Ohh, boy, do I have a lot of shit to do. For starters, Twilight finally went off the deep end and banned all trade with The Confederacy.

Alright, fine. Our main exports have been tobacco, drugs, booze and immigrants for nigh-on 20 years now anyway. Our main imports have been raw materials, ores and the like. Well, diamond dogs are working on feeding that demand as we speak. Of course, that’s not even mentioning the dockworkers unions, all the private corporations, and fuck knows who else’ll be pissed off by this.

Depending on how long this embargo lasts, I may need to set up a smuggling operation. Ugh, more fuckin’ work for me.

But that’s not all. There was also the issue of dealing with the king’s heirs. He had two children- sons, they were. Their wives surrendered, since the marriages were arranged anyway, and agreed to stay out of the way.

Of course, that meant we had to tie off this loose end.

---

The sound of shovels breaking dirt pierced the silence of that forest. Captain Abbandando was there with two other guards, watching the two royals dig a hole.

They’d never worked a day in their lives, and you could tell. This hole, which should only take a half hour or so to dig, has been taking far too long. They were drenched in sweat, panting, and both looked like they wanted to pass out.

Abbandando sighed. “Alright, I’ve seen enough.” He said, and the two prisoners dropped their shovels with heavy sighs.

“Finally. Thought you were gonna work us until we died.” The one chucklefuck said, helping his brother climb out of the hole.

“Yeah, what… what he said…” After a few seconds, he decided to ask what’s been on their mind the entire time.

“So what’s this hole for, anyway?” Abbandando smirked.

“It’s yours.” He said, whipping out one of his pistols and shooting a prisoner in the head, causing him to flop backwards into the hole. Before his brother could even scream, the captain pulled his other pistol and there was now a golf ball sized hole in his chest.

The captain looked to his guards. “Make sure they’re dead.”

The guards whipped out their pistols and finished the job.

“Well that’s got it done. Let’s toss some dirt on ‘em and call it a day. First beer’s on me tonight.”

---

Not sure where he got the idea to make ‘em dig their own graves, but I wasn’t complaining. Work smarter, not harder I always say. Nothing beats the smell of regicide in the morning; Except quicklime, of course.

Meanwhile, my wife and I were doing the QnA- and lemme tell you, it was a shitshow. Obviously, this is an inefficient system for dealing with the public. Equestria’s way of doing things is a similar disaster- where Celestia/Twilight would hold court most of the week and delegate all the administrative tasks.

We’re gonna be doing things differently. A couple days into my rule, I had the castle staff start vetting the questions, to make sure they hadn’t been answered already. They would also answer questions as best as they could, and would only send people to my office when absolutely necessary.

Yeah, I abandoned the throne room. It just doesn’t match my vibe- it’s too big and echoey. I prefer a desk and an office chair in a smoky, dimly lit room. That’s my style.

So as an example, I’m gonna show you how I resolved a particular problem. At this point, I’ve only been in my role for a month- and I already hired Roscoe as the captain of my Enforcers; a sort of secret police that could operate independently from the courts of law. This way, things seem relatively legit on the surface and if any of my enforcers or… associates get into shit, I can easily make their charges… go away.

So anyways- this guy didn’t have a question. He had a request. I was sitting in my office, with my wife, Roscoe, and Abbandando. It was a relatively small room, but it was perfect for what I needed it for. I even adopted a cat- an orange tabby cat which somehow got into the castle. It sat on my lap and I idly played with it, and it purred like a truck. I named him Corleone.

I got a sense of deja-vu from it. He was a wealthy businessman, and quite successful, too.

“I believe in the Syndicate. She has made my fortune- and I’ve raised my daughter in the Fertilian way.” I could tell by his accent that he was a Northumbrian. “She found a boyfriend- and I could never be too strict with her. They’d stay out late, go to the movies, and you know, I never had a problem with that!” The cat rolled onto its back and started playfully swatting at my hand.

