The Mafia Empire

If someone else had given him this task, he might have been able to brush it off. After all, he was the chief. It was normal to delegate such requests to his subordinates, and by the time the person came back, he could have one of his least favorite officers take the blame. Problem solved—everyone would understand that he was powerless to help.

If they still pushed him, it would be clear they were picking a fight.

But Mrs. Vivian was different. Neither her husband nor her own power and influence were things Pronto could dismiss. He was certain that if he didn't find these three people soon, he'd be in serious trouble. Trouble, after all, meant losses.

It could mean a loss of money, his badge, or something even more important.

As Pronto called over two officers, sharing his frustration, Shaun, who had just woken up, came down from the second floor yawning. He rubbed his eyes, wiping away the remnants of sleep from the corners.

That nap had been fantastic! There was nothing like falling asleep in the sunlight.

As he was about to leave the station, the light from the office caught his attention. He hesitated for about half a second. His original plan was to find a bar and spend the night with a fun, carefree girl, then return for a lazy sleep.

But after that half-second of hesitation—whether due to a pang of conscience or just curiosity—he walked toward the police chief's office, which should have been closed by now.

When he opened the door, the corner of his mouth twitched. Pronto and two middle aged officers he vaguely recognized but couldn't name were staring at the portraits on the desk, their eyes bloodshot. There was a pile of cigarette butts on the floor, still smoldering.

"What's this? A masterpiece?" His curiosity grew stronger, and he couldn't help but speak up as he walked over, positioning himself between the three men and the portraits. After a close look, he stuck out his pinky and cleaned his ear with its narrow, sharp nail. "Did you hire a new artist? If I were you, I'd fire him right away.

If it weren't for the three moles, I wouldn't even know these are supposed to be humans!"

The next second, Shaun felt as though he had grown two inches taller, as Pronto grabbed him by the collar and shook him vigorously. "Let me down! We can talk this out! I only stole a few bottles of your liquor, no need to be this harsh!"

Pronto paused, glancing instinctively toward his liquor cabinet. The cabinet, designed like an X-shaped fence, held 32 bottles of expensive liquor gifted to him. Or at least it had—he counted and found only 11 remaining.

Why hadn't he noticed before?

That damn thief!

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Just as Pronto was about to act, his hands loosened, and he grabbed one of the portraits, shoving it in Shaun's face. The portrait depicted a man with three wild strawberry-like marks on his face. "You know this guy?"

"Relax, man. I was just making a comment. You want answers? I'll tell you everything. Want to know the color of my underwear?" Shaun raised his hands in surrender, a forced smile on his face as the barrel of Pronto's gun pressed against his chin. "Oh, you mean this guy?

Of course, I know him. He's one of Gador's men—name's Corder. He's been with the gang for eleven years and has been charged six times. Four of those times, he was released due to lack of evidence, and the other two were settled out of court. His file is in the 'Gador Crime Syndicate' cabinet, first drawer, document number 33!"

Pronto and the two officers stared at each other in disbelief. Was it really necessary to say all this just because a gun was pointed at him?

Pronto holstered his gun, tilting his head, and one of the officers ran off to the archives. Pronto pointed to the liquor cabinet. "You can have all of it."

Shaun's expression went from annoyed to ecstatic in an instant. He threw his arm around Pronto's shoulder, giving him a hearty pat on the back. "Good man! Since you're so generous, I'll let bygones be bygones."

With a swagger, Shaun left the office. If Pronto hadn't known his background, he might've thought Shaun was a gang member fresh out of jail.

Soon, the officer returned with Corder's file, revealing a bald man with a fierce expression in the photo.

Comparing the photo to Mrs. Vivian's portrait, Pronto's lips twitched. Even if the real person stood next to the portrait, it'd be impossible to link the two.

He slammed the desk in frustration. "Tell the officers on duty to find this guy immediately. And prepare a car—I'm going to see Gador!"

A police car, adorned with the city's badge, slowly drove into Gador's estate. Gador stepped out of the house to greet them. He hadn't yet become a tycoon, but even if he had, he would still need to show Pronto a certain level of respect. After all, the messes he left behind could never be fully cleaned up.

If Pronto decided to cause trouble for him, regardless of his future status, it would be extremely inconvenient.

People generally disliked trouble, but they often showed respect to those who could create it.

Gador, dressed in a crisp white shirt and a sharp suit, looked no different from the city's high society tycoons. Since yesterday, he had started using hair wax, perhaps influenced by Wood. Regardless of whether he could eventually cross that threshold into high society, he felt he needed to show respect for the rules and was mentally preparing himself.

As Pronto stepped out of the car, Gador's smile blossomed instantly. He hurried down the stairs with both hands outstretched. His shirt cuffs, perfectly clean and stark white, peeked out an inch from his suit sleeves, almost blinding in their brightness. Gador warmly clasped Pronto's chubby hands and gave them a firm shake. He wanted Pronto to feel the warmth in his palms—the warmth of enthusiasm.