Anthony laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Do you know exactly why the High Table fundamentally distrusts the two of you?"
He looked directly at Marcus. "You chose to help John tonight, and you chose to help him against Viggo. You didn't do it because you're a better shot than the rest of the assassins. You did it because you actually still remember what it means to be a human being."
Anthony remembered that specific line vividly; it was spoken by Marcus right before Viggo executed him in the original timeline.
Marcus and John represented two distinct, terrifying extremes within the suffocating world of assassins.
In the end, Marcus was a dead legend who sacrificed himself for loyalty. And John was a living legend who desperately didn't want to live anymore.
"The two of you actually care about each other. You possess genuine emotional loyalty," Anthony continued, gesturing between the two older men. "The High Table operates purely on absolute transactional leverage. If the two most legendary, lethal assassins in North America actively join forces based on friendship... the High Table will feel profoundly threatened by the precedent it sets."
Marcus exhaled a long breath and laughed self-deprecatingly. "I blatantly betrayed Viggo's contract and fundamentally challenged the High Table's sacred spirit of transaction. If it weren't for the fact that they're currently terrified of John's existence... the High Table would have undoubtedly authorized a massive strike team to wipe me out days ago."
"Exactly," Anthony said. "So you absolutely cannot let them divide and conquer. You two cannot afford to be separated right now."
In the original timeline, Marcus died tragically early, leaving John completely isolated to fight a hopeless, lonely war against the entire world. Anthony refused to let that happen.
Anthony looked back at John. "Let me ask you a hypothetical, John. If you just surrender... if you willingly go to Santino and officially accept his Blood Oath to wipe the slate clean... do you truly believe he's just going to ask you to kill Gianna? Or do you think his second command will be for you to execute Marcus for helping you evade him?"
Upon hearing Anthony pose this brutal, highly plausible tactical question, John completely froze.
It took him a long moment to process the sheer, terrifying sadism of that scenario.
"The assumption that he would target Marcus is legally valid," John admitted, his voice raspy. "Santino is petty and vindictive. If I am bound to his will, he will absolutely not hesitate to use me to punish my allies."
"As for assassinating Gianna... I can only try. I owe Santino my life for his help with my 'Impossible Task.' I have to pay off my previous debts eventually."
Anthony didn't push him any further on the morality of the Oath. He smiled slightly. "Alright. I have two primary tactical plans for us."
John and Marcus immediately gave him their undivided attention.
"Plan One," Anthony said, raising a finger. "I utilize my Blood Oath to officially force Marcus to assassinate Santino. Under the strict legal framework of the High Table, this is entirely legitimate. A Blood Oath overrides a personal vendetta. However... the immediate consequence is that the entire Camorra mafia organization will relentlessly hunt us down. And, ironically, Gianna D'Antonio—who would be entirely unaware of the complex truth—would likely mobilize the High Table to seek revenge for her murdered brother."
Both assassins remained entirely silent, waiting for the alternative. They clearly didn't agree with the catastrophic fallout of Plan One.
"Plan Two," Anthony continued. "Since we legally cannot execute Santino ourselves without triggering a global war... we simply manipulate Gianna into executing him for us. It's an internal family matter. However... even if Gianna solves our immediate Camorra problem, the High Table's bureaucratic machinery will eventually find some other trivial reason to force John to break the rules later."
Marcus rubbed his temples. He knew perfectly well that both plans possessed incredibly intractable, potentially fatal problems.
Seeing no obvious third option, Marcus asked, "Wait. Your second plan... you're suggesting we just walk up to a High Table Oligarch and tell her that her own brother is actively plotting her assassination? Anthony, she is never going to believe us. We're outsiders."
Anthony laughed. "If a cynical old fox like you walked up and told her, she definitely wouldn't believe it."
Marcus's eyes lit up as the strategy clicked into place.
Yes. Gianna would be deeply suspicious of John Wick showing up unannounced. But the sheer gravity of the accusation would force her to secretly investigate John's claims.
As the rightful, designated heir to the D'Antonio empire, Gianna was preparing to smoothly succeed her father at the High Table. She knew perfectly well that assuming that seat meant taking direct, absolute control of the Camorra Mafia's vast global operations.
She understood the bloody, treacherous nature of internal family power struggles vastly better than anyone else.
If John Wick provided her with actionable intelligence regarding her brother's treason, she could quickly consolidate her power, ambush Santino, and violently purge his remaining loyalist forces before he could strike.
"You're both conveniently forgetting the absolute rules," John interjected coldly, staring into his empty whiskey glass. "If I actively leak Santino's assassination plot to Gianna, the High Table's Adjudicators will likely interpret my interference as a direct, treasonous violation of the Blood Oath's intent. They will use it as a legal excuse to excommunicate me."
Anthony shook his head. "John, your tactical thinking is far too rigid and simplistic."
"If we follow this specific line of thinking, we could actually force the High Table to fundamentally redefine the legal parameters of the Blood Oath. Think about it: if Santino possesses a valid Marker, but is physically incapable of delivering it to you... that completely exposes a massive, exploitable loophole in the High Table's ancient legal code."
Anthony's Extreme Planning skill had already calculated several devastating geopolitical possibilities.
As one of the oldest, most sacred contracts within the High Table's jurisdiction, the core foundational principle of the Blood Oath was absolute: "Debts must be honored."
But Santino's sheer inability to formally deliver the Marker—despite legally possessing it—essentially broke the system.
If the "creditor" cannot physically contact the "debtor," does the Blood Oath simply remain suspended in perpetuity? Or does it automatically expire?
