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After Hattie had finished off the last of the intruders, John finally took the elevator up.
"Is this what you call women's self-defense?" he asked, surveying the scene. The last assassin lay unconscious on the floor, choked out by Hattie's legs.
John strolled to the coffee machine and pressed the power button. As the machine whirred to life, he remarked, "I remember you listed this on your resume."
Hattie stood up and tore away the remains of her skirt, ruined by the close-quarters fight, revealing her long, fair legs. "I'm also a member of the Gun Association." She wiped blood from her face, then walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a chilled beer, as if she were in her own home.
She used her pistol as a bottle opener, popped the cap, and took a long sip. The foam fizzed on her lips. She finished the bottle quickly and tossed it aside.
By then, John's coffee was ready. He shrugged. "Makes sense."
He pulled out his phone and made a call. "Thirteen dinners."
After hanging up, John leaned against the table. Hattie commented, "Not all of them are dead."
"I know," John replied.
He calmly took a wrapped tool bag from the cabinet above the coffee machine and opened it, revealing strange knives and bottles of potions. His fingers traced the silver instruments until he selected a small silver vial.
He walked over to one of the surviving assassins. Hattie watched, arms crossed, her eyes narrowing as she glanced at the tool bag.
"Come on, time for your medicine," John said, almost kindly, as he propped the wounded man up.
He uncorked the vial and, with the precision of a sommelier, drew three drops of clear liquid into a dropper. He tipped the man's head back and let the drops fall into his mouth.
"Enervate," John whispered.
The assassin jolted awake, coughing and gasping for air. In the fight, Hattie had broken his ribs. When he saw John, his mouth moved before his mind could catch up. "John Wick?!"
"Now that you're awake, tell us the truth," John instructed.
The man tried to resist, but the serum did its work. "Don't even think about it… Wilson Fisk sent me to kill you."
He struggled to keep his mouth shut, but the words kept spilling out. As he spoke, his mind clouded, his consciousness fading. Foam gathered at the corners of his mouth as he confessed everything he knew, his voice growing weaker and more incoherent.
John recorded every word on his phone, then calmly put it away.
"What is that?" Hattie asked. "Truth Serum?"
"Something similar," John replied. He kicked the dead assassin aside, walked to another survivor, and repeated the process with the truth serum.
"This stuff is powerful. Just three drops, and even your darkest secrets come out," John explained. "But there's a downside." He glanced at the half-empty vial and smiled. "Too much can be fatal."
Hattie watched in silence as the last of the survivors died, while John recorded their confessions.
With half a bottle left, John put the serum away in his toolbag. He tapped his phone, edited a message, and hit send.
***
The doorbell rang. John opened the door to find an old man smiling, hat in hand.
"We meet again, John," the old man greeted.
"I wish I could get you a membership, but unfortunately, our business doesn't work that way," John replied.
The old man noticed Hattie and tipped his hat politely. "Good evening, beautiful lady."
"Hume," John offered, "would you like a drink?"
"No, I still have work to do," Hume replied.
He glanced at the bodies and seemed to understand that tonight's violence was not over. A professional cleanup crew entered with tools and began their work.
Hattie said nothing during the entire process. She did not panic or act helpless. Instead, she radiated a quiet confidence, the kind that made Hume joke, "A hero saves a beauty?"
"No," John said, glancing at the broken bodies. "Beauty saves the handsome guy."
Hume blinked, needing a moment to process that.
For the professional team, cleaning up after thirteen was easier than the chaos of Hell's Paradise. They finished quickly, packed the bodies into the car, and Hume said his goodbyes. "Goodbye, John."
John pressed thirteen gold coins into Hume's palm. "Maybe we'll meet again soon."
Hume smiled and left, the door still open behind him.
John looked at Hattie. "Do you want me to have the driver take you home?"
Hattie shot him an annoyed look, realizing he was keeping her out of the next part, and stormed out with her high heels in hand. As she passed, she called back, "Remember to call me, handsome."
