New York 1984.

Because of his diabetes Michael had not touched a plate of pasta, a canolli or even a slice of sausage for years. Tonight was going to be an exception. His personal cook, who kept him on a strict diet had the night off, and Connie prepared a five course Sicilian dinner for Michael, Kay, Anthony and herself. After Mary's death, Conie had returned to New York and took up residence in Michael's oulent East Side Co-Op. She servd dutifully on the Boards of the various foundations the family had founded, and, as ever, she grew into the position in ways no one ever expected. She became well versed in ivestment strategies, and she would often challenge the "experts" the foundations had hired about the management of the endowments -- and to their chagrin she was usually more astute than they. In one of his very rare communications outside of Sicily, Michael, who always reviewed the financial statements of the foundations had written Connie a brief congratulatory note, saying, "Of you, Santino and me, you're by far the best Don since our father."

Kay and Michael had spent most of their time in New York since their reconciliation. She had persuaded him to get counseling for his grief, but he never really bought into it, so it didn't do him much good. If anything, it made Kay feel better, and in turn that allowed her to become more open and forgiving with Michael, and that assuaged some of his pain.

Tonight Anthony would be joining them for dinner, and Michael was looking forward to a quiet family dinner. He arrived
at 8 and after a glass of wine the four of them, Connie, Mike, Anthony and Kay quietly went into the dining room.
Over the first course, calamari sauteed in olive oil and garlic, Anthony staryed to say something but then stopped short.
"What is it Tony," Kay asked softly. "Nothing...it's..."
"Your career," said Michael with a tone of sympathy and understanding that surprised Anthony.
"Since Mary's death I can hardly control myself when I get near an opera house." Kay reached over to him and patted his arm.
Connie looked at Michael, "Isn't there something you can do to help?"
"This isn't the time or place Connie, but later Anthony, if you like we can talk. "
Kay quickly interjectd "Michael is right."
There was an awkward silence for a moment, but it was broken by Michael telling Connie how much he liked the Calamari. "These are every bit as good as what we get in Sicily." This broke the ice somewhat and as the remnants of the once great Corleone family moved from one course to the next talking about food, the old days, and each chose to remember selectively the good times and the warmth they had alll shared.
As they were beginning desert a butler appeared in the dining room holding a wireless telephone. "Mr. Corleone, I am terribly sorry to interrupt your dinner, but this is urgent." Michael gestured and the servant brought the phone to him.
"This is Michael Corleone"
There was an interminable pause. Micheal said a weak thank you, handed the phone back, sighed and slumped back in his chair.
"What is it?"
"Its Vincent. He was shot an hour ago in front of his club in Little Italy. He's in the hospital. It doesnt look good."
Istantly COnnie stood up. "I'll go. Kay, you and Michael stay here and I'll call. Anthony...
"I'll go with you Aunt Connie."