"Mr. Land."
The moment he saw Davey, Martelli stood up straight, posture rigid, his expression full of respect—just as he used to stand before Bronte.
Davey smiled faintly, walked over, and sat down on the sofa, gesturing for Martelli to take a seat as well.
Elisa stepped into a discreet corner of the living room and gently pulled a cord.
Ding.
Three maids entered carrying breakfast.
"Martelli, have you eaten?"
Davey knew Martelli was anxious, but breakfast was not something to be skipped. Skipping it too often led to stomach problems.
"Mr. Land, I've already eaten."
In truth, Martelli had no appetite at all. Since Bronte was attacked and abducted last night, he hadn't slept.
Mafia members had been searching everywhere, but they had found nothing.
After what felt like an unbearably long wait to Martelli, Davey finally finished breakfast.
The maids quickly cleared the table.
Davey gave a small wave, and Elisa led the servants out.
What came next was not for their ears.
"What is it you want, Mr. Martelli?"
Davey's tone was calm, as if discussing something trivial.
Martelli swallowed, slightly tense.
"Mr. Land… may I ask—will Mr. Bronte be coming back?"
Davey smiled.
"That's a very smart question. And I can tell you with certainty—Mr. Bronte will never return."
Martelli visibly relaxed.
Davey's assurance meant that even if Bronte were still alive at this moment, he would not remain so for long.
He did not suspect deception. Word had already spread that it was the Van der Linde Gang who had abducted Bronte.
And as someone who had once come from the Van der Linde Gang, Davey clearly still maintained contact with them.
"So," Davey continued, "since you came to see me, what exactly are you looking for?"
The question might have sounded redundant, but the pressure behind it was unmistakable.
Greed flickered in Martelli's eyes.
"Mr. Land, I need your help. I want to become the boss of the Saint Denis Mafia."
Davey smiled lightly.
"If that's all, I don't believe you need my help. As the second-in-command of the Saint Denis Mafia, with Mr. Bronte missing, the men should naturally follow you. Shouldn't they?"
Martelli lowered his head, his tone even more respectful.
"Mr. Land, I hope to have your protection."
Strange as it sounded, it made perfect sense to anyone who understood the situation.
As the former "second boss," Martelli could legitimately take over Bronte's operations. Whether or not Bronte had arranged proper transfers of his legal assets before his death, the Mafia had its own methods.
But legal assets were only one part of the equation.
The gray businesses were another matter entirely.
Bronte had controlled vast interests in Saint Denis—gambling, prostitution, loan sharking, labor brokerage, protection rackets, smuggling, and more.
In the original storyline, one could even find Bronte's ledger at his home, listing protection fees and the names of the merchants paying them—businesses that could all be located throughout Saint Denis.
Protection money was the most basic income stream for any gang. But just because Bronte could collect it didn't mean Martelli could.
The Mafia was not the only gang in Saint Denis.
Bronte had expanded the Mafia's dominance through sheer capability, suppressing rival factions.
Besides the Mafia, there were Irish gangs, Jewish gangs, and over a dozen smaller outfits of various kinds. Even those ethnic gangs were not unified—they were fragmented into their own factions.
Through various means, Bronte had ensured that the Mafia—the Italian gang—stood at the top, overshadowing the others.
Simply put, when gang fights broke out, Bronte could use his connections within the Saint Denis Police Department to pull his own men out of jail while ensuring rival gang members stayed locked up.
But now that Bronte was gone, would Police Chief Benjamin do the same for Martelli?
In the later game storyline, Charles eventually ends up fighting in underground boxing matches run by Martelli. If one looked closely, the crowd around the ring was almost entirely Italian.
That meant that after Bronte's death, the Italian gang's gray assets in Saint Denis had gradually been swallowed up by other factions. In the end, they were reduced to scraps like underground boxing.
But now, Martelli wanted more.
And he understood clearly—if he wanted to hold on to Bronte's businesses, he would need Davey.
Davey considered this, then asked,
"How much do you want, Mr. Martelli?"
Martelli lowered his voice.
"If Mr. Land is willing to provide protection, I am prepared to offer half of the assets."
It sounded generous.
Davey simply smiled without responding.
What a joke.
He had spent so long laying the groundwork in Saint Denis to take over Bronte's empire—and now Martelli wanted half?
That wasn't Martelli's half. That was Davey's half.
Seeing no reaction, Martelli raised the offer.
"Sixty percent, Mr. Land."
Davey calmly lifted his Earl Grey and took a sip, as if he hadn't heard him.
"Seventy percent, Mr. Land. Seventy percent of all Italian gang assets."
Martelli nearly gritted his teeth as he said it. The pain in his voice was obvious.
Davey set down his teacup.
Seventy percent.
Not bad.
But not enough.
He fixed Martelli with a steady gaze.
"Eighty percent. I don't want Bronte's legal assets. And you will stop dealing in bootlegging, labor brokerage, and smuggling."
It wasn't a negotiation. It was an order.
He didn't want the legal assets for two reasons. First, they weren't worth much. Second, transferring them would leave an obvious trail.
What Davey wanted was control of the Italian gang from the shadows. After all, the Mafia's real power base was in the eastern United States, not just Saint Denis. And the legal businesses were publicly known as Bronte's.
The bootlegging share Bronte once held would naturally be reclaimed.
Smuggling was something Davey intended to monopolize in the future.
As for labor brokerage—his blueprint for a "world factory" did not allow gangs to dominate labor intermediaries or exploit workers through extortion.
The remaining gray income streams could stay under Martelli's name. Davey would collect from behind the scenes.
"I will follow your instructions, Mr. Land."
Though his heart ached, Martelli also felt a sense of relief.
He knew his own limits.
Twenty percent of the gray income might not seem like much—but without Davey's protection, he would get nothing at all.
...
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