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Michael broke in sharply. He said to Tessio, very much the chief now, "There are

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things being negotiated which will answer your questions and resolve your doubts. If my

word isn't enough for you, ask your Don."

But Tessio understood he had finally gone too far. If he dared to question the Don he

would make Michael his enemy. So he shrugged and said, "I spoke for the good of the

Family, not for myself. I can take care of myself."

Michael gave him a friendly smile. "Tessio, I never doubt you in any way. I never did.

But trust in me. Of course I'm not equal to you and Pete in these things, but after all I've

my father to guide me. I won't do too badly, we'll all come out fine."

The meeting was over. The big news was that Clemenza and Tessio would be

permitted to form their own Families from their regimes. Tessio would have his gambling

and docks in Brooklyn, Clemenza the gambling in Manhattan and the Family contacts in

the racing tracks of Long Island.

The two caporegimes left not quite satisfied, still a little uneasy. Carlo Rizzi lingered

hoping that the time had come when he finally would be treated as one of the family, but

he quickly saw that Michael was not of that mind. He left the Don, Tom Hagen and

Michael alone in the corner library room. Albert Neri ushered him out of the house and

Carlo noticed that Neri stood in the doorway watching him walk across the floodlit mall.

In the library the three men had relaxed as only people can who have lived years

together in the same house, in the same family. Michael served some anisette to the

Don and scotch to Tom Hagen. He took a drink for himself, which he rarely did.

Tom Hagen spoke up first. "Mike, why are you cutting me out of the action?"

Michael seemed surprised. "You'll be my number one man in Vegas. We'll be

legitimate all the way and you're the legal man. What can be more important than that?"

Hagen smiled a little sadly. "I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about Rocco

Lampone building a secret regime without my knowledge. I'm talking about you dealing

direct with Neri rather than through me or a caporegime. Unless of course you don't

know what Lampone's doing."

Michael said softly, "How did you find out about Lampone's regime?"

Hagen shrugged. "Don't worry, there's no leak, nobody else knows. But in my position

I can see what's happening. You gave Lampone his own living, you gave him a lot of

freedom. So he needs people to help him in his little empire. But everybody he recruits

has to be reported to me. And I notice everybody he puts on the payroll is a little too

good for that particular job, is getting a little more money than that particular exercise is

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worth. You picked the right man when you picked Lampone, by the way. He's operating

perfectly."

Michael grimaced. "Not so damn perfect if you noticed. Anyway the Don picked

Lampone."

"OK," Tom said, "so why am I cut out of the action?"

Michael faced him and without flinching gave it to him straight. "Tom, you're not a

wartime Consigliori. Things may get tough with this move we're trying to make and we

may have to fight. And I want to get you out of the line of fire too, just in case."

Hagen's face reddened. If the Don had told him the same thing, he would have

accepted it humbly. But where the hell did Mike come off making such a snap judgment?

"OK," he said, "but I happen to agree with Tessio. I think you're going about this all

wrong. You're making the move out of weakness, not strength. That's always bad.

Barzini is like a wolf, and if he tears you limb from limb, the other Families won't come

rushing to help the Corleones."

The Don finally spoke. "Tom, it's not just Michael. I advised him on these matters.

There are things that may have to be done that I don't want in any way to be

responsible for. That is my wish, not Michael's. I never thought you were a bad

Consigliori, I thought Santino a bad Don, may his soul rest in peace. He had a good

heart but he wasn't the right man to head the Family when I had my little misfortune.

And who would have thought that Fredo would become a lackey of women? So don't

feel badly. Michael has all my confidence as you do. For reasons which you can't know,

you must have no part in what may happen. By the way, I told Michael that Lampone's

secret regime would not escape your eye. So that shows I have faith in you."

Michael laughed. "I honestly didn't think you'd pick that up, Tom."

Hagen knew he was being mollified. "Maybe I can help," he said.

Michael shook his head decisively. "You're out, Tom."

Tom finished his drink and before he left he gave Michael a mild reproof. "You're

nearly as good as your father," he told Michael. "But there's one thing you still have to

learn."

"What's that?" Michael said politely.

"How to say no," Hagen answered.

Michael nodded gravely. "You're right," he said. "I'll rememher that."

When Hagen had left, Michael said jokingly to his father, "So you've taught me

everything else. Tell me how to say no to people in a way they'll like."

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The Don moved to sit behind the hig desk. "You cannot say 'no' to the people you love,

not often. That's the secret. And then when you do, it has to sound like a 'yes.' Or you

have to make them say 'no.' You have to take time and trouble. But I'm old-fashioned,

you're the new modern generation, don't listen to me."

Michael laughed. "Right. You agree about Tom being out, though, don't you?"

The Don nodded. "He can't be involved in this."

Michael said quietly, "I think it's time for me to tell you that what I'm going to do is not

purely out of vengeance for Apollonia and Sonny. It's the right thing to do. Tessio and

Tom are right about the Barzinis."

Don Corleone nodded. "Revenge is a dish that tastes best when it is cold," he said. "I

would not have made that peace but that I knew you would never come home alive

otherwise. I'm surprised, though, that Barzini still made a last try at you. Maybe it was

arranged before the peace talk and he couldn't stop it. Are you sure they were not after

Don Tommasino?"

Michael said, "That's the way it was supposed to look. And it would have been perfect,

even you would never have suspected. Except that I came out alive. I saw Fabrizzio

going through the gate, running away. And of course I've checked it all out since I've

been back."

"Have they found that shepherd?" the Don asked.

"I found him," Michael said. "I found him a year ago. He's got his own little pizza place

up in Buffalo. New name, phony passport and identification. He's doing very well this

Fabrizzio the shepherd."

