Inside the car, the woman finally stops crying.
Fredo Corleone pulls out a pack of cigarettes and asks, “Want one?”
She raises her head.
Even with tears smudging her face, she’s still stunning.
She looks at him for a second, then accepts the cigarette.
He lights it for her.
“Thanks,” she says softly, her voice clear and pleasant.
He lights one for himself and looks out at the distant flames.
“So what’s your story?
How do those guys end up grabbing you?”
She watches him and awkwardly copies the way he smokes.
“Cough!
Cough—”
“If you don’t know how, take it slow.
Tiny puff.”
She tries again, this time taking a small drag before lowering her head.
“I was living in California before this.
I came back because my aunt passed away…” She pauses.
“She left me a ranch.
I came here for the funeral and to inherit it.
Tonight, those two barged into the motel room, tied me up without saying a word, and then…”
“In this day and age, you’re lucky I decide to play Good Samaritan and stick my nose into other people’s business.
Otherwise…” Fredo glances toward the shrinking fire in the distance before starting the engine.
The burning car finally gets shoved off the cliff by him.
More than half an hour later, they arrive back at the entrance of the motel.
“Well, that’s it.
My two good deeds for the day are officially done.
You’re back at your stop, beautiful.”
No response.
Fredo turns and finds her staring at him with those huge, captivating eyes.
He sighs helplessly.
“What now?
Don’t tell me you’re getting attached already.”
Her confused expression carries a strange innocence.
That actually makes him laugh.
“Alright, spit it out.
What do you want?”
“I… I don’t want to stay here anymore.”
Fair enough.
Anybody would be traumatized after tonight.
Fredo glances at the pitch-black night outside the window.
Fine.
Might as well finish what he started.
“Okay, okay.
I’ll be a saint all the way through tonight.
Go upstairs, pack your stuff, and come back down.
I’ll wait.
Seriously, you’re killing me here.”
“Thank you!”
Hearing that from her savior visibly relaxes her.
She jumps out of the car, then suddenly turns back around.
“You… you have to wait for me!”
Still wearing the silver mask, Fredo chuckles.
“Yeah, yeah.
Now hurry up.”
She nods quickly.
“I’ll be right back.”
The woman practically sprints toward the motel, terrified he might disappear if she takes too long.
Watching her run off, Fredo shakes his head.
Back at the traffickers’ house earlier, his first instinct is actually to call the cops.
Past life experiense leaves deep habits behind—when something happens, you call the Police.
But the thought dies halfway through.
This is America.
More importantly, he’s a Corleone.
A Corleone calling the cops?
That’s basically lighting a match inside an outhouse—asking for trouble.
Among American mob families, there’s an unspoken rule: kill each other all you want.
If you win, that’s your skill.
If you lose, that’s your fault.
But you never run to the feds.
That’s why tonight turns into such a mess.
Next time, definitely not doing this again, Fredo reflects silently.
As the second-in-line heir of the biggest Mafia family in New York—well, technically he knows Mike will inherit everything eventually—it’s still ridiculous for him to personally handle corpse disposal.
Seriously.
That’s embarrassing.
The tiny glow of his cigarette flickers brightly in the night, pulsing with each drag.
Before he even finishes smoking, the motel entrance opens again.
The woman appears wearing his suit jacket, dragging a suitcase behind her while hurrying toward him in quick little steps.
Fredo watches her approach.
She stops in front of him, breathing lightly from running.
Her curves rise and fall with every breath as she lifts her head and looks straight at him with those beautiful eyes.
For the first time tonight, she smiles.
In an instant, she looks breathtaking.
Fredo suddenly understands why Helen of Troy caused nations to go to war.
Honestly, she probably looked exactly beautifull like this.
No wonder those traffickers target her.
Their taste isn’t the problem.
The problem is they deserve to die.
After exactly 0.001 seconds of staring, Fredo snaps back to reality without the slightest embarrassment.
“Why are you running so hard?
You seriously think I’d ditch you?”
She nods immediately.
Like a college freshman fresh out in the real world—wide-eyed, innocent, and painfully naïve.
Fredo finds it oddly amusing and laughs.
“Listen carefully.
I may not be a good person, but when I say something, I mean it.”
She shakes her head and answers with complete seriousness.
“You are a good person.”
…Great.
I just get handed a Good Guy Card.
Fredo sighs dramatically.
“Alright already.
Put your luggage in the back and get in.”
“Mm.”
Since the two traffickers are lying in the back seat earlier, Fredo thankfully throws some stuff down first so blood doesn’t stain the upholstery.
Once she gets in, the car starts moving again.
“Do you have any relatives or friends around here?” he asks.
“No.”
Makes sense.
If she does, she wouldn’t be staying at a motel. Get faster updates on g.com.
“Then let me help you find another hotel.”
“I… I don’t have any money.
Those two took everything.”
Fredo removes one hand from the steering wheel, pulls out his wallet, and counts out five hundred dollars.
Then, after thinking about it for a second—alone in an unfamiliar city, no contacts, no money—he pulls out another five.
“Here.
Take it.
Trust me, meeting me tonight is basically hitting the jackpot.
Be more careful from now on.
There are a lot of bad people out there.
Hell, I get robbed myself before I even run into you.”
He hands her the money while casually joking about his own terrible luck tonight.
She doesn’t take it.
Instead, she asks timidly, “Can… can I stay at your place for one night?”
After everything that happens tonight, the inexperienced Monica Daddario instinctively feels safest around the man who saves her.
(TN: There you are, the author finally decided to give her a name)
Fredo stuffs the money into her hand without saying anything and keeps driving.
Far away from the place where a robbery happens, a kidnapping happens, and two human traffickers stop existing.
Holding the money, Monica Daddario lowers her head helplessly.
Thinking about tonight’s nightmare makes her vision blur again, and tears drip onto the stack of dollars.
Fredo glances sideways while driving.
He really cannot handle women crying.
See?
This is exactly why people shouldn’t meddle in other people’s business.
But since he’s already this deep into it, might as well finish the job.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry.
Please don’t cry.
Fine, fine—I’ll let you stay over, alright?
Just stop crying.”
She suddenly lifts her head.
Tears still shimmer in her eyes, but she’s smiling now—a stupidly adorable smile.
Beautiful people really do whatever they want.
Even crying and smiling at the same time somehow looks gorgeous.
Fredo is completely speechless.
Fine.
Your curves are impressive.
You win.
Happy now?
He shakes his head and laughs.
After another half hour of driving, they arrive at an apartment complex.
This place belongs to the previous owner of Fredo’s body.
Back then, it’s mainly used for dates and hookups.
Bringing women back to the Corleone villa is impossible, and hotels are way too public.
After parking the car, Fredo removes the silver mask.
He’s not worried about Monica calling the cops.
He could sue her for slander instead.
Me?
A Corleone who spends my days partying and blowing money—murder someone?
Come on.
What kind of bad joke is that?
Carrying her suitcase, Fredo walks ahead while Monica follows closely behind him like a little tail, clearly terrified of losing him.
Click.
The lights inside one of the apartments switch on, illuminating the darkness.
And maybe illuminating someone’s heart too.