The Mafia Empire

"Drinking," Julian said, holding up one finger. Then he raised a second. "Staying out all night. I know where you've been, wasting your energy on cheap women and not coming back to supervise the work you were assigned."

Julian lifted a third finger. "And finally, you don't have the heart to follow orders. You wrecked our plan, and it cost six lives for your two family members, who were already safe. Let me guess, Graf—the people guarding your mother and brother, there weren't more than three of them, and they probably didn't even have a knife on them. Am I right?"

Julian's bold assumption made Graf freeze. He was right. His mother and brother had been kept in a villa on the outskirts. Other than being starved for a few days, they hadn't been treated cruelly at all. Because at that time, Wood was still…a gentleman.

Graf had rescued his mother and brother easily, without encountering any real trouble.

Now, overwhelmed with guilt, Graf's emotional state was raw. He had acted on his own, thinking his role wasn't crucial, and it had resulted in the deaths of six young boys. His heart wasn't bad, and now he hated himself more than ever. And now Julian was planning to push him out, adding to his confusion. Graf had built the association with his own hands and then made Julian its leader.

He had personally recruited almost everyone in the association. The six bodies weighed even more heavily on him than on Julian because they had joined under his invitation.

And now, Julian was telling him to enjoy a peaceful life and leave everything behind—all because of his mistake.

He hated himself. But he also hated Julian's ruthlessness. It was just a matter of a few words, so why did it have to come to this?

He was breathing heavily. Sitting across from him, Julian could even feel the air being pushed out of Graf's nostrils circulating in the room. Graf stared at Julian, shaking his head, "No, I won't leave. The association belongs to me as much as it belongs to you! I will never, ever leave!" His face was now just inches away from Julian's, less than twenty centimeters apart.

But those twenty centimeters were an insurmountable distance for Graf.

Julian remained motionless, sitting as he was, without a change in his posture or expression.

Dave, who had been standing off to the side with a cold look, now pressed the barrel of his pistol to Graf's temple.

Graf slowly turned his head, staring in disbelief at Dave, who was now pointing a gun at his head. His mind went blank, unable to process what was happening. He opened his mouth slightly, a gesture of shock, his eyes unfocused. After what felt like an eternity, he finally regained his senses and looked at Dave with an expression filled with disbelief and hurt.

His voice, when he spoke, was tinged with bitterness, "Dave, you're my friend. I was the one who introduced you to the association, and now… you're pointing a gun at me?" ҫ!опτ@ҽ%п!ҭ-+∫σц*гςҽ-

Dave and Graf were close, somewhere between friends and brothers. If they had spent a little more time together, perhaps helped each other out a couple more times, they might have crossed that line and become brothers. But from the moment Dave entered the association, their bond had always been just a bit short of that.

Just that small missing piece—if you measured it with your fingers, it would be as thin as a stack of ten-dollar bills.

But now, at this moment, Dave was holding a gun to Graf's head. Graf could feel the cold metal of the barrel pressing against his skin, and the faint warmth from Dave's hand gripping the gun. The safety was off, the chamber loaded with a bullet, ready to fire at any moment.

Just a month ago, Julian and Dave hadn't even known each other. They could have passed each other on the street countless times without so much as a glance, let alone stopping to exchange words.

It was Graf—he had introduced Julian to the Guars in Ternell city.

It was Graf who had first proposed forming an organization to help Guars band together and support each other.

Graf had played a critical role in everything, and yet now, his friend Dave was pointing a gun at him instead of at Julian. He couldn't believe it—he didn't want to believe it. Why was everyone turning against him at this moment?

Dave stared at Graf with an expressionless face. He hadn't wanted to speak, but he felt like he had to say something. He wasn't just a regular member anymore—he was a group leader now, with some status and authority within the association. He also genuinely had things to say. If he didn't speak now, he might never get another chance, and he knew he'd regret it if he stayed silent.

"We are a team," Dave said, his first words cutting through the silence. Julian nodded slightly in approval. "Like the boss said, you can act as recklessly as you want when things are calm, and we'll tolerate it. But when something big happens, and you still rely on your own personality and whims, it only harms all of us."

"We're a team, Graf, but you can't fit into this team, and that's why we have six brothers lying here dead."

"And next time? How many more will there be? Five? Ten? Will it take me and the boss lying there before you finally understand?"

Dave cracked a bitter smile. "Graf, we're friends, and I know you. You can be a good man with a little bit of edge, but you can't be a bad man. This isn't your game, and it's time for you to leave."

Graf was, as Dave had said, a good man with a bit of roughness around the edges. He could be unreasonable at times, but he was also passionate and helpful—mostly the latter. Anyone from the Guars community, no matter their age or gender, could come to him for help, and he would do his best to assist them.