Well, I'm back again! Fair warning to all of you, this chapter is intense as we delve fully into the world Vincent is plunging the Corleone Family into. Be warned that it will get very nasty. Then again, this is a crossover story with The Godfather, so I don't know what else you thought you were getting into when you started lol.

San José, 1989

Vincent Corleone sat pensively in the back passenger seat of the Lada Riva, which was referred to locally as a 'Laika', as the driver navigated through the busy streets of Costa Rica. The tune of La Bamba played over the car radio, the golden oldie still going strong in Central America two years after the Luis Valdez film premiered.

The plane had landed at Juan Santamaría International after a ten-and-a-half-hour flight with little fanfare, where he and his men had departed the terminal and were greeted by a man named Pablo, who had been sent ahead by Rosario to meet them with a car to take them to his estate in the Guanacaste Province. Once there, Vincent would sign a real-estate contract that would insure an opening for Rosario to expand his operation into the United States.

Vincent's thoughts were occupied with the events that had led up to this point. In the late winter of 1982, three years into his reign as the head of the Corleone Family and all of its assets, Vincent had been called over to Newark to reside over a union contract between Immobiliare and the Concrete Worker's Union under the command of Don Gualtieri.

Despite being squarely in the legitimate world, Immobiliare still had to take up contracts with institutions that his uncle would have considered unsavory, but Vincent would not be deterred when it meant the deal could help benefit Andrews' campaign run for Governor that year, as well as Vincent's own political ambitions. Thankfully, Gualtieri was on cordial terms with the Corleone family, so the contract signing had gone on smoothly. However, Gualtieri's move to introduce him to Carlos Rosario would launch their ambition to a level never before dreamed of.

The two men had hit it off, Vincent finding himself won over by Rosario's natural charisma and wit. Rosario had then invited him down to his villa in Costa Rica, and it was there that he had revealed the true nature of his business affairs. Rosario was a man that presented to the world as a top-dollar tradesman and jeweler looking into an ambitious expansion of his business into mining to cut out the middle-man. But underneath the facade, Carlos Rosario was one of, if not the richest cartel bosses in Central America.

Rosario had gathered his fortune by being the delivery man for most of the neighboring cartels in the region not big enough to supply their own operations beyond the confines of their own individual states. These cartels would process their own goods, marijuana, heroin, cocaine, whatever, then ship them over to Rosario's facilities in the jungles of Venezuela where they would be processed and distributed throughout the Central and South American hemispheres.

However, Rosario wasn't content with only being a delivery service for small-time gangs, but wanted a piece of the pie for himself. Therefore, Rosario asked Vincent for help to secure land rights to expand his operation while also keeping Greenpeace lobbyists off his back. From there, he built refineries within his mining setups that were well hidden from the prying eye of the Government. But that was only the start of what he had envisioned.

What he needed was an advantage over rivals like the Medellín Cartel in Columbia, who flew twenty-five to thirty-five hundred kilos of dope into Miami every day. Unlike the Medellíns, Rosario wanted a cleaner, more civilized opening into the North American market. He was careful and didn't want to end up like that idiot Escobar, who had got it into his thick head to plant a bomb on an Avianca Flight the month prior trying to take out a politician that wasn't even on the plane.

That stunt would surely see the end of his reign as the big fish who monopolized cocaine in the United States once the American Government got involved with him. Two Americans had been on that plane and died along with a hundred and seven others, so it was only a matter of time before they used that as an excuse to help the Columbian Government to shut him down.

To summarize, this was shit news for the Medellín Cartel, but advantageous for the Bolivar Cartel. This was where Vincent once again came into play. The Corleone Family not only had the ability to help with the acquisition of land in the USA and the construction of warehouses to store Rosario's product, but his political influence would be pivotal in making Roasrio's grab for exclusive rights to the North American cocaine market universal. The plan had been formulated for the past four years, and it was now time to begin to move forward with its final execution.

