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Sam has never been happier to see the back of Salieri’s place than he is right now.
Paulie stops the truck and Sam nearly breaks an ankle from how quickly he jumps out of it. Just thankful to be on solid ground again.
“Jesus Christ,” Paulie laughs, the kind of exasperated laugh you have when you know you’ve barely escaped somewhere with your life. Sam closes his eyes for a minute and leans against the back of the truck, filtering through his pockets until he finds his cigarettes, and then he lights one up.
“What a fuckin’ shitshow!” Paulie laughs again. And when Sam opens his eyes, Paulie had already rounded the corner and was standing next to him. He brings his large hand down on Sam’s back with such force Sam coughs.
Sam looks over his shoulder and up at Paulie, “You’re fuckin’ crazy.” He tells him, his lips in a thin line of discontentment. He and Paulie had just cleared a mission, somehow, where they had to boost their first keg of moonshine together.
Sam had planned plenty of these missions, and Paulie had executed plenty of them, but they had never done one together. In fact, there’s very little they’ve done together, Paulie being rather new to the Family still.
“And you’re stuck wit’ me, pal!” Paulie smiles down at Sam, squeezes his shoulder once, and Sam just keeps his stone-faced expression trained on Paulie. He fights not to roll his eyes. The Don had asked him to train up Paulie, and Sam was going to take this job seriously.
“Come on, Sammy. Lighten up, will ya?”
“Don’t call me that. My name’s Sam. Just Sam.”
“Like I said— lighten up, will ya? Come on, let me take you out, Just Sam. I know a few ways to loosen you up. And what do you know? We just came into some money, too.” Paulie keeps his grip on Sam’s shoulder and steers Sam into the back door of the bar, then through the kitchen.
“Hey! What did I tell you twos about walkin’ through here?” Sarah calls out, turning to face them, her hand on her hip.
Paulie turns to look over toward her and smiles at her, “Sorry, Sarah. Won’t happen again.”
Sam can see the way Sarah smiles back at Paulie and he does roll his eyes this time. Of course, Sam had known Sarah for many years at this point. He practically grew up with her. And he saw right through her as well.
“It won’t happen again, on account I’ll break your legs next time I catch yous walkin’ through my kitchen. You hear me, Paulie Lombardo?” Sarah chastises him, though with a soft smile on her lips, and no real heat behind her words.
Paulie laughs, though he tilts his head in her direction, “Yes ma’am.” He answers her, though he continues to steer Sam through the kitchen and out the door, passing Luigi’s bar.
“Where’re you takin’ me, Paulie? I have shit to do, you know.” Sam asks, really he huffs, as Paulie reaches his car out in the front of the bar.
“I’m takin’ ya out to a little place I like to go from time to time. A gentlemen’s club, if you will.”
“A whore house?” Sam echoes back, his voice incredulous.
“A gentlemen’s club.” Paulie repeats, walking around the car to get into the driver’s side.
Now, Sam’s not a virgin, not by any means, but this scene has never exactly been his. He doesn’t really need to spend money on something he can do himself just fine. He doesn’t really understand the appeal. Quite frankly, he finds the whole thing a little.. Beneath him.
Despite this, he finds himself getting in the car anyway.
Paulie slides into the front seat and he turns on the radio the moment they get into the car.
“I hear a new place just opened up. Called the Blue Tropics or something. Like we don’t live in the middle of the fuckin’ city. Like there’s not snow on the ground.” Paulie is talking to Sam, but Sam’s already in his own head, thinking of how he’s going to slip out of the club without Paulie noticing.
“Never heard of it.” Sam answers him anyway, and he watches as the city passes by him through the window.
“I heard they even got some.. Alternate choices there.” Paulie ventures, and he glances over at Sam for just a moment, and then back to the road.
“Alternate choices? Like.. Blondes over Brunettes or somethin’?” Sam questions, taking a huff of his cigarette and then turning back to Paulie, just in time to meet his eyes for a moment.
Paulie laughs, “Yeah. And like. Well… Men.” Paulie mutters the last part so quickly that Sam barely hears him. Barely, but he does. And he hardens his gaze on Paulie, “Men?” He asks, the same incredulity in his voice.
“Just a rumor through the street! We ain’t going there, what’s it matter, anyway?” Paulie quickly changes the topic and takes a hard left, Sam has to brace himself on the side of the car, though his eyes never quite leave Paulie.
Before Sam can really dwell on it, he can see the Corleone Hotel come into view in the front windshield.
