Chapter 7 - THE THREE-MINUTE WARNING
The crunch of the plastic phone beneath Vincent’s shoe sounded like a gunshot in the tense room.
Marcus stopped laughing. His eyes widened in genuine panic. “What are you doing? You can’t disarm it! My men have the detonator code outside!”
“I don’t care,” Vincent said coldly. He turned his back on Marcus entirely.
“Evacuate!” Vincent roared to his men. “Get the cars to the alley! Now!”
The restaurant erupted into controlled chaos. Vincent’s guards moved with military precision. They didn’t bother untying Marcus or David’s men; they simply grabbed them by their collars and dragged them roughly toward the back exit.
Vincent sprinted back to us. He didn’t wait for my mother to stand. He scooped me up in his left arm, wrapping me tightly against his chest, and grabbed my mother’s hand with his right.
“Run,” he told her.
We bolted toward the kitchen doors.
“Wait!” David Sterling screamed from the floor, struggling against his zip-ties. “Don’t leave us here! Please, God, no!”
Marcus was thrashing, his eyes locked on the kitchen where his own bomb was ticking. “Vincent! You can’t leave me! Take the ledgers! Keep her! Just get me out of here!”
Vincent paused at the kitchen doors. He looked back at the man who had murdered his brother.
“You wanted to burn this place down, Marcus,” Vincent said softly over the chaos. “So burn.”
Vincent pushed my mother through the swinging doors and followed right behind her.
The kitchen was a nightmare of stainless steel and flashing red light. Under the massive industrial stove, a block of explosives sat strapped to the thick yellow gas pipe. The digital timer read: 01:42.
“Keep moving!” Vincent shouted, shielding us with his body as we ran past the ovens.
We burst through the heavy steel back door into the cold Chicago alleyway. The biting wind hit my face, smelling of trash and exhaust.
Two black SUVs were already idling aggressively, their tires screeching as they threw it into reverse to block the alley entrances. Vincent’s guards were throwing Marcus’s henchmen into the trunks.
“Get in!” Vincent yelled, shoving my mother and me into the armored backseat of his personal SUV.
He slammed the heavy door shut behind us, plunging us into the quiet, leather-scented interior. The glass was thick enough to stop a bullet.
Vincent jumped into the front passenger seat. “Drive. Get us two blocks away, now.”
The driver slammed on the gas. The SUV tore down the alley, bouncing over potholes. My mother pulled me into her lap, burying her face in my hair, silently praying.
I looked out the back window.
As we turned the corner onto the main street, the timer hit zero.
The explosion wasn't just loud; it was a physical force that shook the heavy SUV. A massive fireball erupted from the roof of Sterling’s Bistro, shattering the windows of every storefront on the block. A shockwave of heat washed over the street, sending debris raining down onto the pavement.
The restaurant where my mother had worked for seventy-seven unpaid days was instantly reduced to a hollow, burning shell.
My mother sobbed in relief, clutching me so hard it hurt. We were safe. We were alive.
Vincent sat in the front seat, staring straight ahead at the road. The orange glow of the fire illuminated his sharp profile in the rearview mirror.
He pulled the silver pocket watch from his coat. He rubbed his thumb over the engraved T.K.
“It’s done, Thomas,” Vincent whispered.
The car was quiet for several long minutes, save for the wail of approaching sirens in the distance.
Finally, my mother found her voice.
“What happens now, Mr. Kane?” she asked shakily. “Marcus is dead. The restaurant is gone. But his men on the outside… they know I exist. They know about the ledgers. We’re still targets.”
Vincent put the watch away. He turned around in his seat to look at us.
“They don't know anything,” Vincent said calmly. “Because as far as the East Coast families are concerned, Sarah and Rory Carter died in that fire alongside Marcus.”
My mother blinked, confused. “What?”
Vincent reached into his inner pocket. He pulled out the micro-SD card she had given him and slipped it into a compartment on the dashboard.
“With this data, I will dismantle Marcus’s entire remaining network by morning,” Vincent explained. “But you two are ghosts now. You can't go back to your apartment. You can't use your names. I have a safe house in upstate New York. A quiet town. Good schools. I’ve already arranged for new identities.”
My mother stared at him, overwhelmed. “Why are you doing all of this for us? I gave you the ledgers. We’re even.”
Vincent looked at me. I was sitting quietly, holding the crumpled piece of paper with the purple stars.
“We aren't even, Sarah,” Vincent said softly. “Your daughter walked past six armed men to demand justice for her mother. She showed more courage today than half the men I employ.”
Vincent reached over and tapped the piece of paper.
May you like
“She drew purple stars for the days you went hungry,” Vincent said, his voice thick with uncharacteristic emotion. “I promise you both, you will never draw another star again.”
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