As the state association headquarters, the Veterans Mutual Aid Association had over 200 staff members, most of them volunteer veterans from various universities.
Leo knew all their names and greeted them constantly along the way.
Most of them called out to him with genuine gratitude, addressing him not as "Secretary-General" but "Teacher."
That was because 95% of them had attended the first university training program run by the Virginia Veterans Association.
Leo had been both the principal and the homeroom teacher of that program.
The old building's first floor handled administrative business.
Floors two through four were classrooms.
At this moment, 800 veteran students were taking classes there.
They were all outstanding representatives recommended by local veterans associations in cities across Virginia.
These 800 people were Leo's main target this time.
To get work rolling, Leo summoned the two teachers currently in charge of the prep classes.
They were the same ones who had been waiting in line outside Pharaoh's Bar.
Andrew Dutch and Claude Rubin.
They had been the class president and vice president of Leo's first training program.
Both of them had learned about Leo's wartime heroics through various channels.
Claude had even privately collected all the military newspapers reporting Leo's 20+ commendations—he was practically a rabid fanboy.
"Can I trust you two?"
Leo asked them seriously.
"Of course, sir!"
They snapped to attention and replied loudly.
"I need you to select reliable candidates from these 800 people and send them back to their cities to help me organize a march."
At the mention of a "march," their faces turned grave.
Andrew asked:
"Sir, what kind of march? Certain types of protests are very sensitive these days."
"Not what you're thinking. It's a march to defend the legal rights of Virginians—specifically against certain unscrupulous real estate companies. Here's the content. And here's the budget."
Leo handed them several documents and then opened a suitcase full of $300,000 in cash.
They skimmed the documents.
Claude said:
"Sir, these kinds of marches that challenge big company interests are hard to get approved locally."
"Don't worry," Leo said calmly, "the state legislators will cooperate with you."
After giving those orders, Leo spent the entire afternoon lecturing at the association.
He finally left under the students' reluctant gazes.
Their reluctance was partly because Leo was an excellent teacher, but also because all of their new homes in their cities were built by Leo's company.
Beyond just these students, 80% of the housing projects for the 200,000 members of the Virginia Veterans Association belonged to Valentino Real Estate.
Leo then took an association car to Noodle's little restaurant.
Inside, Dick—now regional general manager for First Bank of Virginia's Northwest Division—and Hubert, head of lending at JPMorgan, were waiting for him.
"The food here isn't as good as Noodle's cooking. So—what did you call us for, Leo?"
Dick was very relaxed talking with Leo.
That wasn't just because of some old blackmail from back in the day—their business interests were now deeply intertwined.
Leo's growing loan scale and improved repayment capacity had let Dick climb out of small-town Lynchburg.
Hubert's situation was similar.
Even though Leo was now facing massive potential defaults, those were only for unstarted projects.
His "base" of 160,000 veterans wasn't going anywhere this year.
As long as the company didn't collapse and kept paying interest, he remained a JPMorgan customer.
"I'm not asking you for help," Leo said.
"I'm asking you to resist our common enemy.
LAMB Company is expanding wildly in the state—you both know that.
And where is their money coming from?
Citibank!
Under the guise of 'convenient loans' for LAMB, Citibank is flooding Virginia with new branches.
Worst of all, this means you two can't get in on this real-estate boom anymore."
Leo's words made Dick and Hubert frown.
Citibank opening branches wasn't really their problem—that was for CEOs and boardrooms.
But as loan division heads, watching business volume dry up meant direct hits to their bonuses and future promotions.
Hubert said:
"Leo, I know you well. You wouldn't have called us here without a plan. Let's hear it. Even if you want me to approve a risky, inflated loan, I'd do it."
Leo glanced at Hubert. This stiff, conservative banker must have been feeling the pressure already to offer that.
Leo waved him off:
"I don't need you to take any risk. All I want is for you two to use your industry contacts to figure out exactly how much Citibank has loaned LAMB.
My estimate is they're already maxing out their corporate credit lines.
Once they swallow the Virginia highway project the day after tomorrow, they'll blow past what they can actually borrow.
That's when I need you to persuade your bosses to get the ratings agencies to do their job—fairly assess LAMB's credit risk."
Hubert was surprised at how simple the request was:
"That's it? But those ratings only impact their stock price."
"No," Leo said softly.
"When a company is already teetering, a downgrade is the last straw that breaks its back."