Sam’s been to the Corleone before. Of course he has. Anyone who’s anyone has. But he had not anticipated that Paulie had been there.
“This more your speed, isn’t it?” Paulie asks, parking the car out front. And again, before Sam can answer him, Paulie is getting out of the car.
He straightens his suit jacket and then starts walking into the front of the hotel. Sam rolls his eyes and he does the same, meeting up with Paulie just before Paulie reaches the front doors.
“I’ll meet you back down in an hour? That work for you?”
“An hour? Christ. What are you going to be doin’ in there? Talking about the weather?” Sam snuffs out his cigarette in the tray being offered to him and begins to walk up to the front desk. He can hear Paulie’s laugh echoing through the foyer and he feels a bit smug, he always does when he can make someone laugh.
Paulie catches up with Sam, puts his own money down on the table, and takes his room key in response. Sam then grabs his own.
“An hour then?”
“An hour.”
—
The first time, Sam doesn’t end up with Michelle. Sam doesn’t even remember the name of the broad he spends his night with.
The second time, Sam doesn’t end up with Michelle, but Paulie does.
And on their way back to the bar, Paulie has nothing but good things to say about her. Even if it’s much more than Sam cares to hear.
The next time, they walk in and one of the girls recognize Paulie. They tell him to ask for her and Paulie laughs, ensures that he will.
And Sam wonders how often Paulie comes in here without him that he’s become such a regular.
Sam wonders if maybe Paulie has some sort of relationship with these girls.
Sam walks up to the front desk and asks for Michelle by name, remembering how Paulie had spoken about her.
The front desk says that he’s lucky, that Michelle had just freed up, and would likely book up again soon.
Sam grabbed his key and went up to the room. Yet when he opened the room door, it was empty.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Sam says to himself, looking around. He walks in and closes the door behind him, though he rests his hand on the hilt of the gun he had tucked into his waistband.
He takes a step into the room and his eyes sweep over the place. He hears a conjoining door open and if he didn’t hear her talking, he’s sure he would’ve drawn his gun on her.
“I’m sorry, I'm sorry! I’m coming.” She calls, and when she steps into frame, Sam relaxes.
She’s beautiful. Just as Paulie had said. She’s in a white slip dress, and her cheeks are freshly rouged, and her hair restyled.
Sam looks her over, from head to toe. She’s short, a bit curvier than women he’s previously been with. Her hair is short, but it frames her face in an innocent sort of way. Her voice is soft spoken and in a way, she almost looks terrified.
“I’m so sorry for keepin’ you waitin’, mister.” She tells him, walking over to him.
Sam watches her walk, though he stays silent.
“I hope I didn’t spoil your mood..?” She tries again, and Sam realizes she’s trying to speak to him, trying to foster some sort of relationship. More than just being naked and waiting on the bed for him.
No wonder she’s in such high demand. She’s got this whole act going for her.
Sam doesn’t have time for this charade. He has no interest in playing house. “You don’t get paid to talk, no?”
“No sir, I don’t.” She answers him, settling her hands on his belt and dropping to her knees. She sees the gun in his waistband and gasps, her hands freezing.
“I-Is that.. real?”
“You think I’d carry a fake one?”
“Guns m-make me nervous..” She bites his lip and Sam chuckles, reaching into his waistband and pulling it out. “Smart girl.” He tells her, reaching over to put the gun on the table beside the door.
She smiles up at Sam.
—
Sam is back sooner than he’d like. And by that, he remembers it being the day after next.
He asks for her again. Michelle.
The front desk says she’s with someone, but they have plenty of other girls available. Sam declines. He doesn’t want another girl. He instead, takes a drink and sits in the waiting room.
Plenty of women pass by him, offer their services, let him know they’re free. He declines each girl, and watches as their faces turn down in obvious annoyance, but he can’t be brought to care.
When he gets his turn with Michelle, he’s walking into the room, and she’s sitting at the vanity, wiping at her face with a little towel.
Sam knocks on the door and she jumps, keeping her head down, “I-I’ll be just a moment. I’m sorry.”
Sam closes the door behind him but stays otherwise silent. Michelle turns back to the mirror and keeps wiping at her face. Sam can see her makeup is running, and he wonders if she had been crying.
“Is.. everythin’ alright?” Sam asks her, and he’s surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth, though Michelle seems more than surprised to be hearing them.
Her lips part and Sam can tell she’s trying to decide on whether to be truthful or to be good at her job.
