Chapter 1

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.

"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 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 fingers caressed his glass of bourbon.

A thin smile graced John's lips; one he quickly chased away by downing his drink.

"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. Underneath the grand hotel where mob enforcers, assassins, even members of the High Table itself were granted a temporary safe haven, was the Continental Club. The multi-colored lights flashed, the jazz band was on top form, and the bar was full. It was two a.m. on a Sunday – many of his patrons were celebrating a job well done.

With a wry smile, Winston took another drink of his martini and went back to looking through his ledger.

†

Matilda Baier stepped out of the yellow New York City cab, and tilted her head back to stare at the hotel. She had heard stories of its grey stone façade, the gold 'C' embroidered on the canopy – a glittering refuge; but they had been just that: stories. She was facing the hotel for the first time herself. She couldn't help but wonder if she'd 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 had not seen him since she was a little girl.

Taking a deep breath, Matilda took her two suitcases from the cabbie and walked up the steps to the entrance. A doorman smiled and opened the door for her, ushering her into a different world. The first thing she thought upon seeing the lobby was elegant. Everything here seemed to have been meticulously picked and placed to emit a sense of old-world glamour and modern charm; from the wrought iron fencing behind the reception desk, to the circular fireplaces in intervals in the walls, no detail was out of place. It all seemed to fit perfectly, an eccentric's ideal décor. She immediately felt at ease, and at home.

She walked up to the long, dark wood desk, and was greeted by the well-dressed man standing behind.

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

"I've got…" Matilda dug through her handbag, looking for her invitation, "this," she finished; she produced a cream-colored paper with a gold 'C' embossed on the front. Inside the invitation was a copy of the letter she had written to Winston, and his reply. There was also a note of her reservation, stating the day and time to appear.

She handed it over and allowed the man to look through it a moment before he handed it back, typing something into his computer. His brow rose as he saw the manager's signature on the electronic reservation form.

"And how long will you be staying with us, Miss Baier?" The hotel manager asked as he clicked a few more keys on his computer.

"I hope not too long." She replied, her thin Southern accent covering her words like honey on toast.

Matilda had planned to stay here while she looked for a more permanent residence, but she had been wholly unprepared for the cost of New York living. The last year had been more a matter of spending money, and being unable to earn any. This had left her nearly penniless and almost no gold. Winston had charitably offered her a free stay, but she had insisted on owing him a Marker. Even though he was like a father to her she still had her pride. He had begrudgingly agreed, but insisted she stay as long as she needed to get comfortable. This would allow her to build her account, and her reputation.

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

"It is." She confirmed.

He pulled out a few informational packets and laid them across the desk.

"Just some light reading, to help get you started." He paused a moment before collecting them into a neat pile and handing them across the desk to her. "The packet on top you may find most helpful: it is a map of our facilities."

"Thank you very kindly Charon." Winston said, coming up silently behind Matilda. He placed a light hand on the young woman's shoulder, not quite believing that she was here.

Charon inclined his head and turned to grab Miss Baier's key. "It appears you are 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.

"Ahh." She understood now why the manager had seemed reticent to give her the key. She guessed that he placed the owner of the Continental in the highest regard, as did she.

"You have nothing to worry about Mr. Charon; I'll take good care of him." Matilda assured with a smile. Charon did not look very comforted by her bemused grin.

"Please, let me escort you." Winston took one of her suitcases and ushered her towards the elevator. He turned only to hand Charon a gold coin.

The black doors slid closed, leaving the two alone in the gilded box. The silence that filled the lift was not awkward, but strained. The last time Winston had seen Matilda had been right before he – Winston shook his head. It would not do to dwell on things that lay in the past. It had been a number of years, and the girl he often called a daughter had certainly grown. He hadn't been surprised when he heard occasional London visitors whisper her name; growing up around the business often meant it became a family affair. And Matilda's father had been extraordinary.

"I'm very glad to have you here in town." He said, looking to fill the quiet. "We'll be able to catch up now."

Winston felt a small fluttering of happiness when she smiled, and flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder.

"I would 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, mine just a bit further down the hall, should you require anything."

Matilda took her case from Winston and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you very much; you've been much kinder than I had any right to expect."

Winston acknowledged the fragment of years-old shame as it passed through. "My dear, the friendship your father and I had I shall gladly extend to you. I still consider you family, that much has not changed. Please ring Charon or any of the staff should you require anything. The Continental is here to serve your needs as long as you obey the rules."

Adopted family or not, the rules were important; if Winston let someone break the rules, soon everyone would; the world that he and Richard Baier had so carefully cultivated, would descend once more into chaos and madness.

The young woman nodded her head, understanding. "No business conducted on hotel grounds." She replied softly.

"Is the most important." Winston affirmed with a nod. "Read the pamphlets; you'll find them helpful."

She leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Thank you, il duca."

He bristled visibly at the old name, memories of his youth surfacing. He turned from her, covering his shaking right hand with his left.

"You are your father's daughter." He said.

"I saw you more than my own father, Winston. You had just as much an effect on my childhood as he." She reminded him.

Winston nodded, memories dragging to the surface. He often tried to forget his past, back when he had been another pawn in the game of the New York elite.

"You are right, my dear." He put a comforting hand on her shoulder, firm and steady. "One of these nights we'll get together down at the Club and talk." Matilda nodded her head, understanding that this was goodbye for the night.

"Goodnight Winston." She said, turning to unlock her door.

"Cara ragazza, I'm very sorry for your loss." He whispered over her shoulder. By the tightening of her muscles, he knew that she had heard. She closed the door with a soft 'click'.

Winston sighed, stepping down the hall to his room. He heard the telephone ringing, and management was always in.