The Mafia Empire

"Gawain, can you drive?"

Gawain responded that he could. Before working for Mr. Colt, he had be a driver for a while. If it wer't for a problem with the steering wheel of the car, he wouldn't have lost that job and would never have landed his currt position.

Mr. Colt nodded in satisfaction. "Very good. People with a skill always leave an impression. Starting tomorrow, you'll be driving. It's a very important job.

The tire bar's liquor supply depds on your timely transportation."

Hearing that he was about to take on such an important task, Gawain was overjoyed. He pressed his lips together and nodded vigorously. "I won't let you down, sir. I'll become the best driver!"

At that momt, Gawain truly believed this, and until the evt that occurred not long after, ev Mr. Colt believed it, too. After all, how complicated could picking up and delivering goods be? In Ternell City, seeing a car pass by every five minutes was considered heavy traffic!

Mr. Colt waved his hand dismissively. "Do your job well, and that'll be the greatest support for me. Go ahead and take over now."

After Gawain left, Mr. Colt pulled a silver pocket watch from his coat. Wh he oped the cover, a picture of his daughter popped out. His heart warmed inexplicably, and he gtly stroked the picture with his thumb as if his daughter were right there beside him. Glancing at the time, it was fifte minutes to five—Graf should be arriving soon.

The reason he remembered today that he still had a subordinate named Gawain tracking Graf was that Graf had informed him that deliveries would start again today, with the liquor being brought over before five in the eving.

There were t crates in total, bottles. At t dollars per bottle, that came to ,00 dollars. It was a hefty sum, but it also meant substantial earnings. With a cost of ,00 dollars, they could make at least 800 to 900 dollars in return. The final amount would depd largely on the bartders.

A good bartder would add an extra ice cube and pour a little less liquor, saving ough that three bottles could make two extra glasses.

But as for those honest and obedit bartders, they were much more straightforward...

At five minutes before five, Graf and two young m pushed op the door and tered, setting the t crates in the corner.

"Is that all?" Mr. Colt frowned at the sight of the t crates with bottles. He knew all too well how popular this liquor was. Last time, they had run out, and several regular customers had complained. One frequt customer had never come back.

Graf, who had rectly learned how to shrug, shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands. "That's all there is. For reasons I don't quite understand, each bar only gets this much stock each month."

One hundred and twty bottles sounded like a lot—they could sell four bottles a day, or 0 glasses. But in reality, it was more like t glasses, because there were two types of liquor, and there were only two bottles of each, so that made fewer than t glasses.

This supply was far from ough to meet the demand. Some customers drank three or four glasses in a single night, and a couple of tables could easily finish off two bottles.

Though it was an honor for Mr. Colt and Wild Rose Bar to have a drink that customers loved so much, not being able to meet all their needs would turn into a hassle.

So, Mr. Colt blurted out, "What if I'm willing to pay a little extra? Can I get someone else's share?"

Graf immediately flashed a smile, showing two rows of slightly yellowing teeth. "If you don't mind paying a little extra, it's not impossible."

Mr. Colt's confidce returned. If the price wt up, it would just be passed on to the customers anyway. He smirked, "How much extra?"

"For anything under 50 crates, it's twelve dollars a bottle."

"For betwe 50 and 0 crates, it's fifte dollars a bottle."

"For over 0 crates, it's eighte dollars a bottle!"

With each price Graf reported, Mr. Colt's face darked further. Wh he heard that over 0 crates would cost eighte dollars per bottle, he wanted to bite Graf. He had se greedy merchants before, but nothing this outrageous. Why not just double the price? Mr.

Colt quickly picked up the p on the table and did some calculations. If he wanted to order 0 crates, it would cost him 5,960 dollars, averaging over thirte dollars per bottle. After that, every additional bottle would cost eighte dollars.

What a rip-off!

Mr. Colt took a deep breath. "I'll take fifty crates..." He glanced at the t crates on the floor. "Including these!"

...

"Mr. Gorn, the 'First Love' you've be waiting for has arrived!" The bartder expertly wiped the bar in front of Mr. Gorn again with a clean cloth, placing a coaster down. "Would you like this, or something else?"

Gorn's eyes lit up, and he tapped his fingers on the bar. "It's finally here? Th I'll have a glass. And don't try to fool me with some other liquor—its taste is quite unique and not easily replicated." After the bar ran out of "First Love," Mr. Gorn had gone to other bars. Some didn't know about the drink, some had sold out.

There were two bars that had it, but their versions wer't authtic. While they had a hint of bitterness, they lacked the lingering depth that "First Love" offered, like the differce betwe a skilled woman in a red dress standing outside a high-d restaurant's glass wall, and a noble, elegant lady in a red dress dining inside.

The clothes might be the same, but the substance was tirely differt.

"Don't worry, Wild Rose Bar has a reputation to uphold!" The bartder soon served the "First Love," chilled with ice, onto the table. Under the dim lights, the ice and liquor shimmered, reflecting a mesmerizing glow. As Gorn inhaled the special aroma, he felt his heart almost swoon. He couldn't wait and took a sip, and in that instant, his whole body relaxed.

He felt himself once again tering a solitary, indepdt world.