Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN THEY TRIED TO FRAME
Nora had never been inside a police station as Vincent Castello’s wife.
She had been there once as Derek Hale’s girlfriend.
Four years earlier, she had sat under flickering fluorescent lights with a split lip and a bruised wrist, trying to explain to a bored desk sergeant that Derek had thrown her against a kitchen cabinet because she bought the wrong kind of beer.
The sergeant had looked past her toward Derek, who stood in the hallway with tears in his eyes and apologies ready.
“Couples fight,” the man had said.
Derek took her home that night.
She learned then that the law did not always arrive wearing justice. Sometimes it arrived tired, annoyed, and eager to send a frightened woman back into the room that had nearly killed her.
Now she sat in another station, in another chair, with Vincent’s jacket around her shoulders and red marks blooming across her throat.
This time, no one looked bored.
Everyone looked terrified.
Not of Derek.
Of Vincent.
He stood beside the interview room door, silent and still, while officers pretended not to stare. Leo was outside in the hallway, speaking quietly into his phone. Vincent’s attorney, Amelia Pierce, had arrived in twelve minutes wearing a navy suit, sharp heels, and the kind of expression that made men regret paperwork.
“No one questions my client without me present,” Amelia said.
The detective across the table sighed.
“Mrs. Castello isn’t under arrest.”
“Then she’s leaving.”
“She’s being detained while we sort out conflicting statements.”
Amelia smiled without warmth.
“Detective, the woman has visible marks on her neck. There are witnesses. There are cameras inside the café.”
The detective glanced at a folder.
“The café camera was disabled.”
Nora looked up.
“What?”
“Conveniently,” Amelia said.
The detective ignored her.
“Mr. Hale alleges Mrs. Castello contacted him repeatedly, requested a meeting, became emotional, and grabbed him first. He claims her husband’s associate assaulted him when he tried to leave.”
Nora almost laughed.
The sound died in her throat.
Derek had always been good at this. Better than good. He could make himself look wounded while standing over the mess he had made. He knew how to soften his voice, lower his eyes, turn cruelty into concern.
“She’s unstable,” he would say.
“She hurts herself when she’s upset.”
“She lies because she’s ashamed.”
Nora had spent years being trapped inside stories Derek told better than she could escape them.
But Vincent was watching her now.
Not the detective.
Not Amelia.
Her.
His eyes were steady, and there was something in them she had not expected.
Not anger.
Faith.
“You don’t have to convince anyone who matters,” he said quietly.
The detective shifted.
“Mr. Castello, I’m going to ask you to wait outside.”
“No,” Amelia said.
Vincent did not move.
Nora placed a hand over his.
“It’s okay.”
His jaw tightened.
“It is not okay.”
“I need to speak.”
For a moment, she thought he would refuse.
Then he stepped back.
Not out of weakness.
Out of respect.
Nora turned to the detective.
“Derek Hale abused me for three years,” she said. “I reported him once. Nothing happened. I left him four years ago. I have not texted him. I did not ask to meet him. I did not touch him before he put his hand around my throat.”
The detective’s eyes dropped briefly to the bruising there.
“He claims the marks were self-inflicted.”
Vincent took one step forward.
Amelia lifted a hand without looking back.
Nora smiled faintly, though nothing was funny.
“Of course he does.”
The detective looked uncomfortable now.
“There are messages from your number.”
“Not from me.”
“Can you prove that?”
Amelia leaned forward.
“Can you prove they came from her device?”
The detective closed the folder.
“We’re waiting on technical review.”
The door opened before anyone could answer.
Leo stepped inside.
His face was hard.
He looked at Vincent.
“We have a problem.”
Vincent turned.
“What kind?”
“The barista is gone. The old man too. Neither worked there. Both were planted.”
Amelia’s expression sharpened.
“How do you know?”
Leo held up his phone.
“The real morning-shift barista was found tied up in the storage room behind the café. Alive. Scared. Says a woman paid two men to take over the shop for one hour.”
Nora’s fingers went cold.
“A woman?”
Leo nodded once.
“Red coat. Dark glasses. No name.”
Vincent’s face changed.
Nora knew that look.
Recognition.
“Who?” she asked.
He did not answer quickly enough.
That hurt more than she expected.
“Vincent,” she said.
Before he could speak, the detective’s desk phone rang. He answered, listened, and went pale.
“What?” Amelia demanded.
The detective hung up slowly.
“Mrs. Castello needs medical evaluation.”
Vincent went still.
“Why?”
The detective looked at Nora’s stomach, then away.
“Mr. Hale has given a statement claiming she is pregnant and may be a danger to herself.”
Nora stood so fast the chair scraped the floor.
“He what?”
“He says she told him she didn’t want the baby.”
The room tilted.
Derek was not just trying to frame her.
He was trying to make her look unstable enough to take control of the one thing she had not even had time to celebrate.
Vincent crossed the room and cupped her face in both hands.
“Nora. Listen to me. Look at me.”
“I never said that.”
“I know.”
“I want this baby.”
His face cracked.
Just slightly.
Just enough for her to see what those words did to him.
“So do I,” he said.
The simplicity of it almost brought her to her knees.
A uniformed officer appeared at the door.
“Detective, Mr. Hale’s attorney is here.”
Amelia turned.
“Already?”
The officer nodded.
“And there’s a petition being filed for an emergency restraining order against Mrs. Castello.”
Nora stared at him.
“Against me?”
The officer looked miserable.
“And a paternity preservation request.”
Vincent’s eyes darkened.
The detective muttered a curse under his breath.
Amelia went very still.
“That is not something a random abusive ex-boyfriend files within an hour unless someone powerful drafted it for him.”
Leo’s phone buzzed.
He checked the screen.
Then every trace of color left his face.
Vincent saw.
“What?”
Leo looked at Nora, then at Vincent.
“There’s more.”
He turned the phone around.
A photograph filled the screen.
Nora standing in the café.
Derek’s hand around her throat.
Taken from outside.
Beneath the image was a message from an unknown number.
BRING THE DOCK LEDGER BY MIDNIGHT, OR THE NEXT PHOTO GOES TO EVERY NEWSROOM IN NEW YORK.
Nora’s knees weakened.
Vincent caught her.
May you like
Another message appeared.
AND TELL YOUR WIFE TO STOP TOUCHING HER STOMACH. IT MAKES THE TARGET TOO EASY.
