The Mafia Empire
Chapter 11: Chapter 11 Into The High-Proof Alcohol Market

"Graf, I want to know what you are doing. This is the station. As long as you're here, you must follow our agreement and do your job properly!" Mr. Kreen loosened his tie and placed a cup of coffee in front of Graf.

Recently, Mr. Kreen noticed that Graf's performance had plummeted to less than a third of what it used to be. He had even been absent during the busiest times in the afternoon!

That was something no capitalist could tolerate. They pay you to work as if your life depends on it, not to provide charity. The station gave these workers enough food and almost enough rest time every day. They could even take a few days off each month, as long as it was during less busy periods. Mr. Kreen felt that he had already been patient and tolerant enough with these bottom-tier workers.

They should be weeping with gratitude for the life he granted them, not thinking about slacking off!

If it weren't for Graf's high standing and reputation at the station, Mr. Kreen might have already invoked certain clauses in their contract to punish this damn guy.

Graf, with a blank expression, raised the cup of coffee and downed it like water. After smacking his lips, he said something that nearly made Mr. Kreen jump out of his seat. "This stuff is really bitter, like burnt pot scrapings mixed with water, even the color matches."

Thirty bucks per pound for coffee beans from the southern empire, and this guy compared it to burnt pot and water?

Mr. Kreen frowned but hid his displeasure. A Barbarian countryman would always be a Barbarian countryman. Even living in the city, they couldn't shake their rural ignorance and stupidity. This thought made Kreen's frustration lessen as he looked at Graf like a gorilla he might see at the zoo with his kids, feeling a sense of superiority rise from within.

"Am I seriously discussing coffee with a gorilla?"

He even chuckled, filled with disdain and contempt.

He sat down in his comfortable chair behind the desk and took a sip of the rich, aromatic coffee. The bitterness quickly melted into a warmth that spread through him. The lingering aftertaste made every cell in his body seem to relax and breathe freely, craving the next sip. Satisfied, he nodded. Thirty bucks a pound was worth every bit of the indulgence.

Sighing, he spoke earnestly, "Graf, I know you have just over a month left on your contract, but you need to understand that even if you're free tomorrow, today you're still a station employee. You can't ignore our work rules, and what you're doing sets a bad example for others."

Graf nodded as he walked to the coffee pot with his cup, hesitating for a moment before choosing a larger glass—a square one typically used for liquor. He poured all the coffee into it. "I understand, sir. Don't worry, I'll follow the rules, and I won't skip work again." He raised the large glass of "burnt water," sniffed it, and once again downed it in one gulp.

"It's still so bitter and doesn't quench thirst at all. I really don't know why anyone would like this stuff!" He lifted the empty glass, ignoring Mr. Kreen's reddening face. "Thanks for the hospitality, sir. If there's nothing else, I'll get back to work."

After patting his pants, he left Kreen's office. Kreen, staring at the now empty coffee pot, clenched his fingers against the desk, sliding them down in frustration. He was losing it.

Julian caught up with Graf outside the office. "What happened? Was Krian making things difficult for you?" Julian asked quietly.

Graf wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and said, "Nah. Same ol' same. He just told me not to skip work again, nothing more." He started to sound a bit indignant. "We skip work together, so why does he only give me a hard time and not you?"

Julian chuckled and shrugged. "Maybe I just blend in better,"

"Or maybe you're worthless to the station," Graf grumbled, the annoyance dissipating quickly. "We've finished two cases. Should we start selling?"

Two cases of twelve bottles each were stashed under their bed in their rented room. One case of "First Love," the sour fruit liquor, and one case of "Snow Elf." According to Julian, both would sell for the same price, with a target of ten bucks per bottle. Each bottle contained about 1.4 pints, roughly 750 milliliters.

Their cost per bottle was around two and a half to three bucks. If sold at ten bucks each, their profit would be between six and seven bucks. When Julian calculated the profit, Graf's eyes turned red. Heaven knows, he had never imagined selling high-proof alcohol could be this lucrative! A case of twelve bottles meant about eighty bucks in pure profit.

With his forty percent share, Graf stood to make thirty bucks per case—sixty bucks for both.

That meant if they sold both cases, he could buy out his contract and have more time to make even more fruit liquor with Julian—and make even more money.

So whatever Mr. Kreen said, he just treated it like a loud fart!

The two walked to a corner of the station, and Julian lowered his voice. "I'll need you to handle the sales. I don't know much about the city's bars. Make sure to sell to different places, not just one person. We need more people to know about our product."

"I got it!" Graf nodded quickly, excitedly waving his arms. "When should we go?"

Julian glanced at the clock in the station warehouse. "Now, before the evening bar rush begins!"

...

Gorn, a wealthy man living on the outskirts of Ternell City, managed two successful farms—one for beef cattle, the other for dragonblood wood trees. His businesses had flourished, placing him among the prominent figures of the local upper class, though he remained just shy of the elite in larger cities.

At thirty-seven, Gorn had aged well, his polished appearance and calm demeanor often drawing attention. Despite his success, he had never pursued intimate relationships, leaving others to speculate about his private life.

But few knew the truth: Gorn had once loved deeply. Years ago, his family had sent her away to a wealthier city, and when he sought her out later, he found her married with children. Brokenhearted, Gorn buried himself in his work, climbing to his current status but never replaceing love again.

One evening at the Wild Rose Bar, the bartender offered him two new drinks: "First Love" and "Snow Elf." Gorn sampled "First Love," and as its bittersweet taste hit his tongue, it stirred memories of the love he'd lost long ago.

That night, Gorn sat in silence, his thoughts drifting to the past. Around him, others drank quietly, lost in their own reflections. As the evening wore on, the two new drinks became popular—"Snow Elf" with its smooth sweetness, and "First Love" for the bittersweet taste of nostalgia it brought.