Vincent would be the first to admit that the transition hadn't been easy. The Corleones were traditionally against anything that had to deal with drugs, and its members had been selected based on this merit. For three years he had maneuvered the traditionalists out of the vital positions in the family, chipping away at their influence while replacing them with new blood who were more forward-thinking. He had planned to quietly illuminate those who would have violently opposed him, but Michael's presence throughout 1986 had forced him to accelerate his plans.

Thankfully, Aunt Connie had been supportive of his moves, helping to counsel him for as long as she could before cancer took her. Vincent missed Connie more than anything, as she was the only member of the family who truly saw the potential of what he aimed to accomplish. Unlike his uncle Michael, Connie believed in him and realized the potential for his ultimate aims, and had instructed him on how to outmaneuver her brother for the transition.

Honestly, the old man's disapproval hurt, but he was undeterred. Michael was holding on to a misguided sense of moral grandstanding that Vincent found laughably absurd. The Corleones had built an empire on illegal business ventures, and Vincent didn't see why this was any different. Sure, he supposed that his uncle had hoped Vincent would actually stay away from anything illegitimate, but that was a pipedream in reality. The Corleone way, of murder and intimidation, wasn't something that belonged in the legitimate world.

A few men in the Corleone Family seemed to have understood this principle at least, allowing Vincent to have a sturdy base of experienced, veteran members. One of those men was Benjamin Harrison, who sat next to him in the back of the car reading over a binder filed with paperwork. B.J. had been surprisingly easy to convince, though upon reflection Vincent considered that it was logical. B.J. was a pragmatist and held no true loyalty to Michael's ideals. B.J. wasn't a Sicilian, he held none of the deeply-rooted sense of tradition, reverence, and loyalty to the elders, which was advantageous for Vincent. He needed a good lawyer.

After all, one does not negotiate a deal worth nine billion dollars lightly.

Vincent looked out the window, noticing that they had passed out from the glass windows of the city into the beautiful palms of the coast. Leaning forward, he tapped the driver on the shoulder.

"How long before we reach Guanacaste?"

"Three hours tops, Señor Corleone," Pablo answered, his voice carrying over the radio.

Vincent looked down at his Rolex, considering the time. "Will Carlo be waiting for us or will we be expected to wait until tomorrow to conduct business?" He asked.

Pablo nodded his head, pulling out onto the Autopista José Maria Castro Madriz, "Si, Señor Rosario wishes to go forward as soon as possible. He will allow you and your men to get settled before meeting you in the lounge room with Señor Andrews." He said, glancing over to Lou Pennino who sat in the passager seat with his leg over his knee. "He hopes that you will be staying for dinner as well."

"John's already here?" Vincent questioned.

"Si, he arrived yesterday morning," Pablo explained, keeping his eyes on the road. Vincent leaned back, his thoughts dwelling on John Andrews. The governor was planning to run for president in the incoming election and was securing financial backing three years in advance to support the cost of his campaign. While Vincent, as the CEO of Immobiliare, would represent his largest backer, Andrews had secured finance from the New York law firms of Willkie, Farr, & Gallagher, and was negotiating a deal with Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher & Flom. He was also almost guaranteed to gain the support of big securities firms such as Goldman, Sachs, & Co., and Stephens Inc.

It was doubtful that any of them would have been as enthusiastic as they were if they knew why he was currently shacked up in a Cartel Lord's house.

To be honest, Vincent didn't see himself backing the man himself if he hadn't proven useful. There were only two kinds of politicians in the world, the idealists and the corrupt, and the idealists were few and far between. To anyone who paid attention to such things, once they were elected and went to Washington, they all turned corrupt in the end. Those who didn't wise up to the game, well, they didn't last long.

Andrews, in particular, was as corrupt as they came. He was ruthless and played dirty games, and wasn't afraid to ask his good friend Vincent to take care of a pesky investigator or to silence some good samaritan in his ranks who couldn't just stay quiet about how he was screwing over the American taxpayer out of his bottom dollar.