The guy continued- “A few months ago, they went out on the town- with another friend.” His voice was growing soft, “They got drunk… And they…” He grit his beak and turned his head, sniffling. Abbandando poured him a shot- which he seemed grateful for. “Well, she fought back- the way I always taught her to… and then…” I could tell he was trying to hold it together, so I kept my beak shut. “They beat her, mercilessly. When I got to the hospital- her beak was shattered, covered in plaster. She couldn’t even cry because of the pain…” He sniffled, taking a sip of whiskey.

After a few moments to recollect himself, he continued- “I… I went to the police. These boys went to trial last week, the judge sentenced them to three years… then suspended the sentence! I stood in that courtroom like… like an idiot! And those two mutts smiled at me!” He gave me a wide smirk. “I turned to my wife and said- For justice… we must go to Don Grimfeather.”

Did I mention this man is in charge of the largest gunpowder factory in Fertilia? He wasn’t just a nobody.

Upon hearing about the girl's shattered beak, I idly rubbed the scar on my own beak. “Why didn’t you come to me first?” He blinked at me in confusion.

“I thought it necessary to follow the courts of law. I thought they’d protect me.” He glanced to the side and practically begged, “Please, I will give you anything you want! Just… just do me this one request.”

I knew damn well what the request was- so I motioned for him to tell me. He slowly got up, and leaned over my desk, and whispered- I want them dead.

He sat back down and I scratched my cheek. I shook my head. “That, I cannot do.”

The pleading look never left his eyes. “I will give you whatever you ask for. Anything.”

I just chuckled under my breath. “We’ve known each other for… what, almost two years now? And this is the first time you’ve ever come to me for a favor. I can’t even remember the last time we’ve sat down and talked over coffee- even though I made your fortune by giving you that loan.” I had a warm smile on my face. He seemed to nervously swallow spit. “You never wanted my friendship- you were afraid of getting too into my debt.”

After a few seconds of sweat dripping down his forehead, he said- “I-I didn’t want to get in trouble…” I just snorted.

“I understand. You had a good job, lived a good life. Police would protect you and you didn’t need a friend like me.” I was scratching Corleone’s chin, which he seemed to love. “But ehh… now you come to me and ask, Don Grimfeather, give me justice.” My smile fell, and once again, he gulped nervously. “But you don’t ask me with respect. You don’t offer friendship. You don’t even think to call me Godmother.”

My smirk returned, and I gestured around the room- “You come into my house, on my birthday of all days, and ask me to do murder… for money.”

He leaned into my desk, lowering his head and putting his hands together. “Please… I ask for justice.”

“That is not justice. You’re daughter’s still alive, right?” He snorted and turned his head, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“Let them suffer, then! I want them to feel what she feels every time she looks into the mirror.” Forever conscious of the scar on my beak, I could sympathize.

I took the cat off my lap and set it on my desk, rising to my full height. I was just an eyeball taller than him. “Shirokov… Shirokov… What have I ever done, to make you treat me with such disrespect?” I took a step closer, and he seemed to shrink under my gaze. “If you came to me in friendship, then the mutts who hurt your daughter would be suffering as we speak.”

I looked him in the eyes and said, “And if an honest man like yourself should find enemies, they would become my enemies.” I pointed a finger to his chest to drive the point home. “And then they will fear you.”

After a few seconds of shaky breathing, he lowered his head but never broke eye contact. “Then… w-will you be my friend?” I just shrugged. “G-Godmother.” He bowed slowly, and I held my hand out- which he took, gently kissing the back of it. He rose and I smiled.

“Good man, good man.” I turned and put an arm around his back, my wooden leg tapping the ground. “One of these days, and it may never happen, I’ll call upon you for a favor.” I gave him a warm smile, which seemed to ease his nerves. “But until then, enjoy this favor as a gift of friendship.”

He let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Th-thank you, Godmother.” I simply nodded and let him be ushered out. I turned to Roscoe and said-

“Get some of your guys together. You know what to do.” He simply nodded.

But before we get back to my birthday- I bet you’re wondering how I got Roscoe in on this- you know, the goody two-shoes local sheriff, to be head of my above the law secret police.

