The Mafia Empire

Meanwhile, Dave, along with three others, had entered Ternell's renowned Wheat Blossom Garden. Normally, people like Dave wouldn't be allowed in, but they arrived in one of Wood's car, which the gatekeepers recognized, so they were granted entry.

The car slowed to a stop about thirty meters from Wood's villa. Through the windshield, Dave spotted two men in coats leaning against the villa wall, smoking. Inside the yard, which was surrounded by low shrubs and iron railings, three more men were chatting and laughing. On the second floor balcony, another man was pacing, his eyes sweeping over the entire villa.

As for the inside of the villa, Dave didn't have the powers of the priests—he couldn't see through walls. But judging by the scene outside, Graf wasn't there, which puzzled Dave. Given Graf's muscle bound, thick headed nature, he should have been there. Unless...

Unless Graf had figured out where his family was being held and had abandoned the plan to rescue them on his own?

Where could that be?

Dave wasn't sure. Who knew where Wood had hidden them? He had done his best by coming here, but the rest wasn't his concern. A peculiar tension had been brewing within the association, one that centered around Graf Willful nature.

Especially now, after he had gone off on his own and ruined Julian's carefully laid plans, people's attitudes toward him were starting to shift.

Dave felt it might be time to discuss the matter with Julian.

Upon returning, Dave didn't even have the chance to bring up the subject. As soon as he pushed open Julian's office door, he saw Graf crouched on the floor, his clothes soaked in blood, head hanging low.

Julian stood by the window.

Hearing the door open, Julian glanced at Dave but said nothing. Dave, treading lightly, entered and closed the door behind him, standing silently in the corner.

"Six people now."

Julian's voice was quiet, as though speaking casually, but Dave could sense the volcano simmering beneath his calm tone. He shrank back, lowering his head, not daring to make a sound. He suddenly felt an unfamiliar pressure emanating from Julian—a force that weighed down on him, unlike anything he'd felt before.

"Six people have died, Mr. Graf. Do you know what it feels like to see six people you once laughed and joked with, lying neatly together?" Julian chuckled bitterly. He rapped his knuckles on the desk, then pointed at Graf. "I find it absurd!"

The bodies of the dead had already started to stiffen, their skin stretched tight around the hastily sewn wounds, with black blood marks trailing from the stitches. Up until the moment death claimed them, they likely couldn't believe they were leaving this world. No matter how much the world had hurt them, there was always something worth clinging to.

Yet, they were gone—all because Graf had disrupted the plan and failed to kill Wood at the critical moment.

The worst off was the boy who had grabbed Robin from behind and stabbed him. Julian vaguely recalled his name had something to do with "De." His right temple had been shattered, the bone around it crushed and caved in. That was the result of Robin's last burst of life, a wrench that delivered a fatal blow. It didn't have to end this way. If only Graf had been there.

All assumptions hinged on the perfect execution of the plan. But there are always people—or circumstances—that wreck even the best laid plans.

Graf crouched on the ground, clutching his head in silence.

Sure, his mother and brother had been rescued, just as Julian had said. When they struck at Wood's men, Wood hadn't harmed Graf's family. A lion might devour its prey to intimidate the jackals, but if those jackals dared to provoke it before it fed, no matter how hungry the lion was, it would first kill them to maintain its dominance.

This sequence was immutable, and the younger and stronger the lion, the more it valued its reputation.

So yes, Graf had saved two people, but six had died. And the most important target had slipped away. That was the price.

As Julian's accusations piled on, Graf could do nothing but endure the pain in silence, his head still buried in his hands. He knew he was at fault. There were no excuses that could absolve him, and that's why people trusted him—he was someone who accepted responsibility.

Most of the time, at least.

The room was suffocatingly tense. Julian's eyelids drooped slightly, his gaze piercing through the half-open slits like daggers at Graf. After a long moment, Julian sighed, walked back to his desk, and sat down. Crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knee, it was a simple posture, yet it conveyed something powerful. It was as if…he controlled everything.

"Here's what you'll do, you'll personally apologize to the families of each person who died, offer compensation, and console them. If they all forgive you, I'll forgive you too. But that's all it means. You've got enough in your Imperial Central Bank account to live the life you want."

Julian shook his head gently. "You're not like us, Graf. There are things you just can't do. Don't push yourself."

Graf loosened his grip on his head, his bloodshot eyes glaring straight at Julian, filled with a murderous intensity as if he wanted to tear Julian apart. But Julian didn't flinch. His gaze remained calm, unwavering.

"You're trying to push me out!" Graf slowly stood up. For a moment, his large frame seemed to exert a crushing pressure as he loomed over Julian. But Julian didn't see himself as smaller or weaker than Graf. Maybe he wasn't tall, but his spirit was immense, powerful, and unyielding.

Julian shrugged, completely unsurprised, and nodded. "This isn't about me, brother. It's about you, understand?" He raised one hand, tapping the desk with his finger as he spoke, emphasizing each word. "You are the one with problems."

Graf's face twitched. "What problem do I have?"