"Godfather!"
Joe Accardo immediately straightened his back and spoke with utmost respect.
During the last campaign when Leo personally led the purge of Chicago, Mike's reputation had been deeply imprinted in the minds of Chicago's Mafia high command.
Caracci, being a newcomer, had never met Mike before. But he was quick-witted—just from Corondo's and Joe Accardo's words, he realized that this was none other than the legendary Godfather of the American Mafia, Michael Corleone.
Following Joe's example, Caracci straightened his back, bowed respectfully, and said:
"Godfather, greetings. I am Caracci Anthony."
Mike nodded to them both, then said to Caracci, who had just introduced himself:
"Hello, Caracci. I've heard Corondo mention you. The death of Paul Ricca is indeed sorrowful, but seeing that the Chicago Mafia still has young men like you reassures me."
Mike's words thrilled Caracci. His greatest fear was that, being so young, the Godfather before him might strip away the position he had just gained.
Having received recognition, he humbly replied:
"Thank you for your acknowledgment, Godfather. I will continue to work hard—I swear I will find the Irishman who assassinated Godfather Ricca."
"I admire your passion, but that won't be necessary. I've already brought him here."
Mike waved his hand. The doors of the farmhouse villa opened again, and two burly men dragged in Dougal.
Joe Accardo and Caracci were both stunned, staring blankly at the man.
Both of them had seen Dougal before. Though he looked every bit the dockworker, he had always been neatly dressed.
Never had they seen him so wretched. His arms and thighs were crudely bandaged—obvious bullet wounds. His face was bruised and swollen, the result of savage beatings.
"Godfather… when did you capture him?"
Joe Accardo asked, a hint of frustration in his voice. He had longed to meet Mr. Valentino himself.
But Mike was no fool. Reading Joe's intent, he patted his shoulder and said:
"This afternoon, at a synagogue. Don't worry, Joe. Mr. Valentino is already in Chicago. He's been briefed about you two and has agreed to meet you."
Coincidentally, Joe and Caracci both rolled their eyes inwardly. We scoured all of Chicago—how come it was never us who 'just happened' to find him?
Joe, who had more intelligence than Caracci, glanced at Corondo. Considering how precisely the man had controlled both his and Victor's families and mistresses, it was obvious that Mr. Valentino's people had their own powerful sources of information.
"Then, Godfather, what would you have us do?"
Compared to the excitable Caracci—thrilled at the thought of soon meeting the ultimate Italian idol—Joe kept his composure and asked Mike steadily.
"I need you to summon all Mafia leaders in Chicago, and invite leaders of other gangs as well. Then you will carry out a public execution.
The enemy must die."
Joe acted swiftly. While spreading the word, he was filled with excitement. The fact that Mike had chosen him as the executioner all but confirmed in his mind that he was destined to become the new Godfather of Chicago.
Fueled by this expectation, Joe completed the task with great efficiency.
The small gangs of Chicago, who had just been suffocating under Mafia wrath, surrendered immediately upon receiving Joe's call. Despite their bloodstained appearances, they hurried to Paul Ricca's farmhouse.
Soon, more than a dozen gang leaders were gathered on the farm—including the Irish gang's second-in-command. By then, Dougal was no longer in Mike's custody, but in Joe Accardo's hands.
Mike himself would never personally conduct the execution. First, he didn't need the spectacle to bolster his authority. Second, he couldn't risk leaving witnesses.
Thus, he and Corondo watched coldly from the villa's second floor, peering through the window.
Joe Accardo, indeed Ricca's true heir, launched into a righteous tirade against Dougal. His words were sharp, convincing, and filled with fury. Finally, he pulled the trigger—one shot straight into Dougal's stomach.
Then he handed the pistol to the Irish gang's number two.
Joe didn't want witnesses to brand him solely as the killer, but he also needed to establish authority. His solution was simple: force everyone present to take part.
One by one, the gang leaders—overpowered by circumstance and intimidation—took the pistol and fired at Dougal. Even the Irish number two complied.
And so, the man who just yesterday had dreamed of becoming head of the Illinois Pendergast family was torn apart by a firing squad.
Watching Joe's handling of the execution, Mike nodded and remarked to Corondo:
"This Joe is very shrewd. By contrast, Caracci is still too young. Look at his face—he's realized I'm making Joe the boss, and he's sulking.
A man who can't control his emotions is unfit to be called Godfather."
"Then are you giving up on him?" Corondo asked.
"No. That would be a waste. I'll keep him close to me.
Come on, it's over. Let's take them both to meet Leo."
Chicago Hilton Hotel.
This hotel had been acquired by Conrad Hilton in 1945. Perhaps it was the butterfly effect, but instead of being renamed the Hilton Hotel in 1951, it had already been renamed in 1950.
Leo was staying there quietly. Officially, he was in Chicago to uncover his opponents. In reality, Corondo could have given him that answer with a single phone call.
His true purpose had three parts:
First, to stand beside Mike and reinforce his authority as the Godfather of America.
Second, to use this chaos to force Illinois politics onto his side.
Third, to help Mike stabilize Chicago's underworld.
So he met Joe Accardo and Caracci, introduced by Mike.
The gap in their statuses was enormous. As a man who operated openly in the sunlight, Leo could not delve too deeply into discussions of the underworld with them, though he knew more than either of them combined.
