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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"Upstairs, Lemieux," Caleb said coldly, not offering a smile. "Bring Ezra." They went upstairs, ascending the grand, sweeping staircase to the private, velvet lined corridors of the second floor. They walked to Caleb's room, a massive, opulent suite overlooking the bustling street below.
Caleb unlocked the door and stepped inside, gesturing for Ezra and the sweating manager to follow. Silvio and Vincenzo, looking like towering gargoyles of death, did not enter. They stood guard outside in the hallway, crossing their arms and glaring at anyone who dared to walk past, ensuring absolute privacy.
In the inside, the suite was bathed in warm morning light. Caleb walked over to a small crystal decanter, pouring himself a single finger of amber liquid, taking his time to let the tension in the room build.
Ezra, standing awkwardly near the door, shifted his weight from foot to foot. He asked what's wrong, his voice laced with concern. "Is everything alright, Mr. McLaughlin? Do you any new from the boss for us?"
Caleb turned around, the glass in his hand. He looked at the simple bartender, engaging his max level Persuasion Skill to soften the blow of the reality he was about to drop on the man.
"Ezra, my friend," Caleb began smoothly, his voice calm and reassuring. "I haven't been entirely honest with you about my business in this city. I am a bounty hunter, yes. But as you know, I have also been working very closely with the ruling powers of Saint Denis."
Caleb took a slow sip of his drink. "Over the past few weeks, I have rose to the position of Underboss within Angelo Bronte's family."
Ezra's jaw dropped. The rag slipped from his shoulder and hit the floor. The quiet, polite patron he had been serving have become the second most dangerous man in the city.
"But things changed last night," Caleb continued, his eyes hardening, flicking briefly to the terrified manager before returning to Ezra. "Angelo Bronte proved himself to be a traitor to his own men. He became a liability to this city. So, he was removed."
Caleb set the glass down. "And now, I am the Don of the family after taking down Bronte."
This absolute bombshell completely surprised Ezra. The bartender staggered back a half step, his eyes wide as saucers, unable to comprehend that he was standing in the presence of the absolute ruler of the Saint Denis underworld.
While Ezra was frozen in shock, the manager, Lemieux, practically threw himself forward. Lemieux immediately congratulated and praised him, his voice dripping with oily sycophancy.
"Congratulations, Don McLaughlin! A thousand blessings upon your new reign!" Lemieux gushed, bowing repeatedly.
Lemieux already knew from Caleb's prior visit before Bronte was taken down that the Underboss possessed a terrifying intellect and lethal ambition.
And also, as the manager of a major mob front, he had already received the news of what happened last night through the frantic whispers of the surviving street soldiers. He knew the mansion had fallen and Bronte was in chains. Lemieux was desperately trying to kiss the ring of the new king to save his own skin.
"The city is yours, Don," Lemieux continued to praise, his hands wringing together. "And the Bastille is yours. Whatever you need, whatever changes you wish to make to the ledgers, it is done."
As Ezra was still standing there, completely shocked and trying to process the sheer scale of Caleb's revelation, Caleb turned his cold, piercing gaze back to Lemieux.
"I am glad you are so accommodating, Lemieux," Caleb said smoothly. "Because there are going to be immediate changes."
Caleb then told them, pointing directly at the bewildered bartender, that Ezra will be the new manager of the Bastille Saloon.
"Effective immediately," Caleb stated, his voice brooking absolutely no argument. "Ezra holds the keys, he signs the ledgers, and he reports directly to me."
Hearing that, Ezra was even more shocked. He gasped, his hands flying up. "Mr. McLaughlin! I... I don't know how to run a place like this! I'm just a bartender! I pour drinks!"
"You will learn," Caleb assured him, his tone turning into an unyielding command. "I will have those with experience and expertise teach you the books. But what you have, Ezra, is something I cannot teach. You have loyalty, and you have a good heart."
Caleb turned back to the pale, sweating Lemieux. "And the former manager will be handling another establishment."
Caleb paused, letting a cruel, terrifying smile touch his lips. "And that is Doyle's Tavern. To the far north side of the town."
Doyle's Tavern was a notorious, filthy, rundown dive bar situated in the absolute worst part of the slums, frequented by cutthroats, diseased sailors, and violent drunks, even though it have been renovated by Caleb, to Lemieux the area are still in the slums.
