The next morning rolled around, and John woke up right on schedule—6:00 a.m. sharp. Groggy but purposeful, he dragged himself out of bed and decided to start with a long, hot shower. He'd cleaned himself up last night, but another rinse wouldn't hurt. The water pressure was dismal, barely more than a drizzle, but it was enough to shake the sleep from his bones and allow him a moment to clear his head.

Once he was done, he quickly dried off, tossed on a fresh set of clothes, and headed back into the room. Opening one of his duffel bags, he rifled through the contents, pulling out what he needed to stock his jacket with for the day ahead. Most of the items he'd worn last night had been ruined by the sewer water he'd slogged through; the filth had fouled them beyond use. But he was always prepared for this—he kept spares of his hunting essentials for exactly this reason.

This time, he'd be packing a few extras.

He tucked away his standard materials, then pulled out a ley stone, rough and weighty, with faint etchings glowing just under its surface. The stone would help him detect magical energy in his surroundings and, hopefully, give him a few seconds' warning if he was walking into an ambush. Next, he retrieved a small ward rune—a faintly metallic stone inscribed with protection symbols. If any sorcerer or warlock tried to set him ablaze or pry into his thoughts, they'd find it a lot more challenging.

Finally, he reached for something different—a crude, straw doll with wiry hair knotted into it. It was ugly, even by his standards, but he wasn't trying to win any beauty contests. He'd woven the doll himself, awkwardly binding it with a strand of witch's hair he'd...acquired. With it, he could ward himself against curses or hexes. Warlocks were unpredictable, and he couldn't afford to leave himself vulnerable.

Satisfied with his preparations, John grabbed his keys off the nightstand, pocketed the essentials, and headed out the door, the early morning sun casting long shadows across the parking lot. Whatever Helena had thrown him into, he'd be ready

ohn made his way over to his car, popping open the trunk and shuffling aside the various odds and ends he kept in there—nothing out of the ordinary on the surface. He lifted the false bottom and unlocked the compartment underneath, revealing his personal armory. Rows of meticulously maintained firearms glinted in the dim light, ranging from a reliable Benelli M4 to a hefty grenade launcher. Today, he wasn't looking for anything so bold. He reached for his Glock 19 and its holster, then took hold of the Sig Sauer MPX-K, compact but powerful.

Careful to be discreet, he quickly checked each weapon, making sure both were loaded, and grabbed a couple of spare magazines for each. Once everything was accounted for, he relocked the trunk and circled back to the driver's side. He took a moment to fit the Glock snugly on his hip while securing the MPX inside his coat, making use of the interior straps designed to keep it close to his body. He'd need to visit his tailor soon for a fresh jacket; this one was beginning to show its age under the demands he placed on it. That was a task for later, though.

As he settled into the driver's seat, John's mind turned back to Helena. He still didn't have a way to contact her or any clear intel on how to start the investigation, though he knew there were strings to pull if he looked hard enough. Right now, though, he had someone else to see. The Commission's estate was his next destination, and he needed a word with Lorenzo. If Lorenzo had known about Helena's mission, John wouldn't forgive him for keeping quiet. Under other circumstances, he might have met Lorenzo at his downtown office or even a restaurant, but the estate would ensure privacy—and, as much as he hated to admit it, would force Lorenzo's hand into giving him the answers he needed.

With a steadying breath, John put the car in gear, his eyes narrowing as he envisioned the long drive ahead. Today would be about pushing for the truth, no matter what layers he had to peel back to find it.

The drive took several hours, and during that time, John ran through different scenarios in his mind. This wasn't just about Lorenzo. No, Lorenzo wasn't the one who called in the favor, but if he'd known about it, he should have at least given John a heads-up. John was determined to sit down with both of them—Antonio, who had officially put him on this task, and Lorenzo, who could've warned him but didn't.

When he finally reached the estate, he eased his car up the long driveway, knowing the cameras were tracking every move. He expected to be met by guards; they'd probably assume he was here for routine commission matters. But given that he was openly opposed to taking on the assignment, they might also be questioning his intentions.