After offering them a few words of encouragement, Leo signaled to Tony to show them out.
"You had me bring them here, but only for such a brief meeting. What was the point?" Mike asked curiously.
Perhaps it was family instinct, but Leo believed Mike was born for the underworld. There, Mike's intelligence was extraordinary, his mind razor-sharp. Yet outside of it, in normal society, he often appeared slow and naive.
With some helplessness, Leo explained:
"What else? To give you backing. To deepen your grip on the Chicago Mafia.
Oh, and I told you to keep Caracci close. Did you speak to him?"
"I did. I just don't see the point," Mike said.
"What point? If Joe Accardo ever defies you, you can replace him with Caracci.
The end goal is obedience."
Leo's painstaking efforts stemmed from his dissatisfaction with the Mafia's structure.
Though Mike was recognized as the Godfather of the American Mafia, that title was largely honorary. His influence over regional Mafias was weak.
Often, when Mike wanted something done, it had to go through the Mafia Council. If it benefited everyone, they'd agree. If not, they'd refuse.
Each region was essentially independent: you run your business, I run mine. While all bore the name Mafia, they operated as separate fiefdoms.
In Leo's eyes, Mike wielded less control than the overlords of China's Spring and Autumn era.
This chaos, though sparked by their enemies, was also an opportunity. Leo intended to use it to bring several major city Mafias under one umbrella. Not a corporation with seamless command, perhaps, but at least a federation with him as leader.
Leo's reasoning wasn't complex. Mike understood at once, nodding with emotion.
"Boss, is there anything you don't know how to do?"
Leo waved off the praise, then asked:
"Did Dougal reveal anything?"
"He wasn't worth much. Looks like he was completely duped by the Jews. The only useful detail was his plan to infiltrate police departments across the country, slowly laundering the family into legitimacy. That, at least, gave me a new idea.
Honestly, after all my frustrations in politics, I see you were right all along. I'll never be clean. To them, I'll always be black.
So, since I can't truly turn white, I'll paint myself white instead. Dougal's plan is worth borrowing."
Leo nodded, then pressed further:
"And the Jew—Cohen, wasn't it?"
Mike wasn't surprised that Leo, newly arrived in Chicago, already knew the details. After all, Corondo's men had handled Dougal and Cohen.
What Mike didn't know was that they had actually been captured by Leo's private security firm, led by Joseph. Leo saw no reason to clarify that.
"Cohen's awake. He's no tough guy. After brushing shoulders with death, he spilled everything," Mike said.
Then his face grew conflicted.
"Leo, I owe you an apology. I never should've begged you to spare Hyman Roth back then. He's behind this."
Back then, as a thug for Iron Gate Group and the Cotton family, Hyman Roth had been deeply involved in opposing Leo. But when the Cottons fled to Brazil and Iron Gate was absorbed by American Real Estate, Roth, fearing retribution, sought refuge with Mike, bearing heavy gifts.
Mike had just become Godfather. First, Roth had once followed his father, and though he later went independent, he had always supported the Corleone family. Second, Mike needed the old Jewish boss's underworld intelligence to suppress dissent within and beyond his own family.
So Mike had pleaded for Roth, and Leo—focused on rapid expansion—had agreed.
Never did he imagine that Roth would dare strike again. Leo's voice turned cold:
"This time, you won't plead for him, will you? After all, you've been targeted twice yourself."
"We can't be sure it was Roth who ordered the hits on me and Clemenza. He practically watched me grow up. I find it hard to believe. So after Chicago is settled, I plan to go to Miami and meet him face-to-face."
"I'd prefer to see the Mike who wiped out the Five Families cleanly and decisively," Leo said, displeased.
"I can't help it, Leo. Roth isn't what matters most. What truly matters is…" Mike hesitated, then added quietly:
"Becoming Godfather has cost me too much already. I don't want to lose the few things I have left.
You know what weighs on my mind."
Leo studied him. Of course he understood. In reality, just like in the movies, Mike's betrayals—whether in Nevada's capital or at his Tahoe home—had all stemmed from his second brother, Fredo.
"Miami will be a pit of vipers for you. I'll assign two bodyguards. And I advise you to go by sea, through Central America. Only there can your safety be guaranteed," Leo said.
"Thank you, Leo," Mike replied sincerely.
"Be careful."
Mike departed. But Leo could not rest. Another critical visitor had arrived—Illinois Governor Adlai Stevenson, accompanied by Chicago Mayor Martin Kennelly.
Leo's presence in Chicago might have been a secret to most, but to these local power brokers—already tipped off by Thomas—it was not difficult to track him down.
After brief pleasantries, Mayor Kennelly spoke with desperate urgency:
"Mr. Valentino, Chicago is the commercial heart of the Midwest. It cannot remain in chaos like this."
Leo feigned confusion and replied:
"Your Excellency, you're absolutely right. I have much business here. This turmoil gravely harms my interests. So I request you restore order quickly—this place is nothing short of a battlefield."
Kennelly grumbled inwardly. Who doesn't know that the Mafia only dares act so brazenly because you back them, Leo?
But faced with Leo's feigned ignorance, the mayor could only turn helplessly to Governor Stevenson.
As one of the Democratic Party's key figures, Stevenson had little direct interaction with Leo, but he knew his reputation: Leo never acted without purpose. If he had invested this much effort, he would not withdraw easily. Whoever opposed him would pay dearly.