The Twelve Seats of the High Table would immediately spark a massive, violent legal controversy over this exact question.
The Conservative faction would likely argue that "a Blood Oath is effective indefinitely, and the debtor must present themselves."
The Radical faction might aggressively advocate for a "time-limited expiration date to prevent the sheer abuse of leverage."
Another terrifying possibility was that the High Table would be forced to develop sweeping new administrative rules, allowing creditors to legally notify debtors globally through the Continental's internal communications network. If that happened, debtors would have absolutely nowhere on earth left to hide.
Anthony's rapid calculations concluded that this specific legal disagreement could easily escalate into a massive factional split within the High Table, potentially triggering a small-scale, global civil war among the syndicates.
And that chaotic, distracted geopolitical landscape was exactly the result Anthony wanted to see.
After Anthony carefully explained his systemic conjecture to them, Marcus made the final tactical decision for John.
"Whether we notify Gianna or we just shoot Santino in the head... it really doesn't matter, John. You cannot avoid this war," Marcus said firmly.
Marcus fully understood the terrifying depth of Anthony's geopolitical analysis.
Months or years down the line, John would inevitably be forced to take violent action over some trivial provocation, thus exposing his geographical whereabouts.
By then, either Gianna, or a newly empowered Adjudicator who had consolidated her political power, would come knocking on John's door with fabricated "evidence" of John disrupting the peace.
At that point, John would face a coordinated, global assault vastly more desperate than his current situation.
Because whether or not Santino's Blood Oath was actually delivered only determined the timing of the conflict, not whether the conflict could actually be avoided.
The brutal battle between the legendary assassin and the suffocating rules of his world was destined to be an endless, inescapable cycle from the exact second John picked up his sledgehammer and dug up his basement.
"I agree," John finally said, his voice dropping an octave, finalizing his resolve. "I'll do it. I'll go to Gianna."
Anthony smoothly stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray. "Excellent. I'm going to Rome with you, John."
He then looked directly at Marcus. "You stay here in New York and act as our rear guard. If Gianna refuses to listen to reason and tries to execute John... then you use your sniper rifle and you put a bullet right between Santino's eyes."
"Let's execute it exactly this way," Marcus nodded, not questioning Anthony's authority for a second. "Honestly, I'll feel vastly more at ease knowing you're watching his six."
John immediately refused, his protective instincts flaring. "Absolutely not. You cannot go to Rome with me, Anthony. I am not even remotely confident I can successfully convince Gianna to stand down."
"She will be officially taking over her father's High Table seat in the next few days. She might actively try to capture or execute me just to prove her strength and secure the Table's political support. I am absolutely not letting a kid get involved in that level of crossfire."
Marcus laughed heartily. "Well, I'll be damned! I'm genuinely amazed that our stubborn blockhead actually knows how to process tactical variables."
"We're putting it to a vote! I officially support Anthony going with you to babysit." Marcus was the first to raise his hand high in the air.
Anthony immediately raised his hand as well, offering a smug smile. "The tribunal has spoken, John. You'd better not try to struggle against a two-to-one majority."
"Alright. Both of you, get some sleep. We fly to Italy tomorrow."
Unbeknownst to Anthony, at that exact moment, halfway across the city inside the hyper-secure VIP suite of the Continental Hotel, Santino D'Antonio was aggressively toying with an ancient Roman gold coin, glaring coldly at his lead intelligence officer.
"The Continental's front desk is keeping entirely quiet," the officer reported nervously. "Winston would only confirm that he formally checked out. Our operatives are currently aggressively screening all the major transportation hubs and bribing our underworld informants across the tri-state area. But sir... if a ghost like John Wick genuinely wants to stay hidden, he's like a single drop of water disappearing into the Hudson River."
Santino gripped the heavy gold coin so tightly the edges dug painfully into his palm.
He firmly believed that John knew perfectly well that he had arrived in New York, and that John knew he was intending to invoke the Blood Oath. That was the only logical reason the Baba Yaga was so aggressively, flawlessly avoiding him.
Without John Wick, the crucial Blood Oath could not be formally delivered, and his meticulously planned, foolproof scheme to seize his sister's throne was completely stalled at its most critical step!
The pent-up, aristocratic violence gnawed at Santino's nerves like a venomous snake. He desperately needed to vent his frustration. He needed blood to extinguish this humiliating, suffocating fire.
I need to teach that arrogant, scarred Tarasov bastard a lesson he will absolutely never forget.
"Anthony Tarasov," Santino uttered the name, a deeply sinister, psychotic look flashing in his dark eyes.
The blatant, contemptuous provocation at the Plaza Hotel had humiliated Santino in front of American high society. The kid had genuinely referred to a High Table Oligarch as a mere "prop to advance the plot."
Since you are so desperate for a storyline, you arrogant little shit... then I am going to wrap up your production tonight!
Santino stared at the tactical commander standing in front of him. "Deploy a strike team. Two men. No, wait... send five of our absolute best operators. I want Anthony Tarasov's severed head resting on my desk before sunrise."
Ares, standing silently in the corner, quickly made a series of sharp hand gestures, indicating that a two-man hit squad was more than sufficient for a rookie boss.
Santino let out a dark, cruel laugh. "He is technically the sitting Patriarch of the Tarasov syndicate, Ares. His funeral deserves to be appropriately grand."
"Besides... the kid mentioned he served combat tours in Afghanistan. I absolutely will not give him a single, fleeting chance to survive."
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