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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Where, exactly at this time, the heavy oak double doors to the dining room opened. Lorenzo, walking with impeccable posture, alongside the head cook, brought a silver cart tray inside the dining room. The aroma of savory beef, melted cheese, and seasoned potatoes instantly filled the room, making even the hardened capos turn their heads and swallow hard.
Where there were pristine porcelain plates filled with the thick, juicy burgers Mary-Beth had shaped, and deep silver bowls filled with the golden, crispy fries. Also, several dusty, expensive bottles of vintage Italian wines and crystal glasses were on there as well.
Where Lorenzo and the cook moved with practiced efficiency. They served the food to Bronte first, placing the largest burger and the most generous bowl of fries before the Don. And then they served Caleb, placing the remaining portion before him.
Then, Lorenzo expertly uncorked the vintage bottles and served the wine for them, pouring the deep red liquid into the crystal goblets. Before then, the rest of the men, the four capos sitting silently at the tablez were served wine only.
As the food is only for Caleb and also Bronte, a stark, deliberate display of hierarchy that Bronte thoroughly approved of.
After that, Caleb and Bronte dined in. With Bronte, of course, filled with absolute happiness tasting the delicacy again. The Don took a massive bite of the burger, his eyes closing in pure culinary ecstasy as the juices ran down his chin.
"By God," Bronte mumbled around a mouthful of food, reaching for a handful of fries. "It is even better than I remembered. You have secured a true treasure, my friend."
Caleb ate slowly, using his knife and fork to maintain an air of aristocratic detachment, though every bite tasted like a bitter compromise. The other men took a quiet sip of the wine, their eyes occasionally darting enviously toward the Don's plate, but they remained entirely silent, knowing their place.
Before long, the initial hunger was sated, and the plates were half empty. Then Caleb addressed the statement made by Bronte previously in the foyer.
"Boss," Caleb said, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin, "about what you mentioned earlier. About how Cornwall has hired more mercenaries to deal with us here in the city. What exactly is the situation?"
Bronte washed down a mouthful of fries with a heavy gulp of wine. His face darkened, the jovial gourmand instantly replaced by the paranoid mob boss. And Bronte then proceeded to tell how he received reports from the men he sent to keep a lookout on Annesburg.
"After you and your brave men executed that flawless strike," Bronte began, his voice lowering into a conspiratorial growl, "after most of Cornwall's coal mine buildings were burned to the ground and his sorting facilities reduced to ash, he retreated. I had men watching the river."
Bronte leaned forward, tapping a ringed finger against the table. "His private ship has harbored again at Annesburg. The coward returned to survey his ruined kingdom. And Cornwall was furious with the losses. Beyond furious. He is a man driven mad by the destruction of his coin."
"And?" Caleb prompted, feigning intense interest while internally cataloging the intelligence.
"And one of my spies managed to infiltrate the local telegraph office," Bronte revealed, a nasty smirk touching his lips. "He found that Cornwall hired... he ordered for more mercenaries. Many of them. Other detective agencies, hired guns from Blackwater, thugs from the northern states."
Bronte let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Even though his cash wasn't much now in the coffer! Think of it, McLaughlin! Since he has just paid the monthly wages for his entire business empire, his oil men, his rail workers, his guards, and also his major train income hasn't come yet for the quarter... the man is strapped for liquid capital."
Bronte took another bite of the burger, chewing aggressively. "And now with the absolute, devastating losses of Annesburg, the cost of rebuilding... it has become too much. But the arrogant fool still forced his money. Looks like he allocated several emergency funds from his other businesses, mortgaging his own future, just to hire the mercenaries to march on Saint Denis."
Bronte swallowed, his eyes locking onto Caleb's with a mixture of fear and absolute, bloodthirsty anticipation. And after he said that, he asked Caleb, "He intends to burn us out, McLaughlin. He intends to turn this city into a warzone. What do you think we should do now, my Underboss?"
Caleb didn't answer immediately. He picked up his wine glass, swirling the dark red liquid slowly, watching the light catch the crystal. He was running the variables through his mind at lightning speed.
Cornwall was acting exactly as Caleb had predicted. A narcissist like Leviticus Cornwall couldn't handle the public humiliation of having his assets destroyed by a regional mob boss.
