Defense

Mafia families, in their essence, could almost be seen as a sophisticated, urbanized variant of gangs. They still adhered to rigid internal hierarchies, their commands flowing downwards through clear superior-subordinate relationships, all underpinned by grand slogans of unity and unbreakable loyalty.

They were, to a casual observer, simply gangs that had packed up their wilderness camps and moved into the glittering, corrupt heart of the city.

However, there were subtle, yet crucial, differences between the two, allowing for a distinct division and governance. Traditional gangs, like Dutch's or Colm's, typically bowed only to their singular, highest leader.

But within the labyrinthine structure of the Mafia, they often fractured into several different factions, each with its own political leanings and spheres of influence – a direct manifestation of the civilizing (or perhaps, corrupting) touch of urban life.

These very family members, now standing like terrified statues in Bronte Manor, were the bedrock of Signor Bronte's current untouchable status, his most ardent, most fiercely loyal supporters.

Regardless of the Mafia's sacred rule that families cannot harm each other, or indeed, his own personal, cynical interests, Bronte would not, could not, punish Mr. Martelli and the seven wretched, runaway gunmen. Such an act would shatter the very foundation of his power.

"Thump!" Signor Bronte's finger, which had been tapping a slow, ominous rhythm on the table, suddenly stilled. The oppressive gloom that had clung to his face moments ago now miraculously vanished, replaced by a chillingly calm smile.

This time, he had lost seventy-five men, all cavalry, all registered family members, all his direct, loyal subordinates! It was a catastrophic loss, a wound that bled deeply into his resources and prestige. But even so, he could still smile, a terrifying testament to his ruthless, unfeeling nature.

Bronte's gaze swept over the eight trembling figures standing before him, then he calmly, almost serenely, delivered his verdict.

"Alright, Signor Martelli, and the rest of you. This incident cannot, and will not, be blamed on you. It was a premeditated, a cowardly and audacious attack by the Van der Linde Gang. And I daresay, even if it had happened to anyone else, there would have been no better outcome."

His voice hardened, a steel edge beneath the calm. "However, we have suffered this grievous loss, and by God, we shall exact our recompense from the Van der Linde Gang. That damned Dutch Van der Linde dares to defy us, so he shall face our extreme, unbridled wrath!"

Bronte's gaze was deep, chillingly analytical, utterly devoid of the fear that had haunted him moments after the news of the ambush. He had been afraid before, paralyzed by the dread that Dutch was a reckless, unpredictable madman who would ambush him in the dead of night, tossing him into the murky lake to feed the alligators. But now, after being ambushed, he understood Dutch's intentions, grasped the subtle, yet clear, reservations that Dutch harbored.

Dutch's reservations, Bronte deduced, stemmed from his own identity. Bronte, in his position as the "respectable" face of the Saint Denis underworld, was, paradoxically, a restraint on Dutch's own nascent, semi-legitimate identity. Dutch could not, therefore, ambush him again under the cloak of night. This ambush, in its very execution, had proven that Dutch was a smart man, a calculated strategist.

This brutal, spectacular ambush was equivalent to setting a boundary for Signor Bronte, meaning, simply put, that the conflict was to be resolved outside the city, to avoid affecting the city's delicate balance, lest both parties bleed profits. So he, Bronte, could now act without any such reservations. The gloves, metaphorically, were off.

"Signor Martelli, you should rest for a while." Bronte, with a masterful stroke, offered Martelli a "promotion" in name, a shift in responsibility that subtly removed him from direct, immediate command.

"The last time the family gathered, they expressed a desire for expansion. After your well-deserved rest, the matter of outward expansion will be entrusted to you." He then looked at the family members standing before him. Previously, the family's ranks had been so numerous that they had to cram into the room. This time, the family members who had shown up were pitifully few, mostly just minor capos, small-time leaders. It was a stark, brutal truth: this battle had directly depleted the younger generation of members under Bronte's command.

But it was enough.

Bronte looked at the remaining family members, then stood up, his voice now switching seamlessly into fluid, commanding Italian.

"Gentlemen, Dutch Van der Linde has gone too far! Our family's young people have been completely wiped out by them, which is absolutely unbearable! This has gravely damaged the very dignity and status of our Cosa Nostra family! Therefore, we are bound to seek revenge! We will let Mr. Van der Linde and those damned dignitaries of Saint Denis know that our Cosa Nostra family is not to be trifled with! Anyone who dares to offend us will pay a bloody price!"

