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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The silence was shattered precisely at midnight. Vincenzo and a squad of men approached the heavy wrought iron front gates. The two guards stationed there, men who remained loyal to Bronte and were on guard duty, barely had time to register the approaching shadows before they were cut down.
Vincenzo raised his sawed off shotgun and fired a double blast that tore the locks off the gates and sent the guards sprawling backward onto the gravel.
"Move! Move! Move!" Silvio roared, his massive voice booming across the courtyard.
The phantom army surged through the gates, flooding the manicured lawns. The element of surprise was absolute, but the mansion was heavily defended. Bronte still had nearly fifty men stationed on the grounds, men who hadn't been swayed by the rebellion.
The engagement instantly shifted from a silent infiltration to a fierce, chaotic shootout. The loyalist guards on the balconies and behind the marble statues opened fire, raining repeater rounds down on the advancing rebels.
Silvio, wielding a heavy pump action shotgun, charged forward like a wounded bear. He took a grazing bullet to the thigh but ignored the pain entirely, blasting a loyalist guard off a second story balcony. "Push them back! For the Underboss!"
Vincenzo, fighting with his arm still in a sling, fired his revolver with deadly accuracy, dropping two men trying to flank them from the rose gardens.
The recruited dockworkers and slum enforcers, fueled by years of pent up anger against Bronte's elite, fought with a terrifying, reckless ferocity. They fought against those that had remained loyal, and the courtyard quickly became a slaughterhouse of flying lead, shattered stone, and screams.
On the inside of the mansion, the sudden, deafening roar of gunfire echoing through the thick walls caused Bronte to drop his wine glass. It shattered against the mahogany table, staining the white linen red.
"What... what is that?!" Bronte gasped, his face draining of color as he scrambled out of his chair. He looked wildly toward the large windows, but the heavy velvet curtains obscured the chaos outside. "Pinkertons?! Or did Cornwall send the federal army?!"
Caleb acted like a loyal underboss until the absolute, bitter end. He immediately leaped from his chair, kicking it backward, and drew both of his Navy Revolvers with a smooth, practiced motion. He stepped deliberately in front of Bronte, shielding the Don with his own body.
"Stay behind me, Boss!" Caleb shouted, his voice thick with manufactured panic and protective zeal. "I'll protect you! Signor Butler! Bar the doors!"
The butler, playing his part flawlessly, ran into the dining room, his face a mask of sheer terror. "Signor! They are breaching the front doors! There are too many of them!"
The sound of heavy boots echoing on the marble floors of the grand foyer signaled that the outer defenses had fallen. The heavy oak doors of the dining room rattled violently before being kicked open with a bone shattering crash.
Silvio, Vincenzo, and the others breached into the mansion. They poured into the dining room, their weapons raised, their coats covered in the blood of the loyalist guards they had just slaughtered in the hallway. They looked terrifying, a nightmare of smoke, soot, and vengeance.
When Bronte saw them, his breath hitched in his throat. His appearance, of course, reflected absolute, mind shattering surprise when he saw the elite enforcers standing before him.
He recognized Vincenzo's scarred face. He saw Silvio's massive, imposing frame. They were all alive and well, holding shotguns aimed directly at his chest. They were not dead like Caleb's word had sworn just days ago.
"You... you... all of you..." Bronte stammered, his mind unable to process the impossibility of the situation. He retreated backward, his back hitting the heavy mahogany table. He looked from the 'dead' men to his Underboss, who was still standing protectively in front of him with his revolvers drawn. "Caleb! Shoot them! They are ghosts! Shoot them!"
And that's when Caleb revealed himself.
The tense, protective posture evaporated instantly. Caleb didn't fire. He slowly, deliberately lowered his twin Navy Revolvers, the metallic clicks of the hammers decocking echoing loudly in the sudden, heavy silence of the dining room. He took a single step to the side, completely exposing the terrified Don to the sixteen armed men.
Bronte stared at Caleb, his eyes wide with a dawning, horrific comprehension. "McLaughlin...? What are you doing?"
Caleb turned to look at the old man, his blue eyes as cold and unforgiving as glacial ice. He of course acted like he did all of this out of a profound, unshakeable sense of honor.
