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Dropped in blood like Cain dropped Abel.

And they said to him, you need never leave this place to see mortality like ours. Like theirs. Like us. Like you.

But he heard her calling through the glass plane of the mirror to the lands of the Raven King. Where magic is dead. Where memories go to die.

They didn't want him there. But she paid her gold coins in advance and bound them in blood.

Blood dropped, like Cain dropped Abel.

{[ @rubydart @rubydian || It's coming. See you on the other side, Mr. Wick ]}

John Wick || Beatitudinem

There was beauty in the air today.

This late summer afternoon as the breeze rolled fresh off the heat-hazed horizon with the scent of the sea entwined in its crest. The tang of salt in the air. It caressed her skin and lifted her hair. She loved to work in the soil. Especially here, in this house on a high hill overlooking the ocean. The summer's heat dissipated, but the dirt was warm in her hands. Under her nails, between her fingers, under her wedding ring.

She smiled to herself, happily. Still very much in love. These past two beautiful years. And she thought the name was still magical. She could barely believe it. In these quiet moments where she was an earth mother, her hands in the soil as she sought to plant these succulent flowers in the landscape of their garden, she caught her name revolving around her head.

'I am Helen Wick. Helen Wick now. God... How did I get this lucky?'

She'd planted the last of her seedlings and meant to water them gently except her tin water canister was empty now. She'd been working the soil for at least four hours whilst her husband slept upstairs on this glorious Sunday afternoon. She'd water them a little later.

Helen rose to her feet and clapped the dirt off her hands, looking out over the horizon. So beautiful this day. She could see on forever, out over the hill and into the valley where the beach brought its eternal tidings along with the first star of the celestial heavens above.

She loved to work the earth on days like this. It helped her feel grounded. It reminded her that we all returned to the earth eventually. For now, she was thirsty. It was easy to lose track of time when working in your own garden. Especially when it was a labour of love.

She made her way up the patio steps, across the landing, and through the garden door into the kitchen. Attending the sink that overlooked a grand arched window into the garden where her beautiful plants were growing. She'd planned on building a gazebo where she and her husband could rise on early mornings and have breakfast together. Or make love under its arching roof.

That was a romantic fantasy. She wanted very much to make it come true as she took a glass tumbler and filled it with chilled filtered water from the tap.

The embodiment of her marital bliss had padded on silent footfalls down the stairs and was now dressed and leaning against the kitchen doorframe, smiling at her. Warm, chocolate-coloured eyes and radiating passionate humility. She caught his reflection in the kitchen windowpane and turned to admire him as she leaned back against the kitchen sink. God. He was beautiful. Her husband. She could do nothing but smile at him. Smile and love him with every piece of her blossoming soul. Her Johnathan.

"Are you...smiling, Mister Wick?" She teased him playfully. A glitter in her eyes as she looked him up and down. Dark blue jeans, a white low cut t-shirt and a calf brown leather jacket that they had bought together in their first year of marriage. He wore it everywhere. It was his absolute favourite. But she wished he'd opt for something lighter in the summer.

"Maybe... yeah." He replied, that smile unwavering.

"Well, I wish you wouldn't. It's indecent." She teased. Not far from the truth. He had a way about smiling that always felt a little too intense around her. Borderline romantic. He pushed his shoulder away from the door frame and came forward into the kitchen proper to caress her hips with his tender hands and whisper,

"Just as well."

"What's that?" She whispered back coyly, setting the water glass down upon the sink and turning her attention to again look up into those tender, heartbreaking eyes.

"That I'm not shy about being indecent." He replied warmly. Their lips met. And it was heaven suspended in magic. Infinity forever. She wrapped her arms around him, forgetting her hands still carried the soil of the afternoon summer land that she was mothering into life. He didn't seem to mind anything that she had. Whether it was dirt or blood, so long as it was hers he'd accept everything with passive gratitude. His warm fingers caressed her jaw as he pulled away and she smiled in the wake of his kiss. Coming gently back down to earth. He had a way about him. Her Johnthan. Of making her feel as though she never wanted to come back down from this cloud he had her perpetually suspended on.

Her husband. She loved him. But he occasionally needed correcting. Gently, lovingly. But definitely correcting. Her heart swelled with hopeful pride as she said to him,

"Hmm, well.. That said, it's Sunday... and I was wondering if I might convince you to stop tinkering with the car and head out to the hardware store for me?"

