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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After that was done, Caleb stood up, dusting off his knees, profoundly satisfied with the morning's harvest. Suddenly, the heavy mahogany door of the bedroom was knocked by the butler. The knocks were timid, hesitant, clearly carrying the sheer terror of a servant approaching a man who had just violently overthrown the household.
Caleb adjusted his vest, adopting a calm, composed expression, and told him to come inside.
The brass handle turned, and the butler did so, slipping into the room and closing the door softly behind him. The butler looked exhausted, his pristine uniform slightly rumpled, his eyes darting nervously around the room as if expecting to find Bronte's ghost lingering in the corners.
The butler bowed deeply, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. He then asked Caleb, his voice trembling slightly. "Signor McLaughlin... My Don," he stammered, unsure of the proper title but desperately trying to be respectful. "The staff is gathered in the kitchens. They are terrified. They wish to know... will we be cast out into the streets? Or worse?"
Caleb looked at the older man. This was a crucial moment. A Don's power wasn't just built on the men holding the guns, it was built on the quiet, absolute loyalty of the people who cooked his food, poured his wine, and washed his sheets.
With his Leadership Skill now at MAX level, Caleb didn't just project authority, he radiated an overwhelming, magnetic aura of absolute security and benevolent control.
Caleb let out a warm, reassuring smile.
"Tell the staff to breathe easy, Giuseppe," Caleb said, his voice a low, soothing baritone that seemed to instantly wrap the anxious butler in a blanket of calm. "The violence of last night was meant for the old regime, not the people who keep this house breathing. You will all retain your positions. Your wages will be paid on time, and your families will be protected under my name."
Caleb stepped closer, placing a firm, appreciative hand on the butler's shoulder. "Especially you, my friend. The butler who has done such great work for me over the past five days. Without your discretion at the front door, this transition would have been much bloodier."
The butler looked up, tears of profound relief welling in his eyes, the terrifying weight of uncertainty completely evaporating under Caleb's max level Persuasion Skill.
"There is no need to worry of me thinking that you could possibly betray me," Caleb continued, his eyes locking onto the butler's with absolute, unshakeable confidence, utilizing his maxed Persuasion skill to permanently cement the man's loyalty. "Since I know that you wouldn't do such a thing, right? You are a smart man, my friend. You know where the true power lies, and you know how I reward those who stand by me in the dark."
Hearing that, the butler immediately nodded his head in frantic, absolute agreement. The subtle, underlying threat was acknowledged, but it was entirely eclipsed by the overwhelming gratitude he felt. "Yes, Don McLaughlin! I swear it on my life! My absolute loyalty is yours. I will serve this house until my dying breath!"
The butler wept softly and thanked Caleb profusely, bowing again and again.
To which then Caleb raised a hand, gently halting the display of subservience. "I know you will, my friend. Now, dry your eyes and straighten your coat. We have work to do."
Caleb's tone then shifted from comforting to strictly business. He asked the butler to bring him to the cellar where Bronte was being held. He wanted to interrogate the former Don for the rest of his wealth before the former don's mind completely snapped from the trauma of his fall.
"Lead the way," Caleb commanded.
"Right away, Don McLaughlin," Giuseppe replied, his professional composure returning instantly as he pivoted and opened the bedroom doors.
The butler brought Caleb down the grand, sweeping marble staircase, through the immaculate, silent kitchens where the terrified staff quickly bowed their heads in reverence as Caleb passed, and finally down a narrow, descending stone corridor that led deep into the foundations of the estate.
They arrived at the place where the heavy, iron reinforced door of the cellar was guarded by two men. They were normal soldiers of the mob, not the elite capos, but they were the ones who had witnessed the shift in power and were now entirely, fanatically loyal to Caleb.
When they saw Caleb approaching, the two guards immediately stood at rigid attention, snapping their repeating shotguns to their shoulders in a sharp salute. They didn't look at him with the trembling fear they used to reserve for Bronte; they looked at him with the burning, religious awe of men looking at a living legend.
They unlocked the heavy iron deadbolts and opened the door for him without a single word.
Caleb stepped inside the cellar, the heavy door groaning on its hinges. The air down here was thick, damp, and smelled of aged wine, wet stone, and the sharp, unmistakable stench of human fear. The only light came from a single, flickering gas lamp mounted on the brick wall.
Where he saw Angelo Bronte.
The former undisputed king of Saint Denis was a pitiful, agonizing sight. He was disheveled and dirty, his expensive, custom tailored silk suit ruined by soot, wine stains, and the mud of the cellar floor. He was sitting on the cold stone ground, his knees pulled up to his chest, shivering violently despite the humid air of the city above.
