Chapter 2 - Eight Minutes
The bathroom door exploded inward.
Lena barely had time to lift her good arm before a broken piece of wood struck the wall above her head.
Derek Shaw stood in the doorway, breathing hard, one shoulder covered in white dust from the shattered frame. His dress shirt hung open at the collar. Whiskey darkened the front of it where he had spilled his drink.
His eyes went first to the phone.
Then to Lena.
“Who did you call?”
She pressed the device against her chest.
Derek stepped over the broken door.
“I asked you a question.”
Lena tried to rise, but the movement sent a wave of pain through her ribs and broken arm. Her vision narrowed.
She remained on the floor.
“Stay away from me.”
Derek smiled.
Five years earlier, she had mistaken that smile for confidence.
Now she understood it appeared whenever he believed somebody else had run out of choices.
“You think locking a bathroom door changes what happens in my house?”
“It’s our apartment.”
“Nothing here is yours.”
The words were familiar.
The rent came from Lena’s diner wages and the money she earned cleaning offices on Sunday mornings. The utilities remained in her name because Derek’s credit had been ruined before they met. She had purchased the couch, the table, and most of the furniture one paycheck at a time.
Yet Derek spoke as though he had rescued her from the street.
He reached for the phone.
Lena pulled it away.
“Eight minutes,” she whispered.
“What?”
“He said eight minutes.”
Derek stared at her.
Then he laughed.
The sound filled the small bathroom.
“Who?”
Lena said nothing.
Derek crouched in front of her and grabbed her chin.
“You called that diner manager?”
She turned her face away.
“Your little friend Rosa?”
His fingers tightened.
“Maybe the police?”
The apartment remained quiet beyond him.
No sirens.
No footsteps.
No miracle.
Only the slow drip of water from the faucet and Lena’s unsteady breathing.
Derek glanced at the phone screen.
The call had ended.
He laughed again.
“Nobody is coming.”
He took the phone from her weakened hand and threw it into the sink. The screen cracked.
Then he reached for her broken arm.
Lena knew what he intended before his fingers touched her.
She twisted away, but the movement trapped her against the bathtub.
“Please.”
The word escaped automatically.
Derek’s smile widened.
He liked that word.
It restored the world he understood.
He seized her wrist below the break.
Lena screamed.
A violent pounding shook the apartment’s front door.
Derek froze.
Three knocks.
Not frantic.
Not uncertain.
Each one landed with the steady force of a final warning.
Derek released her and stood.
“Police,” he said, though his voice no longer carried confidence.
Nobody announced themselves.
The front lock turned.
Derek had locked it.
Someone opened it anyway.
Heavy footsteps entered the apartment.
Derek grabbed the metal towel bar from the wall and ripped it free.
Lena heard a man speak from the living room.
“Derek Shaw.”
The voice was the same one from the phone.
Calm.
Deep.
Close.
Derek’s face changed.
He knew the name before the man appeared.
Vincent Moretti stepped into the hallway wearing a black overcoat over a dark suit. Snow had melted across his shoulders. Behind him stood two men Lena recognized from the diner, both silent and broad-shouldered.
Vincent looked past Derek.
His eyes found Lena on the bathroom floor.
For one second, the controlled expression disappeared.
Not completely.
Only enough for her to see what lived beneath it.
Derek raised the towel bar.
“You broke into my home.”
Vincent did not look at him.
“Lena.”
She struggled to remain conscious.
“He broke my arm.”
“I see that.”
“Vincent Moretti,” Derek said, trying to recover his courage. “This is a private argument between husband and wife.”
Vincent finally turned.
“There is nothing private about a woman asking for help.”
Derek lifted the metal bar.
One of Vincent’s men moved, but Vincent stopped him with a small gesture.
“You have no idea who you are interfering with,” Derek warned.
Vincent removed his gloves one finger at a time.
“I know exactly who you are.”
Derek swung.
Vincent stepped aside.
The towel bar struck the wall.
Vincent caught Derek’s wrist, turned it, and forced him against the hallway floor. The movement happened so quickly Lena almost missed it.
Derek shouted.
Vincent placed one polished shoe between Derek’s shoulder blades.
“You broke her left arm,” he said.
“Get off me!”
“You fractured two ribs last winter.”
Derek stopped struggling.
“You pushed her into the kitchen counter four months ago.”
Lena stared.
