She felt as if she was losing her mind.

     What was worse? To know what his final moments were like, or to never allow her mind to wander down that dark, dangerous road? Sabrina had made the choice to live with the latter. Much to the surprise of her father and uncles.

     Even now, nearly a year later, she could sense them watching her, as if waiting for her to finally snap. To show some emotion, some reaction. But it never happened. Other than that wrenching, tearful plea to her father, Sabrina had never so much as raised her voice towards any of the men in the Corleone family.

     Initially, she thought her reaction, or lack thereof, was steeped in a desire to exact revenge. To make them hurt, especially her father, as she had. But she soon realized she simply did not have the effort required to sustain such hatred. Rather, to project it.

     She was past feeling.

     That part of her died that night on the stairwell as she looked up into the cold, implacable eyes of her father and realized what she asked of him, literally begged him for could never be.

     Feeling had no place in her world now. Feelings were too closely tied to pain. And she vowed she would never hurt again as she had that night from so long ago. Yes, she missed him. Some days it was an effort of superhuman proportions to climb out of bed, the grief consumed her so.

     But she did.

     After all, she was a Corleone.

     Besides, pain was temporary. It was the memories that were forever. In time those, too, would blur. Just as she realized so would her hatred for her father.

     Michael had his wife and newborn child and the happiness they afforded him to keep him content at night. Things Sabrina knew that although one day she, too, would have, they would never be enjoyed in the manner they were meant to be experienced.

     So in lieu of love, she embraced hate. And that was enough for her.

     For now.