It was a massive, humiliating demotion, a punishment for Lemieux's years of skimming Bronte's profits, something Caleb had already deduced through his maxed out Business Skill by looking at the Bastille's inflated operating costs during his previous visits.
Hearing that, the manager turned the color of spoiled milk. Lemieux tried to protest, his voice cracking in panic. "My Don, please! I have run this establishment for five years! I know the high society clients! I know the politicians! Doyle's Tavern is a death trap! You can't—"
But Caleb didn't say a word. He simply unleashed a glare.
It was a look of such concentrated, murderous intent, heavily amplified by his max level Leadership and Acting skills, that the air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Caleb's blue eyes bored into Lemieux's soul, silently promising that if the man uttered one more syllable of protest, he wouldn't be going to Doyle's Tavern, he would be going to the bottom of the Lannahechee River wearing iron boots.
A glare from Caleb instantly silenced him. Lemieux snapped his mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked. He swallowed hard, bowing his head in absolute, terrified submission, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. "Y-yes, Don McLaughlin. As you command."
With the threat neutralized, Caleb turned back to Ezra.
Ezra then woke up from his stunned paralysis. Realizing the unbelievable gift he had just been handed, and the terrifying power of the man who had handed it to him, Ezra began stammering.
"I... I don't know what to say," Ezra stuttered, wiping his hands nervously on his apron. He then stepped forward to congratulate and also praise Caleb cautiously, terrified of making a mistake in front of the new Don. "Thank you, Don McLaughlin. I... I will not let you down. I promise you. I will run this place exactly how you want it run."
Caleb smiled, a warm, genuine expression returning to his face. He walked over to the bartender and patted him firmly on the shoulder.
"I know you won't, Ezra," Caleb said softly. "You see, when I came to this town for the very first time, I was a stranger. I was covered in dust, I didn't know the streets, and people looked at me with suspicion."
Caleb looked deep into Ezra's eyes, cementing the foundation of their new dynamic. "But you didn't. You poured me a drink, you treated me with respect, and you were the only person who answered me honestly when I asked questions about this city. You showed me kindness when I had nothing to offer you. I don't forget things like that, Ezra. Loyalty buys power in my empire. Enjoy your new saloon."
And after that was done, having completely secured the absolute loyalty of a vital financial front, Caleb turned to leave the room.
Before opening the door, he paused, looking back over his shoulder at the shivering former manager, his voice cracking like a whip, "I want you to do the full handover of your position, the safe combinations, the keys, and the ledgers to Ezra. As soon as possible. I expect you to be standing behind the bar at Doyle's Tavern before the sun goes down. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes, Don," Lemieux whispered, defeated.
And then he left, opening the door and stepping back out into the velvet lined hallway. Vincenzo and Silvio immediately fell into step behind him, their heavy boots thudding against the floorboards as they escorted the new king back downstairs.
They walked back through the saloon, the patrons parting like the Red Sea, sensing the sudden, dangerous shift in the atmosphere surrounding Caleb.
They walked out into the bright morning sun, leaving with Vincenzo and Silvio, and boarding the luxurious black carriage once again.
As Caleb sank back into the plush leather seating, he tapped his silver tipped cane against the roof of the cabin to signal the driver.
With Caleb saying to his men, "Our next stop is the north of the town. To my former mansion."
Silvio looked confused. "The Martelli estate, Boss? I thought you will move all your operations to the Garden District."
"I did," Caleb replied, his eyes narrowing as he looked out the window at the passing city. "But I have some matters to do there. Tell the driver to hurry."
The carriage lurched forward, the white horses breaking into a brisk trot, carrying the undisputed Don of Saint Denis toward the northern estates.
The ride away from the bustling, smog choked commercial center and into the quieter, affluent northern perimeter of the city offered a brief moment of quiet reflection. The manicured trees lining the wide cobblestone avenues cast dappled, dancing shadows across the velvet interior of the carriage.
Caleb sat in comfortable silence, Silvio sat opposite him, remaining respectfully quiet, his massive frame shifting slightly as the carriage navigated a sharp turn.
They soon reached the sprawling northern mansion, the grand estate Caleb had violently inherited following the demise of Guido Martelli. As the carriage approached the boundary wall, the heavy wrought iron gates were immediately pulled open by the perimeter guards, who recognized the approaching vehicle.
