Yamamoto Kaito pulled up Kinuko's number on his phone and dialed.
The call was answered in less than three seconds.
"Kinuko, find Viggo Tarasov's gang locations in New York and send me the info ASAP."
Without asking why, Kinuko simply replied, "Understood!"
After the brief orders, Kaito hung up. He knew the church was just one Russian mob outpost—the real strongholds were elsewhere. The church had mostly incriminating evidence and dirty secrets on officials, not the entire Russian faction.
Kaito waited in the underground parking garage. Soon, a van rolled in. Charlie stepped out, tipped his hat, and greeted, "Honored to serve you, Mr. Tarou."
"This is in your hands, Charlie."
Kaito handed Charlie five gold tokens.
Taking the coins, Charlie swiftly began cleaning up the scene with his team.
Moments later, Kinuko's message arrived—an abandoned factory in the Brooklyn outskirts.
Kaito glanced again at his battered Mercedes-Benz and sighed. This was a classic car no longer backed by original parts.
Damn. I could accept an ambush, but ruining my car?
Fuck!
Exhaling sharply, Kaito left the garage.
The security guards at the entrance had fled, likely spooked by the gunfire.
On the street, Kaito hailed a taxi, gave the address, and closed his eyes to rest on the ride.
No Flying Thunder God or Body Replacement jutsu this time—though his speed might rival any car in the city, heading there on foot would invite a visit from Agent Coulson.
—
Meanwhile, John Wick cautiously arrived at his friend's house, pistol drawn.
Viggo and his men were long gone. In the blood-soaked room lay Marcus, shot multiple times. John sank to his knees beside his fallen friend, silent and grim.
After a while, his phone rang.
John answered to Winston's voice.
"John, I know you want info on Viggo."
"But the Continental has rules—I can't tell you, but there's a helicopter fully fueled at a certain heliport waiting for someone."
John understood the hint and hung up.
Looking down at Marcus's body, he resolved to avenge his friend.
Rising, he left the house and drove toward the heliport.
Night had fully fallen; neon lights cast a dazzling glow over New York.
—
At the same time, Kaito's taxi sped away faster than when it had arrived.
Clearly, the driver knew the area wasn't safe.
The taxi's arrival had alerted the factory's guards.
In just a few days, Viggo's Russian mob had become a skittish shadow—they'd heard of the truce, but John Wick's massacre had crippled their fighting force.
They feared rival gangs would move in to claim territory and control.
Viggo was just a gangster boss, not an army. Losing so many men meant weakened power.
John had killed at least seventy of their brothers.
Only two guards remained outside the factory—a beam of light illuminated Kaito.
"Who are you?"
A bulky man stepped forward, apparently armed beneath his bulging coat, shining a flashlight on Kaito's face to get a better look.
Kaito said nothing, flashing forward instantly. His left hand covered the man's mouth; his kunai sliced the man's throat silently—death was immediate.
Kaito muttered quietly, "It's time to sweep out these scum. Looks like I'll be the cleaner."
The next moment, he formed hand seals, performed a substitution jutsu, and transformed into the man's likeness.
He took the radio and earpiece from the dead guard and put them on himself.
The corpse was dragged to a shadowy corner and hidden.
The other guard, shrouded in darkness, noticed nothing amiss.
Walking confidently, Kaito returned.
"Bob, everything okay?" the other guard asked.
Smiling, Kaito answered, "No problem. Just some guy who got off at the wrong stop—that one's gone."
Before the guard could respond, Kaito struck again—his kunai slid under the man's throat, and he muffled his mouth.
"Don't speak. Breathe deep… yes, breathe deep."
After three silent breaths confirmed death, Kaito sat the body against the wall, then gently opened the factory door and slipped inside.
He had officially infiltrated the Russian mob's lair.
Inside, a burly Russian guzzled vodka, slurring, "Aiden, a killer, has slain so many of us, yet the boss made peace."
"Bastards, we're the Russian mob!"
"Throw money at him—what's he gonna do?"
"Four million won't buy his life, try eight."
"If not, a thousand million. A little Baba Yaga can't turn the world upside down."
Aiden stepped forward, took the vodka, and said, "Wes, you're drunk."
"Boss's moves always have reasons. Let's keep low—don't let other gangs exploit our weakness."
Hearing this, Wes grew even more annoyed. He grabbed back the vodka, downed a swig, then spotted Kaito entering.
"Bob! Instead of guarding outside, you're sneaking off here? Didn't Aiden warn to stay alert right now?"