"Margarita! Contact every assassin—tell them to return to the hotel immediately!"
When the second system alert rang in his mind, Alex fell into brief silence. Then he raised his head and gave the order.
Margarita didn't dare waste a second. She immediately had people reach out to the assassins working jobs outside, demanding they rush back to the hotel at once.
Meanwhile, Alex paced back and forth inside the armory, his face dark. His mind was racing, analyzing rapidly.
A possibility struck him.
Someone was hunting down his assassins.
As for who could be behind it—he didn't even need to think. Across the entire world, he had only one true enemy: the Camorra Family.
Of course, it couldn't have been Gianna's people personally.
For one, Alex had just destroyed the Camorra's New York branch. In this city, Gianna had no killers left to deploy.
Sure, she could send people all the way from Rome. But to go through so much trouble just to pick off a few of his assassins? Unrealistic.
And besides, they had struck an agreement: as long as the Camorra didn't provoke him, Alex would not take action against them for five years.
The deal had been made less than twenty-four hours ago. Gianna wasn't foolish enough to break it so soon.
That left only one possibility.
The Camorra had paid a price—enough to convince certain New York factions or organizations to go after him.
A small price, a big payoff. Highly likely.
Alex's brow eased slightly.
The next step was simple.
Find out which faction was targeting him…
Then wipe them out.
With that thought, Alex stopped pacing and gave another sharp command:
"Margarita! Get a car ready—I'm heading to the Continental."
New York City.
Lower Manhattan.
At a quiet street corner, inside a little place called Showa Sushi.
A man stood behind the counter, dressed in a chef's uniform and hat. His body was covered in ancient totem tattoos. With a sharp kitchen knife, he sliced sashimi with practiced rhythm.
At his feet, another Japanese chef lay lifeless on the floor—an eating stick jammed through his forehead.
Blood trickled down from the wound, soaking into the man's shoes before running toward the drain.
"Hm-hm… hm-hmm-hm… hmm-hmm… hm-hm-hmmm…"
The tattooed man hummed some strange little tune while watching a car pull up outside the shop.
A few seconds later, a man in a black suit stepped out. He cradled a ragged old stuffed doll in his hands.
He glanced left, then right, ensuring the street was safe. Then, carefully, he began walking toward the sushi shop.
But before he was ten meters away from the entrance, his phone rang.
He froze, pulled it out, answered—and after listening to a terse order on the other end, he immediately turned back.
Sliding into his car, he slammed the gas and drove away.
The tattooed man inside the shop ripped off his chef's uniform in frustration. He grabbed a slice of fish from the counter, tossed it into his mouth, chewing hard.
His gaze never once strayed from the spot where the car had been.
"Pfft—!"
He spat the pulpy fish out onto the floor, muttering to himself like a man speaking with his own shadow.
"Ran away… why?"
"I only killed two… and they already sensed it?"
"This 'Lighthouse' organization is interesting… and their suits—bulletproof, no less…"
He stroked the tailored jacket on his shoulders. It was exactly the same kind of suit he had seen on the man who just fled.
Half an hour later.
Alex arrived at the Continental Hotel.
With him were Anna and Duggan. To guarantee his safety, Margarita had also assigned six Blue-ranked assassins as escorts.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Alex."
As always, Charon stood at the front desk, offering a polite greeting.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Charon."
This time, Alex didn't stop to chat. With only a brief acknowledgment, he strode straight toward the bar.
Watching the entourage storm past, Charon quietly picked up the phone and dialed the hotel manager—Winston.
Alex, meanwhile, entered the bar with Anna and Duggan at his side.
The place was as lively as ever.
Alex pulled out two gold coins, handing one to Anna.
She quickly made her way deeper into the bar, seeking out the resident Guide. After a short exchange, she left with him—two assassins from Alex's side following behind.
As for Alex, he carried the other coin to the bar counter.
"Miss Addy, four glasses of whiskey, please."
But Addy didn't take the coin.
Because Winston had just appeared beside Alex.
The manager picked up the coin and handed it back with a calm smile.
"These drinks are on me, Mr. Alex. In fact—I'd like a word with you."
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