When they left the restaurant, Hubert quietly asked:
"I introduced you to Mr. Morgan a while back. I haven't heard anything about it since."
Leo looked at this conservative but ambitious banker, patted his shoulder, and said:
"Trust me, Hubert. We had a very productive talk. A grand plan is brewing. I don't forget my friends. I promise—you'll have a seat on that gravy train."
By now it was completely dark.
Noodle himself had hurried back from Philadelphia to drive Leo to his new house in Monroe Park.
There, pacing nervously outside, was Martin—the Virginia Real Estate Association's most loyal member.
Once inside, Martin blurted out:
"President! Just as you predicted, with LAMB's aggressive push, we're seeing mass resignations from the association. But what you asked me to handle is ready."
Leo's eyes lit up. That improved his odds greatly.
"Did those three companies agree to help me?"
"It's not exactly 'helping'—they're just staying neutral so they don't offend either side.
LAMB is powerful.
But they saw you fend them off even under Bubble House's extreme pressure last time.
This time no one's gambling recklessly.
They promised that if LAMB approaches them, they'll leak some core info to you."
These three companies were veteran road construction firms in the state.
Every highway in Virginia had their work on it.
They weren't famous simply because they had no top-tier connections—they were just contractors doing tough jobs for thin margins.
LAMB had lots of experience building houses, but not roads. He'd have to subcontract to them.
This gave Leo a perfect opportunity to plant his "spies."
This time, Leo was playing for keeps.
He wanted to recreate in Virginia his own version of the legendary "Siege of Ping'an County"—complete with his Italian artillery already loaded and ready!
Meanwhile, in a mansion in New York, Godfather Victor Corleone's son-in-law Carlo was beating his new wife.
She desperately dialed the house phone.
Her brother Sonny, furious, jumped in his car to teach his brother-in-law a lesson.
But at the Long Island toll gate, Sonny Corleone was cut to ribbons in a hail of gunfire.
At the same time, in the Basini family estate, Don Basini phoned Richmond's Robert:
"Sir, New York is handled. A crew of killers will arrive in Richmond tonight to await your orders."
December 1. Jefferson Hotel.
Richmond's elite gathered for the state's largest-ever government project bidding ceremony.
It had two parts: an intense bidding session and a boozy networking party, both running simultaneously.
At the party, there was only one center of gravity: Governor Harry, Mayor Eamon, and LAMB CEO Robert.
Anyone with half a clue knew this $1 billion highway contract was already in LAMB's pocket.
Ambitious elites mobbed the trio, hoping for a bite of that pie.
Robert was in his element.
Compared to when he'd first arrived in Virginia—when he'd nearly ruined himself thanks to two failed setups by Christophe—he felt vindicated.
Back then, people had watched eagerly for him to crash and burn.
Now they were groveling like dogs.
Robert felt certain of his creed: in America, glory belongs to the winner.
Still, something felt missing.
A king needed a clownish loser to really look good.
Scanning the crowd, Robert spotted Leo at the edge of the room, drinking alone.
Robert grabbed two champagnes from a tray and swaggered over.
"Well if it isn't President Leo of the Virginia Real Estate Association!
Such a lively party, and here you are brooding by yourself.
Oh wait—I forgot. Your association disbanded!"
"So what?" Leo replied calmly.
"My company still operates normally."
"A company with no new orders? Don't kid yourself.
You know why you never fit in with us?
Because you never learned to bow your head.
We can afford pride—and profit from it. Small-town punks like you can't.
That's the American way."
"Nothing's settled yet," Leo said evenly.
"Isn't it a little early for a victory speech?"
"Ha! You're still a dreaming loser."
Robert pulled out his checkbook and wrote a number, shoving it in Leo's face:
"Here. $5 million for your company. My last act of mercy."
Leo's company was worth at least $20 million. Robert was deliberately humiliating him.
Leo met his gaze steadily:
"Are you so sure you'll win?"
Robert felt a flicker of unease.
Every time they'd gone after Leo before, they'd been sure of victory—and lost.
Was another reversal coming?
The room fell silent.
Then the ballroom doors opened.
LAMB's bidding team walked in beaming.
Robert realized instantly he'd been bluffed. Fury replaced fear.
He ripped up the $5 million check and threw down one for $500,000.
"You worthless hick. That's all you're worth now."
Leo had gotten what he came for. No need to endure more insults.
He turned to leave.
Robert's voice rang behind him:
"Mr. Valentino! Maybe you should take it. It might be your only ticket out of America alive."