Now he was in Costa Rica because he wanted to ensure that his cut of the deal would be secure. Five percent of the negotiation price was a small price to pay out for what Andrews could offer Vincent. Sure, three billion was nothing to scoff at, but once he got into the Oval Office he could influence the various agencies to simply look the other way after Andrews had used those billions to grease their wheels.

Vincent suppressed a yawn with a closed fist. Jetleg was definitely settling in. He turned and peered over B.J.'s shoulder, eyeing the paperwork curiously.

"Do you need my input for that?" He asked sleepily, forcing a smile on B.J.'s lips.

"No, I've got this, Vince."

Vincent nodded his head, leaning back with his head against the back window, "Wake me up when we get there." He ordered, shutting his eyes to try and get as much rest as he could into the three-hour trip.

-/ↀ\-

The car arrived at Rosario's Villa around four in the afternoon, pulling up through the closed gates of the private estate. The staff was there to greet them, taking their luggage up to their rooms on the third floor of the Spanish Colonial house. Vincent's room in particular held a spectacular view of the Pacific coastline beyond the beach almonds and the central fountain in the courtyard.

After settling into his room, Vincent stepped out and headed toward the lounge where he would finalize the union between the Corleone Family and the Bolivar Cartel. He admired the architecture of the house on his way down the stairway, observing the various paintings hanging on the walls of famous Spanish artists like David Siqueiros and Frida Kahlo.

Turning down the hall he found his way to the doors of the lounge as he had been shown on the way up to his room by Pablo. Vincent stepped into the room, pausing in his step as he heard an aroused sigh echoing through the lounge.

Andrews sat relaxed in the chair looking away from him, his head held back in ecstasy while a crown of dark brown hair bobbed up and down between his legs. One hand came down to brush through her hair, while the other held a lit joint aloft between his fingers.

As Vincent watched, Andrews let out a low, guttural moan, and the woman paused in her rhythm as he bucked his hips forward. Andrews went limp, easing back into the cushions as she made a swallowing motion. She then pulled his member out of her mouth with a wet pop, gasping as she gazed up into his hazing eyes while darting her tongue out to catch the taste on her lips.

"You like, big man?" She asked in a thick accent, her voice pitched high as she rose her head up from his crotch to look up at him, batting her dark sapphire eyes sexually. By Vincent's observation, the girl couldn't have been older than fifteen.

"Very much so, I'd say." Andrews praised her as he tickled her chin, electing a purr from the girl as he inhaled another puff from the joint.

Smiling, the girl got up and sauntered over to Vincent, wiping off a drop of clear white fluid from her lower lip as she eyed him in a playfully seductive manner. She walked unashamedly, despite the fact that her tits were hanging out for lack of a bra, the only article of clothing she wore being a flowery blue sarong tied around her waist. She brushed past him, purposefully rubbing her skin against his own, and stepped out the door.

Vincent's eyes lingered on the door before walking up on Andrews, who was currently leaning back blowing smoke from his nostrils with his feet kicked up on the coffee table.

"Settled yourself in, have you?" He said out loud, startling the man into turning around.

"Oh, Vincent! Bout gave me a heart attack. Come in, come in!" He waved his hands in a forward gesture, following Vincent as he moved over to stand next to the chair sitting opposite of him. Andrews took the joint out of his mouth, looked at it in an almost perplexed manner, then turned with his arm outstretched with the burnt end pointed toward him and asked, "You want a smoke?"

"No." He shook his head, eyeing the door as Lou and B.J. stepped into the lounge. He looked back down at Andrews. "Have you seen Carlos?"

"On the back patio, through the sliding door over there."

Vincent slide the door open and stepped outside, taking in the ocean breeze that smelled of salt and citrus. He was immediately assaulted by the voice of Massimo Ranieri serenading his sweet song over a radio set beside a man laying in a lounge chair near the shade of the house with nothing but a pair of black dress pants on.

