Chapter 1

March 2016

Underneath the grand hotel where mob enforcers, assassins, even members of the High Table itself were granted a temporary haven – was the Continental Club. The loud jazz band played, as they did every night, on the Continental club stage. There was a relaxed atmosphere here, more so than other clubs in New York city. People came to the club at the New York Continental to unwind and relax, with simple conversation shared over small tables. There was a modest dance floor with small colored lights that flashed from the stage. The room itself was dark, with candlelight from each table helping light the occupants. There were bulbs in red glass chandeliers that hung from above, every few feet, that contributed to the ambience. Winston had designed it himself when the hotel had undergone renovations six years ago. He glanced around again at the full room. It was two a.m. on a Sunday: many of his patrons were celebrating a job well done.

Winston turned a sharp and caring eye on the younger man sitting in the booth across from him. He swirled the dry martini in his hand as he spoke, the stirring motion of the olives almost hypnotic, candlelight reflected off his glass.

"You're checking out tomorrow?" His cool English accent calmed the jerking knee of his guest.

"Yes, that's right," the quiet voice of his companion confirmed. Winston had to strain to hear the gentle tones of his voice over the music.

He harrumphed. There was not much talk that could be gotten out of John Wick these days. Two years after the ordeal with the Tarasovs, Winston noticed John becoming more of a familiar face around the Continental. When he had tried to acquire information about John's status, all he could learn was that Mr. Wick was now an executioner for hire. He'd shed the old strings of working for a mob boss and answered only to himself now. Winston wondered if that was really what was best.

"An easy job then?" He questioned, noting the careful way John's fingered caressed his glass of bourbon.

A thin smile graced John's lips: one he quickly chased away by finishing his drink in a single gulp. The alcohol burned his throat as it went down, spreading a heat through his chest as it lingered.

"I'll see you around Winston." He mumbled.

Winston stared as John stood and seemed to lumber through the crowd, and out of the club. This way of life is killing him, he thought with a shake of his head. He stared around him at the legacy he had created. The legacy that he had protected, even when others had tried over the years to take it from him. With a wry smile, Winston took another sip of his martini and went back to looking through his ledger. The job of Manager meant he often had his hands full, and he had a special guest arriving that week. He had to make sure things were in order for her arrival.

†

Matilda Baier stepped out of the yellow New York taxicab and tilted her head back to stare at the hotel. The honking of horns and the shouting of the city behind her seemed to fade as she looked. She had heard stories of its grey stone façade, the gold 'C' embroidered on the canopy – a glittering refuge for those like her. But they had been just that: stories. She was facing the famed New York Continental for the first time herself. She couldn't help but wonder if she had made the right decision in coming here. There was nothing left for her in London. Winston was the only family she knew anymore, but she hadn't seen him since she was a little girl. What would her reception be like?

She took a deep breath, inhaling the smells of cigarette smoke and gasoline that seemed to accompany the city. Matilda took her two suitcases from the cabbie and walked up the steps to the hotel doors. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she ascended. The doorman smiled and opened the door for her, ushering her into a different world. The first thing she thought upon entering and seeing the lobby was elegant. Everything here seemed to have been meticulously picked out and placed to emit a sense of old-world glamour, and modern charm. From the wrought iron fencing behind the concierge desk, to the circular fireplaces at intervals in the walls, no detail was out of place. It all seemed to fit perfectly when none of it should have gone together at all. She immediately felt at ease, and at home. She took a steadying breath and was delighted to smell cinnamon and vanilla in the air.

Matilda threw her shoulders back and walked up to the long, dark wood desk. She was greeted by the well-dressed man standing at attention behind. He had dark skin, black rimmed glasses, and wore a tailored slate grey suit. He looked like the personification of efficiency.

"Hello miss," his cool accent further assured her, as he clasped his hands together on the desk. His full attention was on the woman in front of him. "How may I be of service?"

"I've got…" Matilda dug through her handbag, looking for her letter. …" this," she produced the letter with a small smile and handed it to the concierge. He took from her the cream-colored envelope with the gold embossed 'C'. Inside was a copy of the letter she had written Winston, his reply, and a printed copy of her reservation at the Continental. He had told her to bring all these things for the concierge, Charon.

He took a moment to glance at the papers, his dark eyes giving nothing away as he read. He folded it back inside the envelope and handed it back with a sharp nod. He turned to his computer and began typing, his fingers deftly stroking across the keys. His brow rose but a fraction when he saw the manager's electronic signature on her reservation form.

"And how long will you be staying with us, Miss…Baier?" The concierge asked as he typed a few more things into the computer. He smiled up at her as he noticed her name. He understood then why the Manager had arranged a stay for this woman.

"I hope not too long." She replied. Her accent covered her words like honey on toast, syrupy and sweet. He cocked his head a little to the side, straining to listen. It sounded like a mix of intonations, southern United States mixed with an upper crust English accent.

Matilda had planned to stay here while she looked for a more permanent residence but had been wholly unprepared for the cost of New York living. The last year had been hard; she'd worked as much as she could, made as much as she could…but it had been a costly time in her life. She was left nearly penniless, and with only a few gold coins to her name. Winston had charitably offered her a free stay, but she had insisted on owing him a Marker. Her pride wouldn't allow her the charity, even if he was family…like a father to her. He had begrudgingly agreed, but insisted she stay as long as she needed to get comfortable. This would allow her time to build her account, and her reputation. It would also allow Matilda time to fully understand her role in this new world. What it truly meant to serve, and to be of service.

