Back at the house outside the suburbs, the group already clears out an open area behind the building.
Some people spar with each other, some train solo, and others sit around cleaning guns.
Nobody slacks off.
Carson jogs over and says, “Boss, remember the veteran I told you about yesterday?
He came this morning.
Should be here any minute.”
Now that’s efficient.
Fredo nods.
“Alright.
Let’s take a look at what he can do.”
Around noon, Carson drives out in one of the cars and returns with a man in his forties.
Bald head.
Average-looking face.
The kind of guy you’d forget in a crowd five seconds later.
Which honestly makes him even more suspicious.
Carson introduces him.
“This is Mike.
The guy I told you about.”
The moment Fredo hears the name, he’s already halfway convinced.
Everyone knows one universal truth:
Anybody named Mike is usually a scary bastard.
And Carson praises this guy way too much for him to be ordinary.
So they go through the standard process.
“I’m with the Corleone Family.
You can call me Boss.”
The man nods.
“Boss, my name’s Mike Banks.”
After introductions, Fredo spars with him directly.
The guy’s experienced—really experienced.
One mistake later, Fredo loses.
Afterward, Fredo asks him seriously, “I’m planning to keep these men on payroll and have them handle dirty work for the Corleone Family when necessary.
But if they stay idle too long, people start causing trouble.
How do you think I should handle that?”
Mike thinks for a moment before answering.
“Boss, we could divide them into investigation and surveillance teams, plus action and logistics teams.
Take freelance jobs when they come up.
Scout the target first, evaluate the difficulty, and if the job’s doable, we take it.
If not, we walk away.
The Corleone Family already has decent intelligence networks anyway.”
Fredo considers it and gives a slight nod.
“That’s actually not a bad option.”
Walking outside, he looks toward the distant hills.
Maybe I should just buy a ranch and let these idiots herd cattle all day.
…Then again, none of them are cowboys.
The thought makes Fredo laugh to himself.
After getting into the car, Fredo leaves with Rocco.
For now, Rocco stays close as his personal aide.
Running errands still requires someone dependable.
That evening, Peter Clemenza personally shows up.
To deliver equipment.
A whole truckload of guns.
Good lord.
Clemenza proudly says, “Fredo, I didn’t know how many you wanted, so I just brought a truck.
If it’s not enough, I can get more.”
Even Fredo starts feeling embarrassed.
“Uncle Peter, seriously, this is enough.
Thanks.
If I need more later, I’ll buy them from you.”
Clemenza waves dismissively.
“What’re you talking about?
If you need anything, come to me.
This stuff costs practically nothing.”
“Alright then.
Thanks again, Uncle.”
The way Clemenza keeps casually handing over weapons honestly makes Fredo hesitant to keep asking him for favors.
A few guns here and there add up fast.
Even a caporegime like Clemenza has limits eventually.
What Clemenza doesn’t know is that Fredo already has over twenty men under him, and they’ll definitely burn through ammo and weapons in the future.
Just like that, everything starts moving in an organized direction.
Three days later, Rocco comes over and says Mike wants to see him.
When Fredo arrives, Mike stands there with a whole group of men around his age.
One glance is enough to tell these guys have done dangerous work before.
Mike greets him first.
“Boss.”
Fredo nods.
“You know what?
From now on, I’m calling you Mikey.
My younger brother’s also named Michael, and I’m not dealing with that confusion.”
“Understood, Boss.”
“So what’s this about?”
Fredo glances at the men behind him.
Mike explains, “These are my brothers.
They’re looking for work.”
Fredo nods again.
“You explain our situation to them already?”
“I did.
They’re all men willing to risk their lives.”
“Good.
Then let’s go through the process.”
First come introductions.
Then comes the fun part.
“Boss, my name’s Arthur, from—”
…
This time, Fredo spars against all nine of them.
At one point, he even wants to yell dramatically:
“I’ll take on ten of you!”
Over two hours later—
“Ah—!”
“Bang!”
“Whew… whew…”
After testing their shooting skills too, Fredo frowns slightly and looks at Mikey.
“Some of your guys are rusty.
How long’s it been since they’ve worked?”
Mikey looks a little awkward.
“Some of them specialize in surveillance, intelligence gathering, or logistics support, so they’re not great fighters.
But Boss, give them a chance.
In their own fields, they’re very capable.”
“Fine.
We’ll keep them for now.
But tell them to start training with everybody else.
If your physical condition can’t keep up, how’re you supposed to survive dirty work?
Even logistics and intel jobs can turn bloody.”
He pauses before continuing.
“Anyone willing to stay can stay.
Anyone unwilling gets travel money and can leave.”
Fredo calls Rocco over.
Since nobody chooses to leave, they might as well get paid first.
Fredo claps loudly.
“Line up!”
The youngest are barely in their twenties, while the oldest are pushing fifty.
“You’ve got two weeks to get your bodies and skills back into shape.
Split into two teams.
Carson, you lead one team.
Mikey, you lead your own men.”
Fredo’s tone turns serious.
“Two weeks from now, I’ll inspect everyone personally.
If you can’t prove your value, then sorry—go back where you came from.
Understood?”
“Understood, Boss!”
“Now that most people are here, let me make the rules clear.
Follow my orders.
Don’t do anything that harms the Corleone Family.
And don’t attack each other.
If there’s a problem, settle it in the ring.”
Then he turns toward Rocco.
“Also, organize everybody’s information and hand it to me later.”
“Then what are you nodding for?
How many times have I told you not to let people know what you’re thinking?”
That evening, the setting sun casts golden light across the treetops of the Corleone estate while birds chirp noisily outside.
Inside the house, Don Vito Corleone is teaching his eldest son a lesson.
Well, what else can he do?
Sonny is still his son, after all.
After calming himself down, the Don strokes the cat in his arms and asks calmly, “Anything happening with the casinos lately?”
Sonny sits across from him somewhat uneasily.
“Nothing major, Pop.
Profits are good recently.”
Don Corleone sets the cat down and nods.
“Good.
You need to slowly take over more of the family business.
In the future, this family will depend on you and Michael.”
Sonny nods.
At that moment, the Don pauses with his cigar halfway raised.
“Oh right.
What’s your brother been doing lately?”
“He’s still training—boxing, shooting, all that.
Honestly, he’s making pretty crazy progress.
Oh, and he recruited some people too.
Asked me for houses and cars.”
Don Corleone lifts his glass slightly.
“Crazy progress?”
Sonny answers honestly and tells him about their sparring match the other day.
Truthfully, as an older brother, Sonny feels genuinely happy seeing Fredo finally stop wasting his life partying and actually start improving himself.
They’re mobsters.
Learning how to shoot and fight is normal.
Living like some spoiled trust-fund playboy—that’s politician-kid behavior.
After hearing Sonny’s explanation, Don Corleone says calmly, “If he asks for money, weapons, or resources in the future, give them to him.”
Sonny grins.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking, Pop.”
The Don thinks for a moment before asking another question.
“And Connie’s wedding preparations?”
“Don’t worry, Pop.
Everything’s moving along smoothly.”
Their conversation ends, and Sonny heads for the door.
But just before he leaves, Don Corleone stops him.
“Sonny… on the wedding day, have Fredo stay beside me.”
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