The carriage rolled smoothly onto the circular gravel driveway and came to a halt.
Hearing the crunch of the wheels, Marco, the young stable boy, came rushing out from the adjacent wooden stable block. Marco was carrying a grooming brush and a handful of premium oats, fully expecting to see Caleb riding in on Salazar.
He was eager and ready, thinking that Caleb had finally returned from his long business in the city and that he would like to take care of the magnificent Black Arabian.
But as Marco jogged into the sunlight, he froze. Seeing that it was the grand, black lacquered carriage that was actually exclusively used by the Don of the family, pulled by the four pristine white horses, the young boy's eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated panic. He had never seen Angelo Bronte visit this estate personally.
Marco stood absolutely still, his heart hammering against his ribs. He quickly dropped the brush and oats into a nearby bucket and frantically brushed his hands against his trousers, making sure he was as clean and presentable as possible to greet the Don with full, unwavering respect. He lowered his head, preparing to bow.
But when the carriage door swung open, the one who stepped off the velvet lined carriage step was not the aging, paranoid Angelo Bronte. It was actually Caleb, looking immaculate and terrifyingly composed in his charcoal suit, alongside the two towering, battle hardened capos, Vincenzo and Silvio.
Marco was completely surprised. He blinked, his mouth falling open slightly as he looked from the luxurious Don's carriage to the Underboss. The sheer implication of Caleb riding in Bronte's personal transport was lost on the young boy, but the relief of seeing a familiar face was palpable.
Caleb walked up to the stunned stable boy. He smiled, a warm and genuinely affectionate expression, and patted Marco gently on the shoulder.
"At ease, Marco," Caleb said smoothly, his voice carrying the effortless, comforting weight of his maxed-out Leadership Skill. "You're doing a fine job. Do me a favor and give some fresh apples and the premium oats to these four white horses, will you? They've had a long, hard morning pulling us across the city."
Marco rapidly blinked away his shock and immediately nodded his head, practically vibrating with eager energy. "Yes, Signor McLaughlin! Right away, sir! The best apples we have!"
While Marco rushed off to the kitchens to fetch the treats for the carriage horses, Caleb turned on his heel and went to enter the mansion with Vincenzo and Silvio flanking him like loyal shadows.
As they approached the heavy double oak doors, they swung open from the inside. Lorenzo, the impeccably dressed and ever professional butler of the Martelli estate, stood at attention.
Lorenzo opened the door wide for him, bowing deeply at the waist where he greeted Caleb respectfully. "Welcome home, Signor McLaughlin. It is profoundly good to see you return safely."
Lorenzo straightened his posture, his hands clasped behind his back, and asked him with perfect servant's etiquette if he would like some hot food and fresh drinks to be prepared for him and his guests in the parlor. "The kitchen is fully stocked, Signor. A roast, perhaps? Or some imported espresso for you and your men?"
To which Caleb simply shook his head, declining the offer with a polite wave of his hand.
"No food for now, Lorenzo, thank you," Caleb replied, stepping into the grand foyer and pulling off his leather gloves. He then looked directly at the butler and said, "But I would like to inform the house of some very big news. Please, gather all of the staff in the main hall immediately."
Lorenzo, trained to never question his employer's commands, immediately nodded his head when he heard that. "At once, Signor."
The butler turned and moved with swift, silent purpose through the corridors, ringing a small silver bell and summoning the household. Caleb stood in the center of the foyer, his hands clasped behind his back, waiting patiently. Silvio and Vincenzo stood a few paces behind him, exchanging curious glances. They didn't know what Caleb was planning, but they trusted him implicitly.
Soon, the entire staff of the mansion arrived, filing into the grand hall with nervous, hurried steps. They lined up in a neat row before Caleb, their faces a mixture of curiosity and deep seated anxiety, fully aware that a sudden gathering of this nature usually meant severe changes.
Lorenzo took his place at the head of the line. Beside him stood the cook, Giuseppe. Marco the stable boy hurried in through the back servants' entrance, slipping into the line next to Giuseppe. And finally, the four maids arrived, Maria, the stern and capable head maid, followed by Sofia, Clara, and Elena, all gathered in the room after being called upon by Lorenzo.
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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: -