Rat-tat
Rat-tat
Two rapid bursts, four bullets.
They forced two enforcer-killers in the distance to retreat.
Then—
His left hand reached to his waist, pulled out a pistol.
Bang bang
Bang bang
He swiftly executed four enforcers lying on the ground.
His muzzle locked onto the distance.
Firing rapidly as he moved his body.
Bang!
Just as he was about to switch to his automatic rifle and bring it into play—
Outside the restaurant, footsteps sounded, mixed with fierce gunfire.
John Wick clearly noticed that the bullets raining toward him had been reduced by more than half.
Quickly leaning out, he took a glance—
At the corner of the restaurant, Caine and eight Lighthouse killers had already engaged the last eight enforcers.
At this point, John Wick no longer fired cautiously from cover.
He went full force.
Standing up, leaving the cover,
he aimed at the two nearest enforcers outside.
Rat-tat-tat!
Rat-tat-tat!
Precise bursts.
Three bullets.
One into the back of the head, two through the mouth.
Clean penetration.
Two kills.
John quickened his pace, rifle spitting bullets non-stop.
Rat-tat-tat!
Rat-tat-tat!
Without a doubt—
John Wick's marksmanship was top tier.
Every precise burst struck vital points.
Very soon, with Caine and the remaining eight Lighthouse killers, the battle ended.
Stepping over corpses littering the floor,
John Wick and Caine regrouped.
They walked side by side to the bar, sat down, pulled out two glasses from beneath the counter, and grabbed a bottle of liquor.
Neither spoke.
Holding their glasses, they stared blankly at the eight retreating Lighthouse killers in the distance.
After a sip, finally, Caine broke the silence:
"John… when do you plan to get married?"
"By the end of the year…"
"And this work… will you continue being a killer?"
"No. After this is over, I'll find the time to talk things through with Alex Cross."
Hearing John Wick's answer,
a faint smile finally appeared on Caine's face.
He raised his glass, half-jokingly saying:
"I don't know what the Lighthouse Organization's future will be… but right now, at least, Alex Cross is proving himself as a true leader."
John Wick nodded in agreement.
Rome.
At the Camorra family headquarters.
Gianna sat in her study, watching a video on her laptop.
Onscreen: the front entrance of the Lighthouse Hotel.
Ten armored "war machines," armed to the teeth with Gatling guns, lined up in a row.
When the barrels spun, spitting blazing red fire, they mowed down the High Table's enforcers in swathes.
Gianna's heart sank.
She had already watched this video once—twenty hours ago.
At that time, her only thought was: Just for the sake of family pride, is it really worth making an enemy of someone like Alex Cross?
That thought had haunted her for a whole day and night.
Watching it again now, all she felt was powerlessness.
It was unimaginable.
If those ten "killing machines" appeared at the Camorra headquarters…
Aside from deploying heavy artillery—
they would simply be slaughtered!
Her mind raced with countless thoughts, until two stood out stronger than ever:
In the short term, the family must not provoke the Lighthouse Organization.
The family must quickly train a secret unit strong enough to rival those ten "killing machines."
The Continental Hotel.
Room 618.
Inside a foam-filled bathtub, Ares suddenly lifted her head from the bubbles.
She wiped the foam from her face and hair, stood, rinsed off under the shower, then dried herself with a towel.
Walking to the bed, she dressed.
From her suitcase, she pulled out a bulletproof vest, carefully put it on, holstered her pistol, and then slipped on a suit.
She picked up three gold coins, left the room, and headed downstairs.
At the bar, she found a bartender's errand boy, followed him out the hotel's back door, through two alleys, and into an inconspicuous weapons shop.
Inside, she approached the counter, handed over a gold coin, and gave the bartender a note she had prepared.
Soon, he led her into a side room.
Weapons lined the walls: M249 light machine guns, Beretta 1301 shotguns, Angstadt Arms UDP-9s—everything from machine guns to pistols and knives.
The bartender quickly began recommending weapons based on her list:
"CZ-75 P-09 semi-automatic pistol, effective range fifty meters, 9mm rounds, fifteen-round detachable steel double-stack magazine… comes with two spares. An excellent choice for a lady!"
"For your second request: lightweight, fast rate of fire, powerful.
I recommend the TTI V-Seven Harbinger. Modular design, thirty-round capacity, two spare mags included. Perfectly fits your needs."
Ares picked up the carbine, pulled the bolt, aimed, tested magazine swaps—several drills.
She nodded in approval. Clearly, she was satisfied with the service.
Ten minutes later, Ares walked out with a black pack.
At the roadside, she hailed a taxi, handed over a gold coin, then passed the driver another note.
[Lighthouse Club.]
The driver pocketed the coin, glanced at the address, said nothing.
He turned the car around, merged into traffic, and drove toward the club.
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If you're interested, you can read advanced chapters:
pat reon .com / Samorash