AN: And so, it begins.

A buzzing noise woke the twenty-two-year-old. She groaned and rubbed her eyes, rolling over. She mumbled a "Yeah, yeah" under her breath as she reached for the cell phone on her bedside table.

It was a text message from Monica: "What's up?"

She replied, "I am, and it's your fault."

An emoji was sent back to her: a smiley face with its tongue, sticking out. She made a chuffing sound, rolling her eyes and closing the phone. She put it back in front of a certain framed portrait: a black-and-white wedding still from the 1940s. In it, her grandfather and his three siblings were standing next to their father. She focused on it for a couple of minutes. Her gaze drifted past Great-Grandpa Vito, past Great-Uncles Sonny and Fredo, and past Great-Aunt Connie in her stunning gown. The last face held the most significance: Grandpa Michael, the innocent war hero turned lonely mob kingpin. He looked so striking in his uniform. Even though decades had passed since his time in the service, he was still buried in it. She was born on his birthday, two years after his death. She'd been told on many occasions of her resemblance to him. Sighing, she pressed two fingers to her lips, and then to the image.

Softly, she said, "Look out for me, okay?"

After a shower, it took a while to brush all the knots out of her thick hair. It sometimes felt like she was doing strength-training, with the amount of force she had to use. Her medallion glittered against the royal-blue backdrop of the sweater she pulled on. She ran her thumb over the image on it: St. Valentine, patron of love and the man she'd been named for. Applying her makeup and tying her boots, she finally went downstairs to breakfast.

"Morning, Val."

"Hey", she replied, ruffling the curly hair of her sixteen-year-old brother.

Paulo was the complete package of a surfer dude, right down to his Hawaiian-print shirts and pooka necklaces. In fact, he had one on that morning, layered over the sweater that blocked out autumn's slight chill. His hazel eyes charmed nearly all the girls in his school. He, however, only had eyes for one: Alison Bianchi, his girlfriend of one year. They handled their relationship in the old-school, classy way. She even wore his baseball championship ring. He owed his sister majorly for setting them up. Of course, part of the reason it'd been so easy to introduce them from the association Alison's family had with theirs. It was often hard to connect with people, who didn't already understand the mob lifestyle.

Watching Val pour milk over her organic chocolate cereal, he said, "I can't believe you've become such a health nut."

She smirked at him and replied, "I haven't. I just like to keep some things, like chemicals and preservatives, to a bare minimum."

"Mm…Alison likes stuff at a bare minimum, too, if you know what I mean."

She rolled her eyes when he closed that sentence with a wink.

Then, another voice entered the picture: "Don't ruin her appetite with your dirty mind."

The siblings glanced over their shoulders as their father walked into the kitchen. Save for his blue eyes and more delicate nose, Anthony Corleone was a near-mirror of his father. There were a few grey streaks at his temples, as well as small bags under his eyes. He was smiling, too, as he walked over and kissed the tops of each of his children's heads. Paulo tried to shrug it off, but his barely-there smile showed how much he liked it.

Val giggled and said, "Sleep okay, Daddy?"

"Yeah, kitten. Your mom's in the shower, trying out that new soap your sister sent us."

Natalia, the baby of their bunch at age thirteen, was currently on a trip with her best friend's family. She was the one over whom their mother hovered the most, so the small gift was a way of temporarily pacifying her. Val poured her father a glass of orange juice, sliding it along the counter to his waiting hand. She then did the same for herself and her brother.

Seeing Paulo's slightly-confused facial expression, she told him, "You need more Vitamin C, scooter. It helps boost your immune system."

"Whatever."

He tried to play it cool. But she bit back a giggle when, from the corner of her eye, she saw him take a big gulp of the juice. She was reaching for a banana, when her mother finally entered the kitchen. Lisa Nichols-Corleone was a human firecracker, her seemingly-perpetual smile almost bright enough to blind the sun. She patted her children's backs as she walked past them and sat at the table.

She told Anthony, "I'm heading to Home Depot today."

