I own nothing, the characters and everything belong to Mario Puzo, Paramount and some other big names who we have to thank for the Godfather trilogy.

Note: This was actually written quite a long time ago, and now that I look back at it years later, I realise that it's not that good. However, I'm keeping it here in its original form because this story was written right after I watched the second movie for the first time. Fredo's fate had a really big effect on me, and I guess this was my way of coping with it, as lame as that may sound.

FREDO'S DEATH

"Hail Mary, full of grace..."

The weather was depressingly grey and chilling wind blew over Lake Tahoe making all those unfortunate, who were outside, shudder. The sky was covered in thin veil like clouds and ifone bothered to look carefullyone could almost see the sun winking behind them.

That day only one boat was on the lake. Everything had been taken care of, Michael didn't want anyone to interfere even by an accident.

One boat and two men.

"...the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women..."

The first one of them was named Frederico Corleone, but only few called him by that name. He was Freddie or Fredo to all, it depended on who was talking. The grey weather seemed to fit him well, he was lanky and some might have described him ill looking, too.

During the year he had lived on guard and been nervous, known he had done a terrible mistake.

He had betrayed Michael, his little brother, and given the enemy information about the family. Now when he thought about it he knew how stupid he had been and thanked his luck for the fact that Michael had forgiven him. Honestly, he hadn't believed his cold brother could show such mercy.

Michael had changed so much.

Fredo remembered what his little brother had been like before. Back then it had been easy to make him laugh and he had no doubt been the most innocent one of the four siblings. When he had grown old enough to understand what the family business was all about Michael had decided he didn't want anything to do with it.

Their father had been very disappointed when Michael had left to the war, but despite that Fredo had been just a little jealous. He hadn't had the courage to rebel against their father, he had always been the one who did what was told.

"...and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus."

He wasn't jealous anymore, though.

Nowadays Michael didn't laugh, he didn't even smile. His face was a hard and cold mask and Fredo had to be worried when thinking what he had become. He felt he was responsible somehow, he was Michael's older brother after all and he should have taken care of him.

Taken care of him...

It reminded him of the painful conversation he had had with Michael during the timehis brotherhad been sued. Back then Michael had been just as ruthless as he looked like and Fredo was truly sorry. Though he didn't know for who, himself or his brother.

Probably both.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners..."

Suddenly Fredo felt as if something cold was creeping on his back. He couldn't explain it, but he had a bad hunch and turned around to glance at the man behind him.

Al Neri.

Fredo didn't know much about the man, only that he had been a cop and got in trouble after killing someone. The man didn't say much about his past and Michael told nothing either. Al was now Michael's personal man, a body guard of some sort.

The one who did the dirty job for his brother.

Some people said that Al was the second Luca Brasi, cold and with no feelings. Fredo agreed, but he had to admit that Al didn't really look like it. Unlike Brasi, he looked even gentle sometimes and he had handsome features. The scars of the murders he had committed didn't show and he was a pretty pleasant man.

Al had a shot gun in his hands, a gun you really didn't need in fishing. One well aimed shot would be enough to kill a man.

"Al? What are you doing?" Fredo asked nervously, though he had got it already. Perhaps he was slow and stupid like some claimed, but even he didn't need much time to understand what was going on.

So Michael hadn't forgiven after all. He had been stupid to believehe had.

An almost pitying expression flashed on Al's face, but it was gone soon. Fredo guessed he had imagined it.

"I'm sorry Fredo," Al said quietly.

A shot echoed at the Lake Tahoe and after that everything was quiet, almost dream like. The lonely boat rested on the waves and the other man in it stood up.

A gull screeched.

And in his small mansion on the shore, Michael Corleone lowered his head.

The End