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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But they, of course, said no. They knew their place, and they possessed an intense, protective respect for their leader's private life. "With all due respect, Don McLaughlin," Silvio rumbled, bowing his massive, scarred head deeply. "We cannot accept. We smell like horse sweat and gun oil, and we absolutely don't want to disturb your private time with the Madam. You two deserve a quiet evening."
The other four guards nodded in fervent agreement, entirely adamant about maintaining the professional boundary.
Mary-Beth, possessing a kind, naturally hospitable heart that hadn't been entirely hardened by her time on the run, also stepped forward and tried to persuade them.
"Please, gentlemen, you must be starving," Mary-Beth urged gently, offering them a warm, genuine smile. "There is more than enough food. We would be honored to have you join us."
But they were absolutely adamant to not join. Silvio offered her a polite, surprisingly gentle smile that looked completely incongruous on his terrifying face. "Thank you, Madam McFarlane. Truly. But the men and I prefer to eat in the back room with the rest of the detail. We need to debrief the patrol anyway. Have a wonderful evening."
So, seeing that their minds were firmly made up, there was nothing Caleb and Mary-Beth could do to force them. Caleb nodded his understanding, dismissing them to their quarters with a final word of thanks. Before they then turned around, linked arms, and entered inside to the cool, quiet sanctuary of the mansion.
They went directly to the smaller, more intimate private dining parlor off the main hall, where they ate a spectacular, heavy dinner which had been meticulously prepared by the head cook of the mansion exclusively for the two of them.
They dined on roasted duck, buttery potatoes, and drank cold, crisp white wine, enjoying the profound, uninterrupted peace of the heavily guarded estate.
After dinner, the physical exhaustion of the long, emotional day finally began to catch up with them. Caleb and Mary-Beth went upstairs to their massive master bedroom.
The room was bathed in the soft, romantic glow of several gas lamps.
The maids had already done exceptional work, the mountain of boxes from De Coursey's had been neatly stacked near the massive mahogany wardrobe.
Mary-Beth, unable to resist the temptation of her new treasures, immediately went to work. She opened some of the larger, striped boxes, carefully parting the crisp white tissue paper, and pulled out the stunning silk and velvet dresses. She began to organize them and put the dresses into her massive, empty sections of the wardrobes.
Caleb, of course, helped her. He took off his heavy gun belt and his Vaquero jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his linen shirt, and helped her lift the heavier wool coats and secure the delicate silk gowns onto padded hangers.
And they talked with each other intimately as they are doing this. The quiet, repetitive domestic task provided a beautiful, grounding contrast to the overwhelming opulence surrounding them.
Where Mary-Beth paused, holding a delicate, ivory colored silk nightgown against her chest. She looked around the massive, marble-accented bedroom, the roaring fireplace, and the endless array of expensive clothing.
She let out a soft, highly emotional sigh. She confessed, her voice trembling slightly.
"Caleb," she whispered, her eyes shining in the lamplight. "Sometimes... sometimes I am terrified that I am going to wake up. That I'll open my eyes and I'll be back in a freezing, leaky tent in Colter, or running through the mud in Valentine. This... all of this... it doesn't feel real. It feels like a fairytale that I wrote in my journal."
Caleb stopped organizing the hat boxes. He walked over to her, his expression entirely serious, filled with an ocean of protective love. He took the silk nightgown from her hands, tossing it gently onto the bed, and pulled her into his arms.
Caleb smiled, pressing his forehead against hers. Saying, his voice a deep, resonant vow of absolute security, that it's not a dream, but a hard, undeniable reality.
"It is real, Mary-Beth," Caleb promised, his thumbs gently stroking her flushed cheeks. "The silk is real. The walls are real. The absolute safety you feel right now... it is entirely real. I built it for you."
He kissed her deeply, a slow, passionate promise. "And I will keep it that way. I will fight the entire world to ensure it stays as a reality for us for a very, very long time. You are never going back to the mud. You are the Lady of Saint Denis now."