"You asked me to kill my brothers, Angelo," Caleb said, his voice dropping the respectful 'Boss' title for the first time. His tone was a low, resonant rumble that carried the weight of absolute judgment. "You ordered me to execute the men who bled for you in Annesburg. You asked me to slaughter the only loyal soldiers you had left, just to protect your fragile pride."
"I... I gave you an order, McLaughlin!" Bronte shrieked, his voice cracking with panic, pressing himself harder against the table. "You swore loyalty to me!"
"My moral line is low, Angelo," Caleb replied, stepping closer, his presence expanding to fill the room, dominating the terrified Don. "I am a killer. I am a thief. I have done terrible things in the dark. But even then... I have a line. And your order touched that line."
Caleb gestured to Vincenzo and Silvio. "These men went into a life and death situation with me. We fought side by side on that riverboat and some during our attack on Annesburg. You don't betray men who fight with you in the trenches. You betrayed them. And in doing so, you betrayed this family."
"You... you planned this," Bronte whispered, the sheer, staggering scale of the deception finally crushing him. The realization that the mutiny, the failed mission, the fake deaths, and the tour of the city were all orchestrated by the man standing in front of him broke his spirit entirely. "You took my city."
"The city recognized strength, Angelo," Caleb stated flatly. "You bled it dry. I am going to rebuild it."
Vincenzo stepped forward, racking the pump of his shotgun with a loud, aggressive clack. The sound made Bronte flinch violently. "Give the word, Underboss," Vincenzo snarled, his eyes fixed on Bronte's trembling form. "Let me blow the coward's chest open. For the thirto five brothers he left to die."
Silvio raised his heavy revolvers, his massive jaw clenched tight. "He doesn't deserve to breathe our air. Let me crush his skull."
The sixteen men surged forward slightly, a wall of pure, unfiltered hatred directed entirely at the broken middle aged man. Bronte whimpered, throwing his hands up over his face, waiting for the blast of buckshot that would end his life.
But Caleb held up a single hand. The simple gesture instantly halted the advance of the sixteen hardened killers. They stopped immediately, deferring completely to his authority.
"No," Caleb commanded, his voice firm and absolute.
Bronte wouldn't be killed just yet. Caleb wasn't acting out of a sudden burst of mercy, he was operating on pure, cold tactical logic. He needed Bronte alive for a little while longer. He will be captured and tied up, as Caleb still had some specific, vital needs of the Don.
He needed Bronte to officially sign over the deeds to the mansion, the legal fronts of the smuggling operations, and the access codes to the offshore bank accounts in Guarma. To ensure his total, absolute, and legally binding control over Saint Denis and the mob's vast financial network, Bronte had to put pen to paper before he took a bullet to the brain.
But Caleb, of course, acted like he had some sort of profound, honorable mercy that only made the men respect him more. He looked at Vincenzo, his expression steady and controlled.
"We do not gun down an unarmed, broken old man in his dining room like common street thugs," Caleb declared, projecting the aura of a civilized, pragmatic leader. "We are better than him. If we slaughter him here, we prove we are just as ruthless and chaotic as the Pinkertons."
Vincenzo looked frustrated, his finger twitching on the trigger. "But Underboss... he deserves death! He betrayed us!"
"He will answer for his crimes," Caleb assured them, his voice lowering to a soothing, authoritative hum. "But death is too easy for him right now. He needs to watch us tear down his empire. He needs to sign over every dime he stole from this family."
Caleb turned back to Bronte, who was openly weeping now, a pathetic, shivering wreck.
"Tie him up," Caleb ordered Silvio. "Put him in the wine cellar. Let him sit in the dark and think about the thirty five men he murdered."
They persuaded him, arguing fiercely. Several of the capos stepped forward, begging Caleb to kill Bronte immediately to finalize the coup. "Please, Caleb. End it now. Cut the head off."
Which Caleb in the end handled perfectly. He raised his hand again, silencing the protests. He looked at his loyal men, his eyes promising that justice would be served, but on his timeline.
"We will think of that later," Caleb finalized, leaving the ultimate fate of the Don hanging in the air. "Tonight, we secure the mansion. We secure the streets. We bury his loyalists. Saint Denis belongs to us now."
