If there was ever a man to be trusted, it was Vito Corleone. He kept his word, never daring to break a promise made in the whispers of the night. He was a man who pledged loyalty, straying from a pact—especially a pact borne of love—was so far out of character he couldn’t even fathom the idea. Vito, so uptight in his beliefs around physical intimacy, he refused to so much as kiss before marriage.

Vito Corleone was a good, hardworking boy. His brain was impossibly fast, always scheming.

But Vito was not a man of wealth. Not yet, though he knew he’d find riches and luxury later in life. He walks down the ruddy hallway of his apartment building, purposefully ignoring the stained walls and damp smell. For two doors down was his own apartment, of which he paid for with his sweat, blood, and tears.