When he heard the heavy iron door being opened, Bronte flinched as if struck. He turned his head slowly, his eyes wide, bloodshot, and frantic. And when he saw it was Caleb stepping out of the shadows, looking immaculate and terrifyingly calm in his charcoal suit, the last shred of Bronte's sanity seemed to fracture.
So he scrambled to his feet, his legs weak and shaking. He pressed his back against the damp brick wall, his hands raised defensively, and asked him, his voice trembling uncontrollably, why he had come here.
"McLaughlin... My Underboss..." Bronte stammered, his thick Italian accent slurring with terror. "Have... have you come to finish it? Have you come to put the bullet in my head?"
Caleb, of course, let out a slow, chilling smile. It was a smile completely devoid of warmth, a predator looking at trapped prey. He stepped further into the dim light of the gas lamp, his boots clicking softly on the stone floor.
And says, "No, Angelo. I haven't come to kill you just yet. I have come, of course, to interrogate you for your wealth."
Bronte swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.
Caleb paced slowly in front of the broken Don, his hands clasped casually behind his back. "I found the pocket change you hid in your bedroom walls. But we both know that isn't where the real money is. You are a paranoid man, Angelo. You wouldn't keep the bulk of your liquid assets inside a city that could burn."
Caleb stopped and looked directly into Bronte's terrified eyes. "I am here specifically for the key that you hold for the entire wealth you stored on the outside of the city. The offshore accounts. The hidden treasury vaults. I want the numbers, and I want the steel."
Hearing that, Bronte turned a sickly, ashen pale. His mouth opened and closed silently like a suffocating fish. He knew that this hidden treasury was his absolute last bargaining chip.
It was his insurance policy, the only thing keeping a bullet out of his brain right this second. He was already deeply afraid, knowing that Caleb was perfectly capable of torturing the information out of him.
So, operating on pure, desperate survival instinct, Bronte fell to his knees on the cold stone floor and asked for mercy in exchange for the key and also the passcode to the safe.
"Please, Caleb! Per favore!" Bronte wept, clasping his dirty hands together in a prayerful gesture, completely abandoning any shred of his former dignity. "If I give it to you... if I give you everything I have built... you must let me live! Banish me! Put me on a boat to be sent somewhere far away, to Italy! Anywhere! Just let me breathe, I beg of you!"
In which Caleb just nodded his head, his face a mask of solemn, contemplative consideration. He didn't promise anything outright, but the slow, deliberate nod was enough to give the desperate man a tiny, fabricated sliver of hope.
It was a masterful display of psychological pressure, and Bronte immediately broke. The Don reached into his ruined suit. His hands shook so violently he could barely manipulate the fabric. He tore at the inner lining of his expensive vest, ripping the silk seams apart, until he pulled out a small, heavy brass key attached to a thick silver chain.
He held it out to Caleb with trembling fingers. Bronte immediately gave the keys which he held and had hidden deep in his clothing against his body.
Caleb took the key smoothly, feeling the cold, heavy metal drop into his palm. "The code?" Caleb demanded softly.
Bronte licked his dry, cracked lips. "Thirty two... right. Fourteen... left. Fifty eight... right. It is a four tumbler Mosler. The heaviest they make."
Caleb committed the numbers to his flawless memory instantly. He looked down at the weeping, broken man kneeling in the dirt. The titan of the Italian mafia had been completely, utterly hollowed out, stripped of his army, his mansion, his dignity, and finally, his vast fortune.
And after that was done, Caleb slipped the heavy brass key into his vest pocket. He looked at Bronte, the cold, predatory smile returning to his lips.
Caleb thanked him, his voice dripping with dark irony. "Thank you for your generous contribution to the new administration, Angelo."
Before then, Caleb turned toward the heavy iron door and says, "I will think about giving you mercy. Enjoy the dark."
Bronte realized instantly that the subtle nod had been a lie. The sliver of hope vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, suffocating wave of pure panic.
"No! Wait!" Bronte screamed, his voice echoing shrilly in the damp cellar. He begged him, scrambling to his feet and stumbling forward while walking toward him, his hands reaching out desperately to grab Caleb's coat. "You promised! McLaughlin! Please!"
But Caleb was faster, his agility stats far superior to the exhausted former don. He stepped backward over the threshold, his face an emotionless mask, as he already left the cell and slammed the heavy iron door shut right in Bronte's screaming face.
