The Mafia Empire

"Perhaps you made a mistake." Pronto pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, then removed it and slightly raised his hand in a polite, gentlemanly gesture, as if seeking Delier's approval. Delier shrugged and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his bag as well. Pronto leaned closer, "Look at them—they've been beaten to a pulp. It's quite normal to mistake them for someone else.

Did you notice the man with the three moles on his face?"

Delier followed Pronto's gaze and saw that one of the men indeed had three moles on his cheek, but he knew full well that these three were not the men he was looking for.

Seeing Delier's silence, Pronto tilted his head slightly, and the two of them moved aside.

"What exactly are you hoping to get from me?"

If Pronto hadn't realized there was something amiss by now, he wouldn't be fit for his position as the police chief!

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During his time as police chief in Ternell City, Pronto had encountered far more complex individuals than the average person. It was precisely because of his extensive experience and his position in the political arena that he sharply caught on to something—Delier likely didn't actually know those three men.

Especially when Delier saw the three disfigured individuals, barely recognizable as human, and yet could immediately declare their identities as false, Pronto understood.

Delier didn't know those men, but he knew exactly what to say, indicating that Delier's desire to "vent" wasn't his true intention. He must have had another agenda. This realization only deepened Pronto's confusion. Whether it was extorting him, the regional police chief, or trying to blackmail the gang leader Gador, neither seemed like a good option for someone like Delier.

Delier couldn't rely on Mrs. Vivian's protection forever, and to Vivian, Delier was likely replaceable. Using his life as leverage to extort two people he couldn't afford to offend—was he insane, or did he have another plan?

That's why Pronto pulled him aside and bluntly asked, "What exactly do you want from me?" The smile disappeared from his face, replaced by a cold, sinister expression. "Whatever you're after, name your price. This isn't a one-man game—it takes multiple players to complete the final deal."

Delier froze for a moment and looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do!" Pronto's tone was harsh, and he let out a cold laugh. "Do you want money? Are you here on behalf of someone whose name can't be spoken to get someone out? Or have you done something that you need to cover up in this way? Spit it out, and I'll consider it."

In this situation, Pronto actually became more cautious the more direct Delier was. Delier's hesitation, fear, and slight cowardice revealed an opportunity to Pronto.

He couldn't afford to offend Mrs. Vivian, but Delier was another matter. Sure, Delier was associated with Vivian, but people in society have different values. Between a regional police chief and an art gallery director, it was obvious who held more weight. If Pronto went too far with Delier, Vivian might take it out on him.

But anger wasn't the same as hatred; anger was temporary and would fade with time. Pronto figured he could make up for Vivian's anger in his own way, but the uncertainty from Delier's silence tormented him.

He was desperate to know what Delier was really after.

Delier's face twitched. As he felt Pronto's intense and threatening gaze piercing him, his heart began to race, his body heated up, and his back started to sweat. He opened his mouth to say something but hesitated. The next second, a great force slammed into him, sending him crashing against the wall.

With a loud thud, Delier's face twisted in pain. Pronto grabbed him by the collar and lifted him, pressing him firmly against the wall.

"My patience is limited, and I don't enjoy playing guessing games. You can stay silent, but you need to understand where you are. There are at least two thousand filthy men here who can't wait to tear you apart. I can't guarantee you'll walk out of here on your own two feet, and your choice determines everything."

If the situation was simple, Mrs. Vivian might just say a few bad things about him to the mayor. But if things were more serious, Delier's statements could cause Pronto to lose something irreplaceable.

Since that was the case, why not take a gamble?

Dizzy and aching as if his back had split open, Delier's face turned pale. The sweat on his heavily made-up face couldn't stay put and rolled directly onto Pronto's hand. Gritting his teeth, Delier groaned for about ten seconds before finally shouting, "I'll talk, let me go, let me go!"

Pronto released him, stepped back, and took the cigarette from his mouth, placing it between Delier's lips. "I'm listening."

Delier nervously took a drag from the cigarette, his trembling hand removing it from his lips. His eyes darted around before he finally said, "I want money, a lot of money..."

Bang!

Pronto's fist slammed into the wall next to Delier's face. "You're lying!"

His judgment was based on two things: First, while Delier's art gallery might seem prestigious, it didn't generate much direct profit beyond occasionally teaching students. But Pronto knew that several wealthy women liked to buy "elegant" and incomprehensible art pieces from Delier's gallery. Those paintings and sculptures might not be to Pronto's taste, but they sold for staggering sums.

With those patrons, Delier, as the gallery director, wasn't short of money.

Second, trying to extort wealth from either him or Gador with such crude tactics was too low-level and immature. With Mrs. Vivian's influence, Delier could easily have money sent his way just by her saying a word.

So Pronto was sure Delier was lying, which only made him more nervous!

Delier was on the verge of tears. His lips quivered violently as he repeatedly muttered, "It's true, it's true!"

Pronto's narrowed eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. He was starting to suspect that someone had set a trap for him, and that like a fool, he had walked right into it. His breathing became heavier as he leaned in closer to Delier, their noses almost touching. "I won't ask who you work for. Once I turn around, I'll forget everything I've said and heard. No matter the outcome, I guarantee your safety."

Seeing that Delier still refused to speak the truth, Pronto drew his gun and pressed it under Delier's chin. "You have one minute to decide whether to talk, but once you make your choice, don't regret it!"