Signor Bronte

"Hya!"

The rhythmic thud of hooves and the creaking of carriage wheels echoed on the dark wilderness road, shattering the oppressive silence of the night. The haunting calls of night owls and the incessant chirping of unseen insects made the wilderness seem almost vibrantly alive, a teeming, unseen world. Even the cold, reptilian forms of alligators could be glimpsed, lounging with ancient patience along the small, muddy dirt road.

Dutch, astride his horse, rode at the head of their small convoy, leading Arthur. John followed diligently beside the carriage, a silent, watchful shadow. Davey, his face grimly determined, expertly handled the reins, with Mac lounging next to him, a picture of indolent contentment.

"Davey," Dutch called out, his voice carrying clearly over the jostling of the carriage, "these explosives just need to be delivered to Shady Belle. When Charles and Javier bring the new batch of clothes, have them arrange for ten gunmen to come over, son. Once this place is built, you won't need to guard it anymore. You should follow my lead instead of wasting time doing nothing, you hear?"

"Alright, Dutch." Davey nodded, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. He knew the drill. Once Shady Belle and its surrounding bunkers were built into an impregnable fortress, ten men would be more than enough to deter a hundred, a thousand, a bloody army.

"Oh, also," Dutch added, a new thought sparking in his mind, "have Javier announce internally that our gunmen whose families want their children to attend school in Saint Denis will have priority. Their entire families can come over. These next two days, I'll have Hosea buy fifty more sewing machines to increase production. These sewing machines will be placed directly in Shady Belle, and their wives can work there directly, Davey," Dutch instructed, his voice brimming with a grand, benevolent vision.

"Alright, Dutch. I think what we're doing will surely move these ladies and gentlemen!" Davey nodded, a touch of genuine emotion in his voice, his gaze meeting Dutch's. If he were one of these struggling gentlemen, he'd sacrifice his very life for Dutch at any moment, even if he didn't get the princely sum of a five-hundred-dollar resettlement fee. Hell, he'd fight tooth and nail to be the one to sacrifice!

"Oh, Davey, to be honest, I'm already tempted by the conditions Dutch is offering," Arthur chuckled, a wry grin on his face. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the small flame momentarily illuminating his features.

He truly felt that Dutch, in this incarnation, was a genuine hero, a latter-day Robin Hood who robbed the rich to help the poor, even more sincere than their past, theatrical donations to orphanages.

If their previous acts of charity had felt like a grand performance, then the current Dutch was genuinely, deeply considering the welfare of these ladies and gentlemen, worrying about their lives and their very happiness. It was hard to imagine the sheer, unbridled joy these forgotten souls must be feeling.

"Hahaha, alright, Arthur, Davey." Dutch threw his head back and laughed heartily, the sound echoing through the night.

"Once the Guarma Island plan begins to develop, the Saint Denis Port must be firmly in our hands, by God! Bringing these ladies and gentlemen over is just to ensure our future development, our inevitable triumph! Besides, transporting clothes from Valentine to Saint Denis and Rhodes is too far, too damned inconvenient for our burgeoning business expansion. It's far better to take this opportunity to expand our clothing factory directly within the city. The current market has already exploded, and it can fully absorb our expanded production scale, every stitch of it!"

Dutch chuckled again, a satisfied, almost paternal smile on his face. At this moment, he truly embodied the dignified demeanor of an enlightened entrepreneur, a benevolent capitalist sharing the spoils with his loyal people.

"Gentlemen, our arms business is about to officially begin!" Dutch declared, his voice rising, imbued with an almost messianic zeal.

"Currently, the most pressing issues we need to resolve are getting the machines and the raw materials. This is the initial, crude stage, and I can allow our arms factory's equipment to be imperfect, even if it only produces a few paltry firearms or bullets. But to ensure our absolute risk resistance, I must demand that our factory develops into a fully integrated industry, from the raw materials pulled from the earth to the final, gleaming products! This way, even if someone wants to target us, they won't be able to strangle us in any way, by God!"

