Cold Fury

"Hahahaha, don't be anxious, Hosea, Arthur." Dutch swirled the wine in his glass, the deep crimson liquid swirling hypnotically, a cigar clutched between the fingers of his other hand. His smile, though wide, held a chilling edge. "Mr. Bronte's methods are merely common Mafia tactics. In other words, he still plays by the rules—those damn, suffocating rules of their city!" The cigar smoke, rich and sweet upon closer sniff, was almost intoxicating.

"So, do we also need to use their rules to fight them?" Arthur grumbled, his brows furrowed so tightly they looked like a permanent scowl. He pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyance radiating off him. "Oh, I feel it's better to be an outlaw right now. At least I don't have to use my brain for all this nonsense!"

He threw his hands up in exasperation. "Seriously, these high-society types have more tricks than a saloon girl has petticoats, and they're never straightforward! True outlaws just ride in, kill everyone, and wipe out the entire family. That's the simplest, most effective method!"

Listening to Arthur's exasperated outburst, Dutch merely waved a dismissive hand. "No, son, no. Of course, we can't use their rules to deal with them. We have no standing in Saint Denis, remember? Using their rules would be like trying to win a chess game against a master using only checkers. It won't work." Dutch paused, then, a dangerous glint entering his eyes, finished with a casual shrug. "So, let's just use our rules. We can simply assassinate Mr. Bronte directly."

"No! Dutch!" Hosea gasped, his wine glass clattering against the table as he shot to his feet, his face pale with alarm. He reached out, clutching Dutch's arm, desperate to stop him. "Wouldn't doing this break their rules?" Hosea had spent the last month cramming on Pinkerton intelligence and the intricate political landscape, and he knew, with chilling certainty, the consequences. If they followed Dutch's plan and killed Bronte, the Pinkertons would likely use it as a pretext to gain full law enforcement power in Lemoyne, unleashing their private army to round them all up.

"Oh, Dutch," Hosea pleaded, his voice cracking, his face a mask of mounting panic. "Killing Bronte could very likely give the Pinkerton Detective agency absolute law enforcement power, and then we'll be in mortal danger! No, Dutch, no! We can't do this, partner!" He gripped Dutch's arm tighter, practically shaking him.

Arthur, meanwhile, simply watched the exchange, a neutral expression on his face. He trusted Dutch implicitly now. Whatever Dutch said, he would do. Killing Bronte, killing Pinkerton, it was all the same to him in the grand scheme of things.

Seeing Hosea's anxious, almost terrified expression, Dutch burst into a loud, booming laugh. "Hahahaha, oh, Hosea, look at you, my old friend! You're practically hyperventilating! I was just trying to scare you, hahahaha." Dutch winked conspiratorially at Arthur, who merely rolled his eyes.

"Actually, we truly cannot touch Mr. Bronte right now," Dutch continued, his voice sobering slightly. "Besides the Pinkerton Detective's reasons, a bigger reason is that Saint Denis is currently balanced on a political knife-edge. Mr. Bronte is wary of the Senator's various families. His identity is an overt one, so in front of us, he can only resort to underhanded tactics. And the Senator, in turn, is wary of Bronte, which is precisely why he gave us an overt identity, allowing us to gain benefits by dealing with Bronte."

Dutch picked up his cigar again, taking a thoughtful puff. "If Bronte is assassinated by us, then we will be of no use to the Senators of Saint Denis. We would immediately revert to our wanted status, and they would eagerly use our identities to summon police officers to arrest us. Therefore, Mr. Bronte truly cannot be killed. At least, not now."

Dutch chuckled, a low, satisfied sound, relishing Hosea's obvious relief.

"Oh, shit! Dutch!" Hosea retorted, his shoulders slumping with exasperation. He rubbed his temples. "You and your damn jokes! But then…" He frowned again, the worry returning. "So what should we do, Dutch? If we don't take any action this time, I believe Mr. Bronte will definitely take an inch when given a foot! He's not a forgiving man."

Bronte was indeed a viper; if the Van der Linde Gang simply endured this incident, he would undoubtedly unleash even more targeted, insidious methods next time.

"It's easy, Hosea!" Dutch finally revealed his true, chilling intentions, his eyes gleaming with a cold, ruthless ambition. "Mr. Bronte prides himself as the king of Saint Denis, the one who controls Saint Denis. Then we'll let him control Saint Denis, and he can only control Saint Denis!" Dutch took a long drag from his cigar, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. His face was a mask of icy resolve, radiating the aura of a true, undisputed boss.

"I don't quite understand, Dutch, what do you mean?" Hosea asked, genuinely puzzled. Bronte was already the controller of Saint Denis.

"It's very simple, Hosea, very simple!" Dutch declared, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "Mr. Bronte is not only the controller of Saint Denis, but even the behind-the-scenes controller of the surrounding Rhodes. His influence isn't limited to Saint Denis; it extends to the areas around it!" Dutch slammed his fist lightly on the table for emphasis. "Since that's the case, we will completely surround Saint Denis! We will wipe out the surrounding Lemoyne Raiders, suppress the forces in Rhodes, and completely confine his power within the walls of Saint Denis! I remember Mr. Bronte not only has a moonshine business in Rhodes, but he even grows tobacco. Since Mr. Bronte can make businesses in Saint Denis pay him protection money, why can't his tobacco and moonshine businesses in Rhodes pay me protection money?"

Dutch's face grew colder, more terrifying with each word, displaying his ruthless ambition to the fullest. He leaned forward, his eyes burning. "We will build three fortresses around Saint Denis. As soon as Mr. Bronte's hand extends beyond the confines of Saint Denis, we will break it! I want his sight to never again see anything outside Saint Denis. I want his people to die violently as soon as they leave Saint Denis. I want him to only be able to cower within Saint Denis and play his pathetic power games!"

Dutch burst into a triumphant, almost maniacal laugh. The heavy rain lashed against the train, but it couldn't drown out his chilling mirth.

"With those upper-class Senators, we have a different set of rules, but with Mr. Bronte, we naturally have our own exclusive set of rules, Hosea! If the areas around Saint Denis are covered with our fortresses, bristling with machine guns and cannons, then these damn upper-class scumbags will be nothing but pigs we raise!

Of course, we can't be that arrogant yet, but just using them against Mr. Bronte's subordinates is completely enough! After all, they don't have any political standing, do they?" He winked, a cold, calculating gleam in his eyes.