"Mr. Cross… the strike team numbered thirty in total. Every one of them bore the Camorra Family insignia."
About ten minutes later, a killer returned from searching the bodies. As he reported, he placed a small pouch of coins on the table.
"In addition, we recovered forty-seven gold coins from the corpses. The cash is still being counted."
"I see."
The moment Alex heard Camorra Family, everything clicked.
Anna's first hit that morning had been one of their New York liaisons.
He narrowed his eyes, a cold light flashing in them. He had taken contracts, honored the rules of the High Table. Yet the Camorra, one of the Twelve Seats, had skipped the bounty system entirely—sending enforcers to deal with him directly.
It wasn't technically breaking the laws, but it reeked of arrogance and intimidation.
That was fine. Alex wasn't afraid. The grudge was sealed, and there'd be no sweeping it under the rug.
He looked at the waiting assassin.
"Take men to the front. From the cars those bastards drove in, pick three that are still in decent condition. We move for the Continental in five minutes."
"Yes, Mr. Cross."
The man left at once.
Rome. Camorra Family Headquarters.
Gianna D'Antonio found her brother in the study. Santino stood by the window, cigarette in hand, his rage from dinner cooled but not gone.
"My dear brother," she said, voice calm, "because of your decision, thirty men from New York are dead. What exactly is your plan now?"
Her words dragged Santino back to the present. He crushed the cigarette, turned toward her, and said coldly,
"I will handle it. You needn't worry."
"Is that so?"
Gianna smiled faintly, unconvinced, and turned toward the door. At the threshold, she paused.
"My advice is to send Ares. I can even release Cassian to join her But… if you have your own plans, I won't interfere."
Then she left.
Santino's gaze shifted to Ares. The mute assassin signed quickly:
[Send me. I'll finish it.]
But Santino shook his head. Instead, he picked up the phone and dialed a number known only to the Twelve Seats: the High Table's communications hub.
"This is the switchboard. Which department do you require?" a woman's voice asked.
"Bounty Center."
"One moment."
A beat later:
"This is the Bounty Center. How can we assist?"
"I want to place a contract."
"On whom?"
"Anna Poliatova."
"Verification code?"
"930-05."
"Contract type?"
"Single."
"Payout?"
"Seven hundred thousand dollars."
"Understood. Processing now… please hold."
Moments later, the hit was confirmed:
A single-target contract on Anna Poliatova for $700,000.
New York.
On the road to the Continental, Alex sat back in the car, eyes closed, trying to rest.
His phone buzzed. A new message flashed across the screen:
[Contract Type: Single][Target: Anna Poliatova][Status: Bounty Hunter][Reward: $700,000][Time Limit: 24 hours from acceptance][Location: Midtown Manhattan, 34th Street (updates every 30 minutes)]
Alex had barely finished reading when the contract vanished—already claimed.
No need to guess who had placed it. Only the Camorra Family had the reach to move this fast.
His side had just survived one wave of assassins, and the next strike was already in motion. That was the weight of a Twelve Seat family's influence.
He wasn't surprised. If their positions were reversed, he'd do the same—maybe worse.
Turning his head, he caught Anna's eye. She'd seen the contract too, but her expression was calm, dismissive. Unless John Wick or Caine himself took the job, she wasn't concerned.
Still, Alex leaned toward the driver.
"Step on it. Get us to the Continental. Fast."
If the Camorra were making their move again, then it was only right for them to answer in kind.