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Still, he needed to play the part. "Well, you'll forgive if I find that hard to believe," Caleb said, his tone polite but edged. "Mr. Bronte doesn't strike as the kind of man to take sudden interest in strangers. How do I know you two ain't just sayin' his na to get what you want?"
The shorter man chuckled softly, eyes narrowing with respect. "You are a cautious man, signore. Mr. Bronte was right. He said you were sharp."
The taller one nodded. "The proof is not in our words, but in your courage. If you are brave enough, we will escort you to his mansion now. You can deduce for yourself whether we are telling the truth. You can confirm his interest yourself." He pointed across the street to a black carriage waiting by the curb. The driver, also Italian, sat quietly with the reins in hand.
Caleb's mind raced. This was a risk. Getting in a carriage with two mobsters to et Saint Denis's kingpin was the definition of walking into the lion's den, especially one as well guarded as Bronte's, was dangerous.
But this was the entire point of his mission for Dutch, and more importantly, for his own understanding of the threat they faced. But the other part, the part that knew Bronte was a key piece of the city's power web, recognized opportunity when it knocked.
His guns might be confiscated at the door, but his System Inventory held his Lancaster, his Schofield Revolvers, and enough ammunition to start a small war. He was far from defenseless.
He exhaled slowly, straightening his coat. "Alright," he said finally. "But I'll tell you boys this much. If you ain't who you say you are, you'll regret invitin' along. I've dealt with worse n than you."
A faint muscle twitched in the taller man's jaw, but he didn't respond. "Then we understand each other," he said simply.
Caleb followed as they crossed the street. One man opened the carriage door, gesturing for him to step inside. Caleb glanced once at Morgan, still hitched, ears flicking, before climbing in. One Italian joined him, the other took the shotgun's seat, and the door shut with a soft click.
The carriage jolted forward, the sound of hooves echoing through the narrow streets.
Inside, silence filled the air. The Italian opposite him sat rigid, hands folded over his cane, eyes fixed on the window. Caleb didn't bother speaking. He knew better than to push, besides, he had other ways of gathering information. His map function flickered faintly in his vision, the map tracing their movent westward across Saint Denis.
They passed through the business district, where n in waistcoats hurried between offices, then into the quiet wealth of the residential quarter. Street nas appeared one after another, Saint Marcelin Avenue, Flavian Street. Caleb rembered the na from his mories of the ga. Bronte's mansion.
As they turned onto the broad, tree lined avenue, the atmosphere changed entirely. Gas lamps glead over trimd hedges, marble fountains trickled softly, and n in suits patrolled discreetly near every gate.
The carriage slowed, rolling toward an ornate wrought iron entrance guarded by four Italian mobsters. Each one carried a revolver at his hip, the kind of polished discipline that told Caleb they were professionals. The level of security was imnse, a visible display of power and paranoia.
The carriage stopped.
The man beside him stood, motioning toward the door. "We are here."
Caleb followed, stepping out into the sunlight. The Bronte mansion lood ahead, a grand, white stone estate with high windows, balconies lined with iron railings, and marble statues standing silent in the gardens. The place looked like it belonged in a different world, one far from the dirt and blood of the Bayou.
He adjusted his coat, feeling the faint tension in his shoulders. "Well," he muttered, "guess we're doin' this."
Two Italian mobsters that guard the iron gate stopped Caleb at this ti, asking for his weapons to be left behind. Caleb already expecting this shrugged a before then giving his Litchfield repeater, Navy revolvers, and civil war knife to one of the Italian mobster, before he was allowed to enter with promise that everything will be returned.
The iron gate creaked open.
The Italian escorts led him down the cobbled path toward the front entrance. The heavy oak doors opened before they even knocked. Inside, the scent of cigar smoke and expensive cologne filled the air. A servant in a crisp black suit gave a polite nod, gesturing for them to enter.
Marble floors stretched out beneath a crystal chandelier. Paintings of Italian landscapes adorned the walls, and a grand piano sat in the corner beside a roaring fireplace. The wealth was overwhelming, almost obscene. Caleb took it all in quietly, his boots echoing against the marble.
"Signor Bronte will see you now," the servant said, leading him toward a side room.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and power.
Angelo Bronte sat in a leather armchair, a cigar between his fingers, a glass of red wine on the table beside him. His dark eyes lifted as Caleb entered, a faint smile curling his lips. His look was older than Caleb expected, but his presence filled the room effortlessly. Two guards stood at his back, silent as statues.
"Ah," Bronte said, his voice smooth, heavy with accent. "Signor McLaughlin. I have heard much about you."
Caleb tipped his hat slightly. "Can't imagine from who. I tend to keep my head down and just focus on doing my things."
Bronte chuckled softly, the sound rich and deliberate. "Saint Denis has a way of noticing talent. You are… how do you say… efficient. n like you, I like to know."
Caleb kept his tone level, his expression unreadable. "Knowing and hiring are two different things, Mr. Bronte. Which one am I here for?"
Bronte's smile deepened, eyes gleaming with interest. "That depends on how smart you are, signore. Sit. Let us talk business."