The Don nodded. "So it's to no purpose to wait any longer. When will you start?"

Michael said, "I want to wait until after Kay has the baby. Just in case anything goes

wrong. And I want Tom settled in Vegas so he won't be concerned in the affair. I think a

year from now."

"You've prepared for everything?" the Don asked. He did not look at Michael when he

said this. Michael said gently, "You have no part. You're not responsible. I take all

responsibility. I would refuse to let you even veto. If you tried to do that now, I would

leave the Family and go my own way. You're not responsible."

The Don was silent for a long time and then he sighed. He said, "So be it. Maybe

that's why I retired, maybe that's why I've turned everything over to you. I've done my

share in life, I haven't got the heart anymore. And there are some duties the best of men

can't assume. That's it then."

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During that year Kay Adams Corleone was delivered of a second child, another boy.

She delivered easily, without any trouble whatsoever, and was welcomed back to the

mall like a royal princess. Connie Corleone presented the baby with a silk layette

handmade in Italy, enormously expensive and beautiful. She told Kay, "Carlo found it.

He shopped all over New York to get something extra special after I couldn't find

anything I really liked." Kay smiled her thanks, understood immediately that she was to

tell Michael this fine tale. She was on her way to becoming a Sicilian.

Also during that year, Nino Valenti died of a cerebral hemorrhage. His death made the

front pages of the tabloids because the movie Johnny Fontane had featured him in had

opened a few weeks before and was a smash hit, establishing Nino as a major star. The

papers mentioned that Johnny Fontane was handling the funeral arrangements, that the

funeral would be private, only family and close friends to attend. One sensational story

even claimed that in an interview Johnny Fontane had blamed himself for his friend's

death, that he should have forced his friend to place himself under medical care, but the

reporter made it sound like the usual self-reproach of the sensitive but innocent

bystander to a tragedy. Johnny Fontane had made his childhood friend, Nino Valenti, a

movie star and what more could a friend do?

No member of the Corleone Family attended the California funeral except Freddie.

Lucy and Jules Segal attended. The Don himself had wanted to go to California but had

suffered a slight heart attack, which kept him in his bed for a month. He sent a huge

floral wreath instead. Albert Neri was also sent West as the official representative of the

Family.

Two days after Nino's funeral, Mae Greene was shot to death in the Hollywood home

of his movie-star mistress; Albert Neri did not reappear in New York until almost a

month later. He had taken his vacation in the Caribbean and returned to duty tanned

almost black. Michael Corleone welcomed him with a smile and a few words of praise,

which included the information that Neri would from then on receive an extra "living," the

Family income from an East Side "book" cousidered especially rich. Neri was content,

satisfied that he lived in a world that properly rewarded a man who did his duty.

Book 8

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Michael Corleone had taken precautions against every eventuality. His planning was

faultless, his security impeccable. He was patient, hoping to use the full year to prepare.

But he was not to get his necessary year because fate itself took a stand against him,

and in the most surprising fashion. For it was the Godfather, the great Don himself, who

failed Michael Corleone.

On one sunny Sunday morning, while the women were at church, Don Vito Corleone

dressed in his gardening uniform: baggy gray trousers, a faded blue shirt, battered dirty-

brown fedora decorated by a stained gray silk hatband. The Don had gained

considerable weight in his few years and worked on his tomato vines, he said, for the

sake of his health. But he deceived no one.

The truth was, he loved tending his garden; he loved the sight of it early on a morning.

It brought back his childhood in Sicily sixty years ago, brought it back without the terror,

the sorrow of his own father's death. Now the beans in their rows grew little white

flowers on top; strong green stalks of scallion fenced everything in. At the foot of the

garden a spouted barrel stood guard. It was filled with liquidy cow manure, the linest

garden fertilizer. Also in that lower part of the garden were the square wooden frames

he had built with his own hands, the sticks cross-tied with thick white string. Over these

frames crawled the tomato vines.

The Don hastened to water his garden. It must be done before the sun waxed too hot

and turned the water into a prism of fire that could burn his lettuce leaves like paper.

Sun was more important than water, water also was important; but the two, imprudently

mixed, could cause great misfortune.

The Don moved through his garden hunting for ants. If ants were present, it meant

that lice were in his vegetables and the ants were going after the lice and he would have

to spray.

He had watered just in time. The sun was becoming hot and the Don thought,

"Prudence. Prudence." But there were just a few more plants to be supported by sticks

and he bent down again. He would go back into the house when he finished this last

row.

Quite suddenly it felt as if the sun had come down very close to his head. The air filled

with dancing golden specks. Michael's oldest boy came running through the garden

toward where the Don knelt and the boy was enveloped by a yellow shield of blinding

light. But the Don was not to be tricked, he was too old a hand. Death hid behind that

flaming yellow shield ready to pounce out on him and the Don with a wave of his hand

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warned the boy away from his presence. Just in time. The sledgehammer blow inside

his chest made him choke for air. The Don pitched forward into the earth.

The boy raced away to call his father. Michael Corleone and some men at the mall

gate ran to the garden and found the Don lying prone, clutching handfuls of earth. They

lifted the Don up and carried him to the shade of his stone-flagged patio. Michael knelt

beside his father, holding his hand, while the other men called for an ambulance and

doctor.

With a great effort the Don opened his eyes to see his son once more. The massive

heart attack had turned his ruddy face almost blue. He was in extremis. He smelled the

garden, the yellow shield of light smote his eyes, and he whispered, "Life is so

beautiful."

He was spared the sight of his women's tears, dying before they came back from

church, dying before the ambulance arrived, or the doctor. He died surrounded by men,

holding the hand of the son he had most loved.

The funeral was royal. The Five Families sent their Dons and caporegimes, as did the