The Mafia Empire

He swung his arm with force, the leather belt slicing through the air with a sharp sound, landing on Mrs. Vivian's arm. A red welt appeared instantly on her exposed skin, quickly swelling.

"Wretch! Tell me who did this, or I won't let you off today!" Peter's voice trembled slightly as he spoke, but he controlled his rage, refraining from shouting, instead biting his words with a low, gritted tone. He swung the belt again, striking Mrs. Vivian's shoulder with a loud crack, the belt curling around to hit her back.

Enraged, Peter lunged forward, tearing at Mrs. Vivian's clothes, his teeth clenched and his eyes flashing with a fierce light as he whipped her repeatedly with the belt.

After an unknown amount of time, Mrs. Vivian lay on the floor, her body covered in red welts, breathing heavily. Only then did Peter's anger subside. He tossed aside the now-deformed belt, adjusted his sleeves, straightened his shirt, and gave Mrs. Vivian a disdainful glance before leaving. Just as the door was about to close, his voice echoed back.

"I'll find him, even if you don't say a word!"

After venting his rage, the mayor felt much better. He went to the dining room, sat down, and asked the housekeeper to bring him a strong fruit liqueur with three ice cubes. He beckoned to the housekeeper, who leaned down, attentive to his instructions.

"How many people know about Mrs. Vivian's pregnancy?"

The mayor's cold tone and icy gaze sent a chill through the housekeeper, who replied in a low voice, "Three maids and one servant woman know about it. I've told them to keep it quiet until the news is confirmed."

"Well done!" The mayor pointed at the housekeeper, grabbing a bright red fruit from the table's fruit tray, biting into it fiercely. The cold, tangy juice stimulated his taste buds, with red juice splattering from his mouth onto the clear table. "Get rid of them—all of them. Do it quietly. I don't want to hear another word about this. Understand?"

The housekeeper's heart skipped a beat. Although he didn't fully understand why, he resolved to carry out his master's orders with unwavering loyalty.

"Call Mrs. Vivian's driver. I have questions for him." The mayor waved him away, and the housekeeper, despite a flicker of pity in his eyes, quickly replaced it with determination.

Soon after, Mrs. Vivian's personal driver stood before the mayor, visibly uneasy. Although he served Mrs. Vivian, he rarely saw the mayor, and even as a couple, they seldom appeared together. Nervously, he bowed his head, addressing him as "Mr. Mayor."

Peter crossed his legs, feeling a rare sense of satisfaction from his recent "activities," even allowing a faint smile to appear. "Where has Mrs. Vivian been going most often lately?"

The driver dared not lie, as the very act of standing here left him breathless, and he had no courage to deceive.

"Recently, Madam has often visited the Delier Art Gallery, where she frequently buys paintings and other artworks."

The mayor was familiar with Delier. From his first day in Ternell, he'd known of him. Delier had friends in the capital, but due to some personal scandals, he was expelled and settled in Ternell, a small town where he made a living selling so-called "art pieces." Mrs. Vivian had brought back many things from his gallery, some of which the mayor had appraised, only to receive the verdict that they were "worthless."

But, given Mrs. Vivian's enthusiasm for art and the ladies' tea gatherings she hosted at Delier's gallery, he had turned a blind eye. The money wasn't his, after all, so there was no need to feel troubled over spending it.

But Delier… No, it couldn't be him!

The mayor looked up and said, "Bring Delier here. Tell him it's an invitation to be my guest—right now!"

"Right, lift it a little here to give it that Marbudura style..." Delier gently adjusted the young artist's hand, guiding him in making precise markings on the canvas. These lines carried an abstract quality that most people wouldn't easily grasp—marks that could be called "art" for their uniqueness and subtle detail. The beauty of art often lies in its mystery, challenging conventional understanding.

Delier admired the boy's dedication and enthusiasm for the craft. The energy and creativity of the young artists around him filled him with inspiration. He walked along the row of canvases, offering gentle words of encouragement and constructive feedback to the children. His genuine passion for teaching art was evident, and he took pride in helping each student grow their skills and confidence.

Among the children, his eye was particularly drawn to a girl and a boy whose promising talent stood out. Delier imagined them thriving at a prestigious art academy and someday making their mark in the art world. The thought filled him with a sense of purpose and fulfillment.

His reflections were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps. Surprised, Delier turned to see who had entered, his arms crossing in curiosity. It was Mrs. Vivian's driver, whose unexpected arrival signaled that something urgent might be happening.

Delier's face changed instantly—his "artist" speed of changing expressions was world-class. He quickly put on a welcoming smile, preparing to ask why Mrs. Vivian hadn't come in, but the driver spoke first. "The mayor has requested your presence. I hope you won't make this difficult for me."

Delier's expression shifted slightly. He instructed his assistant to watch over the children, tidied his clothes, applied a bit of makeup, and then followed the driver back to the mayor's estate.

This was Delier's second close encounter with the mayor. The first time had been at an art auction hosted by the chamber of commerce, where he was appraising some artworks for Mrs. Vivian.

The mayor had been present, but after a polite greeting, they exchanged no further words before the mayor left abruptly. So, this was technically their second face-to-face meeting, and it left Delier feeling slightly uncomfortable. He couldn't say why, but he felt uneasy.