Gotham Under Boogeyman Chapter 4: Helena Bertenelli.

Chapter 4: Helena Bertenelli.

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Carmine Falcone stood at the top floor of his penthouse, looking over Gotham’s skyline like a king surveying his empire. Behind him, John stood in silence, his presence heavier than the weight of the city itself.

Carmine poured himself a glass of whiskey, his voice steady. "Tonight, we end this war."

John said nothing. He waited.

Falcone turned, his eyes hard. "Kill every rival family extended or otherwise, old or newborn in Gotham. Tonight."

The words were final. This was no longer about eliminating competition. It was about erasing future threats.

John took a breath. No hesitation. No questions. Just acceptance. He turned and walked out the door. The hunt had begun.

Gotham was no stranger to violence, but that night, it became something else. It became a graveyard.

The Maronis were the first. Their compound in the Narrows—a fortress of steel and guns—became a slaughterhouse.

John moved like a shadow, weaving through corridors, knives flashing, guns spitting death. He never wasted a bullet. He never left a man standing. Headshots. Throat slits. Krav Maga death blows. Gun fu...precision kills.

By the time the sun began to set, the Maroni, Sionis, Cobblepots, some of Gotham's oldest families ceased to exist.

John reached the Bertinelli estate at midnight. This was the final target.

The guards never saw him coming. Five men down in under thirty seconds. Inside, the remaining Bertinellis, all men, huddled together—mobsters, killers, corrupt businessmen.

One of them, a man with gray hair approached. There was always someone trying to bargain with death.

"Welcome Boogeyman, I am-"

John slashed his head off and as the geyser of blood painted the walls, he cut through the rest like a blade through silk.

Until he reached upstairs and found her. Helena Bertinelli, the daughter of the late Head of the Bertinelli's who had died a year prior at the hands of his old arch enemy, Falcone himself.

The girl, Helena was bound and gagged in a chair, her milky pale face bruised, her brown hair matted, nightgown torn but eyes sharp with defiance.

John knew what this was. The Bertinellis had been betrayed. That's why he hadn't come across any women and kids- Helena's closest relatives were probably dead.

Their own allies must have sold them out. Helena wasn’t an enemy. She was a hostage, intended to be used as a bargaining chip.

He should have killed her but for the first time that night, John hesitated.

Then, without a word, he pulled out a knife—and cut her restraints. She looked at him, confusion warring with hatred. "Run," he said. And she did.

John turned back to finish his mission. By the time he walked out, the Bertinellis were no more.

When John returned to Falcone’s penthouse, Carmine was waiting. His expression? Cold. Calculated. Unforgiving. "You let the girl live."

John didn’t blink. Didn’t deny it. He'd known Carmine would have him followed. Still, he didn't regret it.

Falcone’s grip tightened around his glass. "I gave you one order. You left it at 99%."

John remained silent.

Falcone exhaled, shaking his head. "You’re good, John. The best. But you don’t make the decisions. I do." He leaned in, his voice lowering. "This is the final time I say this. You’re not a man, John. You’re a weapon. My weapon."

John’s jaw clenched.

Falcone smirked, tapping his glass against the table. "So now, you’re going to fix this."

John raised an eyebrow. Carmine’s smile widened. "You’re going to watch over Helena Bertinelli."

John froze.

"You’re going to keep her close. And you’re going to make sure she never becomes a problem. Buckle up boyo, you're now attending Gotham Academy."

John inhaled slowly. This wasn’t punishment. This was control. Carmine wasn’t angry because John spared Helena. He was angry because John had made a choice. And now, Carmine was punishing him.

John didn’t argue. He never did. He simply nodded. Because Carmine was right. He wasn’t a man. He was a weapon. At least, that’s what Carmine thought and according to him, John wasn't allowed to do so.

A day later, John was already in the student registry and had a uniform.

The next morning, John stepped onto the grounds of Gotham Academy. The most elite school in the city. Wealth. Power. Corruption. And now? A killer in their midst.

John adjusted his tie, his sharp suit hiding his inked skin. Students whispered as he passed. They didn’t know his name. Not yet. He hopelessly hoped they never would.

John never questioned orders. Not when he was a child on the streets, not when he killed his first man for Carmine, and not last night when he erased entire bloodlines. But this? This was something else.