Laying on his stomach, the man sighed in pleasure as a woman, who looked like she belong as the cover girl for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, massaged the muscles in his shoulders with a generous amount of oil, her fingers rubbing with expert precision against his tawny skin.

The man turned his head all the way around from where he lay, smiling up at Vincent with a big toothy grin, "Bienvenido, Don Corleone. I trust your flight was without trouble, yes?" He asked, making a shooing motion to the woman who smiled and walked over to the pool, throwing him a towel as she went.

"It went as smoothly as one could hope for," Vincent answered, even as the man chuckled softly to himself at the woman's antics as he dried himself off. "Got some sleep on the car ride, but I'll probably sleep late into tomorrow."

"Then I insist you share a drink with me. I make a wonderful Tequila Sunrise, the perfect pickup for a nasty overnighter. " He said, picking up a shirt that hung over another chair, standing up where Vincent could get a good look at him.

Carlos Rosario was a well-built man on the cusp of turning fifty, with sharp handsome features that belonged on a fashion model. His dark hair was combed neatly backward and trimmed on the sides, a few strands of grey breaking up its uniform color that otherwise matched the bushy mustache he groomed with pride.

He slipped on a maroon floral shirt, complimenting a pair of black dress pants held up by a round buckle belt and dark brown loafers. Stepping into the house, he made his way over to a minibar set up in the corner and pulled out a bottle of Cimarron Blanco and a carton of orange juice.

Vincent took note that P.J. and Pennino had slipped into the room and were sitting on the couch pretending to be interested in whatever Andrews was blabbering on about. Rosario whistled over to the group sitting around the coffee table.

"You boys want anything?"

"A beer for me!" Andrews chirped willfully through puffs on his joint.

"Scotch," Pennino grunted.

Rosario handed Vincent his drink and both men walked over to the coffee table, the young Sicilian taking his seat while Rosario handed the men their drinks.

"And how have you been, governor?" Rosario asked as he handed him the bottle.

"Great. Alana's been taking care of me all evening." Andrews sighed wistfully, earning a snort from Rosario as the man reached over the table to take his own drink from Vincent.

"Ahh, she's a fine piece of ass, yes?" He laughed, turning to spot a man walking into the room carrying a suitcase while wearing a blue suit and a pair of tan khakis, "Oh everyone, this is Rigal Vargas, he represents me in legal matters." He pointed at the man to introduce him even as Vargas sat down and began unloading the briefcase of paperwork.

The meeting was a formality more than anything. The negotiations were all but assured, the desires of both parties well known to the other. The purpose of this meeting was simply to reaffirm the parameters of the conditions and expectations, as well as to ground out any clarification needed going forward.

Rosario leaned back into his chair, taking a sip from his drink with a satisfied sigh, "America, land of opportunities I am told. But, sometimes you gotta work hard to get them in your grasp. My business, the estúpidos in power don't like it, because their voters wouldn't approve, and they don't get a taste."

He then looked between Vincent and Andrews, "I need a man with powerful friends, the politicians you have on call to get things moving, such as yourself, Señor Andrews."

Vincent hummed thoughtfully, then nodded his head before asking, "What is the interest for the Corleone Family?"

Rosario smiled, "Thirty percent. That's nine billion on a first-year startup. From there it'll continue to grow as we expand."

Vincent gave his lawyer a significant look, "B.J.?"

B.J. pulled out the appropriate documents from his case, handing over a copy to both Rosario and Vargas, "We are willing to invest twenty million to finance the construction of a chain business and the warehouses to store the goods, as well as various means of shipping your supply from Venezuela to the United States." He explained even as his fellow lawyer flipped through the stapled pages.

B.J. pointed to a legal contract for ownership as he continued his explanation, "We're thinking of making it a Jewelry Chain. You're using a mining operation to conceal your processing plant, it's the perfect front."

"Do I get a say on what to even call it?" Rosario half-joked, though his tone made it seem he was somewhat offended that he hadn't been included in the decision process.

