Anthony knew Winston hadn't realized the truth yet. The remaining eleven seats of the High Table had already granted the Marquis de Gramont absolute authority.
He was now judge, jury, and executioner.
In Anthony's memory of the original timeline, Winston had refused the High Table's order to kill John Wick. That refusal sparked a war, ending with the Elder dead in the desert and Gramont executing Charon in the lobby before leveling the Continental to dust.
But reality had fractured. John hadn't pulled the trigger on Santino inside the hotel. Winston had committed no treason.
That left Gramont without a legal excuse to strike the Continental, a detail that would only make the madman more dangerous. He still needed to cement his authority.
"You wouldn't want to watch Charon die, would you, Winston?"
The words hit Winston like a physical blow.
John and Marcus stood up, their expressions shifting.
"Anthony, what are you saying?" Marcus asked.
"I see that lunatic putting a bullet in Charon and burning this hotel to the ground," Anthony said. "He needs a display of absolute power. He wants to test the boundaries of the rules."
He looked at Winston. The older man's face had lost its color.
"If John had killed Santino here, he would be hunted globally. You would have protected him. Gramont would have executed Charon just to break your spirit."
Marcus exhaled a long, heavy breath. "Thank God you had me take the shot."
He looked at Anthony, respect settling in his eyes. "Thank you. On John's behalf."
Winston scrutinized Anthony. He wasn't sure what to believe. Every move Anthony made seemed wrapped in layers of conspiracy, yet everything unfolded exactly as he predicted.
"Then what do I do?" Winston asked. He chose to believe.
"Nothing," Anthony smiled. "This is my war with Gramont. For now, the rules of the High Table still shield me."
He knew Deshawn and the Bloods would never find the Marquis. If Gramont couldn't hide from street thugs, he didn't deserve his rank. Winston had the intelligence network to find him, but the moment the Continental started looking, Gramont would know.
"Let Deshawn tear up the streets," Anthony said, his smile turning cold. "A rabid dog doesn't need a reason to bite. But when it draws blood, the owner has to step out into the light."
He turned to John. "I might need you soon. My own personal nuclear deterrent."
John raised his glass. "What's the target?"
"You want to wipe out the Bloods?" Marcus asked.
"The Crips," Anthony corrected. "And every tentacle Gramont has grown in this city."
He turned back to Winston. "I need Charon to rally his people. The kind of hotel loyalists who cannot be bought with gold coins."
Anthony understood Charon's true value. As the Concierge of the New York Continental, he controlled the hotel's armory and its most loyal assets. Like his namesake in Greek mythology, Charon was a ferryman. He didn't just guide the dead. In the assassin underworld, he guarded the last remnants of humanity.
That was why he and Winston were the only people John trusted.
"He will stand with us," Winston said, his tone solemn.
Anthony's phone rang. The screen displayed Winnie's name.
He held up a hand for silence and answered.
"Anthony." Winnie sounded exhausted. "Noon. The Lark, south side of Central Park. I skipped my rest period for this. Do not be late."
Anthony checked the window. The sun sat high over the skyline.
"I will be right there."
He hung up and looked at the three men. "My girlfriend wants lunch."
"Now?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Gramont is hunting us, and you are going on a date?"
"It isn't a date." Anthony stood and buttoned his suit jacket. "The Pritzker family is shifting power. Santino used to attend their private dinners."
Winston narrowed his eyes. "You think Gramont is targeting the Pritzkers?"
"Santino didn't socialize with legitimate billionaires for fun," Anthony said. "Gramont is smarter. He won't show his face, but he will send a proxy."
"Do you need me there?" John asked. "If Gramont is watching them..."
"No," Anthony shook his head. "He won't strike at them in public. Not yet."
Winston walked Anthony to the elevator.
"Be careful," Winston warned. "The Marquis de Gramont is not a standard enemy. He will strike at your weakest point. He will use what you love as a weapon."
"I appreciate the warning, Winston." Anthony pressed the call button. "But my rule is simple. Never let the enemy see what you are afraid to lose."
The Lark was an upscale French restaurant on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Manicured hedges lined the glass facade.
Anthony pulled to the curb. Across the street, Nick sat behind the wheel of a sports car. The Tarasov enforcer gave a subtle nod through the windshield.
A doorman in a dark uniform opened Anthony's door with military precision.
Inside, the dining room hummed with quiet elegance. Waiters in sharp black uniforms drifted between tables.
Winnie sat by the window, a glass of iced lemonade in front of her. She wore a simple black dress. A slender diamond necklace rested against her collarbone. Her blonde hair was pinned back loosely, framing her face.
Anthony approached and sat across from her.
She offered a tired but genuine smile. "More punctual than your school days."
"Always," Anthony said. "You look like you need sleep."
"The Pritzker Group is restructuring." Winnie stirred the lemon in her glass. "My father redistributed the hotel portfolio. My share was just cut by a third."
"Enrico?"
"My father approved it. My grandfather stayed silent." Winnie kept her eyes on her glass. "They claim I am too young. They say I focus too much on my personal life."
"Because you refuse their arranged marriages," Anthony laughed. "And because you spend your time with me, your long-lost classmate."
Winnie rolled her eyes in mock disgust. "And you run a mafia syndicate."
"How can I comfort you, then?" Anthony asked, leaning forward with a smirk.
Winnie hesitated. Her clear eyes clouded with frustration before she changed the subject.
"Enrico brought an advisor to my father," she said, her tone flattening. "An expert in luxury hospitality. He made several aggressive recommendations. My father listened."
"So this is Enrico's play for power," Anthony noted.
"I cannot challenge the board until my grandfather speaks," Winnie said. "But I do not trust Europeans."
Anthony stopped flipping through the menu.
"Europeans?" he asked casually.
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