Anthony ignored Iosef's murderous glare and walked casually toward the front of the Mustang. "Isn't this John's car? How did it end up in your hands?"
The two Russian thugs exchanged a quick, panicked glance.
Iosef's expression flickered, but he quickly re-established his mask of arrogance.
"You dumbass, where I get my cars is none of your damn business. Get lost, you bastard, and don't interfere with Mr. Aurelio's business."
A cold light flashed in Anthony's eyes. His leg snapped out in a vicious front kick.
Amidst the heavy thud of metal flexing, Iosef's lower back slammed hard against the Mustang's pristine hood. He cried out, the wind knocked from his lungs.
"I asked you a question. Where did you get the car?" Anthony took a menacing step forward. "Tell me, or I'll knock the rest of your teeth out right here and see if Viggo actually cares enough to kill me over it."
Iosef roared in humiliation and threw a wild, telegraphed punch.
Anthony easily slipped to the outside, driving a precise, punishing left hook into Iosef's ribs. A dull, sickening crack echoed in the morning air.
"Do you have any idea what kind of hell I lived through in the military just to survive for this moment?" Anthony's voice was deadly cold.
Iosef doubled over, clutching his ribs, cursing between jagged gasps for air.
His two thugs finally reacted, drawing combat knives from their jackets and rushing forward.
Instead of retreating, Anthony stepped into their guard. He dropped the thug on the left with a brutal sweeping kick to the kneecap. Simultaneously, he caught the right thug's wrist, twisted it violently until the bone popped, and sent the dagger clattering across the concrete.
Without breaking momentum, Anthony grabbed the disarmed thug by the back of the neck and slammed his face onto the hood of the Mustang, dragging him across the polished paint and leaving a long, red smear.
Anthony spun around, grabbed Iosef by the collar, and pinned him forcefully against the car.
"Son of a bitch, let me go!" Iosef struggled, his voice cracking with panic and rage. "I'll make sure you don't live to see tomorrow!"
"Just like you made sure my mother burned to death?" Anthony pressed his knee ruthlessly into Iosef's injured ribs, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper.
"I guess the freezing cold of Siberia didn't teach you how to respect the dead, did it, little brother?"
"That's enough. You don't cause trouble at my shop."
A cold, authoritative voice rang out from the open bay doors.
Anthony turned his head to see the shop owner, Aurelio, wiping grease from his hands with a rag, his eyes narrowed in extreme displeasure.
Anthony grabbed Iosef by the hair, slammed his head once more against the Mustang's roof, and finally let him go.
Iosef scrambled backward, his chest heaving. He reached to the small of his back and pulled a sleek handgun.
"Iosef. Are you really going to discharge a firearm in my shop?" Aurelio didn't flinch. His gaze darkened. "Why don't you call your father, Viggo, and ask him if that's a good idea first?"
Anthony laughed mockingly. "In Afghanistan, the Taliban insurgents had ten times better trigger discipline than you."
He slowly unzipped his jacket, revealing the Marine Corps emblem on his undershirt.
"Shoot me right here, Iosef. Let Mr. Aurelio testify about how the Tarasov syndicate murders U.S. combat veterans in broad daylight."
Iosef's hand holding the gun trembled slightly.
Anthony took a slow, deliberate step forward, a terrifying smile on his face. "You don't have the balls. Because you know Viggo can't afford the heat that comes with dropping a Marine on American soil."
The words hit their mark perfectly.
A flash of genuine fear crossed Iosef's eyes. Viggo had warned him countless times: never cross the syndicate's red lines. Never draw federal attention.
"Put the gun away, kid," Aurelio said, stepping between them. "If you fire a weapon on my turf, Viggo will break your legs himself."
Aurelio glanced at Anthony, opening his mouth to speak, but Anthony beat him to it, turning his icy gaze back to Iosef.
"I'll ask you one last time. Why do you have John's car?"
"John?" Aurelio's eyes flickered. He hadn't expected this random kid to know the owner of the vehicle.
But as Aurelio turned and truly looked at the vintage Mustang, recognizing the custom modifications and the pristine paint job, the color drained entirely from his face.
Fuck.
This was John Wick's car.
At that moment, Aurelio's heart began to hammer against his ribs. He looked at Iosef with an expression of sheer, unadulterated horror.
He didn't know if the younger generation had just gone completely insane, or if the whole damn world was ending today.
