CH-12. Lighting up the sky

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The driver became alert and immediately placed his right hand on his holster.

Morgan calmly stopped him, "Don't be nervous. Jason isn't stupid."

After thoroughly inspecting the explosives and confirming everything was intact, Jason nodded in satisfaction.

Morgan turned to him, "The goods have been checked. Time to pay up."

Jason gave him a strained smile, "Morgan, I've been a loyal customer. Can you give me credit just this once?"

"What?" Morgan's expression turned stern, and he frowned, "Jason, you know how the black market works. No one buys on credit."

Jason clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture, "Come on, man, just this once. I swear I'll pay you back within a week."

Morgan shook his head firmly, "No. Rules are rules. I can't make exceptions."

He then gave a quick nod to the driver, signaling him to take the suitcase away.

"Wait!" Jason's tone was more desperate now as he placed his hand on the suitcase, the weight causing the hood of the Mercedes to groan.

The driver attempted to pull the suitcase away, but despite his efforts, he couldn't budge it.

Morgan narrowed his eyes, "Jason, are you trying to pull something here?"

Jason sighed, "Of course not. If I crossed the line today, I'd be blacklisted across the entire underground network by tomorrow."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, "Then what are you suggesting?"

Jason glanced at him, "I want to change the location of our trade. If I'm lucky, I might just be able to secure the cash."

Morgan's interest was piqued, "Where exactly are you planning to go? Kingpin's place?"

Jason rolled his eyes, "Oh, please. Only a madman would go near Kingpin's place with fifty or sixty of his gunmen posted up. I'm heading to see Vladimir."

Morgan's interest didn't wane, "Revenge, huh? True Jason style. Tell you what—share some intel with me, and I might just make an exception and join you."

Jason raised an eyebrow, "I have something you'd find interesting?"

Morgan leaned in, lowering his voice, "Everyone in New York knows you and Kingpin had a falling out. You went from his right-hand man to his enemy. Everyone wants to know why."

Jason sighed, seeing Morgan's eager expression, "You profiteers, always wanting the scoop. This intel has to be worth more than three hundred grand."

Morgan grinned, extending a hand, "There's a buyer offering half a million for this story."

Jason was surprised, "I never thought New York's underworld was so into gossip."

"Tell you what." He continued, "Give me the C4 for free, and I'll count it as my performance bonus."

Morgan's smile vanished, "Pay up, or I'm out of here."

Jason shook his head in resignation, "Alright, fine."

He leaned closer to Morgan's ear and whispered, "While Kingpin was away on a business trip in Los Angeles, I slept with Vanessa."

Morgan's eyes widened, an incredulous look on his face.

"You're insane! You actually slept with Kingpin's woman!"

Jason quickly motioned for him to keep it down, "Quiet!"

The information was so shocking that Morgan looked dazed, his steps faltering. He clutched his cane for support, stopping himself from collapsing.

This info was worth at least a million, maybe more.

As Morgan tried to compose himself, Jason's phone buzzed. Vladimir was calling. Jason got back into the Ford.

"My men and weapons are ready. There are twenty-four of us, including me." Vladimir said.

Paul, seated next to Jason, asked, "What's the address?"

"It's the warehouse Kingpin set up for us. You know the one."

"Got it. We'll be there soon."

After the call ended, Jason's lips curled into a satisfied grin. He turned to Paul, "Alright, time to suit up."

He handed Paul a rigged set of C4 explosives to wear.

Seeing the string of explosives, Paul's breathing became rapid and shallow.

Jason, as he attached the explosives, reassured him, "Take a deep breath. Relax. You won't feel a thing. You'll be face-to-face with God in no time."

Paul took a few deep breaths, calming himself as best as he could.

With the explosives strapped on, Paul drove alone to the Russian mafia's base, while Jason followed in Morgan's Mercedes at a safe distance.

When Paul was about two hundred meters from the warehouse, Jason called him.

"Put your phone in your suit pocket so I can hear what's happening. When the time's right, shout as loud as you can."

Paul nodded, "Got it. Jason, remember your promise to take care of my family."

"Don't worry. I will."

Paul drove up to the warehouse door, where two Russian mobsters stood guard, rifles raised.

He stepped out of the car, raising his hands, "I'm here to see Vladimir."

One of the men spoke into his radio, "Boss, Paul is here."

"Let him in."

They lowered their guns, but one guard stopped him, "Hold on. Hand over any weapons."

Paul held up his hands, "I'm unarmed."

The guard chuckled, "Guess we'll see about that."

He reached out to pat Paul down. Panic flickered in Paul's eyes. If he discovers the explosives, the whole plan will go up in smoke.

Jason, watching from a distance in the Mercedes, clenched his fists nervously.

Morgan snickered, "Looks like your plan's going to flop."

In a split-second decision, Paul slapped the guard's hand away, "Get off!"

The two mobsters immediately raised their guns at him.

Paul dusted off his suit, sneering, "Is this how you Russians treat guests?"

"You're Jason's dog, not a guest." One of the guards spat.

Paul scoffed, "Then go talk to Jason yourself. I'm out of here."

As he turned to leave, Vladimir's voice crackled over the guard's radio.

"What's taking him so long?"

One of the guards explained, "He didn't want to be searched and is about to leave."

Vladimir cursed, "Idiot! Even if he's armed, we've got twenty men inside. Just let him in."

The guard grumbled but stepped aside, "Go in."

Paul and Jason both exhaled in relief.

Paul passed through a heavy iron door and into a dimly lit, two-story warehouse.

Inside, five vans were lined up, while mafia members loaded them with weapons—RPGs, grenades, the works.

Seeing Paul, they stopped, surrounding him with hostile glares. Some spat, others flicked their cigarettes at him, all itching to tear him apart.

Keeping his composure, Paul looked around and demanded, "Where's Vladimir? Bring him out."

A voice called from above, "I'm right here."

Paul glanced up to see Vladimir leaning over the railing on the second floor.

"As you requested, I've gathered the men and weapons. Now, tell me where Jason is."

Paul crossed his arms, "I don't appreciate looking up at people. Come down here and talk face-to-face."

The mafia men erupted in anger.

"Who do you think you are?"

"Jason's lapdog!"

Paul took it all in stride, unfazed by their insults.

Vladimir made his way down the stairs, chuckling, "You're bold, I'll give you that."

As Vladimir approached, Paul smirked, "If you want to make a name in Hell's Kitchen, you need guts."

Vladimir halted, suspicious of Paul's unusual calm. Something was off.

"Why do you want me closer?"

"I just prefer an equal conversation."

Vladimir's caution deepened. He replayed Paul's reluctance to be searched, and a chilling realization hit him.

"Wait—he's got a bomb!"

The mafia closed in on Paul, tackling him to the ground before he could move.

Pinned down and unable to speak, Paul's face paled.

Listening through the phone, Jason immediately pressed the detonator.

BOOOOM!

In the dead of night, a massive explosion tore through the sky, lighting up the New York skyline with a deafening roar.

BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM!