The Mafia Empire

Delier's barely noticeable Adam's apple made a clear movement as he gulped dryly, torn between his inner struggle.

To speak or not to speak—that was the question.

If he spoke, who knew what that brute Julian would do to him? He certainly didn't want any marks on his flawless face, nor did he want to endure the beatings that Julian seemed so fond of dishing out every few days.

But if he stayed silent... the cold metal barrel pressed against his chin made it difficult to breathe. This was a life-or-death situation!

Faced with the choice between a beating and his life, Delier, as always, chose self-preservation without hesitation.

He whispered a name—Gador!

Pronto's eyes lit up instantly. He quickly holstered his gun, and the friendly smile returned to his face. Cheerfully, he started to fix Delier's clothes, though Delier recoiled in fear.

Pronto clasped his belly and began apologizing profusely for his rash behavior, though inside, his mind was racing.

Someone was targeting Gador—this wasn't news.

Ever since Gador had made a name for himself in Ternell City, there had been numerous threats against him, but he was still alive and well, wasn't he?

But this time felt different. Pronto immediately thought of how Gador was just one step away from becoming a major player, and perhaps someone didn't want him to cross that threshold. This wasn't merely speculation; the upper echelons of society were rife with cutthroat competition, though the methods used there differed from the violence seen among the lower classes. read on NovelFire,em,pyr

In high society, they wore masks and hid knives in their cloaks, smiling and shaking hands while plunging blades into each other's chests.

At the heart of it all was "resources."

The term "tycoon" might be loosely understood by the common folk as simply "the rich," living lavish lives without a care for money. However, in the elite circles, being a tycoon meant much more than having wealth—it was about political power.

True tycoons weren't after money but political resources.

There were only so many officials and so much power in places like Ternell and Kanros State, which naturally made political resources scarce and highly sought after.

Take Wood, for example. He was a tycoon, but that didn't mean his life was one of constant indulgence. No, he actively contributed to the Old Party—society's nickname for the current aristocratic power structure. In exchange for his political donations, he earned the support of political figures, positioning himself to potentially become one of them in the elections two years down the road.

A politician who wanted to maintain their status couldn't afford to support just anyone who threw money at them. They needed to make calculated choices, ensuring loyalty and dedication from their supporters. This politician, to the tycoons, represented the very political resources they were fighting over.

Gador had a powerful boss behind him, which everyone with any sense knew. His boss wasn't just influential; he had deep political connections. If Gador crossed that final threshold and became a player in the "new game," it would dilute the available political resources. His boss would undoubtedly support him, making him an asset in future elections or political events.

With the next round of elections fast approaching, it wasn't impossible that someone, threatened by Gador's potential rise, would try to prevent him from advancing. After all, even a slim chance of losing a critical supporter couldn't be ignored. In such a case, the mysterious adversary would do whatever it took to stop Gador, knocking him down before he could take that next step.

If there even was a next time.

In that instant, Pronto felt like everything had clicked into place. He cursed himself internally. Why had he meddled in Gador's affairs in the first place? If Julian wanted to frame Gador, so be it. While there was a chance Pronto might have been caught in the crossfire, it was far better than getting stuck in this elaborate trap.

Of course, Pronto hadn't managed to secure his position as police chief in Ternell City by being foolish. He had his own "resources" and at least a reasonably functioning brain.

He quickly made a decision and breathed a sigh of relief. Things hadn't yet spiraled into an irreparable situation. In fact, he had every opportunity to cleanly extricate himself from the mess—and it would be Gador who paid the price.

Pronto immediately grabbed Delier and headed back to Ternell City, waiting for the chance to clear his name.

When Mrs. Vivian, with a mischievous smile and a healthy flush on her face, stepped out of Delier's art gallery, she unexpectedly saw both Pronto and Delier standing at the foot of the stairs, their heads lowered. She slowed her pace and stopped when she reached the third step.

She chose silence, but Pronto couldn't afford to. He stepped forward and, with his head still bowed, confessed his "mistake" to Mrs. Vivian. "I deeply apologize, madam. The three men arrested, including Corder, were confirmed to be impostors by Mr. Delier.

This was a failure in my duty, and I must admit to my negligence. I hope you will punish me accordingly."

Mrs. Vivian glanced down at Pronto with an air of indifference before turning her gaze to Delier. Quick to catch on, Delier explained, "It's like this, madam. After visiting the regional prison, I realized that the three men were not the ones who robbed and brutally assaulted me. I have already explained this to Chief Pronto."

Though somewhat irritated, Mrs. Vivian composed herself and asked, "Who sent the men?"

Pronto stepped forward again, bowing even lower. "It was a citizen named Gador who delivered them. He claimed these three were Corder and his accomplices, the ones who robbed Mr. Delier. So, I—"

Mrs. Vivian cut him off with a nod, descended the stairs without a word, and climbed into her car, which swiftly disappeared down the street.

Pronto exhaled deeply, wiping the sweat from his brow. He glanced at Delier, who still looked somewhat fearful, then patted him on the shoulder. "Thank you for your cooperation. I may have a temper sometimes, but I mean no harm."

Delier's lips twitched into a crooked smile.

Later that evening, Mrs. Vivian set down her knife and fork, picked up a neatly folded napkin, and dabbed her full lips. She turned to her husband, who had been quietly eating his meal, and said, "I've heard there's been a spate of robberies on the streets lately. Has the city's security deteriorated so much?"

Before the mayor could respond, Mrs. Vivian gave a small smile, leaned forward slightly, and then rose to leave.

After she left, the mayor put down his cutlery and straightened up. His butler immediately leaned in.

"Look into it!" he ordered.