Beyond his financial maneuvers around Wells Fargo, Leo's western strategy also included weaving himself into politics. Compared with penetrating the business world, he found this path much easier.
After all, Mr. Valentino's reputation as a political patron was already well known. His generosity in supporting campaigns had made him a household name among politicians. More importantly, Leo could not only supply them with funding but also build stages for them to showcase their ambitions—something far more precious than money.
In November, Los Angeles basked in crisp autumn skies. Pershing Square was packed shoulder to shoulder, the crowd dominated by veterans in green uniforms. Green ribbons draped across nearby buildings, giving the scene a festive air.
But it wasn't a holiday. It was the fourth anniversary celebration of the American Veterans Mutual Aid Association, held for the first time in the West.
That meant nearly every WWII veteran from the region who had the time had come to attend.
A towering stage stood ready, engineers making final adjustments to the equipment.
Meanwhile, a convoy of cars crawled through the crowd, stopping at the reviewing stand. Politicians in suits stepped out one by one. Each, upon disembarking, scanned the sea of people before fixing their gaze on the stage with eyes burning with ambition.
California Governor Earl had arrived early. Watching their identical gestures, he turned to Leo with admiration.
"Mr. Valentino, you really understand us politicians. These veterans, with their broad horizons, have become the most politically active young men of our age. By crafting such an event, you've created the perfect stage for those chasing the veteran vote."
Earl's words were like a switch. One after another, politicians spotted Valentino, their eyes lighting up. They rushed forward with greetings and eager small talk, casting aside their usual reserve.
Almost all their questions revolved around whether they would get a chance to speak on stage.
Leo handled them with flawless finesse. He made subtle distinctions among them, but to each he gave the same assurance: they would have their chance at the microphone—even if only for a few words.
Back at their seats, many prepared to boast about their "exclusive" opportunity—only to discover everyone else had heard the same promise.
Impossible! Suspicion spread. Was he really going to let them all take turns?
The answer came soon enough.
A congressman from Washington State opened the gift box placed on his seat and found a finely crafted watch and a $10,000 check. Tucked with it was a slip of paper reading: For Donation Only.
The man understood immediately. Valentino was providing them with donations. And there—on the stage—sat a donation box.
If they dropped their check inside, they would naturally be invited to say a few words.
The discovery spread quickly. Everyone checked their boxes. The gifts varied by rank, but every box included a check—larger or smaller depending on their status.
For example, Nevada Governor Charles H. Russell had received a $50,000 check, equal to Earl's, the highest amount in the room.
"Your arrangement is ingenious," Russell said with admiration. "Everyone gets their turn at the podium, earns face before their veterans, yet avoids outspending each other."
What he didn't say was even more flattering: this stage cost them nothing of their own.
Leo only smiled faintly in response.
In truth, Russell was an uninvited guest. Leo had never dealt with him, East or West. Though nominally a Democrat, Russell belonged to no faction—not because he refused, but because no one wanted him. Nevada itself was barren, with little to offer beyond a gambling town for show.
Such a bleak position chafed at Russell. Ambitious, he was determined to hitch himself to Valentino now that Leo had turned west. Either he would transform Nevada—or he'd use Leo's star to escape it entirely.
Thus, even without an invitation, he had come shamelessly, hoping for a private audience. After all, he held one card he thought might interest Leo.
The ceremony began with Assistant Secretary of State Desmond, a Medal of Honor recipient, delivering the opening address. Then several western veterans with the medal took turns sharing their stories.
Though the tales were many, each drew tears from the audience—they were stories lived, not invented.
Afterward came a performance carefully prepared by Leo, Hollywood magnate, to honor the veterans. Then, as tradition demanded, the donation segment.
This year, however, was different. Donors would not merely have their names read aloud—they would speak for themselves.
Governor Earl of California was the first to step forward. Beloved at home, his appearance at the microphone was greeted with roaring cheers—an intoxicating moment for any politician.
"California's veterans—hello!" Earl began warmly.
At Leo's prior urging, he praised the veterans to the skies. By the end, he felt he had firmly consolidated his base.
Others followed his lead, though few drew cheers as loud. Still, whenever a local representative stepped up, veterans from his district proudly boasted, "That's our man! He cares about us. We'll vote for him again!"
