"Mr. Valentino, I know how to control unions. Whatever Jimmy promised you, don't believe a word of it—he's nothing but an ambitious wolf cub. The only reason Russell put me in charge of the Teamsters is because I'm the only one who can keep him in line."
Max had clawed his way up from a street punk into the Bufalino family's circle for one reason—he was clever enough to prove his value.
That very trick—demonstrating usefulness—was the secret that had saved him time and again since he faked his death.
Now, facing life and death once more, he played the same card.
"You do have a little value," Leo remarked.
Those words made Max's eyes light up, the fire of ambition blazing in his chest. Compared to the man in front of him, the Bufalino family was nothing. If he could just join Valentino's side, he could climb endlessly upward.
But Leo's next words hurled him straight into hell:
"That's value for the Bufalino family, not for me. You're worthless to me. I don't need you to 'control Jimmy' for me. How could you be so naïve as to think I'd ever let him live? Everyone who knows me knows this: I, Leo, repay every slight a hundredfold.
But… you do have one chance to live."
Leo gestured toward Noodles and said:
"As long as this old friend of yours says to spare you, I'll let you walk out alive."
Max, who had already sunk into despair, suddenly saw a flicker of hope. He turned to Noodles with tears and snot streaming down his face, pleading:
"Save me, Noodles! We were brothers—closer than anyone! We grew up together, chased women together, lived through everything together. Please, beg Mr. Valentino to let me live!"
Noodles froze when Leo tossed the decision into his lap. He stood slowly, staring at Max—this pitiful wreck. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't merge this weeping man with the brilliant youth from that sunlit afternoon long ago, the boy who had leapt from a carriage, flashing a mischievous grin as he introduced himself.
Taking a deep breath, Noodles said softly:
"You're right, Mr. Bailey—I am naïve. I didn't want to face the truth. My best friend Max Woods died many years ago, burned to ashes along with my other two brothers."
With that, Noodles raised the revolver in his hand.
"Noodles, you're insane! I'm Max! You can't— I know where your Deborah is! I can tell you—"
Bang!
Before he could finish, Max crumpled lifeless to the floor, eyes wide, forever unclosed.
Noodles's hand trembled as he lowered the gun. He had just killed his own past with his own hands. The warm childhood memories would never again return in his dreams. The hope that maybe, somehow, his brothers had survived was gone forever. He was, in the end, utterly alone.
Seeing the crushing weight on Noodles's face, Leo patted his shoulder gently and guided him outside.
The rain had stopped. Sunlight spilled across Philadelphia's streets.
"Ever since you agreed to work for me, have I given you even a single day off?" Leo asked.
Noodles scowled, his voice heavy with bitterness.
"You're a capitalist, through and through."
Leo only shrugged, pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, and handed it to him.
"I meant to give this to you earlier, but now I think it's better you go yourself. I believe the sunshine on the West Coast will do you good."
Noodles accepted it absentmindedly. "What is this?"
"Deborah's address. Your childhood goddess. She hasn't fared well in Hollywood—they say she's planning to return East. Go play the white knight and rescue her."
Noodles didn't ask how Leo knew about Deborah. The name itself pierced through the gray haze of his memory like a shaft of light. He couldn't wait—he had to see her, to repaint his broken youth with living colors. He rushed toward the car.
"Hey, Noodles—don't drive off in my bulletproof Lincoln," Leo called after him, tossing over the keys to the Bentley instead.
"This car is your year-end bonus."
The Bentley was parked by the roadside. Noodles hurried over, opened the door—then froze. On the passenger seat sat a chest. He had seen Leo give gifts before. This one alone was worth at least half a million dollars.
"Thank you, Leo," Noodles said, his voice sincere.
"Your goddess is waiting, but remember—you're still my driver. If trouble comes up in Hollywood, call me."
Noodles drove away, but Leo's affairs in Pennsylvania were far from over.
That very moment, the mayor of Philadelphia requested an audience. Though not a Democratic Party boss, he hailed from a deeply rooted political dynasty that had shaped Philadelphia since colonial days.
"Leo, Thomas and I were college classmates. As your elder, let me offer you advice: call off the Italians. Philadelphia cannot afford more chaos."
Coming in with empty words and posturing as a senior, he expected respect. But Leo wasn't about to indulge him. Outside the old country, reverence for elders meant nothing.
"Mayor Beckett, Philadelphia truly is unsafe. In the city's most luxurious hotel, I was nearly assassinated. If not for my quick reflexes, you'd have no chance to stand here lecturing me today."
Stung by Leo's cold sarcasm, Arson Beckett nearly exploded. He wanted nothing more than to drag Russell Bufalino's corpse from the morgue and gun it down himself.
Philadelphia was his family's turf, cultivated since colonial times. It was said their forebears had even witnessed the signing of the Declaration of Independence.
Bufalino had only thrived here because he'd lost the mob wars in New York, fled to Philadelphia, and been sheltered by the Beckett family.
But Russell grew ambitious. For Arson Beckett, ambition wasn't the problem. The problem was a fool who acted without leave, botching everything and leaving the cleanup to him.