"For the pool-house stuff?"

"Yeah. I need to order the paint."

"Sounds good", he replied mid-chew.

Val planned to move into the pool-house, once the renovations were complete. The reason it took so long was the addition her father insisted on. After some serious cajoling, she'd chosen a sock-hop theme for the new entertainment/den area. This was why they needed the paint. She dropped off her maternal grandmother's prescription, before heading to her job at the library. She smiled at her coworkers while punching in. Though the mob wasn't as high-profile as it used to be, her family still provoked a nervous response when mentioned. So, her card was under her mother's maiden name.

Her first task of the day was turning on all the computers, while her second was re-shelving all the recently-returned books. She was in the middle of doing that, when a group of second graders entered the library. The corner of her mouth twitched up. This field trip had been planned for a week. She helped the receptionist carry over the trays of oatmeal-raisin cookies and cups of punch. Her smile grew as she waved at a couple of the kids, before pivoting on her heel and moving to return to her work. Just then, a little girl jogged over and tugged on the corner of her shirt. Val turned back around, crouching down to the child's level.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"Can you read to us, Miss Nichols? Please."

"Sure. What story do you want?"

"The boys picked one."

She led Val over to a rocking-chair. The twenty-two-year-old stifled a laugh. The chosen story was "Star Wars: A New Hope", in holographic picture-book form. She'd read it many times, but it still remained a favorite. She crossed her legs as she sat down, taking a deep breath before starting to read. This was something she loved more than anything. It was a special way of combining her major, English literature, with her minor in theater arts. One had to be a good actor to hold the interest of young children, especially during story-time.

She smiled at the giggles that went around the room when she growled out, "I have you now."

Val made a gesture with her right hand, indicating the loud tone the book said Darth Vader had spoken with. She took an overly-dramatic bow five minutes later, when the tale ended. Then, she heard the faint sound of her cell's ringtone in her pocket: "Beggin' ", from the musical "Jersey Boys. It was her cousin, Monica, calling. Quickly glancing from side-to-side, Val ducked back into the file room so they could speak in private. She pressed a tiny button with her manicured thumbnail, and she brought the phone to her ear.

"Talk to me, Nic."

"Well, hi to you, too."

A giggle was followed by, "What's up?"

Monica replied, "Nothing much. Mom wanted to know if you could come with us to lunch."

"My lunch break is another two hours away. You know that."

"And you know a Girl Scout always has to be prepared."

The mentioned mother was Great-Uncle Sonny's daughter, Francesca. Known as Chessi to family and close friends, she'd inherited his legendary sarcastic sense of humor. She'd also inherited his chocolate-brown hair, which nowadays fell to her ribcage in glossy ringlets. A few strands of silver were scattered throughout, including small bunches at her temples.

Sighing and checking her watch, Val said, "Um…yeah, I should be able to. Once the elementary school group leaves, I'll tell my boss where I'm going. Wait. Where am I going, exactly?"

"To a place in Manhattan. Is that okay?"

"Sure. It's fine. I'll see you then."

"See you."

At the promised time, Val was leaning against a pillar as she waited for her cousins to show up. Using her phone to check Facebook helped her stay occupied. She'd just shared a picture of a fairy by a river to a friend's wall, when the loud beep of a car horn drew her attention. She looked to her left, smiling when her gaze met Chessi's through the windshield. They hugged when she walked around to the driver's side. As she sat down, Val high-fived Monica, handing over her phone so the other girl could look at the pictures. The good mood remained during the drive into Manhattan. She was mildly surprised when the hostess at the restaurant said a table had already been prepared. Suddenly, there was a loud cough, and Val turned in the direction of the noise. A familiar figure sat in a dimly-lit corner far across the room. She caught the glint of light off the silver pinkie ring he wore, and the corner of his mouth twitched up when they made eye-contact. His grey hair appeared flaxen under the hanging lamp's glow.

His smile grew as he waved all three of them over, calling warmly, "Valentina! Come, bella, come!"

