{600 Power Stones bonus chapter }
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Alex carried a glass of whiskey in hand as he walked with Winston into a study on the hotel's second floor.
"Sit."
Winston gestured politely before settling into the sofa across from him.
Alex placed the glass down, letting his eyes wander around the room.
Dark. Old-fashioned.
The perfect match for an old man's taste, he thought silently with a smirk.
Then he sat.
"Mr. Winston," Alex said with curiosity, "you wanted to see me alone. What exactly do you want to talk about?"
Winston leaned back, as if sinking into memories. His tone grew distant.
"Mr. Alex, patience. Allow an old man to tell you a story…"
Alex raised a brow, intrigued.
"Two years ago," Winston began, "New York also saw the rise of a very powerful figure."
"Oh?" Alex's interest sharpened.
Winston smiled faintly, recalling Alex's earlier words.
"I remember you once said that even the High Table follows the law of the jungle—survival of the fittest."
"The man I speak of was named Hex. He was even more reckless than you. He believed only by showing overwhelming force could he earn the High Table's respect."
Alex frowned. Clearly, Winston misunderstood his own philosophy. Still, he didn't bother correcting him.
Winston went on.
"On his very first day in New York, Hex stormed into the Continental, abducted Charon and me, and dragged us back to his lair. He boasted that he could stand as an equal to the High Table itself."
Winston's eyes hardened.
"The end, I think, you can already guess."
Alex nodded. Of course he could.
"One man," Winston continued, raising a single finger. "The High Table sent only one man. Jonathan—John Wick."
"Poor Hex, along with his daughter and hundreds of killers, were buried beneath his arrogance."
"I understand."
Alex grasped Winston's purpose in telling the story—his warning. To keep a low profile. Not to show too much of his edge.
But Alex could only smile inwardly.
He appreciated the gesture.
As for "keeping a low profile"?
If no one offends me, I bide my time. But if someone dares cross me, I strike like thunder.
He lifted his glass, drained it in one go, then rose to his feet.
"Thank you, Mr. Winston."
Alex never assumed anyone's kindness was without motive. A man like Winston, who had climbed to become manager of the Continental, didn't offer advice out of sheer goodwill.
Perhaps he was simply building goodwill for the future. But thanks still had to be given.
Winston waved a hand, smiling, and stood as well. He patted Alex's shoulder warmly and gave one final reminder:
"Your feud with the Camorra Family is already known to the High Table. My advice: whatever troubles may come, try not to make any more noise—at least for now."
"Thank you," Alex said again sincerely, before leaving the study.
At the door, Duggan and two assassins had been standing guard. When Alex emerged, they instantly fell in step with him.
Downstairs, Anna had already returned—waiting for some time, by the look of it.
"You've got the intel?" Alex asked.
Anna nodded. The assassin beside her lifted a black briefcase in confirmation.
"Good. Let's head back to the club."
Without hesitation, Alex strode out of the Continental.
"Safe travels, Mr. Alex. We look forward to your next visit!"
Charon's voice followed politely from behind.
Alex didn't turn back. He only raised his right hand in acknowledgment as he stepped out the door.
On the road back to the Lighthouse Club, Anna gave Alex a rundown of New York's current power map.
First, the twelve families behind the twelve seats of the High Table—each controlled its own territory.
The Hongmen Triad ruled Chinatown.
The Italian Mafia dominated Queens.
The Russian Roma Mob controlled Broadway Avenue.
And of course, the Camorra Family had once held Times Square in Upper Manhattan… until Alex wiped them out.
Beyond that stood another massive organization: the Night Demon Syndicate.
Founded and run by a killer known only as The Night Demon, the syndicate had absorbed multiple gangs:
The Viggo Mob.
The Mondelli Crew.
The Yellowstone Gang.
…and many others.
Together, they controlled nearly half of New York City.
Anna's explanation was detailed enough. Even without the specifics of each gang, Alex now had a clear picture of the landscape.
What caught his attention most were two names: the Night Demon Syndicate—and the Viggo Mob.
From what he remembered, it wouldn't be long before John Wick, seeking retirement, would tear apart the Night Demon Syndicate, killing its founder himself.
And the Viggo Mob?
They would rise in power… only to be annihilated five years later—because of a dog.
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