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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"Yes," Caleb nodded firmly. "We are going to make absolutely sure that the Harry Potter books, the adaptation manuscripts you have been pouring your heart into for the last few months, and also your very own, original romance stories that you have made, are all entirely flawless. We are going to sit at that mahogany desk, edit the final chapters, and perfect the prose."
He leaned in closer, his max-level Business Skill aligning perfectly with her greatest, most closely guarded lifelong dream.
"Because then, Mary-Beth," Caleb declared, his voice ringing with absolute certainty, "we are going to have it published."
Hearing that, the absolute, undeniable confirmation that her dreams were finally crossing the threshold into reality, Mary-Beth's eyes completely turned into stars.
The heavy, Irish beef stew and the exhaustion of the long day were instantaneously forgotten. The sheer, overwhelming thrill of becoming a published author, of seeing her words bound in leather and sold in the grand bookstores of Saint Denis, sent a massive jolt of pure, electrified adrenaline straight through her veins.
She sat up completely straight, her hands gripping the lapels of his suit jacket tightly. She gasped, a bright, blindingly beautiful smile breaking across her face.
"Really?" Mary-Beth breathed, her voice trembling with profound, unadulterated excitement. "You mean it, Caleb? We are actually going to send them to the printing presses? You think they are ready?"
"I don't just think they are ready, I know they are ready," Caleb assured her, his confidence absolute. "I own a controlling stake in three of the largest publishing houses in this city through the family, sweetheart. But even if I didn't, your writing is spectacular. The Harry Potter adaptation is going to take this country by an absolute storm. It is going to change the literary landscape of the Gilded Age, and your original stories are going to make you one of the most beloved romance authors in the state. We are starting the printing process this week."
Mary-Beth let out a loud, joyous squeal, entirely unable to contain her happiness. She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely in the cramped space of the carriage.
"Oh, Caleb! Thank you! Thank you so much!" she cried, burying her face into his neck.
She pulled back, her dark eyes practically vibrating with impatient, creative energy.
"Hurry up and check your ledgers!" Mary-Beth laughed, her aristocratic poise completely abandoned for the giddy excitement of an artist about to unveil her masterpiece. "I want you to finish whatever you want to do there as fast as humanly possible, and then return back to the mansion immediately! I have a final chapter that needs revising, and I need to pick out the font for the title page!"
Caleb laughed loudly, a rich, delighted sound that filled the plush velvet cabin. He reached up and tapped on the sliding wooden compartment separating them from the driver's box.
"Did you hear that, driver?" Caleb called out, his eyes dancing with amusement as he looked at the wildly excited woman in his arms. "I want you to push the horses. The Madam has a publishing empire to build, and we are officially on a very tight schedule."
"Understood, Don McLaughlin!" The driver's cultured voice called back over the sound of the clattering hooves. "To the Bastille Saloon, post haste!"
As the carriage accelerated through the glittering, gas-lit avenues of Saint Denis, Mary-Beth leaned her head against the glass window, looking out at the city that had once seemed so terrifying and alien to her. It didn't look frightening anymore.
It looked like a massive, sprawling canvas, just waiting for her to write her name across it. With the absolute power of the Don protecting her, and the limitless resources of his empire backing her dreams, there was nothing in this world she couldn't achieve.
The black lacquered carriage surged forward, the driver taking Caleb's command to heart. The four magnificent white horses broke into a brisk, ground eating trot, their iron shod hooves striking the cobblestones in a rapid, rhythmic clatter that echoed off the brick facades of the wealthy district.
The carriage drove a bit fast, leaning smoothly into the sweeping turns of the gas lit avenues, carrying the Don and his Lady away from the industrial grit of the eastern docks and back into the glittering, opulent heart of Saint Denis high society.
Inside the plush velvet cabin, the atmosphere was crackling with a joyous, impatient energy. Mary-Beth could hardly sit still, her mind completely consumed by the prospect of her literary dreams coming to fruition.
Caleb simply held her hand, anchoring her with his calm, confident presence, enjoying the beautiful sight of her unbridled happiness.
Soon, the carriage decelerated, the suspension groaning softly as the driver pulled back on the heavy leather reins. They had reached their destination.
