If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
...
(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
He was enjoying dinner, a plate of roasted quail and truffles, while having a premium tobacco cigar smoking gently in an ashtray beside his wine glass. When Caleb enters the dining room after the butler told Bronte of his arrival, Bronte immediately stood up.
"Ah, Signor McLaughlin!" Bronte greeted Caleb back, his voice echoing slightly in the large room. His Italian accents were thick, and he threw in a couple of Italian words which he inserted here and there in his conversations. "Benvenuto! Welcome back. Come, sit. You look like a man who has been busy."
Caleb returned the greeting, walking toward the table but declining to sit. He wanted to maintain the physical high ground for a moment longer.
"I have been," Caleb said, his voice flat and businesslike. "I have taken care of the traditore, Guido Martelli."
He lifted the singed leather valise and tossed it onto the pristine white tablecloth. It landed with a heavy thud next to Bronte's wine glass.
"And," Caleb added, "I brought back the operational ledgers he have with him."
Bronte, hearing that, was surprised. His eyes widened as he looked from the bag to Caleb. "Oh! So fast?" Bronte exclaimed, genuinely shocked. "I didn't expect that you, McLaughlin, would already track down Guido so fast. The man knew the swamps better than the gators."
Caleb just smiled, a cold, predatory expression. "I am in the profession of bounty hunting for a reason, Mr. Bronte. Tracking men who don't want to be found is what I do. And I have done many things much more difficult compared to this. So, Mr. Bronte shouldn't have been surprised."
Bronte, hearing that, nodded his head slowly, absorbing the reality of the man standing before him. He was dealing with an apex predator, not just a hired gun.
"That is true," Bronte conceded. "I underestimated your... efficiency."
Bronte reached out and opened the bag. He pulled out one of the ledgers, adjusting his reading glasses, before reading the ledgers. His eyes scanned the pages, his lips moving silently as he recognized the names, the numbers, and the specific codes Guido used.
Seeing the information inside, he knew this belonged to Guido privately. There was no mistaking Martelli's meticulous, paranoid handwriting.
And since it's already in Caleb's hand, then Guido was truly dead. Martelli would never part with these books while he still drew breath.
Bronte put down the ledgers, closing the book with a definitive snap. He looked up at Caleb, a new light of respect, and perhaps a flicker of fear, in his eyes.
"You have done great work, McLaughlin," Bronte said, his tone turning serious, almost reverent. "Clearing out a rat like Guido is a fantastic work for the family. In this family, la famiglia, we have to trust in each other and the oath we swore to. Guido broke that oath."
Bronte walked around the table, approaching Caleb. He didn't offer a hug or a kiss on the cheek, he recognized Caleb wasn't that kind of man. Instead, he offered a firm handshake. Caleb took it.
"And like I have said before you leave this morning," Bronte continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial level, "we should now discuss your new position as the underboss of this family."
Bronte released Caleb's hand and gestured to the empty chair to his right, the seat traditionally held by the second in command.
"Sit, please," Bronte urged.
Caleb sat, pulling the heavy chair out and settling into it. He placed his hat on the table beside the ledgers.
"As underboss," Bronte began, pacing slightly behind his own chair, "you will be inheriting the estate that Guido have in the city. His mansion on the north side of the city, his personal carriages, his immediate staff. It is only fitting."
Caleb nodded. A mansion in the city would be an excellent front, much better than a rented room at the Bastille, though he intended to keep the room as a safehouse.
"However," Bronte paused, stopping his pacing to look Caleb in the eye. He was a businessman first, after all. "Of course, you have to pay some amount of money as taxes for the family from the wealth you will inherit from Guido's business and inside his estate. It is the cost of doing business, the cost of the transition. A tithe to the Don, to ensure the continued strength of our organization."
Caleb kept his face perfectly neutral, masking the amusement bubbling inside him. Bronte was asking for a cut of Guido's wealth. Some wealth that Caleb had already safely deposited into a dimensional inventory that Bronte couldn't even comprehend, let alone access.
"Taxes," Caleb repeated, testing the word.
