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Central Park was quiet in the early morning, the air crisp and filled with the soft cooing of pigeons. Dax sat on a bench, a sandwich in his hand, looking more alive than he had in weeks. John approached, scattering a handful of bread crumbs at his feet. The pigeons descended, pecking eagerly.
"You seem to be sleeping better these days," John remarked, watching Dax with a hint of a smile.
Dax nodded and took a bite of his sandwich. "No more insomnia. Releasing all that pent-up anger and using it to fight crime helps me sleep like a baby."
John's gaze lingered on him, thoughtful. "There was an explosion at the dock last night. Was that your doing?"
Dax shook his head. "No, that wasn't me. That was Pushkin's operation. All the crude oil disappeared."
He paused, then added, "Your friend was involved, Mr. Wick. There was a hostage situation at IKEA. An armed group took several employees hostage, but the situation was resolved by a single individual."
"When the FBI started investigating, I deleted some records," Dax said, looking up at John.
John smiled slightly. "You did very well. That saved my friend a lot of trouble."
It was good to have connections in the government. As an FBI field agent, Dax had deleted Robert's footage without being asked. That already showed he was completely on John's side.
"There's more. The District Attorney is looking into matters concerning Wick." Dax's tone grew more serious. "The DA holds immense power in this city. The police department has to consider her attitude."
"She might want to find leverage to control you or trade something with you. Her investigation wasn't publicized. I feel she wants to contact you privately."
John listened quietly. The bread in his hand was finished. He clapped his hands together, brushing away the crumbs. "Let her investigate. Dax, you seem to be injured."
Dax hesitated, flexing his left hand with a wince. "It's not very serious."
"In Hell's Kitchen, there aren't many who can hurt you," John observed. He gestured for Dax to extend his hand.
Dax reluctantly rolled up his sleeve, revealing a large bruise on his forearm. It was a mark left by Matt's baton.
John placed his palm over the bruise and whispered, "Episkey."
The injured area quickly faded back to its original color. Dax flexed his hand, looking amazed. "That's incredible."
John let go of his hand and looked into Dax's eyes. "You're angry and confused, aren't you?"
Dax's defenses crumbled under John's gaze. "I… yes, Mr. Wick. Am I really saving people?"
John's laughter was gentle but edged with wisdom. "You're confused about that? What do you think?"
"I saved a family yesterday," Dax said, his voice uncertain. "But instead of being grateful, they were afraid."
John shook his head. "Killing scares people. It's not you they fear. It's the act itself."
Dax frowned. "What's the difference?"
John told him, "Fear of power is everyone's first reaction. You saved them. Whether you wanted their gratitude or not doesn't matter. What matters is the result. You saved their family. Without you, they would have died at gunpoint. After they calm down, they'll realize what could have happened if you hadn't shown up."
He paused, letting the words settle. "If a murderer saves lives, like a doctor, does that erase their crimes? Does that make the murderer innocent?
Dax fell silent, the confusion in his eyes slowly clearing.
John stood and patted his shoulder. "Next time we meet, tell me proudly that you're a hero."
He walked away, leaving Dax sitting on the bench. Dax nodded to himself, his resolve hardening. Even if he could never be a hero in the light, he could turn his violent urges into something good instead of suppressing them and becoming a villain for other heroes.
***
No matter where John went, Hattie always managed to find him—even when he was just feeding pigeons in the park. She was relentless, and John was beginning to wonder if he should start looking for a new assistant.
Dragged back to the office, John slumped over his desk, eyes glazed with fatigue. Hattie placed a stack of files in front of him.
"I need to remind you, someone came to the company to investigate today."
John barely moved. "I just wanted a vacation."
Seeing his lack of response, Hattie slipped a pen into his hand and stood by, supervising as he signed. "Some company bills aren't exactly legal. Mr. Orlov has gone to handle it."
John spun the pen between his fingers, the ink nearly flying out before snapping back in. "Orlov will handle everything."
Hattie was not convinced. "I'm afraid it's not that simple. The woman who came today is the District Attorney."
John's eyes sharpened. He remembered what Dax had said. "Has Orlov returned?"
"Not yet," Hattie replied, glancing out the floor-to-ceiling window. "Wait. He's back now."
A stretched Lincoln pulled up outside, and Orlov stormed into the building. The elevator doors slid open, and he burst into the office, cursing in multiple languages.
"That witch Samantha Reyes dares to threaten us!" Orlov paced with his hands on his hips. "She found out about our dealings with the hotel and now wants to blackmail us into solving her problems. Unbelievable!"
He poured himself a glass of whiskey, downed it in one gulp, and slammed the glass on the table. "I'll show her who really runs New York!"
John pointed to Hattie. "Shouldn't you be more discreet with your plans?"
Orlov paused, startled. "She's not one of yours?"
John sighed. "She works for me, but she's not my property. Now you have an extra witness to your plan."
Orlov, who had been considering hiring some thugs to deal with Reyes, was suddenly at a loss. Hattie smiled sweetly, looking anything but dangerous.
Orlov tried to recover. "How about a villa in Miami, Hattie? Consider it hush money."
Hattie's smile never wavered. "I graduated from Columbia Law School, Mr. Orlov."
Orlov groaned. "You lawyers kill people without blood."
He finally calmed down, realizing that assassinating a prosecutor in New York would have catastrophic consequences.
John watched him, concern in his eyes. "Didn't my father leave any backup plans for this sort of thing?"
Orlov shook his head. "That woman is crazy. These deals are all unspoken agreements. The government knows about them—they're like a whitelist."
Hattie's expression shifted slightly at the word.
John leaned back, considering. "Then just make sure she has no evidence."
Orlov frowned. "You don't understand, John. These are tacit agreements. We maintain order, and the government looks the other way. No one wants to admit it. If your father were here, he could get the higher-ups to apply pressure. But he's still missing."
John smiled. "We'll get help. Not just from my dad."
Orlov was surprised. In this world, trust was everything, and John's father had always been that rare, trustworthy man. Sometimes, the most important deals needed no written contract.
John wanted to find someone who could pressure the District Attorney, but Orlov was not optimistic. "The DA's power in this city is ridiculous."
The conversation hung in the air, the weight of the problem settling over them. Outside, the city buzzed on, unaware of the delicate balance being maintained behind closed doors.
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