The Godfather


“The Godfather” By Mario Puzo



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Mario Puzo-The Godfather eng

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
368
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Carlo Rizzi, still waiting for his interview with Michael, became jittery with all the arrivals 
and departures. Obviously something big was going on and it looked as if he were going 
to be left out. Impatiently he called Michael on the phone. One of the house bodyguards 
answered, went to get Michael, and came back with the message that Michael wanted 
him to sit tight, that he would get to him soon. 
Carlo called up his mistress again and told her he was sure he would be able to take her 
to a late supper and spend the night. Michael had said he would call him sin, whatever 
he had planned couldn’t take more than an hour, or two. Then it would take him about 
forty minutes to drive to Westbury. It could be done. He promised her he would do it and 
sweet-talked her into not being sore. When he hung up he decided to get properly 
dressed so as to save time afterward. He had just slipped into a fresh shirt when there 
was a knock on the door. He reasoned quickly that Mike had tried to get him on the 
phone and had kept getting a busy signal so had simply sent a messenger to call him. 
Carlo went to the door and opened it. He felt his whole body go weak with terrible 
sickening fear. Standing in the doorway was Michael Corleone, his face the face of that 
death Carlo Rizzi saw often in his dreams. 
Behind Michael Corleone were Hagen and Rocco Lampone. They looked grave, like 
people who had come with the utmost reluctance to give a friend bad news. The three of 
them entered the house and Carlo Rizzi led them into the living room. Recovered from 
his first shock, he thought that he had suffered an attack of nerves. Michael’s words 
made him really sick, physically nauseous. 
“You have to answer for Santino,” Michael said. 
Carlo didn’t answer, pretended not to understand. Hagen and Lampone had split away 
to opposite walls of the room. He and Michael faced each other. 
“You fingered Sonny for the Barzini people,” Michael said, his voice flat. “That little farce 
you played out with my sister, did Barzini kid you that would fool a Corleone?” 
Carlo Rizzi spoke out of his terrible fear, without dignity, without any kind of pride. “I 
swear I’m innocent. I swear on the head of my children I’m innocent. Mike, don’t do this 
to me, please, Mike, don’t do this to me.” 
Michael said quietly, “Barzini is dead. So is Phillip Tattaglia. I want to square all the 
Family accounts tonight. So don’t tell me you’re innocent. It would be better for you to 
admit what you did.” 



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