Chapter 7 - THE WIRE OF SURVIVALThe digital numbers on the explosive device reflected red against Vincent Kane’s piercing eyes.
00:58... 00:57... 00:56...
“Boss, the wire harness is double-encrypted with a dummy tripwire!” Marcus’s voice shouted through the radio. “If you cut the blue line, it detonates instantly!”
“I see it,” Vincent replied steadily, his breathing slow and controlled, like a sniper lining up a one-thousand-yard shot. His hands didn't shake—not even a fraction of a millimeter. He pulled a specialized multi-tool from his tactical belt, extracting a pair of micro-wirecutters.
My mother held me tight against her chest, her face buried in my red hoodie, whispering a silent prayer as the seconds ticked down into single digits.
00:09... 00:08... 00:07...
Vincent didn't hesitate. With a sharp snip, he severed the secondary grounding wire just as the timer hit 00:03.
The red LED light flickered violently... and then died. The heavy, ambient hum of the electronics gave way to absolute silence.
Vincent let out a long, slow breath, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He tossed the deactivated explosive block onto the concrete floor.
“Threat neutralized,” Vincent said into his radio. “Sweep the upper level. Bring me Viktor’s direct line.”
Before Marcus could respond from upstairs, the heavy oak back door of the restaurant was kicked open with a shattering crash. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.
It wasn't Marcus.
It was Viktor Vanechkin himself.
Dressed in a pristine white trench coat, a gold-plated revolver in his right hand and a sickening grin plastered across his face, Viktor stepped into the basement doorway. Behind him stood six elite mercenaries, their weapons drawn and ready.
“Well, well, well,” Viktor sneered, his thick Russian accent dripping with sadistic amusement. “The great Vincent Kane, reduced to playing babysitter in a rundown diner for a penniless waitress and her brat.”
Vincent slowly stepped down from the table, placing himself directly between Viktor and my mother. His posture was relaxed, but every muscle in his body was coiled like a spring.
“You’re trespassing, Viktor,” Vincent said quietly.
“Trespassing?” Viktor laughed darkly, raising his gold-plated revolver and aiming it squarely at Vincent’s chest. “This city belongs to the Iron Cross! You think a few federal raids and a clever little work log can destroy my empire? I’ll kill you, I’ll kill the woman, and I’ll burn this entire block to ash!”
“You talk too much,” a small voice piped up from behind Vincent’s legs.
Viktor blinked, lowering his gaze in confusion.
I peeked out from behind Vincent’s tailored suit, holding Mom's work log in my hands.
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“My mom’s work log isn't the only thing with your name on it, Mr. Bad Guy,” I said, holding up a small USB flash drive that had fallen out of the C-4 casing when Vincent disarmed it. “Marcus told me that the flash drive has the passwords to all your offshore bank accounts.”
Viktor’s face twisted in sheer, unadulterated panic. “Shoot them! Shoot them all right now!”
