Twilight of the Dons.

Omerta, by Mario Puzo (Random House, 316 pp., $25.95)

If there was a driving force behind Mario Puzo's career as a novelist and screenwriter, it was money. When he owed the IRS $150,000, he agreed to write the screenplays for Superman I and II. When he wrote The Cotton Club, he received $1 million despite not a single word of his actually making it onto film. And it was back in 1966, when Puzo was a struggling writer at the age of 45, owing $20,000 to "relatives, financial companies, banks, and assorted bookmakers and shylocks," that he decided to "sell out" and write the all-time bestselling novel in publishing history, The Godfather.

Had he not been in debt, Puzo would be known today only as a critic of the Italian-American immigrant scene in New York, as in The Fortunate Pilgrim (1964)-his own favorite work-or for mediocre political novels like The Fourth K (1992). But he didn't want to become a chooch (Sicilian for a deadbeat who couldn't provide for his wife and children), and wrote what he thought would earn him some serious cash. That this novel would have a lasting impact on American society-and around the world for years to come-was beyond his expectations.

In no time, he was approached by Paramount Pictures to write the screenplay for The Godfather and its sequel. And though Puzo squabbled with both the studio and Francis Ford Coppola-he thought the director had softened up his characters too much, and ultimately quit the film- he did win an Academy Award for best screenplay. Puzo went on to write other bestsellers-including Fools Die (1978) and The Sicilian (1984)- and the screenplays for Earth quake (1974) and Christopher Colum bus:The Discovery (1992). But he would inevitably return to the Mafia, writing the screenplay for The God father Part III (1990), and another bestselling novel, The Last Don (1996), which became the highest-rated television miniseries of 1997.

By then, at age 75, Mario Puzo had already begun what he knew would be his last novel, Omerta, the completion of his Mafia trilogy. The title refers to a Sicilian code of honor, explained on the very first page, "which forbids informing about crimes thought to be the affairs of the persons involved." To violate the code of omerta, in other words, is to be a rat. Puzo recognized that breaking this code is perhaps the greatest threat the Mafia faces today. (When Sammy "the Bull" Gravano became a federal witness, he managed to have his boss, John Gotti, sent away for life, practically destroying the Gambino crime family.) Indeed, his novel opens with the Mafia all but vanquished by the FBI, thanks to an elderly don turned informant.

The novel's focus, however, is on the murder of another retiring don, Ray monde Aprile. This don had raised three children of his own, but only his orphaned nephew Astorre was involved in the family business. The others were mostly unaware of their fatherdealings, only hearing rumors reported in the tabloids. One son is a colonel teaching at West Point, another is a powerful television executive, and the daughter is a defense attorney strongly opposed to the death penalty. But this is what Raymonde Aprile wanted: "He would send his children away to be educated in the ways of a lawful society, so they would not grow up in his world so full of hate and danger."

Like Michael Corleone in The God father III, Raymonde wanted to retire from the life, keeping only his banking operations-an income that would generate billions of dollars. According to his will, these banks will be left to his children, with his nephew responsible for running them. But when a shadowy group of international bankers, aging dons, and drug dealers puts pressure on the children to sell, Astorre becomes convinced that some or all of these men were responsible for Don Aprile's demise. Meanwhile, the FBI is working with an informer who can aid in the sale of the banks, hoping to trap the conspirators in their massive money-laundering operation. Special agent Kurt Cilke leads this crusade and will cross any ethical boundary to bring them all down. Astorre must confront all the players, travel to Chicago and London and Sicily to form his alliances, and figure out how to exact his revenge. In his actions and his moral outlook, he is clearly a stand-in for the author.

At times, Omerta seems more of a murder mystery than an epic, and that may leave Puzo's fans hungry for more. Nowhere will readers be shocked by the discovery of a horse's head, as in The Godfather, or by finding out just why Don Corleone feared Luca Brasi. And nowhere will they find such sheer brutality as in the Santadio wars of The Last Don. Indeed, in many respects Omerta is not your classic Puzo novel. For starters, it runs a mere 316 pages, while The Godfather runs 443 and The Last Don numbers close to 500. You can't help but think that had Puzo lived longer, Omerta would have been another grand-opera performance with all of his traditional strengths.

One of the missing elements is the centrality of religious events. The Godfather opens with a wedding and ends with a baptism. The Godfather Part II features the First Communion of Anthony Cor leone. In The Last Don, it's the baptisms of Cross De Lena and Dante Santadio- Cleri cuzio. In Omerta, the confirmation of Don Aprile's grandson at St. Patrick's Cathedral is an event one expects to find described in rich detail. But it isn't.

"Making your bones"-a milestone in a gangster's life marking the first time he commits murder-is another frequent occurrence in Puzo's works. Who can forget Michael Corleone's first hit against Captain McCluskey and Virgil Sollozzo at the Luna Azure restaurant? Page upon page is devoted to the preparations necessary for one act of murder, and when the moment arrives the author always describes in vivid detail that last look in the victim's eyes. This too is passed over swiftly in Omerta, when Astorre becomes a Qualified Man.

Still, the novel is far from a failure, and Puzo's fans will devour it. And despite its brevity, Puzo does manage to convey certain messages. One is that the Mafia is not all that different from other organizations: The FBI is portrayed, at best, as morally ambiguous, especially in its tactics, and we are supposed to conclude that the two are not all that dissimilar. Another familiar theme is that of crime families going legitimate. The Corleones had no desire to give up their power, and Michael Corleone intended his son to succeed him one day. But even when Michael decides to break free from organized crime in The Godfather Part III, he cannot. In The Last Don, the Clericuzios manage to liberate one of their kin, but only after a tremendous struggle. Omerta represents Puzo's last chance to dissolve the Mafia and allow his characters to lead anonymous lives, absorbed by the American community.

In Puzo's recent novels, he stresses how the Mafia's code of honor is no longer respected, especially by the younger generation. Don Clericuzio fears the new Italian Americans are too soft and easily converted into government turncoats, and brings in new soldiers from Sicily. In Omerta, a notorious mobster chooses not to face the consequences of his crimes, violates the code, and contributes to the downfall of Cosa Nostra. Don Aprile is quick to see how the death of omerta would change his world, and this is what leads him to retire. On this subject, Puzo is quite perceptive: Even John Gotti is heard on prison tapes complaining about the younger generation's lack of respect.

For Puzo, writing this novel meant tying up the loose ends, creating a sense of completion. He once told the Associated Press that Omerta would be "a life-ending book, for me and the Mafia. Then I'll be dead, the Mafia will be dead, and the public will be glad of it. They've had enough of both of us."

On July 2, 1999, Mario Puzo died. The book will undoubtedly go on to be a bestseller, a sure sign the public hasn't had enough of him. Miramax has already optioned movie rights to Omerta. He will earn millions more for his family even after his death. Which is what Puzo would certainly have wanted-to provide for his family and not be a chooch.