Silvio stepped forward, grabbing Bronte roughly by the collar of his expensive suit and hauling the weeping Don off his feet. Vincenzo lowered his shotgun, offering Caleb a deep, respectful nod, completely accepting the new Don's judgment.
As Bronte was dragged screaming down into the dark, damp cellars of his own home, Caleb Thorne stood alone at the head of the long mahogany table. He poured himself a fresh glass of the vintage Italian wine, the red liquid catching the flickering light of the chandelier. He took a slow sip, savoring the taste of absolute, uncontested victory. The king was in chains, and the Underboss had taken the throne.
The screams faded as the heavy cellar doors were slammed shut and bolted. The sudden quiet in the grand dining room was heavy, smelling of cordite, spilled wine, and copper.
Caleb then put the crystal glass down on the mahogany table with a soft, definitive clink. The sound seemed to break the spell in the room. He turned back to face Silvio, Vincenzo, and the rest of the men that were present, the capos and lieutenants who hadn't gone to drag Bronte to the cellar.
They stood around the ruined dining room, their weapons still drawn but lowered, their chests heaving with the dying adrenaline of the coup. They looked at Caleb, waiting for their new alpha to speak.
Caleb let his shoulders drop slightly, shedding the terrifying, dominant posture he had used to cow Bronte. He engaged his max level Acting and Persuasion Skills, crafting an expression of profound, weary sadness.
He looked around the room, making eye contact with the blood spattered men, and he said to them, his voice thick with quiet emotion, how today had been a very heavy day for him.
"I won't lie to you, brothers," Caleb murmured, shaking his head slowly. "Standing here, knowing that it's the day we took down our former boss... it sits heavy in my chest. He... he had been very good to me. He brought me into this house. He gave me power."
Caleb paused, letting the silence stretch, forcing the men to lean in and hang on his every word. He looked at Vincenzo, whose arm was still bleeding through the sling.
"But as all of you know," Caleb continued, his voice hardening with a tragic resolve, "we couldn't let him go on. Not after ordering the death of his own loyal men. Men who have bled for this family. Men who sacrificed their safety, their freedom, and their blood for him on that riverboat."
Caleb placed a hand flat on the table, leaning his weight onto it as if physically burdened by the morality of the situation. "It's a line. He ordered me to do it. But it is a line I couldn't cross. Even if that order came from someone who gave me the chance to climb until I reached this position. Loyalty to the man who sits in the chair ends when that man turns his gun on the family that put him there."
The psychological manipulation was a masterpiece. He wasn't acting like a power hungry usurper who had just violently seized an empire. He was playing the role of the honorable, reluctant savior who was forced to carry out a tragic necessity to protect his brothers.
Hearing that, the hardened killers in the room immediately stepped forward. They completely bought the performance. The men felt an overwhelming surge of protective loyalty toward their new leader, who was seemingly tearing himself apart over the morality of saving their lives.
They persuaded him and consoled him, their voices rough but genuine.
"Don't carry that weight, Underboss," a scarred enforcer named Matteo said, gripping Caleb's forearm. "He wasn't a Don anymore. He was a rabid dog. You did what had to be done."
"You chose us over him," Silvio rumbled, stepping back into the room from the hallway. "That makes you a better man than Angelo Bronte ever was. You have nothing to be sorry for."
Caleb nodded his head slowly, appearing to draw strength from their absolute devotion. "Thank you, Silvio. Thank you, all of you."
The emotional tension in the room settled into a cold, pragmatic focus. The old regime was dead, it was time to establish the new one.
At this time, Vincenzo, ever the tactical mind, stepped forward. He wiped a streak of soot from his forehead and asked Caleb a pressing logistical question.
"Underboss," Vincenzo began respectfully, "do you want to show the result of the changes in the underworld hierarchy today, or tomorrow night?"
Vincenzo gestured toward the shattered front windows. "We control the mansion, but the city doesn't know it yet. We could hang Bronte's body from the balcony tonight and let the slums see who rules them. Or we could call a meeting of the capos in the dark."
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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 3)
Money: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 280,992 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: -