If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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As he finalized the tactical diagrams and casualty projections in his mind, ensuring the plan was airtight enough to pass Bronte's scrutiny but fatal enough to serve his own ends, a soft knock came at the parlor door.
"Enter," Caleb called out.
Giuseppe pushed a silver cart into the room, covered with a white linen cloth.
"Lunch is served, Signor McLaughlin," the cook said proudly, lifting the cloche to reveal the meal.
He had prepared a feast fit for an Underboss, a perfectly seared venison medallion drizzled in a rich red wine reduction, accompanied by roasted root vegetables and a bowl of creamy, garlic infused risotto. Beside it sat a crystal glass and an expensive, dusty bottle of imported Chianti that Guido had been saving for a special occasion.
"Thank you, Giuseppe," Caleb said, genuinely impressed. "This looks excellent."
The cook beamed, bowing deeply before retreating from the room.
As he made the plan, Caleb enjoyed his time in the parlor, eating the incredibly fancy foods and drinking the fine wine. The venison was tender, the risotto perfectly balanced. He looked around the opulent room, the heavy oak furniture, the expensive paintings, and the crackling fire in the hearth.
He had a system that made him practically a god among men, a fortune in his inventory, a gang safe and hidden in the west, and the entire criminal underworld of Saint Denis dancing on the strings he pulled.
Caleb took another sip of the Chianti, looking down at the map of Annesburg.
At this time, Lorenzo appeared to announce that a stable boy had been hired, a young man named Marco, eager and capable, Caleb simply nodded and instructed that Morgan be given her apples immediately.
"She will demand them," Caleb said. "And she will know if you try to skimp."
Giuseppe looked slightly bewildered but nodded and withdrew.
Finally, as the sun began its descent toward the horizon, Caleb leaned back in his chair. The plan was complete. Detailed. Brilliant. And utterly, completely designed to serve his purposes while appearing to serve Bronte's.
He changed into a fresh suit, another one from Bronte's tailor, checked his revolvers, and walked out to the courtyard. Marco had Morgan saddled and waiting, the horse looking thoroughly pleased with herself.
"Good boy," Caleb told Marco, pressing a ten dollar bill into his hand. "Keep this up and you'll do fine."
Marco beamed. "Thank you, Signor McLaughlin!"
Caleb mounted Morgan and rode toward Bronte's mansion, the papers for the Annesburg plan tucked safely in his jacket. The city was beautiful in the evening light, the gas lamps beginning to flicker to life, the crowds thinning as workers headed home.
"You smell like some meat," Morgan observed as they rode.
"I ate a venison."
"What's that, I didn't get any venison."
"You got apples. Multiple apples. Don't push your luck."
She snorted, but it was a fond sound.
Bronte's mansion loomed ahead, its windows blazing with light. The guards waved him through, their respect evident. Caleb dismounted, handed Morgan to a stable hand with a pointed look, and walked toward the doors.
In the door, Bronte's butler was already waiting with the open door, standing at rigid attention. As Caleb stepped onto the threshold, the older man bowed deeply. He greeted Caleb with much more respect than he had ever given to him previously. The shift in demeanor was palpable, there was no longer the faint show respect but full blown one.
"Signor McLaughlin," the butler said, his voice warm with respect. "Welcome. The Don is expecting you."
After all, now the famous bounty hunter McLaughlin was the official Underboss of the Italian mob family, the second most powerful man in Saint Denis.
Caleb smiled, returning the greeting with a nod. "Thank you. Where is the meeting being held tonight by the boss?"
The butler straightened up and responded by saying that the meeting will be held at the backyard of the mansion. "I have been ordered to put huge tables, chairs, and some refreshments ass well to be there for the evening, Signor," the butler explained softly.
Caleb's high Perception stat flared instantly, catching the specific phrasing. He immediately noticed that the word 'chair' was with an 's', meaning there's more than two. If it was just a private sit down between the Don and his new Underboss, the butler would have only said 'two chairs' or simply 'a table for you both'. And so, Caleb paused, "The meeting isn't only between myself and the Don, then?"
The butler nodded his head and says, "Yes, Signor. There are several high ranking capos and elite made men present as well for the meeting. Important figures in the family. The Don wishes them to meet you formally, and also specifically invited by Signor Bronte to hear your counsel."
Caleb nodded his head, thinking that over rapidly. Bronte was putting him on display, letting the men see their new commander in action.
His mind already adjusting. More players meant more variables, but also more opportunities. He could use this to build relationships, to identify potential allies, and to spot those who might need to be... managed.
"Thank you," Caleb said, thanking the butler for the information he gave. It was always better to walk into a room knowing exactly how many pieces were on the board.
"This way, please."
The two of them then walked toward the backdoor, moving through the opulent, echoing hallways of the mansion. The butler, after escorting Caleb to the back terrace, stopped at the threshold.
Caleb looked out and saw a massive, long oak table and heavy wooden chairs around it, which was put in the middle of the courtyard. Bronte and his men were already there, gathered beneath the warm, flickering glow of strung gas lamps and the humid evening sky. The butler bowed once more, went back inside, and closed the glass doors.
Caleb walked down the stone stairs to go to the table. The courtyard was lush with imported flora, the smell of night blooming jasmine mixing with the heavy scent of premium cigar smoke.