The concierge smiled as he continued to stare at the screen. "And is this your first visit to the Continental?"

"It is." She confirmed, fiddling with the handle of one of her suitcases.

He pulled out what looked to be a few brochures and fanned them out on the desk in front of her. "Just some light reading, to help you get started." He paused a moment so she could give them a cursory glance, before bringing them together in one neat pile and handing them to her. "The one on top you may find most helpful – it is a map of our facilities."

"Thank you, very kindly Charon," Winston intoned, walking up to join the pair at the front desk. He put a timid hand on Matilda's shoulder and smiled at her, not believing his eyes.

Charon inclined his head politely and turned to get a room key for the young lady. "It appears you are staying…in room 1002." He looked hesitantly in the manager's direction.

"It's the only other room on the tenth floor Miss Baier. Apart from mine." Winston explained. He removed his hand from her shoulder and held it out to Charon for the key.

"Ahh." Now she understood the concierge's hesitation. The relationship between manager and concierge was not to be taken lightly in their world. It was akin to a holy union, a partnership. It was something this man seemed to take even more seriously than her understanding of the position required. "You have nothing to worry about Charon. I'll take good care of him." Matilda assured him with a small smile.

Charon did not look comforted but handed the key to Winston anyway. She imagined it took a lot to get into the concierge's good graces. Especially where Winston's safety was concerned. Matilda reached down to grasp her suitcases, giving Charon another disarming smile.

"Please, let me escort you." Winston took one of her suitcases by the handle and ushered her towards the elevator. He turned only to flick Charon a gold coin before they departed. Charon deftly caught in between three fingers and slid it into his pocket, his eyes following their journey to the elevator.

The black doors slid closed, leaving the two alone in the gilded box. The silence that filled the lift was strained, filled only by the soft jazz that played through the speaker. The last time Winston had seen Matilda was before he – Winston shook his head. It would not do to dwell on things that lay in the past. It had been several years, and the girl he called daughter had certainly grown. He had been surprised to get her call, a little over two years ago, asking for a job; or who to get in touch with who could give her one. He looked up at her face out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't been surprised when he'd heard some London visitors over the last couple of years whisper her name. Growing up around the business often meant it became a family affair. It only followed that daughter would become like father.

"I'm very glad to have you here in town." He said to fill the quiet. And because it was true. "We'll be able to catch up now."

Winston felt a small fluttering in his chest when she gave him a small smile and flicked a strand of red hair over her shoulder. "I'd like that very much." She said, looking over at him.

"The tenth floor dear." He announced as the doors opened with a shrill 'ding'. "Your room is here," he pointed to a set of double doors on the right side of the hall. "Mine is just here if you need anything." He pointed to a matching set of doors on the left, a little farther up the hall.

Matilda took her case and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, you've been far kinder than I had any right to expect." She hadn't spoken to him at all in nearly ten years when she had reached out to ask for his help. Then she hadn't spoken to him for two more, until she had reached out again. She felt guilty about that.

Winston acknowledged the fragment of shame as it passed; that was the thing about shame and guilt: it only grew stronger the older it was. "My dear, the friendship I had with your father didn't die with him. I still consider you family. That much hasn't changed." He let out a small sigh. "Please ring Charon or any of the staff should you require anything. The Continental is here to serve your needs, so long as you obey the rules." He reminded her sharply.

Adopted family or not, the rules were important. If Winston let someone break the rules, soon everyone would be asking for exceptions. The world that he and Richard Baier had so carefully cultivated would descend rapidly once more into chaos and madness.

Matilda nodded her head once in understanding. "No business conducted on Continental grounds." She parroted softly.

"Is the most important." Winston agreed with a curt nod. "Read the pamphlets – you'll find them helpful."

She leaned in to give him a quick, one-armed hug. "Thank you, Winston."

"Of course, my darling." He brought a papery hand to her smooth cheek. "I wish of course, that you coming to me was under better circumstances, but what is a father for, if not to catch his daughter when she falls."

Her amber eyes took on a hard glint, but he could see the softness behind them. Could see the threat of tears on her lashes as she stared him down. "I've had a long flight from London. I'm going to rest now." she intoned softly. Matilda pulled away from him and turned towards her rooms.

"I'm very sorry for your loss." He whispered, as she approached her door.

By the stiffening of her shoulders, he could see that she heard. He turned sharply and walked back towards the elevator. She was in her rooms with the door locked before he had even pressed the call button. Winston shoved both hands in his pockets while he waited, the stillness of the air unsettling. He wouldn't push her, but he wanted to know what had his girl on edge like this. He wanted to know what had set her on this path after he and Richard had agreed they would do everything in their power to keep her out of this life. And here he was, the one ushering her into with open arms.

He sighed and shook his head. It would have been easier had there been two of them. He and Richard against the world, protecting their interests, their hard-work, and their daughter. He inhaled sharply and cut off that line of thought as the elevator arrived. He didn't have time for wishful thinking, and it was a luxury that wasn't his right. Winston pressed the button to take him back down to the lobby, music caressing his tired mind. You didn't murder your best friend and then wonder what the world would be like if he was still here. It was gauche.