Standing at the door with him were two of his three sons. The eldest, baptized

Santino but called Sonny by everyone except his father, was looked at askance

By the older Italian men; with admiration by the younger. Sonny Corleone was tall

For a first-generation American of Italian parentage, almost six feet, and his crop

Of bushy, curly hair made him look even taller. His face was that of a gross Cupid,

The features even but the bow-shaped lips thickly sensual, the dimpled cleft chin

In some curious way obscene. He was built as powerfully as a bull and it was

Common knowledge that he was so generously endowed by nature that his

Martyred wife feared the marriage bed as unbelievers once feared the rack. It was

Whispered that when as a youth he had visited houses of ill fame, even the most

hardened and fearless putain, after an awed inspection of his massive organ,

Demanded double price. Here at the wedding feast, some young matrons,

Widehipped, wide-mouthed, measured Sonny Corleone with coolly confident eyes.

But on this particular day they were wasting their time. Sonny Corleone, despite

the presence of his wife and three small children, had plans for his sister's maid

Of honor, Lucy Mancini. This young girl, fully aware, sat at a garden table in her

Pink formal gown, a tiara of flowers in her glossy black hair. She had flirted with