Caleb did as he as told, keeping every sense on him alert to the maximum.
Bronte, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair, the faint crackle of the fireplace painting his sharp features in gold and shadow. He took a slow puff of his cigar, savoring the smoke as it curled upward in lazy spirals before setting the cigar aside and reaching for his glass of red wine.
He took a asured sip, letting the silence linger, studying Caleb across the table with the eyes of a man who had spent his ti weighing the worth of n.
Then, with a slight, almost theatrical gesture, he asked, "Tell , Signore McLaughlin, what would you like to drink? Anything you could think of, I have it. Water, whiskey, wine, beer, even… moonshine, though personally I do not understand why so many people like it. I find the taste… barbaric." He gave a light laugh, rolling the glass gently in his hand. "But it is profitable, and I am a man of business. If my custors like it, I make sure they have it."
Caleb offered a faint smile and inclined his head politely. "I appreciate your hospitality, Mr. Bronte. If it's alright with you, I reckon a glass of whiskey would do fine if it's not too much trouble."
Bronte's grin widened, the gold of his tooth catching the light. ""Of course, it is more than okay. A man who appreciates good whiskey understands refinent." He turned slightly and called, "Giovanni! Bring a glass and a bottle of our finest Saint Denis whiskey for our guest."
A quiet acknowledgnt ca from outside the room. Bronte turned back to Caleb, resting his elbows lightly on the arms of his chair. His dark eyes glead with interest. "Now, before we talk of business, I like to know the n I deal with. Tell , Signore McLaughlin, where do you co from?"
Caleb leaned back slightly, feigning a thoughtful pause. "You must already know where I'm from before even eting , Mr. Bronte. But since you're askin'... I co from Blackwater. Just lookin' for work and tryin' to settle myself down in this fine city of yours. Beautiful place, even if it's got its rough edges."
Bronte chuckled, tapping the ash from his cigar into a silver ashtray. "Ah, molto bene. Thank you for indulging in my curiosity. I enjoy a bit of civil conversation before we talk about money and n. Not many are quick witted enough to realize that. Most n who co here are too afraid or too stupid to speak plainly. Or should I say are too... intimidated."
Caleb chuckled, the sound easy and natural. "It ain't about likin' it, Mr. Bronte. It's just good manners. Man should at least have a civil talk before discussin' business, don't you think?"
Bronte laughed deeply, delighted. "Molto vero! Very true, signore. You understand respect, and that, in this world, is a rare treasure."
At that mont, a soft knock interrupted them. One of Bronte's servants entered with a silver tray carrying a crystal glass and a bottle of amber whiskey. He approached quietly, placed them on the table beside Caleb, and poured until the liquid glead in the low light. Caleb nodded in thanks, and the servant withdrew as silently as he ca.
Caleb raised the glass, taking a slow sip. The whiskey was smooth, expensive, Saint Denis blend, aged and refined. He could taste faint hints of oak and spice, the kind of drink that would cost a week's wage in most saloons.
Bronte had extinguished his cigar, placing it neatly in the tray before leaning forward, folding his hands beneath his chin. His tone shifted slightly, no longer casual, but the deliberate cadence of a man steering the conversation where he wanted it to go.
"Then let us talk about why I have invited you here, shall we, Signor McLaughlin?" Bronte said, his tone shifting from congenial to businesslike.
Caleb set the glass down, eyes calm and steady. "Of course, Mr. Bronte. I'd be honored to know what brings to your fine house."
Bronte's grin returned, sharp and almost wolfish. "I invite you here because I have heard of your… accomplishnts."
He raised one finger, counting them off. "Your poker skill, for one, you walked into my city, played two nights at the Bastille, and walked away with the entire pot both tis from n who consider themselves masters of the ga. That does not go unnoticed. And then, of course…" He leaned back slightly. "I have heard of your... expeditions. Taking down two of the city's undesirables in as many days, and bringing them in alive."
He spread his hands, palms up. "And yet you were not injured, not even a scratch that mattered. That tells you are not only skilled, but careful. You think before you shoot. You act when the mont is right. n like that, n with patience and brains, are rare. I value them."
Caleb let a faint smile touch his lips, masking the current of calculation running through his mind. His Acting and Persuasion Skills activated automatically, his Poker skill aiding in keeping his expression perfectly neutral. His Perception told him what Bronte was really doing probing, testing, seeing what he'd reveal when flattered.
"Well," Caleb said humbly, "I appreciate the kind words, Mr. Bronte. Truth is, I was just doin' what I knew. My folks raised to finish what I start, to do it clean, and not pick fights unless I an to win. Never thought that'd make stand out in a city like this."
He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, a careful smile playing at his lips. "Though if I may say this, Mr. Bronte, it sounds to like those two bounties had prices on their heads because you wanted them gone. Maybe they were stirrin' up more trouble than they realized. They were damaging your business, weren't they?"
...
Na: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 6/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 4)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 4)
- Past Life mory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 3)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 3)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 3)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 2)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 1)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 3)
- ntal Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 3)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
Money: 2,621 dollars and 25 cents
Inventory: 104,369 dollars and 72 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 64 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, & 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box
Bank: -
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