And the two shared a very intimate, deeply affectionate moment there in the center of the opulent room, completely wrapped in each other's arms, letting the absolute certainty of their secure future wash over them.
Before then, the sheer exhaustion finally demanded their surrender. They went to change their clothes, washing the dust of the road away, and climbed into the massive, incredibly soft four poster bed.
They held each other tightly beneath the heavy crimson silk sheets and went to sleep quickly, their bodies resting and repairing, since tomorrow will be a very, very important day. The coronation awaited.
The next day in the early morning, the city of Saint Denis slowly began to wake up under a blanket of humid, coastal mist.
Both Caleb and Mary-Beth woke up naturally due to the brilliant, warm light of the morning sun shining brightly through the tall, eastern facing bay window. The golden rays illuminated the dust motes dancing in the quiet air of the master suite.
Both of them stretched lazily, tangled in the silk sheets, and shared a soft, sleepy good morning kiss. The profound peace of the previous night lingered, but a sharp, thrilling undercurrent of anticipation was already beginning to build.
Today was the day they stepped out into the light.
And then they both stood up from their bed, reaching for their thick velvet robes.
Where exactly at this time, there was a sharp, highly respectful, but urgent knock from the heavy oak double doors of the bedroom.
"Don McLaughlin? Madam McFarlane? Forgive the early intrusion," came the muffled, ever professional voice of the head butler.
It was Antonio. He waited for Caleb's verbal permission before speaking further. He informed them through the thick wood that the highly anticipated delivery had arrived.
"I have excellent news," Antonio announced. "The Madam's bespoke coronation dress for the grand celebration today has just been sent up from the commercial square. The couriers from Charles De Coursey's atelier have delivered it personally."
Caleb, hearing that the most crucial piece of the day's visual propaganda had arrived perfectly on schedule, smiled.
"Come in, Antonio," Caleb called out, tying the sash of his robe tightly around his waist.
In which Antonio entered smoothly, opening the heavy doors wide. He didn't come alone. He entered with two of the senior household maids, who were carefully, almost reverently, bringing the dress into the room.
They carried it alongside a beautiful, polished mahogany dress stand, which was used to put the dress there so that the heavy velvet wouldn't wrinkle or lose its immaculate, painstakingly tailored shape before the banquet.
The maids positioned the stand in the center of the room and carefully arranged the gown. It was the breathtaking, emerald green velvet masterpiece with the black Chantilly lace overlay.
In the bright morning sunlight, the rich color seemed to glow from within. Charles De Coursey's exhausted seamstresses had truly performed a miracle; the alterations were invisible, and the gown looked fit for an empress.
Mary-Beth gasped, rushing forward to lightly touch the lace, her eyes wide with absolute delight. "It's perfect. It's even more beautiful than it was in the shop."
Caleb nodded his profound approval, dismissing the maids with a gesture.
As Mary-Beth admired her armor for the day, Caleb turned his razor-sharp focus back to the logistics of his empire. The sun was up, which meant the clock was ticking down to zero hour.
Caleb, at this time, crossed his arms and looked directly at his head butler, his tone shifting from domestic warmth to cold, highly calculated command.
"The dress is flawless, Antonio," Caleb stated, his blue eyes intense. "But what about the grounds? Talk to me about the perimeter, the foods, and the guest list. How are the preparations for the coronation banquet proceeding?"
Antonio, of course, responded to Caleb with the flawless, encyclopedic precision that made him the most valuable logistical asset in the entire mafia family. The head butler stood impeccably straight, his hands clasped behind his back, he begin explain8ng each one with full detail to Caleb so that, as the Don, he could know exactly how each preparation had been made by the household staff and the street soldiers.
"Starting with the perimeter, Don McLaughlin," Antonio began, his voice calm and methodical. "We have established a three tiered security cordon. The outermost ring is being handled jointly by our men on the street and the Saint Denis police department. The Chief of Police has generously provided two dozen of his most loyal, highly compensated officers to manage the carriage traffic and keep the civilian public far away from the iron gates."