His eyes burned with an inner fire, a glimpse of his grand, terrifying vision. "Of course, it might be too early to say all this, but this is our ultimate goal! I hope all of you strive towards this, so you don't lose your direction for progress, your guiding star!" Dutch rode his horse, speaking eloquently, his words sharp, professional, incredibly infectious, and profoundly inspiring.

As he spoke, Arthur, Davey, and the others found their thoughts involuntarily drifting, fantasizing about the future scale of their industry, the vastness of their burgeoning empire, and the comfortable, prosperous lives they would lead.

This was a typical motivational speech, a grand promise of future riches. But compared to those bosses who only drew pies without ever delivering, Dutch, by God, truly delivered on his promises. So, this wasn't just drawing a pie; this was progress planning, a tangible blueprint for their glorious future.

"Alright, Davey, Mac, you two take the carriage to Shady Belle. And Arthur, John, you two come with me to Saint Denis, son. I think we need to have a little chat with Signor Bronte." The group drove the carriage to the fork in the road between Saint Denis and Shady Belle. Dutch slowly reined in his horse, his gaze sweeping over the others.

"Alright, Dutch, but can the three of us manage?" Arthur asked, a worried frown creasing his brow, his eyes fixed on Dutch. "Should we bring some explosives?" Although Signor Bronte's men were largely trash, there were simply too many of them. If they were surrounded inside the labyrinthine alleys of Saint Denis, it would be a hellish struggle to escape.

"No, Arthur." Dutch smiled, shaking his head. "We are law-abiding citizens, son. And I think Signor Bronte probably doesn't have the time to deal with us right now; his own troubles are enough for him to handle."

"Alright, Davey, Mac, you two can go back." Dutch waved a dismissive hand. "Arthur, John, let's go too. I haven't slept in two nights, so let's get this resolved quickly so I can finally rest."

"Then let's go, Dutch." Arthur nodded, a tired but determined sigh escaping him. John also rode his horse behind the two, slightly trailing Arthur, his presence a quiet shadow. The three headed towards the twinkling lights of Saint Denis.

If it had been just the day before yesterday, they would have had to enter Saint Denis with extreme caution, every shadow a potential ambush. Otherwise, Signor Bronte would surely have sent his legions to fight them in every alleyway, every dark corner.

But the night before last, Signor Bronte's effective forces were wiped out by Davey and the others in one fell swoop. There were not many men left in Saint Denis who directly obeyed Signor Bronte, so their safety, paradoxically, had significantly increased. In addition, the rampant actions of those damned thugs over the past two days were a massive problem for Signor Bronte himself. Those damned council members were always waiting, like vultures, to catch Signor Bronte in the act of misrule, and this was clearly a golden opportunity for them to swoop in.

And Dutch's entry this time was not to seize the opportunity to kill Signor Bronte or to kick him while he was down, as any common gangster would do. No. Dutch's purpose was to help him, to ensure he could continue to hold his precarious position firmly. Only then would the powerful, conniving people of Saint Denis not unite to target him, Dutch Van der Linde.

It sounded utterly fantastical, given that Dutch and Bronte had been fighting to the death just today, only to find themselves helping each other by night. This was truly baffling and incomprehensible, even somewhat infuriating to the average mind. But this, Dutch knew, was the delicate balance within the city, or rather, the brutal, unyielding balance within politics itself.

As previously stated, the three major players – Dutch, Bronte, and the Saint Denis elite – currently formed a fragile balance. With Signor Bronte in power, Dutch's semi-legitimate identity was recognized, afforded a fragile, unspoken legitimacy.

If Signor Bronte were truly taken down, then even if Dutch had committed no actual crime in Lemoyne, these damned upper-class figures could still easily twist his identity into that of a wanted criminal, using the long-ago Blackwater Town case as their convenient pretext. In this cutthroat world, there was only eternal interest, no eternal friendship.

Right now, Signor Bronte was an interest, a crucial component to Dutch's burgeoning empire, so he could not fall, at least not until Dutch himself had developed to Signor Bronte's current, unassailable status. This, Dutch knew, was the real world, raw and unforgiving.