After John Wick sped off to hunt Iosef, Smith and Fox returned to the Continental Hotel, dropping two more gold coins into the doorman's palm.
Fox, watching the gold vanish, sighed. "Smith, I don't have many gold coins on hand, and the price charged for each entry is not cheap."
Smith, already amused by her sudden thriftiness, replied, "Maybe it won't be long before you no longer have this problem."
Fox's eyes lit up with sudden, eager understanding, her gaze drifting toward the structure of the hotel with a look of predatory regret.
The Continental Hotel gold coins were the true hard currency of the global underworld. Though the hotel itself minted and issued them—meaning their material cost was low—their value was derived entirely from the services they unlocked.
Continental Service,Cost (Gold Coins),Context
Hotel Entry/Exit,1,Grants safety and neutrality within the grounds.
Room Stay (1-7 days),1,Single charge for security and lodging.
Bar Entry/Intelligence,1,Access to the central intelligence zone.
Medical Treatment,1,On-site surgical and recovery services.
Body Disposal,1,Complete cleanup and trace removal.
Weapons/Gear Purchase,1,Base price for tactical gear.
The value was fluid, yet absolute. A single gold coin could buy a haircut or hire an assassin for a base rate; it could also guarantee your life safety inside the hotel's walls. The risk to break the sacred rule of "No Business on Continental Grounds" was often estimated at four gold coins, an amount that led Perkins to attempt murder.
These gold coins, backed by the worldwide network of the Continental, had become the hard currency of the killer world. Most assassins were registered members, accepting tasks and enjoying the services provided by the hotels. The Continental also maintained its own "punishers" and managers with armed forces to enforce the rigid rules.
👑 The High Table and the Hydra
Behind the Continental Hotel stood an even more powerful organization: the High Table. This was an alliance formed by the major criminal organizations worldwide, controlling the entire underworld. It maintained twelve seats and headquartered itself in the desolate wastes near Casalanbuka.
The twelve seats were filled by powerful criminal forces like the Comorra, the Mafia, the 'Ndrangheta, and the Triads. While they maintained a fragile peace, internal conflicts and intrigues were constant.
But to the Assassin's League that Smith Doyle now led, the High Table was simply a garbage organization—the highest expression of the "filth" they needed to cleanse from the world.
Smith's mind turned to the possibility of external influence. Could the High Table have been subtly taken over by Hydra? Given its global influence and secrecy, it was highly likely that both SHIELD and Hydra would have agents or proxies controlling one or two of the twelve seats.
As a self-proclaimed man of justice, Smith Doyle had decided to eliminate this cancer of criminality before the truly large-scale Marvel events began. John Wick, the desperate, skilled, and ideologically justified man, was shaping up to be the perfect executor for this plan.
Looking at the stately façade of the Continental Hotel before him, Smith Doyle's eyes were full of amusement at the thought of the chaos he was about to unleash upon the High Table's most sacred platform.
🎥 Viggo's Vengeance
On the other side of the city, Viggo Tarasov had driven away from his humiliating confrontation with John Wick, but he hadn't driven far.
Viggo was obsessed with one burning question: How did John Wick escape? He had left the legendary killer trussed like a chicken, ready for execution.
Driving back to the warehouse where John Wick had been held, Viggo found the bodies of his two men, both shot cleanly in the head. He knew instantly: someone had intervened.
The warehouse was equipped with hidden cameras. Viggo immediately ordered the footage retrieved. As the video played, revealing the impossible jump and the sudden, precise intervention, Viggo Tarasov saw the faces of Smith Doyle and Fox.
Viggo roared, grinding his teeth. "It's you!"
He knew of this pair. They were not registered Continental killers, yet they frequently visited the hotel. Viggo had heard rumors about their skill and even considered recruiting them after John Wick retired. However, he had received a severe, chilling warning from Winston: Do not provoke them.
Viggo, whose own power didn't even grant him access to the barest intelligence on the Assassin's League, was left in the dark.
"Smith Doyle, Fox," Viggo muttered, his voice thick with venom. "No matter who is standing behind you, I will make you pay the price."
Viggo left the warehouse, his face a thundercloud of frustration and grief. He thought back to his son, Iosef. If I had known my son was such a degenerate traitor, I should have shot him myself!
Iosef, born into a dynasty of crime, couldn't even afford to buy a classic car, so he stole one. He stole from the one man in the world who could destroy them all. He has learned no ruthlessness; he is simply a piece of good-for-nothing filth, Viggo thought bitterly.
Despite having told John Wick his son's location, Viggo had dispatched a large number of his remaining men to protect the hiding place, arming them with every available weapon. It was a desperate, one-in-ten-thousand hope that his men could somehow kill John Wick.
🚬 The Final Call
Time crept by, agonizingly slow.
Viggo was now in his empty headquarters, smoking incessantly. The ashtray on the table overflowed with cigarette butts, the remnants of his desperate wait for news that would either save or destroy him.
The phone rang, shattering the silence. Viggo took a deep, fortifying breath and picked it up.
He listened to the news on the other end, his posture slowly slumping. After a long pause, he hung up.
Viggo picked up a cigarette and took several deep, shuddering puffs. "Sure enough, it still failed."
Though he knew his son's fate was sealed the moment he stole the car, the confirmation still pierced his heart.
Viggo then picked up the phone again, notifying all his remaining men to gather at the headquarters. The feud with John Wick, by the code of their world, was settled. But the feud with the outsiders—Smith Doyle and Fox—had just begun.
Viggo was done with half-measures. This time, he wanted absolute certainty.