The convoy drew closer to the Continental Hotel.
The attacks from the Hallstatt clan's killers and the bounty hunters grew more frenzied.
Intercept.
Block.
They used every trick in the book.
Fortunately, though Alex hadn't brought many killers with him this time, each one was a seasoned professional.
Every ambush was handled with precision and flawless teamwork.
Of course, there were still desperate situations.
Two crazed bounty hunters suddenly pulled out grenades, pulled the pins, and rode their motorcycles forward—
trying to throw them into Alex's car.
Luckily, thanks to the five-second death-threat premonition,
Alex anticipated it in advance, under the incredulous gaze of John Wick.
Following his command, the driver slammed the accelerator at the critical moment.
The two grenades smashed against the car body and bounced back.
BOOM! BOOM!
Two explosions instantly took out both bounty hunters.
The convoy turned a corner smoothly, speeding along the riverside road,
through an underbridge, until finally halting at the entrance of the Continental Hotel.
Every killer stayed alert.
Alex bent down and stepped out of the car, his shoes landing on the hotel's red carpet.
The massive glass doors opened.
At that instant—
the killers who had been chasing and surrounding him… fell silent.
Weapons lowered, frustration burning in their eyes.
They stood, gritting their teeth, watching Alex smile as if they didn't exist at all.
Only when Alex entered the hotel lobby with Anna and John Wick did they finally back away,
swallowing their greed and muttering curses before dispersing.
Meanwhile, inside the hotel restaurant upstairs—
Santino sat at a table in an elegant tailored suit.
His face pale, sickly, twisted into a faint smile.
He picked up a dining knife, sliced a piece of foie gras,
placed it into his mouth, closed his eyes, and chewed slowly, savoring it.
For the first time in days, he felt truly alive.
Back in New Delhi, eating food prepared with Ganges water had left him vomiting and retching constantly.
Now, free from that torment, he could finally enjoy a proper meal.
But food didn't matter.
What mattered was this—
he would have his revenge against Alex in person.
One bite after another, he ate with deliberate grace.
Until a killer from the Camorra family entered, approached, and leaned down.
"Alex just walked into the hotel entrance."
That one sentence erased Santino's smile.
Anger flashed in his eyes.
His hands clenched the knife and fork so tightly his knuckles whitened.
After a long pause, he forced the fury down,
dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and sneered coldly.
"Let's go… It's time to meet the bastard who ruined me."
Rising, he strode out with the killer in tow.
Upstairs, Alex led John Wick, Anna, and several killers to the second floor.
From the lounges on both sides of the lobby, eyes followed him.
On their phone screens, the [Open Bounty Order] for him was still glowing.
A middle-aged woman with black hair and blue eyes rose from the only empty sofa.
She approached Alex, extended her hand, and introduced herself.
"Mr. Alex. I am Anna Paryio, manager of the Prague Continental. A pleasure to meet you."
Alex smiled politely, shaking her hand.
"I'm honored to meet such a distinguished lady."
After the courtesies, the manager offered him a keycard.
"Mr. Alex, this is our finest suite, reserved for esteemed guests. I hope you enjoy your stay."
Alex accepted it without hesitation.
"Thank you."
He glanced at the number—1002.
The tenth floor, a luxury suite, reserved only for those the Continental truly recognized: high-ranking leaders, family heads, or representatives of major organizations.
Of course, this wasn't about respect.
It was his current status—wherever he went, any Continental Hotel under the High Table would treat him this way.
He handed the keycard to Anna beside him.
Then, stepping up to the front desk, Alex drew a gold coin and slid it across.
"Please prepare another room for me—room 902."
The concierge swiftly processed it, handing him a second card.
"How long will you be staying, sir?"
"Seven days," Alex replied after a thought.
He turned, walked to John Wick, and pressed the card into his hand.
"Room 902, right below ours. I figured you'd prefer your own space."
John Wick couldn't deny it—this boss took care of his people.
But just as he pocketed the card, an arrogant voice echoed up the staircase:
"Alex… the great 'Lighthouse' leader. I thought you'd be an old man. Turns out you barely look grown."
Santino swaggered up the steps, chest high, trying to impose his presence.
But Alex didn't indulge him.
He sneered, raised his hand—
SMACK!
The slap rang loud across the lobby, echoing in Santino's ears.
Alex's voice followed, cold as steel:
"Santino… To provoke your enemy to his face? You're the first fool to beg for death this way. That slap is just to remind you."
"And another thing—your sister wouldn't dare speak like this in front of me. What the hell are you compared to her?"
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If you're interested, you can read advanced chapters:
pat reon .com / Samorash