In a luxurious suite on the upper floors of the Continental Hotel, John Wick sat on the edge of the bed. His wounds had been sutured and dressed by the hotel's doctor. Though still weak from blood loss, his eyes were clear and alert.
Winston Scott stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the glittering Manhattan skyline. His silhouette was framed against the city's neon lights, projecting an aura of elegant mystery.
"His name is Anthony Tarasov," John said, breaking the silence. His voice was faint but steady. "I ran a background check. He really is Viggo's illegitimate son."
Winston turned around slowly. A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his usually unflappable face.
"Viggo's son? The man who dragged you up my steps is Viggo's blood?"
Winston walked to the bedside table, picked up a crystal pitcher, and poured a glass of water. "That doesn't track. Viggo put a two-million-dollar open contract on your head. Why would his son save you?"
"It gets more complicated," John said, taking the glass with a slightly trembling hand. "Iosef is dead. Anthony killed him."
Winston's hand froze in mid-air. The water in the pitcher rippled.
"Iosef is dead?" Winston's brow furrowed deeply. "He killed his own brother? Isn't he afraid Viggo will skin him alive?"
"I know." John took a deep breath, wincing as his stitched abdominal muscles contracted. "That's why I'm going to claim the kill. I'm going to announce that I killed Iosef."
Winston set the pitcher down with a sharp clink. He looked John dead in the eye. "Why in God's name would you take that kind of heat for a stranger?"
Winston paused, a thought striking him. "I remember seeing a dog with him outside... Daisy is already..."
"That's not Daisy," John interrupted softly. "That's his beagle. Her name is Helen."
Hearing the name Helen, and recalling the uncanny resemblance to John's late puppy, Winston's expression shifted from surprise to suspicion.
"Do you think that's a coincidence?" Winston asked sharply. "Because I smell a conspiracy, Jonathan."
John's face remained impassive. "I don't fully understand it either."
"If he wanted to kill me, he had a dozen chances tonight. And his intelligence network seems to be on par with—maybe even faster than—the Continental's. I can't figure out his endgame."
Winston paced slowly across the room, twirling his unlit cigar.
"You're a legend, John. Maybe he wants to weaponize you. Maybe he needs someone killed but can't afford your rate..."
John considered this. He knew Anthony wanted Viggo dead. But he also knew Anthony was lethal in his own right.
"No," John said, closing his eyes. "He's fully capable of assassinating Viggo himself. He doesn't need me to pull the trigger."
Winston finally lit his cigar, staring out at the city grid. Smoke curled around his face.
"What's the use of killing Viggo? Even if the king dies, an illegitimate son can't just inherit the throne. The captains won't follow him."
John opened his eyes, a realization dawning on him.
"Winston... are you saying he wants to replace Viggo? He wants to be the King?"
Winston almost nodded, then stopped himself.
"The fact that he didn't cross the hotel threshold suggests he respects the rules. He knows about the High Table. What I don't understand is... does he arrogant enough to think the High Table will just let him usurp a seat?"
"We might be overthinking it," John muttered, shaking his head. "He might just want to burn it all down."
John watched Winston turn to leave, then spoke up quietly. "Winston. Has anyone named Perkins checked into the hotel in the last forty-eight hours? I don't know a first name. Just Perkins. Female."
"Perkins?" Winston's brow furrowed deeper.
John's voice tightened with alertness. "Anthony warned me. He said Viggo wouldn't let the rules of the Continental stop him. He said I needed to watch my back around a woman named Perkins."
Winston's expression turned grave.
He pulled out his phone, dialed the front desk, and spoke in a low, rapid tone. He listened for a moment, then hung up.
"Charon confirms it," Winston said, his voice dropping an octave. "A Ms. Perkins checked in earlier today. She's in room 818. Directly down the hall from you."
John closed his eyes, replaying the lobby scene in his mind.
"When I checked in... there was a woman at the concierge desk. Blonde, short hair, gray suit. She smiled at me. I thought she was just another guest."
John opened his eyes, shock registering. "Winston. Anthony was right."
Winston stood motionless, his mind racing.
He prided himself on knowing everything that happened in his city. He never believed an outsider could have better intelligence than the Continental.
But based on tonight's events, this Anthony Tarasov seemed to be playing three moves ahead of everyone, including John.
Winston was a strategist. He sensed layers to this.
Was Perkins part of Anthony's plan? Was she a plant to gain John's trust?
"Charon," Winston said into the phone again, "pull the full file on Ms. Perkins. Immediately."
A moment later, Charon's voice came back crisp and clear. "Ms. Perkins. High Table certified elite assassin. Membership is in good standing."
Winston hung up, speechless.
There was no way Anthony Tarasov—an illegitimate son with no official standing—could hire a High Table elite like Perkins to stage a fake assassination attempt. She was the real deal. And she was here for the bounty.
"She must owe someone a favor," Winston murmured. "Or she's greedy enough to break the rules for two million dollars."
"She's here to kill me," John stated flatly.
"The Continental has a strict principle of neutrality," Winston warned, his voice turning cold. "Even members of the High Table cannot conduct business on these grounds. If Ms. Perkins dares to lay a hand on you inside this hotel, her membership will be... revoked. Permanently."
"Anthony said Viggo doesn't care about the rules anymore," John replied, a cold glint returning to his eyes. "He knew the Red Circle was a trap. He knew about Perkins. He's been steps ahead of Viggo the entire time."
Winston walked back to the window, tapping his ring against the glass.
"This Anthony... he's not just Viggo's son. How much does he know about you? Does he know who you were?"
"If his intel is this good, he knows everything," John nodded. "The way he looked at me... it wasn't like a stranger. It was like he'd studied me."
Winston turned around, his expression complicated.
"I still don't buy the 'avenging his mother' motive. It's too clean. If he knows this much, he knows Viggo is a High Table asset. Attacking Viggo is attacking the system."
He paused, exhaling smoke. "Unless he has a much bigger plan."
"He wants Viggo dead," John repeated. "He told me he wants to see Viggo's empire collapse. He wants everything Viggo cherishes to turn to ash."
"Revenge is a dangerous game, John," Winston warned softly. "Especially when you don't know who's really moving the pieces."
"This boy saved you, yes. But make no mistake—he is using you. Do not let a Tarasov family civil war drag you into a conflict with the High Table."
John nodded slowly. "Whatever his purpose... he saved my life. And he killed Iosef. He avenged Daisy when I couldn't."
Winston was silent for a moment.
"Rest, John. The Continental protects its own."
He walked toward the heavy oak door, pausing with his hand on the brass knob.
"Regarding Ms. Perkins... I'll have security keep a close eye on her."
"But remember the rules, Jonathan. We cannot touch her unless she breaks the rules first. If you strike first, you will be the one excommunicated."
"I understand," John said.
After Winston left, John leaned back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of grief, pain, and suspicion.
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