His voice rose, gaining a chilling intensity. "From now on, I demand that you begin recruiting gunmen on a large scale. At the same time, bring some good, strong young men into our family to continue our fresh blood. Also, I want you to form relentless patrol teams to go outside the city, to search for and kill every single member of the Van der Linde Gang!"

Signor Bronte continuously barked orders to his subordinates, his mind a relentless forge of cruel, strategic plans. The coming battle with Mr. Dutch Van der Linde was entirely different from his usual skirmishes with those irritating dignitaries. Dutch was a wanted man, an outlaw. Bronte needed to follow no rules, no societal restraints; he only needed to unleash vast numbers of people, a relentless tide of bodies.

And Saint Denis, bless its corrupt heart, had no shortage of thugs, especially those insidious groups of ruffians made up of children, who were exceptionally adept at brutal, unexpected ambushes. Signor Bronte had once, chillingly, instructed a boy to assassinate a Senator with a gun in the street; these damned, unexpected things caught people completely off guard. And these very same disreputable elements could be perfectly utilized in the encirclement and suppression of the Van der Linde Gang.

After all the meticulous arrangements were laid out, one by one, Signor Bronte finally exhaled a long, measured breath and settled back onto the sofa, a look of grim satisfaction on his face. He looked at Signor Martelli beside him, his voice now softer, yet still carrying an undeniable edge.

"Signor Martelli, I'm giving you a chance to atone for your mistakes. Go to Rhodes, and have the two major families there cooperate with me in encircling and suppressing the Van der Linde Gang. I don't care what method you use, but you must deliver this message to them, and they will comply."

Signor Martelli finally breathed a deep sigh of relief at this moment, bowing his head, a glimmer of desperate hope in his eyes. "Yes, Signore!"

"Very good! Very good!" Bronte nodded, a chilling smile gracing his lips. "I remember Mr. Van der Linde's clothing production workshop is in Valentine, right?"

"Yes!" Signor Martelli nodded quickly, eager to please.

Bronte nodded in satisfaction, a flicker of ruthless cunning dancing in his eyes.

"I truly cannot touch the clothing stores, after all, Dorothea and several other influential ladies are involved there. But the clothing production factory doesn't have any ladies backing it, does it? The Van der Linde Gang members are currently gathered here to encircle our people, so why can't we simply go directly to encircle his clothing production factory? Signor Martelli? How many gunmen does the Van der Linde Gang have in total? Even if he recruits some gunmen, how many can he recruit? These newly recruited gunmen don't even possess their strength, so if I directly bypass the Van der Linde Gang and encircle their factory, what methods do they have to respond, hmm?"

A dark, triumphant smile had begun to spread across Signor Bronte's face. He had long since inquired about the precise number of people in the Van der Linde Gang. Generally speaking, their numbers were small, and their experienced gunmen were even scarcer. Now that these gunmen were outside Saint Denis, Valentine, and specifically Dutch's factory, were isolated and helpless.

"Alright, Signor Martelli, I'll give you another chance. Gather some gunmen, set off from the sea, bypass the land entirely, go directly to Valentine, find the Van der Linde Gang's clothing factory, and bring everything inside back to me! Let this serve as part of Mr. Van der Linde's apology!"

"Yes! Signore!" Signor Martelli nodded repeatedly, his head bobbing frantically, convinced that Signor Bronte's idea was nothing short of brilliant. If Saint Denis were situated on a flat plain, encirclement would indeed be a daunting problem for them. But Saint Denis was by the sea! They could completely escape any land-based encirclement by water, thereby outflanking and directly attacking Dutch's vulnerable rear, a perfect maneuver! And it could kill two birds with one stone, directly digging up Mr. Van der Linde's very foundation! Wasn't this killing two birds with one stone?

This plan, indeed, had no discernible flaws, especially against a relatively small, mobile gang like the Van der Linde Gang.

It was just that Dutch, in his boundless, almost prescient cunning, didn't play by the usual rules; he had already built five formidable bunkers outside his clothing production factory before it even started operating.

Who in the hell builds bunkers before their factory even opens its doors?