Peter Clemenza slept badly that night. In the morning he got up early and

made his own breakfast of a glass of grappa, a thick slice of Genoa salami with a

Chunk of fresh Italian bread that was still delivered to his door as in the old days.

Then he drank a great, plain china mug filled with hot coffee that had been lashed

With anisette. But as he padded about the house in his old bathrobe and red felt

slippers he pondered on the day's work that lay ahead of him. Last night Sonny

Corleone had made it very clear that Paulie Gatto was to be taken care of

Immediately. It had to be today.

Clemenza was troubled. Not because Gatto had been his protйgй and had

turned traitor. This did not reflect on the caporegime 's judgment. After all,

Paulie's background had been perfect. He came from a Sicilian family, he had

Grown up in the same neighborhood as the Corleone children, had indeed even

Gone to school with one of the sons. He had been brought up through each level

In the proper manner. He had been tested and not found wanting. And then after

he had "made his bones" he had received a good living from the Family, a

percentage of an East Side "book" and a union payroll slot. Clemenza had not

Been unaware that Paulie Gatto supplemented his income with free-lance

stickups, strictly against the Family rules, but even this was a sign of the man's