The Mafia Empire

Pronto's warning wasn't wrong; such extreme tactics would eventually attract attention, and he believed that those in power were already aware. They might tolerate it a couple of times, but if it happened too often, someone would voice an objection. Yet, Julian and Pronto both knew that Julian was now practically part of the Old Party. He had left a strong impression on the council and the mayor. Even if he overstepped a little, during this "honeymoon period," the authorities wouldn't hold it against him—as long as he delivered enough tribute.

Julian nodded. "Understood. I'll be careful."

This surprised Pronto even more. Since when was this little devil Julian so compliant? He couldn't tell what Julian was planning, so he chose silence, knowing it would at least keep him out of any traps Julian might lay.

"See, people are strange creatures. They know their actions will lead to trouble, but when profit's at stake, they'll always make the worst choice."

"Don't worry," Julian assured him. "I won't make things hard for you. Someone will turn themselves in for this, and no one will get in trouble—trust me."

The short conversation did little to ease Pronto's concern. He still felt Julian was orchestrating something, and this was only a piece of a larger scheme.

"What are you thinking?" Dave asked after Pronto had left. "I just don't see the point in doing all this. Maybe it's just me being dumb, but I can't figure out the reason."

Julian pointed at Dave with a mock gesture of agreement. The truth was, Dave really didn't understand. They already had a mountain of problems, and they should be lying low, yet Julian's actions lately had been nothing short of flashy.

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If Mad Dog Wesson had brought his fate upon himself, Julian's hand was forced. In a city like this, the disappearance of one or two people wasn't much of a scandal. Every day, someone seemed to vanish through some "accident" or "epiphany," prompting them to leave everything behind. But for a dozen connected people to disappear all at once—that was bound to attract attention.

Even if it was for Julian's safety, Dave could understand, but the car wash worker? That man was no threat to Julian. Sure, he had done something he shouldn't have, but skinning him and hanging him in a public park? It was bound to attract attention. People knew that the Guars still practiced skinning as punishment, and doing so openly was like placing himself in danger. If anyone connected the car wash worker's fate to Pronto's bounty, it was as good as Julian declaring, "Jon is one of us, so keep quiet." It was reckless and naïve.

Julian didn't bother to explain his actions to Dave. Some things didn't need explanation if understood intuitively. And if someone couldn't grasp them, then no amount of explaining would help.

Yes, the situation was indeed tense, but that didn't mean they should do nothing. On the contrary, Julian believed that the tenser the situation, the murkier the waters should be. The car wash worker was finished, and people would see this as a Guar act. Those in the streets without legitimate jobs would think Julian was responsible. In their world, Guar meant Julian—he was the most notorious, the natural representative of the Guars.

But what about high society? From their lofty perspective, they moved in circles far removed from the lower classes. To them, Guar didn't mean Julian but Heidler. They would think Heidler was the true representative of the Guars in the city, fitting their profile of an underground manipulator.

Wealth, status, and, most importantly, being a Guar.

This brutal punishment would lead high society's gaze to Heidler, while the lower class would be cowed into temporary silence by the car wash worker's fate. Few knew he was only half-Guar, so they'd wonder if Julian had begun extending Guar punishments to other ethnicities.

With this buffer period, Lady Vivian would have the freedom to act, breaking the deadlock.

As for sending people to turn themselves in—there was a reason for that, too. Strictly speaking, Ternell City could be divided into two realms: the "free" and the "unfree."

The free were, of course, the city dwellers, while the unfree were those within prison walls.

In a world where money could buy anything (as shown by Kevin's success in defending a sleazy teacher in an assault case), no one could guarantee they'd stay out of prison forever. Sometimes, even a trivial matter could land an innocent person in jail.

In Julian's grand plan, the prison would play a key role, so he needed to send people in advance to establish a stable force there, someone to help manage things on the inside.

Dave shrugged, accepting Julian's decision without further explanation. He knew Julian had his reasons, and that was enough. "You're the boss. Whatever you say goes!"

Julian nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. "Exactly. I make the rules!"

In a private estate, doctors suggested an unusual method to sustain the former governor after other treatments had failed. Human milk, rich in various hormones and nutrients needed for growth, was recommended as his primary diet. It provided essential sustenance but left him with a constant, gnawing hunger. Ten young mothers were on standby at the estate, always ready to answer the governor's call.

The former governor sighed in satisfaction. If these young women weren't so pleasant to look at, he wouldn't have chosen such a "shameful" source for his nutrition. The only part that unsettled him was being observed while he ate.

To prevent the former governor—whose body had largely lost sensation—from suddenly slipping away, round-the-clock watch was established with his approval. Doctors, a lawyer, and a "fixer" to handle unsavory tasks watched over him, along with attorneys and guardians sent by his children. Nearly every minute, someone's eyes were on him.

His term may not have been long, but he had wielded enough influence to shift policies across parts of the state, commanding a vast network and immense wealth. Though his wealth and power were substantial, his connections mattered most—something everyone valued.

"Governor, a letter has arrived from Ternell. It's from your daughter, Lady Vivian." With assistance, the governor sat up, a young girl using a warm towel to clean his body, part of his daily post-lunch routine. Afterward, each muscle was massaged to prevent atrophy and bedsores.

"Vivian?" The former governor pondered for a moment, then nodded. Everyone unrelated to the matter left the room, leaving him with his trusted butler at his bedside. "Read it. Let's hear what she has to say."