"Yes," Bronte said, misinterpreting Caleb's flat tone as reluctance. "It is standard. Ten percent of the liquid assets found in his estate, and a twenty percent share of the ongoing profits from the rackets listed in those ledgers."
Caleb looked at the ledgers. The rackets listed there were nickel and dime operations compared to the 75,000 dollars he had already pocketed. Paying Bronte a percentage of the street level extortions was a small price to maintain the illusion of subservience.
"That seems... fair, Mr. Bronte," Caleb said, activating his Persuasion Skill to sound entirely sincere and compliant. "I am a man of order. The family comes first. Whatever liquid assets are found in his home, you will have your ten percent. And the rackets will be restructured to ensure the family gets its due."
Bronte smiled, a greasy, satisfied expression. "Excellent. I knew you were a man of reason, McLaughlin. Guido was always trying to hide pennies from me. But you... you see the big picture."
"I do," Caleb agreed. "The big picture is all that matters."
"Then it is settled," Bronte declared, clapping his hands. "Butler! Bring another plate! And a fresh bottle of the Barolo! We celebrate tonight. The rat is dead, and the wolf has taken his place."
As the butler scrambled to fulfill the orders, Bronte sat back down at the head of the table, looking incredibly pleased with himself. He believed he had traded a treacherous, ambitious underboss for a highly lethal, compliant weapon who didn't care about mob politics.
Caleb accepted the glass of expensive red wine when it was poured. He held it up, catching the light of the chandelier.
"To the family," Caleb toasted, his voice smooth.
"To la famiglia," Bronte echoed, drinking deeply.
As the rich wine coated his throat, Caleb looked around the opulent dining room. He was now the second most powerful criminal in Saint Denis.
He had access to Bronte's men, his resources, and his intelligence network. He had a hidden tavern gathering street rumors, and a dimensional pocket full of stolen wealth.
The elevation to Underboss wasn't the end of the game, it was merely the opening move of the final act.
Bronte was comfortable. He thought the war with Cornwall was nearing guys end with his victory, and he thought his internal house was clean. He was relaxed, unguarded, and completely vulnerable.
'Enjoy the wine, Angelo,' Caleb thought, cutting into a piece of the prime rib the butler placed before him. 'Because soon, I'm going to take the rest of it.'
The wine was exceptional, a deep Barolo that coated the tongue with notes of cherry and oak. Caleb savored it, letting the rich flavor linger as Bronte's butler appeared with a fresh plate.
The butler brought out a steaming plate of roasted quail, the delicate meat surrounded by dark, earthy truffles. The aroma was rich and intoxicating, a stark contrast to the coppery scent of blood Caleb had washed off his hands just an hour prior.
And so they eat together, the clinking of heavy silver against fine china the only sound for a few moments. Then, Bronte speak, his mouth half full, gesturing with his fork.
"Tomorrow," Bronte announced, his Italian accent thick, inserting Italian words here and there as he warmed to his subject. "Domani, Signor McLaughlin, I will announce your new position as the underboss of this family. Right here, at my mansion. Tutti... everyone will be here."
He pointed the fork at Caleb's dust covered duster. "So you better wear an appropriate outfit for tomorrow. No more trail clothes. You must look the part, so that the capos, the made men, and the important soldiers will respect you and acknowledge you as the new underboss of this family. L'abito fa il monaco, the clothes make the man, yes?"
Caleb took a bite of his food. The quail was perfectly cooked, melting on his tongue. He chewed slowly, considering the mob boss's words.
"I understand, Mr. Bronte," Caleb asked him respectfully, putting his fork down. "But what if there are people who wouldn't agree that I succeed Guido and become the new Underboss? Especially those who will be in line for the position if Guido was dead or retiring from this life. Men who have put in years of service. Men who might feel... passed over."
Bronte who heard that chuckles, a wet, dismissive sound. He waved his hand, his diamond rings flashing in the chandelier light.
"Bah! Do not worry about them," Bronte said, taking a sip of his Barolo. "No one will dare to protest openly, my friend. They know my mind, and they know that when I have made a decision, it is come pietra, like stone. Unchangeable. They are cowards, Caleb."