"The middle ring, encompassing the courtyard and the garden walls, is manned by fifty of our fully made men. They are armed with repeating rifles, positioned out of direct sight of the guests but with full overlapping fields of fire. The inner ring, strictly within the mansion walls, is being personally overseen by Lucan and his elite guards."
Antonio took a brief breath before moving seamlessly to the next item. "As for the culinary arrangements, the catering staff has outdone themselves. The foods have been prepared to project absolute abundance. We are serving fresh Beluga caviar imported from Russia, dozens of silver platters piled high with fresh Louisiana crawfish and butter poached Maine lobster. For the main courses, we have roasting spits set up in the far corners of the garden turning whole prime pigs, alongside carved venison and roasted pheasant. There are towering displays of French pastries and tiered cakes decorated with gold leaf."
Finally, Antonio addressed the politics. "And the guest list is entirely confirmed. Every single individual of consequence has accepted their invitation. The Mayor, the Chief of Police, the primary shipping tycoons who control the Kamassa River trade, and several prominent state senators will be in attendance. From the Underworld, every active capo, the lieutenants, and the elite earners of the family are arriving to pledge their fealty. It will be a gathering of predators, my Don, all waiting to see the new king."
Caleb listened intently to the exhaustive, highly detailed briefing, his sharp mind analyzing every single tactical and social variable. He stood perfectly still, nodding his head slowly as he felt that each preparation was more than enough to impress the high society of Saint Denis and terrify the criminal underworld. Antonio had built a masterpiece of event planning.
But a true king always looked for the hidden vulnerabilities. Caleb's instict immediately identified a few key areas that required strengthening.
"It is excellent work, Antonio. Flawless," Caleb praised him softly. But then he added his specific amendments. "However, I want you to add more wine and other kinds of heavy spirits to the rotation. Bring up every single bottle of vintage champagne, Kentucky bourbon, and aged scotch we have in the cellars. When men are drinking heavily, their tongues loosen, and their guards drop. I want the politicians pliable and the capos comfortably numb. Keep their glasses full the absolute second they empty them."
Antonio nodded swiftly. "Consider the cellars emptied, Don McLaughlin."
"Also," Caleb continued, his eyes narrowing as he thought about the physical layout of the massive Garden District estate, "the security needs to be increased as well in the perimeter. Specifically, in the rear."
Caleb walked over to the bay window, looking out over the sprawling, manicured lawns that eventually sloped down toward the treacherous, muddy banks of the Kamassa River.
"The front gates are a fortress, but the back gardens are exposed to the water. Especially in the back, where the estate meets the mud, I want a couple of small boats to be added immediately. Requisition them from the docks. Put heavy duty lanterns on the bows and arm the men with shotguns. So that the men could patrol near the swamp and the riverbank. If anyone, a rival gang, disgruntled remaining Bronte loyalists, or opportunist, tries to crash this party, they will try to slip in through the reeds. Deny them the water."
Antonio, hearing that brilliant, highly paranoid tactical adjustment, immediately nodded his head. It was the kind of foresight that kept emperors alive.
"A brilliant precaution, my Don. I will dispatch runners to the docks to secure the swamp boats and have Lucan assign his most sharp eyed men to the water patrols," Antonio confirmed, bowing deeply.
Caleb nodded his head in satisfaction, the logistics finally settled in his mind. Right away after that Antonio took his leave, turning on his heel and exiting the master suite to unleash the full administrative might of the mafia upon the estate grounds.
With the butler gone and the heavy oak doors closed, the atmosphere in the bedroom shifted back to a quiet, intimate anticipation.
Mary-Beth, who had been listening to the terrifyingly precise military and political planning with wide eyes, turned to Caleb. She stepped away from her breathtaking emerald green velvet dress, her hands nervously smoothing down the front of her thick silk robe. The reality of what she was about to step into was finally hitting her.
She asked him, her voice betraying a slight tremor of anxiety, "Caleb..." she started, biting her lower lip. "All of these people... mayors, senators, mafia bosses. What is my role in all of this? Do I just mingle with the high society people of Saint Denis? Am I supposed to talk politics with them?"
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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: -