The Bastille Saloon stood as a towering monument to Gilded Age excess. It was the premier establishment for the city's absolute elite, a sprawling, multi story building constructed of imported stone, featuring massive, arched stained-glass windows and a beautifully ornate wrought iron balcony that wrapped around the second floor.
Gas lamps flickered warmly by the heavy, brass studded mahogany double doors, casting a welcoming, golden glow onto the pristine sidewalk.
As the carriage ground to a complete halt at the curb, the driver quickly hopped down from his box. But Caleb, operating with the protective, gentlemanly instincts that defined him, of course got down first. He pushed the carriage door open himself, stepping out onto the clean, swept pavement and adjusting the lapels of his midnight blue tuxedo.
He turned back to the carriage and extended his strong, calloused hands. He helped Mary-Beth get off the carriage, his grip firm and reassuring as she gathered her heavy navy blue skirts and stepped lightly down from the high iron carriage step. She linked her arm through his, clutching her small velvet reticule, her eyes sweeping over the grand facade of the saloon.
Behind them, the logistical security detail operated with silent, terrifying efficiency. Silvio, the giant, heavily scarred enforcer, and the elite mafia guards had already gracefully dismounted from their dark bay horses.
Moving with practiced discipline, they securely hitched their horses at the heavy iron hitching post located just a few yards from the entrance. Silvio checked the action on his hidden sidearm, giving a sharp nod to the guards to form their usual, impenetrable diamond formation around the Don and the Madam.
Together, they approached the grand entrance. There's a two doorme now, the two towering figures in crisp uniforms, instantly recognized the man approaching. Their eyes widened in absolute, profound shock, and they hurriedly pulled the heavy mahogany doors wide open, bowing so deeply their faces nearly touched their knees.
Caleb and Mary-Beth, flanked by their lethal escort, stepped over the threshold and entered into the saloon.
The interior of the Bastille was a sensory masterpiece of unimaginable wealth. The air was thick with the scent of expensive Cuban cigars, imported French perfumes, and the rich, oaky aroma of aged bourbon.
Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the intricately molded ceilings, casting a brilliant, sparkling light over the polished hardwood floors and the plush, crimson velvet seating areas. A skilled pianist was playing an upbeat, sophisticated ragtime melody on a grand piano in the corner, providing a lively soundtrack to the evening.
When they first entered, the wealthy and upper class patrons that came to the saloon to drink, gamble, and socialize did not notice the Don's arrival at first. The room was bustling with loud, arrogant conversations about shipping tariffs, local politics, and high society gossip. Men in expensive tailcoats and women in shimmering silk gowns were entirely absorbed in their own insulated worlds.
But then, the atmosphere began to shift. It started with a single, sharp intake of breath.
One of the patrons, a wealthy store manager standing near the entrance, happened to glance toward the doors. He noticed Caleb standing there, the tall, broad shouldered figure radiating an aura of lethal, absolute authority.
The man's glass of scotch froze halfway to his mouth. He recognized the midnight blue tuxedo and the terrifying, beautiful woman standing on his arm. He had been standing in the back gardens of the Garden District mansion just hours ago.
He nudged the man standing next to him, a state senator, and pointed a trembling finger. The senator turned, his eyes bulging.
And soon, like a tidal wave ripping through a calm sea, the entire saloon noticed. The loud, boisterous chatter began to die down rapidly, replaced by a frantic, hushed wave of panicked, awe struck whispers.
They noticed because they either had personally come to the massive celebration earlier that afternoon and witnessed Caleb's absolute ascension to the throne, or they had already heard of the new Don from their friends, their family members, or their business acquaintances who were lucky enough to get invited to the exclusive party. The news of the bounty hunter McLaughlin violently seizing the entire Italian mafia and establishing himself as the undisputed King of Saint Denis had completely consumed the city's elite circles.
The lively piano music faltered for a fraction of a second as the musician caught sight of the entourage, before he quickly recovered, smoothing out the melody into something a bit more respectful and subdued.
As Caleb and Mary-Beth began to walk forward, the sea of wealthy patrons instinctively parted ways. The aristocrats, the industrialists, and the socialites scrambled to move aside, creating a wide, completely unobstructed path straight down the center of the saloon.
It was a stunning display of absolute, unquestioned power. These were people who bowed to no one, yet they shrank back against the velvet walls and the poker tables to make room for the Don.
