Noon.
At exactly 12 o'clock.
The Continental Hotel.
At the front desk, when Alex arrived with Anna, Duggan, and John Wick, Charon's face broke into a smile.
This smile was different from his usual polite courtesy—
it carried a rare sense of genuine relief.
Even though they had only met a handful of times, the fact that Alex and Anna were still alive made him sincerely glad.
As always, Charon greeted them with perfect manners.
"Mr. Alex, Mr. Wick, Miss Anna, and… Mr. Duggan—welcome to the Continental."
"Mr. Charon, I'm here to see Mr. Caine. Where is he?"
"Mr. Caine is in the bar. You can find him there."
"Thank you."
Alex nodded with a faint smile, then led the group toward the bar.
The moment they pushed open the door, the noise inside suddenly quieted.
Within seconds, the entire bar fell into dead silence.
Every pair of eyes locked onto Alex.
Fear. Respect. Awe. Admiration.
Emotions swirled in every gaze.
After all—
Alex was the first man in New York history to survive a [Public Bounty].
And last night, at the Salisbury Hotel and the Santos Club,
he had not only wiped out the Camorra Family's entire New York division of 177 men…
but also left 106 bounty hunters dead on the scene.
Not in the past decade had such a massacre ever occurred.
That night already had a name whispered across the underworld:
"The Manhattan Meat Grinder."
And the man responsible—Alex—was now standing at the bar's entrance.
Killers across the room rose to their feet, each offering him silent respect.
…
A few seconds later, they all sat back down, the hum of chatter and laughter filling the room once more, as if nothing had happened.
At that moment, a voice called out from a corner booth.
"Hey, John!"
Both Alex and Wick turned their heads.
There sat Caine, smiling and waving them over.
His eyes were still bright—no sunglasses, no blindness yet.
Clearly, this was before he gave up his sight for his daughter.
Before they could move, Caine stood, pulled out a gold coin, and handed it to Addy.
"Miss Addy, five glasses of whiskey, sent to my table. Thanks."
Then he turned, embraced Wick with a smile, and finally looked toward Alex.
"Hello, Mr. Alex."
They shook hands politely.
Once seated together in the corner booth, Caine spoke directly:
"Mr. Alex, you told me you had a way for me to have it both ways… was that true?"
Alex nodded.
Back when he had first contacted Caine by phone, he made a promise no assassin could refuse.
That promise was enough to lure this killer—John Wick's equal—into New York.
No contracts.
No binding terms.
It was all just a trick to fool Santino, that idiot.
And surprisingly, it had worked.
…
"Then let's not waste words," Caine said, relief flickering across his face. After a pause, he went straight to the point.
"Mr. Alex, what do you want me to do? And what's this method you mentioned—this way I can retire peacefully and raise my daughter?"
Right then, Addy arrived with the whiskey.
Alex accepted his glass, sipped, then calmly placed it back on the table.
"Mr. Caine," he asked, "as a bounty killer… you've never joined any particular faction, have you?"
"No."
"Have you ever considered… joining one?"
"If you're trying to recruit me, forget it."
Caine's smile vanished. His expression hardened.
Clearly, he thought he was being toyed with.
But Alex simply swirled his whiskey, took another sip, and replied smoothly:
"Don't be so quick to refuse. Why not hear the benefits first?"
Caine said nothing, only lifted his glass and downed a mouthful.
Unbothered, Alex continued:
"No contracts. No mandatory work. You don't even need to stay inside the organization. Instead, the organization assigns specialists to secretly protect your daughter, shield you from the High Table's missions…"
Even John Wick arched an eyebrow at that.
Caine, who had been grim-faced, now instinctively asked:
"What's the condition?"
Alex smiled.
"In the future, you help the organization three times. That's all. And I promise—these won't be unreasonable tasks, nor anything beyond your ability."
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