Winston left.
He accompanied the so-called Adjudicator Seven as they departed the Lighthouse Hotel.
After all, Winston had committed no crime.
Even if everyone suspected him of helping John Wick and Caine in this affair, suspicion alone was meaningless.
As long as he hadn't broken the High Table's rules, not even the Table itself could punish him.
As for Adjudicator Seven's departure—Alex hardly cared. The High Table's reputation was ironclad. When the time came, Alex wouldn't even need to raise the matter. The Table would kill Adjudicator Seven themselves and deliver his fortune to the Lighthouse.
By evening, rain drizzled down across New York.
In an old warehouse not far from the Lighthouse Hotel in uptown Manhattan, Viggo stood at a window, staring at the steady rainfall outside.
Behind him, his son Iosef furiously mashed a controller, guiding his on-screen avatar through waves of enemies. Nearby, a knot of Viggo's most trusted men smoked and idly chatted in small groups.
"Iosef! Turn off that damned game," Viggo barked. "You're old enough. It's time you started learning the family business."
The shout startled Iosef. Realizing his father was in no mood, he quickly shut the console down. Rubbing his eyes, he sat quietly for a moment before speaking.
"Father… maybe call Baba Yaga again?"
Iosef had voiced the very thought gnawing at Viggo's mind.
Viggo glanced again at his silent phone. No messages. No calls returned.
The truth was simple: his frustration stemmed from John Wick.
All day, he had called Wick's number over and over. No answer. Every time.
They had agreed Wick would contact him today. Yet dusk had arrived, and still nothing.
The delay left Viggo restless. He had seen the Night Demon's methods with his own eyes. He had no desire to experience them firsthand.
But circumstances had driven him into hiding in this dingy warehouse.
Now, his only hope was that Wick—the one man who could stand against the Night Demon—would finally call, and agree to kill the monster hunting him.
If Wick failed to deliver… Viggo had already resigned himself to the worst. He would have to abandon New York, flee with Iosef and his men to another city, and start anew.
At last, the long-awaited call came.
Ring—
The phone had barely chimed before Viggo snatched it up.
"Hello—"
"Viggo. Say what you need. Quickly."
"Kill the Night Demon."
"Fine. I'll deal with him. But after this, don't ever come to me again. I'm retiring."
"I swear it! Once he's gone, I'll never trouble you again in New York."
The words left Viggo's lips, and John Wick hung up without another word.
Relief washed over Viggo. The weight crushing his chest lifted. Turning to Iosef, he allowed himself a smile.
"Iosef… look. The Baba Yaga has agreed to act."
Lighthouse Hotel.
Second floor, the manager's office.
Alex, Anna, Duggan, Caine, and John Wick gathered around.
After some discussion, Wick suddenly remembered Helen—he needed to let her know he'd be delayed. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the phone he hadn't touched since boarding the flight from Mexico.
Powering it on, the screen lit up with seven or eight missed calls.
Wick grimaced. Viggo.
He hesitated, then returned the call.
Minutes later, he ended the conversation, slumping into the sofa with a weary sigh.
"That man, Viggo… he wants me to kill the Night Demon."
Alex leaned casually against the desk, smirking at the news.
"Well, isn't that convenient. The Night Demon already killed two of our assassins. Add today's casualties, and it seems… it's time he went to hell."
"Don't underestimate him," Wick replied with a shake of his head. "His strength is real. Even reaching his lair will be… difficult."
Alex only smiled knowingly.
"John, don't trouble yourself. I've been preparing for this day for a long time. And as it happens, the Night Demon's organization is far weaker than it once was…"
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