Following Dermot's directions, the car turned into the southern district of Richmond.
William, pointing a gun at Dermot's head, growled in frustration,
"You're lying! Why would someone like the mayor show up in a dump like the South Side?"
The always-soft Dermot nearly cried.
"I swear I'm not lying! Jesse always says, 'To go unnoticed, you have to be unexpected.'"
"Well… this is certainly unexpected."
Looking at the nearly condemned auto motel before them, Leo, William, and Noodles all echoed the sentiment.
There were no hiccups in their evidence-gathering mission.
The Black doorman had barely moved to reach under the counter before one of William's men pressed a M1897 shotgun to his head.
Jesse's chauffeur, acting as the lookout, immediately snapped into a military salute the moment he saw Leo.
The only disturbing part was the sight they walked in on—black and white flesh intertwined in a male-on-male scene that was beyond awkward.
"You're supposed to be a political tough guy, Jesse. Never thought I'd catch you… on the bottom," Leo quipped, holding back laughter.
"Who the hell are you people! I'm the boss of the South Side Bloods!"
Jesse's Black boyfriend snarled with menace.
"He doesn't even know who Jesse really is?" Leo asked Dermot, surprised.
Dermot shook his head.
"They've been together for years. That guy's illiterate—he doesn't watch the news."
"Whoever you are, get the hell out now. I swear, you won't walk out of the South Side alive!"
Leo looked at William, who calmly raised his M1911 and pointed it at the Black man.
"Listen, brother, get dressed and get lost. Otherwise, I guarantee you'll never be able to use that thing again."
Realizing the odds weren't in his favor, the Black man put on his clothes, but not without looking at Jesse and muttering,
"Wait for me."
But as he stepped outside planning to rally his crew, he was greeted by a chilling sight: a seemingly endless line of cars stretching along the street.
He tapped on one of the car windows.
"Who are you guys?"
When he heard the answer—Lynchburg Syndicate—his face turned pale.
Once a bold street boss, he now vanished into the night like a broken-hearted ghost.
After he left, Leo turned to Jesse.
"We'll wait for you outside."
Once outside, Leo asked Noodles,
"You got the pictures?"
Noodles nodded silently.
A cigarette later, Jesse walked out stone-faced and asked,
"What do you need me to do?"
"Honestly, I preferred the cocky version of you," Leo replied with a smirk.
"Come on, let's talk in the car."
New York — Empire State Building, Thomas' Office
It had been a month since their last meeting. At Oswald's request, the "Kill Leo Alliance" gathered again.
"The media front is producing results," said Clint proudly.
"Leo's American Dream image is cracking. Right now, Richmond is buzzing with talk—Is Leo the godfather behind the Lynchburg Syndicate?"
Harry didn't look too pleased.
His friend, the university president, coldly rejected his plea:
"No principal fires a student based on outsider pressure."
Fortunately, Jesse still worked under him. Saving face, Harry took credit for Jesse's work.
"The Anti-Corruption Committee was formed last week. Its effectiveness is still uncertain.
As for the association—Jesse's aide, Dermot, is already planning the general meeting to remove Leo as secretary-general."
Those who knew the truth inwardly scoffed at Harry's shamelessness.
"My side's going well too," another man chimed in.
"Our business has secured the central-north Virginia market. Next, we expand south.
Leo's companies are putting up a good fight, but based on financial projections, they're taking on abnormal levels of debt.
Unfortunately, neither company is publicly traded, so we can only peek at their banking records."
Oswald nodded with satisfaction.
"My Wall Street campaign was a big win. Most investment and commercial banks support my move.
They're already pressuring the heads of Virginia First Bank and JPMorgan's Virginia branch—encouraging them to offer Leo even more generous loan packages."
Everyone knew that Wall Street's support wasn't just about Leo.
It was part of a larger play involving Far East and Southeast Asia interests.
But that wasn't their concern now.
Things seemed to be going smoothly. If things continued this way, Leo was finished.
Harry, having been burned before, warned,
"Are we sure there's no wildcard he can use? That guy's sneaky."
The room fell silent.
Eventually, Oswald replied:
"The loan amounts are real. The banks are actually moving money. His companies are truly spending it.
Unless Leo can pull out funds quickly, he's doomed.
We shouldn't overestimate him. Yes, he beat Lamb Corp, but look at him now—women, fancy cars, mansions.
Talented men rise every year from the bottom, but most get lost in materialism on the way up.
He's relying more and more on gangs. He's lost the brilliant touch that earned Harry's approval in the first place."
Richmond's Financial District
Virginia First Bank CEO Alexander Theodore sat across from Leopold Max, head of JPMorgan's Virginia branch.
Seeing Leopold's sour expression, Alexander cautiously asked,
"You caved?"
Leopold scoffed.
"So did you."
Alexander shrugged.
"We had no choice. That kid made us a lot of money.
But he's risen too fast and made too many enemies. Without us, he wouldn't have survived Lamb Corp.
