Signor Martelli

Signor Bronte's desperate troubles, a sprawling, seemingly insurmountable problem to him, were, to Dutch, Arthur, and John—a trio of all-around, ruthless experts—nothing more than a minor side quest, a fleeting inconvenience.

Even without resorting to the thunder of gunfire, the few bewildered police officers standing guard outside the police station were ambushed and swiftly knocked out without a single whimper of resistance. The trio then slipped into the station, dealing with Signor Bronte's three treacherous rebels with chilling efficiency.

The reason it had been so agonizingly difficult for Signor Bronte to handle this internal treachery was, firstly, because all his usable subordinates, the ones whose actions couldn't be traced back to him, had been completely, brutally killed off by Davey and the others.

And secondly, because his remaining subordinates simply didn't possess the ghostly stealth or brutal efficiency of the Van der Linde Gang. Thus, in less than an hour, Signor Bronte's immediate troubles were completely resolved. The house where the three lifeless bodies lay was then meticulously set on fire, a cleansing inferno that thoroughly destroyed all evidence, ensuring that even if the Saint Denis police and high-ranking figures knew, deep down, it was Signor Bronte's doing, they would have no concrete evidence to prosecute him.

As for how to smooth things over and clear Signor Bronte's lingering suspicion, that, by God, would be entirely up to Signor Bronte himself to painstakingly work on. After this brutal, enlightening "battle," Signor Bronte would be exactly as Dutch had prophesied: a caged king, unable to step outside Saint Denis ever again.

Meanwhile, Signor Martelli, the very man Signor Bronte had been fretting over, was already outside the Hope Happiness Ranch, nestled somewhere between Valentine and Strawberry. He was preparing, with grim determination, to make his audacious move on Dutch's stronghold.

At this moment, in the dense woods a hundred meters away from Hope Happiness Ranch, a nervous group of fifty-one men were quietly ambushed, huddled in the shadows, waiting for the leading Signor Martelli to complete his perilous scouting mission.

"Damn it, what do these idiots mean by cutting down all the surrounding trees?" Signor Martelli muttered a curse, his breath fogging the binoculars he held to his eyes. He scanned the distant Hope Happiness Ranch, his brow furrowed with deep suspicion.

He was profoundly nervous, not because it was the dead of night and he feared ghosts, but because this was the infamous stronghold of Dutch Van der Linde, this devil! He was now gripped by a paralyzing fear that there were still some superhuman sharpshooters lurking inside, waiting to unleash hell.

If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, if he hadn't personally experienced the Van der Linde Gang's brutal ambush, and if he hadn't known that the Van der Linde Gang's top gunmen had all been sent to the vicinity of Saint Denis, he would probably have turned tail and run directly, even if it meant facing the wrath of the Mafia.

However, even so, he wasn't planning to go in himself this time. Oh no. He wanted to supervise the army! If there was any change, any sudden move, any whisper of trouble, he would be the very first to run! Damn it, Signor Martelli didn't believe he couldn't survive this! He had even secretly, meticulously bought a fast horse in Valentine, a swift steed to ensure his quick escape, which was now tied in the woods behind him, ready to bolt at the slightest hint of trouble, never to look back!

Signor Martelli observed the surroundings of the ranch with his binoculars, his eyes meticulously scanning every shadow, every blade of grass. Hope Happiness Ranch covered a vast area, over four hundred acres, which translated to two thousand four hundred mu, roughly the size of a small university campus. Hope Ranch currently boasted only a dozen rudimentary wooden houses and housed over two hundred people, their figures looking scattered and isolated across the ranch's sprawling area.

Dutch had also, with deliberate calculation, completely cut down the surrounding trees and bushes, leaving the area starkly exposed. Now, looking out under the cold moonlight, apart from the scattered wooden houses, there was no defensive strength whatsoever. The terrain was flat, utterly featureless, and there was nothing worth observing except for five inconspicuous small mounds in five strategic directions and three watchtowers standing like sentinels in front of the factory. However, flickering lights could be seen between the houses, as if someone was patrolling, but the number of people seemed pitifully small, almost negligible.

Seeing the desolate, seemingly undefended scene before him, Signor Martelli finally allowed himself to relax a little, a thin, desperate sigh escaping his lips.