She closes her mouth and chooses to stay silent, instead leaning forward to put more eyeliner around her eyes. “You won’t have to pay for this time, Mr. Trapani. I’ll discount it. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I can make the next part quick for you. I know you’re a busy man.”
Sam crosses the room, his steps slow. He takes off his suit jacket as he walks and gets a good look at her in the mirror. It’s obvious she had been crying, a bruise is forming on her cheek under the rogue, and the strap of the bra she’s wearing has a few popped stitches.
He feels the anger burn in him before he can quite make out what it is he’s feeling in the first place.
Sam sits on the bed.
“We don’t have to.. do anything. You need a break. So do I. We can just sit. I’ll still pay you. “ He’s offering. And then he’s shocked he’s offering. And then he’s shocked to hear Michelle start crying again.
She walks over to the bed and sits down next to Sam, “I will work. I can work. I’m sorry.” She puts her hand on Sam’s thigh, beginning to work it up to a more erogenous zone.
“Michelle.”
She flinches under the name.
Sam grabs her hand and takes it off of him, settling it on the bed.
Michelle looks up at Sam. Her big doe eyes full of a sea of emotions. Sam just looks back down at her.
Michelle’s lips part, and her voice drops just a bit, and she mutters “Thank you.” She sounds so defeated, so different now that she’s not putting on a show.
They sit in silence for a moment. Michelle gets up and walks to the other side of the bed, then she pulls back the covers and lays down, pulling them back over her body.
Sam stands, walks over to the window, and cracks it just a little, just enough to smoke out of it.
—
Over the course of the next few years, they work out a routine like this. Sam and Michelle.
Sam comes to the hotel. He asks for Michelle. He waits as long as necessary. The other women want him, get upset when he declines. He makes sure they know he doesn’t care. He goes up to Michelle’s room.
More often than not, they both stay dressed.
Sam didn’t realize how long it had been since he’s had a conversation that didn’t revolve around his job and The Family until he’s laying on the bed next to her,, her hands in his hair, brushing a few strands back into place, and she’s asking him to talk to her for once.
“Talk? About what?”
“About you. Anything. I feel like alls I do is talk, and I don’t know a thing about you!”
Sam chuckles and turns his head to look at her. He meets her beautiful, big, doe eyes, and he just looks at her for a moment longer. “An’ what do you want t’ hear?”
“Sam,” she pouts. The corner of Sam’s lips upturn in a cross between a smile and a smirk— which just makes her pout grow.
“Alright, alright.” Sam pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear, and then guides her to lay her head on his chest.
Sam thinks for a moment, and then talks. And he talks. About Paulie, about Tommy, about Sarah, about what stupid shit he had been getting up to with Paulie before Tommy, and now that Tommy’s there, he feels like a babysitter most days.
And Michelle listens. Asks questions. Cares. And Sam is wondering how long he can stay here, truly stay here, in this moment with her. In this hotel room. If this is what it’s like— coming home to someone. If that’s something he could ever have. If they’d ever be more than this.
And then he thinks about how pathetic this all is. Paying for someone to listen to you talk, pretend to care. At least when they’d have sex, which they still did sometimes, Sam didn’t feel like such a fucking fool. But for once, he’s able to reason with himself, quiet down that half of him, and just be in this moment.
And when their time is up, and he’s leaving for the night, he takes out his wallet and flips through the bills, pulling enough out to cover his time, and that new dress Michelle had mentioned seeing from the store down the street, and he’s dropping it on the table and Michelle is reaching up to grab his hand, hold it.
Sam looks down at her expectantly, but she surprises him by kissing the back of his hand, where his knuckles had spilt open just a few days ago. A detail she must’ve remembered from the story he had just told.
“You’ll come back to me soon, won’t you, Sam?”
Sam chuckles, untangles his hand from her own, brushes the side of her cheek with the back of his hand, “Wouldn’t dream of stayin’ away.”
—
November 14, 1932
Of course, the next day, Sam is shot doing what was supposed to be a routine pick up of booze from the Canadians. He’s beaten and bruised and bloodied and even after the doctor patches him up, he feels radiating pain from every breath.
Sam isn’t allowed to do any work, but staying alone in his own apartment feels worse than being shot, so he goes to Salieri’s anyway. He works with Sarah, though if you asked Sarah, she would’ve said that he was more of a hindrance than a help.
He sits at the bar and talks with Luigi. He plays pool. He talks with Vinny. He does anything, everything, to pretend like he’s not staring at the clock, thinking about what Michelle is doing. If she’s worried about him. If she’s even noticed he’s been gone. If she’s even cared.
