The Mafia Empire

Mr. Kesma took a puff of his cigarette, the harsh scent of cheap tobacco stinging his nose, unlike the fragrant filtered cigarettes packed in metal cases.

Julian pulled out a roll of money from his pocket—about a thousand bucks. In an era of increasing production and sales, this amount wasn't particularly impressive. Still, Mr. and Mrs. Kesma's eyes were immediately drawn to the thick roll of bills in Julian's hand, their minds going blank.

They recognized the numbers and knew the bill on the outside was a ten dollar note. If the entire roll was made of ten dollar notes, how much would that be? Three hundred dollars? Maybe five hundred?

Just then, the sound of a car's metallic grinding approached, stopping outside Mr. Kesma's house. Two young men unloaded two heavy crates from the trunk, carried them to the steps, and knocked on the door.

Mr. Kesma's expression grew complicated. He gave Julian a deep look and, after saying he'd get the door, walked to the front door, opening it without even checking who was there. Two fifteen or sixteen year old boys politely greeted him with a "Hello" while dragging the crates inside.

Mr. Kesma glanced at the shiny car outside and sincerely remarked, "Looks like you've really made it, Julian!"

Inside the two crates were some bootleg liquor, clothes, and small gifts for every family member. Mr. Kesma received an entire box of cigarettes—a metal case about a foot long, half a foot wide, and half a foot high, filled with fifty packs of cigarettes, enough to last him a while.

There was also an unassuming wooden box Julian picked it up, nudged Mason with his shoulder, and exchanged a knowing glance with Mr. Kesma before heading upstairs.

Without hesitation, the two men followed him.

Once inside Mr. Kesma's sanctified "palace," Julian shut the door and carefully placed the wooden box on the table, opening it with great caution. Mason and Mr. Kesma leaned in curiously, wondering what could warrant such careful treatment.

Inside the box were two small velvet pouches. Julian took one out and emptied its contents—a handgun. It was slightly worn, indicating some use, but had been well maintained, with no leaks or corrosion in the catalytic components.

Upon seeing the gun, Mr. Kesma's brows furrowed, and his expression grew serious. His face took on a familiar sternness, reminiscent of when he discovered the children doing something wrong over the years. He reached out, took the gun from Julian, and flipped off the safety. When the grip began to warm in his hand, his expression darkened further.

Apart from the two handguns, the crate contained four boxes of ammunition. Ammunition could be made in many places, the simplest method involving cutting steel rods into sections that could fit into the magazine. Though these bullets were simple and less effective, they were easy to produce. Julian had brought only four boxes of them.

"There were also two sealed metal boxes that made sloshing sounds when shaken, containing catalysts cut specifically for the handguns."

"Where did these come from?" Mr. Kesma casually tossed the gun back into the crate, locking eyes with Julian. "Don't tell me you found them. And why did you bring these dangerous things back here? What are you planning?"

Julian didn't hold back, recounting everything that had happened, including some less than savory actions. If he were to lie about such significant matters, it wouldn't be a harmless white lie but a sign of flawed character. His detailed narration left both Mr. Kesma and Mason slack jawed.

The events of the past three months sounded like a novel. When Julian finished, the room fell into silence, lasting nearly ten minutes before Mr. Kesma finally asked, with a complicated expression, "So, what are you planning to do now?"

"Father, I respect and love you, and every sibling in this family. I cannot stand idly by while danger approaches you all, nor can I lie and say everything is fine. No matter how careful I am, if those people really want to find you, they will."

"Additionally..." Julian looked at Mason and said sincerely, "I want to take Mason with me back to Ternell City."

Mr. Kesma's gaze followed Julian's words to his eldest son, his eyes revealing a faint trace of confusion and worry. To be honest, he felt that Julian's endeavors in Ternell City were fraught with danger. Otherwise, there would be no need for him to send two handguns back to the family for protection, signifying that the enemy might bypass Julian and come directly for Mr. Kesma and his family.

Though Mr. Kesma could read, he hadn't received higher education. However, his years of life experience taught him one thing: when you're about to throw a punch at someone, that person might be thinking of punching you back.

He hoped all his children could grow up safe, normal, and healthy, then form families of their own—perhaps not harmonious or perfect, but at least simple and warm. They might have one or many children, and though their lives wouldn't be affluent, they would still be happy in an ordinary way.

Julian was destroying that wish. But he also knew that calling for a pause at this point was akin to placing his head on the guillotine and waiting for the final moment. Mr. Kesma was an excellent farmer and a decent hunter.

He knew that as long as a hunter remained a hunter, the prey would stay prey. But if the hunter lost his edge and forgot his purpose, he would become the prey, and the prey would become the hunter.

This was a path with no breaks and no way back. Either one becomes an ever better hunter, eliminating all predators nearby, or they must flee the danger, avoiding being hunted.

Mr. Kesma was a rigid, stubborn, and authoritarian man. He would rather be a failed hunter in a predator's mouth than a foolish prey caught by another hunter. Julian couldn't stop, let alone go back; he had to keep going, as it was the only path available to him. As such, Mr. Kesma didn't dissuade him or advise him to stop because Julian simply couldn't.