Chapter 157: The Ruska Roma
Ethan stepped out of the examination room.
Tatiana and the middle-aged woman had already left. Only the Godmother remained, standing quietly beside the reception desk.
The clinic was silent.
No voices.
No footsteps.
Just the three of them gathered at the front desk.
The Godmother looked at Ethan and asked calmly,
"How much do I owe you?"
Ethan thought for a moment.
"Ten gold coins."
The Godmother nodded without the slightest attempt to negotiate.
Reaching into her sleeve, she produced a small pouch and set it on the counter before gently sliding it toward Helen.
The moment it landed, it hit the surface with a heavy thud.
Far too heavy to contain only ten gold coins.
Helen instinctively reached for the pouch, intending to count its contents.
The Godmother raised a hand, stopping her.
"There's no need."
Her voice remained calm and measured.
"For a miracle like this, such money is insignificant."
Helen hesitated and glanced toward Ethan.
Ethan simply nodded.
The Godmother's gaze settled on Helen for a moment, as though confirming something.
Then she spoke.
"So you're Helen."
"A beautiful young woman."
She paused briefly.
"John was one of the children I raised myself."
"The fact that he found someone like you is a blessing."
Something stirred in Ethan's mind.
That sentence carried far more history than it appeared to.
The Godmother then turned back to him.
"My apologies, Doctor. Everything happened rather quickly earlier, and I never had the opportunity to introduce myself."
She inclined her head slightly.
"I come from the Ruska Roma."
"They call me... the Director."
Helen seemed to finally confirm a suspicion she'd been holding onto.
After a brief hesitation, she spoke.
"John mentioned your people before."
The Godmother's eyes shifted toward her.
"He never gave details," Helen continued.
"Just fragments."
"He once told me that he studied ballet as a child."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"He described it as 'the most brutal physical training imaginable.'"
Silence settled over the reception area.
John Wick.
Ballet.
Actual ballet.
The kind involving graceful spins, perfect posture, and delicate footwork.
Ethan's expression didn't change.
But inside his head, a completely different scene was unfolding.
John Wick rising onto the tips of his toes.
Maintaining flawless balance.
Executing an elegant pirouette.
The image alone was enough to make his scalp tingle.
A chill ran down Ethan's spine.
He almost shuddered.
Helen continued.
"He also talked about a woman."
"A very strict woman."
"Someone who never allowed talent to be wasted."
She paused.
"At the time, I thought he was just exaggerating to describe how harsh his childhood had been."
The Godmother seemed entirely unconcerned. She merely nodded.
"The Ruska Roma take in children and teach them how to survive."
"Our methods are harsh."
"But they are fair."
Helen lowered her voice.
"John once told me it was one of the few places in his life where he truly felt he belonged."
Something moved ever so slightly at the corner of the Godmother's mouth.
Not quite a smile.
More the quiet satisfaction of hearing an old effort acknowledged.
"He always had an excellent memory," she said.
Then she turned her gaze toward Ethan, who had been listening intently the entire time.
"John Wick was an orphan."
"He was raised among the Ruska Roma."
"He was accepted there."
"And shaped into a weapon."
Her tone remained completely flat.
"Eventually, he left."
"But blood and oaths do not disappear simply because someone walks away."
Ethan had been listening quietly until then.
Yet at that moment, he felt the distance between himself and the Godmother narrow ever so slightly.
"John isn't in New York right now," she continued.
"He's in Prague."
"I asked him to bring one of our children home."
"And now he's preparing to return."
Ethan looked at her.
"What happened?"
The Godmother fell silent for a moment.
Then she spoke a name.
"Eve Maccaro."
"Her father was once one of the Ruska Roma."
"He was a Kikimora, just as Eve is now."
"In Slavic mythology, a Kikimora is a spirit."
"For those with evil intentions, she is a bringer of ruin. Vengeful. Unforgiving."
Ethan narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Like Baba Yaga?"
"Yes."
The Godmother nodded.
"But to the innocent, she is a protector."
Her voice remained calm.
"Her father was a highly trained assassin."
"Then he fell in love with a woman he should never have loved."
"Her mother belonged to the Chancellor's Cult."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
The Godmother continued.
"Within the Chancellor's Cult, joining means belonging."
"It is not a choice."
"It is ownership."
"Brainwashing."
"Oaths."
"Commands."
"Absolute obedience."
"And there is only one way to leave."
"Death."
A cult, then.
Ethan kept the thought to himself.
He could already guess where the story was heading.
"After they had a daughter, he convinced his wife that their child shouldn't inherit that life."
