"Manager Julius, you should really be directing your concerns to this noble Shadow," Anthony said, gesturing lazily toward Ares with his whiskey glass. "And to her master, Santino D'Antonio, who is currently screaming in New York like a cat whose tail has been stepped on!"
"He simply couldn't wait to invoke that ancient Blood Oath to force John to assassinate his own sister, Gianna. Why? Just so he could sit in a damned chair that he could never earn himself!"
Anthony's voice rang out clearly across the silent lobby. Each word struck like a cold, calculated bullet.
"Unfortunately for Santino, John absolutely refused to honor the Marker," Anthony continued, pacing slowly in front of Ares's table. "So the viper got anxious. He sent a five-man hit squad to eliminate me under the cover of night. Alas, his dogs proved completely useless."
Anthony slowly swirled his glass, the ice clinking loudly. His gaze swept across Ares's pale, furious face like a scalpel.
"And then? The viper discovered that John was traveling with me, and he assumed we were flying to Rome to tip off his dear sister."
"Terrified that Gianna might bolster her defenses and ruin his grand assassination plot, Santino beat us to the punch. He called Gianna and blatantly framed John, telling her the Baba Yaga had accepted the Marker and was coming to kill her!"
Anthony slammed his glass down onto Ares's table. The sharp crack echoed through the cavernous hall like a gunshot.
"And what was the result? Gianna set a massive ambush to bury John and me together in her gloomy catacombs."
Anthony turned back to the Continental Manager. "So tell me, Julius. In that exact situation, should we have simply washed our necks and waited for the executioner's blade? Or... should we have flipped her entire table?"
Julius's eyelids twitched violently. His pupils contracted in sheer shock.
Brutal power struggles within the High Table families were incredibly common. But to be this blatant, this malicious? To directly manipulate the sacred rules of the Blood Oath specifically to frame the Baba Yaga?
Julius instinctively looked over at Ares, desperately searching the Shadow's face for a hint of denial or an alternative explanation.
However, Ares simply stared intently at Anthony. Her chest heaved with poorly suppressed rage, her lips were pressed into a bloodless line, and her eyes blazed with absolute murderous intent.
Her furious silence was, in itself, a complete tacit admission of guilt.
"She and her treacherous brother backed us into a corner," Anthony said, his voice dropping into a cold, cruel register, delivering the final verdict.
"As for Ms. Mute here, and the heavily armed hit squad she brought with her..."
Anthony gestured with his chin toward Ares.
"She was just a vulture sent by Santino to pick our bones clean after Gianna's guards did the heavy lifting. But the vulture was incredibly unlucky. She accidentally ran into Cassian—a lion who was equally bloodthirsty."
Julius let out a sharp gasp. A profound chill ran straight down his spine.
The sheer volume of political intelligence contained within Anthony's brief monologue was staggering. It was enough to trigger a massive earthquake within the highest echelons of the High Table.
Santino's plot had been completely exposed. Cassian and Ares were actively slaughtering each other in the catacombs.
The arrogant young Russian casually narrating this apocalyptic storm was not merely a witness; he was actively manipulating the pieces behind the scenes.
"You..."
Julius's voice cracked. He desperately needed time to process the geopolitical fallout.
Anthony looked back down at Ares with a mocking smile.
"John and I literally just crawled out of the underground palace. It is an absolute slaughterhouse down there. Rivers of blood."
Ares's knuckles turned bone-white. Her eyes were fixed on Anthony as if she wanted to physically tear his throat out with her bare teeth.
"Go ahead. Draw it," Anthony challenged her, his voice perfectly level, completely devoid of fear.
"Draw a weapon inside the Continental. If Santino hears that you sacrificed yourself just to kill me, he might actually respect you as a tough woman, rather than just a disposable tool."
Julius finally couldn't hold his silence any longer. He strode out from behind the desk, his voice echoing with stern authority.
"Anthony! This is the Continental!"
"Oh, relax, Julius," Anthony laughed, raising both his hands in mock surrender, his wicked smile completely undiminished. "I was just catching up with my old friend here."
Anthony's smile slowly faded. "Do you know the truly tragic part of all this? This entire situation was so clearly a trap orchestrated by the D'Antonios."
"But John... that stubborn fool... he desperately tried to cling to a sliver of past friendship that didn't even exist anymore."
Julius was taken aback, his aristocratic composure cracking. "Gianna... what happened to her?"
Anthony picked up his glass and took a slow sip of his bourbon.
