Chapter 5 - Echoes of the Heart
Before Volkov’s hand could clear the lapel of his jacket, Roman Navarro moved with a velocity that defied his large frame.
His right hand pulled a low-profile tactical pistol from his belt, firing three consecutive rounds into the overhead junction box at the center of the vault floor. The glass bulbs exploded in a spectacular cascade of white sparks, plunging the subterranean room into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
Shouts erupted across the concrete floor. Sighted men became instant liabilities, their eyes widening in panic as they scrambled for flashlights or night-vision optics that weren't yet calibrated to the sudden dark.
"Garrison! Execute!" Roman shouted.
From the dark, a voice screamed as Caleb Garrison’s team breached the southern exit doors with flashbangs that disoriented the security operators.
In the middle of the chaos, Vivian was the only person in the room whose world had not changed by a single degree.
She closed her eyes behind her lenses, her mind instantly transforming the screams, the gunfire, and the rushing footsteps into a clean, three-dimensional digital map.
"Roman! Left! Low!" Vivian shouted, her voice perfectly guiding his movement through the dark.
Roman dropped instantly, his shoulder striking the concrete floor as a round from the Croft guard went wide, hitting the brickwork where his chest had been a millisecond earlier. Roman fired twice from the floor, the distinct thud of a target hitting the ground confirming his hits.
"Volkov is moving toward the freight elevator!" Vivian called out, her head turning toward the back wall. "He’s three paces from the control box! His heel is catching on the loose cable!"
Roman scrambled to his feet, running through the pitch-black space with absolute trust in the directions being called out by the woman near the center table. He bypassed two blind brokers who were swinging wild punches in the dark, his stride matching the exact coordinates she delivered.
"Two steps! Raise the weapon thirty degrees!"
Roman fired. A sharp cry of pain echoed from the back wall as Volkov’s weapon clattered against the iron grid of the elevator gate.
A flashlight flickered to life from the breach door as Garrison’s team secured the auxiliary power generator. The emergency red lights hummed on, throwing a bloody, crimson glow over the room.
Volkov sat against the iron gate of the elevator, his right shoulder bleeding profusely, his face pale with a mixture of shock and agony. Across the room, Penelope Croft was on her knees, her hands covered in zip-ties as Garrison’s men pulled her away from the dais.
Roman stood over the Ukrainian boss, his weapon lowered but ready. He didn't look at his fallen rival. He turned his head back toward the center of the floor, where Vivian Mercer stood perfectly still beside the mahogany table, her pale face calm, her breathing steady at seventy-two beats per minute.
He walked across the blood-slicked concrete, his heavy boots making a slow, deliberate sound that allowed her to track his approach. When he reached her, he didn't say a word about the victory or the company or the grand jury.
He simply reached out, his large, scarred hand catching her fingers, and lifted them to his chest.
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"Your heart is beating too fast," Vivian whispered, her thumb tracing the hard, rapid thud beneath his linen shirt.
"It only beats like this when you’re in the room, Vivian," Roman said, his voice dropping into that quiet, slate-smooth frequency that belonged only to her.
