At this moment—when the old Godfather was gone and Barzini was rising—
who would dare pluck the new king's whiskers?
All eyes turned to Leo.
Up in the hosts' seats, Michael Corleone could no longer stay calm.
The feud between Leo and Barzini wasn't over.
Now that Don Vito was dead, Barzini no longer feared the Corleone family.
If he lost his temper here and tried to kill Leo, Michael would be in big trouble.
Barzini, too, noticed Leo. A flicker of wariness crossed his eyes.
In all his years on the street, apart from the young Godfather, only Leo had ever handed him a real defeat.
But he couldn't let Leo steal his thunder now. If he let Leo humiliate him here, no one would ever respect him again.
Just as Barzini was about to retort, the New York City councilman standing beside him suddenly trotted over to Leo, beaming obsequiously:
"I never imagined you'd come to Don Vito's funeral, Mr. Valentino!
I'm Antonio Giuseppe, elected by the Italian community here.
I was lucky enough to attend the White House Christmas Ball too.
You truly are the pride of us Italians!"
Gasps all around.
This guy was always aloof with them—when had he ever groveled like this?
The mention of the White House and the councilman's deferential attitude made everyone realize this young man was no ordinary guest.
Barzini, who'd started the exchange furious, cooled off fast.
For him, the priority was destroying the Corleone family and unifying the New York Mafia.
There was no sense in making another enemy right now.
Thinking fast like a true fox, Barzini forced a smile like the councilman's and strode forward.
"Mr. Valentino, about that business in Richmond—I'm deeply sorry.
As an apology, I'll send you a very generous gift."
That remark made the whole crowd buzz with curiosity.
Who was this Leo Valentino really?
Michael Corleone now walked over, his usual warmth replaced by formal politeness.
"Welcome, Mr. Valentino."
Leo saw Michael blink deliberately.
He understood: Michael was acting.
In the movie, Michael had feigned weakness, then eliminated all his enemies in one swoop.
Now, he couldn't appear too close to the obviously powerful Leo, or their foes would see through the ruse.
Leo had only gone after Barzini tonight to needle him and remind all the Italians here that he existed.
Having made his point, Leo had no intention of ruining Michael's plan—after all, Michael taking out Barzini was very much in Leo's interest.
While the two men hugged perfunctorily, Michael whispered:
"Don't worry. Carlo will pay for what he did."
Leo whispered back:
"Good. I trust you.
I'm heading back West for New Year. Need anything from me?"
Michael blinked in surprise, then said quietly:
"Actually—yes. I need you to take care of someone for me."
Nevada, Las Vegas.
"Ahaha! Leo, what do you think? Not bad, right?"
Don Vito's second son Fredo had traveled West with Leo.
At Fredo's invitation, Leo visited the Corleone holdings in Las Vegas.
They went to the Flamingo Hotel.
As the host, Fredo also brought along Don Vito's godson—Hollywood star turned director and producer Johnny Fontane—plus a whole roomful of women.
The sight was a feast for the senses.
"Very nice, Fredo. I like it."
Leo made no pretense of not enjoying it.
But one "surprise" caught his eye:
Near the door, sitting in the worst spot, was a shy brunette—none other than Marilyn Monroe herself.
In his last life, Leo had focused only on her famous body.
He hadn't known much about her career beyond some rumors about Kennedy.
Judging by her green, nervous demeanor now, she clearly wasn't famous yet.
Fredo noticed Leo's eyes kept drifting to her.
He and Johnny exchanged knowing smiles.
Johnny beckoned to Marilyn:
"Come here, lucky girl. Sit with our honored guest.
Make him happy tonight, and tomorrow I'll make you happy."
Monroe didn't object.
Hollywood people all knew Johnny was generous, and she was in financial trouble.
She practically lit up with joy.
Once she sat beside Leo, she pressed her body close.
Leo's hand snaked around her soft waist to her thigh.
One of the perks of reincarnation: fulfilling teenage fantasies.
Marilyn squirmed at his touch.
Fredo, meanwhile, was complaining:
"Hahaha, Leo, you really should move out West. You'd fit right in here.
Not like my boring brother. He ignored these girls completely—flew in, flew out.
Said he had to give Moe Greene 'an offer he couldn't refuse.'
But Moe still runs this place! He doesn't get it.
Vegas is what it is because of Moe Greene. He's the only one who can run it!"
"Cough, cough! Fredo, you're drunk," Johnny muttered urgently.
He was trying to shut Fredo up before he aired too much dirty laundry.
But Fredo didn't get the hint. He opened his mouth to keep ranting—
When the door slammed open.
Moe Greene himself strode in.
He oozed arrogance behind thick-rimmed glasses.
His eyes scanned the room, pausing in disgust when he saw Leo with Monroe.
"Monroe! I've been looking for you.
Cody Jesse, president of Jesse Real Estate in California, specifically asked for you."
