The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
19
beside me now.” 
The blond groom poured Lucy a glass of wine and smiled knowingly. Lucy didn’t care. 
She lifted the grapey, dark red juice to her parched mouth and drank. She felt the sticky 
wetness between her thighs and pressed her legs together. Her body was trembling. 
Over the glass rim, as she drank, her eyes searched hungrily to find Sonny Corleone. 
There was no one else she cared to see. Slyly she whispered in Connie’s ear, “Only a 
few hours more and you’ll know what it’s all about.” Connie giggled. Lucy demurely 
folded her hands on the table, treacherously triumphant, as if she had stolen a treasure 
from the bride. 
* * * 
Amerigo Bonasera followed Hagen into the corner room of the house and found Don 
Corleone sitting behind a huge desk. Sonny Corleone was standing by the window, 
looking out into the garden. For the first time that afternoon the Don behaved coolly. He 
did not embrace the visitor or shake hands. The sallow-faced undertaker owed his 
invitation to the fact that his wife and the wife of the Don were the closest of friends. 
Amerigo Bonasera himself was in severe disfavor with Don Corleone. 
Bonasera began his request obliquely and cleverly. “You must excuse my daughter, 
your wife’s goddaughter, for not doing your family the respect of coming today. She is in 
the hospital still.” He glanced at Sonny Corleone and Tom Hagen to indicate that he did 
not wish to speak before them. But the Don was merciless. 
“We all know of your daughter’s misfortune,” Don Corleone said. “If I can help her in any 
way, you have only to speak. My wife is her godmother after all. I have never forgotten 
that honor.” This was a rebuke. The undertaker never called Don Corleone, “Godfather” 
as custom dictated. 
Bonasera, ashen-faced, asked, directly now, “May I speak to you alone?” 
Don Corleone shook his head. “I trust these two men with my life. They are my two right 
arms. I cannot insult them by sending them away.” 
The undertaker closed his eyes for a moment and then began to speak. His voice was 
quiet, the voice he used to console the bereaved. “I raised my daughter in the American 
fashion. I believe in America. America has made my fortune. I gave my daughter her 
freedom and yet taught her never to dishonor her family. She found a ‘boy friend,’ not an 
Italian. She went to the movies with him. She stayed out late. But he never came to 
meet her parents. I accepted all this without a protest, the fault is mine. Two months ago 

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