"I will brand your soul with loyalty so deep, it'll bleed from your lips before it leaves your heart."
The Judicator remained unfazed by the King of Bowery's vulgar trash talk. Calmly, he replied:
"I already gave you a chance."
As for the king's so-called loyalty, it meant nothing to the Judicator. The High Table's rules came before everything.
The King of Bowery stared at the Judicator and said:
"Well then, since that's how it is, I guess it's time I told you something."
"Climb down from your goddamn pedestal and go f**k yourself."
The Judicator didn't flinch. Expressionless, he responded:
"I'll take that as your final word."
"You gave John Wick seven bullets. For that, you'll pay with seven cuts."
The King of Bowery visibly relaxed. Seven cuts sounded scary, but it wasn't necessarily a death sentence. He let out a breath and said:
"Well, sometimes you just gotta stab a bastard."
Then he turned to the assassin Zero, who stood beside him, and gently covered the eyes of the pigeon in his hand.
"Don't look, sweetheart."
He looked back at the Judicator.
"The king is dead."
Then he let the white dove fly, stepped in front of Zero, and said:
"Long live the king."
Without hesitation, Zero slashed seven times.
SWISH. SWISH. SWISH.
Seven quick, clean strikes. Blood sprayed as the King of Bowery collapsed to the ground, screaming in agony.
The Judicator glanced down at his fallen body, then turned and left with his men.
Judgment had been passed. From this moment on, the King of Bowery ruled no more.
Once everyone was gone, Ella appeared on the rooftop. She looked down at the gravely injured king, hoisted him onto her back, and quietly carried him away.
······
Two Days Earlier – Paris
In Paris, the High Table's Marquis de Gramont had summoned Caine.
As Caine arrived, the Marquis whistled at him like calling a dog.
"I've got a job for you."
Caine responded immediately, "No offense, but I'm retired. Done. Out of the game."
A waiter approached with a tray. Gramont picked up a dessert, took a bite, and replied:
"I don't think so."
Caine shook his head. "I'm of no use to you. No use to the High Table."
The Marquis smiled. "That's not your decision to make."
Caine gave a dry chuckle and wiped his nose with his fingers.
"Maybe find someone else."
Gramont took another bite and looked directly at him.
"You got too close."
His men had found Caine near his daughter, listening as she played violin. According to his deal with the High Table, Caine wasn't allowed near her.
"Today... you got too close."
"You put her at risk."
Caine's expression shifted at the implied threat. He reached for the tray, fingers brushing across a business card. On it, in Braille: John Wick.
"I know the deal," he said quietly.
"A familiar name, isn't it?" Gramont asked.
Caine took a deep breath. "Yeah. A colleague."
"A friend."
The Marquis nodded. "Right."
"The agreement stands. We give you a name, you end them."
"If not, your daughter dies."
Caine sighed. Eventually, he dropped to one knee, holding his cane like a knight pledging fealty.
"I'll take the job. I swear loyalty."
Gramont clapped. "Wonderful."
Then he leaned in closer.
"This target's a bit different."
"John Wick broke the High Table's rules. He's now under the protection of our enemies—the Assassin's League."
"You won't just be up against him. You'll be facing the League as well."
"In fact, to find him, you'll have to infiltrate their base."
Caine's face tightened. "Alone?"
Gramont shook his head. "Of course not. I know your skills, but we're not stupid."
"Keira and her team, along with three special ops squads, will launch a feint attack on the League."
"You focus on taking out Wick."
Caine nodded. "Understood."
······
The Edge of the Moroccan Desert
Smith Doyle checked the time. It had been three days since John Wick set out. By now, he should've reached the Elder of the High Table.
Tuning into the Dragon Pearl that Wick carried, Doyle received a vision: John Wick lay unconscious in the sand. An Arab man appeared atop a dune, guiding a camel. He descended, lifted Wick onto the camel, and disappeared into the distance.
Doyle smiled. Wick had been found by the Elder's men.
"Time to move," he commanded. "Let's begin."
"I'll lead the way."
Behind him stood thirty-two warriors, all armed and riding camels. Their weapons were custom-made by the Assassin's League—designed to withstand the harsh desert winds and sand.
Wesley cracked his neck. "Finally. It's our turn."
"The corrupt High Table will fall by our hands."
Fox scanned the endless desert. She preferred city kills to desert ops. Looking down at her state-of-the-art bulletproof vest, she hoped they'd all make it back.
······
Elsewhere – New York
Caine had arrived in New York with Keira and her team.
Keira met with the Judicator.
"How's it going on your end?"
The Judicator glanced toward the Continental Hotel.
"The Belarus gang and the King of Bowery have both been punished. That leaves only Winston of the New York Continental."
"What's your timeline?" Keira asked.
"We plan to hit the Assassin's League's New York branch tonight," she replied. "But we just got intel—three days ago, someone spotted John Wick in Casablanca. They think he entered the Moroccan Continental."
"But the hotel manager, Brenda, reported that John Wick used a blood oath to take the Dragon Pearl from Sophia."
"He's gone dark again."
The Judicator murmured, "A blood oath... then Sophia didn't break the rules."
Keira nodded. "If we don't get more info soon, we'll start probing the League. He may have already returned."
—End of chapter—
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