Now that sultry smile he wore dissolved into something a little smoother. She pushed a lock of his ebon hair out of his eyes.

"What for?" He asked gently. Gravel in his voice. Deep and reverberating so that even at a distance she could feel it in her chest.

"What for he says? John! It's been two months, that gazebo isn't going to finish building its self. I'd like to have it ready before New Year, if at all possible."

That glitter in his eyes as he leaned forward to grace her with another kiss. She tilted her jaw away, playful in her need to refuse him. But his lips met her chin all the same and made her sigh as he whispered, "Anything is possible." against her skin.

That made her laugh. Gentle, like wind chimes in the distance. She stepped away from him and arched her brow suggestively,

"Well, are you going or...?" He hesitated. Watching her. The scent of the sea and soil against her skin. The lines of her neck, the curves of her breasts and hips.

"I'm thinking...." He murmured.

"John..." It sounded like exasperation, but it was honestly veiled lust. He seemed to breathe this nuance between them in.

"I'll go. But I'll need you to do things for me in return."

That was very much her husband. Johnathan Wick, every bit the negotiator. Willing to compromise but for a price. She paid him willingly but not without gentle rebuke as she corrected him again now.

"Do things? Don't I do enough for you? I clean your house, I cook your meals, I press your clothes."

"These are all things I could do for myself, baby. You know you don't have to do any of it."

"That's not the point, Johnathan, I've seen you with an iron."

"Well, you shouldn't have distracted me."

"Distracted you?! John, you can't iron suede!"

"And you shouldn't bend down in a short skirt, but I'm not holding it against you, am I?"

Johnathan Wick, her husband. Negotiator and master debater when the mood suited him. And it suited him like a second skin. Always. Forever. She loved him. She loved him with every ounce of her heart and soul. But he could stand to be corrected every now and then. She really wanted to finish that gazebo before their anniversary. She wanted to lay in his arms so they could take in the evening sea breeze on their hilltop home and talk about their dreams of forever.

"Will you just go please, baby? I've left a list of timber beams and bolt specs pinned to the board by the door. And can you make sure they're Imperial, please? And get a tube of Liquid Nails while you're there, we're out. Now, get outta here, will you? I need a little alone time. You don't need to hover about my shoulder every two minutes like a stalking butler. I can take care of myself, surprising as that may seem."

He committed her words to memory. His eyes never leaving her face, he watched her lips move and felt the swell of her hips against his palms, sighing in contentment as her hands came up to his chest. Oops! She forgot about that. She brushed the dirt off the cotton with her forearm whilst he smiled at her.

"I never doubted it, baby girl. I just like checking up on you." His left hand strayed, lower than was prudent. She purred the words,

"With your hand on my ass?"

He squeezed the flesh he had purchase on. A reminder that his hands could bring about the coils of pleasure she'd only ever dreamed about.

"At least one of us needs to keep it covered. They're shrinking lace like it's going out of fashion." He replied. There was heat in his voice now. He looked hungry. Protective and hungry. And for a moment she thought about it. About taking off his jacket and t-shirt and rubbing her soil-covered hands against his chest. He did this to her. Conjured visions and dreams and desires she'd never experienced before. Except when she stood alone in his presence. In the heat of his eyes. Mmm. She loved him. The way he made her feel. But she'd make him wait. On principle if nothing more. Because she enjoyed feeding him when he was hungry. Nourishing him took on many forms. And she delighted in being instrumental in overseeing all of them.

"You fool! Get outta here. Give your wife thirty minutes alone, won't you? And stop at the drug store on the way back. I need a refill of my pill prescription." She pecked his cheek, dancing out of his tender embrace and turned back to the sink, to take the olive oil soap and lather her hands under running water.

"You're gonna need more than the pill to keep you protected from me."

There was humour in his voice but it was thin and veiled in the heat of a man that had long since decided he wanted to spill his seed as a willing father. They'd discussed their options quietly in bed together. Not yet. She just wasn't ready. She wanted more time to love her husband alone before giving a piece of herself to rear his children. He understood. But he made the offer all the same. A vow to her. For when she changed her mind. He was ready.

"That's a funny way to file for divorce, Mister Wick." She called over her shoulder. Teasing him again. She caught his reflection in the kitchen windowpane as he stalked down the hall waving her comment away. She could imagine the smile across his lips vividly.

