Angel of Death

A/N: A short prologue to start the story, the next chapter will be from Hermione's point of view. Enjoy :)

A tall man in an all-black suit and tie was standing in front of the enormous Continental building. A bag was slung over his shoulder and in his right hand, he was holding a leash. "Let's go in, Rose," John Wick said fondly, looking down at his pit-bull. The dog barked in agreement. Upon entering, the quiet whispers that filled the hall came to a stop. The only sound was the echo of his shoes hitting the marble floor. All eyes were on him as reached the reception.

"Good evening, Mr. Wick. It is a pleasure to have you here at our hotel again." The hotel manager looked over the counter down to Rose. "Of course, should you be on a business trip during your stay, rest assured we will take good care of your dog."

"Thank you. I really appreciate that." Under normal circumstances, pets weren't allowed in the Continental but after what happened the last time someone hurt his dog, no one was going to tell him otherwise.

The hotel manager gave him his keys and an envelope. "Enjoy your stay, Mr. Wick." He gave him a smile and John tucked the envelope into his pockets.

The suite was a different one from the last time he was there. He was grateful for that as he isn't particularly fond of the memories that go with it. John put his bag on the ground and unleashed Rose. He sat down on the king-sized bed and opened the envelope. In immaculate handwriting, it said, Black Velvet, 8 pm. John would recognize that handwriting anywhere.

At precisely 7.59 pm, he arrived at the restaurant owned by Winston. True to its name, black dominated the interior. John saw familiar faces at the occupied tables. A man with a shaved head acknowledged him with a court nod and a raised glass. Several weeks ago John completed a mission for him. After all these years, it still was an unfamiliar concept for him to be recognized; his name alone evoked fear and was well-known in his line of work. True to that, the smile of the blonde waitress in the short, red dress faltered for a moment upon seeing him, but she didn't lose her composure.

"Good evening, Mr. Wick. May I bring you to your Table?" She stretched her hand out, as if to grab him by his arm, but decided against it.

"Yes, thank you."

They walked to a secluded area in the back of the restaurant. She held up a black curtain and John entered. The small room was dimly lit and Jazz music was playing in the background. He greeted the man that was seated at the round table.

"Winston, it's good to see you."

Winston rose from his seat and gave John a firm handshake. "It's good doing business with you again. Please, have seat." When he smiled, several wrinkles appeared around his eyes and mouth.

A waiter brought them their drinks.

The older man fidgeted with his drink. Quite an unusual sight. "This mission is different than any other before. It's personal."

Now, John was intrigued.

"I want you to watch over my daughter for a couple of weeks. She's home for semester break and I can't allow for anything to happen to her."

John was truly surprised; he had never heard of a daughter before. "You do know that's not what I normally do, right?" He was used to killing people, sure, but to protect himself and another person was a different matter altogether.

"I know, but I wouldn't ask if I didn't know you could do this. John," he pleaded, "she's my only daughter."

For the first time, he saw him as something different than a business owner and ex-assassin: a father.

"What happened to her last bodyguard, then?"

"He was killed right after they arrived from England. I'm not sure who did it, but somethings wrong. " Winston licked his lips in deep thought. "There wasn't even a threat beforehand. She just escaped by pure luck. She doesn't even know what the Continental really is. She's devasta-"

He was interrupted as a young woman entered the room. Brown curls were cascading down her back and a black lace dress was barely above the floor. She placed a perfectly manicured hand on Winston's shoulder and said in a British accent, "Hello, father, is this the man you've been telling me about?"

As her hazel eyes met his and her lips curled into a smile, John suspected that she knew more than she let on.