Saint Denis.
Bronte was visibly startled when he saw Martelli. He clearly hadn't expected him to return so soon.
"Seeing you again truly makes me happy, Guido. I imagine you suffered quite a bit over there," Bronte said warmly.
"But that's all in the past now. You're back safely, aren't you?"
"Still, I'm curious. Luca—how did you convince that Callander fellow to let Guido go? This really is an unexpected surprise."
As he spoke, Bronte rose from the sofa and gave Martelli a heartfelt embrace.
After all, Martelli was his trusted confidant, a capable lieutenant, and the family's second-in-command. His status was completely different from the others.
Martelli lowered his head slightly.
"I'm sorry, boss. I let you down. I just didn't expect them to be so… formidable."
"To the point that this operation failed and damaged your reputation."
Bronte waved it off.
"It's all right, Guido. The most important thing is that you came back alive."
"From the beginning until now, we've suffered many defeats, haven't we? Enemies who once looked impossibly strong."
"But in the end, we always emerged victorious. I believe this time will be no different."
Bronte's rise to leadership of the Saint Denis Mafia was built on a unique personal charisma. He was proud, arrogant, and fond of mocking others in Italian that few could understand—but when it came to his men, he always valued them deeply.
After finishing his reassurance, Bronte turned his gaze toward Luca Napoli.
Napoli cleared his throat, looking slightly awkward.
"Boss, Mr. Martelli's return wasn't because of me. Mr. Land released him directly."
"He made two requests. One was a thirty-thousand-dollar ransom, covering Mr. Martelli and the other captives. The other was that he hoped you would help him with a certain matter."
"It concerns Mr. Callander's status as a wanted man. He wants the federal government, the police, and the courts to follow proper legal procedures to try and execute the Callander brothers."
"And as a show of sincerity, Mr. Martelli was released first."
The moment Bronte heard this, his expression darkened.
"That bastard! His demands are outrageous. Does he really think I'd actually help him?"
"Maybe I should gather more men and make him truly understand the situation he's in."
Martelli and Napoli both fell silent.
Martelli, in particular, felt conflicted. In truth, his impression of Davey wasn't bad at all. Part of him even hoped that Bronte might genuinely find a way to cooperate with him.
Bronte's mood was foul. Just yesterday, he had met with the mayor to discuss cracking down on Davey. Now, turning around and helping resolve Davey's identity problem would put him in an awkward position.
But he couldn't abandon his men. Nearly all of the captives were family. As the family's leader, Bronte had both the right and the obligation to bring them back—whether by paying a ransom or attempting a rescue.
"Damn it," Bronte said through clenched teeth.
"Tell that Callander bastard that fixing his identity problem won't be so simple."
"The city government and the police aren't the issue. The courts are. You should know—those who control the courts are almost all Puritans. They won't be persuaded easily."
"I need some time. But tell him this—my children are not to be mistreated during this period."
Bronte had compromised.
He had no choice. If he failed to rescue those family members, his reputation within the Mafia would be ruined. As it stood, even if all those men died, it wouldn't hurt him as much as doing nothing at all.
As for a rescue—eighty men had already failed. Sending more would only mean delivering additional captives to the enemy.
He had no desire to start a full-scale shootout with a western gang. It would be pointless. Even if he won, there would be nothing to gain.
Compared to that, agreeing to Davey's terms and cooperating in the moonshine business seemed far simpler.
Bronte left the mansion and climbed into his carriage. He needed to pay another visit to the mayor.
...
Meanwhile, Martelli turned to Napoli.
"Why didn't you say anything, Napoli?" he asked quietly.
"You hid that part. If Mr. Bronte were to find out, I doubt he'd let you off so easily."
Napoli simply smiled.
"And you didn't say anything either, Mr. Martelli."
"You were standing right there, listening to everything Mr. Land said. So why didn't you tell Mr. Bronte?"
Davey's offer had been clear: if Bronte helped him clean up his identity, the thirty thousand dollars would be a gesture of thanks.
Napoli hadn't mentioned it. Neither had Martelli.
Thirty thousand dollars meant little to Bronte or Davey—but to Martelli and Napoli, it was no small sum at all.
Even though Martelli was the second-in-command, his monthly pay was less than two hundred dollars. The shops in Saint Denis and the other businesses were all Bronte's private property.
"Half and half?" Martelli asked quietly. "Napoli?"
"Of course," Napoli replied with a smile. "Mr. Martelli."