They knew each other. First as friends, then as lovers, then as husband and wife. Their history secured their bonds with each other. There was nothing that either of them could say that would ever be grounds for devoicing. Except for when he left the garage door open. Or came back inebriated from a good night with his work friends and stumbled about the following morning hungover with a ringing headache.

Who was she kidding? She'd never detach herself from him. He was a good man. And they were rare to find in this day and age.

Even so, he could stand with a little correcting. She heard him mutter to himself in the hallway and then call to her.

"Keys, baby?"

"Bowl on the hall table." She called back, listening. That's right. He had them now. She counted the heartbeats. He asked another question,

"Phone?"

"Coat pocket...on the hat stand by the door."

That's right. He had it now. She counted the heartbeats and sure enough, her beloved husband asked yet another question that made her smile and laugh inwardly.

"Wallet?"

"Next to the vase, John. On your left... your other left." She heard him mutter to himself. Something about how grateful he was to have a woman as organized as she to depend upon. So she padded out of the kitchen, drying her hands on the dishtowel and met her husband at the foot of the hallway. He turned and looked up at her with a self-satisfied corona of radiance. In marital bliss.

"I love you, baby." He said to her. To his wife.

"Mhm. I love you too. Drive safe." Said Helen Wick.

Watching as her husband made his way out of their marital home door.

Beatitudinem Uncut

The word ‘beatitudinem’ is Latin for ‘happiness’.

The John Wick film franchise features little content for the wonder that is the beautiful Mrs. Helen Wick. Performed by American actress: Kathryn Bridget Moynahan. Helen Wick appears in mobile phone film footage and a range of tender and romantic flashbacks in the original John Wick film released in 2014.

Helen, along with Daisy and John’s beloved antique 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 which is referred to in the film as a Boss 429, are three central motifs that surround John’s life with meaningful importance both before and after his retirement from the criminal underworld where he is renowned and feared as a spectacular master assassin.

Fans feel, that were it not for Helen’s passing, John Wick may have moved into the ether of his retirement happily ever after. Beatitudinem, seeks to explore a moment in time where Helen is alive and well, two years into their blissful marriage. Naturally, the narrative takes on the creative license to assume the thoughts, feelings and attitudes of the woman who is otherwise a foreshadowing figure to her husband and his grieving process after her passing.

Little is known about Mrs. Wick, but the fans agree, she was a magnificent woman to have been able to bring this man so much warmth and salvation in their five years of happy marriage.

Beatitudinem, is written as a tender one-short short story that celebrates the simplicity and domesticity of every-day married life. We sincerely hope you enjoy it! If you do, please share, like and reblog the story with your friends and fellow John Wick fans. Spread the love. You’re welcome to add the work to a Master List, just don’t forget to send a message or comment our way to let us know how far the tale has travelled.

This work is dedicated to my special friends:

@f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat  &  @lalienna-dementriento

We Love You!

Judeth Clayton: Queen, Disrupted

Don’t Tear Away From Me

I Need You to Hold On To

How Can This Mean Anything To Me?

When All You Do Is Keep Bleeding Through

|||

My history is written in Blood & Gold

I am Judeth Clayton; Queen, Interrupted

I am Judeth Clayton; Queen, Disrupted

{{[[ @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat   ||  @lalienna-dementriento ]]}}

"Fuck... daddy!"

Mmh.

Yeah.

He liked that.

That felt good.

The way she rubbed herself against him. Touched him, kissed him. It was erotic. Hot. He knew deep down he shouldn't touch her. This was the bosses' girl. But she was so... Hungry? Yeah, she made him hard. He caught himself staring. Those heels, those legs, those hips, that ass. Damn. Boss is a lucky man. He wanted a piece of that action. But Nah man. His brothers elbowed his ribs. Shook there heads. Look but don't touch they said. Okay. So he tried to not satisfy himself remembering the night he watched his boss eat that pussy down the length of a scope.

That made him cum hard. Way harder than was prudent. And he'd gotten hot with his boss before. Been a daddy then too. The Prince came home, pissed off, hurt after a bad fight in the streets. So he got him cleaned up, got him a drink. Lit him a smoke. Rubbed him down like a lathering horse. Right there, between his legs. Great big Italian cock. Felt good in his hands. Both boys got... Experimental. Good night. Really good night. He was on guard duties a lot more after that. But this!? The bosses' dancer. Yeah, he made her dance. Deep. Against his tongue. Made her watch as he sucked her deep into his mouth and roll under pleasure. He didn't make her beg. Just focused on getting her there. Three times.