"Damn it, this place indeed doesn't have much defensive strength." Signor Martelli muttered to himself, a grim satisfaction settling over his face. "It seems our plan is destined to succeed. I think Signor Bronte should forgive me this time, right?" He put down his binoculars, a faint, desperate hope flickering in his eyes. The ranch's meager defense did not exceed his expectations; the Van der Linde Gang's top gunmen, he reasoned, had all been dispatched to Saint Denis, so his stronghold naturally wouldn't have much defensive strength left. This perfectly coincided with Signor Bronte's initial conjecture.

"Signor Bronte is indeed the best; his strategies are always one step ahead of the enemy!" Signor Martelli declared, a sudden surge of pride bolstering his confidence. "Jason, Sam, you can tell the brothers to start moving. Remember, this battle is mainly about killing. Kill all the Van der Linde Gang members. We will have one full day afterward to transport the sewing machines, so there's no need to rush to seize wealth! If there are difficult gunmen to kill, then surround them together. I think the Van der Linde Gang's top gunmen have already been sent to Saint Denis, so this factory should be at a time of weak defense!"

Signor Martelli had finally made up his mind, his eyes blazing with a newfound, desperate resolve as he looked at the fifty subordinates huddled behind him. Compared to his previous, terrifying mission to Rhodes with Francisco, he now had far more authority. He was a third-generation member, and the subordinates he brought were the remaining fourth and even fifth-generation members. In terms of seniority and strength, he was currently the undisputed top authority among them. So Signor Martelli, emboldened by his perceived power, spoke with a bit more flourish than before.

"Everyone, during this period, Signor Bronte has suffered tremendous changes, and his influence has been greatly affected, leading to difficult lives for everyone, and we even lost a large number of combat forces! All of this is a consequence of the actions of Mr. Dutch Van der Linde, the owner of the factory behind me! Therefore, by Signor Bronte's appointment, we are here to encircle and suppress the Van der Linde Gang's stronghold! In this battle, we must show our style, we must annihilate the enemy, and we must let Dutch Van der Linde know that we, the Mafia, are not to be trifled with!

Dutch Van der Linde must pay the price for his actions, and also let the upper echelons of Saint Denis know that anyone who dares to offend our Mafia Sanostra family will die by our guns! For the glory of Signor Bronte!"

Signor Martelli even excitedly whispered slogans, his voice trembling with a raw, almost childish fervor. He was completely unaware, utterly oblivious, that Dutch had just ridden roughshod over Signor Bronte tonight, leaving the Saint Denis king completely broken, withdrawn from the sheer humiliation of being scolded like a dog. No wonder, he had been truly terrified during this time. A living gold-medal enforcer, the original Saint Denis Mafia successor in the game, the powerful Signor Martelli, had been beaten into a state of utter confusion and profound panic during this period. He desperately needed a bit of power, a taste of victory, to regain his shattered vitality.

As Signor Martelli bellowed his slogans, the fifty Mafia members clustered around him exchanged nervous glances. After some silent communication, they decided not to shout out loud, fearing the consequences of premature discovery.

"Sir, we are here for a sneak attack!" Sam quickly reminded him from the side, his eyes fixed on Signor Martelli with a slight, almost imperceptible strangeness. Why did Signor Martelli seem a bit stupid now? Sam wondered. Damn it, no wonder he heard that Signor Bronte had been very displeased with him these past few days.

"Fuck! Sam, what does that matter?!" Signor Martelli roared, glaring fiercely at Sam, his face contorted with sudden, explosive rage. "We are a full hundred meters away from this factory's fence, and even further from those damn factory houses! Too far to see clearly at night! I guarantee, even if I shout now, they won't be alerted at all! Damn it, how dare you contradict me, you bastard?!" For some reason, he had been exceptionally short-tempered with his subordinates recently, perhaps a desperate way of releasing his pent-up fear and humiliation.

But thankfully, his mind, despite the emotional turmoil, was still clear enough to grasp the tactical implications. Signor Martelli finally stopped being foolish. He waved his hand, his gaze like a wolf's, fixed on the distant, seemingly undefended Van der Linde Gang factory before him. "Move out!"