In a land where ministries are inherited like heirloom rugs and justice retires early with a state pension, the Don is plotting his final act. But forget horse heads and Sicilian codes—this is Lebanon, where succession comes with espresso, offshore accounts, and a side of freekeh. The mafia isn’t hiding in the shadows—it’s filing paperwork, hosting cabinet meetings, and offering diplomatic immunity with a wink. Welcome to “The Godfather IV: Lebanese Edition,” where the only thing more fragile than the democracy is the Don’s cholesterol.
Don Corleone is aging, but not quite senile—though rumors suggest his memory only works when asset declarations aren’t involved. He’s still sharp enough to plan his own succession, mafia-style, but blind enough to think Lebanon still runs on omertà and not WhatsApp leaks.
The timing’s convenient. His biggest rivals—let’s call them The Clan of God—have just been flattened by the IDF. Not the FBI, mind you. In Lebanon, the FBI only shows up when suitcases full of cash get lost on the tarmac. The Don took the IDF hit as divine confirmation that his community is once again his turf, and he could get back to serious governance—like deciding which protégé gets which public institution.
So there he is, lounging at his “official residence” known poetically as Source of the Fig Tree’ or alternatively the ‘Den of Outsized Power’, sipping Turkish coffee and plotting appointments like a mobster handing out protection rackets.
Enter Mo Green, aka Yass “the Clean”. The only guy the Don could place at Finance without triggering an Interpol notification. Yass’ greatest qualification? He has a clean police record—something as rare in Lebanon as accurate tax returns. He wears good suits, speaks in acronyms (IMF, EBRD, ESG), and walks around Arab capitals pretending he’s the adult in the room. But here’s the twist: Yass “the Clean” has ambition. The type of ambition that doesn’t scream, it whispers. He’s Gotti in Gucci—less bullets, more backchannels. And while he flashes a diplomatic smile at the Don, he’s quietly circling like a well-groomed shark, waiting for Big Paul Castellano—aka the “Perennial Speaker”—to slip in the bathroom and retire permanently. Will he pull it off? Maybe. Maybe not. But Yass “the Clean” isn’t one to take a shot—he’ll just make sure you’re standing under the chandelier when the screws come loose.
Meanwhile, we’ve got Ali HK, a.k.a. “The Octopus”. Former boss of Finance. Current string-puller. Owner of more secret files than the Vatican. He built a bureaucratic spiderweb so tight that every wiretap in town reports to him. He’s loyal to the Don, because crossing him would mean losing access to state tenders and, worse, birthday invitations. Ali HK has the credentials to be Don himself, but alas—his name glows in neon at the OFAC offices in Washington D.C. He can’t be boss, but he might just settle for Consigliere: the man behind the curtain, whispering into the ear of the next puppet Don.
But the succession doesn’t stop there. The junior mobsters are lining up like it’s Black Friday at Filene’s basement in downtown Boston.
- The “Vice” wants his old job back at the Central Bank, proving once again that in Lebanon, “vice” isn’t a disqualifier—it’s part of the résumé.
- Ali, aka the “Slippery Judge“ is so corrupt he makes casino pit bosses blush, wants to chair Intra Holding, Lebanon’s version of the Godfather’s III Immobiliare, but without the effort to pretend it’s legit.
- And Judge Z? He wants the judiciary itself, so he can officially declare the rule of law a “suggestion” and issue immunity cards like parking vouchers.
And let’s not forget the sons, sons-in-law, and various freeloading princelings in the Don’s entourage. These guys don’t need jobs—they’ve already got portfolios: luxury villas, offshore accounts, and enough yachts to start a floating embassy. Rumor has it the Don even cut a deal with the Americans to secure future immunity for the family fortune, just in case anyone ever gets the funny idea to enforce anti-corruption laws.
The Don may not be dying, but he’s making sure the family ledger is in order. The money stays in the bloodline. The titles go to the loyal. And the system? It’s like a vending machine. Feed it loyalty, get a ministry.
Now, enter “Joe” the New Sheriff in Town—younger, clean-cut, and righteous. Does he challenge the Don? Or does he let the geriatric Godfather continue doling out appointments like candy at a diabetic clinic? Here’s the thing: challenging the Don is no small feat. He’s not just old, he’s grumpy, institutionalized, and fluent in the dark arts of legislative obstruction.
But if “Sheriff Joe” wants to avoid disaster at the start of his term, he’d better show some fangs, and soon. Because if he doesn’t? The Don may be gone soon—but his mignons will keep ruling the Casino Country they’ve inherited right from the grave. It will be a “Godfather IV’ but no known names in the cast, almost like III save Pacino and Keaton.
And in Lebanon, the real danger isn’t that the mafia runs the country. It’s that they’ve turned it into a certified legacy business and file taxes under “heritage”.