"He tried to leave with both of them."
"He tried to end the bloodline."
She paused briefly on those words.
"He failed."
The sentence was short.
Yet it carried the weight of countless struggles and rivers of blood.
"They were found."
"His wife was captured and executed."
"He escaped with his daughter, but his injuries eventually killed him."
Silence settled over the reception area once again.
Helen unconsciously tightened her grip on the counter.
"Afterward," the Godmother continued, "we took the child in."
"We raised her."
"Trained her."
"Prepared her."
"She was intelligent."
"And dangerous."
"She grew into an exceptional assassin."
"Even more exceptional than her father ever imagined."
Ethan asked quietly,
"She learned the truth?"
"Yes."
"She encountered a member of the Chancellor Cult."
"All of them bear a cross-shaped scar on their wrist."
Of course they do.
Ethan thought dryly.
A secretive death cult with ritual scars. Why stop at Chancellor Cult? They might as well call themselves the Order of the Cross Scar.
"So she started following the trail," the Godmother continued.
Her gaze lowered slightly.
"And eventually discovered that the person responsible for her parents' deaths was the Cult's leader."
At this point, Ethan could practically see the rest of the story unfolding.
"You sent John to stop her?"
The Godmother didn't deny it.
"Yes."
"What Eve Maccaro intended to do could have triggered a war between two organizations."
"Her parents sacrificed their lives to give her freedom."
"They wanted her to have the right to choose."
"And she chose revenge."
"No one knew where the Cult's stronghold was."
"But somehow, she found it."
"So I sent John to bring her back."
Helen spoke softly.
"He didn't?"
"He did."
The Godmother shook her head.
"But before bringing her home, he allowed her to finish what she needed to do."
"She killed the leader of the Chancellor Cult herself."
That sounded exactly like John.
Ethan couldn't help thinking:
Why not just let John wipe out the entire Cross-Scar Cult while he was there?
Helen quietly exhaled, relieved to hear what sounded like a happy ending.
Ethan felt much the same.
"So what happens now?"
The Godmother answered immediately.
"Eve Maccaro has been marked for death worldwide."
"Anyone."
"Anywhere."
"For proof of Eve Maccaro's death."
"The bounty is five million dollars."
Ethan was silent for several seconds.
Then he looked up.
"So you're going to war with them?"
"If war can be avoided, it should be."
The Godmother's expression remained unreadable.
"But it may no longer be possible."
"Eve severed the serpent's head."
"But the body still lives."
"They will search for her."
"They may turn their anger against the Ruska Roma."
"Perhaps against anyone."
She met Ethan's gaze.
"So, Doctor."
"I'm telling you all of this for one reason."
"Be careful."
"This is neutral ground."
"But madmen rarely respect rules."
Ethan considered that for a moment.
"Do you need help?"
"I can provide support."
In his mind, the situation was absurdly simple.
Two teams entering a battleground.
One side has a healer.
The other side doesn't.
Easy win.
His Mass Resurrection was practically begging for an excuse to be used.
"No."
The Godmother shook her head immediately.
"Doctor."
"Remaining neutral is best for everyone."
Ethan sighed.
"Fair enough."
"If you ever need help, let me know."
After a brief pause, he added,
"After all, you're basically John's family."
Neither appeared to understand the expression.
The conversation should have been over.
Yet the Godmother made no move to leave.
Instead, she stood quietly in the center of the clinic and looked around.
"There aren't many people here."
"That's true," Ethan replied.
"Just Helen and me for now."
"John helps occasionally."
"But we manage."
The Godmother studied him for a moment.
"You will become busier."
"Far busier."
"Eventually, you won't have enough hands."
She paused, as if carefully choosing her next words.
"The Ruska Roma have many beautiful young women."
"They've trained in dance."
"They can serve as bodyguards."
"They know hardship."
"They understand discipline."
"And they follow rules."
After another brief pause, she added softly,
"Someone asked me to arrange a few girls to come work here."
The moment those words left her mouth, Helen immediately looked up.
Ethan blinked.
"John asked you?"
The Godmother shook her head.
She offered no explanation.
Instead, she gestured subtly toward Helen.
And judging by Helen's reaction, she seemed to understand exactly who had made the request.
"Doctor."
The Godmother's tone turned serious.
"If you ever need help..."
"The Ruska Roma will be there."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked out of the clinic.
The door closed behind her.
Leaving Helen standing there in thoughtful silence.
And Ethan completely bewildered.
Something told him he'd just missed an entire conversation that everyone else somehow understood.