As he neared the high, formidable walls of the property, he saw a small guardhouse by the gate, and from it emerged a tall, familiar figure. The man wore a worn security cap, and his tan face looked focused, though he squinted as he studied John.

A grin crept onto John's face as he leaned out the window. "That you, Jimmy?"

Recognition dawned on the man's face, and a smile broke through his otherwise professional demeanor. "Oh, shit, it is you, John," he replied, moving over to shake hands. They bumped shoulders, and John could feel the warmth in the gesture. Jimmy was a button man John had known for years, a former enforcer for Richie who was now pulling security for the commission—a surprising change.

"Security now, huh?" John asked, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't expect you to be watching gates."

Jimmy chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Well, got married, y'know? Had to leave the other life behind. This is all right. Less messy, and nobody's gonna put a bullet in my back for it."

"Smart call," John said with a nod. "Hey, I'm here to see Lorenzo. And Antonio, too, if he's around. Need to clear some things up after that job at the mill."

Jimmy's expression turned thoughtful as he nodded, returning to the guardhouse. He pressed a button, letting Lorenzo know John was coming up. "Wait in the foyer once you're inside," he called back, a hint of understanding in his tone.

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John pulled his car up to the side of the estate and parked, taking a moment to absorb the sight of the place. More castle than house, it was surrounded by lush, manicured grounds and flanked by dense patches of forest. The property's heavy surveillance was disguised well, but John spotted it easily. With its Romanesque architecture and Italian Renaissance influence, the estate stood as a symbol of the commission's power—a grand and daunting structure that served as its home base.

As he walked toward the entrance, John passed a large statue in the center of a reflecting pool. It depicted two men shaking hands: the founder of the American hunters' branch and the progenitor Genovese from the commission. A glossy, romanticized version of their alliance that conveniently smoothed over the violent history between them. John smirked at the thought, recalling the bloody battles they'd fought before arriving at the "partnership" immortalized here.

Reaching the heavy doors, he took a breath. He was ready to have his say with both Lorenzo and Antonio, the ones who'd set this whole thing in motion.

John took in the grandeur around him, letting himself appreciate the details he usually overlooked. The walls were clad in polished mahogany, adorned with brass sconces and opulent paintings depicting a blend of old-world Italian heritage and modern power. Marble pillars stood at intervals, each one displaying a bust of a former family head, with reverence practically embedded into the stone. Lavish decorations lined the walls, an excess of wealth and legacy packed into even the foyer. It was wide enough to fit several men comfortably, each footstep echoing off the pristine tiled floor as John took his time soaking it all in.

Ahead of him, the grand staircase dominated the entry, splitting into left and right paths after reaching a platform halfway up. He'd only ever been to the top once or twice, usually when summoned to the room by Cornello, the former head of the family. Cornello was the one who'd always managed the commission's more intense affairs with a steady hand, but John knew he was bedridden now, a year into a terminal illness. In his place was Salvatore, Cornello's oldest, a man of authority but prone to his father's temper without any of his restraint.

John grimaced slightly, recalling a particularly heated incident between them. Sal had pushed his buttons once too many, leading John to lose his temper in front of several other commission members. The old man had smoothed it over, but John knew Sal had never forgotten—or forgiven—what felt like a public slight.

John forced himself to relax, settling into the moment. He was here for a purpose, after all: to confront Antonio and Lorenzo and find out what was really going on.

As John stepped inside, he was greeted by an unexpected scene: Antonio, Lorenzo, and—much to his annoyance—Salvatore. They were deep in conversation, with Salvatore's voice ringing loud and clear. He was lecturing Antonio, a tone of irritation lacing his words.

"Listen, you stupid bastard," Salvatore spat, "you need to get your head out of your ass. Settle your own damn debts and focus on the bigger picture. We've got bigger shit coming up than your little problems, and if you keep screwing that trollop down at the office, I'm not gonna keep covering for you when your wife starts asking questions!"

