Clap! Clap! Clap!
As Alex's words fell, the hotel lobby instantly echoed with the sound of guns being drawn!
On both sides of the lounge, seven or eight killers stood up at once, aiming straight at him.
At the same time, Anna, John Wick, and the rest of Alex's men also raised their weapons in response.
The scene turned sharply tense.
Turning, Alex swept a cold gaze around. His eyes briefly caught the hotel manager in the distance, who was just about to return. Then he looked back at the killers, sneering with disdain.
"In the Continental Hotel, you dare draw your guns? Do you think the hotel rules don't exist, or are you just tired of living?"
That one sentence was enough to sober up the hot-headed Camorra family killers.
Looking at Alex standing there sharp-edged and unshaken, then at Santino—still sprawled on the ground, unmoving after the slap…
Finally, their eyes shifted to the hotel manager, who was getting closer.
After a few seconds of silence, the killers reluctantly lowered their weapons.
Two of them stepped forward, helping Santino to his feet.
It was then that everyone saw just how miserable he looked—
half his face was swollen, blood dripping from his mouth, even two of his teeth knocked out.
Groggy, Santino cursed through blood and missing teeth:
"Alex… damn this bastard…"
But his speech was slurred, barely intelligible.
Alex didn't even bother to glance at him.
Instead, he turned to the hotel manager.
"Ms. Paryio, my apologies. I've just arrived at your hotel and already caused such an unpleasant incident."
Though the words were apologetic, his face showed no hint of regret.
Anna Paryio, of course, knew about Alex's reputation. This was a man bold enough to defy the High Table itself. Otherwise, she wouldn't have treated him with such courtesy earlier.
Now, seeing Santino's miserable state, all she could do was put on an act and formally warn him:
"Mr. Cross, if this happens again, I'll have no choice but to ask you to leave."
"Of course," Alex replied with a polite smile, nodding.
Then he walked away toward the elevators, leaving the mess for the hotel manager to clean up.
Meanwhile, at a deserted farm about 20 kilometers from Lake Aber, disguised Lighthouse assassins worked, hauling sacks of grain while keeping watch.
Inside a wooden cabin, Black Caesar leaned against a railing, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Beside him, a sultry-looking woman in her forties teased and flirted with him.
But just as she leaned in, hinting she was afraid to sleep alone that night, Black Caesar's phone rang.
His relaxed expression hardened instantly.
He stepped away from the woman, distancing himself before answering.
"Black Caesar, where exactly are you right now?" Becky's voice came through the line.
Lifting his head toward the distant snow-covered mountains, he stubbed out his cigarette and replied truthfully:
"About 25 kilometers from Hallstatt Town, at Mura Farm. The 50 assassins sent here have all arrived."
"Mr. Cross has already reached the Prague Continental Hotel. His order is for you to stay in hiding. He'll contact you when it's time to act."
"Understood. Make sure you protect Mr. Cross."
"Got it."
The call was short—barely a minute.
After hanging up, Black Caesar looked back at the flirtatious widow tossing him coy glances. He pocketed the phone and walked toward her.
Prague International Airport.
A luxury convoy pulled up at the arrivals exit. At its center was a stretch Lincoln.
The White Widow stood there, smiling, inviting Katia inside. Fox, Nikita, and Katia's two bodyguards stood nearby, eyes scanning the surroundings.
Not far away, two assassins from the Hallstatt Tribe watched closely, then dialed the town chief's number.
The line connected quickly.
"Hello."
"Chief, the 'White Widow' and Katia of the Russian mob just got into the same car. Looks like they're heading to meet Alex."
"Just keep them under surveillance. We have an agreement with the Russians. Don't make any rash moves."
"Understood."
Hanging up, the two assassins hurried to the roadside. They yanked open a taxi door, shot the driver dead, and stuffed the body into the trunk. Then they sped off, tailing the convoy.
Inside the Lincoln, the White Widow and Katia chatted casually.
"It's rare, isn't it? Prague has a Continental Hotel, yet no family dares establish a branch here."
"No surprise. That evil organization is far too active in this city. To keep them bound under High Table rules, they had no choice but to establish a Continental Hotel here."
"Who knows, maybe that organization's base is right here around Prague…"
"Doesn't matter. Our Russian families already signed a non-aggression pact with them. As long as they don't interfere with us, it's fine."
As they talked, the convoy turned into a riverside road, pulling up in front of the Continental Hotel.
The White Widow and Katia stepped out together.
As they entered the lobby, they immediately spotted, on the second floor, the hotel manager trying to soothe a battered Santino.
Katia leaned in close to the White Widow, whispering:
"See that useless man over there? That's Santino Antonio—the one who has beef with your Lighthouse organization. Better warn Alex to be careful."
"Thank you," the White Widow murmured, glancing at Santino's swollen face.
It was obvious to her whose handiwork that was—none other than her troublesome man.
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