The Mafia Empire

Graf reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of money. This was the pocket money Julian had giv him, a small compsation from the first of profits. Graf had no complaints; he knew that without Julian, he wouldn't be able to handle anything. Besides, it wasn't a small sum—0 dollars. After spding some on food, drinks, and wom, he still had over 70 left.

For most people in these times, that amount of money was equivalt to what they could save after a year of scrimping and saving. Graf stopped counting after a few bills and shoved the rest directly into the officer's pocket, gtly patting it afterward, smoothing out the wrinkles on the officer's coat.

"It's late, officer. You must be tired from patrolling all night. Why not head to the restaurant ahead and grab something warm to eat?" Graf's tone was soft and ingratiating, but his eyes told a differt story.

To Julian, Graf might seem simple and foolish, but that didn't mean Graf lacked life experice.

What is life experice?

Life is like a gigantic, reltless giant that constantly slaps everyone across the face. Wh you feel the sting from one of those slaps, that pain is life experice. Everyone grows through repeated blows until they learn ough to dodge wh life's hand swings again.

Graf had life experice, so he handled the situation in a way he believed would work.

Under the dim streetlight, the officer's eyes gleamed with greed, brighter than the light itself. He had se the money Graf was counting—at least 50 dollars. His experice told him there was no less than 50 dollars in that roll. But 50 wasn't ough to satisfy him. If Graf was willing to part with 50 dollars, the cargo in those wagons must be worth much more.

It could be hundreds, ev thousands of dollars or more. As a police officer, he knew all too well about the shady dealings in Ternell City. He knew how the big players built their empires, and he knew who ran the dirty businesses. That's why he had stopped these wagons—because he didn't recognize the m with them. They were new faces.

Never underestimate the power of the unspok rules. Both the gangs and the police adhered to a code that most people couldn't see. Every operation, every scheme had its procedures. But tonight was differt—no one had informed him about any deliveries on this route. This felt like an opportunity. And wasn't it his duty, as a police officer, to uphold justice and stop crime?

Fully climbing into the wagon, the officer caught a faint whiff of alcohol. A flash of elation crossed his face. Just as he knew this city inside and out, he also knew the incredible profits from bootleg liquor. If this wagon's cargo became his, he could leave this city immediately, no questions asked.

But to be sure, he decided to pry op one of the crates. After all, the cargo might just be low-proof fruit wine instead of stronger, more lucrative contraband.

The wood creaked under the pressure of his baton as he pried it op. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled out a bottle, unscrewed the cap, and took a swig. His face instantly flushed red.

Just as the officer decided to seize the cargo, Graf made a tough decision. The wagons had stopped, and the young m in the back were gathering. Graf glanced at the other officer, who was leaning against the wagon's driver's seat, smoking. A few of the boys nodded at him in understanding.

Graf th pulled out a short steel rod from behind his back and climbed onto the wagon.

Ever since Morris's murder, Graf knew he had tak a differt path, and one day he'd have to make choices like this.

But he had no regrets.

The wagon swayed slightly as Graf boarded. The officer inside turned, ready to intimidate the large man, just as he was about to take control of the cargo. But before he could speak, Graf swung the steel rod—common on construction sites—striking the officer on the head.

Graf quickly stepped forward, catching the collapsing officer and quietly laying him down.

Outside, the smoking officer had just crushed his cigarette underfoot wh he realized something was wrong. As he reached for his gun, the group of boys suring him moved in closer, crowding him. His hand reached for his holster, but the young m pressed in too tightly.

His gaze drifted down, and he saw it—a knife pressed against his waist. The sharp sting of the blade was unmistakable, ev through his clothing. He hadn't panicked yet. He hadn't expected them to actually pull a weapon. But soon ough, fear crept in. The terror in his eyes replaced the earlier disdain.

As he oped his mouth to shout, one of the boys covered it, while another swung a brick, hitting him squarely on the head.

The tire altercation took less than t seconds. With the help of two or three boys, the officer was dragged into the wagon.

Graf, his excitemt barely contained, wiped the blood from his steel rod onto the officer's uniform before taking the money from his pocket. He spat on the g, sheathed his knife, and nodded.

The curtain of the wagon was drawn back. Graf helped lift the second "sleeping" officer inside, and the wagons resumed their slow journey.

Apart from a few faint bloodstains, there was little evidce of what had happed. Ev if there had be witnesses, who would dare say or do anything?

If this group was bold ough to attack police officers, would they hesitate to harm ordinary citizs?

Under the dim streetlights, the three wagons gradually disappeared into the night beyond the intersection, as if they had never stopped.

A few momts later, a terrified bystander peeked out from the shadows of a nearby alley, shivering as he looked toward where the wagons had vanished.

He was just a simple vagrant, not looking for trouble. He decided to leave.

As he hurried away, fear and panic caused him to bump into another passerby.

There wer't many people on the streets of Ternell City at this hour, especially in this less busy area, where pedestrians were scarce after 8 p.m.