The Mafia Empire

Years of co-existence had brought peace to their "war," especially in the past two years, during which Wood, Carrell, and Ernst had avoided even minor clashes. This was a dangerous signal, implying a level of coordination and unity among the three that was far too high.

Just as rulers dread seeing alliances form among subordinates, Peter feared witnessing the Three Giants align in a defensive alliance.

This sign was dangerous; if they accumulated enough power and outward aggression, they might soon try to alter the political landscape of Ternell. So even if Wood hadn\'t died outside Gador\'s estate, Peter would have found a way to target one of the giants and bring someone new to power.

Only by keeping sufficient pressure on them and ensuring internal competition could the upper echelons intervene in the lower society.

Before Peter could take any action, however, Wood was already dead, and a new giant—Julian—had emerged. This was a blessing, just as now.

In hindsight, it had been a long time since either Carrell or Ernst sought his help. He owed Julian gratitude for injecting fresh vigor into the stagnant bootleg market and creating positive, competitive changes.

This was something Peter truly appreciated.

Just consider the late Wood.

Each year, Wood donated a hefty portion of his earnings as political contributions to prominent figures, his intentions clear: to secure an official "position." If Wood, Carrell, and Ernst obtained their desired standing, they\'d occupy a substantial part of Ternell\'s political landscape, forming an old-party faction to rival existing powers—a disturbing scenario indicating a loss of control.

Our Mayor Peter had no desire to see this happen.

Now the problem was resolved, and without Peter\'s intervention. Julian had rid him of a fool like Wood, intensifying competition.

Peter raised a hand, stopping Carrell\'s curses and complaints. "It\'s not appropriate for me to blatantly interfere with business matters; such affairs fall outside my jurisdiction. Besides, I don\'t see a need to intervene." He crossed his legs, continuing, "Internal competition promotes evolution.

When the Ordinian Star Empire was founded many years ago…" Peter chuckled, shaking his head, stopping mid-sentence. Not because he didn\'t want to continue, but because it wasn\'t necessary.

Neither Carrell nor Ernst had received a noble\'s elite education, so what Peter wanted to express might be hard for them to grasp—or perhaps the mayor felt that silence conveyed his position just as effectively.

His stance was clear: "I\'m not getting involved, so don\'t come to me for this."

Carrell, huffing in frustration, dragged Ernst out after a hasty farewell to the mayor, storming out of the office. Through the window, Peter watched Carrell dive into his car and drive off from city hall, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

This was exactly what he wanted—to keep them entangled with one another, ensuring easier governance.

Meanwhile, Julian was preparing to return home. With a new plan signed with the other two "giants," the next steps involved a flurry of bootlegging and transporting the excess products to other areas. But first, he needed to head home.

It had been over two months, nearly three, since he left. Mr. Kesma\'s words still lingered in his ears, urging him to return and show off his success. Julian was young, and with youth came a healthy dose of vanity—he wanted to flaunt his achievements.

The car he had acquired from Wood, now restored and polished to a mirror shine, satisfied Julian as he took his seat. Leaving city affairs in the hands of Dave and Ellis, he set off on his first trip back, accompanied by two familiar associates.

People are always drawn to their roots, often recalling their home, loved ones, and even whether the vegetables around the house have grown as lushly as they were before they left. Bumpy roads stirred his thoughts and emotions, immersing him in memories of home throughout the journey, though he hadn\'t been away long.

As the car slowed to a halt, the slight jolt awoke him. Gazing at the familiar streets and the gathering crowd, a faint smile played on his lips. The young man in the passenger seat stepped out, opening Julian\'s door and ushering him out. With solid footing on home soil under warm sunlight, Julian\'s face lit up with a long-lost smile.

"Isn\'t that… Kesma\'s youngest?" someone exclaimed, recognizing him.

Julian had transformed, hardly resembling the person who had left home months before.

"What\'s going on here? Move aside, move aside!" Mason pressed one hand on the pistol at his waist and the other on the police cap atop his head, pushing through the dense crowd. Every now and then, someone would jab him with an elbow, though he couldn\'t tell who it was.

Never underestimate the cunning and tenacity of country folk; the noble notion of simple, honest farmers only exists in the fanciful paintings of artists. The countryside was no idyllic paradise.

Finally, Mason managed to push his way to the center, clutching his chest, having lost his hat in the process. He shot a glare at the onlookers, retrieving his hat from a young girl with a cheerful, freckled face who handed it back with a polite "thank you."

The Kesma family was known for their politeness—a quality undoubtedly influenced by Mr. Kesma himself. Once thought rigid and stubborn by the children, he had softened over the years, though a certain inflexibility remained. They say people are social creatures, shaped more by society\'s expectations than their own experiences. The more people associated Mr.

Kesma with the Kesma family, the more he focused on instilling manners.