Many in New York's high-society knew this man. The police were familiar with him, too, just as they were with several of her other relatives. He'd stood as godfather at her baptism. He was Vincent: head of the Corleone family, and her second-cousin. He gave her a bear-hug when she reached the table, as well as a loud kiss on her left cheek. After kissing her other cheek, as well as the cheeks of the other two women present, he gestured for them to sit.

He said, "I ordered mozzarella sticks as an appetizer. But I wanted to wait until youse got here, before I picked the main course. Seafood ravioli still your favorite, Val?"

"Nothing better."

"I think my wife would say different about her chicken picatta, but that's just me."

She smiled, and the slight bit of awkwardness instantly lifted. A waitress took their orders, before disappearing.

Then, Val began sharing details of her job: "I love the kids. No matter how bad I feel going in there, seeing them smile makes all that worth it."

"Good. It's a great way to hone your instincts for the future."

A giggle was followed by, "Don't worry. I've got plenty of time to think about having children of my own."

"Well, that's nice and all, but I actually meant somethin' else. This job will teach you how to organize, how to keep track of a bunch of people when everything's goin' crazy."

Her smile decreased slightly, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. She knew what Vincent was hinting at. Ever since she turned eighteen, he'd been dropping little references to the possibility of her, taking a position of power in the family. He probably thought she was waiting to be done with her degree program. There were so many people involved with the family business, that she often lost count. Naturally, the topmost tier involved blood relatives. But even within that, Val and her bunch were looked at as royalty. It was like being a king or queen, in a group of dukes and duchesses. Michael Corleone was the cream of the legend crop within the mob. To be his descendant was something special, or so she was constantly being told. Whenever it was brought up, she'd always smile politely and wave it off, all the while cringing inside. As much as she loved her grandfather, she often felt like a dark cloud was constantly hanging over her, waiting to corrupt and consume her as it did him. This struggle was constantly on her mind, but she couldn't let it be so now. This was meant to be a happy get-together. She'd keep it that way.

Val gave a low hum of delight at her first sip of sangria. She was used to the odd glass of wine at home, but it was rarely like this. The elegance of it made her feel pretty, like a scene out of "The Great Gatsby". Gathering around a table to eat and talk played such a crucial part in Italian culture. So, getting the best seats at restaurants was one of the few facets of mob life she actually enjoyed. Her knee bounced anxiously as she waited for the food. Monica saw this and rolled her eyes.

She then reached over and patted her cousin's arm saying, "Calm down. Geez. You're starting to make me nervous."

"I can't help it."

"You know what I can't help? Noticing how that waiter," and she gestured to the right, "—won't stop staring at you."

Val turned where Monica had pointed. Sure enough, a man in his late-twenties or early-thirties was staring at them as he swept the floor. But when he realized he'd been caught, he quickly looked away. Both girls hid giggles behind their hands. He was a handsome guy: about 5'9 or 5'10 in height, dark brown hair that had a slight curl to it, cobalt-blue eyes, and a thin heart-shaped face. When the twenty-two-year-old again looked at him, this time on her own, he didn't turn away. The corner of his mouth flipped up in a shy smile, and her heart flipped in her chest along with it. She felt her cheeks get warm, and she forced her gaze to break from his. Whoa. That was weird. She forced a cough to cover her emotions. Now, she was a different kind of anxious, which was only cured when their waitress arrived with their orders. Thank goodness. She crossed herself in silent prayer, before digging in.

She was part-way into her meal, when Vincent spoke up again: "The Lady Boss wants to see you when we get home. Says youse don't talk enough."

Knowing who he meant, she gave an indulgent smile and said, "Sure. I'll go."

The compound was so big, that it was easy to go a week without seeing a specific relative. Granted, not every family member lived there, but the principle still stood. It would be interesting to have a sit-down with Great-Aunt Connie. She was right on that level, at least. They really didn't talk enough.

AN: I hope I got all the shown personalities right. Can't wait for your feedback.