Aurelio tossed his rag aside. He shoved Anthony out of the way, lunged forward, and grabbed Iosef by the collar, slamming the younger, taller man back against the Mustang.
"You stupid bastard!" Aurelio's voice was tight with terror. "Do you have any fucking idea whose car this is?! Do you have a death wish?!"
Iosef was stunned by the sudden, violent reaction from the usually calm mechanic. He struggled to break free. "Mr. Aurelio, what's the big deal? It's just a fucking car..."
Smack!
Aurelio slapped Iosef across the face with everything he had.
The strike was so powerful that Iosef's head snapped to the side, blood instantly pooling at the corner of his mouth.
The two thugs instinctively stepped forward to protect their boss, but Aurelio froze them in their tracks with a glare so sharp it could cut glass.
"Didn't Viggo ever teach you the rules of this city?!" Aurelio gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into Iosef's expensive jacket. "There are some things you do not touch. And there are some people you do not cross!"
"Especially when that thing belongs to that person! You absolute idiot!"
The arrogant confusion on Iosef's face warped into defensive anger. "Fuck you, Aurelio! What the hell are you talking about?"
"I took this car from some washed-up drunk! I didn't even kill him! I just beat the shit out of him and killed his fucking dog!"
"Fuck..." Hearing this, Aurelio released Iosef's collar as if the boy had suddenly caught fire.
He stumbled backward, a look of extreme shock morphing into a hollow, disbelieving laugh. "Heh... heheh."
Anthony watched as Aurelio took two more steps back, his hands trembling visibly as he pulled a burner phone from his pocket.
Aurelio dialed a memorized number and pressed it to his ear.
"Viggo. You need to get down to my shop right now," Aurelio whispered. "Your son has done something... profoundly stupid."
Without waiting for Viggo to ask, Aurelio delivered the death sentence. "Your son, Iosef, stole John Wick's car. And he killed his dog."
The line went dead silent. The only sound was Viggo's faint, shallow breathing.
Then, after an agonizing pause, the head of the Russian syndicate let out a hollow, defeated "Oh."
The call abruptly disconnected.
Aurelio understood perfectly. In that single syllable, Viggo wasn't thinking about how to punish Iosef. He was already calculating how to survive the impending apocalypse.
Aurelio slowly lowered the phone. He turned to Anthony, his expression incredibly complex. "You... you know John?"
Anthony pointed down at Helen, who was sitting obediently by his boots. "I take Helen over to his place to play. That's how we met."
"Helen?" Aurelio knelt slightly, examining the beagle, noting the nameplate. He exhaled a long breath. "No wonder."
Anthony calmly pulled out his own phone and dialed John's number.
"John," Anthony said when the line connected. "Was your house broken into last night? Why is your Mustang parked at..." He paused, looking up at the mechanic.
"Aurelio's," the shop owner supplied quickly. "Aurelio's Chop Shop."
"I found your car at Aurelio's Chop Shop," Anthony reported calmly into the receiver. "John, do you want me to drive it back to your place?"
"No need. I'm coming over right now," John's deep, gravelly voice replied. He said the words, but there was zero gratitude in his tone. Only cold, mechanical intent.
Aurelio closed his eyes and took a long, shaky breath.
When he opened them, he looked at Anthony with unprecedented solemnity. "Anthony, do you have any idea who John Wick actually is?"
"We bonded over our dogs. I didn't ask for his resume," Anthony lied smoothly. "I just know he's a grieving man who recently lost his wife."
Aurelio stared at Anthony for a long moment, trying to read him. "You need to leave. Right now. You cannot be involved in what is about to happen, and you do not want to know."
Anthony smiled thinly. "Mr. Aurelio, I'm Viggo's illegitimate son. And John is my friend. I'm going to stick around and see if I can help."
"You're Viggo's kid?" Aurelio was genuinely taken aback by the revelation.
Iosef, holding his bleeding lip, sneered from across the driveway. "He's just a stray mutt the Tarasov family keeps around out of pity. You think you're worthy of calling yourself my brother?"
Aurelio looked at the stolen Mustang, then looked at Iosef with an expression of pure pity. "Your father is on his way here. We'll see if he even tries to save your life first."
Iosef scoffed disdainfully, intentionally leaving the blood smeared across his chin to play the victim.
"You hit me, Aurelio. Just wait until my father gets here. We'll see who needs saving."
He spat another mouthful of bloody saliva onto the concrete.
Fuck!