Mmh. Now he understood what Tino tasted in her. Sweet. Lusty. He liked performing for her. And yeah, he even had a tattoo on the underside of his cock in a calligraphic script that read the words ' Until it hurts'. He liked cumming for her. Moaning and grinding his hips. He almost asked her to get on. He was a big boy but he knew she'd adjust. Girls always did. He wanted to know what she felt like on the inside. But he didn't ask. Touching himself under her eyes was enough. He loved being her attack dog. In the morning. No regrets. He cleaned her up. Fed and kissed her. Sent her back to her Papi. ‘Cos Tino was a stud. He deserved to be tapping that. He'll, he almost did. But he made her promise. No calls, no texts. No marks on her body. Just a knock on his door. Late. After work. Glass of wine. Good meal. He'd go hungry just to eat her. Fuck. He was addicted to this rush.

"Wanna touch it, baby?" His body. Her fingers over the words. He wanted to purr for her.

Until it hurts.

{[ @lalienna-dementriento @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat   || You aren’t the only one that did a thing. I did it too. And we are taking this too far. Right to the end of the line. It’s sinfully delicious, the mess this Camorra crew are capable of getting themselves into when it comes to love. ]}

Daddy. Not Papi

@laserglassspider - @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat // I uh...did a thing...and uhm...yeah.

———

“I can’t sleep. Hector is with someone...Ares is with Santino...tony and Marcus and I aren’t that close. Can I-“

She didn’t even have to finish. Christov let his door swing open completely, allowing her entrance. She thanked him softly, stepping past him. She left her shoes neatly by the door, noticing now that her coworker wore only loose fitted pants. She had never seen all of his tattoos. Her eyes trailed down his chest, the bear on his abdomen baring it’s fangs at her. She smiled slightly, making her way around him to his back. He stayed still, allowing her to check him out. Like a cat stalking something. Or a wolf. Seeing if he was a friend or foe.

“I was your last choice? Ouch.” His hand went to his check in mock hurt. His voice was husked from sleep, the gravel of his tone making her stomach flip. She laughed slightly, backing off from him, distracting her eyes by taking in his rooms.

“No, I just...didn’t want to annoy you or bother you. You may have company.” She suggested with a dark tone, a smirk on her lips. She never saw the women he was with. He was discrete. Shuffled them in and out quickly. Never staying overnight. She didn’t know what his type was. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Just missed them.” He teased. “Come on, babygirl. You know you can always come to me, right? How long have you been up?” It was past four am. She debated just getting ready for the day. Still, she wore shorts and a thin strapped tank top, eyes tired and dark under her eyes.

“I haven’t gone to sleep yet...” she admitted.

“God, woman! Let’s go. Bed. Now.” He pointed, directing her to his bedroom. His tone threw her off, swallowing thickly as a slight arousal washed over her. No, no. She was tired and missing her papi. Her papi... she missed him. So so much. That was all. She wasn’t fighting a slight shaking of her thighs as he commanded her...

She obeyed his commands, biting her lip. The bed was messed as he had been sleeping. A half finished wine glass sat atop the bedside table. She looked to him, a suggestive smile, cheeky. He took care of his women.

“Long day.” He corrected. “Earlier was a joke. There were no guests over tonight beside you. You may rest easy knowing the sheets are virgin of a woman’s touch.

She blushed, turning her head. She crawled onto the mattress, the crisp white sheets smelling of him. He took residence on the other side, yawning deeply.

“Sorry to wake you. Thank you.” She met his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Get some sleep. I’ll protect you.” His eyes shimmered with something...she couldn’t place what it was. Her eyes traveled down his ink, awed at the dark marks. A smile appeared on his face, laying on his back so she could see better.

“Wanna touch em?”

“Can I?” She asked, slightly afraid to. He nodded, amusement on his features.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.im you’re attack dog, babygirl. Promise I don’t bite...that hard.”

“I do.” She mumbled without much thought, smiling sheepishly as she realized what she said. She avoided his dark gaze, instead looking at his shoulder. She reached out, running her fingers down his arm, tracing a head of a cobra. It’s tongue was frozen on its lower lip, fangs tearing up at her. He seemed to have a whole zoo on his arm. A flower bloomed on his forearm. On his elbow was a spider web.

