The Mafia Empire

Julian shrugged, indifferent to Delier's sarcastic words. "He's the devil, and we're all friends with the devil!" His meaning was clear: if Kevin truly was a bad guy, then, by Delier's logic, everyone associated with Kevin must also be bad. Therefore, Delier himself must be no better.

Delier scoffed, turning his head to exhale a cloud of smoke, his gaze slanted at Julian. "My time is limited. State your business." this-chapter-is-MVLeMpYr

At that moment, Julian noticed that Delier had even painted his nails—purple, no less. It seemed he was fond of the color. Julian refocused and lowered his voice. "I think we should discuss this in your office. I'll offer you a price that'll satisfy you."

Delier's eyes brightened slightly, hesitating for a moment before nodding. Clearly, money spoke louder than his distaste for what he disliked.

The two entered Delier's office, one behind the other. It was minimalist, yet undeniably artistic. Unlike the leather sofas used by other important figures, his sofas were fabric-covered, a style just starting to trend in the Empire. Many elites considered fabric sofas to be for the poor, so it hadn't caught on widely.

After all, if a trend wasn't embraced by the mainstream, it wasn't a trend; it was just alternative.

Delier gracefully lowered himself into his round swivel chair, He sank into it, crossing his legs, took one last drag of his cigarette.

"So, what do you want from me, and what are you willing to pay?"

Direct—Julian liked that. He walked to the desk, sat in a crooked wooden chair, and held up three fingers. "Get me in touch with Vivian as soon as possible, and I'll pay you three thousand dollars."

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Three thousand dollars was no small amount. Even though Delier Art Museum was the only one in Ternell and catered to the town's elite women, its monthly income was only about three to five hundred dollars—sometimes even less. Three thousand was enough to cover half a year's income, and Delier was tempted, but he quickly refused.

"Sorry, I can't help you. You can leave now," he said reluctantly, the words clearly paining him. That was three thousand dollars—enough for a long stretch of indulgence. Watching that money slip away from his grasp nearly made his heart stop.

Julian pressed on. "Five thousand dollars."

Delier inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. His trembling eyelashes revealed the intense inner conflict he was going through, but soon he refused again.

It wasn't that Delier didn't want the money; it was that the target of the deal was too tricky. The mayor's wife, Vivian, wielded considerable influence in the social circles of the elite women. Not only was she the honorary president of the Star Empire Women's Protection Association, but she was also the daughter of a former governor. Without knowing Julian's intentions, Delier dared not reach out.

If something went wrong, it wouldn't just be Ternell that he'd have to leave; all of Star Empire, and perhaps even the entire South, would be off-limits to him!

It wasn't worth ruining his business for a sum of money, no matter how large.

Julian sighed. "It's a shame we couldn't come to an agreement." He stood up and, under Delier's watchful gaze, walked around the desk. Delier, sensing something amiss, opened his mouth to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat, unable to come out.

Julian grabbed Delier by the neck with one hand and clenched his other hand into a fist, smashing it into Delier's meticulously groomed face. The punch was full of strength. Although a sixteen or seventeen year old boy's power and physique were far from that of an adult, given Delier's frail frame, the damage from the punch was already significant.

Blood immediately flowed from Delier's swollen, painful nose, the hot metallic taste spreading along his lips. He stared at Julian in terror, struggling desperately.

Without hesitation, Julian landed another punch, then another, and another!

The only sounds in the office were the dull thuds of the punches, "thud," "thud," "thud."

After delivering seven or eight punches, Delier's eyes revealed a mix of pleading and fear. He stopped struggling, seemingly conceding.

Julian released his grip on Delier's neck and shook his arm; after all, his fists hurt too. There wasn't much flesh on Delier's face, and the punches landed mostly on his cheekbones, making his own hands ache as well.

Freed, Delier gasped for air, curling his entire body up like an egg, staring in terror at this rude, unreasonable, savage young man.

"You can't treat me like this!" Delier's voice was slightly sharp, and the terrified, contorted expression on his face made any trace of his artistic flair disappear instantly.

Julian raised an eyebrow and casually picked up an ivory carved miniature totem pole from Delier's desk. With a forceful swing, he smashed it onto Delier's arm. The sharp sound made both of them realize that between the arm and the ivory, one of them must have broken. Of course, it wasn't the ivory; it was Delier's arm.

Delier's scream barely lasted a second before Julian raised the ivory high again, abruptly cutting off the scream as if it were a high pitched note interrupted.

"Mr. Delier, can we have a proper conversation now?" Julian asked, looking down at Delier, who was curled up, clutching his arm and sobbing as if he had been violated. His eyes were dangerous and fierce.

Delier nodded with his lips tightly pressed together, tears and blood from his nose mixing and dripping onto the collar of his favorite clothes, forming alarming red stains.

"Good, that's very good!" Julian casually placed the ivory sculpture back where it was, adjusting it slightly to its original position. He straightened his clothes and appearance, then sat on the desk. "So now, can you tell me how I can quickly get in touch with Mrs. Vivian?" he asked, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket.

After lighting it and taking a drag, he flicked the ash directly onto Delier.