleman. He says he's not even that much surprised. He says, I always thought that there's no chance for such a lovely woman like you to be without a husband.
But he still insists on us keeping in touch, he says I became one of his greatest friends since that party, and I have to admit, it feels lovely to be able to speak with someone who understands me in such a level.
I tell him all my thoughts and feelings about Michael and our marriage, even the reason why I decided to take a break, with successfully not giving away who he is and what his job is.
I tell him how much I miss my husband, our conversations, how even after all that negativity and pain I experienced in the past year I still yearn to be by his side, to be a member of that family. How wonderful it felt to belong somewhere after growing up in such a corrupt, non-loving family that only cared about social ranks and money.
I tell him how when I can't sleep, it's Michael's face I see in the dark, and when I'm feeling down or when I'm anxious, I try and repeat his words and his voice, as if he's right by my side, calming me.
I tell him how I still love him with every beat of my heart. Every breath I take is for him. Every thought I have is about him. Every waking moment his image fills up my mind.
John offers amazing, useful advice that help clear my mind enough so I can think the whole situation through from another point of view.
One day we decide to take a walk in the nearest park, trying to enjoy the warm weather as much as we can after finishing our drinks in the café we always go to.
On the way there, I feel so free and happy that I take a few steps ahead of John only to twirl around, my arms spread wide in the air and a giggle escaping my lips.
Just as I'm turning back, my eyes follow my moves and suddenly see something I have not at all expected to see. I take a double take, squinting a bit so I can see in the shadows on the other side of the street more easily.
When I find what I was searching for, my heart skips a beat. It truly is him. Michael.
I immediately start marching towards him, not even glancing around before stepping on the road, John's worried exclaims following me in the air as he tries to keep up with my sudden, fast pace.
Michael stays in one place, watching me motionlessly. He knows there's nothing he can do after being noticed. He knows now that I know he has been watching me.
His eyes are cold, his face emotionless as I reach him. My heart feels so happy that the oh-so-waited sight is finally in front of me that it takes me a few moments to register that he's not so happy to see me.
To see us at least. Because the next moment his eyes shift towards the just arriving man accompanying me, and his whole body just goes even stiffer.
Then his eyes move back to me, and we stare at each other for a couple silent minutes, waiting for the other to say something.
Me, for a reason as to why he's always following me or for a sign that he realised what we have is something that's not worth throwing away.
Him, probably for a reason as to why I'm spending my time with another man.
"(y/n), is everything alright?" John speaks quite lowly next to me. "You know who this is, maybe we should just leave."
For a moment I think he knows. That somehow he managed to figure it out that my husband, the man I complained so much about is actually the head of the Corleone family.
But then I realise he's only talking about the man in front of us being Michael Corleone. Not my husband, just the mafia boss.
Michael glances back at John and if looks could kill, I'm sure he'd be dead by now. I never thought those chocolate brown eyes could look so cold.
"It's alright, John. We're fine," I answer, eyes never leaving my husband.
"What do you-" he starts to ask, but suddenly Michael snaps, shutting him up in a millisecond.
"She said it's alright, didn't you hear?"
And even though his voice is harsh, cold, angry and full of some kind of hatred, it still sends a shiver down my spine and butterflies fly around in my stomach.
After so many nights of trying to remember his voice in my ears it's a true miracle to actually hear it.
"You can leave me here, John, I have a few things I need to do." I turn towards him, fingers lightly touching his arm to make him place his full attention on me.
"I'm not leaving you alone with this man," he shakes his head swiftly, the tone of his voice giving proof how negatively he's thinking of the man in front of us.
Michael's already taking a step towards him, arms moving to his side but since I know him so well, I'm right in front of him in under a millisecond, palm against his chest to calm him down like I did so many times before.
"It's okay, Michael," I speak lowly. "We don't want to make a scene, now do we?"
Shooting a quick glance at John above my shoulder I can see that his mouth is wide open, jaw dropped down to the ground as the thoughts clearly chase around in his mind fast. He's trying so hard to process what he has just seen, and when he does, his eyes widen, matching the other parts of his facial expression.
"You... he... your husband is Michael Corleone?" His voice shows nothing but pure shock as he manages to understand the situation.
"He knows you're married?" Michael's voice rings in my ear, making me look back at him immediately, my arms falling back to my side as I take a half step back.
He looks almost the same surprised as John, he obviously didn't think this to be the case.
"Yes, he is, and yes, he knows." I answer to the both of them before looking deep in Michael's eyes. "I think we should go somewhere more private now. We have quite a lot of things to talk about."
Michael nods, so I turn back towards John.
"I'm honestly sorry that we can't make it to the park today, but we'll catch up another day, alright? I think you know how important it is now for me and my husband to have a conversation..."
"Absolutely, yes, I know. I hope everything goes right," John nods, his voice still a little raspy from the shock he just went through.
"I'll talk to you later then, if that's okay with you."
He nods once more before slowly turning around and making his way away from us.
"So what do you think, can we use your office?" I look back at my husband, and he nods right away, motioning to the side where the car for us is already ready to take us back to the Corleone household, not to my surprise, to be honest and fair.
