The Mafia Empire

Delier was taken aback; he hadn't expected that.

Though the police and prison systems appeared closely linked, they were actually independent entities. As Pronto had said, without the warden's consent, no one could see the prisoners. Even dismissing the warden required layers of bureaucratic approval, and by the time those papers passed through, it wouldn't be surprising if a prisoner suddenly "died" along the way.

The prison system might not be particularly powerful in the broader social structure, but once you crossed paths with it, you'd feel the weight of the "independent king" authority it wielded.

In prison, inmates often referred to the warden as "His Majesty the King" because every rule and regulation was dictated by the warden alone.

Wardens had near-absolute authority within the prison, but outside of it… they were nobodies, especially when unrelated to their domain.

Though this situation was troublesome, it wasn't as dire as Pronto made it seem. He had exaggerated the truth, using a small detail to muddle the facts. In reality, he and the district prison warden were good friends, with no reason for the warden to deny him a visit. Pronto's real aim was to deter Delier from pursuing the matter any further, to avoid any potential mishaps.

m|vlempyr your story source

However, Pronto had overlooked one key detail: this wasn't Delier's issue alone. Normally, Delier would have scoffed, thrown his head back with a haughty sneer, and left with a dismissive comment. But the problem now was that it wasn't just Delier pushing for this—it was Julian.

The memory of Julian's merciless beating, when he had been tied to a chair, filled Delier with dread. He decided to stay and take this matter seriously.

"If you can't do it, then return the calling card to me, and I'll go speak to the warden myself," Delier said, flipping his wrist so that his palm faced upward, rolling his eyes as he gazed at the ceiling.

Pronto was silently cursing, though his face remained composed, upholding the demeanor of a police chief. He opened his drawer and placed his hand on the card but didn't take it out. "Even if I gave it to you, there's no guarantee the warden will let you see those three."

Delier, no stranger to the ways of the world, scoffed, still staring at the ceiling. "You don't have to give it to me, but I can always go back to Lady Vivian for another. I'll also make sure to tell her everything that happened here."

At these words, Pronto raised his arm and placed the card on the desk, though he still didn't hand it to Delier. He needed to try a bit harder. "I sincerely apologize. Until now, I didn't catch your name… Delier? Very well, Mr. Delier.

I can give you the card, but have you considered how you'll get the warden to cooperate? He's a rather… difficult man—dangerous and rude. How about this?"

Pronto's brain whirled at the speed of a man caught cheating by his wife. If someone were to place their ear against his head, they might even hear the sound of his brain overwroking; "I'll accompany you, card in hand, and we'll go see the warden together. I'll persuade him to agree to your request.

After all, you're asking to vent your anger on people who are already under his control, which is a bit disrespectful to him, don't you think?"

Pronto's words flowed more smoothly as he smiled. "You've probably heard that the prisoners call the warden 'King.' To those inmates, the warden is like their sovereign, and you're asking to punish his 'subjects.' So, this will need some tactful negotiation. Fortunately, I have a decent relationship with the warden and should be able to convince him.

This way, you'll get your chance to settle the score!"

Delier hesitated for a moment before finally nodding. "But you'd better hurry. I need to meet Lady Vivian by five this evening. If I'm late, the one in trouble won't be me."

"No problem!" Pronto secretly breathed a sigh of relief, handing the card to Delier and then stepping out from behind his desk. "Sit tight for a moment while I make a few arrangements. We'll be on our way in less than five minutes, and we'll take my police car."

Having achieved his goal, Delier decided not to cause any more fuss. He sat at the bar inside the office and, thanks to Pronto's hospitality, was even served a drink.

That "five minutes" ended up stretching into nearly fifteen.

As soon as Pronto left his office, he immediately sought out an old officer he was familiar with. He didn't dare approach a younger cop—he knew too well the irritating sense of justice that recent police academy graduates or former soldiers possessed. A police officer needed a sense of justice, yes, but it had to be exercised at the right time.

People who were always bursting with moral righteousness would only make a mess of things.

"Have Corder and his crew been transferred yet?" Pronto asked as they descended the stairs to the first floor. The old officer nodded, confirming that Corder and his gang had been gone for about an hour. This answer put Pronto completely at ease.

From the police station to the district prison, the transport vehicle would need to cross the entire city and then drive another twenty kilometers out of town to reach the prison's perimeter.

The transport didn't move quickly—not because of bad roads or faulty vehicles, but because of an unspoken rule. Sometimes, along the route to the prison, relatives, friends, or even gang bosses would wait by the roadside to pass along final messages or soothe the inmates. During these informal meetings, it wasn't uncommon for the police officers escorting the prisoners to receive a few "benefits."

Cash was the most common gift—small amounts like thirty or fifty dollars, sometimes even a hundred. In addition to money, there might also be cigarettes and alcohol. Escorting prisoners could be quite profitable, so the officers would drive as slowly as they could, wishing the trip could take as long as possible.

By Pronto's calculations, the transport had only just left the city.

Pronto looked around cautiously, then lowered his voice. "Go find Gador and tell him there's been a change of plans. He needs to intercept the transport and beat the hell out of those three guys—make sure their faces are unrecognizable. You go with him."

The old officer's face turned serious as he nodded vigorously. "Got it. Find Gador and make sure those three get beaten beyond recognition. I'll go with them."

"Good," Pronto praised. "Just don't kill them, but make sure no one can recognize their faces. Get him to do it immediately. Afterward, you head straight to the prison. If you see my police car, wait outside."

"Understood—don't kill them, head to the prison, and if you're there, I'll wait. If not, I'll stop the transport." The old officer slightly modified the plan, but Pronto didn't object.