Well you see, the justice system isn’t perfect. It’s impossible for it to be perfect, as it requires honest griffons across the board for it to work. You know- some crime bosses get so powerful that they can pay off all the juries and courts and basically do whatever they want.

The whole point of the secret police is to keep fuckers like that in line. To get to someone who’s above the law, you need people who can act independently above the law. But first- I had to touch bases with a certain part of society that would rather stay out of the light.

---

It was a couple weeks ago- Adrian was just getting out of the hospital and Roscoe finally returned to his home city of Sunnyvale for a leave. It was a mid-sized city, big enough that organized crime had just enough room to flourish.

Anyways, Ross invited us out for drinks- our first time getting together since the last battle, since Sinan and the Twins were still helping with the campaigns. We were in a little bar on the outskirts of town- just private enough that we wouldn’t be getting stormed the entire time.

I greeted Adrian outside the place with a hug- we were waiting on Roscoe, so we decided to go in and take our seats.

“You look like shit.” I said with a grin as we made our way to the bar. His injuries were much worse than mine- a couple broken ribs and his other wing was completely crushed, so it had to be amputated. He wore a coat over the nubs, and he still wore that eyepatch, which partially covered up several scars from chemical burns on that side of his face.

He just snorted back laughter. “You’re welcome.” Of course- he knew I was breakin’ his balls.

“Seriously, I owe you, big time. Drinks are on me.” We took our seats at the bar and ordered our drinks, “Hold on, this is supposed to be the part where you’re like oh no, I could never let you take the tab.”

He smirked and gave me the finger. Faint jazz music played in the background and there was a nearby company- some guy in a suit with a couple buddies of his. I thought nothing of it at the time.

“Sorry I’m late, fellas!” Roscoe announced his entrance, and we both turned to greet him with open arms. A couple quick friendly hugs were exchanged, and just as Roscoe was about to take his seat, suit guy spoke up.

“Hold on, is that Sheriff Roscoe over there?” He yelled, and my friend rolled his eyes.

“Hey, Tony Hazard! It’s been a minute, huh?” He greeted him like an old friend, going over and exchanging a quick hug. “You been keepin’ the peace?” Tony patted him on the shoulder,

“Oh, always!” he responded, and Roscoe forced a chuckle.

“Well, take care, now. I’ll leave y’all to it.” He tried to turn around, but Joe’s smile fell.

“And what about that money you owe me?” my friend's head fell.

“I’ll have it for you soon.”

“Yeah, you better.” was his only response, before going back to his drink.

When Roscoe sat down, I whispered- “The fuck was that?”

He began to explain. Basically, there used to be a much worse crime boss in this town. This guy took over and became a local hero, untouchable by the law due to popular demand. He had most of the cops in his pocket and the ones that didn't, he threatened violence against.

So I came up with a plan- I whispered it into my friends ears and they both agreed with wide grins. We were gonna get these bastards in line.

Calmly, we all sat up and joined the other group, sitting opposite of them. They all shared nervous glances amongst themselves, and Batty asked- “The fuck do you want?”

“Let me be frank with you.” I said calmly, a smug grin on my face. “Under this table is a gun pointed right at your balls. Multiple, in fact.” Their eyes widened, unsure of what to do.

Adrian spoke up. “First off- this guy here? Doesn’t owe you a damn thing. Are we clear?” The boss nodded his head. “Good.”

“Second thing is, I’d like to request a meeting.” I said, calmly setting my pistol on the table. “Let’s keep it civil.”

And so, I had a meeting set up. Important griffons from all over the Confederacy would be meeting here, so I had to… put on a show. It was like Apalachin all over again- All the bosses gathered together in this tiny village out in the middle of nowhere, meeting up in this guy's mansion. Even down to all the fancy carriages parked outside and everything.

The place was swarmed and surrounded by my guys, and I had a captive audience.