Caleb and Mary-Beth went to the main bar counter, located at the far end of the sprawling room. As they approached there, walking with a slow, commanding, yet entirely graceful stride, the patrons greeted Caleb respectfully.
"Good evening, Don McLaughlin," a wealthy shipping magnate murmured, taking off his silk top hat and bowing his head.
"A pleasure to see you, Don. Madam," a prominent socialite whispered, offering a deep, trembling curtsy to Mary-Beth.
Even though Caleb did not remember all of them, his mind was far too occupied with the grand, macro level logistics of his corporate empire to memorize the face of every single sycophant in high society, he returned the greetings with flawless, diplomatic grace.
He offered slow, magnanimous nods, his sharp blue eyes acknowledging their submission without ever breaking his stride. Mary-Beth, channeling her 'Alice McFarlane' persona to absolute perfection, offered polite, aristocratic smiles, proving that she was entirely comfortable swimming in these treacherous, wealthy waters.
When they finally reached the massive, glittering mahogany counter, the bartender currently on duty froze. The bartender was a new person, a young, nervous looking man with slicked-back hair that Caleb had never met before. The young man swallowed hard, his hands shaking slightly as he hastily put down the glass he was polishing.
Caleb leaned casually against the polished brass rail of the bar. He didn't order a drink right away. Instead, he looked the terrified bartender dead in the eye and asked the man to call Ezra.
"Go to the back office, tell Ezra that the Don wanted to meet him immediately." Caleb instructed, his voice a low, smooth baritone that nonetheless carried the weight of an absolute command.
The new bartender, hearing that direct order from the man who owned the city, nodded his head continuously, looking like a bobblehead doll in his sheer panic. "Y-Yes, sir! Right away, Don McLaughlin! I'll get him right away!"
Before then, he dropped his polishing cloth on the counter and practically sprinted away, disappearing through the swinging wooden doors that led to the saloon's private back rooms and administrative offices.
Caleb stood patiently, his arm resting lightly around Mary-Beth's waist, while Silvio and the guards stood a few paces back, keeping their terrifying, watchful eyes on the high society patrons who were still staring at them in absolute awe.
Soon, the swinging wooden doors opened again. Ezra came out, walking purposefully alongside the sweating bartender.
Ezra was a sharp, highly intelligent young Black man. In a city deeply fractured by systemic racism and rigid class structures, Angelo Bronte would never have allowed a man like Ezra to be anything more than a lowly glass washer.
But Caleb Thorne operated purely on a ruthless, uncompromising meritocracy. He recognized competence, loyalty, and sheer logistical brilliance regardless of background. When Caleb had acquired the Bastille Saloon, he had immediately promoted Ezra, bypassing the old, corrupt management entirely and placing the young man in absolute control of the prestigious establishment.
Ezra was dressed impeccably in a tailored, dark charcoal suit, a silver pocket watch chain glinting against his crisp waistcoat. He carried himself with a newfound, profound sense of dignity and professional pride.
Seeing Caleb standing at the bar with a beautiful woman on his arm, Ezra let out a wide, incredibly genuine smile of pure gratitude and respect. He quickly stepped out from behind the mahogany counter, approaching the Don. He greeted the Don incredibly respectfully, bowing his head.
"Don McLaughlin," Ezra said, his voice steady and highly professional, though laced with a deep, unmistakable warmth. "It is an absolute honor to see you again, sir. And a pleasure to welcome you back to your establishment."
He then turned to Mary-Beth, offering her a polite bow. "Madam. Welcome to the Bastille."
"Thank you, Ezra," Mary-Beth smiled warmly, immediately liking the sharp, well mannered young man.
Caleb returned the greeting, reaching out to shake Ezra's hand firmly, a public display of respect that sent a massive shockwave of realization through the watching aristocrats. The Don was treating his manager as an equal.
"It is good to see you, Ezra," Caleb said, letting go of his hand. He then shifted directly into business, his sharp eyes evaluating the pristine condition of the saloon.
"How is the transition holding up?" Caleb inquired smoothly. "Are the suppliers honoring the new contracts? Is the high
society clientele behaving themselves under your watch?"
Ezra, hearing that, straightened his posture, his chest puffing out slightly with well earned pride.
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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: 282,992 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: -