Michael had tried to kill him once before, and Geraci had retaliated beautifully. He’d used Forlenza to let Russo know what was going on with Fredo and down in Cuba; after that, Geraci hadn’t had to lift a finger. Fredo had unwittingly betrayed Michael, over nothing. Anyone could see that Cuba was unstable and going to blow. Yet Michael was so blinded by the millions he could make as an almost-legitimate businessman there that he had allowed himself to get sucked into a situation where he’d killed his own brother. His wife had left him over it, took the kids, and moved a continent away. He’d lost two capos-Rocco and Frankie Pants, both rivals of Geraci’s-fighting over an empire in Cuba that was destined never to exist. If there really was a fate worse than death, Geraci had inflicted it on Michael Corleone.

As he waited, Geraci tried to figure out how Michael could have learned about this. He was at a loss.

Two hours late, Donnie Bags, near the window, signaled that Michael’s limo was there. The Roach and Eddie Paradise flanked Geraci as he crossed the sidewalk. He was ready for anything. He pictured his daughters’ faces. And he reached for the door handle.

“Hello, Fausto.”

“Don Corleone.” Geraci got into the car alone and climbed into the seat facing Michael. Al Neri, behind the wheel, was the only other person in the car. “You have a nice trip?”

Geraci nodded to the Roach, who closed the door. Neri put the car in gear.

“Outstanding. You should go up again. These new planes practically fly themselves.”

“I’ll bet,” Geraci said. One of Michael’s thank-you gifts from Ambassador M. Corbett Shea had been a new airplane. “I have dreams that I’m flying. Funny thing is, they’re never nightmares. But once I wake up, I can’t even imagine being a passenger again. Hey, congratulations, by the way. Next best thing to having a paesan’ in the White House.”

“It’s just the transition team,” Michael said. “I only served as an adviser. One of many.”

Over the years, the Corleones had granted the Sheas many favors, including several that had helped get the new president elected. In return, Michael had asked for this appointment. Geraci had it on good authority that Michael had never met face-to-face with anyone in the new administration. It was understood that he would participate in name only. All Michael wanted was the credibility the appointment gave him.

“Think we’ll live to see it?” Geraci said. “An Italian in the White House?”

“I’m certain of it,” Michael said.

Geraci had positioned himself on the seat so that Neri would have to stop the car before killing him. There didn’t seem much chance that Michael would do the job himself. If it happened, it would happen someplace they took him, probably by men waiting for him there. “I hope you’re right, Don Corleone.”

“Just Michael, okay? We’re old friends, Fausto, and I’m retired now.”

“That’s what I hear.” The rumors that Michael was going legit had been swirling around for years and intensified after Shea’s election. “But I didn’t think we had retirement in this thing of ours. Whatever happened to ‘You come in alive and you go out dead’? We all swear to that.”

“I swore to it, and I’ll uphold it. I’ll always be a part of the Family my father built,” Michael said. “But my relationship to it will be the same as it is for some of the men my father’s age who’ve served us well and moved to Florida or Arizona. Men from whom we ask nothing.”

“Explain to me how this is going to work,” Geraci said. “I’ve heard different things, but I wrote a lot of it off as just talk.”

“It’s simple. As you know, I promised Clemenza and Tessio they could have their own Families when the time was right. Tessio betrayed us and Pete’s dead, but the promise still lives.”

“Ogni promessa è un debito, eh?” Geraci said. “As my old man used to say.”

“Exactly,” Michael said. “Today I pay that debt. In every respect, you’re our best man in New York. As of today, I have no further need for the businesses you run, not even the income from them. I’m out. I’m the one who should call you Don. Don Geraci. Congratulations.”

That’s it. I’m dead. “Thank you,” Geraci said. “Just like that?”

“How else?” Michael said.

Despite himself, Geraci shot a glance at Neri. They were heading west on Seventy-ninth Street, into Central Park. Neri was looking straight ahead. “I’m deeply honored. Overwhelmed.”

“You earned it.”

Geraci held up his ringless right hand. “If I’d known, I’d have bought a ring.”

“Take mine,” Michael said. “It was blessed by the pope himself.” He started taking it off. It was tasteful, classy: a big diamond surrounded by sapphires.

He wouldn’t give that ring to a man he was about to kill, would he? And who’d give away a ring that had been blessed by the fucking pope?

“I was kidding,” Geraci said. “I couldn’t possibly accept. You’ve been too generous already.” Geraci held up his big right hand, half again the size of Michael’s and gnarled from the many punches it had landed, with and without boxing gloves. “Also, I don’t think it’ll fit.”

Michael laughed. “I never really noticed.” He slid the ring back on his finger.

How could he never have noticed? “You know what they say. Big hands-”

“Big rings.”

“Exactly. Really, Michael, this is incredible news. A dream come true.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Of course I knew. But I heard there was some trouble with the Commission.”

“You have good sources. The Commission has asked that I stay on. I was opposed to this, but their decision is binding. I will remain in an advisory capacity, both to them and to you. It should go without saying that this arrangement will be maintained in the strictest confidence. Anyone you appoint as capo must be cleared with the Commission, and I advise you to clear it with me first. I assume you’ll want to keep Nobilio?”

“I need to think about it.” Richie Two Guns had taken over Clemenza’s old regime. Everything Geraci knew about Richie was good-he’d helped put together the monopoly the New York Families now had on cement, for example, and had a big presence down in Fort Lauderdale, too-but saying yes, just like that, didn’t seem smart. If all this was on the level, that is. “Think Richie’ll be sore you picked me?”

“You don’t think he’ll be a lot more sore if you bust him down?”

“I’m not talking about busting him down. I’m just wondering how he’ll take the news.”

“I’m sure it won’t come as much of a surprise.”

“You talk to him?”

Michael shook his head. “It’s out there, though. If there’s a problem, I can talk to him.”

“I’m sure it’ll work out great.” He and Richie had talked about the rumors. Richie had said he’d be happy to see Geraci become the new Don and was pulling for the Commission to approve it. Probably he was telling the truth. “Richie seems like a good man.”

“For your own regime, I won’t presume to make suggestions. Just talk to me first.”

“Will do.”

“I’ll be providing limited counsel to you, but I won’t be serving as your consigliere. I have another sort of life I wish to lead. I don’t want my past to intrude on that life.”

“I understand.” Though he didn’t, not entirely. “Do I run that choice past you as well?”

“Up to you.”

“If you don’t mind,” Geraci said, “I’d like Tom Hagen to be my consigliere.”

“Unfortunately,” Michael said, “I do mind. My brother Tom will continue to work closely with me as my attorney.”

Another good sign. If Geraci really was about to be killed, Michael could have said yes.

“Thought I’d take a shot. You always want the best man you can get.”

“You don’t like me,” Michael said. “Do you, Fausto?”

Geraci quickly decided that lying would be more dangerous than telling the truth. “That’s true. I don’t. No disrespect, but I don’t know many people who do.”