“Now, I know as I speak, you’re all planning to have me killed.” I looked around, and some of them seemed impressed. “First of all, I know for a fact that you’re all a bunch of high ranking bosses in charge of a criminal empire. But I also know that many of you serve your community- The people pay you tribute, and you make sure they don’t get fucked over.”

And that was the truth. That’s what the FBI never understood back home. These weren’t just criminals, they were businessmen. They understood that in order to keep the money rolling, they had to protect their people in ways the cops never could. That’s why so many of them dealt with the unions- they were making fuckin’ bookoo bucks off it. They get cuts from all the business, and all they have to do is make sure the workers get treated fairly.

A company wants to lower wages? Scare ‘em with a strike. They still insist? Send someone to beat the shit out of ‘em. Either way, the worker is the bottom line winner here.

So, the deal I made with them was simple; start paying me tribute… er, taxes, I guess- and I’ll make sure business stays profitable. If problems arose, I’d deal with it. Police breakin’ your balls? I am the fuckin’ police. Friend got pinched? I gotchu, as long as you keep paying me. It was a beautiful system- I could be at the top, delegating my orders as the boss, everyone is making money, the people are happy…

There were some ground rules, though. “No drugs.” I told ‘em. “Drugs are a dirty business, and will destroy this great nation I’m building in the long run. Gambling, booze… even women. It’s all harmless vice, way I see it.” I was standing before the crowd, with Roscoe at my side.

One of the guys piped up and asked “But what about pot? No one gets stoned and sells off their kids, you know?”

I couldn’t help but snort. “Nah, I plan on taxing that stuff like booze. It’ll be sold in the same state stores as liquor, actually.” Of course, they’d deal with the production- if not them, it’ll be someone else.

“But be warned. If this dirty drug business continues, there will be major consequences for those involved. My friend here, he’s a cowboy. He doesn’t need any search warrants, and you forfeited your right to due process when I found out you were peddlin’ junk.” Already, I made sure his family was well protected- even had them move to Featherworth. “So basically, if your name winds up on a list? Don’t be surprised if you wake up with a pair of concrete shoes.”

And that was that. I let them continue with their business, and as long as I got a cut, I’d help with whatever they needed. They didn’t have to deal with the police as often, I made money off ‘em, it was great!

As for the police themselves? All it took was changing who signed their paychecks to change their loyalties. Like a pig, it’s necessary to throw ‘em some refuse to keep ‘em happy. Cops are little more than hired thugs anyway- might as well be honest about it.

Of course, I wouldn’t just let anything slide. You fall out of line, you get whacked. That’s how it is. It’s one thing to murder some guy in the dead of night and bury the corpse in a field- but committing a murder in broad daylight, especially a civilian? That’s bad publicity, and begging to be made an example of.

Like the time the new “maniac tough guy” in town, Johnny the Hat, burned down a rival bar and started a massive fire. Killed a few people and hurt a few more, the fucker. It was him and two other guys that did it- and the people wanted names.

So we “arrested” the bastard. And to be honest? I had to be impressed with this fuckin’ guy. He was the toughest SOB I ever met. It was wild- for two days and two fuckin’ nights, we beat the shit outta this guy; we even stuck sewing needles in his balls.

“Better hope he gives us a name, or I’m gonna give ‘em yours, Adrian.” I said with a chuckle. There was a table with a vise on the end- so Ross and Adrian were tying him down, putting his head in the vise that hung off the end.

“Can you hear me? Listen to me, John.” I glared at him, his eyes full of defiance. “I got your fuckin’ head in a vise and I’m gonna squash it like a roach if you don’t give me a name.” He struggled vainly, “Don’t make me have to do this.”

He looked at me with a smirk… and spat some blood in my face. I just groaned in annoyance, wiping the blood off my beak and slumping my shoulders.

“Can you believe this fuckin’ guy?” I said to my friends. “Two fuckin’ days and nights…” I turned to him with utter hatred in my eyes, “Fucks sakes, fuck me, you muthafucker!” I started cranking the vise and he couldn’t even scream. I kept idly cussing him out as I cranked the device, causing his eyeball to pop out.