My heart stammers so loud I'm sure Michael can hear it as we get closer and closer to the house, but I can't help it. The variations of how this conversation could turn out make my stomach churn in nervousness and anxiety.
But at least this time I'm entering it knowing clearly what I want. And I won't settle for anything less.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
By the time we reach the office, we've met Connie and Tom, both of them surprised to see us walk so casually through the house, as if nothing had happened.
I wave at them with a shy smile on my face, only hoping that they're not mad at me for my earlier behaviour.
They both wave back and they seem glad that I'm back, which makes me a little more relieved already.
Then the door of Michael's office closes behind my back, the sound waking me from my thoughts as I slump down on the same arm chair I was sitting in the last time I spoke with my husband, months ago.
He follows soon after, pulling his own chair around the desk so he'd be closer to me. He knows how much I hate it when he's sitting on the other side of the desk when we have a comversation, like I'm just another client.
"I've been thinking. A lot." Michael speaks up a few silent minutes later.
"Me too," I admit.
"Do you want to start or should I?"
"Maybe I'll start, if that's okay with you."
He nods immediately, looking a bit relieved he has some more time left.
"I had quite enough time to think this whole thing through, to truly find out what I want and what I need in my life. Last time you promised you'd change. I honestly hope you're still determined to do that, because that's the most important thing for me. For us." I pause, giving him a chance to answer.
"Of course, I'm actually already getting there. Been trying for the past month or so, you can ask Connie, she'll prove it."
"Lovely," I nod. "Well then, it makes this easier for me to say the following things. You know, I truly missed you and the whole family, and being with you. I really think that this break was very much needed, because now I can see crystal clear that I do love my life the way it has been, and I'm able to pinpoint all the positive things about living here."
Michael's eyes slightly widen as he silently listens to me talk, he probably didn't think to hear these things from me so easily.
"I didn't stop loving you, Michael, not for a single moment, and if you still want this, and if you do promise to change, then I think I can give another chance for me to live here and be a part of this family."
He sucks in a breath, a small smile appearing in the corners of his lips already.
"Who was this guy then?" He speaks up a few seconds later.
"A friend, who would it be?" I ask back in surprise.
Is this really the most important thing he wants to say now?
"I don't know, I just heard a couple things," he shrugs, and as he looks away, clearly not being able to keep the eye contact between us going, I suddenly understand it.
The reason behind why he had other people watch me. Why he himself watched me.
"Oh, so when you hear something, you believe it straight away, don't you? Do you really think I'd ever cheat on you?" I scoff, even the assumption making a slight anger bubble up in my chest.
"No, I don't." Michael answers, his voice quiet and unsure. He knows how pathetic he sounds for asking such a question from me. He knows me and that I'd never do such thing.
"You don't have to go and be jealous of the first man I speak to outside this family."
"I know," he nods, eyes still searching some non-existent thing on the floor, avoiding mine.
I wait for him to gather his thoughts, waiting for something else he might say. As we sit in silence, my eyes searching his appearance, I notice the slight differences I haven't had the time to see before.
He lost a little weight, that one's obvious. A couple light creases appeared on his face, making it look like he's done a good amount of stressful thinking. His whole posture radiates some kind of different wiseness, something that wasn't there when I last saw him.
But even with all these small differences, his face is still the same beautiful, it's still the same marble statue. Or maybe he's even more gorgeous now, looking kind of more mature.
"So you want to come back?"
I can tell he's trying to keep his voice emotionless, he doesn't want to affect the answer I'll be giving.
"If you still want that too," I say.
A beat passes as his eyes finally look back into mine, the connection making my heart beat already faster.
"Of course I want that, (y/n)." Michael starts smiling even wider now. "Why do you think I spent so many hours out in cafés or just thinking through half the nights on how to win you back?"
A similarly wide smile appears on my face as he watches me with a raised eyebrow.
"I love you, (y/n). You're still the one and only for me, the love of my life. My feelings will never change, no matter how cliché it sounds." Michael shrugs, a chuckle leaving his lips.
We stand up in the exact same moment, stepping towards the other, and it feels just like the first time we ever declared our feelings towards the other.
Just like we're the same giddy teenagers we were at the start of our relationship.
I feel the exact same butterflies flutter inside my body when his fingers ever so lightly touch the backs of my hands, then as his right hand moves up and cups my cheek, bringing me closer, I feel myself growing impatient, and the next thing I know is me leaning in, crashing our lips together.
We kiss like it's the first time we have ever kissed, like the past so many years have never happened and we're back on square one.
When we run out of oxygen, we lean back only until our foreheads are still touching, giggling as if we're kids.
"I love you, Michael, but please don't ever be jealous." I whisper.
"I love you, (y/n), but please don't ever leave me again." Michael whispers back.
And in this exact moment I know that I'll never leave again, because there won't be a reason for me to do that. I can feel it in the way he speaks, the way he looks at me that he will try his best to change, and it'll be more than enough for me.
That break we had just strengthened our relationship, our marriage. It truly was for the better.
.::the end::.
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