The night air in Rome was thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder. The bodies of your family lay scattered across the grand estate, their reign over the underworld ending in a silent massacre. John moved through the carnage with precision, his pistol still warm in his grip. He had done what he was paid to do-eliminate the most powerful mafia family in Italy. The only thing left was you.

He found you in the corner of your father's office, hidden behind a heavy mahogany desk. Your breath was shaky, your wide eyes locked onto the man who had just dismantled everything you'd ever known. John Wick was a name spoken in hushed tones, a myth and a nightmare wrapped in a man. And now, he was standing before you, his expression unreadable, but laced with sympathy.

He should've pulled the trigger. It would've been easier. But instead, he holstered his gun.

"Come on. Let’s go," he said, his voice low, final.

There was no room for argument. He didn't know why he was sparing you, not yet. Maybe it was mercy. Maybe it was something else. But as he led you away from the ruins of your past, one thing was certain-your life, as you knew it, was over. And whatever came next was entirely in his hands.