John leaned against the wall, rolling his eyes as he listened to the exchange. He could practically feel the tension radiating off Salvatore. When the man finally spotted John, his expression turned to one of disdain, almost as if John were an inconvenience. Lorenzo opened his mouth to greet him, but Salvatore cut him off with a dismissive wave.

"Look who decided to show up," Salvatore sneered, striding over with a swagger that made John's skin crawl. "What do you want?"

"I need to talk to you and Antonio," John replied, keeping his voice even despite the animosity swirling in the room. "It's about the job I was called in for."

Salvatore gave him a sharp look, sizing him up as if he were nothing more than a piece on a chessboard. The disdain was palpable, and John could tell Salvatore was itching to take a jab at him, but he held his tongue, perhaps sensing the seriousness of John's presence.

ohn began sizing up Salvatore. The guy was in his late forties, but the stress of the job had aged him a solid ten years. Still sharp—his face was all angles and a strong jaw. His hair was slicked back, ink black, adding to that "don't mess with me" vibe he had going. Dark, narrowed eyes surveyed the room like he was measuring the place, deciding what he could tolerate at that moment. He absentmindedly brushed his fingers over his slightly crooked nose, a detail that made John inwardly smirk, knowing he was the one responsible for that little imperfection.

Salvatore's attire was all black with clean lines—sharp cut, a quality that spoke for itself. A white shirt, no tie, as if he couldn't be bothered with unnecessary details. And that watch on his wrist? Expensive and flashy, a far cry from the old man's style. Nothing had changed; he was still the same arrogant prick.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of deliberation, Salvatore spoke. "Yeah, yeah, that's fine. You two can talk with him." He turned slightly, looking over his shoulder before swinging back around. "Don't take too long; I've got a couple of things to deal with. I'll be seeing you, John."

John half-heartedly replied with a "Yeah," hoping he could avoid Salvatore as much as possible. With a dismissive gesture from Antonio, they were led into a side room. John plopped down into a large, cushy chair near the bookshelf, while Lorenzo took a seat to his left. John considered standing but was quickly waved to sit; standing made them uncomfortable in situations like this. He figured that was fair enough, even though he wasn't thrilled about it. He felt the familiar weight of his weapon beneath his jacket, a comfort in a room full of uneasy allies.

Antonio started first, trying to defuse the tension before John could even launch into his grievances. "Look, John, I know you don't want to work with the Council, but I owe them a debt, and this covers most of it. I don't know what the hell they need done, but they wanted someone like you. I didn't want to owe another Hunter, and I know you're good at what you do, so I'm asking you to cover your favor."

John sneered, deeply annoyed that this was even a discussion. "You're asking me like it's a favor, Antonio? I don't give a damn that you've wrapped me up in your debts. It's not my problem, but you could have called me. And Lorenzo, if you knew he was gonna pull this shit, why didn't you just say something back at the Mill?"

Lorenzo scratched the back of his head, looking flustered and a bit embarrassed.

Antonio jumped back in. "Look, it was a last-minute thing, John! I need to cover my ass. I ran my debts up too long, and they were all over me about it. I called in my favor because I knew I was good for it; I played my card."

John was losing patience. "The hell do you owe them for, anyway?"

Antonio sighed. "We hit one of their places, took some valuable shit, killed a few of their people. One of those London freaks that was here. Didn't know it was one of their spots; thought it was just some side group, a coven or something. Turned out to be different. We sold that shit, owe them money back, and were trying to avoid a war. Couldn't afford that heat at the time, so I took it on a debt and told them I'd pay it back, but I waited too long."

John shook his head, incredulous. "Jesus fucking Christ, man. How do you accidentally hit a Council storehouse?"

Antonio shrugged, looking defensive. "It was an honest mistake! You know how the streets are. Information gets mixed up; sometimes you roll the dice and come up snake eyes."

"Yeah, well," John shot back, "you're gonna find out just how high the stakes are if you don't get this handled."

The atmosphere crackled with tension, the weight of unspoken threats and past grievances hanging in the air as the reality of their situation settled in.