Fox glanced at Santino D'Antonio, who had resumed eating, and turned to Smith.
"He wanted John Wick's blood oath?"
"Why?"
"Wasn't that guy just declared wanted?"
A mocking smile curled on Smith's lips as he said:
"The bounty came from none other than that man sitting over there."
"But it turns out… the power he thought would protect him doesn't work now that he needs it."
Fox feigned surprise.
"So he just tried to revoke John Wick's Continental membership?"
Smith laughed.
"Some people… one minute they're forcing others to carry out deadly tasks using a blood oath, and the next, they're issuing a kill order and hiring assassins."
"Then when they realize they can't win, they come running here for safety—and even try to strip others of their membership."
"Don't be a Santino."
Smith didn't bother lowering his voice. Every assassin in the restaurant heard him clearly.
Many turned their gaze toward Santino D'Antonio with clear contempt. They weren't saints themselves, but this was a new level of disgrace.
Santino's face was burning with embarrassment. He had arrived at the Continental already in a miserable state. First Winston rejected him, then Smith ridiculed him openly. Fury bubbled in his chest.
But there was little he could do to Smith Dole. After inheriting his sister's High Table seat, his first act had been to use his new authority to look into Smith's background.
The Assassin League—an organization so powerful, even the High Table coexisted with them in peace.
It made Santino feel even more stifled. His hand clenched his steak knife in frustration.
For now, he could only hide at the Continental, survive, and figure out how to eliminate John Wick later.
As for Smith Dole—not only couldn't he provoke him, but he still needed the man to reveal more information about the Dragon Balls.
······
Elsewhere.
John Wick had tracked Santino D'Antonio's trail to just outside the Continental.
Seeing the hotel before him, he knew Santino had come here for sanctuary, protected by the no-kill rule.
Pushing open the doors, gun in hand, John entered with a murderous air and strode straight to the reception desk.
"I'm here to see Santino D'Antonio," he said to Charon.
Charon looked at him, noticing the fresh marks of combat and the aura of death still clinging to him.
He took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and slowly replied:
"He's in the dining area, sir."
John didn't hesitate and headed down to the lower level.
From the stairs, he spotted Santino below, sipping wine and enjoying a meal. Also present were Winston, Smith Dole, and Fox.
Smith's presence didn't matter right now—John was here for Santino.
As John's footsteps echoed down the staircase, Santino looked up and saw his relentless pursuer.
Taking a deep breath, Santino composed himself. He was in the Continental, the one place he knew John couldn't make a move.
He adjusted his suit and straightened his back in the chair, watching John walk over.
All eyes in the dining area locked on John Wick. The gun in his hand and the murderous intent radiating from his body sent a chill through everyone.
Santino met his gaze and calmly picked up his fork, speared a piece of beef, dipped it in duck fat, and began chewing as he said:
"Duck fat—it's an essential flavor."
Winston noticed something off in John's demeanor and immediately called out:
"John!"
But Santino continued taunting:
"John, have you seen the menu here?"
"Take your time and pick something."
Winston, alarmed by Santino's provocations, urged:
"John, listen to me."
John didn't respond. He just stood in front of Santino, unmoving.
Fox, unsure of what would happen, whispered:
"Smith, do you think John Wick would really break the rules?"
Smith replied calmly:
"If he doesn't have the courage to break a rule, then he'll never have the chance to fulfill his wish."
Smith Dole knew the truth—power came with position. Santino had inherited his sister's seat, but neither he nor Camorra had had time to consolidate their power.
Gianna had died before her induction, and Santino's coronation hadn't happened yet. His influence was still minimal.
But if Santino survived this, he'd soon unite Camorra and the High Table and leave John Wick with nowhere to run. Even raising the bounty would make survival impossible.
Santino kept pushing.
"The menu's quite diverse. One could stay here for a very long time."
Feeling John's killing intent, Winston pleaded:
"Jonathan, walk away."
Santino smirked and mocked again:
"Yes, John… walk away."
John Wick understood now—if he didn't kill Santino here and now, he'd never know peace again. He might not even survive.
As for breaking the rules?
He'd deal with that after.
Smith's words had said it all.
Without hesitation, John raised his gun and shot Santino in the head.
Smith smiled. Rules were made to be broken. If Perkins dared do it, why wouldn't John Wick?
Winston sat in utter shock. John Wick had just killed a High Table member—right inside the Continental, in front of everyone.
Staring at Santino's lifeless body, Winston spoke slowly:
"What did you do?"
John placed his pistol gently on the table and said coldly:
"Finished it."
Then he turned to look at Smith Dole.
Meeting his eyes, Smith Dole said:
"Your evaluation continues. Survive, and come find us. You know the place."
······
(End of Chapter)
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