What infuriated Beckett further was that this botched assassination bore the fingerprints of certain New York Jews. His intelligence network was vast, holding secrets even the president didn't know. One report suggested those Jews had once been close to James Roosevelt.
Considering Leo's open feud with James Roosevelt, the pieces fit all too well. Politics, after all, was about who benefited most. The mastermind was plain as day.
Beckett didn't mind Leo's arrogance. What enraged him was James's trespass—ordering a hit in Philadelphia without so much as a word. That wasn't just reckless; it stained the Beckett family name.
If Leo had died, what dignitary would ever dare visit Philadelphia again?
Before meeting Leo, Beckett had called Thomas. His old classmate had summed it up:
"He's the kind who never shoots without seeing the rabbit."
So Beckett cut straight to the chase:
"Leo, I can allow the Italians to expand their influence in Philadelphia—but only if they follow Philadelphia's rules.
New Yorkers may assist, but your representative here must be someone who knows this city—Masaccio.
Also, if American Realty runs into any trouble in Pennsylvania, I'll step in. And I give you my solemn word: in the presidential election, I will support Truman."
Leo understood at once—the "New Yorker" Beckett mentioned was Clemenza. The terms were acceptable; Beckett was buying peace. But Leo had done his homework before this meeting.
"Mr. Beckett, I hear you've been lobbying the White House and Congress to establish a non-profit scientific organization: the American Association for the Advancement of Science?"
Beckett's eyes lit up. A University of Pennsylvania alumnus, he had many friends in the scientific community, including veterans of the Manhattan Project. His family had even funded the creation of the world's first electronic computer.
He was convinced that wielding influence in science and technology—shaping a new era—would give his family greater, lasting power than holding the presidency itself.
Few in politics shared such vision. Most chased only money and office, blind to the transformative value of science.
For the first time, Beckett saw Leo not as a reckless upstart, but as a kindred spirit.
"The Association welcomes anyone who respects science," Beckett said earnestly.
"Still room on the board?" Leo asked.
"Of course."
"Do board members decide which enterprises receive funding and tax exemptions?"
"Certainly. Any director who contributes significantly shapes the destiny of the Association."
The meaning was clear: if Leo helped establish it, he'd have real power within it.
Their hands clasped tightly. Both spoke at once:
"Pleasure to cooperate."
"The day after tomorrow, I return to New York," Leo added pointedly. He would never admit Clemenza worked for him, but his words implied that within two days, his conflict with the Bufalino family would be settled.
As they parted, Beckett asked curiously:
"Why do you want in? I don't recall you owning a tech company."
Leo smiled faintly.
"Then you haven't been watching me closely enough. The computers now used by the Census Bureau and the Housing Authority? Supplied by my company."
Beckett was astonished. As a backer of the first computer, he had doubted its commercial future. Only after seeing it used in federal departments did he recognize its potential. He had planned to enter the business himself.
He had thought LWI Research Company a small outfit, one his family could crush effortlessly with Penn's resources. Now he realized it was tied to Leo.
In that instant, Beckett envied Thomas bitterly. With such a son-in-law, the Morton family's legacy was secure for generations.
Quickly adjusting his strategy, Beckett said:
"I've formed a computer team myself. Would your company accept a technical equity partnership? Together, we'd be unbeatable."
Beckett was decisive because he knew he was late to the game. Outspending Leo was impossible. If you can't beat them—join them.
Leo welcomed the idea. Cash was endless; allies, however, made wealth sustainable. Still, alliances had hierarchy.
"You're welcome to join. But the stake must be assessed professionally. And under no condition will it exceed twenty percent."
Beckett frowned. "Are you joking, Leo? Why so little? As far as I know, you're just a workshop that's built two commercial computers."
"No, Arson. In less than a month, the world's first computer assembly-line factory will open. Annual production capacity: eight hundred machines. This is your last chance. And since you've agreed to let me into the Association, I'll extend you this courtesy. But understand—there are already other shareholders."
Beckett realized the factory was nearly done, and blessed his own timing.
"Twenty percent, then. Who are the other shareholders?"
"The R&D department of IBM. And the current CEO of LWI Research Company—Thomas Watson Jr."
Beckett drew a sharp breath. IBM was revered among engineers.
"As expected. No billionaire ever comes simple. While the world stares at your real estate empire, your reach has already moved far beyond land."
The next day, Leo met with three union leaders. They rushed to replace their executives with Leo's appointees, then hurried back to report.
By next week, they promised, Truman's state-by-state campaign tour could begin.
Leo nodded in satisfaction. Risking himself in Pennsylvania had paid off. Not only were the unions temporarily tied to Truman's chariot, but he had also planted his own seeds within them. With his backing, those newcomers would rise swiftly.
When Pennsylvania affairs were concluded, Leo returned to New York.
At his Hudson River estate, a black Lincoln idled at the gates.
Beside it stood Mike, waiting respectfully.
Leo rolled down his window, his face cold.
"Get in. We'll talk inside."