"Julius, do you honestly believe that anyone who actively attempts to murder John Wick will live to see the sunrise?"
Julius's face drained of all color.
Anthony's gaze shifted back to Ares.
"As for this beautiful mute... she traveled all the way to Rome on Santino's direct orders specifically to ambush John."
Anthony leaned in close. "But right now? She definitely wants to kill me more."
Julius looked in absolute shock at Ares, who was aggressively signing at a speed that was almost impossible for a layman to track.
Julius's expression turned incredibly grim as he translated.
"She said... she said you have deeply humiliated both her and Santino. She says you must pay with your blood."
Anthony slammed his glass down and looked Ares directly in the eyes. The mocking playfulness completely vanished from his face. "Listen to me very carefully, mute. You hate me. I completely understand."
"But you need to go back to New York and deliver a message to Santino. Tell him that if he dares to touch a single one of my people... I will personally carve his tongue out of his skull and turn him into a mute just like you."
Ares's chest heaved violently. Thick veins bulged visibly across her forehead. Her hand hovered millimeters from the hilt of her blade.
But in the end, her legendary discipline held. She suddenly stood up, turned on her heel, and stormed violently toward the exit. She stomped out of the hotel, each furious footstep looking as though she was trying to shatter the marble floorboards.
Julius let out a massive, trembling sigh of relief.
"You are completely insane, Anthony," Julius whispered. "She is a High Table certified Shadow. A top-tier apex assassin."
"So what?" Anthony asked casually, reaching across the bar to pour himself another generous measure of bourbon. "Did she dare to make a move inside the Continental?"
Just as Julius opened his mouth to reprimand him, the massive plate-glass window near the hotel entrance violently shattered inward.
A hail of glass fragments rained down across the lobby as two heavily bleeding figures tumbled violently through the shattered frame, crashing heavily onto the marble floor.
John and Cassian.
Both men were completely covered in blood and white masonry dust. Their tailored suits were violently torn.
John's tactical suit jacket had been ripped open across the chest by a glancing bullet, revealing his blood-soaked dress shirt underneath.
Cassian's left arm was twisted at an unnatural, agonizing angle. A deep, jagged knife wound stretched diagonally across his face, running from his forehead all the way down to his chin.
They slowly, agonizingly pushed themselves up from the floor. John slumped heavily against an overturned velvet sofa. Cassian staggered backward a few paces, desperately grabbing the edge of a liquor cabinet to keep himself from collapsing.
Their eyes met across the ruined lobby. There was no burning hatred in their gazes. Only an indescribable, suffocating heaviness.
Cassian, panting heavily through his teeth, limped over to the bar and gestured weakly for a drink.
John painfully pushed himself off the sofa and limped over to the bar as well, silently ordering the same.
Cassian threw his shot back and suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse. "Gianna trusted you, John. She once told me you were the most humane killer she had ever met."
John's eyes flickered, staring blankly into his glass. "The High Table officially mandated that she kill me to secure her seat."
Cassian sneered bitterly. "Gianna's death..."
He reached up, wiping a mixture of sweat and blood from his ruined face. His eyes sharpened into daggers, locking onto John's profile.
"This will not end here, John. As long as I am still breathing, my bullets will always be hunting you. This is my absolute vow to Gianna!"
"This has absolutely nothing to do with the High Table! It has nothing to do with their sacred rules! This is purely about settling a blood debt!"
Cassian's voice, though drowned in grief and hatred, was terrifyingly resolute.
Suddenly, a voice carrying a lighthearted, arrogant laugh abruptly shattered the somber, tragic atmosphere.
"Wow. Just listen to this incredibly touching declaration of revenge."
Anthony had casually strolled over from his table, slipping seamlessly into the space between the two battered assassins.
He wore his signature, highly punchable smirk—a smile that radiated pure cynicism and an infuriating, all-knowing arrogance.
He completely ignored Cassian's lethal, scrutinizing glare that instantly snapped toward him.
"Anthony Tarasov," Anthony introduced himself, casually extending his hand as if he were greeting a new business partner at a high-society cocktail party.
"I am John's friend," Anthony smiled even broader, showing his teeth. "It is a genuine pleasure to finally meet you, Cassian."
Upon discovering this kid was John's associate, Cassian's expression instantly warped into something incredibly complex.
He looked at Anthony's outstretched hand, and then looked back at John Wick, who was radiating an aura of absolute unapproachability and seemed entirely uninterested in joining the conversation.
