The Last Love Of Arthur Morgan

Man of Honor

The three men waltzed up to the front gates of the Bronte Mansion. Four guards stood just on the other side of the gate, guns in hand, eyeballing them. Dutch walked up to the front and began sweet talking the four men.

Arthur was concerned, simply because this wasn't the Dutch he knew. But he assumed because a child was involved, he wasn't going to approach it the same way. Different tactics for different results.

The three guards left them and went back to the mansion, and once they were out of view, Dutch reached through the gate and clamped a hand over the man's mouth, pulling him against the metal.

"Let us see your boss, now!" He snarled.

Arthur and John instinctively went for their guns, as the man frantically searched for the keys hooked to his belt. With shaky hands, he handed the keys to Dutch. He still kept a firm grip on the man, as he unlocked the gate. And once it was opened, he shoved the man away like he was on fire.

"We don't want to hurt you. We just want his little boy back." He turned and pointed to John."Your boss took him."

"Gentleman." A man with broken English spoke."Please come."

The three men cautiously approached the mansion, eyeing the guards that glared at them as they entered. Arthur's fingers twitched at his side, just waiting for the opportunity to use his gun. 

They were lead inside the mansion and off to the left, to a room with many windows and plenty of sunshine. A man with an odd hat sat on a fancy looking couch, with a few too many guards behind him, holding high powered guns. 

The man sitting on the couch, presumably Bronte himself, offered them a seat across from him. All three men squeezed on the stiff couch and stared at the man before them, wondering what in the hell he was planning on saying.

"Good evening, Gentlemen." He smiled."I am Angelo Bronte."

"It is very nice to meet you, Mr. Bronte. I am Dutch Van Der Linde, this is Arthur Morgan and that is John Marston." He pointed to the men beside him."And you have John Marston's boy, whom we've come to get back."

Bronte nodded his head."I see." He motioned for the servant.

The servant stood next to Dutch and offered the three a small cup of liquor, an Italian liquor, Bronte explained. Arthur'd never had anything so strong before, not even whiskey could bring tears to his eyes quite like this had.

"So I have your son. Wonderful boy he is. Very smart." He chuckled, taking a sip of the liquor himself."I'll tell you what, you'll get your son back, but you must do something for me first."

And there it was. The complication that would make things harder than they had to be. Arthur clenched his jaw, digging his nails into the palm of his hands. This could go really bad or it could go pleasantly well. He prayed for the latter.

Dutch cleared his throat."Uh well, that all depends, Mr. Bronte."

"On?" The Italian raised a brow.

"On what it is you need us to do."

He leaned forward."Well, there has been numerous reports of grave robbing. I was going to take care of it myself, but...I have you fine gentleman now."

"So what do you want us to do?" Arthur questioned.

He waved his hand."Do whatever you see fit. Just make it stop. It is morally wrong and disgusting."

Dutch looked to Arthur then John and finally back to Bronte."Well you've picked no finer men than these two. They're smart and quick on their feet, they'll get the job done."