Chapter Twenty-Three: The Fortress of Isis

The car came to a stop by the coastline. The castle was not built directly onto the shore; instead, it sat beyond the coast, connected to the land by a long, narrow path of black stone. This path was unsuitable for driving and had to be traversed on foot.

Someone was already waiting by the shore. Ethan had sent a greeting to Sandro before departing to ensure he was available that evening. The person waiting was no stranger—it was Emilio. He was dressed in his usual attire: a stand-collar trench coat and a bowler hat. He looked somewhat thin against the chill of the seaside as night approached, though he seemed quite indifferent to the cold.

"We meet again, Ethan." Despite the anger he had shown when they last parted, Emilio was now calm and composed.

"Emilio, I must offer you my sincerest apologies for what happened last time." Ethan opened his arms as if to embrace him.

"There is nothing to apologize for. Let's just say Joann was unlucky. Come, Sandro is waiting for you." Emilio turned and walked away.

Two subordinates followed behind him. They were not as resilient to the cold as Emilio; they shivered violently while trying to help carry the gifts. In truth, Ethan had not prepared any special gifts—just things that money could buy. The real gift he intended to give Sandro today was not among them.

The black stone path was longer than Ethan had imagined. By the time they reached the base of the castle, night had almost fully descended. Lights were already lit across the castle, and Ethan could perceive a solid, palpable sense of malice everywhere. As the head of the five great families of Winster, the Conti family was indeed a formidable force.

Following Emilio into the castle, Ethan’s eyes were immediately drawn to a massive mural illuminated by dim, yellowish light. A giant figure dominated most of the frame: a woman with a head of serpents and a human body. Her form was immense, rising from the sea to the sky, completely blotting out the heavens.

Around her, wind, rain, and lightning churned, and the sea boiled. Within the boiling waters, a multitude of marine creatures—sirens, sea monsters, and various mythical beings—prostrated themselves beneath her. The scene was grand, the technique masterful, and a heavy, intense religious atmosphere permeated the work.

Drawing on the memories of his predecessor, Ethan identified the figure as a secular depiction of the sea goddess Isis, though he had never seen this particular composition before; it differed from the traditional paintings of Isis that had been passed down through history.

"Is Sandro a follower of Isis?" Ethan asked casually.

"Sandro believes in nothing but himself," Emilio paused, then added, "This painting was already here when Sandro bought the castle."

Sandro had bought the castle. Indeed, he had purchased it rather than built it. Sandro was, in every sense, a legendary figure—a level of legend far beyond Ethan’s own. While Ethan’s feat of killing his enemy and reclaiming his family legacy in a single day and night was impressive, it paled in comparison to Sandro.

Sandro was a man who had started from nothing to build the largest mafia family in Winster. About thirty years ago, no one knew where he had come from; he seemed to have appeared out of thin air. In a remarkably short time, he had carved a bloody path through the dark underworld of Winster, forging an unstoppable criminal army. He dominated the most lucrative underground businesses and, over the following decade, rapidly laundered his reputation, befriending influential figures in Winster’s political and legal circles to become one of the city’s true power brokers.

In thirty years, he had traveled a path that would take other families generations to complete. After establishing the Conti family as the head of the five great mafia families of Winster, he bought this castle and began living in seclusion. While it was called a family, in reality, the Conti family consisted only of Sandro himself. As far as anyone knew, he had no wife, no children, no lovers, and had not even adopted a foster son. The family was named "Conti" simply because Sandro had once claimed to be from a small town called Conti in Fengcui. He was, in every sense, a man of mystery.

Passing the massive mural of the sea goddess, Ethan arrived in the castle’s grand living room. Unlike the typical castle chambers he had envisioned, there were no displays of armor or weaponry. Instead, traces of sea god worship were visible everywhere: stone carvings of sea beasts hanging on the walls, and fish scales, fish tails, and tridents etched into the corners and stone pillars.

Beneath one such trident, a man was holding a newspaper. He appeared to be about the same age as Emilio, yet he possessed a more masculine and rugged air. He did not wear a stand-collar trench coat like Emilio, but rather a simple white shirt with suspenders that highlighted his powerful, muscular build. Even though the living room was bone-chillingly cold and the fireplace provided little warmth, he emanated a sense of burning intensity.

"Clay, when did you return?" Emilio frowned upon seeing the man.

"What, you didn't want me to return?" The rugged man, known as Clay, continued to smoke a cigar. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, flicked the ash, and stared at Emilio.

"I was just thinking that this matter was so tricky..."

"Yes, it was tricky, which is why I sped up my progress. But it seems I worried for nothing. Even without me, things developed better than I imagined. Ethan, you must be Ethan. Come here, let me take a look at you." Clay gestured for Ethan to approach.

Ethan felt a bit confused; he searched his memories but found no trace of this person. That was normal, however, as his predecessor had taken little interest in family affairs.

"Don't be afraid, come here. I was a friend of your father; we grew up together." Clay beckoned again.

Ethan walked over. Clay studied him for a moment before standing up and patting him heavily on the shoulder. The force was so great that if Ethan’s body had not been tempered by the "Name of the True God," he might have collapsed on the spot.

"Good lad, well done, good lad." As he spoke, he handed the newspaper to Ethan. The ink was still fresh. Ethan glanced at it; the front page featured a photo of his speech at the entrance of the police station. It was an urgent edition.

Clearly, Clay’s praise for a "job well done" referred to more than just the newspaper report.

"Go on, Sandro is waiting for you. We can talk about other things later. I didn't make it to your father's funeral, but I will certainly go to offer flowers at his grave," Clay said after observing him for a moment longer.