“Do they have meanings?” She asked like a bewildered child. She was entranced by their beauty, the sexiness. She liked the pain when she was given her coat of arms. It was erotic and sensual. She fed from it. Did he like the pain as well?

“Some. A lot are drunken night when I was younger.” Christov answered, blinking slowly, wanting to capture this moment forever. Goosebumps rose where her fingers landed. She brushed over his strong hands, veins prominent. She nearly moaned, imagining his grip around her throat. Tattoos everywhere, even on his fingers.

“What’s...this one from?” She pointed to a bird on his wrist, pulling his hand closer to her to examine it.

“That was in Vienna. Maybe three years ago. I saw a bird while on the job and I liked it. I got the guy to draw it pretty exact.”

She met his eyes, nodding slightly.

“Pretty. Or...whatever you’re supposed to call men’s tattoos. Handsome?” She asked herself, laughing. “It’s sexy.” She decided finally. Next she went to his neck, tracing tentacles along his skin. Some type of octopus. They went all along his neck, to the back of it and spreading to his shoulders. She grunted slightly, motioning for him to turn. He did, lying now on his stomach. She straddled his back, licking her lips.

“This okay?” She asked. He chuckled. She could feel him underneath her...

“Yeah, baby.” God, his voice...

She prayed he couldn’t feel her arousal through her shorts, hating herself for feeling this way. She wasn’t his. He wasn’t hers. They worked together. Co workers. He acted as her protector... like a brother. But she didn’t want him as a brother right now... his boss was her boyfriend. Yet, she stayed as she was, moving up his back, scratching her nails gently back down. He sighed, eyes shutting as he relaxed. The day had worn him out. Running errands for his boss like a slave all day even though he was in another country. Leaving his Spanish flower alone...unattended....horny...it was almost as though he was asking for her to get fucked. Maybe that’s why he took ares. Because he knew they were frisky. He probably didn’t think that Lalienna would try anything with his other men. Hector was an obvious no. They were close siblings. Hector was her brother by association. It would be weird. She never thought of him that way. She didn’t really notice Christov either...she knew he was handsome. Sexy. But she hadn’t become aroused by him. Not until tonight. Tattoos...his tattoos against his flesh. The way his muscles contracted and expanded as he moved. Breathed. She was a mess.

Lalienna didn’t know what came over her. Whether she was possessed or simply went insane, but she bent down and kissed the back of his neck, tracing the ink with her finger. That was fine. It was a chaste kiss...but she didn’t stop there. Oh no... she kept going.

Her tongue then traced the tentacle under his hairline, clawing at his shoulder slightly. Maybe that was a bit risqué...but it could be fine. If she had stopped....

Kissing to the crook of his neck, hands roaming his back... she bared her fangs like the snake on his arm, sinking her teeth into the flesh above his shoulder blade. And she had moaned, rolling her hips involuntary against him. His eyes opened, moving his neck to allow better access for her lips. She was given permission, not denied this pleasure. Her lips ghosted his ear, whispering darkly.

“You’re my attack dog? Then attack.” Her sultry tone, her lips against his skin, her hands, her hips grinding against him drove him insane. He was quick to move, her falling against the mattress barely having enough time to react as he pinned her down, holding her chin. Those eyes. Boring into her, ripping her heart out, lighting a fire inside of her flower. She burned with passion and arousal, biting her lip suggestively, writhing underneath him slightly.

‘Do something....please.’ She eyed him. He growled huskily; it drove her mad, arching her back off the mattress to feel him...his erection. She shivered in delight knowing he was enjoying this as much as she was.

“You’re not my papi. But you can be my daddy for the night.” She whispered in his ear, tugging on his lobe as she brought her head back against the sheets. Another growl.

Papi was passionate. It was personal. An emotional name she had given Santino. Her caregiver.

Daddy held no meaning. Simply someone she wanted in the moment. Christov had been called daddy many times before by many women. He held that aura. He was powerful, strong, a daddy. He enjoyed it. It was a turn on. Maybe a fetish. And now...this young Spanish maiden was begging for him.

“Santino would kill me. And you...you know this, babygirl.” He said in a semi defeated tone. She shrugged, giggling.

“Yes, if we fucked.”