Carmine wanted him to watch her. Not kill her. Not silence her. Just watch. John had nodded once, accepting the order. But in his mind, a thought lingered—Why?

Helena had been sent to Gotham Academy, the elite private school for the city’s wealthiest and most powerful families. While John enrolled as a student, he was anything but.

He didn’t attend classes. He didn’t speak unless spoken to. He was just there, watching Helena from the peripheral.

At lunch, he sat in the farthest corner, eating in silence. In the halls, he walked unnoticed until someone made the mistake of trying to test him.

When school ended, he followed after and watched Helena from a distance as she made way to her apartment-rented by Falcone so that he could keep an eye on her. It was barely a step up from being a hostage and Helena was clearly not thrilled to be associating with her Father's killer, but she didn't have a choice.

John protected her, made sure she wasn’t being followed. She never acknowledged him. But she knew.

Gotham Academy was filled with future politicians, CEOs, and crime lords’ heirs. Spoiled. Arrogant. Stupid. It didn’t take long, barely a week, before someone decided to challenge him.

A senior, big, built like a linebacker, backed by two of his friend.

John had been walking past the lockers when a hand grabbed his shoulder. "Hey, long haired freak. You think you're better than us?"

John didn’t answer. The second hand reached for his collar. John moved. One step back. A wrist caught, twisted. A scream. A foot to the knee—bone cracked. The kid collapsed.

His two friends lunged. John was already moving. A fist to the throat. A forearm to the jaw. A body hitting the floor. It was over in three seconds. John stepped over them and kept walking.

At the end of the hallway, Helena who was watching, tightened the grip on her books

By the end of the day, the entire school knew his name.

That night, he followed Helena to her apartment. She never acknowledged his presence before, but tonight she did.

The moment he stepped around the corner to her street, she was waiting. "What the hell do you want?"

John said nothing.

Her eyes burned. "You killed my family. And now you're watching me? Like I'm some kind of loose end?"

Still, John said nothing. He wasn’t here to apologize.

Helena’s breath sharpened, her hands clenched. She wanted to fight. To scream. Instead, she laughed, bitter and broken.

"You think Carmine owns me now?" Her voice was a whisper. "Like he owns you?"

John met her gaze. Then, finally, he spoke. "Go to sleep, miss Bertenelli. You have school tomorrow and a lot of home work to do."

A pause. She glared at him for another long moment, then turned and stormed off while John silently watched her.

For the first time in years John felt trapped. A sense that this city, Falcone was starting to control him. And John Wick didn’t like being controlled.

He turned around and walked home.

Helena should have been safe. Gotham Academy was locked down tighter than Blackgate and gangs knew better than to mess with Falcone's people. She never traveled alone and never went anywhere without John watching.

And yet, the moment she stepped out of the school gates that evening, they came for her. Four men. No masks. No hesitation. Falcone men.

John was across the street when he saw them move.

No time for a gun. Despite his initial surprise after recognizing them, he sprinted.

The first man grabbed Helena’s wrist to pull her towards a black van. She struggled, but they were faster, stronger.

John was faster. He crashed into the first attacker, grabbing his arm and twisting—snap. The man screamed. The second turned, pulling a knife—John sidestepped, caught his wrist, drove his elbow into his throat. The man hit the pavement, choking on his own breath.

Helena broke free, stumbled back.

"Shit! It's the Boogeyman! We gotta bail!"

The last two men turned to run for the van which was already pulling away. John pulled his pistol from his coat. Two shots. Both in the back of the skull.

The street went silent as the van ran off.

Helena stared at him, breathing hard.

"Why would Falcone men try to kill me?" she whispered having recognized them too.

John didn’t answer. Because he had no idea.

He didn’t bother hiding the bodies. He didn’t run out of fear of Carmine's punishment. Instead, he walked straight into Falcone’s club and let himself be taken.

The moment he stepped inside the main office, they were waiting. Luca Mahoney. One of Carmine’s oldest enforcers. A man who had always hated John.

He was the one who spoke first.

"This asshole killed our men," Luca growled. "I told you he couldn't be trusted boss. He's a goddamn traitor!"