We've done enough. You're supposed to be the final blow.
Your newly promoted credit manager Hubert is close to Leo—will that be a problem?"
Leopold rolled his eyes.
"As if your guy Dick is any better. Hubert wants to lead a regional branch.
Since we're expanding into California, I recommended him to headquarters."
"Small world. Virginia First Bank is entering Pennsylvania—we need someone to open that market.
Dick fits the bill," Alexander added.
The two old foxes chuckled and sipped their coffee.
To them, it wasn't coffee—it was the wealth Leo had painstakingly built.
One Week Later — Departure for Washington D.C.
Leo was preparing to board a plane with Secretary of State Marshall to tour Europe and study the implementation of the Marshall Plan.
Before he left, both Hubert and Dick showed up.
They warned Leo of his aggressive borrowing, urging extreme caution.
They also informed him they were being transferred—one east, one west.
But Leo couldn't stop now.
Valentino Real Estate could pause projects, but Blue Ridge Corp. couldn't.
Last year, many low-level lawmakers got rich through Leo's contracts. This year, they wanted more—flooding Blue Ridge with orders.
Backed by government credit, these contracts allowed massive loans with minimal collateral.
Under careful orchestration, the new credit managers didn't tighten checks—they sped up approvals.
Tidal waves of loans surged into Leo's companies.
A vast net was closing in.
The European tour was massive. To fully absorb America's surplus production capacity, Marshall divided the delegation by industry, with each group subdivided by ethnicity and destination country.
As a successful New York real estate developer, Mike was assigned to Leo's subgroup.
Leo landed in Rome, did a brief inspection, then moved north to Milan, before heading south again to Florence, Urbino, and Naples.
Finally, the 10-man team reached Palermo, Sicily.
The local governor gave them an extremely warm welcome. He had to—by now, all of Europe knew that prosperity came from appeasing these blunt American brutes.
On the second day, as a Palermo native, Mike led Leo on a hometown tour, accompanied by local Mafia boss Don Tommasino, a friend of the Corleone family.
As they passed a ruined villa, Don Tommasino prepared to stop, but Mike stopped him.
"That's where my first wife, Apollonia, was blown up," Mike said solemnly.
Leo, having seen the movie, offered condolences.
"I'm sorry."
"I'm much better now. The people who killed her… are hanging over there."
Mike pointed to a distant cliff. Leo's sharp eyes made out several bodies dangling below.
"Sicilian gangs only survive today thanks to ties with Americans.
Falcone and Lucchetti backed the wrong horse.
After I destroyed the Barzini family, Falcone's smuggling empire collapsed.
Without cash, he was no match for me. Those corpses are my revenge for Apollonia," Don Tommasino added.
After their tour, they dined at the restaurant once owned by Mike's late wife.
Mike finally revealed his true purpose.
"Leo, my brother. I have no secrets from you anymore.
We've helped each other through many crises.
Now you move among presidents, secretaries of state, and titans of industry.
In a year and a half, you've achieved what two generations of my family only dreamed of.
My father and I believed there were only two paths to whitewash the family:
Move west—or follow you.
The moment you relocated west, I knew we only had one path left.
Leo, Kay is pregnant. I don't want my child living like a dog, fearing for their life every day.
Give me a chance."
Leo had already sensed Mike's deference on this trip, but hadn't expected such sincerity and decisiveness.
"Why me, Mike? We're friends, yes, but we're not that far apart in status—"
Mike cut him off.
"The West is foreign to us.
My father always knew the right choices. In that regard, I fall short.
But you're even sharper than he was.
I want the Corleone family to follow a man who always makes the right call."
Leo leaned forward, fingers interlocked.
"Why me? What makes you trust me?"
"Since I took over the family, I realized America and the Pacific are the same.
Everyone I met wanted to tear something off the Corleone name for themselves.
Except you.
My gut is sharp—it got me through the Pacific War.
You're the only one who's never tried to exploit us.
That's why I trust you," Mike said seriously.
Leo reached out and clasped Mike's hand.
"The Valentino family needs a brother to watch its back.
To our partnership, Mike."
With their understanding in place, conversation flowed smoothly.
Mike laid out the Corleone family's future plans.
Clemenza would become the new godfather of the New York Mafia, while the Corleones would command remotely from the West.
Their core business: Las Vegas' booming gambling scene, where their brand would launder money for gangs nationwide—then gradually legitimize their empire.
Leo secretly scoffed at Mike's enthusiasm.
In his previous life, he understood Mike's desire to go legit in his twenties.
But by Godfather II and III, Mike was still clinging to the dream in his middle age.
In a world built on human complexity, what black-and-white morality?
Everything is grey—especially in America, which is dark grey.
Leo shared some of his West Coast plans.
They aligned on one front: Leo builds hotels, Mike runs them.
Thus, at a humble table in Corleone, Sicily, the Nevada WK Hotel & Real Estate Company was born.
Day 3 in Sicily
At the governor's invitation, the group visited the ancient city of Syracuse.