His eyebrow raised, catching her hint. Sex...what was the textbook definition? A male penetrating a female with his manhood... so...that meant that head and oral weren’t sex by definition...

That also meant that when his thumb found her erect nipple from under her shirt that...it wasn’t sex. It was fine. And, when but at her neck, that it was okay. She pushed him slightly though, shaking her head.

“No marks. No hickeys. Okay?” She grabbed his face, narrowing her eyes.

“Yes ma’am.” He answered, dipping his lower half of his body against hers. Her legs spread for him, wrapping around his waist. She rolled her eyes, laughing.

“You’re older than me, daddy.” She watched as his eyes darkened, lust washing over him. She smiled, nipping at his lower lip. She found the waistband of his pants, palming his arousal through the fabric. He groaned hotly, attacking her lips as he pushed her flat against the mattress. His hand snakes up her shirt, squeezing her breast over her bra. She thanked her past self for dressing in purple lace tonight. He was careful as his lips trailed down her body to her stomach to not mark her. She watched with intense curiosity as his tattooed hands ran up her thighs, up her shorts. She whimpered, shivering in ecstasy. She throbbed against his touch.

“Daddy...Christov...”

she had said his name before, sure. When’s he greeted him or wanted his attention. But never like this...the breathy pleasurable sigh. Like a prayer fleeting from her lips. He craved it.

She pushed herself up in her elbows, pulling him into a passionate kiss, her tongue dancing with his.

“Lay down.” She whispered hurriedly, lifting the tank top from her body, placing it to the side. She resisted the urge to fold it, shaking herself from the thought. She’d be fine.... no, she wouldn’t. She folded it, shimmying out of her shorts as well and folding them, returning to her dark lover of tonight. She adored his ink, kissing up his arms while she straddled his abdomen, his hands on her hips and pushing his groin up against her ass. The thin fabric of his pants and her underwear did little to interrupt grinding his manhood along her skin. She gasped, gripping his shoulders, biting her lip to suppress a moan.

“I want to hear you, princess.”

“We’re going to get a noise complaint, daddy. Besides, do you really think it’s a good idea to be loud when tony is not five doors down?” She now moved between his legs, but not before he pushed her down against his chest, grabbing her barely covered butt, bringing her heat hard against him. She moaned then, hiding her face in his chest as she sighed and groaned, nipping at his flesh in a frenzy.

“Fuck, daddy....”

her eyes traveled up to his as she kissed just above the fabric, licking her lips in anticipation. She wanted to taste him. Intended to. But he was faster, flipping them once more, tsking.

“No, baby. You’re the one who can’t sleep. Let me wear you out.” A dirty smirk on his lips. He dipped his head to lick up her flower above the fabric teasingly.

“Daddy!” She whined, gripping the sheets. He chuckled against her, nose rubbing against her bundle of nerves. Finally he ripped the fabric from her body, tearing the fibers. She gasped, panting in need. His tongue lapped at her opening, demanding her eyes. He would fuck her with his tongue and make her keep eye contact. Again and again he sucked, licked, teasing her with his mouth. Anytime she shut her eyes or moved them from his gaze, he would stop, waiting for her attention once more. She hated him for this, but quickly learned to keep contact, needing his attention on her needy core. She came hard against his tongue, nearly screaming his name along with a string of Spanish curses, gripping his hair. All while looking into those eyes. Christov licked her clean like a dog devouring a meal, moaning softly against her flower. She tried to protest against him continuing, wanting to repay him. He simply shushed her with a gentle nibble against her clit. That shut her up quickly, falling apart quickly after. She came three times before passing out from exhaustion, mumbling a Thanks as christov tucked her in, kissing her forehead. He held a sly grin on his lips, stroking himself slowly till he got off, the memory of her moans and taste still on his tongue being enough to send him over the edge. He fell back against the mattress, and Lalienna curled herself into him, sleeping soundly.

“All you gotta do is ask, babygirl. I’ll take care of you.” He mumbled into her hair, eyes becoming heavy as he too fell into a slumber.