The Tarasov syndicate from New York?
Was this the man Santino had been frantically screaming about on Gianna's final phone call? The name Santino wanted torn apart?
Is this the arrogant young bastard who completely overturned a High Table ambush with a flashbang in the catacombs... and is now standing next to the Baba Yaga as if nothing had even happened?
John remained entirely silent. He simply threw back his shot of bourbon.
Rome Continental Hotel, Room 107.
The heavy blackout curtains were drawn tight, blocking out all the ambient neon light from the Roman streets below.
The television news was playing softly in the background, broadcasting the local police department's official statement regarding a massive "gas pipeline explosion" in the catacombs near St. Peter's Basilica.
John leaned heavily back into a plush armchair, his eyes closed in exhaustion. His meticulously cleaned and freshly oiled TTI Glock 34 rested easily on his lap.
Anthony, meanwhile, had brazenly commandeered the suite's large writing desk. A highly detailed, hand-drawn street map of Rome's core districts was spread out before him. His fingertips repeatedly traced the major intersections and chokepoints.
He muttered silently to himself, his brain operating at supercomputer speeds. He was aggressively merging his meta-knowledge of the canon assassin locations with his System's tactical models, constructing highly probable ambush zones and viable exfiltration routes.
The only sounds in the suite were the rhythmic ticking of the antique wall clock and John's slow, steady breathing.
"You need to leave, Anthony," John stated quietly, not opening his eyes. "By tonight, Santino's bounty will reach every dark corner of the globe."
Anthony didn't look up from his map. "Listen to me, John. You are a living legend, yes. But you are still just a fucking human being."
"Everyone gets tired. Everyone gets hurt. And everyone... makes mistakes. You desperately need a second pair of eyes that can cover your blind spots and clear out the small-fry assassins while you focus on the primary threats."
Anthony tapped his pen firmly against the desk.
"You need my overwatch. So I am staying with you until we clear Rome. Then we go back to New York together. That is final."
"This is not a video game, Anthony," John snapped. His head shot up, his grey-blue eyes blazing with sudden, terrifying intensity. "A single bullet entering your body will kill you."
"Cassian will be hunting me relentlessly. Santino will undoubtedly put a massive open contract on my head. And the High Table will dispatch an Adjudicator to investigate Gianna's execution. Any one of these threats is more than enough to wipe out a hundred rookies like you."
"A newbie?" Anthony scoffed, dropping his pen and sitting up straight. "John, you and I are both men who are deeply committed to living to see tomorrow."
Anthony reached into his pocket and tossed John another cigarette. "The road back to New York is going to be incredibly bloody for you."
"My primary objective is simply to ensure you don't take any more catastrophic physical damage over the next few days. If you take another hit like Cassian gave you, your survival probability drops to zero."
Anthony pushed his chair back and walked over to John.
"Santino will never risk facing you himself. He is a coward. He is going to try and build you a tomb entirely out of gold coins."
"At least two hundred elite contract killers will receive his bounty ping tonight. By tomorrow morning, the streets of Rome will be transformed into an active hunting ground."
As if directly summoned by Anthony's prophecy, the encrypted cell phone in Anthony's pocket began to vibrate and buzz violently.
Anthony pulled the phone out and glanced at the screen. The cold, blue light illuminated his completely unsurprised face.
"A dark web message just forwarded through Marcus's server," Anthony announced, turning the screen around so John could see it.
It was a cold, purely transactional notification. There was no sender ID. Just a secured routing code and an astronomical sum of money.
Two high-resolution photographs were attached below the text.
The first was a crystal-clear profile shot of John. The second was a grainy, half-body image of Anthony, clearly captured by the CCTV cameras outside the New York Continental Hotel.
Below the images, a block of blood-red, bold text read like a global declaration of war:
[TARGET 01: JOHN WICK]
[STATUS: DEAD OR ALIVE]
[CONTRACT ACTIVE: IMMEDIATELY]
[PAYOUT: HIGH TABLE GOLD / $7,000,000 EQUIVALENT]
[TARGET 02: ANTHONY TARASOV]
[STATUS: ALIVE ONLY]
[CONTRACT ACTIVE: IMMEDIATELY]
[PAYOUT: HIGH TABLE GOLD / $5,000,000 EQUIVALENT]
John's gaze swept over the staggering, seven-million-dollar bounty placed upon his own head.
His eyes remained perfectly calm and entirely unwavering, though his grip on his Glock tightened by a fraction of an inch.
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