She had never told anyone.
Vincent continued.
“You took seven thousand dollars from her savings account. You opened two credit cards under her name. You threatened her coworker when she asked about the bruises.”
“How do you know that?”
Vincent’s face became colder.
“Because after Lena called, I used the first four minutes learning who might kill her before I arrived.”
The second man entered the bathroom and knelt beside Lena. He introduced himself as Marco Bell and removed his coat.
“Ambulance is coming,” he said.
“I don’t want him near me.”
“He won’t come near you again.”
Derek laughed bitterly from the floor.
“You think Moretti is saving you? He doesn’t save anyone for free.”
Lena looked at Vincent.
The same fear had lived inside her for months after finding his card.
Vincent Moretti was not known for charity.
His name appeared beside restaurants, shipping companies, construction firms, and clubs where politicians entered through rear doors. Men disappeared after crossing him. Businesses changed ownership overnight.
Even police officers lowered their voices when discussing the Moretti family.
Derek turned his head enough to see her.
“You called a monster because you were scared of me.”
Vincent’s eyes did not leave Lena.
“She called someone who answered.”
Sirens approached.
Derek began struggling again.
Vincent increased the pressure on his shoulder.
“Listen carefully. The police will find you restrained after attacking your wife. The ambulance will document every injury. The apartment cameras will show what happened.”
Derek went still.
“What cameras?”
Vincent glanced toward the small black device above the hallway smoke detector.
Lena had never noticed it.
Marco held up another device removed from the bookshelf.
“Your landlord installed security cameras after the downstairs tenant reported threats,” he explained. “Derek disconnected the visible one. He missed the backup.”
Derek’s face lost its color.
The door opened.
Two uniformed officers entered, followed by paramedics.
Vincent stepped away and raised his hands.
One officer recognized him.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“Officer Daniels.”
The greeting was not friendly.
It was familiar.
Derek immediately changed his voice.
“Thank God you’re here. My wife had some kind of episode. These men broke into my apartment and attacked me.”
The officer looked toward Lena.
She sat beneath Marco’s coat, her broken arm resting at an unnatural angle. Blood covered the side of her face where Derek had struck her against the bathroom cabinet.
Officer Daniels’s jaw tightened.
“Sir, put your hands behind your back.”
Derek stared.
“You know who my uncle is.”
“I know who you are tonight.”
The paramedics moved Lena onto a stretcher.
When they lifted her, she cried out.
Vincent remained near the hallway wall, both hands lowered, allowing medical staff to work.
Derek was handcuffed.
As officers led him toward the door, he looked at Lena.
“This is not over.”
Vincent stepped into his path.
“It ended when she made the call.”
Derek smiled despite the cuffs.
“You don’t know what she found.”
Lena’s eyes opened.
Vincent heard the change in her breathing.
“What did you find?” he asked.
Derek answered for her.
“Something your family has been searching for.”
An officer pushed him forward.
Vincent followed the stretcher downstairs.
Outside, snow fell beneath the red ambulance lights.
Lena caught his sleeve with her good hand before the paramedics closed the doors.
“Why did you give me the card?”
Vincent looked at her fingers holding the dark fabric.
“Because the first night I saw you, you had a bruise beneath your collar and apologized when I noticed.”
“That doesn’t explain why you came.”
His expression shifted.
“My sister once asked for help.”
“What happened?”
“I arrived too late.”
The paramedic touched Lena’s shoulder.
“We need to go.”
Vincent placed one hand against the ambulance door.
“You will not be alone when you wake up.”
It was not a romantic promise.
It sounded more like a vow made before a judge.
The doors closed.
At St. Vincent’s Hospital, doctors confirmed that Derek had broken both bones in Lena’s forearm. She also had two cracked ribs, a concussion, and older injuries in different stages of healing.
A surgeon repaired her arm before dawn.
When Lena woke, her hand rested inside a cast.
Rosa Martinez, the overnight manager from the diner, slept in a chair beside the bed.
Vincent stood near the window.
He had kept his promise.
Lena looked toward him.
“Derek said I found something.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what he meant.”
Vincent crossed the room and placed a sealed evidence bag on the bedside table.
Inside was the black business card she had hidden for months.
And a small brass key.
The key had been taped beneath the card.
Lena had never seen it.
May you like
Vincent spoke quietly.
“My sister owned that key before she died.”
