The Continental Hotel - Dining Area
Smith shook his head slowly. "Winston, you need to understand something: John Wick didn't kill Gianna D'Antonio. Santino D'Antonio killed her, using John as the weapon. He activated a blood oath contract, and John was bound by the rules to comply."
He leaned back in his chair. "This is a family matter between the D'Antonios. The High Table shouldn't hold John accountable for being forced to fulfill a legitimate contract."
Smith's expression hardened slightly. "Besides, I don't think Santino will survive John's inevitable revenge. John Wick is nothing if not thorough when it comes to grudges."
Winston studied Smith with renewed interest. "You have remarkable faith in Jonathan's capabilities. Are you trying to recruit him into your organization?"
Smith's smile was enigmatic. "Let's just say I have confidence in my investments."
Winston stood gracefully, adjusting his cuffs. "Well then. Enjoy your time at the Continental, Mr. Doyle, Ms. Fox. I have some business to attend to."
As Winston walked away, Smith knew exactly where he was going: to retrieve the blood oath marker Santino had used to compel John. If John completed the contract under duress, Winston would document it, insurance against the High Table's potential overreach.
Fox watched Winston disappear up the stairs, then turned to Smith. "You really do have faith in John Wick, don't you? Every time I've seen him, he's been on a killing spree."
"True," Smith agreed. "But notice that everyone he kills deserves it. Mobsters, slavers, corrupt enforcers. John Wick is a lot of things, but he's not indiscriminate."
Fox took a sip of her wine. "And this Camorra situation should be interesting to watch."
"Very interesting," Smith confirmed.
SHIELD Headquarters - The Triskelion
In Director Nick Fury's office, Agent Phil Coulson stood at attention, tablet in hand.
"Director, we've obtained footage of Smith Doyle in combat. The intelligence value is significant."
He placed the tablet on Fury's desk. "The video clearly demonstrates enhanced physical capabilities well beyond normal human parameters."
Fury picked up the device and played the footage, traffic camera recordings from the intersection where Smith and Fox had been ambushed by the Russian mob. He watched in silence as Smith kicked a vehicle hard enough to flip it, then proceeded to deflect bullets with a blade.
"Superhuman strength," Fury muttered, watching the SUV roll. "Enhanced reflexes." His eye tracked Smith's knife work. "Possible enhanced durability"
He set down the tablet and looked at Coulson. "This level of capability warrants 084 classification for observation purposes. Smith Doyle is exhibiting abilities that shouldn't be possible for an unaugmented human."
"I'll have our analysis team run a full capability assessment based on the footage," Coulson said, making notes. "Estimated strength multipliers, reaction time calculations, durability metrics."
"Do that. And Coulson, have our asset inside the Fraternity increase their intelligence-gathering on Smith Doyle specifically. Background, training regimen, any medical procedures or enhancements. I want to know how he can do what he does."
"Understood, sir." Coulson paused. "Should we attempt to make contact? If he has access to some form of enhancement process, it could be valuable."
Fury shook his head firmly. "No direct contact. Not yet. For now, we observe, document, and analyze. I want a complete profile before we make any moves."
He pointed at Coulson. "You're lead on this, Phil. Smith Doyle is your primary assignment until further notice."
"Yes, Director."
Fury stood and walked to his window, hands clasped behind his back. "Also, expand the investigation. I want surveillance on the other senior members of the Fraternity. We need to determine if Smith Doyle is unique, or if this is systemic."
Coulson looked up from his notes. "You think the Fraternity might have developed a super soldier program?"
"Over the years, dozens of organizations have tried to replicate Erskine's formula," Fury said, not turning from the window. "The Fraternity has existed for centuries. They have resources, secrecy, and motivation. It's not impossible."
He finally turned to face Coulson. "If this is just Smith Doyle, if it's a genetic mutation or individual enhancement, that's one situation. If multiple members show similar capabilities, then the Fraternity has succeeded where others have failed. And that changes everything."
"I'll have teams investigate the senior leadership," Coulson confirmed. "Cross, Mr. X, the Gunsmith, we'll establish surveillance protocols for all of them."
"Good. And Coulson, upgrade the classification on both the Fraternity files and Smith Doyle's personal dossier to Level 5. This stays compartmentalized until we understand what we're dealing with."
"Understood, sir."
The Continental Hotel - Later That Evening
Smith sat in the dining area with Fox, enjoying his meal while keeping one eye on the staircase. Winston had returned and was reading his newspaper on the nearby sofa, projecting an air of complete relaxation.
Fox sipped her wine. "Where's Puar today? I haven't seen him."
"Wesley won't leave him alone," Smith explained with amusement. "Keeps asking him to transform into different things, testing the limits of his abilities. Puar's hiding in my room until Wesley gets bored."
Fox laughed softly. "Wesley does tend to get fixated on new toys, "
A voice echoed from the entrance above: "Winston!"
Both Smith and Fox looked up to see Santino D'Antonio descending the stairs. He looked disheveled, stressed, and more than a little desperate, a far cry from the smooth, confident man who'd sat across from them days ago.
Winston glanced up from his newspaper. "Mr. D'Antonio." His tone carried a hint of dry amusement. "You look like you've had a wonderful day."
He deliberately glanced at Smith sitting nearby, then returned his attention to Santino. "I assume you're here to seek sanctuary?"
Smith leaned over to Fox and whispered, "The show's about to start."
Fox suppressed a smile and nodded, settling in to watch.
Santino stormed directly to Winston, his composure cracking. "I want John Wick's Continental membership revoked! Immediately!"
Winston set down his newspaper with careful precision and removed his glasses. "Institutionally, Mr. Wick has broken no rules."
"But I'm a member of the High Table!" Santino's voice rose. "I have the authority to order you, "
"No," Winston interrupted, his voice calm but edged with steel. "You have no authority to order me, Mr. D'Antonio."
He stood slowly, facing Santino with the quiet confidence of a man who controlled his domain absolutely.
"This establishment, this kingdom, answers to me and me alone. If you want to change the Continental's rules, you'll need a unanimous vote from all twelve seats at the High Table."
He replaced his glasses. "Until then, my hotel, my rules."
Santino's face flushed red with anger and humiliation. "Fine! Guard your precious kingdom, Winston!" He practically spat the words. "While you still can!"
"And you should enjoy your seat at the table," Winston replied smoothly, "while you still have it."
The threat hung in the air between them.
Santino turned away from Winston, visibly seething. His gaze landed on Smith, and something desperate flickered in his eyes.
"Mr. Doyle." Santino walked over to Smith's table. "Would you be willing to sell John Wick's blood oath marker? Name your price."
Smith actually laughed, a genuine sound of disbelief. "Are you seriously asking me to help you violate a blood oath? One of the only sacred rules in our entire world?"
He shook his head. "The answer is no. Blood oaths cannot be broken, transferred, or sold. You know that."
Santino's shoulders sagged. The last avenue of escape had just closed.
He turned away without another word and walked to an empty table across the room. A waiter appeared immediately, and Santino ordered steak and wine with a voice that sounded hollow.
Smith returned to his own meal, but his eyes tracked Santino's every movement.