He took a bite of his meal, chewing with satisfaction. "Behind my back, sì, they will talk. They always talk. It is what Italians do, we talk. But to make a move? To challenge my choice?" He shook his head. "They are not so stupid."
Bronte's expression darkened, the jovial host replaced instantly by the ruthless dictator. "But... if they are as stupid as Guido and become a traditore, a traitor... then them and their entire family could be sleeping with the fishes at the river or become meals for the gators at the swamp. They can choose for themselves, eh? It is a simple choice. So don't need to worry, my friend."
And after saying that, he took a bite of his meal again, as if he had just discussed the weather rather than mass murder.
Caleb nodded his head at that, his face an obedient mask. "Okay then, Mr. Bronte. I will trust your judgment."
He paused, then added a layer of necessary ruthlessness to his persona. "But... if those people dared to insult me right in my face or challenge me tomorrow, please forgive me if I am going to teach them a lesson. To not mess with me or disrespect me. I cannot lead if I look weak."
Bronte nodded his head enthusiastically, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "Certo! Of course! Esattamente! That is exactly what you should do, McLaughlin. We are the leaders of this family, you and I. As the bosses, the two of us needed to be strict. We must demand respect."
Bronte leaned in closer. "But at the same time, you must know what and not what to do. We must also have... discernimento. Judgment. We must know when to punish and when to show mercy. So as long as the punishment you gave out aren't too extreme... no shooting capos in my parlor, please... and that it also equal to the disrespect or challenge they gave to you, I will support it. Show them that the new underboss is not a man to be trifled with."
Caleb met Bronte's eyes. "Of course, Mr. Bronte," he said, his voice flat. "I assured him it will be equal."
'An eye for an eye,' Caleb thought. 'And soon, I'll be taking both of yours.'
After that, they finished their meal with lighter conversation, Bronte's opinions on the quality of the wine, stories of his youth in Sicily, complaints about the weather in Saint Denis compared to the Mediterranean.
Caleb listened, nodded, made appropriate noises of interest, all while cataloging every piece of information for future use.
When the plates were cleared, Caleb stood up and took his leave. "I should go. Rest, prepare for tomorrow."
Bronte stood as well, walking him to the door of the dining room. "You have to stay at the Bastille tonight, Caleb," Bronte says to him. "Guido's estate needs to be... cleaned. My men are removing his personal effects as we speak. But don't worry, tomorrow after the announcement, I will have several capos to escort you to Guido's mansion, and you can begin live there. A proper home for a proper underboss."
"That's generous, Mr. Bronte."
"It is deserved." Bronte clasped his shoulder at the door. "Go. Rest. Domani, tutto cambierà. Tomorrow, everything changes."
Caleb nodded his head respectfully. "Thank you, Mr. Bronte. Goodnight."
Before then taking his leave, he walked through the quiet halls of the mansion. The tension from the morning's assassination attempt had vanished, replaced by a smug satisfaction among the guards. The king was dead; long live the new king.
On the outside of the mansion, the humid night air hit Caleb like a wet blanket. Morgan was already waiting for him at the base of the marble steps, looking impatient after the stable boy had brought her there.
Caleb gets on her while patting her on the neck. "The apples were acceptable," she communicated mentally, tossing her mane. "But the boy was too slow with the brush."
"I'll have a word with management," Caleb muttered dryly.
Before then, they ride out of Bronte's mansion gates and ride back to the Bastille.
The city was fully submerged in its nocturnal life. The gas lamps cast long, wavering shadows across the cobblestones, and the sounds of distant music and drunken laughter drifted from the saloons.
Caleb rode at a steady pace, his mind finally allowing itself to decompress.
The adrenaline of the sniper attack, the assault on the swamp house, and the dinner with Bronte all began to crash down on him. When he reached the Bastille, the noise was deafening. Caleb hitched Morgan securely at the post and immediately entered into the saloon.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 2)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 2)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 4)
- Bow (Lvl 3)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 4)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 3)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl 3)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 50x50x50)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl 2)
- Leadership (Lvl 2)
Money: 3,334 dollars and 10 cents
Inventory: 250,992 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 70 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 1 land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 10 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, & 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern
Bank: -