He was throwing good money after bad, liquidating his own emergency reserves to fund a war of pure vengeance. He was bleeding himself dry, making himself incredibly vulnerable to a targeted financial strike.
And Bronte was terrified. The Don was posturing, pretending to be confident, but Caleb could smell the sweat beneath the expensive cologne.
Bronte knew his own ranks had been severely depleted in the Annesburg ambush. He didn't have the manpower to withstand a prolonged siege by hundreds of heavily armed Pinkertons.
They were both exactly where Caleb needed them to be, desperate, paranoid, and utterly reliant on him.
Caleb set the wine glass down with a soft, deliberate clink. He engaged his max level Persuasion and Acting Skills alongside his Leadership Skill, ensuring his voice carried absolute, unshakeable authority.
"What do we do, Boss?" Caleb repeated the question, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that sent a shiver down the spines of the listening capos. "We do not wait for the fat man to bring his army to our gates. We do not cower behind the walls of Saint Denis."
Caleb leaned forward, interlacing his fingers, his eyes burning with a cold, blue fire. "Cornwall is overextended. He is acting out of rage, not logic. He has gathered his mercenaries at Annesburg, consolidating his forces before he marches south. He thinks we are resting on our laurels, celebrating the destruction of his mines."
"So?" Bronte asked, his breath hitching slightly, completely captivated by Caleb's terrifying confidence. "We strike first?"
"We strike the head off the snake," Caleb corrected him. "We don't fight his army, Boss. We let his army sit in the mud of Annesburg waiting for orders that will never come. We take our entire elite strike team. We bypass his blockades on the river."
Caleb paused for dramatic effect, letting the silence stretch until the tension in the room was almost unbearable.
"We board his private riverboat," Caleb stated, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "And we capture Leviticus Cornwall."
The dining room descended into absolute, stunned silence. The four capos stopped drinking, their eyes wide with shock. Capturing a man as powerful and heavily guarded as Leviticus Cornwall wasn't just an act of war, it was considered an impossible, suicidal endeavor.
Even Angelo Bronte paled slightly, the half eaten burger forgotten on his plate.
"Capture Cornwall?" Bronte breathed, his voice trembling slightly. "McLaughlin... the man is surrounded by guards. His boat is a floating fortress. If we fail, the wrath of the entire federal government will fall upon us. They will bring the army to Saint Denis."
"We will not fail, Boss," Caleb assured him smoothly, radiating an aura of infallible competence. "Because they will not see us coming. I have a plan. I know the design of those luxury riverboats. I know how to circumvent the Pinkerton patrols on the water."
Caleb leaned closer to Bronte, his voice hypnotic. "Think about it, Boss. If we capture Cornwall, his entire empire fractures. His board of directors will instantly freeze his assets to secure their own investments. The mercenaries he hired? Without Cornwall alive to sign their paychecks, they will scatter to the winds within a week. A mercenary fights for gold, not for a dead man's vengeance."
Bronte swallowed hard, his greedy mind struggling to process the sheer audacity and the massive potential reward of the plan.
"If we capture him," Caleb concluded, driving the final nail into the coffin of Bronte's hesitation, "Saint Denis is yours. Forever. Uncontested. You will not just be the Don of the city, you will be the undisputed king of the entire state and the states around Lemoyne."
The manipulation of Bronte's ego and his insatiable greed was absolute. The Don's fear was rapidly evaporating, replaced by the intoxicating, overwhelming vision of total, absolute power.
Bronte looked down at his plate, then back up at Caleb. A manic, desperate smile began to spread across his face. He slammed his fist down onto the mahogany table, making the wine glasses rattle.
"Sì!" Bronte hissed, his eyes blazing with a fanatical light. "Sì! You are a genius, McLaughlin! A beautiful, terrifying genius! We will cut the head off the snake!"
Bronte grabbed his wine glass, thrusting it high into the air. "To the death of Leviticus Cornwall! To the absolute victory of la famiglia!"
The four capos, caught up in the sudden, violent momentum of the Underboss's plan, scrambled to their feet, raising their glasses in a toast. "To victory! To Don Bronte!"
Caleb slowly raised his own glass, touching it lightly against Bronte's. "To victory, Boss."