Moe Greene—the Mafia's man in Vegas.
There'd be no Las Vegas as they knew it without him.
He had investments from not only the Corleones but the entire New York Mafia.
But the man was a maniac—cooked the books, stole from the family.
Michael's request was for Leo to eliminate him.
Leo remembered how six months ago he'd asked Don Vito for two letters of recommendation—to place men with Moe Greene.
Clearly, this was the moment for that favor to pay off.
Fredo panicked, pleading:
"Moe, please! Mr. Valentino is a big Eastern businessman, a friend of the family.
He likes Monroe too. Just give me this one."
SLAP!
A bright red print bloomed on Fredo's cheek.
"Face it, Fredo—you have no pull with me.
When your family was in trouble, who sheltered you? I did!
Your idiot brother even threatened me!
Who the hell does he think he is?
I'm Moe Greene!
Hah—'big shot from back East'? What company would put a kid in charge?
Your family's going downhill.
If you ask me, Barzini should wipe you all out.
All you mob types licking everyone's boots—you shame us all!
Monroe, you're coming with me."
He turned to leave—
But after a few steps, he realized she hadn't moved.
She sat frozen, Leo's hand still on her shoulder.
"Kid, I don't care whose brat you are.
This is Vegas. My town.
If you want to see the sunrise tomorrow, let her go."
Leo smiled.
His handsome face often led idiots to think he was harmless.
But he didn't let go.
Instead, he stood up slowly, voice cold:
"Frederick Moe Greene.
Go get Cody Jesse. Let's see if he really wants to fight me for this woman."
Moe blinked.
Jesse Real Estate was California's second-largest firm.
Moe needed them to build his new hotel.
He might be crazy, but he wasn't stupid.
Verifying this would cost nothing.
"If you're lying, kid—you're dead tonight."
He stormed out.
Fredo was shaking.
"Leo, do you really know Jesse? He's huge in California.
Moe means it. If you're lying…you should run. I can probably still get you out."
Leo gave him a withering look.
"You're a disgrace to your family. Letting an underling slap you around.
But you know what? You should be grateful for what you just said.
You showed at least a little loyalty.
You're coming with me from now on.
My company needs a PR manager—you're perfect for it."
"What? Leo, I'm not being your PR manager—wait, this isn't the time! Do you even—"
He shut up mid-sentence.
They all heard it: Cody Jesse's voice in the hall.
"I want to see which East Coast punk is so tough!"
He came in with Moe right behind, ranting.
"Cody," Moe barked, "if he's lying, I'm killing him tonight!"
But Cody spotted Leo at once—relaxed, stroking Monroe's hand—and burst out:
"Moe, shut up!"
He ran over, shoved aside another girl, sat next to Leo and grinned.
"Chairman! You come West and don't even tell us? Let us play host?
Monroe—treat Mr. Valentino well!
As long as he's happy, I'll fund your next movie myself!"
Monroe trembled with joy.
Johnny and Fredo's jaws dropped.
Cody Jesse was huge in California real estate—and he was this deferential to Leo?
But the most shocked was Moe Greene, frozen at the door.
He'd assumed Leo was just another spoiled East Coast kid.
Turns out he'd been reckless beyond belief.
Cody noticed Leo hadn't stopped staring at Moe.
"Moe, if you want Jesse Real Estate to build your hotel, you'd better apologize to the Chairman."
Moe swore internally. This whole mess was because he wanted to impress Jesse by delivering Monroe.
Now he had no choice.
He walked up stiffly.
"Mr. Valentino, please forgive my offense."
Leo didn't reply. He just kept caressing Monroe's hand.
Cody grabbed a whiskey bottle, uncorked it, and handed it to Moe.
"Drink."
Moe clenched his jaw and chugged the whole thing in one go.
"Mr. Valentino! I was wrong."
Still silence.
Drunk and humiliated, Moe smashed the empty bottle over his own head, blood streaming.
"Mr. Valentino! I'm sorry!"
Leo finally looked up.
"You know, I'm not actually mad for myself.
I'm mad that my friend Fredo—the son of the former Don of New York—got slapped.
That wasn't slapping Fredo. That was slapping all of us from back East."
Moe went white.
Without waiting for Cody to speak, Moe started slapping himself.
He kept going until his face was swollen.
Leo finally raised a hand.
"Alright. My face doesn't hurt anymore. But the Corleone family's face still does.
Fredo. Slap him."
Fredo was frozen in horror.
"Moe was just playing around—really, let's forget it—"
"SLAP HIM!"
Leo's roar carried three years of pent-up murderous rage.
Fredo nearly wet himself.
He staggered over and gave Moe a timid little tap.
"Harder, Fredo! Be a man!"
Smack.
"Not enough!"
Smack!
"Still not enough!"
Smack!
Finally, Fredo hit with all his strength.
"Aaaaagh!" Moe howled, clutching his face.
Moe had never been humiliated like this.