John touched his nose, watching her flip her platinum hair as she left.
"Sir, Mr. Orlov is calling," Moss announced.
"Connect," John said.
"Thank God, John, are you alright?" Orlov's voice was tense, gunfire audible in the background. Bullets pinged off bulletproof glass.
Even in danger, Orlov's first thought was of John. That warmed John's heart.
"I had some trouble too, but it's handled. Do you need help?" John asked, sipping his cold coffee.
More screams echoed over the line, then the gunfire faded.
"As long as you're okay. Danny is taking care of them," Orlov said, relief in his voice. "But this isn't a simple attack. It's targeted at us."
"I'll investigate and fix this," Orlov promised.
"No need. I already found out who's behind it," John replied.
He played the recording. "Wilson Fisk asked me to assassinate you."
He paused the playback and tapped his phone. "I sent you the evidence. With this, you can shut up the High Table."
In this world, no one could complain if you fought back after being targeted for assassination.
John's voice was calm. "He made the first move. We will answer blood with blood, tooth for tooth."
"Damn it!" Orlov shouted, now furious. "That bastard Kingpin, I'll rip him apart!"
The old warlord had not fallen so far that he would let an assassination attempt go unanswered.
"John, you don't have to do anything. I'll make him pay," Orlov vowed.
John chuckled. "Sorry, I already took action."
He checked his pocket watch. "Speed is everything in war."
***
In a high-end hotel, red wine was poured into a crystal goblet. The table was set with white linens and fine food. A woman in a white blouse sat across from a large man who, despite his size, looked nervous and awkward.
This was Wilson Fisk's first date.
He fiddled with his black cufflinks, his eyes never leaving the woman's smile. This was supposed to be a perfect evening.
But some people always ruin romance.
The lights went out.
Gunfire erupted, glass shattered, wine spilled, and blood dripped onto the tablecloth.
What should have been a lovely dinner turned into a night of terror.
All the guests nearby were Fisk's bodyguards. They returned fire but were cut down by bullets that never missed.
Sensing the danger, Fisk grabbed the woman and tried to escape.
A bouncing ball came out of nowhere, ricocheted off the wall, bypassed the guards, and exploded in front of Fisk.
He was thrown back, shielding the woman from harm. His suit was torn open, revealing a metallic mesh beneath.
In the smoke and chaos, death danced among the bouncing balls and bullets.
When Fisk regained his senses, the room was silent.
He shouted, "Who is it!"
A hush fell. Footsteps echoed in the darkness.
A figure in black stepped forward, pressing a pistol to Fisk's head.
Death was only a breath away.
One moment, there was joy. The next thing, everything turned to hell.
Fisk's anger caught in his throat.
A phone vibrated on the floor.
It was Fisk's. He looked at the phone, then at the gun.
Dax's voice was cold. "Crawl over and pick it up."
Fisk's face twisted with rage. He glanced at the woman beside him. No matter how strong he was, he was still flesh and blood. A bullet to the head would end him, and his beloved was right there.
He gave in.
He crawled across the floor in humiliation and picked up the phone. An unfamiliar number appeared.
He answered.
"Say hello to Miss Vanessa at the gallery for me, Fisk. No, Kingpin."
The voice sent a chill through Fisk's heart.
He replied, "John Wick."
A bullet pierced his ankle.
Dax's voice was sharp. "You shouldn't call him by his first name."
Fisk grunted in pain but kept his composure. "Are you going to kill me?"
"Didn't you try to do the same?" John's voice was calm, coming from a comfortable sofa somewhere else. "Blood for blood, tooth for tooth, eye for eye."
Fisk looked at the woman and made a plea. "Let Vanessa go."
He had bowed his head.
The Kingpin of Hell's Kitchen, meeting Wick face to face for the first time, was left humiliated and powerless.
In the face of true strength, even the mighty can be brought low.
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