American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 163 Two British Visitors
The New York skyline gradually came into view outside the porthole.

When the plane landed at JFK Airport, Beta's identity had been completely transformed, from a former shady assassin into a rising star in the underworld who could walk in the sunlight.

At the airport exit, two black Cadillacs sent by the Continental Hotel in New York had been waiting for a long time.

The bald black receptionist respectfully opened the car door. When Beta bent down to get in, he discovered an unexpected passenger in the back seat: Charles Weston, the owner of the Continental Hotel in New York, who was leisurely sipping a glass of whiskey.

“Welcome back to New York, Mr. Wick.” Weston raised his glass in a gesture of acknowledgment. “I think it’s time to get to know each other again.”

Two black sedans slowly drove away from the airport, with the car behind, in which Katalia was riding, maintaining a perfectly good following distance.

Weston gently swirled his wine glass.

“I’ve long anticipated this day.” Weston’s gaze pierced through the car window, looking towards the distant Manhattan skyline: “As Gianna’s son, of John Wick’s blood, you are destined to walk this path.”

He took a sip of whiskey, the ice cubes clinking crisply in the glass.

Beta didn't pick up on that topic, instead asking, "I heard Santino was shot in the head in the Grand Hotel?"

A playful smile appeared on Weston's lips: "If anyone else had asked this question, I would have said it was utter nonsense."

He put down his glass and looked directly into Beta's eyes: "But since you asked, yes, that's true."

Beta raised an eyebrow slightly: "Are you just going to stand by and watch?"

Weston laughed, a hint of helplessness in his voice: "Your father entered the hotel in his official capacity as a High Table Council Inquisitor, carrying the Antonio family crest."

He stroked the rim of the wine glass: "Not to mention the order given by your mother herself."

He leaned forward: "According to the ironclad rules of the High Table Council, obstructing a judge from performing his duties is tantamount to declaring war on the entire underworld."

Weston made a throat-slitting gesture: "I don't want to be eliminated because of this."

Beta fell silent, his mind flashing back to the moments he had spent with Santino.

In fact, there were no memories between them whatsoever. This so-called uncle was hostile to him from the very beginning. Shortly after Beta was born, Santino was involved in the "Cradle Incident," nearly drowning him while he was still an infant.

The New York street scenes outside the car window flashed by, and now that I think about it, this ending may have been destined more than 20 years ago.

Weston put down his glass: "Several guests at the hotel want to see you, but whether you see them or not is entirely up to you."

"Who is it?" Beta's gaze remained fixed on the view outside the window.

“Two Englishmen.” Weston tapped his fingertips lightly on his knee. “I had my men check. They’re from MI6.”

Beta chuckled upon hearing this: "What? Did you come here specifically to arrest me?"

“Unless they’re tired of living.” Weston scoffed. “They came with gifts and were quite respectful. But it is indeed related to the Downing Street assassination.”

Beta finally turned around: "It seems they have some intelligence?"

“Santino must have leaked something before he died.” Weston calmly adjusted his cuffs. “But relax, in New York, unless the British send troops to land, no one can lay a finger on you.” “Interesting,” Beta said, his three words carrying multiple layers of meaning for Weston to discern.
-
Continental Hotel New York.

Beta calmly ascended the steps, followed by hotel security personnel. This time, he no longer needed to disguise his identity or sneak in through the back door; as the heir to the Antonio family, he entered openly through the front door.

The hotel doorman respectfully opened the door.

Beta nodded slightly and, surrounded by the crowd, walked through the magnificent lobby. The light from the crystal chandelier shone on his suit. The elevator doors slid open, and he stepped into his private elevator. All the security personnel stopped in unison; from this point on, only those in true positions of power were qualified to proceed.

Beta extended her hand, her fingers slightly spread. Katalia, standing outside the elevator, understood and stepped forward. Her black velvet dress accentuated her graceful curves, the hem swaying gently with her steps, shimmering under the hotel lights.

She placed her hand in Beta's palm, and Beta closed his fingers, steadily leading her into the elevator.

Katalia leaned close to Beta, her perfume, a blend of tuberose and cedar, growing richer in the enclosed space. Beta's fingers gently caressed her palm, feeling the warmth of her soft skin.

As the elevator ascended smoothly, Katalia observed the two figures standing side by side through the reflection in the mirrored wall. Beta wore a well-tailored dark suit, and the lines of her legs, faintly visible beneath her skirt, were perfectly proportioned to the stiletto heels of her high heels.

When Beta and Katalia arrived at the top floor, Weston had already been waiting in his office for a long time.

The manager obviously took the direct elevator from the back first, since he didn't need to announce the arrival of the Antonio family heir to the whole of New York like Beta did.

The solid wood door to the office opened, and Weston stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, holding a glass of water. The Manhattan skyline unfolded behind him, like a dazzling galaxy.

As he turned around, the water swayed gently in the glass.

"Were you satisfied with the welcoming ceremony?" Weston asked pointedly.

“Obviously,” Beta said, glancing at the two Englishmen who had risen from the sofa to greet him in the office.

He walked straight to Weston's office chair, who tactfully stepped back, yielding this symbol of power to the new crown prince. Katalia stood behind Beta, her hands lightly resting on his shoulders, scrutinizing the two strangers.

The woman was around forty years old, with long, golden-brown hair tied in a ponytail. Her well-tailored pencil skirt accentuated her toned calves, a result of years of professional training and muscle memory.

Beta felt like she had seen this face somewhere before, but couldn't quite place it.

The man beside her was in his early fifties, dressed in a sharp black suit, exuding the meticulousness of an old-school British agent. His eyes held a deep, unfathomable cunning, and even his polite smile seemed carefully calculated.

Beta leaned back in the leather seat, tapping her fingertips lightly on the armrest, waiting for the other person to break the silence first.

The man took a half step forward: "Mr. Saron Wick, please allow me to introduce myself. I am Charles Brooks, Director of Special Operations, MI6."

He turned slightly to the side, gesturing to his female companion: "This is Team Leader Mavis Lake, and also my fiancée."

Beta raised his chin, signaling to continue.

Charles took a gold-embossed envelope from his pocket and presented it to the desk with both hands: "Our main purpose in coming here is to present this coronation gift. Congratulations on your official return to the Antonio family."

The wax seal on the envelope gleamed with a dark red luster under the light, and the pattern of the emblem was faintly visible.

(End of this chapter)