“You wanna talk now, fucko!?” I leaned closer to his face,

“Ch-Charlie M!” his voice was faint, and I felt my blood pressure spike. I was… a bit upset.

“Charlie M?” I said incredulously, “You mean to tell me I had to pop your eye out to protect that piece of shit!? Charlie M!?” I started walking away, but not before telling Roscoe to do him a favor.

It felt fuckin’ fantastic beating the shit outta some bastard that really deserved it.

---

But anyways, that’s about how things worked. You had the small, local governments, usually run by a mayor. Small cities, you had all the police and the courts- but you also had the wiseguys, who took orders from their boss. The boss collects tribute, and makes sure the greaseballs stay in line.

Further up the chain, you had the courts of law, which played a similar purpose to the Commission- which is a group of the most powerful bosses in the country. They were the ones that handed up names to add to the list, and made sure to keep everyone below them in check. And at the very top of the chain, you had my wife and I. My wife would deal with the more legitimate business deals with my assistance, and I worked on containing the underground.

It was a beautiful system- the only caveat was that you either played ball… or your name winds up on a list.

But anyways- you may be wondering why I didn’t just use the parasite to get the answer out of that guy earlier. Well you see, last time I used it was to find out who gave the dynamite to Shattered Jewels. I was interrogating him like I normally would- next thing you know, I woke up on a cot, surrounded by doctors. We were already in a medical tent, thank fuck- Jewels was having… complications after they sewed his bag back up.

They told me I had a grand-mal seizure- the last thing I remembered was an intense feeling of vertigo after I got a mental image of the culprit. Doc said I fell to the floor and was convulsing for a few minutes before I passed out and apparently pissed myself.

After hearing about that embarrassment, I decided then and there that I couldn’t rely on my tongue anymore. It’s a shame, too- it was instrumental in the initial war effort. The fact that I could extract 100% accurate information 100% of the time was fantastic- but whatever.

Besides- better than risking a brain hemorrhage. Doctors wanted to run more tests, but I said nah- I got shit to do.

But still, I had enough information to figure out who gave them the dynamite. After all- how could I forget the faces of Flim and Flam? As soon as I remembered their names, I had someone help me sketch out the wanted posters. You’ve heard of Wanted, Dead or Alive… This poster says Wanted Alive but Brutally Beaten First.

Okay, it doesn’t actually say that… but everyone knows it’s implied. Those fuckers took my leg, Adrian’s wings, and god knows what else. Equestria may be too timid to properly deal with those snake oil selling frauds… but the Syndicate has its own policy for dealing with recidivism.

But before I could do any of this? Before anything else happened? I had to get rid of the King.

---

Let me tell you, the turnout for the event? Fuckin’ massive! Griffons from all over Fertilia showed up to watch the king die. He was being paraded through the street on a wagon with a large cage atop- the kind used for transporting criminals. Evidently, the Caesar of Catlus made the right choice.

I, myself, was waiting in the field outside the city with a massive crowd watching.

The carriage was parked in front of the large crowd, where there were microphones set up. The king glared at me- and I smirked.

“You traitorous bitch! Do you know how much I’ve done for you!?” I laughed in his face-

“Hey, you can call me anything you like. Queen, Empress, Consul, Godmother, Don, Bitch, it doesn’t matter. I’ve already won.”

He growled at me, “What do you think you are doing here!? The throne is mine! It is my birthright! And who are you to think you are even the slightest bit worthy of my throne?” I couldn’t help but snort.

“What am I doing here? The fuck you mean, what’re you doin’ here? I thought I told you to go fuck your mother!” That phrase was broadcast over the radio once more, causing shouts of go fuck your mother! To erupt from the crowd.

“NOW YOU LISTEN HERE YOU WENCH! RELEASE ME NOW, AND YOUR DEATH WILL BE SWIFT, KNAVE!” He screamed… before pathetically erupting into a coughing fit which caused him to double over.