Bronte, who was drinking a dark red wine and eating a small piece of aged cheese while conversing animatedly with his capos and made men, saw Caleb descending the stairs. He immediately stopped his conversation. He greeted him with a big, theatrical smile, putting down his silver fork and spreading his hands wide in a welcoming embrace.
Saying with his thick Italian accent, and peppering Italian words into his speech, Bronte called out loudly, "Guardate questo, tutti! Look at this everyone, the Underboss finally arrived! McLaughlin, amico mio, you are a bit late compared to usual."
Caleb hearing that let out a smooth, practiced smile. His max level Persuasion and Acting Skill was already toggled on, radiating an aura of calm, unshakeable authority and charming humility.
He approached the head of the table and responded by saying, "Sorry for being late, boss. I actually handled the staffs of the mansion, getting Guido's old affairs in order, and then I went straight to my study to make a plan on bringing the battle to Cornwall. I got so caught up in the logistics of it, I almost forgot the time. I apologize for being late."
Hearing that, Bronte let out a booming, delighted laugh that echoed off the courtyard walls. He turned before then saying to his capos and made men, "Look here! Ascoltate! This is how a man of this family should be, especially as an Underboss. Having a high ranking doesn't mean resting on your laurels and not thinking of the plan, letting his men do all the thinking. No! He works! This is what all of you, and including myself as well, should learn from the new Underboss. Dedication!"
All of the capos and made men hearing that gave out their loud murmurs of agreement and also clapped their hands to give their appreciation to Caleb.
Whether the applause was real or fake, only themselves and Caleb, with his incredibly high Perception stats reading their micro expressions, the tightening of their jaws, and the shifting of their eyes, knew the truth.
Some were genuinely impresse, others were merely surviving the new political climate. It didn't matter to Caleb. Fear and respect looked identical from a distance. He filed those observations away for future reference.
Bronte then brought Caleb forward, gesturing for him to stand and sit beside him at the head of the table. Where Caleb sat, in front of him there was a crystal glass already filled with expensive vintage wine and also a silver plate of sharp cheese and fresh grapes.
Bronte then says, since everyone is already present, he tells them to sit down. "Sedetevi!" Bronte commanded, waving his hand, and the dozen mobsters immediately took their seats around the long table, the scraping of heavy wooden chairs filling the courtyard.
Bronte raised his glass. "Tonight, we plan our own strike. McLaughlin, I want you to lead the meeting for tonight, and also present your plan. Before then, myself, the capos, and the made men could present a plan they made, or give their opinions or suggestions on the one Caleb made. The floor is yours, Signor McLaughlin."
So that is exactly what was being done. Caleb took his time. He projected absolute control. After taking a slow sip of the wine, letting the rich vintage coat his tongue, and eating a small piece of the cheese to clear his palate, he set his glass down. Before then, standing up, he said, "Of course, boss. Then let me begin the meeting."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out the rolled up map of Annesburg and the surrounding Roanoke Ridge territory which he took from Guido's or his mansion parlor, spreading it flat over the center of the table. He weighed the corners down with the wine glasses and a silver candlestick.
And so, Caleb created a long, mesmerizing scene where he explained his plan. With his max level Persuasion and Acting Skill working in overdrive, his voice took on a hypnotic, authoritative cadence. He spoke not just as a tactician, but as a visionary leading them to absolute victory.
"Leviticus Cornwall is bleeding," Caleb began, tapping the map. "We hurt him at the docks. We embarrassed him in front of the city. But Cornwall is a man of industry. As long as his wallet is full, he will keep hiring Pinkertons and mercenaries to throw at us. We cannot fight a defensive war forever. To kill a beast like Cornwall, you don't chop off its claws. You cut its throat. And his throat is here."
Caleb pointed a finger directly at the blackened stain on the map that represented Annesburg.
"The Annesburg coal mines," Caleb explained, his eyes sweeping across the rapt faces of the capos. "It is the beating heart of his northern operations. The coal fuels his trains, his factories, his steamboats. If we destroy the main shafts and cripple the sorting facility, we don't just cost him tens of thousands of dollars. We cost him hundreds of thosuandsin operational delays. His investors will panic. His stock will plummet. He will be completely ruined."
Bronte leaned forward, his eyes shining with pure greed and malice. "Bellissimo..." he whispered.
"But Annesburg is heavily guarded," Caleb continued, pacing slowly behind his chair. "What's left of the Pinkertons patrol the perimeters, and Cornwall's private guards hold the high ground. A frontal assault would be suicide. So, we do not give them a frontal assault. We give them a ghost."
Caleb traced a route through the Roanoke Ridge wilderness. "We send our capos, made men, and soldiers, the best of the best, through the Kamassa River gorge at night. We will split into two teams. Team Alpha, led by myself, will infiltrate the eastern sorting facility and plant dynamite charges on the main steam engines. Team Beta will move to the upper mine shafts and rig the supports."
He paused, letting his Persuasion skill weave its magic. He pitched his voice to sound fiercely loyal, tapping into their mob pride. "When the charges blow, the Pinkertons will scramble to the fires. It will be chaos. Absolute panic. In that confusion, our men will catch them in a devastating crossfire from the tree lines. We shoot them while they try to put out the flames. We burn his empire to ash, and we disappear into the woods before the law even knows what hit them."
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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: 3,322 dollars and 60 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: -