As their boat docked, a scene from Leo's youth sprang to mind:
The iconic pier from Malèna, the woman who haunted Leo's adolescent dreams.
But recalling the film's tragic ending, Leo's excitement faded.
Even if there were a Malèna now, she'd be long past her prime.
The governor stood at the dock, warmly introducing the city.
Curious townsfolk gathered nearby.
Suddenly, two young women emerged from the dockside, unintentionally stepping into the well-dressed crowd.
Frozen with embarrassment, they stood still.
A middle-aged man in the crowd shouted,
"Malèna, come here!"
Leo, standing beside the governor, turned his head sharply.
He froze.
What the hell? Based on the movie's timeline, Malèna should be nearly 40 post–WWII.
But this one—this radiant, youthful beauty—was clearly just blooming.
The island girl, Malèna, blushed deeply under Leo's gaze.
She had never seen a man like him—tall, refined, dressed in an expensive suit, polished shoes, and a luxury watch.
Compared to the short Mike, Leo stood out like a prince.
The Sicilians noticed Leo's focused stare.
The shrewd governor whispered to the local Mafia boss, Borja di Lozzo,
"Tonight, I want this little beauty in our guest's room."
Borja hesitated but nodded,
"Yes, Governor."
The group moved on, unaware of Borja's grim expression.
That night, the southern island banquet was luxurious.
Jazz music floated through the air as Leo mentioned a $5 billion aid budget.
The governor, excited, kicked Borja under the table—get it done.
Leo noticed and didn't mind.
The money was set, but where it went—that was the real power.
In truth, outside of core allies like the UK, France, and West Germany, the rest of Europe would be carved up by American factions like a colonial prize.
Leo had chosen Sicily—the Mediterranean jewel—as his base to project economic power across Southern Europe.
And Malèna? She was merely the first obedience test for the local powers.
Borja stood up with a smile, but once outside, his face darkened.
Malèna had been his.
A baker's son once asked to marry her, and Borja fed his whole family to the sharks.
Now the governor wanted her sent to someone else?
He ruled Southern Sicily, not the governor from the north.
"Take her family. Tonight, send them to my villa in Naples.
Tell the townspeople their house caught fire and they all died," he ordered.
"Yes, boss."
But as his men acted, Don Tommasino appeared silently from the shadows of the ballroom.
That night…
Leo whispered something to Tommasino.
Back in his residence, he dialed the commander of the U.S. military base in Gela.
Before the trip, Secretary Marshall had given Leo a directory of American military contacts across Europe—for emergencies.
But Leo understood the real purpose:
Marshall wanted to involve the underpaid, bored soldiers in making a little extra.
If money had to be spent, might as well let them handle things.
Midnight — Malèna's family on a fishing boat
They were being smuggled to Naples.
The boat moved in the dark. Suddenly, a patrol spotlight swept over them.
"Damn it! Didn't the boss already pay off these Americans?
Why are they stopping us?" the captain cursed.
Borja's man fished out more cash.
"Probably just greedy again. Just pay them—we can't screw this up."
Armed American soldiers boarded the boat.
Instead of smiling at the bribe, they took the money coldly, ordered everyone against the wall, and took Malèna's family onto their patrol boat.
As they left, the captain snarled,
"F*cking Americans. Take our money and still ruin the job. Now what?"
Borja's man spat,
"Forget it. Passengers are gone. Let's go back."
Just as he turned the boat around—
BOOM!
A shell exploded in the distance.
Fire lit up the dark sea.
"Hell yeah! That shot means I should've joined the Navy!" a soldier joked.
"Dream on! Navy uses radar now, not eyesight," another replied.
As they retrieved Malèna's family, a junior officer whispered,
"Sir, she's gorgeous. The guys have been pent up a long time... should we...?"
Before he finished, a gun pressed against his head.
"If you want to die, I can arrange that.
Take a look in the mirror—what kind of woman do you think you can touch?"
Back in Borja's Villa
Fat and sweaty, Borja was in bed with a woman who vaguely resembled Malèna.
Suddenly, gunfire erupted outside.
He cursed as he got up to check the window.
"Damn those central punks. Always showing off the weapons Mussolini handed out."
Just as he finished swearing—BOOM!
A tank shell blasted through his front gates.
Four tanks stormed the estate, leveling it completely.
Thus ended the century-long reign of the Di Lozzo Mafia family in Siracusa.
"Reporting in, Mr. Leo.
This is Major Angerson of the 753rd Armored Regiment.
Mission accomplished. Local criminal forces eliminated. Peace restored to Sicily."
The officer saluted as he stepped down from his tank.
"Thank you, Major Angerson.
The people of Sicily will remember your service," Leo replied calmly.
Just like that, two Americans decided Sicily's fate.
Behind Leo, the governor and the entire Sicilian elite stood there, forcing a smile.
The shell hadn't just destroyed Borja's mansion—
It had shattered the pride of all Sicily.