Leo turned back.
He saw the mocking or pitying faces of the crowd.
He met Governor Harry's eyes.
Harry held his gaze for two seconds—then looked away.
This was America: betrayal carried no guilt if you kept winning. Leo actually liked that about the place.
He turned back to Robert.
"Sorry to disappoint you. I'll be here. Always."
"Ha! This stubborn fool. Gentlemen—let's toast our victory! Don't let him ruin our mood.
Soon there won't be a Leo Valentino in Virginia!"
Leo got in the car.
Billy—the Lynchburg Gang's new boss—was driving.
"All set?" Leo asked about his security arrangements.
After a year in America, Leo had lost count of the attempts on his life—and the people he'd killed himself.
He'd learned one thing: here, there was no bottom line.
History in China had taught him something else: those who won in the end were always the ones who best protected themselves in the crucial moments.
He hadn't had that luxury before. Now he did.
He'd arranged bulletproof security, with only one last detail to fix.
"Billy, you've worked hard. I've got a surprise for you."
Billy perked up. Leo was famously generous.
In just a month as gang leader, Billy had earned $100,000—more than he'd ever dreamed of.
Of course, with two women to support, he'd already burned through most of it.
He was even thinking of skimming from the gang's protection fees.
But if Leo had another "surprise," he could wait.
"Thank you, boss! May I ask what it is?"
"I gave you cash before, you're fine there.
This time the gift's for your family.
Your parents are farmers who've never left Lynchburg.
I'm sending them to California for a beach vacation.
Your sister's a bright kid. She's going to a top private high school in DC.
And your 15-year-old's little mistake? That kid you hid?
He's in California now, playing on the beach with your parents."
Billy's face darkened with every word.
He slammed the brakes—but quickly restarted the car.
The air was thick with tension.
Visions of killing Leo flashed through Billy's mind.
He'd killed one boss already. Why not another?
Leo broke the silence.
"Billy. I hear you're the best shot among my lieutenants. Who taught you?"
Billy, startled, answered automatically:
"Old man Face—uh, I mean, that traitor Face."
"Face was good. But you know who taught him?"
Billy blinked.
"I did."
A Colt revolver appeared in Leo's hand, pressing coldly against Billy's temple.
Billy's murderous daydreams evaporated.
"Leo—boss—what are you doing?"
"Hahaha. You're not good under pressure. You didn't even recognize your own gun."
Leo lowered the weapon.
Billy turned at a red light and saw three pistols on Leo's lap.
All his own.
"Don't bother wondering how. Face never figured it out either.
Three guns don't make you safer. If one can't save you, the other two won't either.
Drive on. We've got work to do in Lynchburg."
As they drove out of town, vehicles parked along every street fell in behind them one by one.
Each looked unrelated—some sped up, some slowed down.
Soon they had a convoy of seven or eight cars.
Far ahead, another group of cars waited.
Green light.
Two black Lincolns merged in.
Inside, Basini Family's top hitman Green was checking his Tommy gun.
He grinned savagely, remembering how he'd riddled Sonny Corleone with bullets.
This time would be easy money.
"Boss, it's the car ahead."
Green smirked.
"Nice ride. Shame to ruin it."
He signaled the other car.
They accelerated to box in Leo's Bentley.
"Boss, they're chasing us!"
Billy was more panicked than Leo.
"Calm down. Follow the plan.
Their Lincolns can't catch my Bentley.
Head for the convoy up ahead."
Billy floored it.
The Lincolns fell behind.
Green's men cursed.
"Boss—they're too fast!"
"Relax. Their gas tank is tiny. They'll run dry."
The chase thundered down the highway.
As they reached the convoy, Billy's Bentley weaved through, then slowed to lead.
The Lincolns caught up.
"They're slowing! Must be out of gas!"
Green didn't buy it. But whatever—soon they'd be dead.
His men leaned out to fire warning shots.
And then froze.
Because every other car in the convoy sprouted gun barrels.
Muzzle flashes lit the night.
One Lincoln smashed off the road, riddled with holes.
Green alone survived the first volley by sheer luck.
He kicked his dead driver out and spun the car around.
No one chased him.
Cowardly small-town gangster, he thought. He'd be back.
As he sped away, he passed another convoy going the other way.
He glanced back—and saw every rear window lined with guns.
That was Green's last thought before his car exploded under a hail of bullets.
Just like Sonny Corleone.