"You can name it whatever you wish as it'll be signed over to your control." Vincent clarified, and Rosario was back to smiling again.

"What about political?" He asked.

Vincent tapped B.J. on the shoulder, letting him know he wanted to answer this, "That's where John comes in. I'll be providing him with a share of our profits, to ensure both his run for the executive branch in the next few years, as well as to earn the support of various senators and federal agencies to get in on the deal."

Rosario frowned, considering, "You think they'll go for that?"

Andrews snorted as he spoke up for the first time, "The senators will go for anything that fattens their paycheck, while the CIA will come on board so they'll have the funding to go after communist upstarts in foreign countries. As for the FBI, they'll turn the other cheek to anything as long as it has State approval."

"You won't have to worry about the FBI harassing your men." Vincent assured Rosario, building on Andrews' statement with his own experience with the agency, "The Corleone Family has influence over the courts and the District Attorneys. I can sway a court hearing in our favor with a phone call, and I'll personally guarantee bail and legal counsel to any of your men who get caught transporting on route to the US. We'll even help them obtain their visas."

Rosario leaned back, looking at Vincent thoughtfully with a curious look in his eyes that Vincent could not read. "All that for thirty percent." He said simply, and it was the Sicilian's guess if it was meant to be sarcastic or not. But Vincent was a betting man, and if he were in Rosario's position he would think the deal reasonable, so he assumed the man did as well.

"Nine billion is a lot of money." Vincent shot back, earning a laugh from the man.

"Well then," Rosario clapped his hands together, looking over to the lawyers, "Where do we sign?"

-/ↀ\-

Dinner was a lively affair, entertained with regional music, and served with red wine and food prepared by Rosario's many chefs. The Americans enjoyed themselves immensely in their host's care, laughing along at the jokes told or giving their input here and there to the stories shared.

Privately, to Vincent and Peninno the food was good, but in their minds could never compare to the dishes of Sicily.

Rosario currently was waving his glass of wine in the air, regaling them with tales from his time as a mercenary in the Dominican Civil War to the amusement of his guests.

"So, we had just gotten back from the local village after raiding it for supplies. Well, as it turns out the loyalists had been spotted in the area so we were on high alert taking turns keeping watch. I tell you, we all wanted a turn in our tent to get in with this girl Alberto had dragged along from the village." Rosario chuckled to himself at the mental image that came to mind.

"Anyway, on my shift, it's around midnight, and out of nowhere, we start hearing this loud screaming, like a man getting gutted. And Alberto comes out, bareass naked, and starts shooting into the jungle blind with his cock flopping up and down! Up and down!"

"What about you, Vincent? Are you a military man?" Rosario asked.

Vincent shook his head, "No, I've never served. My uncle was a captain in the second world war, however." He added, earning an interested look from their host.

"Ah yes, I've heard of Señor Michael. Very dangerous man. I'm surprised he is not here, I would have thought a man such as him would see the opportunity presented here."

Vincent was silent, looking down as he thought about exactly what his uncle would have to say about the 'opportunity' here, "It's true that my uncle was a very powerful man, but he's not a forward thinker like us. What we plan to do here, eh, He thinks the narcotics business is a bad idea for our family."

"Yet you went against his wishes," Rosario observed.

Vincent shrugged. "Uncle Mike's stuck in the past. Someone has to drag the old man into the twenty-first century."

Rosario pondered this and slowly nodded. Just then, one of Rosario's servants walked into the room and leaned in to whisper something into his ear. Hissing something to the man in Spanish, Rosario rubbed a finger between his eyes as he threw his napkin down and stood from the table.

"I'm sorry about this, I hate it when business comes in to interrupt intimate moments such as this."

"What's wrong?" Vincent asked.

"Seems a thorn in my side, a detective from the local district got caught snooping around our compound in San José. My men brought him up, he down in the horse stables now." Rosario then seemed to think of something, and turned to look between Vincent and the other men present at the table, "Would you like to join me, Señor Corleone? You might find the methods I use to deal with troublemakers educational."

