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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The sound echoed sharply across the silent courtyard. It wasn't a powerful blow, Bronte was a middle aged man who have become weak due to enjoying his lavish lifestyle, and Caleb's high strength stats barely registered the physical impact, but the sheer disrespect of the action was monumental.
Bronte then launched a tirade against Caleb. Spittle flew from the Don's lips as he pointed a trembling finger at the Underboss.
"You fool! Stupido cane!" Bronte screamed, his face turning a mottled, furious purple. He was saying harsh words, desperately trying to reassert his dominance over the man who was suddenly much larger and more terrifying than him. "I gave you one job! One job! And how I have actually trusted you with my best men! And this is the result you showed me?! A handful of bleeding rats and a failure that will get us all hanged?!"
Caleb, of course, was angered by the slap. His blue eyes flashed with a momentary, genuine lethal intent. If they were alone in an alley, Bronte would have been dead before his hand returned to his side.
But Caleb, of course, acted like he was receiving the anger with dutiful shame. He lowered his head slightly, taking the abuse like a loyal soldier who had failed his commanding officer.
But this slap was actually Bronte's absolute undoing.
Because the 15 men and Silvio, standing just feet away, were angered by this to their very core. As they had turned their absolute loyalty to Caleb in the mud of Annesburg, seeing the man who had actually fought and bled with them struck by the coward who had sent them to die ignited a powder keg of resentment.
Vincenzo, clutching his bleeding shoulder, stepped forward. His eyes were burning with insubordinate fury, under his lead, they began to launch a protest.
"Don't you touch him!" Vincenzo snarled, his voice raw and echoing in the courtyard. "Don't you dare lay a hand on him!"
Bronte froze mid tirade as he heard that, his mouth dropping open in shock. He whipped his head around, staring at Vincenzo as if the capo had just grown a second head.
"What did you say to me, Vincenzo?" Bronte whispered dangerously.
But Vincenzo didn't back down. He was backed by fourteen other heavily armed men, and the massive, looming presence of Silvio.
"He fought for us!" another mobster yelled, stepping up beside Vincenzo. "He saved us from that machine gun while you were sitting here drinking your bloody cognac!"
"Also it was actually you, the Don, who made a big mistake!" Vincenzo continued, taking another aggressive step forward, pointing his good hand at Bronte's chest. "Because you gave the wrong information to the Underboss! You sent thirty five of our brothers into a goddamn meat grinder!"
The other men joined in, a chorus of angry, disillusioned voices. "You don't make sure the spies gave the exact right information! You got them killed! Not him! You!"
Bronte, of course, was surprised. His face went completely slack. As this is the first time he faced a protest like this since he became the iron fist ruler of Saint Denis underworld.
His men had always been terrified of him. But the trauma of the riverboat, combined with Caleb's masterful psychological manipulation, had completely severed their fear of the Don.
Overwhelmed by this sudden, violent mutiny from his own surviving elite, Bronte couldn't respond. He took a stumbling step backward up the marble stairs, clutching his glass of cognac to his chest like a shield, looking frantically at the mansion guards, who were shifting uncomfortably, unsure of who to point their guns at.
And Caleb seeing this, of course, took this exact, perfect chance to act like he was still a loyal Underboss in the end.
He stepped directly between Vincenzo and Angelo Bronte. He raised his hands, pushing Vincenzo back gently but firmly.
"Enough!" Caleb barked, his voice filled with authoritative command, silencing the angry mobsters instantly. "Stand down, Vincenzo! He is still the Don!"
Caleb turned his back to the men, facing Bronte. He was using this moment to paint the picture to Bronte's mind that he still has a man he could trust due to his loyalty. He looked at Bronte with an expression of dutiful protection, absorbing the anger of the men to shield the boss.
"Forgive them, Boss," Caleb said smoothly, ensuring his voice carried to every ear in the courtyard. "They are bleeding. They are exhausted and traumatized by the loss of their brothers. They don't know what they are saying."
But to the 15 men and Silvio, watching Caleb's back, the message was entirely different. To them, Caleb was actually trying to save them from being ordered by Bronte to be put to death for mutiny.
