If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
...
A name whispered in Saint Denis' underworld with equal parts respect and fear. Caleb had heard talks about him after wandering around Saint Denis, Martelli was the man who made Bronte's promises real, the one who cleaned messes, collected debts, and ensured loyalty. Efficient, ruthless, and as sharp as the boss he served.
Moments later, the double doors at the far end of the dining room opened, and in stepped a well dressed Italian man, middle aged, his slick black hair gleaming in the lamplight.
He wore a sharp tailored charcoal suit, a deep red bowtie at his neck, and a single white flower pinned neatly to his chest pocket. The air about him was refined, but there was no mistaking the weight he carried, the way the servants subtly straightened when he passed, the quiet authority that followed him like a shadow.
"Sì, boss?" Guido said smoothly, his accent crisp. "You called for me?"
"Ah, Guido, amico mio!" Bronte exclaimed warmly, rising from his seat. He stepped forward, clasping his right hand man by the shoulder in a gesture of pride. "Let me introduce you to someone new, someone promising."
Bronte turned toward Caleb, gesturing with an open palm. "Guido, this gentleman right here is Mr. McLaughlin, a rising bounty hunter of exceptional reputation. He has recently... shall we say, handled the Phantom, dealt with Chen Lei, and just finished dismantling the Hackshaw Gang, all whom have cause quite the problem for our operations. I have invited him to join our cause, and he has accepted."
Guido's eyebrows rose, surprise flickering for only a heartbeat before professionalism returned. He turned to Caleb, extending a firm, gloved hand. "It's a pleasure, Mr. McLaughlin. Your name's been circling the streets for days now. It seems Saint Denis has found itself a new kind of story to talk about."
Caleb stood, shaking the man's hand with a firm grip. "Pleasure's mine, Mr. Martelli. I've heard your name too, always spoken with... respect."
"Then I hope we both live up to what the streets say," Guido replied smoothly, with a small, knowing smirk. The two released hands.
Guido then turned to Bronte. "Boss, if I may, what kind of position or job would you like to assign to Mr. McLaughlin?"
Bronte exhaled slowly, returning to his seat with deliberate grace. He leaned back, swirling the last of his wine. "Hmm… that is a question deserving of fine thought, eh? But let us not rush such things on an empty stomach. First, we eat. Then, we plan. It is bad manners to discuss business on an empty stomach."
He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers again. "Servizio!"
Almost immediately, the butler reappeared, followed by several servants dressed in crisp white uniforms. They carried silver platters and ornate dishes, the air filling with the rich aromas of seasoned meats, herbs, and baked delicacies.
Plates of prime steak, lasagna layered with thick sauce and cheese, roasted vegetables, and a fresh bottle of deep red wine were set upon the long mahogany table. The presentation was impeccable, every detail screamed refinement.
Bronte smiled, satisfied, and gestured for them all to sit. "Please, Signori, enjoy. Eat. This is one of my finest meals, and I do not share it with many."
Caleb nodded politely. "Thank you, Mr. Bronte. This looks… incredible. You're generous as always."
He meant it. Even after all his travels, he hadn't seen a meal this rich in months. As the three men took their seats, the butler poured their wine, and soon the room filled with the soft clinking of silverware, the occasional murmur of approval, and the subtle crackle of the fireplace in the corner.
For a few minutes, conversation paused, replaced by the language of appetite and thought. Bronte cut his steak carefully, savoring each bite. Guido sampled the lasagna, while Caleb took in both the food and the atmosphere, filing away details. Every glance, every tone of voice, every subtle power dynamic, he was studying it all.
After a time, Bronte dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin, then looked between them. "Now then. Let us return to business, yes? The question of what kind of position or work our dear Signor McLaughlin should have within our little family."
He turned his eyes toward Guido, raising a brow. "You first, my friend. What do you recommend? You know men, you know their strengths."
Guido placed his utensils down neatly, thinking. "Well, boss," he began smoothly, "with Mr. McLaughlin's reputation as both a talented bounty hunter and a capable poker player, it's clear he has sharp instincts, a steady hand, and nerves of steel. Those traits would serve us well. He could act as an enforcer for our operations, someone who ensures loyalty and discipline, who ensures our operations run smoothly especially when our 'business partners' grow stubborn. Or perhaps as a hustler, participating in the high stakes poker tournaments on the riverboat. His reputation alone would draw attention and, by extension, opportunity."
Caleb hid a small smirk behind his glass. Guido wasn't wrong, both jobs suited him perfectly.
But before he could answer, Bronte nodded slowly, swirling his wine in thought. "Hmm… I see your point. An enforcer, or a player among the high society, yes… yes, it makes sense."
Then his gaze shifted back to Caleb, the corners of his lips curling slightly. "And yet… I feel such positions would not let a man like you, Signor McLaughlin, work at your full potential."
Caleb raised an eyebrow slightly. "How so?"
Bronte leaned forward, his expression one of quiet amusement. "Because I have seen men like you before. The free spirits. The ones who cannot be caged by titles or obligations. To make you an enforcer, or a mere player at the table, would be like tying down a hawk. No, no… I think you would do your best work freely, with the city as your field."
Caleb tilted his head slightly, intrigued but silent.
Bronte continued, gesturing lightly with his cigar. "You see, I have many men who hold ranks, positions, and titles. They serve their purpose. But there are times when I need something done quietly, cleanly, without paperwork or prying eyes. For that, I need men who are not bound by structure, but by loyalty."
Guido nodded in agreement, glancing at Caleb. "The kind of work where success is rewarded, discretion expected, and failure… well, avoided."
