T/N : This John Wick Plot Will Be over in next 10 Chapters and Will be back to Marvel plot
--------------------
Alex Ray hung up the phone and slowly closed his eyes.
Those damn rats must have been S.H.I.E.L.D. agents tailing him again.
That only made Alex even more fed up with S.H.I.E.L.D., and he made a silent vow—if there was a next time, he wouldn't hesitate to make things difficult for them.
Alex glanced at the clock in the restaurant. It was almost dinner time—time to get to work.
"Pietro, prep the ingredients. We're about to open," Alex called out.
"Alex, I'm skipping dinner tonight. Heading next door to the bar to pick up chicks," Deadpool cut in quickly.
"I really need to find a full-time chef," Alex muttered. "Running this place alone is exhausting. I also need to hire a server, or I'll never keep up."
. . . . . . . .
That night, the once-empty "Good Luck" restaurant slowly filled up with people.
"Yo, Alex, same as always— chicken, an order of fried dumplings, and fried rice," said a gruff voice.
It was Butler, a snakehead from Hell's Kitchen and a regular at Good Luck.
He was accompanied by two shy-looking Asian girls.
A few minutes later, Alex brought out the food, wiped his hands clean, and glanced at the girls.
"What's this? Bringing two new girls around again?" he asked casually.
"They snuck in and refused to leave. Said they came to make money, so I brought them to the docks to get acquainted. Everyone knows, in Hell's Kitchen, you're the only one who can give them peace of mind to work," Butler replied, helping himself to a bite of chicken.
"Alright, take them to see Ginny. It's a small matter," Alex said offhandedly.
Butler gestured to the two girls, indicating this had all been discussed beforehand.
The girls pulled out a small stash of crumpled bills—barely a thousand dollars in total—and handed it to Alex.
"No, keep the money. Do I look like I need it?" Alex waved them off immediately.
But the girls shoved the money into his pocket as if they hadn't heard him.
"Take it," Butler said through a mouthful of food. "Other streets are charging them. If you don't, people will take it the wrong way. And it makes the girls nervous when you act like this. Just think of it as doing them a favor."
"Fine, fine," Alex sighed. "I'll hold onto it for you. When you've saved up enough and are ready to leave Hell's Kitchen, come find me. Now eat—eat up, both of you. Want anything else? I'll whip something up."
As Alex spoke with the girls, a figure approached the restaurant from the direction of the apartment building.
"Hey, isn't that Marcus?" Pietro remarked with surprise. "Rare to see you down here. I thought you hated my food."
Hearing Pietro's voice, Alex turned to look.
"It's not rent day. What's up, Marcus?" he asked.
Marcus found a seat near the bar, sat down heavily, and said in a low, serious voice, "Alex, I need your help."
Alex's expression changed. He could smell faint traces of alcohol—and blood.
"What kind of problem can't be solved by the Continental Hotel that a man like you would come to me?" he asked suspiciously.
Marcus, a man in his fifties, was one of the Continental Hotel's killers.
At first, Alex had thought he was the Green Goblin—he looked the part—but turned out that was just a coincidence.
Years ago, Alex had saved him in an accident. Since then, Marcus had quietly lived in one of Alex's apartment units, rarely making waves.
The Continental Hotel was known as a hub for everything under the table. With the right price in gold coins, you could get intel, bodyguards, assassins—anything.
Eighty percent of the assassins in New York were registered with the Continental. It was a gathering place for killers.
Plenty of other organizations existed too, but none could match the Continental—especially with the High Table backing it.
"One of my old friends got into serious trouble recently. A hit was put out on him, and he came here looking for me… just wanted a place to lay low for a few days."
Marcus's voice was barely audible.
Alex's eyes widened. "Don't tell me those High Table or Hand thugs tearing up Hell's Kitchen lately are looking for your friend?"
Marcus nodded, embarrassed.
Alex stared at him, raising his voice. "You're not about to tell me your friend is hiding in our apartment building, are you?"
He prayed Marcus would say no.
But Marcus only gave a slow, grim nod.
"Damn it! Why the hell would you bring that kind of heat here?! Rent's going up—way up," Alex said with an exasperated sigh.
"So what did your friend do to piss off the world? Why didn't he hide out at the Continental? Why drag this to my doorstep?"
Marcus hesitated, then said, "His name is John Wick. He's a killer. An old friend of mine. I haven't asked him the full story yet, but… he was shot. He's unconscious. I came down to tell you."
Alex froze.
The name sounded familiar—like something out of a movie he'd seen in a past life.
After all, he'd been in this world for over 20 years. Even with a sharp mind, he couldn't recall everything.
"Wait," Alex said slowly. "Does your friend have a middle-parted haircut?"
Marcus nodded.
"Loves dogs?"
Another nod.
"Nicknamed the BabaYaga ?"
Marcus nodded again, rapidly this time.
Alex was stunned. That was the guy. The protagonist of those intense, fast-paced action movies.
Pietro jumped in, excited. "You mean the BabaYaga? The guy who wiped out an entire Russian mafia over a dog? That guy's a legend!"
"So, Alex, will you help us?" Marcus asked quickly. "If it's too much, I'll take him away immediately. I don't want to drag you into this."
Alex fell silent, then untied his apron and tossed it aside.
"Take him where? The High Table's already crawling all over Hell's Kitchen. It's too late to avoid this.
And don't talk about dragging me into it—anyone who steps onto my turf becomes my people.
You're my tenant, Marcus. For your sake, I'll check in on this guy.
Besides, we've been needing a security guard for the lobby anyway."
"Are you sure this won't be too much trouble?" Marcus asked, clearly uneasy. "We're talking about the High Table…"
Alex rolled his eyes. "You already brought him here. Trouble? That ship has sailed.
High Table, Low Table, I don't give a damn. This is Hell's Kitchen. Let's go upstairs."
------
Marcus (John Wick Universe) --->
---------
ADD TO COLLECTION
LEAVE A REVIEW
DROP POWER STONES
--------------------
Let's rise up the rankings together!
----------------