Chapter Thirteen: Alberto’s Funeral

The meeting of the Polleta family heads, presided over by Ethan, concluded successfully. All the attending leaders pledged their loyalty to him, yet some were still absent. During Alberto’s tenure, he had six chief lieutenants; Fred had betrayed them and was now dead, and of the remaining five, two did not show up.

These two were Tony, who controlled the dockside territory and oversaw the family’s smuggling and maritime fishing businesses, and Francis, responsible for the family’s hotel enterprises. Ethan said little on the matter but, as the meeting adjourned, he announced to all present: “My father passed away last night. I will hold his funeral tomorrow, and I hope everyone can come to bid him a final farewell.”

Upon hearing this, everyone expressed genuine sorrow. This grief was not feigned; those gathered had long served under Alberto and held deep loyalty toward him. The most striking display came from Eugene, the active financial director, who openly wept, covering his face with his hands. Only after most had left did he slowly rise from his chair.

Yet he did not leave. After wiping his tears, he approached Ethan respectfully. “Sir…” he began.

“No need for formalities,” Ethan waved him off.

A flicker of joy crossed Eugene’s eyes as he lowered his voice: “Young master… I have heard some whispers. Tony apparently has been cozying up with the Evans family since the day before yesterday. The Evans have always lacked influence at the docks. As for Francis, much of his business has connections with the Corleone family. I fear…”

He trailed off, his words more a warning than a statement.

Ethan smiled faintly. “I will take these reports seriously. Thank you, Eugene. Go get some rest; come early tomorrow.”

Once Eugene departed, the room grew quiet, leaving only Ethan, Anya, Verlon, and the expressionless Paren.

“What do you intend to do about Tony and Francis, young master?” Verlon asked, the scent of blood clinging more strongly to him.

His meaning was clear.

Ethan shook his head. “There have already been enough deaths these past days, Verlon. Besides, as my father always said, everyone deserves a chance.”

Verlon nodded, somewhat subdued.

Ethan did not immediately meet Verlon’s gaze but stood and approached Paren, placing a hand on his shoulder. Startled, Paren almost jumped, but Ethan steadied him.

“Paren, you look exhausted. Clearly, you cannot manage your family’s affairs right now. Why not entrust them to Verlon for the time being?”

Paren nodded eagerly. “Of course. It is your estate now; you may assign it to anyone you wish.”

Verlon took a deep breath.

Though he had long retreated to a secondary role, diligently training talent for Alberto and sharpening his skills, he harbored ambitions to lead.

“Verlon, I’m counting on you from now on,” Ethan said, looking at him.

“Thank you, young master,” Verlon replied, momentarily lost for words.

Ethan then turned to Anya. “Anya, arrange for my father’s obituary to be published. Pay the familiar newspapers in the city well. My father’s passing should not go unnoticed—after all, he was a generous and great man.”

That last phrase was borrowed from the first mate, Carlos.

Would he attend the funeral? The ship had arrived only yesterday; he was likely still in Wenster.

With the meeting fully concluded, Verlon took Paren away. From now on, Paren would live under Verlon’s watchful eye.

Anya drove Ethan away from North Sea Avenue, but their destination was not the villa in the eastern suburbs.

A funeral required preparations: a coffin and a burial site, matters Ethan intended to oversee personally.

Though inwardly indifferent to Alberto, Ethan had inherited the Polleta family and this body. He was now Ethan Polleta. Bearing that name naturally brought to mind something Alberto once told his predecessor: family is family.

Sitting in the car, Ethan felt no fatigue despite having slept only three or four hours the previous night. His spirit remained high, half fueled by the pressing nature of his tasks—each arousing and exhilarating—and half by the lingering effects of killing Fred.

As with the moment he murdered Joan, when he slew Fred, a powerful force surged into his being. He had a preliminary theory: slaying other True Name bearers allows one to seize their True Name power, with greater benefits accruing from those whose names are closely related.

Of course, this was only a hypothesis, as he had yet to kill any other True Name bearers.

Unlike last time, Ethan had not been overwhelmed and plunged into a deep stupor, though a mild intoxication remained.

This state persisted even into the morning, partly explaining his performance in the meeting room. Half of it was deliberate; the other half, uncontrollable manifestations under the influence of his slightly inebriated True Name power.

Fortunately, it was nearly perfect, only somewhat overexcited.

Currently, his ‘True God Name’ grew ever stronger, almost seeming to overflow.

This gave rise to a vague notion: could he share or bestow the surplus ‘True God Name’ upon others?

The idea stemmed from the nature of the ‘True God Name’ itself. Since he was already a god, having several divine attendants would be quite normal.

Moreover, the True Name power in this world appeared shareable or inheritable.

At least, from Anya’s account, Alberto’s True Name likely came from the previous generation—his grandfather.

Still, information was too scarce.

The knowledge surrounding True Names in this world was hidden, and it was unclear how to obtain a complete understanding.

The entire afternoon was spent running errands, but thanks to the Polleta family’s substantial influence and wealth in Wenster, by sunset, Alberto had been restored to his most dignified appearance with the help of a mortician and laid peacefully inside an oak coffin.

The memorial hall was also arranged. After a bath at home, Verlon returned with personnel to secure the entire estate.

Once quiet and desolate yesterday, the Polleta family estate now blazed with lights and buzzed with people.

Ethan stood beside the coffin for a long time, gazing at Alberto’s face until Anya called him back to reality.

“Young master, dinner is ready. Please eat something and rest early.”

Ethan nodded.

Tomorrow—the grand event—was yet to come.