The Mafia Empire

On this day, a strange event occurred at the Ternell District Police Station. Habitual unsolved cases were suddenly seeing a steady stream of people turning themselves in. These individuals, covered in tattoos and clearly not of the respectable kind, nearly overcrowded the police station. Although their methods varied, they all shared the same goal: getting themselves incarcerated.

After sending the junior officers out of the room, Pronto handed a cigarette to Gador and lit it for him. The two men smoked silently, neither wanting to break the silence. Perhaps out of a shared understanding of Gador's situation, Pronto's mood was somber. Did Gador come to confess some of his crimes out of a sudden moral awakening or a clear conscience? Absolutely not.

At Gador's level, even if everyone knew he was guilty, he would somehow remain innocent.

The reasoning was simple. He had too many subordinates willing to take the fall for him. Like Morris, who had already gone to meet the angels, taking the blame for a gang leader was considered an honorable act and, for some members, the best way to exit the gang. Pronto believed that the moment Gador spoke, there would be a line of people vying for that one opportunity to take the blame.

Yet, Gador had come in person to confess. He had no choice but to bow his head because the man behind him demanded it.

"How many more people are you planning to send in?" Pronto asked, flicking the ash from his cigarette as he gazed out the fourth-floor window at the ever-growing crowd of gang members outside, rubbing his temple with some frustration. So far, over sixty people had come forward, a number that was absurdly excessive.

The local prison was both large and small; if this many people were admitted at once, it was undeniable that aside from the warden, Gador's influence would dominate the prison.

Gador sneered, "One hundred."

Only one hundred, and it still felt insufficient. If it weren't for the need to maintain the gang's order and deterrence, he might have considered packing up his entire gang and taking them to prison together. This was the only way he could face the harsh outcome, using numerous members to protect him, at least ensuring he wouldn't inexplicably die behind bars.

He had considered leaving Ternell City, escaping this damn trap, but in the end, he rejected the idea. It had taken him years to get this far; how long would it take to start over somewhere else? As the boss said, twenty years was not a short time, but at the same time, it was just a fleeting moment. He didn't want to struggle step by step from nothing again, so he decided to take a gamble.

Just as Pronto was about to say something, a familiar figure appeared at the police station's entrance. He stubbed out his cigarette, turned, and walked over to Gador, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll be back in a moment."

Gador said nothing; he just wanted to be alone.

Pronto left the room quickly and went downstairs to meet the old man. After a brief greeting, he bowed slightly and stood beside the elder. The old man gestured to a nearby corner, and the two walked over one after the other.

Some onlookers glanced curiously in their direction but soon averted their eyes. The two were speaking, but no one knew exactly what was being said.

"Yes… yes, I understand… yes, I know what to do," Pronto replied cautiously, bowing continuously to the imposing figure of the elderly butler with a wig and an expressionless face. Relief spread across Pronto's face. He knew that not long ago, if he hadn't figured everything out, he might have ended up in ruin alongside Gador. Yet, a sliver of doubt lingered in his mind.

Whatever the planner behind this scheme intended, what was the point of targeting Gador?

As it stood, Gador's boss had simply discarded this piece. What could the mastermind behind the plan do?

The butler was none other than Gador's boss's trusted aide, and his sole purpose for coming here was to sternly inform Pronto that Ternell City remained under effective control, with no dark forces present, let alone any large-scale criminal organizations.

What did that mean?

With Pronto's years of experience as the police chief, he understood that the boss was telling him to "follow protocol." Politics is a fascinating game because every skilled politician knows how to use the most ambiguous language to express their intentions fully without leaving any leverage in others' hands. What did "follow protocol" really mean?

Plainly, it meant silencing people, but of course, they couldn't openly say such things, leaving incriminating evidence behind. In this context, using the term "follow protocol" and the surrounding implications made perfect sense.

The sudden trap had made the high-ranking figure feel a sense of crisis, prompting him to swiftly eliminate all factors he thought could lead to his downfall. Gador was just one of many—certainly not the only one. Secrets are never truly safe with people.

To ensure some secrets stayed buried, leaving them to decay in history, the most reliable solution was to make everyone who knew the secret part of the secret itself.

A hint of relief appeared on the butler's rigid face as he slightly bowed and left. Watching the butler leave, Pronto shook his head with a bitter smile. For people of their status, a casual remark from one of these untouchable figures could change their lives entirely. Pronto was a clever man, so he knew the stance he needed to take on this matter.

He also understood that Gador undoubtedly had crucial evidence and testimony. If he could get his hands on it, not even Gador's boss could deal with him harshly. However, possessing such evidence wouldn't bring him any benefits; rather, it would label him a "dangerous man." A police chief who enjoys uncovering secrets is not a good police chief.

In the lower and middle echelons of society, feigning ignorance and diligently performing one's duties is the only surefire way to survive.

With his back to the crowd, Pronto took out his pistol, checked the magazine, and adjusted his clothes before returning to the police station.

From the moment he stepped inside, it took less than ten minutes before Gador stood by the window. Suddenly, he lost his balance and fell out.

Falling from over ten meters wouldn't necessarily be fatal—unless one landed headfirst.