American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 124 Going Home
The supervisor held up two fingers: "We now have two hurdles to overcome. The first hurdle is to gain the recognition of the Moore faction's value and save your life. The second hurdle is to prove to the forces behind me that you are worthy of being recruited."

The supervisor stood up and walked to the window.

“These two moves are indispensable. If we only succeed in one, we will still be crushed by the pressure from the other side.” He turned to look at Medea: “Moore will sacrifice you to quell internal divisions, and the forces behind me will settle accounts with me for exposing my wolves.”

He walked back to the table and placed his hands on it: "In everyone's eyes, we're all in the same boat. The Moors see it that way, and so do the forces behind me."
-
New York, at dusk.

Beta gently pushed open the villa's front door, the hinges creaking almost imperceptibly. In the living room, the voice of a television news anchor echoed: "Latest developments in yesterday's Central Park shooting: One security guard has tragically died. The FBI held a press conference today..."

John, slumped on the sofa, turned around at the slight noise and met Beta's tiptoeing figure. Beta gestured towards the kitchen, where Matilda was facing away from them, intently working on dough, her apron covered in flour.

John glanced back and forth between the kitchen and Beta, then casually turned back to the TV screen and turned the volume down two notches.

Beta approached silently and stood behind Matilda, observing her "struggle" with the dough.

The stubborn dough kept changing shape under her hands, but it never gave in to the desired form. Matilda's kneading motions became heavier and heavier, and the apron straps rose and fell with her rapid breathing.

"Damn it—" she muttered through gritted teeth, then suddenly turned around, intending to vent her anger on John, whose TV volume was too loud, but unexpectedly found herself face to face with Beta right in front of her.

"Wow!" Beta deliberately widened his eyes in an exaggerated way.

"Ah!" Matilda sprang to her feet. She hopped and jumped like a startled rabbit, waving her arms wildly in the air, scattering flour like snowflakes. It wasn't until her third jump that she finally saw who this prankster was.

"Salong! You!" She blushed and was so angry that she couldn't speak coherently.

Matilda, her hands covered in flour, made two wild, jerky punches in the air as she angrily chased Beta around the marble island.

"Is this the welcoming ceremony you prepared for people you haven't seen in a long time?" Beta nimbly dodged, deliberately slowing his pace so that Matilda was always just an inch away from him.

Matilda suddenly turned around, grabbed the failed lump of dough, and hurled it at Beta. The dough traced an arc through the air.

Snap! Beta caught it steadily and delivered a beautiful backhand pass.

Matilda didn't have time to dodge; the dough hit her squarely on the bridge of her nose, exploding into a white firework. Her eyelashes and hair were covered in flour, making her look like a snowman.

“Saron Wick!” Matilda’s scream nearly lifted the roof off.

She hastily wiped her face, which only made the flour spread more evenly. Now she looked like a furious flour monster, chasing the laughing bastard around the living room.

Beta deliberately slowed his pace to let Matilda catch up. After circling the living room twice more, he stopped and turned around, taking several solid punches from Matilda. Matilda's fists slammed into his chest with dull thuds, and flour fluttered down between them.

"Is that enough to vent your anger?" Beta laughed and raised his hands in surrender.

Matilda snorted, puffed out her cheeks, and turned to walk towards the bathroom, leaving a trail of white footprints on the floor with her slippers.

John leaned back on the sofa, watching the two bickering, and smiled. He shook his head, watching the bathroom door slam shut with a "bang," followed by the sound of running water.

The news broadcast on TV continued. Beta sank into the sofa and casually picked up a bottle of whiskey from the coffee table. The amber liquid swirled in the glass, the ice cubes clinking crisply.

John asked, "Were you the gunman in the news?"

Beta didn't answer immediately. He took a sip of his drink and stared intently at the television screen. News footage was looping through the chaotic scenes of the shooting, with close-up shots of the candidate bleeding from a gunshot wound to his right cheek flashing repeatedly.

“It wasn’t me,” Beta finally spoke, tapping the rim of the cup lightly with his fingers. “If I had done it, I wouldn’t have left such a small scratch.”

He tilted his head back and drank the wine in his glass: "I just flew back from Italy, and I haven't adjusted to the time difference yet."

John glanced at Beta and nodded: "I understand, I was just overthinking it."

Beta picked up his glass, and Matilda rushed over, her face still wet, deliberately rubbing her cold hands on his face. Water droplets slid down Beta's nose, while Matilda laughed and jumped away.

Beta wiped his face helplessly. He and Matilda huddled together on the single sofa, pushing and shoving each other like two children, arguing over who had more room to sit.

John swirled his glass, the amber liquid shimmering under the light: "What was the first task Jaina assigned you?"

Beta held down Matilda's restless hand and turned to John: "So eager to get rid of me?" His tone was joking, but his eyes became serious.

John bent down to pour the wine: "Santino came again yesterday."

He paused for a moment: "The sudden withdrawal of support from the Eastern High Table seat has thrown him into a panic. Now he's urging the completion of the blood pact as soon as possible."

Beta chuckled, and Matilda took the opportunity to flick a few drops of water into his collar: "It seems our Santino is nothing but a coward at heart. No matter how fierce he pretends to be, he'll still run away with his tail between his legs when he smells blood."

John slowly swallowed the whiskey in his mouth. He set down his glass, the glass base making a soft thud as it hit the coffee table.

"Do you need my help?"

Beta raised an eyebrow: "Help with what?"

“Complete the task Jaina gave you.” John’s gaze was fixed on Beta.

Beta suddenly laughed, a hint of amusement in his voice: "Have you forgotten the terms of your deal with Jaina? She would break the blood pact, and I would stay in Italy forever. Now you're offering to help me complete the mission, are you implying that I should get lost sooner?"

John's gaze fell on the ice floating in his glass, watching it melt little by little, and finally he said softly, "I just wanted to make sure you were ready."

Beta’s voice was unusually calm as he stated a fact that had been predetermined: “From the moment I was born, as the son of John Wick and the heir of Gianna Antonio, and from the moment I grew up training in the theater, it was destined that I could not have an ordinary life.”

The living room light cast a shadow on his profile.

Beta raised his head, his eyes firm and clear: "So, if you're going to ask me if I'm ready, the answer is, I've been ready for a long time. Ever since many years ago, even before I knew what the word 'ready' meant."

(End of this chapter)