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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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He paused, letting his Persuasion skill weave its magic. He pitched his voice to sound fiercely loyal, tapping into their mob pride. "When the charges blow, the Pinkertons will scramble to the fires. It will be chaos. Absolute panic. In that confusion, our n will catch them in a devastating crossfire from the tree lines. We shoot them while they try to put out the flas. We burn his empire to ash, and we disappear into the woods before the law even knows what hit them."
Bronte, the capos, and the made n listened to the plan with breathless attention. They, of course, had fallen completely to his skills. The aura of Caleb's Persuasion made the plan sound flawless, heroic, and incredibly lucrative.
Because of the hypnotic way he presented it, emphasizing the glory and the damage to Cornwall, they didn't realize the massive, glaring flaw hidden within the strategy.
Caleb knew exactly what he was doing. He knew Cornwall's n response tis in Annesburg. He knew there were Maxim guns positioned in the watchtowers that Cornwall had recently installed.
The amount of casualties and impact it could have on Bronte's side was as big as the ones Cornwall was going to receive. The "crossfire from the tree lines" was actually a death trap, Bronte's n would be pinned down against the river with nowhere to run once the Cornwall's reinforcents arrived with carriages and horses.
Caleb was deliberately feeding Bronte's elite soldiers into a at grinder, perfectly balancing the destruction of Cornwall's assets with the decimation of Bronte's muscle.
And of course, after his explanation was done, the courtyard was dead silent for a mont before erupting into nods and low murmurs of profound approval. Everyone believed the plan made by Caleb is the absolute best course of action. It was bold, it was vicious, and it sounded like a definitive end to the war.
But, as with any gathering of seasoned criminals, there were of course questions, suggestions, and critiques from Bronte, the capos, and the made n.
Bronte himself, completely enamored with the idea of bankrupting his rival, didn't have any critiques. "It is a masterpiece," Bronte declared, slapping the table. "Un colpo da maestro! You will shatter his spine, McLaughlin!"
However, a heavily scarred capo nad Carlo raised a hand, looking at the map with a furrowed brow. "Underboss, with all respect... getting into the gorge is one thing. But exfiltrating through those woods after we blow the sorting facility? The Pinkertons have dogs. They know those woods. If they pin us near the river, we have no cover."
It was a perfectly valid tactical concern, pointing directly to the fatal flaw Caleb had designed. But Caleb, of course, could handle these capos and made n with his Persuasion and Acting Skill effortlessly.
Caleb didn't scowl or shut the man down aggressively. Instead, he smiled, a warm, confident expression that imdiately disard the capo's anxiety.
"A sharp observation, Carlo," Caleb praised, making the man sit a little taller. "And exactly why we aren't just running blindly into the woods. Before we blow the charges, I will personally sabotage the telegraph wires leading out of Annesburg. They won't be able to call for the dogs or the law from Van Horn. By the ti they organize a pursuit, we will have already crossed the river and scattered into the Grizzlies. They will be chasing shadows while we are drinking to their ruin."
He looked around the table, his eyes locking with each man. "It requires speed. It requires courage. But I look at the n at this table, and I do not see cowards. I see the lions of Saint Denis. Are you telling a few rent a cops in the mud frighten you?"
The manipulation of their toxic pride was absolute. Carlo shook his head vigorously. "No, Underboss. We fear no Pinkertons and rcenaries. I am with you."
Another made man, a younger enforcer, spoke up. "Should we bring the wagons, Signor McLaughlin? To carry out any loot from the mining offices?"
"No," Caleb answered smoothly, weaving a suggestion into a command. "Wagons are slow. Wagons leave tracks. This is not a robbery, this is an execution of assets. We carry only what we need to fight and burn. We travel light, we strike like lightning, and we vanish. Our reward isn't the petty cash in Cornwall's safe. Our reward is owning this mine when he is gone."
The capos and made n nodded in unison, their doubts entirely vaporized by Caleb's overwhelming charisma and logic.
Bronte raised his glass high into the air, his face flushed with the thrill of impending victory. "Sì, sì, eccellente. Listen to him, he knows what he's talking about!"
"To the Underboss," Bronte continued. "To the man who will lead us to victory over Leviticus Cornwall! Alla vittoria! To victory!"
"To the Underboss! To victory!" The n echoed, raising their glasses, blindly toasting to their own doom.
Caleb raised his glass as well, "to la famiglia," before taking a slow sip of the wine. He looked at the faces around the table, these n who thought they were embarking on a crusade of conquest.
He had effectively maneuvered the two greatest threats to the Van der Linde gang into a locked room, and he was about to set the room on fire.
The plan was set. The pieces were moving exactly as he commanded. As the night wore on and the mobsters began to discuss logistics and ammunition, Caleb simply watched the fla of the gas lamp flicker, his mind already miles away, looking forward to the quiet safety of the hostead once this bloody business was finally concluded.
After the discussion is finished, Bronte clapped his hands sharply twice. He had his servants to serves the main course of the evening. A line of staff, looking nervous under the gaze of so many ard n, filed out from the kitchen carrying heavy silver platters.
The sll of rich food imdiately overpowered the scent of cigars and jasmine. They set down plates of thick pri rib steak, cooked to a perfect dium rare, accompanied by creamy mashed potatoes and sides of buttery roasted vegetables. This was followed by delicate porcelain bowls filled with a steaming, fragrant lobster bisque.
But to Caleb's absolute surprise, as the final platters were uncovered, burgers and french fries was served as well.
