"Ahhh—!"
In the underground passage, two Camorra gunmen lay trapped beneath the collapsed wall, screaming in agony.
BANG!
BANG!
Two cold, precise shots from Anna ended their suffering.
Behind her, the two assassin squads split left and right, advancing down opposite corridors.
Rat-tat-tat!
Rat-tat-tat!
Gunfire and screams echoed through the basement halls.
Anna moved forward a few meters—then suddenly froze.
At the corner ahead, half a boot jutted out into her line of sight.
BANG!
"Arghhh!"
The hidden killer shrieked, stumbling out of cover.
BANG!
Another bullet drilled clean through his skull.
Hugging the wall, Anna leaned quickly, just enough to peek around the corner.
Rat-tat-tat!
A burst of rounds shredded the wall opposite her.
Close call.
But now she had the shooter's position.
She dropped low—
pushed off—
and slid into view.
BANG! BANG!
Two rounds punched into the enemy's chest.
Without pause, she rolled, came up to her feet—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three more shots finished the job.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement inside the side room—two more killers, raising shotguns.
She grabbed the body of the man she'd just killed, yanking him in front of her.
BOOM! BOOM!
Both blasts tore through the corpse—exposing a flashbang clipped to his belt.
She pulled the pin as she fell back—then kicked the body, grenade and all, into the room.
Rolling to the side just as—
BOOM!
The flashbang went off.
"BZZZZZ—!"
The high-pitched ringing didn't slow her.
Anna scooped up the dead man's assault rifle—
Rat-tat-tat!
and emptied the magazine through the doorway.
Click. Empty.
She hit her comm.
"Sixth and Seventh squads have broken into the underground passage. Proceed to Phase Three."
Breathing hard, she dropped the rifle and reloaded her own pistols.
Inside the Santos Club.
"Mr. Cross."
John Wick spoke again.
"Whatever your plan is, I don't know. But from where I'm sitting… facing over a hundred Camorra soldiers left, plus every contract killer in New York closing in—you can't win."
Alex Cross looked up at the world's most feared hitman.
He hadn't expected Wick to say this much.
He sipped his drink before answering, voice patient and calm.
"In your eyes, of course I can't win. My men are running out of ammunition. The enemy keeps coming. But…"
He paused, then explained slowly.
"Don't forget. Beneath us lies a killer training base. Enough weapons to arm two hundred men to the teeth. Ammunition stockpiled for over a month."
"Yeah… but what makes you so sure you can even take the passage?"
Wick tilted his head, genuinely curious now.
Alex raised a brow.
"Why do you think the club attacked first? And why do you think we've been defending without counterattacking?"
"…To draw their fire."
Wick's answer came quick.
Alex nodded.
His tone grew solemn.
"My target's been clear all along. Once the enemy realizes that throwing bodies at us won't take the club, the only option left is the underground base—to grab the heavier weapons stored there."
"Unfortunately for them, the passage from this side is blocked."
"So they'll have to go the other way."
"Think about it. From the start, the killers inside that base have been trying to break through to the club. They've already lost a dozen. How many are left down there now? Twenty? Fifteen?"
"And once I seize the armory… every two-bit assassin outside waving a handgun will be nothing more than a bad joke."
As he spoke, a knock echoed at the club's main door.
Three long. Three short. One long. One short.
The guard opened up.
Duggan stepped in, sniper rifle slung across his shoulder.
"Mr. Cross. On my way back, I scouted the streets. First wave of freelancers answering the [open contract] will hit the club entrance in three minutes."
"You've done well."
Alex rose, ending the conversation with Wick.
He clapped Duggan on the shoulder, then gave crisp orders:
"Tell the garage teams—clear the elevator and stairwell within three minutes. If they can't, fall back into the passage and lock it down."
Then Alex looked him in the eye.
"Jackal… time to move. We're taking the underground base."