“You and what fuckin’ army?” I asked, glaring at him. “Face the facts- you're done. It's over for you. The people don’t want you anymore- that’s all there is to it.” He scoffed at me.

“Do you think I give a singular shit about what the people want? They’re nothing but a bunch of brainwashed idiots who don’t know what’s best for them. They’ve forgotten their purpose!” he yelled, and I could physically feel my approval rating going up.

“What do you think is best for them? What is their purpose?” I asked, smugly.

“To serve me and to serve the state! The individual has no use beyond their use to the state. I protect them and they worship me- that’s how it is, and that’s how it always will be!” I thought to myself, that may be true- but you don’t just say that out loud! I turned and spoke into the mic-

“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve heard it here. That’s what he thinks, eh? Well, you know what I have to say to that?” I had a smug grin still, and the king glared fiercely. “In accordance with the will of the people, I hereby strip the titles of all nobility within the former region of Fertilia. All property owned by these cretins is now under sole ownership by the Griffonian Syndicate, and its people. With this edict, loyalists and those who benefited most from the old regime are being hunted down and executed as we speak.” I turned and whispered to the king- Even your cousin.

His look of bravado fell rapidly after that. “Tacitus Grover the Fourteenth… You are accused of using your position as King to plot against all of griffonkind with the goal of forwarding the interests of foreign powers-” But, I was interrupted.

“Foreign powers? Who, the fucking Zebras?!”

“…ahem. You are accused of treason and anti-Griffon behavior. On behalf of the people of the Griffonian Syndicate… I sentence you to death via a 500 gun firing squad.” His breathing seemed to intensify, and he was shaking his head. Apparently, it finally dawned on him how fucked he was.

“W-wait, please, I-I can be r-reasonable!” He begged for his life pathetically, and I laughed heartily. “Please, I-I don’t want to die!”

“Have you looked in the mirror, lately? You only had like, a week left in you, tops.” were my last words to him before I walked away calmly. Operators worked quickly to move all the recording equipment out of the way- lest it all get shot to hell.

The king sat in his cage dejectedly as the firing squad got ready. It was beautiful- rows of 20 soldiers lined up in 25 rows. As soon as one row fired their volley, they would move out of the way of the next row.

The thunder of volley fire drowned out the cheering and applause only briefly, and I was using a monocular telescope to get a good view of the action. The king twitched pathetically on the bottom of the cart, and the next row fired their volley.

And so on and so forth until the king's body was a pile of mushy gore and shattered bones. Surprisingly, the face was still somewhat recognizable… so I had them reload and try again. The crowd wanted an encore, what can I say? This morning, I set out to answer how many bullets it takes to render someone unrecognizable.

As it turns out- more than 500, but less than 1000. Neat.

---

The other nations of the confederacy weren’t happy about my treatment of the old royal family… so I signed an NAP agreement. One which I would definitely follow to a T, and I definitely will not use hired men to sabotage their supply lines, make them look incompetent, and force them to submit to my will, no sirree.

Them and what fuckin' army, you know?

All in due time, though. Let me tell you- this past month has been so wild, I decided I had to take the day off for my birthday… which I planned to do, anyway. After the Shirokov meeting, the rest of my day was free. Adrian, Roscoe, my wife, and I were there- Sinan and the Twins were still at the front… though admittedly, there wasn’t a whole lotta combat going on. We were eating a fancy dinner that night, and everyone had strict orders to leave me the fuck alone.

So when one of my servants came in and said that these guests insisted, I was quite pissed… until I realized who was here.

“MAMMA!” I yelled, nearly jumping over the table to greet her with a hug. I was so excited to see her, that I didn’t even notice who was entering with her.

“Mother!?” My wife yelled, and my eyes shot open. Who else? Who else but my fucking in-laws? I glared at my mother in-law... and she glared right back like I didn't fucking own the joint.

Fucks sake.

That's how mafia works, baybeeeee

I have a discord server for this fic out now!! It'd be real cool if u joined :333

As always- thanks for reading! Likes and comments are always appreciated :3