The Keys to Our Rooms

Sable knew the truth. He was the first to review the security footage and show it to Jeremy. The Prince of Rome was hitting on the girl in Room 509. Her meal that night had been paid for by his cheque. One less to the bill for Mistress Clayton care of The Tower of London Miss DeMentriento had fine taste. Her plate was expensive. Seafood always was. Mr. D'Antonio was seemingly made of money. Powerful Italian. And spending it on luxurious food for a pretty lady as a means of impressing her was always on his charter. That was the way of things at The Continental London. Sable was busy reconciling the day's trading takings in order to process his paperwork for the bank. It was his business to know these things. What the guests ordered in the dining room. How many times they requested room service, laundry fees, parking charges, weapons acquirements, medical services, adult entertainment, night club access, private dancers, high class escorts. Accounts Payable, Administration. Everything went through his computers, through his records, though his ledgers, through his books.

And these room keys he handed his guests: They had a chip in them that unlocked doors the world never knew existed. Just like those gold coins that formed a silent currency in exchange for services rendered. Blood Money. Body Removal. Blood Money.

It became common knowledge, soon thereafter; that Mr. D'Antonio had proposed possible Camorra employment to Miss. DeMentriento. That was an exciting proposition for someone so young and so displaced from the world. The White Women, their new female initiates were bought and sold, traded like livestock. They were livestock. Expendable. Their purpose was to fight, breed, kill and die. But not here. Not in his house. Not in Jeremy's house. This hotel was a neutral ground.  House rules were simple. 'No Business Allowed' And their motto: 'An Oasis of Calm and Civility' Those were the words of The Continental London. The exact same as New York City, Rome, Barcelona, Morocco and Sydney. No matter where in the world you went. If you were part of the Gold Class Standard. Seven Stars of immaculate class and infinite style... If you wanted the Continental Experience. Then you paid the price. And you put your weapons away. And you did exactly as you were told. In exchange you got a luxurious room, as many meals as you could desire, a magnificent bar, gardens and hire cars. You got safety, security, peace of mind. You had bell hops, valets, maids, waiters, personal assistants, state of the art technology and the greatest underground entertainment anywhere in the world. It all came for a price. You wanted that gold card? You wanted the high rolling luxury? Black suits, diamonds and gold? Then yes, you paid in Blood Money.

Now only prime staff knew the truth. Sir Jeremy, the Owner/Manager. The Iris twins, reception officers and night club hostesses. And he... the Concierge. Sable.

He could gather from the records and security footage that he'd reviewed; extra footage that the High Guard exchanged for coin... exactly what was going on between the guests in Room 768 and Room 509. Mr. D'Antonio had taken a new employee to the D'Antonio Family. A new member for the Camorra High Guard. Everyone was very happy that Miss. DeMentriento, a complete underworld unknown; was secured into such a powerful house name. It would do her good. But Sable knew the truth. As did the Iris Twins. As did Sir Jeremy. That the Italian Prince was hitting on the girl in Room 509.

John Wick: Blood & Gold || I am John Wick

I am John Wick.

Excommunicato survivor.

Assassin.

Son of the Ruska Roma. Orphan of the World.

Servant of The High Table.

~ I TRADE gold for blood. For refuge. For peace.

~ I BLEED wrath. My sanity leaves me. I have you in focus.

~ I BIND souls in markers. In wedding rings. In faithful dogs.

~ I SERVE my vows. Determined purpose in high fidelity.

~ I BATTLE my conscience, your courage, the house that holds me.

~ I SURVIVE my penance. One piece at a time. Live for me. So I may take you down.

 I am John Wick. My history is written in Blood & Gold. I am the first to save you. I am the last to stand at your side.

 I believe in Black Angels.

I believe in Judeth Clayton. "

|| Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat ||

John Wick: Blood & Gold  || I am Judeth Clayton

“I am Judeth Clayton. Thirteenth Hand Maid of Iron Fortuna. I am to ascend the English throne. The twelfth seat of The High Table.

~ I BLEED love, hemorrhaging as a warrior, a lover, a wife, a mother.

~ I HONOUR my superiors, the Table, the Crown, my vows, your words.

~ I CHERISH the air I breathe, the time you spend, the bullets I shed.

~ I SERVE because I was born enslaved. These chains will not stop me.

~ I BREED resentment, hatred, glorious violence.

~ I YIELD because you saved me when I could not save myself. Now it’s you I serve when I should have drowned.

I am Judeth Clayton. My history is written in Blood & Gold. I am the first to save you. I am the last to stand at your side.

I believe in Black Angels.

I believe in John Wick.”

 || Fortis Forunta Adiuvat ||

Here’s My Card

A Gentleman’s Business Card.... For a bespoke gentleman. Mr. John Wick.