Click.
Don Corleone lights the cigarette in his hand.
After hearing what his son says, his eyes brighten slightly.
Ever since Fredo gets out of the hospital, he really does seem like a different person.
The others fall into thoughtful silence as well.
Still, the first one to respond is the hopeless romantic herself, Connie Corleone.
“That’s not true.
Carlo would never treat me like that.”
What can Fredo even say to that?
Well.
That entire speech goes straight into the trash.
Fredo sighs helplessly.
“Don’t hand your whole life to somebody too easily.”
Anyway, he already says everything that needs to be said.
If disaster still happens later, nobody can claim he doesn’t give a warning first.
After Fredo’s long rant, everyone actually feels he makes some solid points — especially Don Corleone, who already has reservations about Carlo Rizzi in the first place.
The Godfather even spends quite a while trying to persuade Connie gently.
Unfortunately…
you can’t wake someone who insists on dreaming.
Honestly, this just proves how powerful sweet talk can be.
A smooth mouth, a little fake charm, and some decent acting skills can double your success rate with women instantly.
And if the target happens to be an innocent, lovestruck girl?
That’s basically a guaranteed critical hit.
Of course, if you still can’t find one…
just move on to the next person.
Don’t stop believing.
Eventually, somebody with terrible eyesight will fall for you.
In the end, nobody can do anything about Connie.
After endless pleading from the Corleone Family’s spoiled little princess, the discussion finally shifts toward arranging the wedding itself.
Seriously.
This girl refuses to turn back until she slams face-first into a brick wall.
In the end, the decision is finalized:
The wedding will take place in two weeks at the Corleone family estate.
The Night Passes Quietly
Fredo sleeps at the family villa and wakes up at dawn the next morning.
As soon as the sun rises, he heads outside for morning training and runs for over half an hour.
After breakfast, he immediately walks over to Sonny Corleone and gets straight to the point.
“Brother, give me a million dollars.
Dad already approves it last night.”
Sonny freezes.
Then he stares at Fredo like he just hears the dumbest sentence of the century.
“How much?”
“A million,” Fredo repeats calmly.
“What’s wrong?”
Brother…
do you even hear yourself right now?
Sonny laughs out of pure disbelief.
“Do you have any idea how much money a million dollars is?”
Fredo raises an eyebrow.
“What, is the family short on cash?
Can’t afford it?”
Sonny rubs his forehead helplessly.
“It’s not that we can’t afford it.
It’s just—what the hell are you doing that needs a million dollars?
Buying artillery?”
Clearly, this bargain-bin older brother doesn’t understand negotiation tactics.
If you want someone to open a window, first ask to tear off the roof.
Once they reject that, suddenly the window sounds reasonable.
Simple psychology.
Still, why’s he getting so worked up about it?
Fredo shrugs helplessly.
“Alright then, Sonny.
How about three hundred grand instead?
I’ve got a lot of expenses.”
And honestly, Sonny can’t really refuse now.
After already rejecting the million-dollar request, refusing even three hundred thousand would make the Corleone Family look broke.
That’d be ridiculous.
This is the head of the Five Families.
If the Mafia has no money, then what’s the point of being in the Mafia?
Might as well go sell fish at the market.
Still, Sonny can’t help feeling that giving Fredo money now isn’t much different from funding his old partying habits.
Sure, the guy claims he’s into training and firearms these days, but to Sonny, it all sounds equally ridiculous.
Unfortunately, their father already approves it.
So what else can he do?
Just give him the money.
What Sonny doesn’t realize is that this three hundred thousand dollars means a lot to Fredo.
And back in this era?
Three hundred grand is a terrifying amount of money.
In 1945, a newly enlisted American soldier only makes around fifty dollars a month.
Even a lieutenant earns about two hundred.
A university professor might pull in eight hundred.
That alone says everything.
After getting the money, Fredo happily drives away from the villa.
The moment Rocco Lampone sees him today, he immediately comes over to ask about recruitment.
“How many men do you need?
I’ve got some war buddies looking for work.”
Fredo doesn’t answer right away.
After thinking for a moment, he says:
“Let’s start today’s training first.
We’ll spar a little, then talk business afterward.”
“Understood.”
Since Fredo already speaks, Rocco naturally follows along.
But very quickly, Rocco realizes something feels seriously wrong.
Yesterday, Fredo can barely keep up with him.
Today?
The man fights like he injects military-grade stimulants directly into his bloodstream.
Rocco gradually gets pushed completely onto the defensive.
Finally, after half an hour, Fredo’s relentless offense overwhelms him entirely.
Rocco surrenders.
Lying flat on the ground, he says sincerely:
“Fredo, your talent is unbelievable.
You learn everything insanely fast — combat, firearms, all of it.”
Fredo immediately snorts dismissively.
“Oh, cut the crap.
Don’t force yourself to learn brown-nosing.
You’re terrible at it.”
That leaves the WWII veteran awkwardly embarrassed.
Still, there’s nothing he can do about it.
A lot of soldiers returning from the war struggle badly in civilian life.
Most of them lack practical job skills, and finding respectable work is incredibly difficult.
Before this, Rocco works under Peter Clemenza, one of the Corleone Family’s capos.
But working for the Mafia doesn’t mean guaranteed salary.
If there’s no job, there’s no money.
Sure, following a powerful boss means you’ll never starve, but if no work comes in, you still can’t earn real cash.
Fredo glances at his status panel.
[Physique: Lv2 (2/49)]
Feeling the improvement in both his body and mental state, he realizes he can still squeeze out more gains today.
While wiping sweat from his body with a towel, Fredo asks:
“How many old teammates do you have available?”
Rocco answers quickly.
“I contact seven or eight guys last night.
They all need work, but—”
“As long as there are people, that’s enough.
Bring them over first.” Fredo pauses briefly before continuing.
“For now…
let’s aim for around thirty men total.
I want the type who…”
Walking to the side, he casually picks up a handgun.
“…aren’t afraid to handle serious business.
You understand?”
Looking at the gun in Fredo’s hand, Rocco instantly understands what kind of work this is.
Mafia work.
The kind where people make their living dancing on knife edges.
“I understand.”
Fredo nods.
“Alright.
Base salary is eight hundred dollars a month.
Bonuses during operations.
Compensation if something goes wrong.
Anyone willing to work can come see me.”