Those without supportive representatives muttered oaths to vote their incumbents out.
The lesson wasn't lost on the politicians. They silently vowed that if such a chance arose again, they'd crawl if they had to—it was more effective than dozens of campaign rallies.
The fourth anniversary concluded in triumph. Thanks to Leo's idea, Los Angeles also rolled out new perks for veterans: free admission to attractions, meal subsidies, and more.
From politicians to ordinary citizens, everyone left with what they wanted.
And thanks to Leo's media machine—World News, The Times—the story spread nationwide, cementing his image in the West.
The celebration ended with a banquet. Amid the toasts, Leo advanced other aims. At the start, he placed over twenty fresh college-graduate veterans with various politicians, quietly seeding them into different networks.
Leo watered others' gardens—but planted his own seeds as well.
"Mr. Valentino, may I have a word alone?"
Governor Charles H. Russell of Nevada approached.
Leo nodded. They slipped into a private room. Tony Lip poured champagne and discreetly closed the door, standing guard outside.
"What is it, Mr. Russell?" Leo asked.
"Mr. Valentino, are you acquainted with Mr. Michael Corleone?"
"Of course. We're friends. Why?"
"No issue, Mr. Valentino. I just wondered if you knew he has been seeking political office. Recently he's thrown himself into charity, donated heavily to communities, courted judges and legislators across Nevada's towns and cities.
But… you know his reputation. No mayor dares openly bring the nation's most famous Mafia boss into their fold. He's been rejected repeatedly.
He's given up on cities and is now targeting small towns. With his wealth, he overwhelms local families. Many mayors have come to me to complain. Some even produced compromising material on him and are demanding a legislative inquiry."
Russell's account didn't surprise Leo.
Mike's naïveté had doomed him. Even as Don, he still believed American politics was pure and upward-bound. He never understood that every inch of the field was fought for.
He saw his Mafia stigma as his obstacle, never realizing the real problem was barging in uninvited—grabbing others' cake and threatening their interests.
He'd called Leo for advice many times. Years ago, Leo had tried correcting his thinking. But once Mike became Don and spoke of politics, Leo knew his advice had been wasted.
So he stopped. He liked Mike as a character in his past life, and in this one as a comrade-in-arms. But he wasn't Mike's father. If Mike chose the hardest path, let him walk it.
Mike, sensing Leo's withdrawal, understood he had displeased him. He began groping forward on his own—but with his and his wife's warped worldview, each step only went further astray.
"So, Russell—what's your point?" Leo asked, already knowing.
Russell wanted to use Mike as leverage. If Leo showed concern, then it meant Mike stood under his shadow. And if Leo backed him, Russell could shelter Mike's scandals—and, in return, win Leo's favor.
But that ran counter to Leo's intent. He wanted Mike to learn his own lessons, not be shielded.
Russell's face stiffened at Leo's indifferent question. He had assumed the relationship was ironclad. Why wasn't Valentino defending Mike?
His carefully crafted flattery collapsed. Without a backup plan, he forced a weak smile.
"Oh, nothing, Mr. Leo. I just thought you'd be interested."
Leo shrugged.
"As everyone knows, I'm only interested in beautiful women."
He said it with a laugh.
Russell's heart sank. He had failed utterly.
But as he turned to leave, Leo spoke again, making his eyes light up.
"Russell, I can see you need help. But listen carefully: if you want something from me, ask directly. Don't dangle others as leverage. Be honest. Ask me—'Leo, what must I do for your help?' So tell me now. What do you need from me?"
"I—!" Russell was caught off guard, stammering like a man given sudden reprieve.
Finally, this forty-something man blurted, "I apologize, Mr. Leo, for my earlier mistake. Please forgive me. I want you to introduce me to Speaker Thomas. I want to join your camp. I also want to leave Nevada—it's too remote. I want to go to Washington and prove my worth."
Russell was quick to learn. Once told to be honest, he spilled everything he wanted.
Leo laughed.
"You ask for quite a lot. And yes, I can grant it. But first, Russell, you'll need to pass a few necessary tests. Show me—what can you do for me?"