-
November 19, 1932
Later, when Paulie and Tommy are coming back from a mission, it’s much later than it should be, and Paulie’s shirt is untucked from his pants, and his walk is a little crooked. Tom’s guiding Paulie into a booth and helps him sit into it.
“Paulie had a little.. uh.. post-mission celebration, if you will.. Down at the Corleone.” Tom explains, lighting up his cigarette and nodding in appreciation at the coffee Luigi is sliding his way.
“Sure did!” Paulie slurs, lifting his hand to signal to Luigi to bring him a coffee as well.
“And who knew that Sammy was such a Lady Killer. Every broad in that hotel asked for you, Sammy.” Paulie laughs.
Sam raises his eyebrow and looks over to Tommy. Tommy laughs, taking his drink in one hand, and putting his cigarette out with the other. “They did.”
Paulie pitches up his voice, “‘Hey, where’s Mr. Trapani been? I haven’t seen him around lately. Is he okay?’, ‘Hey, is your friend alright?’, ‘Did you bring Mr. Trapani along with you?’” Paulie laughs again, “I didn’t realize you had been going so often you got every broad askin’ for you by name. Regular ol’ Ladies’ Man!”
The longer Paulie talks, the more heat rises to Sam’s cheeks, and the louder Tommy begins to laugh.
“I don’t-“ Sam begins to speak, but he doesn’t know what to say, what to deny. He only sees Michelle when he’s there. He doesn’t know why he’d have a reputation among the other working women.
Tom chuckles, though Paulie keeps talking, “Felt like I couldn’t turn around without being asked about you. I told some girl you got shot, thought she’d might burst into tears right there! Right Tommy? You remember that?”
“I remember Paulie,” Tom chuckles, taking another slow sip of the coffee, though his eyes are lingering on Sarah, as she cleans the kitchen just behind them. “Michelle, I think her name was.”
Sam’s blood runs cold and he stops dead in his tracks.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Sam answers instead, trying to keep up his mask of nonchalance. Though he is already getting up from his bar stool. “When you’re good in bed, word travels.”
The comment makes the men laugh and Sam feel a bit more at ease. Though when he stands, he grips the corner of the bar to steady himself.
“Hey, easy there Lady Killer. You need a hand drivin’ home?” Tom asks him, reaching out to steady him as well.
Sam brushes his hand off, “I got it, Tom. Thanks.”
Sam turns and nods toward Luigi, then to Paulie and Tom, wordlessly turning to leave the bar.
Once outside, Sam walks briskly to his car, climbing inside. The wound is still very tender, and his rib cage is covered in a nasty bruise, along with spots down his back, and both walking and driving are very taxing, but he needs to see if Michelle is still at the Corleone. If he can see her.
He had wanted her immediately after it had happened. When he woke up in the Doctor’s basement, he thought for a brief moment he could hear her talking to him, telling him he’s alright, that he promised he’d come back to her.
And Sam doesn’t break promises, doesn’t like to be in debt to people, and he had been sure to see her the moment he was healed enough to do so. To show her how much he really missed her.
But there’s been a change in plans, and he needs to see her now. To know that she’s been worried about him.. That she’s been in tears.. That she had been asking others about him.. Sam’s done a lot of bad shit over the years, but he’s never felt so bad as he does right now, knowing that he’s hurt Michelle.
The drive there is slow and almost tedious with all the pain that shoots up his side with each turn he must make. He nearly pulls over to breathe through the pain multiple times, but he’s stubborn, and he’s set a goal and he intends to reach it.
By the time he gets to the hotel, and parks the car, he’s worked up a thin sheet of sweat, and his breathing is labored. His vision twists and turns and he sees spots of black dancing in his vision.
Nevertheless, he gets out of the car, wipes at his forehead with his handkerchief, and pulls open the doors of the grand hotel.
He straightens up, and walks as confidently as he can to the front desk, and through gritted teeth, asks for Michelle.
The man gives him a room key in exchange for the allotted price, and then Sam staggers over to the elevator.
He presses the button and waits for it to come down, chewing on his bottom lip. He feels a weird mix of the dull ache from his wound and nervous apprehension begin to swirl and pool in his gut. Anxiety swarms in his mind and takes over every thought: What if she doesn’t want to see me anymore? What if Paulie and Tommy were exaggerating? She gets paid to care about you, Sam, it’s nothing serious.
