Chapter 2 - The Eight Minutes

The ride to Vincent’s estate was a blur of flashing streetlights, soft leather seats, and the low, urgent voices of his men speaking into encrypted radios. I lay across the backseat, my head resting on Vincent’s lap. He had removed his suit jacket and draped it over my shivering body, his hand resting protectively on my good shoulder.

I drifted in and out of consciousness, the pain in my arm radiating through my chest in sickening waves. Every time I whimpered, Vincent’s grip tightened slightly, anchoring me to reality.

"We're almost there," he kept repeating, his voice a steady, grounding rumble in the darkness. "Stay with me, Lena."

When I finally opened my eyes with clarity, the pain had shifted from a sharp, biting agony to a dull, throbbing ache. I was no longer in a car. I was lying in the center of the largest, most luxurious bed I had ever seen. Silk sheets brushed against my skin. The room was massive, decorated in rich mahogany, dark velvet, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the glittering skyline of Manhattan.

I tried to sit up, but a sharp twinge in my left side made me gasp.

"Don't move."

I turned my head. Vincent was sitting in a high-backed leather armchair in the corner of the room, a glass of amber liquid resting on his knee. He had changed into a black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms covered in dark, intricate tattoos.

"Where am I?" I croaked, my throat dry as sandpaper.

"My home," Vincent said, standing up and walking toward the bed. He poured a glass of ice water from a silver pitcher on the nightstand and held it to my lips, supporting my head so I could drink. "My private physician was here for three hours. Your arm was fractured in two places. He set the bones, put you in a cast, and pumped you full of high-grade painkillers. You also had two cracked ribs and severe bruising on your neck."

I looked down at my left arm. It was encased in a heavy white fiberglass cast, resting on a stack of plush pillows.

"Why?" I asked, my voice trembling as the memories of the night flooded back. "Why did you do this? I'm just a waitress. I spilled coffee on you."

Vincent pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees. His dark eyes locked onto mine, stripping away every wall I had ever built.

"When you spilled that coffee, Lena, I saw your hands," he said quietly. "I saw the fading bruises on your wrists. I saw the way you flinched when my men stood up. I know that look. I grew up in a house where my mother had that exact same look in her eyes every time my father walked into the room."

His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking beneath his skin.

"I swore a long time ago that no man would ever do that to a woman in my city and get away with it. When I gave you that card, it wasn't a joke. It was a promise."

Tears welled in my eyes. For years, I had believed I was completely alone. I believed I was entirely invisible. But this terrifying, powerful man had seen me. He had really seen me.

"What happened to Mark?" I asked, the name tasting like ash in my mouth.

Vincent’s expression turned to stone. "Mark is no longer your concern. He will never, ever come within a hundred miles of you again. You are under my protection now. This estate is a fortress. There are forty armed men patrolling the perimeter. No one gets in or out without my permission."

"But... my job. My apartment. I don't have any clothes or money—"

"You don't need the apartment," Vincent interrupted smoothly. "Your debts are paid. Your clothes have been replaced with a new wardrobe in the closet. You are not going back to that diner, Lena. You are staying here, with me, until you are fully healed. And then... if you want to leave, you can. But until then, you are my guest."

It was an overwhelming wave of information. It felt like a dream. But as I looked into Vincent's eyes, I realized it was the most dangerous kind of reality. I had traded a petty, violent tyrant for the king of the underworld. Yet, as I lay in the silk sheets, listening to the quiet breathing of the most feared man in New York, I didn't feel afraid.