Since Bronte still has many men stationed around the city who aren't as elite as them, of course, but who wanted to get the chance to replace their high ranking positions. If they pushed Bronte too far right now, the mansion guards would open fire at them.
Caleb was playing the ultimate peacemaker, cementing his role as the indispensable bridge between the furious soldiers and the terrified Don.
Bronte, desperately clinging to the only lifeline he had left, seized upon Caleb's intervention.
"Yes... yes, they are exhausted," Bronte stammered, trying to regain a shred of his dignity. He pointed a trembling finger at Vincenzo. "You speak out of turn, Vincenzo. But... but because of the Underboss's mercy, I will overlook this. Go. Get yourselves to the doctor. All of you."
Bronte turned to Caleb, his eyes wide and completely dependent. The slap was entirely forgotten. "McLaughlin... come inside. We... we must discuss what to do next. Cornwall will not let this go."
"I am right behind you, Boss," Caleb assured him softly.
As Bronte hurried back up the stairs and disappeared into the safety of his mansion, Caleb turned back to Vincenzo and the men. He didn't speak. He just gave them a single, slow nod of profound acknowledgment.
It was a silent promise. 'I am with you all. Not him. Our time is coming.'
Vincenzo nodded back, a grim, respectful gesture. The capos turned and led the wounded men away toward the safe houses, completely leaving Bronte's command structure behind in their hearts.
Caleb turned and walked up the marble steps, entering the mansion. The seed of mutiny had blossomed into a full blown rebellion, perfectly contained and controlled by his own hands. Bronte was isolated, terrified, and entirely reliant on the very man who was orchestrating his downfall.
As Caleb stepped through the heavy oak double doors, leaving the dawn light and the scent of blood outside, he was immediately met with the suffocating, tense silence of the grand foyer. The opulence of the mansion felt hollow, like a beautifully decorated tomb.
The butler, an old usually unflappable Italian servant, was standing near the coat rack. But he didn't have his usual professional composure. The butler had a pale face, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched a silver serving tray against his chest like a shield.
He looked at Caleb, his eyes wide, and asked respectfully, his voice barely a whisper.
"Signor McLaughlin," the butler stammered, looking nervously toward the closed doors. "I... I heard the shouting. The anger. I have served this house for twenty years, and I have never seen such anger and mutinous actions from Signor Bronte's men before. They looked ready to burn the house down."
Caleb stopped. He looked at the butler, seeing the fear and panic in the butler's eye. And that, for Caleb, was a massive, glittering opportunity. The calculation in his mind immediately began calculating the strategic value of the moment.
It was a big opening to have someone inside Bronte's mansion to be loyal to him, or at least become a highly effective spy for him.
And what's the better choice than the butler? The man who was practically invisible to the guards, the man who knew almost everything of what Bronte is going to do, the man who handled his mail, his meals, and also his daily schedule. Having the butler in his pocket meant having Bronte's entire life laid bare.
So, using his max level Persuasion and Acting skill, Caleb let out a heavy, weary sigh. He leaned slightly against a marble pillar, looking like a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, allowing his voice to drop to a conspiratorial, deeply concerned register.
"It is bad, signor," Caleb murmured, shaking his head slowly. "Worse than you can imagine. Because those sixteen men out there... they are very angry. They lost thirty five brothers tonight because of the Don's bad intelligence. And they are trying to convince me to betray the boss. They want me to lead them in a coup right now."
The butler gasped, taking a step back, the silver tray rattling against his buttons.
"But I, of course, wouldn't do that," Caleb continued smoothly, projecting an aura of tragic, unyielding loyalty. "I am a man of honor. I held them off today. I stopped them from kicking those doors down and slaughtering everyone inside. But..."
Caleb paused, letting the silence stretch, allowing the sheer terror of the implication to sink into the butler's mind.
"But like you have just seen," Caleb finished darkly, "their blood is boiling. I don't know how long I can hold them off to do it. And when I can't hold them off any longer... they won't just be looking for the Don. They'll kill anyone who stands by him. Anyone who serves him."
