The Mafia Empire

Remarkable, isn't it?

One hand holds the sacred code, while the other grips a weapon...

So, in his spare time, Julian would read the books, and this time, his idea stemmed from information in the Star Empire Special Statutes, along with Kevin's advice on exploiting loopholes. He even sent a telegram to Kevin, who was thriving in the capital.

Seeing Julian admit he had been reading, Mr. Kesma's lips curved into a slight smile, which quickly vanished. He pressed his palm on the table, tapping rhythmically with his fingers, producing a steady "thud, thud."

After a while, he nodded solemnly. "That old drunkard and I actually have a decent relationship, and there are quite a few Guar people in town who want to volunteer as guards, we will start training them next week."

Julian was genuinely surprised; he hadn't expected Mr. Kesma, who had never left the town since Mason was born, to think this way. It caught him off guard. Perhaps noticing the astonishment and disbelief in Julian's eyes, a proud smile appeared on Mr. Kesma's stern face. He raised an eyebrow, placed a hand on the stack of fifty-dollar bills, and stood up.

His rugged, calloused hands were full of wrinkles, but at that moment, they seemed to possess an indescribable power. He casually pocketed the five thousand dollars, walked over to Julian, and patted his shoulder. "You little rascal, still too young!"

Julian could only nod in agreement, filled with confusion. What Mr. Kesma had said was precisely what he had planned to suggest, but Mr. Kesma beat him to it. Julian had no intention of using his money to train seven highly capable local security guards for the empire. Instead, he would nominate people worthy of being "volunteer guards," who would be fed and housed but not paid.

At the same time, he would privately compensate them generously, winning their loyalty. If the old drunkard didn't comply, Julian would replace him, taking complete control of the "military power" in Purple Clover Town. But how did Mr. Kesma come up with this?

Julian watched Mr. Kesma's back disappear at the top of the stairs leading to the second floor. He then immediately sought out Mrs. Kesma.

"Mother, what did Father do in the past?" At that moment, Mrs. Kesma was taking care of Lilith, who was bathing. Seeing Julian burst in, Lilith shyly ducked into the water, leaving only her head exposed. Her long hair floated on the surface; in different lighting and surroundings, Julian might have run away in embarrassment.

Mrs. Kesma didn't turn around, smiling. "What else could he do? From the time I met him, he was a farmer. But I must say, he was quite a fine young man back then, far more skilled at farming than anyone else. Otherwise, I wouldn't have married him!"

Mrs. Kesma's answer left Julian even more perplexed. Was it just a flash of inspiration? Fortunately, he didn't dwell on it and shifted his attention to Mason, planning to secure a position for him.

Regional police departments were highly autonomous, with the director having the final say in everything. To secure a branch director position, one had to get past Pronto. Luckily, Pronto had already taken the bait, and this time Julian would pay him until he was satisfied.

Of course, Julian also understood that Pronto might not demand a large bribe. He might even handle it for free, but whether he wanted money or not wasn't up to him.

...

The sound of his grumpy old wife's nagging and the clatter of pots and pans echoed in the ears of the drunken sheriff of Purple Clover Town. He opened his blurry eyes, reached out to pull at the corner of the curtain, and found that the sky outside was still dark and murky. He couldn't tell if it was early morning or if nighttime had merely passed a bit.

His throat felt as dry as if something were tearing at it. He groaned uncomfortably a couple of times, the room spinning, as he sat up and put on his slippers. He switched on the dim bedside lamp and looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was midnight. He stared at the clock for about twenty seconds, then picked it up and wound it, letting it resume its rhythmic ticking.

Thirst and headaches were among the many unpleasant side effects of cheap homemade liquor. Supporting himself with both hands on the bed, he stood up, walked over to the table, picked up a glass, and tilted it back, but not a single drop of water came out.

A restless agitation flickered in his gray eyes, and his wife's nagging and complaints made his head throb even more. The banging of pots and pans was simply unbearable. He breathed heavily, grabbed the hunting rifle that hung crosswise on the wall, and charged out of the bedroom.

It wasn't a mere decoration; it was only treated as one by the owner of the room.

The kitchen?

No!

The bathroom?

No!

When the sheriff reached the living room, he saw a shadowy figure standing in the corner. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger. The bullet spun and roared out of the muzzle, accompanied by a small puff of white mist.

With a bang, something shattered, and the shadow slid slowly down the wall to the floor. The nagging and complaining instantly disappeared, and an overwhelming calmness washed over him.

The sheriff staggered over, muttering incomprehensibly. He knelt in front of the figure, touched the bullet-torn floorboards, and glanced around with alertness.

"I'll find you!" the sheriff coughed. "I swear!"

He walked to the kitchen, turned on the faucet, and drank the metallic-tasting water in greedy gulps. Once he was satisfied, he cursed under his breath and stumbled back to bed, collapsing into another deep slumber.

Moonlight shone through the window, illuminating a black and white photo on the living room cabinet. In the photo, a gentle looking woman smiled at anyone who glanced her way.