The longer he’s in the elevator, the worse the thoughts become. He’s only able to catch a break when the loud ding signals it time for him to come out.
He runs his hands over his suit trousers again, and begins his confident stride over to the room that he’s become so used to seeing. He knocks once and then puts the key in, turning the knob and opening the door.
Michelle is sitting on the bed, her back turned to the door. As she heard the door open, she sits up straighter and pulls the slip over her head. “I’ve been waiting for ya,” she says, her voice sultry, her act having just begun.
“Yeah?” Sam asks, his eyes drinking in every inch of her bare back.
Michelle gasps and turns around quickly, holding her dress to her chest. “Sammy!” She stands and is immediately running over there, modesty long forgotten as she drops her dress to the ground.
She immediately wraps her arms around Sam’s middle and hugs him so tight that Sam nearly throws up from the blinding pain that sears through him.
“Michelle, Jesus Christ.” he seethes through his teeth, pushing her off of him. “Watch it, okay?”
“Oh,” her eyes are already nearly welling with tears. She clasps her hands in front of her and casts her eyes down. “I… Sorry, Sam..”
Sam tilts her chin up and looks at her, truly looks at her, taking in every inch of her face. He had missed her more than he realized, maybe more than he had known.
“I’m just tender, amore. That’s all.” Sam tells her, and even to himself the softness in his voice feels foreign.
She gasps and brings her hand to cover her mouth, “I forgot! Oh Sam, I had heard what Mr. Lombardo said. Is it true? Did you really get shot?”
Sam nods, and even just this exchange has him feeling woozy on his feet.
“Come on, come here. Let’s get you laid down then. Oh, I’ve been so worried about you. I thought you just didn’t care for me anymore.” She brings her hands back to his chest and slowly slides them up to his shoulders, under his suit jacket, and down his arms, pushing the jacket off of him.
“You should know that’s not true, Kid.” Sam answers her, trying to help her, but the pain he feels is limiting his range of motion, as he’s trying to keep this brave face for her.
Michelle keeps quiet, focusing on keeping her motions slow and deliberate. Once Sam’s jacket is off, she drops it on the floor. She knows Sam is particular about his clothes, and he knows she will pick it up for him, she always does.
Next, she’s slowly working open each button on his shirt. Sam watches her hands work, watches her concentrated expression, and when the time comes, he’s helping her take it off of him as well.
His wound is tender, red, and angry all around it. He still wears a bandage over it, but it’s stopped bleeding some time ago. His bruises are discolored now, disgusting shades of green and yellow mar his sides, his back, and have just recently faded from his face.
She brings her hands to rest on his chest, then slowly slides them down, stopping just above the bandages. “Oh..” Michelle mutters, her eyes are welling with tears now. “What happened? No, no, I don’t want to know.” She corrects herself, and continues down her path to working his pants open and pushing them down his legs.
Once he’s out of them, she turns to the side and allows Sam to walk to the bed and sit on it. And Sam is thankful for the chance, as he had started to feel dizzy on his feet.
He’s not sure if it’s the pain, or if it’s because of of soft, careful, considerate, Michelle had been in caring for him. He’ll never quite get used to this. He’ll never quite understand how Michelle doesn’t see how undeserving he is of her care.
Michelle picks up Sam’s discarded clothes and folds them for him, then sets them down in the nearest chair. Once done, she turns to Sam and begins to walk toward him.
Even though Michelle is topless, Sam’s eyes never leave her face as she walks over. Once close enough, she reaches out and sets her hands on his shoulders, then climbs into his lap.
Once seated, she wraps an arm around Sam’s neck, her fingers carding through his thick, black, hair, and lifts the other hand to cradle his cheek.
Sam tilts his head, leaning into her hand, he lets his eyes slip closed for just a moment as he turns his head just slightly and kisses the hill of her hand. He brings his hands to rest on her hips, though he begins to feel down the soft, supple, skin of her thighs.
He turns his face back toward her, and she smiles at him, runs her finger over his bruised cheek. Sam grimaces just a little, and she immediately stills her finger, an apologetic look crossing her face.
Sam rubs his hands along her thighs, just feeling the warmth of her body against his own has done more for his healing than all the medicine and exercises the doctor prescribed for him.
Michelle brings her arm to wrap around his side, the side that hasn’t been shot, and then she lays her body against Sam’s, chest to chest. Sam brings his hand up to her back, and against all better judgement, pulls her closer to him.
