The Bowery King glared at the Adjudicator through the rain. "You want loyalty? Fine. I'll fill you so full of devotion it'll come pouring out your mouth."
The Adjudicator's expression didn't change. "I gave you an opportunity. You rejected it."
"Yeah, well, I've got something to say about that." The King straightened despite his soaked clothes and exhaustion. "Get off your high horse and get the hell out of my kingdom."
"I accept your defiance." The Adjudicator's tone remained clinical, detached. "You gave John Wick seven bullets. Your punishment is seven cuts."
The King actually laughed, a short, bitter bark. Seven cuts. He'd survive that. Painful, humiliating, but survivable. "Sometimes you gotta slice a man up a little. I can take it."
He looked at Zero standing beside the Adjudicator, then down at the white pigeon in his hands. Gently, he covered the bird's eyes with one palm.
"Don't watch this, sweetheart."
He released the pigeon into the rain-dark sky, then turned to Zero and spread his arms wide.
"The king is dead." He smiled, defiant to the end. "Long live the king."
Zero's blade moved like liquid mercury. Seven strikes in rapid succession, chest, shoulder, side, abdomen, thigh, arm, back. Each cut was precise, calculated to cause maximum pain without immediately killing.
Blood sprayed across the rooftop, mixing with rainwater. The Bowery King screamed and collapsed.
The Adjudicator looked down at the bleeding man, then turned and walked away, her enforcers following. Zero cleaned his blade on a cloth and sheathed it without a word.
The judgment was complete. The Bowery King's reign was over.
Minutes after they left, Olla emerged from the stairwell. She rushed to her fallen boss, checked his pulse, weak but present, and began dragging him toward medical help.
Paris – Two Days Earlier
Gramont sat in his opulent office overlooking the Seine, drumming his fingers on an antique desk. When Kane entered, escorted by two guards, the Marquis whistled, a mocking sound, the kind you'd use to call a dog.
"I have a job for you."
Caine's jaw tightened. "With respect, I'm retired."
A server appeared with a silver tray bearing pastries. Gramont selected one, bit into it delicately. "I don't think so."
"I'm no use to you or the High Table anymore."
Gramont smiled around his pastry. "That's not your decision to make."
Caine forced a smile and touched his nose, a nervous gesture. "Find someone else."
Gramont took another bite, chewed slowly, swallowed. "You were too close to her."
Caine froze.
"Your daughter. The violinist." Gramont's voice was casual, conversational. "Our people found you listening to her practice. Standing right outside the concert hall. That's a violation of your agreement, Caine."
"Today, you were far too close. You put her in danger."
Caine said nothing. His blind eyes stared in Gramont's general direction, his expression carefully neutral.
He reached toward the tray the server held. His fingers found a business card with raised Braille lettering. He traced the dots: J-O-H-N W-I-C-K.
"An old colleague," Gramont observed.
Caine took a slow breath. "Yes. Also a friend."
"The agreement remains unchanged. We give you a name, you kill them. Otherwise..." Gramont didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
Caine lowered himself to one knee, cane held across his chest. "I accept the contract. I pledge my service."
"Wonderful!" Gramont clapped his hands together. "But this assignment is slightly different from your previous work."
"How so?"
"John Wick violated High Table rules and defected to our enemies, the Fraternity. They've granted him protection." Gramont circled Caine slowly. "So your target isn't just John. It's anyone from the Fraternity who gets in your way."
Caine's expression shifted. "Alone?"
"Of course not. I recognize your considerable talents, but I'm not foolish." Gramont gestured dismissively. "Chidi will lead a strike team, three task forces plus specialized operators. They'll assault the Fraternity's headquarters as a diversion. Your job is simple: get inside during the chaos and eliminate John Wick."
Caine remained kneeling, his mind racing through the implications. The Fraternity. An organization that had survived for over a millennium. And Gramont wanted him to infiltrate their stronghold during an active assault.
This wasn't an assignment. It was a suicide mission with his daughter as collateral.
Morocco – Desert's Edge
Smith checked his watch. Three days since John entered the desert. By now, according to the timeline he remembered, John should be meeting the Elder.
He closed his eyes and focused on the Dragon Ball's energy signature. The world fell away, replaced by a three-dimensional map of glowing points. Two star Dragon Ball were close by, the ones John carried. And far to the east, moving slowly...
An image flickered in Smith's mind: John Wick collapsed in the sand. An Arab in traditional robes appeared on a dune ridge, leading a camel. He descended, lifted John's unconscious body onto the animal, and began the long trek deeper into the desert.
Smith opened his eyes and smiled. "He's made contact. Time to move."
Behind him, thirty-two League operatives sat astride camels, weapons checked and ready. Each wore the new Continental-style body armor beneath desert robes. Their rifles were specially modified for sand operations, sealed actions, enhanced reliability.
Wesley cracked his neck and grinned. "Finally. I was getting tired of waiting."
"The High Table falls today," he added with relish.
Fox scanned the endless dunes, her expression skeptical. She preferred urban operations, buildings with cover, escape routes, civilians to blend with. Desert warfare was exposed, brutal, unforgiving. She touched the body armor beneath her robes and hoped the casualties would be minimal.
"Let's move," Smith said. "I'll guide us to their location."
The column of camels began moving east, following Smith's supernatural navigation toward the Elder's hidden fortress.
New York
Caine followed Chidi through the streets toward a predetermined meeting point. The Adjudicator was waiting, her posture as rigid and formal as ever.
"Status?" Chidi asked without preamble.
"The Belarusian Director and the Bowery King have been disciplined. Winston remains." The Adjudicator glanced toward the Continental. "He's next on the list."
"When do you move on the Fraternity?"
Chidi consulted a tablet. "Original plan was a night assault on their New York headquarters. But new intelligence places John Wick in Casablanca three days ago. Continental manager Sofia Al-Azwar reported that he used a blood oath marker to acquire a Dragon Ball from her, then disappeared."
"Blood oath," the Adjudicator mused. "That's technically within the rules."
"Exactly. Sofia's protected." Chidi put the tablet away. "If we don't get fresh intel soon, we're hitting the Fraternity's facility anyway. Odds are they've already returned to New York."
Caine listened to all of this in silence, his blind eyes staring at nothing. He was thinking about his daughter's violin practice, the last time he'd hear it before walking into a war zone.
The Fraternity had survived for a thousand years by being lethal, organized, and absolutely ruthless. And he was supposed to infiltrate them during an assault, locate John Wick, and kill him.
The odds of survival were close to zero.
But his daughter would live. That was all that mattered.