CLANG!
"Lock it," Caleb ordered the two awe-struck guards standing outside.
The guards immediately threw the heavy iron deadbolts, sealing the former Don in absolute, lightless captivity. The muffled, frantic pounding of Bronte's fists against the thick iron reverberated down the stone hallway, a pathetic drumbeat marking the definitive end of his reign.
After that, Caleb walked back down the corridor with the butler trailing silently behind him. He took the heavy brass keys out of his vest and put the keys inside his dark leather satchel that he had slung over his shoulder, ensuring the physical prop was secure for his upcoming travels.
And then he goes to the first floor again with the butler, ascending from the dark, damp foundations back into the opulent, sunlit world he now owned.
When they reached the grand foyer, the mansion was buzzing with quiet, efficient activity. The bodies of the loyalists had been removed in the night, the bloodstains scrubbed from the marble floors, and the shattered glass swept away. The new regime was already cleaning house.
There he met Vincenzo and Silvio in the center of the foyer. The two men had cleaned themselves up, washing the soot and blood from their faces, though Vincenzo still wore his arm in a fresh, clean sling. They stood tall, exuding the quiet, lethal confidence of men who had won a war against impossible odds.
When Caleb approached, they immediately stood at attention, crossing their arms over their chests. They greeted him respectfully, their voices echoing in the large space. "Good morning, Don Caleb."
Caleb returned the greeting with a firm, appreciative nod. "Good morning, brothers. The house looks clean."
"The dead are buried, Boss," Vincenzo reported, dropping his voice slightly. "Deep in the swamps. The gators will ensure nothing is ever found."
"Good," Caleb said. Before then, he asked them to bring him to the loyalists they had put inside the warehouse during the night's raid.
"I want to talk to them," Caleb explained, his mind already shifting to the expansion and consolidation of his military strength. A smart general doesn't execute his prisoners; he absorbs them. "I want to persuade them to join our cause. Since being loyal to Bronte is already not worth a single drop of their blood, and I need every capable gun we can get our hands on if we are going to push into the surrounding territories."
Vincenzo and Silvio grinned, deeply respecting Caleb's pragmatic, ruthless efficiency. They didn't want to slaughter their former comrades if they didn't have to.
"They are waiting for your judgment, Don Caleb," Silvio rumbled.
And Vincenzo and Silvio brought him out the front doors, walking down the pristine marble steps to where a carriage was waiting in the sunlit courtyard.
They didn't ride horses this morning, they rode to the warehouse on the docks by using Bronte's grand, black lacquered carriage. The luxurious vehicle, pulled by the four pristine white horses, had officially become Caleb's now, a rolling, highly visible symbol of his newly conquered throne.
Caleb sat back against the plush velvet cushions, feeling the gentle sway of the carriage as they rolled out of the Garden District and onto the bustling, cobblestone streets of Saint Denis.
The city was fully awake now. Merchants were shouting, trolley bells were ringing, and the citizens went about their daily lives, completely oblivious to the fact that the apex predator ruling the shadows of their city had violently changed overnight.
Caleb looked out the window, his maxed out Business Skill already analyzing the storefronts, calculating the potential revenue streams, and mapping out exactly how he was going to bleed the city's economy into his own pockets.
And reaching the commercial docks, the smell of salt water, rotting fish, and burning coal filled the air. The carriage rolled to a halt in front of a massive, corrugated iron warehouse situated right on the edge of the pier.
Some of the elite enforcers were there standing guard outside the heavy sliding doors. They were part of the phantom army, the men Caleb had personally saved. When they saw the black carriage approach and Caleb step out, they immediately stood tall, dropping their cigarettes and crossing their shotguns over their chests in a sharp, unified salute.
They greeted him with profound, fanatical respect. "Don Caleb."
They are the ones who guarded the warehouse throughout the long, tense night, ensuring not a single captive loyalist escaped. While Vincenzo and Silvio alongside a couple of the other elite enforcers had returned back to the mansion last night, to secure the perimeter and assist Caleb in establishing the new command center.
Caleb nodded to the guards, his presence alone commanding absolute, terrifying authority. "Open the doors," Caleb ordered softly, adjusting the collar of his suit. "Let's go see who wants to live today."
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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 MAX)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Dead Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Bow (Lvl MAX)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl MAX)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl MAX)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl MAX)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 100x100x100)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl MAX)
- Leadership (Lvl MAX)
Money: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 286,492 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 74 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, 3 Diamonds, & Important Documents & Deeds Of Cornwall
Bank: -