He roared at Cody:
"Who the hell IS he? I don't need Jesse Real Estate—I'll go to Merlin instead!"
Cody got up, walked over, and hissed in his face:
"The Honorary Chairman of the American Real Estate Association.
A Presidential special advisor on housing.
A member of the biggest investment plan in U.S. history—the Marshall Plan.
Worth nearly $40 million.
Moe, if he doesn't approve, no one in the West will build your hotel."
Even Leo didn't have the real power Cody claimed—but Cody feared that title: presidential advisor.
The West wasn't yet powerful enough to resist D.C. policies.
And Cody wanted Leo's help getting in on the Marshall Plan billions.
Moe stared at Leo's absurdly young face, stunned.
Meanwhile, Marilyn Monroe's eyes glittered with strange light.
The "welcoming banquet" ended awkwardly.
Leo took Monroe's number and agreed to visit LA.
For safety, he left the Flamingo Hotel altogether.
He rode out to a mansion Leo owned ten miles outside Vegas—his base for coordinating with Gordon and Kirill.
"How many men do we have here now?" Leo asked.
"Eighty on my side. Kirill has about 120," Gordon replied.
"Moe didn't give you any trouble?"
Kirill snorted:
"He's too busy trying to be a casino king to care about street-level business."
"Kill him. Do you dare?"
Kirill jumped up instantly:
"I'll gather my men now. I've wanted to off that arrogant bastard for ages. He's probably at a massage parlor right now."
"Wait, Kirill," Gordon interjected.
"Boss, this is Vegas. Moe represents the New York mob. Kill him and they'll come for us."
"No they won't," Leo said calmly.
"The Corleone family will immediately take over all his operations."
Gordon frowned.
"But I heard the Corleones are about to be kicked out of New York. Will the other families let them run Vegas?"
Leo checked his watch and said evenly:
"By now, there are no other Five Families in New York."
Six hours earlier, New York.
Don Stracci was blown to pieces in an elevator by Corleone capo Clemenza.
Don Cuneo was shot four times while trapped in a revolving door.
Don Tattaglia was gunned down in a Long Island brothel.
Barzini, whistling cheerfully on the steps of the Empire State Building, was approached by a "police officer" who suddenly knelt and emptied his revolver into him.
All the Five Families—except the Corleones—were wiped out.
At the same time, traitors Carlo and Tessio were quietly executed.
Las Vegas.
Moe Greene limped into his usual massage parlor, face swollen, cursing:
"Goddamn it. Get me an ice pack.
I'm calling New York. We're killing that bastard."
He lay down, removed his thick glasses, and cursed some more.
The doorbell chimed. Someone entered.
He fumbled for his glasses.
He thought he saw Gordon, the polite Sicilian with the recommendation letter from New York.
He remembered too late whose letter that had been.
By the time Gordon's Colt fired, Moe Greene's last thought was:
That letter was from the Corleones.
California, Palo Alto, Menlo Park.
Leo's new family estate.
"Cheers!"
The entire Valentino clan had gathered in the grand dining room for New Year.
They'd seen Leo on TV and in newspapers for two weeks.
They now knew he was a truly big man.
And after some "lessons" from Leo, they were all on their best behavior.
Which suited Leo just fine.
As the kids watched fireworks outside, Leo's study was bustling.
Kevin spoke first:
"Seattle, LA, SF—all have our design firms now.
Our improved ranch-style homes are super popular out West.
We're even getting commercial projects.
Six months in, we've done over a million in sales, $300k net profit.
We also signed a long-term deal with Merlin Real Estate."
"Good," Leo said.
"Reinvest $150k to grow, $150k as shareholder dividends."
Sean's turn:
"James River Real Estate—your orders were not to grow too fast.
Even so, our advanced building methods dominate local competition.
We've cornered old-town renovations and utility upgrades.
Companies like Merlin and Jesse sub out smaller jobs to us.
Revenue $1 million, profit $200k."
"Keep $100k in the company, $50k for employee bonuses, $50k for discretionary ops," Leo ordered.
Edward reported:
"About that task you gave us—we're finally making progress.
We're courting ex-Senator Hiram Johnson.
Charlie's joined a horse-breeding club with rich locals.
Give us six months for better results."
"Too slow," Leo snapped.
"Last time I got lucky. Next time I might not.
Accelerate your intel on local politics and power players."
"Yes, boss," they chorused.
Once the others left, Joseph came in.
Leo handed him a box of cash.
"Boss," Joseph said, "the men are itching for real action. They want to prove themselves."
"Good blades stay sharp in the scabbard.
Have any of them been making trouble?"
Joseph shook his head.
"Good. Now go home. Be with your family."
That night, a Lincoln Continental pulled into the estate.
It stopped by the stairs to Leo's bedroom.
Out stepped Marilyn Monroe, curves wrapped in a coat.
Seeing the lights on upstairs, she gave a sultry smile and went up.