As the men drank, celebrating the impending kidnapping of one of the richest men in America, Caleb took a slow, deliberate sip of his wine. He looked over the rim of his glass at Angelo Bronte.
The Don had just signed his own death warrant. By agreeing to personally sanction and fund the capture of Cornwall, Bronte was walking right into the final stage of Caleb's master plan.
Caleb didn't just intend to costure Cornwall. He intended to orchestrate the kidnapping in a way that would leave Bronte holding the smoking gun, exposed and vulnerable, while Caleb walked away with the keys to the kingdom.
After that, Bronte wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, the manic glint of ambition still burning brightly in his dark eyes. He leaned back in his ornate chair, steepling his fingers as he looked down the long mahogany table at Caleb.
"Very well, McLaughlin," Bronte ordered, his voice taking on the sharp, imperious tone of a Don giving a royal decree. "I order for you to prepare the plan. Since, after all, you are the one who suggested the idea. You are the architect of this grand vision."
Caleb, hearing that, let out a slow, calculated smile that completely masked the lethal machinery working in his mind. He inclined his head in a gesture of absolute deference.
"Of course, Boss," Caleb said smoothly, his voice a low, reassuring rumble. "Don't worry. I will make sure the plan is foolproof. I will design it so that we minimize our exposure and maximize our leverage. I will make sure it will make us have the most rewards possible from a man with pockets as deep as Cornwall's."
Caleb paused, letting his eyes sweep over the four capos at the table, ensuring they were hanging on his every word, before dropping the next piece of bait.
"In fact," Caleb continued, his tone turning conspiratorial, "I also will think of plans on how maybe we could take over some of Cornwall's hard assets here in and around the states while he is... incapacitated. Physical assets that generate constant revenue."
Bronte's eyebrows shot up. "Assets? Such as?"
"Like the Oil Rigs he has right now in the Heartlands of New Hanover," Caleb suggested casually, referring to the massive Cornwall Kerosene & Tar operation. "If the head of the company is missing, the local foremen will panic. We could seize the refineries, forge the transfer deeds, and control the fuel supply for the entire region before his board of directors even knows he's gone."
Hearing that, Bronte let out a loud, booming laugh at that. He slammed his hand against the table again, absolutely thrilled by the sheer scale of the theft Caleb was proposing.
"Ah, McLaughlin! A very good idea!" Bronte praised, his greed completely blinding him to the logistical impossibilities of holding an oil field with a depleted mob army. "Our la famiglia needed permanent, legitimate sources of income if we wanted to control the entirety of Lemoyne and the states around Lemoyne. We cannot just live on protection money and smuggling forever. We must become industrialists!"
Caleb, with a subtle, knowing smirk, says, "Yes, Boss. Don't you worry. I will make sure that the family will receive all of that. I will build the plan to achieve the grand dream the Boss has for this family."
Bronte was even more caught up, living in the dream because of Caleb's words. The sheer potency of Caleb's words, flawlessly delivered and heavily influenced by his max level Persuasion and Acting Skills, was an intoxicating narcotic.
Bronte was falling deeper and deeper into the delusion of his own invincibility. And the other capos as well, their eyes wide with the prospect of endless wealth, completely bought into the narrative Caleb was spinning.
They finished the last of the wine in high spirits, the atmosphere in the dining room feeling less like a mob meeting and more like a coronation.
Soon after that, the meal concluded. Bronte and his men took their leave from Caleb's mansion. They needed to return to the Garden District to begin quietly marshaling what was left of their enforcers.
Caleb escorted Bronte to the outside, playing the role of the dutiful lieutenant. He walked alongside the Don down the marble steps as Bronte stepped into his luxurious black carriage.
"Do not fail me, McLaughlin," Bronte said, leaning out of the carriage window, his eyes narrowing slightly as a brief flash of paranoia returned. "This is everything."
"I have never failed you, Boss," Caleb replied evenly. "I will bring you his head, or I will bring you his empire. Likely both." Bronte smiled, satisfied, and tapped the roof of the carriage. The driver snapped the reins, and the heavy vehicle rolled out of the courtyard, the iron gates closing securely behind it.
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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 2)
Money: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 275,992 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 70 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
Bank: -