"I don't see why not. What do you think, Pennino? B.J.?" Vincent looked over at his Underboss and Casigliere, a curious brow raised.

"Sure, Vince." Pennino wiped his mouth off and stood from the table. B.J. on the other hand was not so enthusiastic.

"I'll stay, I need to do some paperwork tonight, and since dinner seemed to be concluded I should get started on it about now." He explained. Vargas offered the same.

"Ahh, I think I'll stay here with the lawyers, might go see if Alana's up for some fun." Andrews stammered before scurrying out of the room, earning a laugh from Rosario as he went.

"Typical politician, isn't he? Loves to play in the mud but doesn't want to get his hands dirty. Eh, what can you do?" He shrugged with a smile, gesturing to the two men to follow him, "Come on, I'll show you the way. I have a beautiful Andalusian that I'd love to introduce you to."

-/ↀ\-

Vincent, Pennino, and Rosario stepped into the stables, inundated by the harsh whinny of horses as the sharp cry of a pain being torn from the throat of a man echoed against the walls. Under a hanging lamp, a shirtless man dangled by his arms tied by a rope as three men took turns delivering blows to his face and abdomen. These were Rosario's hitmen, soldiers who in Vincent's mind were thought of as 'Soldatos', but in the cartel world were known as 'Sicarios'.

The man had just received a right hook to his jaw when Rosario signaled his men to stop, walking up to his limp form. He grabbed him by his hair to lift his head up, looking the man in the eye.

"Well, I would say welcome but it seems my men have already introduced you to my home."

The man spat on the ground, looking at Rosario with hatred even as the swelling in his eye threaten to render him blind, "Bastardo! No tienes derecho a hacer esto!" He growled in Spanish, drawing a smile from Rosario's lips.

Vincent, though he wasn't Spanish, could somewhat understand the nature of the conversation, as the language of the Sicilian people was similar to the descendants of the Spaniards. He began piecing together the words he recognized to follow the flow of the back and forth, grimacing as the man showed such disrespect. It was never wise to do so in a situation such as this.

"Creo que descubrirá que tengo todo el derecho del mundo." Rosario said humorously, pointing to himself, "Alguien en mi posición hace las reglas en este país, y eso significa que todos están bajo mi placer de hacer lo que yo crea conveniente."

Rosario turned to one of his men, "El chico adentro."

The detective perked up his ears at this, panic lighting up in his eyes as he tried to turn to see where the man was going. Vincent was curious himself, wondering what the extent of Rosario's boast of being able to do anything he wished in this country was. He got his answer a moment later as a moan could be heard over dragging feet, as Rosario's man pulled the body of a young boy into the light of the lamp.

"No! No, por favor, no hijo mío!" The bound man cried out, and Vincent knew that he was begging for the life of his son.

The boy looked up at him, his face badly beaten as he cried, "Papá! Por favor ayúdame-!" Was all he could say before he was slapped hard in the mouth by one of the Sicarios, who barked angrily at him to be silent.

"Estás empezando a entender exactamente a qué te han llevado tus acciones?" Rosario now wished to dig the knife deeper, convicting the man of his carelessness for the safety of his family by going after him. "Les he ofrecido a los hombres de su departamento un salario para garantizar que se jubilen como reyes, pero no lo aceptaron. Eran demasiado nobles para mi dinero. Adónde los ha llevado eso a usted ya su hijo, ahora?"

So, Rosario seemed to have control of the police of his country as well. Vincent thought to himself, his attention drawn by the gleam of a sharp machete that dangled ideally in the hands of one of Rosario's men. It seemed the detective had noticed as well by the way his face had grown pale.

"Por favor, es mi único hijo." The man plead, but Rosario only laughed harder, more cruelly. It was as though he treated this as a game, toying with the man to draw out his suffering longer through the anticipation of what was about to happen.

"Debiste haber pensado en él antes de meter la nariz en lugares a los que no pertenecía." He said, even as he reached out his hand to take the machete from his Sicario.

