MARVEL'S BIG VILLAIN

When the call ended, Jason exhaled slowly, masking his relief behind a smirk.

Vladimir had taken the bait. Now, all that remained was for old Morgan to deliver the C4.

Ten minutes later, an old Mercedes-Benz S600, armored like the ones Fisk's enforcers favored, rolled into the alley, stopping behind Paul's Ford sedan.

A second vehicle, a black Chevy Suburban, turned in, blocking the entrance standard protocol for underground deals in New York's criminal underworld.

The Benz's high beams flickered three long, one short the agreed-upon signal.

Jason cracked his knuckles. "Let's play the password."

Paul nodded, tapping the Ford's brakes in the same pattern.

This was a long-standing black-market rule if either side missed the sequence, it meant the deal was compromised, and an immediate retreat was necessary.

The car doors opened.

An older man stepped out of the Benz, leaning heavily on an intricately carved cane. A gold-rimmed monocle, much like Penguin's, rested on his nose, while his pinstriped suit, though slightly faded, screamed old-money criminal elite.

Jason approached, inhaling subtly.

Light floral fragrance sweet but not overpowering. He clicked his tongue. "New cologne? No… a woman. Young. College-age. Asian, I'd guess."

Morgan chuckled. "Jason, your nose could put Wolverine to shame."

Jason's lip curled in disgust. "For God's sake, Morgan. She's younger than your granddaughter."

The old smuggler didn't even blink. "Ah, the older we get, the more we appreciate youth."

Jason scoffed. "Right. Enough about your creepy habits show me the goods."

Morgan nodded to his driver, a scarred man in a leather trench coat, whose cybernetic right hand something straight out of Hammer Industries' black-market enhancements clicked ominously as he opened the trunk.

Inside, a dark case rested atop stacks of cash. The driver flipped it open, revealing five bricks of C4, wired and ready for detonation. A long-range detonator lay nestled beside them.

Morgan gestured at the explosives. "Enough to level a three-story building. No refunds."

Jason ignored him, pulling out a knife to check the wiring.

The driver tensed, placing a hand on his Glock 17, but Morgan waved him off. "Relax. Jason's not suicidal."

Satisfied, Jason shut the case.

"Alright. Let's talk payment."

Morgan's smile faded. "300K. Cash."

Jason put on his best innocent grin. "Come on, Morgan. We go way back. Let me take these on credit."

Morgan's expression darkened instantly. "Jason, you know the rules. No credit in the black market—not even for you."

"C'mon, brother. Just a week."

"No."

Morgan signaled his driver, who immediately slammed the case shut.

"Wait!" Jason planted his palm firmly on the suitcase, causing the Mercedes' hood to creak under the pressure.

The driver gritted his teeth, yanking at the case but Jason didn't budge.

Morgan narrowed his eyes. "You trying to strong-arm me, boy?"

Jason raised both hands. "Not at all. Just… suggesting a change of venue."

Morgan's dull yellowed eyes gleamed. "You're thinking about robbing Fisk's reserves?"

Jason snorted. "I like living, thanks. No, I'm hitting Vladimir."

Morgan stroked his chin. "Now that's interesting. Blood for blood. You always were a vendetta type."

Jason smirked. "Glad you get me."

Morgan tapped his cane. "Tell you what. Give me something valuable, and I'll let you take the C4 now."

Jason arched a brow. "Didn't know I was carrying Intel worth 300K."

Morgan leaned in, voice low. "You are. Word on the street is you and Fisk had a major falling out. Everyone wants to know—how did you go from his right-hand man to his most wanted?"

Jason clicked his tongue. "Damn, New York's criminals gossip worse than J. Jonah Jameson."

Morgan grinned. "Someone's willing to pay half a million for the answer."

Jason exhaled. "Fine. But in exchange, this deal goes on my tab."

Morgan's smile disappeared. "Pay up, or walk away."

Jason muttered, "Cheap bastard."

Then, he leaned close and whispered, "I slept with Vanessa Fisk while Wilson was in L.A."

Morgan's monocle nearly fell off.

"Holy hell. You what?!"

Jason quickly gestured for him to keep his voice down.

Morgan staggered, gripping his cane for support. "You've got a death wish."

Jason shrugged. "Low-key, Morgan."

The old smuggler let out a slow breath. "Damn… that's worth more than 500K."

As Morgan processed the bombshell, Jason's burner phone vibrated.

Vladimir's voice rasped over the line. "My men and weapons are ready. Twenty-four enforcers, including myself."

Paul asked, "Location?"

"The Fisk-owned warehouse. You know the place."

"Understood. I'll be there soon."

Jason hung up, eyes glinting.

"Time to suit you up, Paul."

Paul's face paled as Jason strapped the C4 vest around his chest, adjusting the wiring to ensure proper detonation.

His breath came in short bursts.

Jason tightened a strap and patted Paul's shoulder. "Breathe, buddy. It's painless. One second you're here, the next you're shaking hands with Chthon or Mephisto—whoever's got dibs on your soul."

Paul closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly. Rhythmic breathing an old training trick from his SHIELD days.

Once the explosives were secured, Paul climbed into the Ford, alone.

Jason stepped into Morgan's Mercedes, trailing from a safe distance.

As Paul neared the warehouse, Jason dialed again.

"Keep the phone in your suit pocket. Make sure I can hear everything. When the time's right, shout."

Paul hesitated. "…Jason. You swear you'll take care of my family?"

Jason's voice was calm. "I promise."

Paul gripped the wheel.

His fate was sealed.

Jason, leaning back in Morgan's car, casually bit into a slice of pizza.

Tonight, Hell's Kitchen was going to burn.