The thick, juicy beef patties nestled between soft buns, alongside mounds of golden, crispy potatoes, looked entirely out of place amidst the fine Italian crystal and silver serving ware. The capos and made n's attention was drawn to it as well, as they have never seen such food before. They squinted at the platters, murmuring amongst themselves, unsure if this was a peasant dish or so new foreign delicacy the Don had acquired.
Bronte, seeing this confusion, let out a broad, indulgent smile. He raised his hands to quiet the murmurs, saying to all of them, "Ah, my friends. Do not look so confused. I see you eyeing the final course." He pointed to the platters. "These two are called burgers and golden fries respectively."
Bronte leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine. "These two delicacies co from Valentine, a miserable little mud hole of a town. But... there's a small restaurant there that sells this. And I must say, they are very delicious. A true surprise from the dirt. I suggest all of you to eat it last, to truly appreciate the flavor after the heavy at."
Hearing that, Caleb was genuinely surprised by what he hear. He kept his face perfectly neutral, masking the sudden jolt of adrenaline.
While he knew that news of his restaurant, have reached Saint Denis through travelers and traders, he didn't expect that Angelo Bronte himself would be interested in it. He certainly didn't expect that the Don would have send so n to buy so for him to try, and that he actually love it, even to the point of serving it as part of his dinner tonight with his high ranking n of his organization.
It was a bizarre collision of his two lives.
Caleb leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. He asked him respectfully, "Saying, boss... who did you hear of this food from? I have heard whispers of a new restaurant that served delicious food in Valentine during my ti scouting outside the city... but I haven't gone there yet to look into it yet."
Bronte smiled, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. "Ah, my Underboss. It is good that your ears are open even when you are hunting." He gestured toward his butler, who was standing quietly near the doors. "I have heard it from my butler. Since I have been pretty bored of the food I have been eating for so ti, no offense to my cooks, of course, but one tires of quail, I had him look for sothing new."
Bronte took a piece of the golden fries and popped it into his mouth, chewing with satisfaction. "So, I have my butler send so n to buy so for to try. They rode hard, kept them wrapped in insulated boxes. Expensive delivery, but worth it."
Caleb, hearing that, nodded his head thoughtfully. He then apologized for his questions. "Forgive , Mr. Bronte, my curiosity got the better of . I apologize for my questions which caused everyone and the boss couldn't eat."
Bronte waved his hand dismissively, his rings flashing. "Nonsense, amico mio! You were curious and I wanted to answer. A good leader asks questions. So now, co everyone, mangiamo! Let's enjoy the feast."
And with that, the tension broke, and everyone began to enjoy the food. The clinking of silverware and the low grunts of satisfaction filled the courtyard. They ate the pri rib, they slurped the bisque, with eating the burger and fries last according to Bronte's instruction of course.
When all of the capos and made n finally eat the burger and fries, the reaction was imdiate. Eyes widened.
"By God, Don Bronte, this is... incredible," Carlo mumbled, grease shining on his scarred chin. "The at is so tender, and the bread..."
"And these potatoes," another capo added, examining a fry. "Crispy, but soft inside. Delicious."
They are truly astounded by the taste.
Caleb, of course, acted like this is the first ti he tasted it as well. He took a deliberate bite of his own creation, chewing slowly, his face mimicking the revelation the other n were experiencing. He swallowed and looked at Bronte with widened eyes.
"You were right, Mr. Bronte," Caleb said, his voice laced with manufactured awe. "This is exceptional."
He leaned back, adopting the persona of the calculating Underboss looking for a new angle. He even says, "In fact... I think I am going to buy this restaurant in Valentine. Or at least force an investnt on it. With our distribution lines, this could beco my first money making machine for the family."
Bronte, who heard that, imdiately responded in a very positive way. His eyes lit up at the prospect of a steady, localized supply.
"That," Bronte said, pointing a fry at Caleb, "is a very good idea, McLaughlin. A brilliant idea. If you do that, then I will make a decree right now. I will exempt you from paying the usual family fees on that specific business. In exchange, just deliver these delicacies to every week. Fresh."
Bronte leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "And also, if they have a new nu or other nus they are developing, I would like to try it first. Exclusively, before it is being sold to the public."
Caleb inwardly smirked at that. The irony was almost too rich. Because the business was his entirely, he didn't have any losses to report or hide. He was essentially getting a tax break from the mob on his own legitimate business, and sending whatever was on his nus every week doesn't cost much, it was pocket change compared to the goodwill and trust it bought him with the Don.
And as he think so, Caleb responded with utmost respect. "Of course, boss. I will have it done. You will have a standing, exclusive order."
"Excellent!" Bronte cheered, raising his glass of wine. "To our new Underboss, and his excellent taste in investnts!"
The n cheered, raising their glasses again, their mouths full of Caleb's food.
After that was done, and the plates were cleared leaving only cigar smoke and the dregs of wine, the eting was adjourned.
Bronte stood up, his face hardening back into the mask of the general. "We attack Cornwall in two days," Bronte says, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "So prepare the best soldiers to join you. Restock your ammunition. And begin the assault on Annesburg exactly as the Underboss have planned."
"Yes, Don Bronte," the capos answered in unison, standing up from the table.
Caleb took his leave, shaking Bronte's hand one final ti. He walked back through the mansion, feeling the eyes of the staff on him, and returned back to his mansion on Morgan of course. The ride through the quiet city streets to his new northern estate was peaceful, a stark contrast to the violence he was orchestrating.
And then, two days passed.
In the passing two days, Caleb did not rest. He knew that the title of Underboss ant nothing if the n didn't fear and respect him more than they feared Bronte. He also begin to insert his influence as the new Underboss in the mob actively.
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Na: 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 mory (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)
- ntal 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: 250,992 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: -
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