Bronte smiled faintly at that. "Exactly. Mr. McLaughlin, what I offer you is not a job, but an understanding. You work for me when I need you to. You will take assignments directly from me or from Guido, depending on the nature of the work, you handle the matters I cannot be seen handling, and in return… you will have my protection, my patronage, and the kind of freedom few men in this city enjoy."
Caleb looked between them, weighing the words carefully. His instincts were sharp enough to recognize a test when he heard one, but also, the opportunity it carried. Bronte's protection in Saint Denis was no small thing. It meant immunity from the law, from rivals, from interference. It meant movement, resources, and influence.
And power. Power he could one day turn to his own ends.
He set his fork down lightly, eyes meeting Bronte's across the table. "You offer a fair deal, Mr. Bronte. I work best when I can move freely. You'll get results. Quietly, effectively, and without any mess reaching your doorstep. Freedom to move, but still under the umbrella of security."
Bronte's grin widened, showing faint traces of satisfaction. "Eccellente. That's exactly what I like to hear."
He raised his glass once more. Guido followed suit, as did Caleb.
"To partnership," Bronte declared smoothly.
"To partnership," Caleb echoed, his voice calm but edged with something deeper, resolve.
Their glasses clinked softly again. The agreement, unspoken but understood, sealed itself in that moment.
The rest of the dinner flowed more easily. Conversation turned to Saint Denis itself, the docks, the politics, the growing presence of Cornwall's industrial interests, the tension simmering between the old money and the new.
Bronte spoke like a statesman, but every word carried the weight of a strategist. Guido shared anecdotes about the city's underground dealings, the bribes, the smugglers, the backroom deals that greased the wheels of Saint Denis' high society.
Caleb, meanwhile, contributed when appropriate, careful to keep his insight useful without revealing too much of the keen mind behind his calm demeanor.
When dessert arrived, a fine dessert, light and creamy, Bronte set his fork down again, eyes gleaming with something almost paternal. "You see, Mr. McLaughlin, this city… she is like a beautiful woman. Full of charm, mystery, and danger. To win her heart, you must first understand how she moves. I built my life here by listening, to whispers, to deals, to secrets. Do the same, and you will thrive."
Caleb nodded slowly. "I understand perfectly."
"I think you do," Bronte said with quiet satisfaction. "And perhaps, one day, Saint Denis will whisper your name with the same reverence."
Caleb gave a small, knowing smirk. "That's the plan, Mr. Bronte."
Bronte chuckled softly. "Ah, I like you already."
Guido smiled faintly. "Then we'll be seeing more of each other soon, I imagine."
"No doubt about that," Caleb replied.
After a few more pleasantries, the dinner wound to a close. Bronte stood, signaling for his butler to escort Caleb out, though not before giving him a final, almost conspiratorial smile. "I or Guido will send for you when the time comes, amico mio. Rest well, enjoy the city, and keep your ear to the ground. There are always opportunities for a man like you."
Caleb tipped his hat. "I'll be ready, Mr. Bronte."
As he left the manor, the night air of Saint Denis was cool, carrying the scent of sea and smoke. The carriage awaited him at the gate, lanterns glowing faintly. He stepped inside, the doors closing with a soft click.
As the carriage rolled through the streets, the glow of the gas lamps flickering through the window, Caleb leaned back and exhaled slowly. The gears were turning, Bronte, Guido, the city itself, all aligning in ways he could already foresee.
He'd earned their trust. Their attention. Now, all he had to do was play the long game. And when the time came, Saint Denis wouldn't whisper Bronte's name anymore. It would whisper his.
The carriage wheels hummed over the cobbled streets of Saint Denis, their rhythm steady, faintly echoing against the narrow brick alleys. Through the carriage window, Caleb could see the faint halo of the gas lamps casting pale pools of light upon the fog-laced night.
The city's sounds were distant and layered, a dog barking somewhere far off, the faint chime of a church bell, laughter spilling from a several workers he passed by. It was a city that never quite slept, just shifted moods as the hours passed.
Caleb leaned back in his seat, adjusting the lapel of his coat. His mind was still on Bronte, the words, the tone, the gleam behind the Italian's eyes when he had spoken of partnership.
He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the thick, sealed envelope Bronte had handed him earlier that night. The fine parchment bore the faint scent of tobacco and imported perfume, typical of Bronte's taste for excess. Caleb opened it, unfolding the crisp bills within. He counted carefully.
300 dollars.
The other half of the promised payment.
Combined with the first payment, that made 600 dollars for just one task, a single bounty, albeit one that involved infiltration, deception, and negotiation with one of the most dangerous men in the city. Caleb whistled softly under his breath.
And that was only part of the picture. He thought back to the stash he had found in the Hackshaw Gang's freight shed, the 400 dollars in crisp bills, the scattered jewelry, the ruby gleaming like a drop of frozen blood. When added to the bounty payments from the Phantom, Chen Lei, and the Hackshaw brothers, Caleb estimated that he had accumulated close to two thousand dollars.
Almost two grand, enough to buy a fine horse, new clothes, weapons, or even a piece of property. He wasn't hurting for money anymore, but what that money meant mattered more than the amount itself.
High risk, high reward, he thought, smirking faintly. That's the game when you deal with a man like Angelo Bronte.
He leaned his head against the wooden panel, eyes half lidded. He knew the truth, Bronte wasn't just some charming Italian don. He was a spider at the center of Saint Denis' web, and Caleb had just stepped right into his silk threads. And yet… Caleb couldn't help but smirk. "In the game," he mused, "Bronte got nerfed."
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 7/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 4)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 4)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 3)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 4)
- 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 3)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 2)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 3)
- Mental 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: 3,655 dollars and 20 cents
Inventory: 104,669 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, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, & 1 Ruby
Bank: -