John stared at him, unblinking. Carmine sat in his chair, fingers steepled, watching. "John," he said slowly. "Tell me why my men are dead."

John didn’t hesitate. "They tried to kill Helena."

Murmurs rippled through the room. Luca stepped forward, sneering. "And we're just supposed to take his word for it?"

John met his eyes. "Yes. Unlike you, I have no reason to lie."

"You little..."

Luca lunged, his knife flashing out. John didn’t move. Because Carmine spoke first. "Enough."

The room went still, the Blake's edge inches from John's neck.

Carmine leaned forward, eyes cold.

"One of you is lying," he said. "And I don't tolerate liars." He gestured to the open floor. "Settle it. Knife to knife."

John exhaled slowly. Luca grinned. The room cleared.

"I been looking forward to this, you little creep..." Luca stepped into the circle, rolling his shoulders, twirling his knife. He was bigger. Meaner. But John wasn’t a man. He was a weapon.

He stepped forward, his own blade held low. Carmine raised a hand. "Begin."

Luca moved first, fast, a slash aimed at John’s ribs. John sidestepped, twisting his body instinctually, knife slashing up.

Metal scraped against metal. A quick dance. A fight to the death.

And John Wick never lost.

Luca was nimble, but John was just...too good.

Luca’s blade slashed through the air and missed as—John's own knife sliced across his forearm. A shallow cut. A warning.

But Luca didn’t stop. He rushed in again, aiming for John’s ribs with quick stabs. John caught his wrist in a Judo hold and twisted-snap.

Luca screamed as his wrist broke, the knife falling from his fingers.

John didn’t let go. With his free hand, he drove his knife into Luca’s thigh, twisting it deep.

The older man collapsed to his knees, gasping in pain. Blood poured onto the floor.

John stared down at him, silent. He could end it here. A simple cut to the throat. But that wasn’t enough. Luca had tried to kill Helena. And for some reason that pissed him off. So John made him suffer.

He gripped Luca’s hair, yanked his head back—and stabbed him in the stomach. Luca choked, eyes wide. John withdrew the knife slowly, letting him feel it. Then he stabbed again. And again. And again.

Until Luca stopped breathing.

John stood, covered in blood, knife dripping onto the floor. He turned to Carmine. "It's done."

Carmine nodded, unfazed. The rest of the room remained silent. They had just witnessed a monster at work. And they feared him more than ever.

"Now that the show is over, clean up the garbage on my mat and leave us." The boss gave the order.

Now alone, John sat in the chair across from Carmine, still streaked with Luca’s blood.

He didn’t bother cleaning up. Neither did Carmine.

The old man poured himself a drink, swirling the glass. "I know you’re wondering why Luca tried to kill Helena."

John didn’t respond.

Carmine smirked. "So I’ll tell you." He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. "The Bertinelli girl is worth more than just her name. You did good by not killing her."

John listened.

"When she turns eighteen, she inherits everything that belonged to her family. Money. Territory. Connections."

John said nothing.

Having expected it, Carmine chuckled. "But most importantly—she inherits a seat at Gotham’s most powerful table." He swirled his drink again. "Ever heard of the Court of Owls?"

John’s fingers tightened on the armrest. He had never dealt with the Court, but the name was whispered in the shadows. A secret high society of Gotham’s wealthiest, most influential elite and their Talon super warriors.

John had seen something like it before. The High Table from his past life.

Carmine watched him closely. "That’s why I had you watch over her," he said. "Because when the time comes, the Bertinelli bloodline needs to stay in the family."

John exhaled through his nose. "Not her inheritance. You want the Owl seat."

Carmine smiled. "You don’t talk much, but when you do, you sound wise beyond your years."

John didn’t react. He already knew what Helena would say.

"She won’t agree to it." John muttered.

Carmine’s smirk widened. "That’s where you come in."

John finally looked at him, a sinking feeling gripping him.

"When the time comes, you’re the one marrying her."

The office went dead quiet. John didn’t blink. Didn’t react.

Carmine leaned back, satisfied.

"Change her mind, John." He raised his glass. "You always get the job done."

John sat there, saying nothing. For the first time as Carmine's ward, weapon and instrument- he wasn’t sure if he liked his orders.