Chapter Eleven: [Overlooking]

The next morning.

Winster was still lost in the revelry of the previous night, unable to shake off the intoxication.

Empty bottles littered the streets, and at many street corners, drunkards who had passed out without returning home were sprawled on the pavement.

If not for the October winds in the North Sea not being truly piercing yet, some of them might have frozen to death.

On such a morning, even the most diligent fishermen might have stayed in bed a little longer, paying silent tribute to the god of wine who would never return.

Yet, several of Klaus Company’s latest model luxury cars rolled through Winster, their drivers still not fully sober, entering Ocean Avenue and heading toward the bustling northwest commercial district.

Their destination was unanimous: 432 North Sea Street, Building A, Room 301.

To outsiders, this address might have seemed obscure, but to those in Winster’s underworld, many would instantly recognize it.

This was the headquarters of the Boretta family, or more formally, the main office of Boretta Venture Capital.

Those arriving by car were naturally the various heads and key figures of the Boretta family, summoned by a phone call last night for a meeting this morning.

Though they arrived as scheduled, as they stepped out of their vehicles, yawns were common among them.

In their eyes, the underground war had long since ended. After the young master Leonardo and the family’s elite perished completely, they had mostly given up resistance.

Later, Alberto complied with their wishes and negotiated peace with the Cabrera family. After last night, the Boretta family was supposed to vanish quietly, and everyone was ready to change allegiances.

Thus, whether out of despair or ulterior motives, most of them had spent last night drinking.

Who would have expected that midway through their drinking, a call would come in, announcing that Joan was dead—killed by the youngest son of the Boretta family.

The news was earth-shattering. Many sobered up immediately and began frantic phone calls to verify its truth.

The final conclusion was that the news was true: Joan was indeed dead.

But Ethan...

That name was utterly unfamiliar.

As someone who had long existed on the fringes of the family, many family heads had never even seen Ethan. If they had heard of him, it was only vaguely—that Alberto’s youngest son was studying art in the capital, and his name was barely known.

Could such a person really have killed Joan?

Many doubted, many turned their thoughts over. Even with Joan dead, there was still Fred. What would become of the Boretta family?

Some, however, were pleased. Still loyal to Alberto, they regarded Joan’s death as revenge and felt it was cause to drink.

And so, another night spent in the company of alcohol.

Now, as they stepped down from their cars, everyone reeked of liquor, eyes bleary. Upon meeting, the first words almost always were, “Is it true?”

Then silence ensued.

At least, those present this morning still held some respect and loyalty to the Boretta name, whatever their true feelings.

After a group smoked outside, they ascended the stairs together.

The prohibition’s impact was still profound. Even in the heart of Winster’s commercial district, the buildings were cold and quiet.

Yet, Boretta Venture Capital was already open, with staff waiting inside.

This was arranged by Anya. Though the Boretta family had declined, managing a few employees was still possible.

Led by the staff, the heads entered a meeting room that had been prepared in advance.

After taking their seats, Ethan was nowhere to be seen. Only the clock on the wall ticked steadily forward.

Five minutes before nine, many were still absent.

A few heads exchanged glances, and Eugenius, responsible for the family’s casino business, chuckled, “Looks like some aren’t planning to show.”

No one spoke.

Five minutes later, it was nine o’clock, and Ethan still hadn’t arrived.

At nine oh-four, hurried footsteps sounded outside the meeting room.

Then, a handsome young man in a perfectly tailored white suit briskly entered.

Without hesitation, he took the main seat, raised his left hand to show off a brand-new wristwatch, and said, “Sorry, after finishing business last night, I went home to shower and catch some sleep. I overslept this morning, and since I live far away, I’m late. My apologies.”

His speech was rapid, almost overwhelming. He looked excessively young, as if barely of age.

Was it this young man who had taken down Joan?

For a moment, those present were stunned.

After a while, perhaps the most talkative, Eugenius, finally spoke, “Young master, I heard—”

“Oh, right, there’s one more thing I forgot to tell you all. Fred is dead too. Last night, I personally killed him. Because I was too close, my black suit was ruined, so I’m wearing this white one instead. Luckily, I wasn’t wearing this white suit then,” Ethan said, glancing at Eugenius.

“What were you going to say just now?” Ethan asked.

“N-nothing,” Eugenius quickly shook his head, his daze deepening.

What had he just heard? Fred was dead too?

How was that possible?

As for Joan’s death...

In truth, opinions were divided.

Many speculated Joan had been killed by the Conti family.

After all, it was widely known that Alberto had a good relationship with the Contis, and the ones who brokered and executed the negotiations were from the Conti family.

Moreover, Joan’s death served the interests of the Contis.

A rising Cabrera family was obviously a greater threat than the thoroughly weakened Borettas.

Thus, many felt that the claim Joan was killed by Ethan was merely a scapegoat fabricated by some conspiracy.

This was also why the meeting room was not full.

Yet now, this young man, once seen as a mere puppet, suddenly claimed to have also killed Fred.

Fred was no fool. Strong and well-supported, he was seen leaving the North Sea Star last night alive.

If he wasn’t foolish, he would have immediately gathered his men to guard and defend.

To kill someone like Fred would surely have sparked another massive battle.

Yet, he was dead now, so quietly?

“Oh, I forgot to introduce myself,” the handsome young man in the main seat lightly tapped his head, then straightened his posture, folding his hands in front of him.

Though he sat at the same level as everyone else, there was an inexplicable air of superiority.

He looked down at everyone and said slowly, “My name is Ethan Boretta. From today onward, I will take charge of the family.”

Under the meeting room’s lights, the mark on his left ring finger was visible, entwined with black mud and thorns.