The one who brought the cash wasn't just anyone — it was Carlo Gambino himself.
"Boss, the warehouse is filled with sugar..."
Anastasia stepped up beside him quickly.
"I've been here the whole time."
"You've done well. Where's Monsieur Pierre?"
Gambino looked toward the illuminated mezzanine office. He saw the stairs — and in his mind, he was climbing more than wood and steel. He was ascending to where the gatekeeper stood — the man who held the keys to his future.
"Bonsoir, Monsieur Pierre," Gambino greeted as he entered the office — knocking, this time, respectfully.
Unlike before, Gambino now approached with the full humility of a man meeting his superior. In Pierre, he no longer saw a smuggler or an opportunist. He saw a man with real power — or better, one backed by something immense.
To move over a thousand tons of sugar into New York without the authorities noticing? That wasn't just luck or timing. That was capability. Connections. Authority. That was something no ordinary businessman, not even a Don, could replicate.
And Gambino? He was done questioning it. He was just grateful he was the one chosen.
"I apologize for the delay," Gambino said with genuine contrition. "Night isn't the easiest time to collect funds discreetly. It won't happen again."
Pierre, seated comfortably in his chair, nodded slightly.
He could sense the shift.
This wasn't a mafia boss demanding payment anymore. This was a man showing respect.
Things were going his way.
"You've got half a month," Pierre said coolly.
"Prepare your capital. We'll arrange the next shipment once you're ready."
This — exactly this — was why he'd chosen the mafia. They didn't ask unnecessary questions. They had a nationwide distribution system. And they didn't talk.
By the time they stepped downstairs, the product had already been inspected.
"Don, the sucrose level is at 99.4%," said the technician. "The granule size is within the top grade specs. It's excellent cane sugar. However..."
He hesitated, glancing at Pierre.
"Each sack contains 55 to 56 kilos — not the standard 50."
Pierre blinked. Even he hadn't noticed. Gambino's expression didn't change, but a shadow passed through his eyes.
Was this... another test?
Another signal from the mysterious forces behind Pierre?
Before the thought could settle, Pierre spoke.
"Pay by 55 kilos. That's fair."
Turns out, Song Chengjun had added the extra weight as a bonus. A gesture of loyalty and goodwill. A classic Chinese move: honor the compatriot, not the foreigner.
Gambino didn't pry. But when they tallied everything, it came out to 1,500 metric tons. That meant 200 tons extra over the expected 1,300.
Even Gambino, used to counting millions, couldn't help swallowing hard.
And then came the money — $1,884,420 in cash.
Even for Pierre, it was staggering. This was it — his first million.
He was officially a millionaire.
Suddenly, the system flickered.
[Congratulations, user: You've earned your first million. Unlocking feature: Cost Accounting.]
Pierre chuckled. A little underwhelming, but still — a win's a win.
He'd also raked in nearly 500,000 experience points. Not quite enough to level up, but still a windfall.
All in all, it confirmed what he'd suspected: even outside Britain, America had potential — and he was tapping into it perfectly.
As the sugar was loaded into the trucks, Gambino's eyes landed on some crates.
"Pierre... those cartons over there — cigarettes?"
"Of course," Pierre replied smoothly.
"Gotta reward the crew somehow, right?"
Gambino laughed. He understood. Nothing greased wheels like a little off-the-books generosity.
But Pierre had more to say.
"Carlo, there's something I need your help with."
Gambino perked up immediately.
"Anything, my friend. Speak freely. Friends don't need to stand on ceremony."
"I'm looking to acquire a manufacturing business. Something in industrial machining. If you know of anything..."
Gambino's face lit up.
What better way to curry favor than to serve?
He was all too happy to oblige. This was an opportunity to grow closer to Pierre... and maybe, to finally meet the real "powers" behind him.
And within just two days, Gambino had results.
A factory. Available. Even more than suitable.
As they drove to see it, Pierre frowned.
"How is a factory even going bankrupt right now?"
"With the war on, shouldn't every plant be working triple shifts?"
Even someone new to America knew its wartime industry was booming. Manufacturing was exploding. Even decades later, people would look back in awe at what the U.S. built during World War II.
So why was this plant closing?
"My friend... not all factories are created equal. Some get contracts. Others don't get a cent."
Pierre squinted. "Why?"
"The owner... he's of German descent."
Pierre raised an eyebrow.
Gambino's eyes gleamed.
"He's a known member of the German-American Bund. A Nazi sympathizer. American Nazi."
"Wait — he's a Nazi? And he's not in jail?"