The butler began to be influenced by Caleb's skill. The maxed out Persuasion stats bypassed the man's rational defenses entirely, magnifying his primal fear of the violent men outside. And so, in an absolute panic, his professional demeanor crumbling completely, the butler dropped the silver tray onto a side table with a loud clatter.
He says he doesn't want to die. "Please, Signor McLaughlin! I am just a servant!" He pleaded, his eyes filling with tears. "I have nothing to do with the war! Because I still have a family to take care of! A wife, two daughters in the city!"
The butler grabbed Caleb's sleeve, desperate. And so he asked for his help. "You stopped them today. Please, you must protect us!"
Seeing this, Caleb let out a small, almost imperceptible smile at this. The hook was set perfectly. He reached out and gently but firmly detached the butler's hand from his coat, placing his own hand reassuringly on the older man's trembling shoulder, with a voice that are low and steady, like a beacon of safety in a collapsing world responded.
"I can protect you from the angry elite men, Giuseppe," Caleb promised, looking deeply into the butler's eyes. "I can ensure that when the fire comes, it doesn't touch you or your family. But in return... you have to help me."
The butler nodded frantically, willing to agree to anything. "Yes! Anything, Signor!"
"You must inform me of what the boss is doing every day," Caleb instructed, his tone turning sharp and precise. "Who he meets. What he says when he thinks he is alone. Where he keeps his private ledgers. And also, if I ask you to do something, leave a door unlocked, misplace a letter, deliver a specific message, you should do what you are asked to without any questions. Do we have an understanding?"
Hearing that, the butler, of course, had some thinking at first. Betraying the Don was a guaranteed death sentence if caught. He hesitated, his eyes darting toward the hallway. But Caleb's skill immediately helped convince him.
The aura of absolute power Caleb projected, combined with the terrifying reality of the mutinous men outside, made the choice clear. Bronte was a sinking ship, Caleb was the only lifeboat.
And the butler agrees. He nodded his head rapidly, swallowing his fear, officially becoming Caleb's eye inside the mansion. "Yes, Signor Underboss. I understand. My life is in your hands."
"Good man," Caleb said softly, patting his shoulder. "Now, go compose yourself. The Don is waiting for me."
And after that was done, securing a vital intelligence asset in less than three minutes, he went to join Bronte.
Caleb walked down the plush, carpeted hallway and entered inside the massive, sunken living room. It was dark, the heavy velvet curtains drawn tight against the morning sun.
Bronte was standing near the far wall, where he was holding a crystal glass of whiskey and was staring blankly at the crackling fireplace. The flames cast long, dancing shadows across his haggard face. The Don looked ten years older than he had the previous evening.
"Boss."
Bronte turned around slowly. He didn't have the arrogant swagger or the booming confidence he usually possessed. He looked like a man who had just realized he was standing on the edge of a cliff.
Then suddenly Bronte did something Caleb had never seen him do before. He set the whiskey glass down on the mantle and walked over to Caleb, his head bowed slightly.
"McLaughlin...," Bronte began, his voice thick with uncharacteristic regret. "I... I must apologize for my actions outside. I was too angry at the time to hold myself back and realize what my action meant. To strike a made man, my own Underboss, in front of the soldiers... it was a grave error."
Hearing that, Caleb, of course, acted like he completely understood, playing the role of the magnanimous, fiercely loyal subordinate. "It is forgotten, Boss. The stress of the night... the loss of the men. I understand the burden you carry."
Bronte nodded his head before then he walked back to the fireplace, rubbing his temples, and shared his deepest concern to Caleb.
"Did you see their eyes, Caleb?" Bronte whispered, staring into the flames. "Did you see how they looked at me? Which was shown by how angry they are for you, the Underboss, when I slapped you."
Bronte turned back to Caleb, a flicker of his old paranoia returning, but this time, it was directed inward. "For a moment... It makes me think you were actually trying to usurp my position. When they go up againts me with loud voices, I thought you had orchestrated the whole thing to take my throne."
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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 3)
Money: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 280,992 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: -