He tries his hardest not to react to the pain that sears through him, and he thinks he does a good job of it, because Michelle allows him to hold her like this.
Her cheek is against his chest, and Sam leans down to kiss the top of her head.
“Don’t ever leave me again, Sam. You hear me? Don’t ever get hurt like this again.” Michelle mutters, her voice is soft and he can barely hear her, but he can hear the tremble in her delicate voice, and he feels his heartstrings tug.
“I don’t plan to,” He answers her, his hand still running up and down her back. Her skin is so smooth, so delicate, so fresh. Not a single mark on her. And as ironic as it is, Sam feels as though just being near her has tainted her. He’s made her feel a heaviness and a worry that she shouldn’t have to.
“I love you, Sam.” Michelle answers him, her voice even softer than before. Sam is stunned into silence, his hand stilling on her back.
“And maybe it’s a silly little school-girl crush.. but Sam.. I love you. And I want to be with you. Even if your job is scary.. I can quit this. Live in your place. Cook and clean for you. Do your laundry, just how you like it. I can be sure you always come home to me like that, can’t I? Can’t people like us have that?”
Michelle’s voice is more than wavering now, her fingers twisting in his hair, her face turned into his chest. Sam stays silent, more than stunned at the words, at her openness, at how much he’s wanted the same thing. How many times he’s thought the same thing.
“Michelle,” Sam starts, running his hand up to the nape of her neck, and then making her look up at him. “You don’t want that. Not really. You don’t want me. My life. You’re such a pretty girl. A great girl. A good egg, Michelle. You don’t—“
“I’m a grown woman, Sam. I know what I want.” Her eyes are slick with tears as she untangles her hands from his hair and brings them to cup both sides of his jaw. She holds him in place and sits up, bringing her lips up to his and kissing him.
Sam drops his hands back to her hips and holds her steady as he chases after her kiss. She breaks the kiss for just a moment, just to look up at Sam, and then she’s kissing him again, with much more urgency. And Sam, his whole speech forgotten, lets her.
She pushes him back on the bed gently, and Sam allows her to. He helps her to reposition herself on his lap in a way that she’s not hurting him, and then she’s leaning down to kiss him again.
Kissing isn’t something they do very often, and truthfully Sam’s still not all that sure he’s doing it right, but Michelle reassures him every time, and drinks in every kiss like it may be her last.
She slides her tongue across Sam’s bottom lip and he opens his mouth for her, allowing her to slide her tongue in. Sam follows her lead and soon they’re both breathless.
Michelle rests her forehead against Sam’s and pants, her warm breath fanning over his face.
Sam looks back at her and fights the smile that tugs on his lips. She smiles though, openly, and settles back to lay on him, cheek to chest. “I mean it, Sam. What I said.”
“Michelle,” Sam sighs, beginning to run his hands up and down her back again.
“Sam.”
“I.. You want to.. get married? Live with me? Have little kids runnin’ around or somethin’?” Sam chuckles, the whole idea of this being his life seems absurd.
“Oh Sam, you’d give me the most beautiful baby girl.” Michelle gushes, turning to look up at him. Sam blushes just a bit and turns away from her gaze.
For a moment, he even begins to think that he could have that. That he deserves something like this. Tommy and Sarah are getting married. They’re going to have a family. Why couldn’t he? He could protect them. He’ll move up in the Family. He’ll half-run this town soon. He could do it. He could have this. He’d doubt Tommy will let his kids have a part in the Family in the future. Someone has to keep the Family running.
Sam turns over the idea, as much as he’s ashamed to say so, but he stays quiet. He doesn’t say much of anything else. And Michelle, smart girl, doesn’t push it, doesn’t bring it up again.
The two of them lay here like this, chest to chest, skin to skin, and let silence fall over the room.
Sam begins to feel Michelle’s breath steadying, and he knows she’s about to fall asleep.
“You know,” Sam says, soft and slow, his accent hanging heavy around the words as he tries to force himself to voice his feelings, “For what it’s worth anyway,” Sam brings his hand up to the back of her head, beginning to twist a piece of hair around his finger as well.
Michelle hums, a sign she’s still listening, though Sam knows her well-enough now, to know that she’s more than half-asleep.
“I could love you too.” Sam whispers, turning his head to look out the window.
Michelle doesn’t say anything, though she nestles further into Sam’s chest, and Sam lets her, pain aside, wrapping his arm tight around her waist.
-
November 20, 1932
The Don slides Michelle’s picture across the table to Tommy.