He held the blade in his hand as the boy's body was held to the ground on his belly, and then with a smile and a shrug, he looked at the hanging man and spoke lightly, "Pero, oye, ambos servirán como un recordatorio para todos los demás en tu departamento para que no me jodan."

Then with a heave, Rosario grabbed the boy by his hair and began to saw the machete back and forth against his neck, ignoring the high-pitched squeal of pain and screams of despair from the father, who had to watch as the blade sawed through the layer of skin and fat into the flesh and bone. The boy gurgled as he passed the spine into the throat, until finally with but a few strands of skin connecting it to the rest of the body, Rosario pulled back and lifted the severed head of the boy up for his father to see.

"Oh papi! Papá, ayúdame!" Rosario mocked, laughing as he dangled the head up to the boy's father, swaying it ever so slightly so that it would knock against the man's face, coating his tattered shirt with his son's blood.

To any other man, they would have looked upon the scene in sickening horror. But to Vincent Corleone, who watched on with a cold calculation, comparing the methods with his own and how such ways could be used in the appropriate situation. Whereas the Corleones of yesteryear would have watched in disgust at bringing in a civilian into the affairs of the business, Vincent watched with a detached fascination, even as the man was lowered to the ground on his belly, and delivered the same reward as his son.

-/ↀ\-

Vincent stood at the window of his home in upstate New York overlooking the Saranac with a cold scotch in his hand, taking small sips from the glass as he gazed out onto the still crystal water in thought.

He had just returned from Porta Rico the night before after spreading a week there in Rosario's home, dining and enjoying the sun of the tropical region. It had rained for a day or so, but overall it had been an enjoyable experience.

They had to postpone the tour of Rosario's diamond facility in Bolivar, as the military police were guarding the roads at the time. The government was still a bit jumpy after the Caracazo Riots that had broken out in Guarenas earlier in the year, a crisis that developed in response to the rising cost of gasoline and transportation after widespread governmental economic reforms.

The protests had spiraled out of control as rioting and looting took hold of the city and the surrounding towns, and the resulting chaos was estimated to have caused around fifty million dollars in property damage. The greater blow however had been the deaths at the hands of the security forces. Officially, two hundred and seventy-seven protestors were killed by armed military security forces. Unofficially, if you asked the locals, the number was actually over two thousand.

This kind of chaos was exactly what Rosario wanted to cartel, using his resources to bring stability to the region and cement himself into the political sphere. Vincent could respect such ambition, striking against the ones in power that oppressed their people to rise up and take their place to instigate real change.

That was what his family had done, though over a period of sixty years and three generations of Corleone men. They were close now to being the head of the pack now, and Andrews was his stepping stone into getting his voice into the presidency. He was sure none of the Corleone men who came before would have approved of his method of getting to that position, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made to gain the power needed to reach above and beyond the dreams that had founded a dynasty. He could live with Michael's disappointment for now, he knew his uncle would come around to his point of view when his plans unfolded as he envisioned.

Speaking of his uncle, Vincent noticed a parcel marked with stamps from Sicily. It seemed that his man had finally sent him an update on Michael's movements in Sicily. It was past due for one at the very least, so he hoped that it would contain something of great significance.

Opening the package, Vincent was greeted with a cassette tape, a letter, and an envelope filled with photographs. Taking the letter first, he began to read, a frown growing across his lips as he come across the report of a development he had not foreseen.

Disgruntled, he tossed the envelope away. He would have to do something about this and soon, he reasoned to himself as he tore open the envelope, his eyes boring onto the face of a young boy with unnaturally green eyes and a scar on his forehead.

-/ↀ\-

Well, that segues nicely into the start of the Sicily Arc, expect that in a week or two. Also, please Read and Review. I always appreciate both reading and engaging with reviewers regarding their thoughts on the progress of my work.

Shoutout to my friend AlexWoundedSide, who I helped post his reviews. I'm happy that you enjoyed listening to my story so far!