Chapter 2 - The Eight Minutes

Two weeks passed.

The physical healing was slow, but the mental shift was profound. The Moretti estate was a sprawling compound hidden behind high stone walls in upstate New York, a world entirely disconnected from the dirty, panicked life I had known.

I spent my days walking the manicured gardens, reading in the vast library, and eating meals prepared by a private chef. Vincent’s men—massive, heavily scarred enforcers—treated me with a level of reverence that bordered on worship. They called me "Ma'am." They opened doors for me. If I even looked like I was struggling with a heavy book due to my cast, two of them would practically dive across the room to help me.

Vincent was a ghost during the day, running his empire from his heavily guarded study. But every evening, without fail, he joined me for dinner.

We talked. We didn't talk about his criminal enterprises, and we didn't talk about my trauma. We talked about art, about food, about the places in the world we wanted to see. I discovered that behind the ruthless Mafia boss exterior was a man of terrifying intellect and surprising gentleness. I caught myself watching the way his hands moved, the way his eyes softened when I laughed.

I was falling for the devil, and I didn't care.

But the real world has a way of finding you, no matter how thick the walls are.

One evening, I was walking down the long marble hallway toward Vincent's study to call him for dinner. The heavy oak door was slightly ajar. I heard voices inside—loud, tense, angry.

"Boss, the Falcone family is mobilizing," a rough voice said. It was Dante, Vincent's second-in-command. "They intercepted one of our shipments at the docks. And they sent a message."

"What message?" Vincent's voice was lethally calm.

"It's about the husband. Mark," Dante hesitated. "Before we could finish him at the warehouse, a Falcone crew hit the building. They took him. Mark told them everything. He told them you brought a civilian woman into the main compound. He told them she’s your weak spot."

My breath caught in my throat. I pressed my back against the wall, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"The Falcones are demanding a sit-down," Dante continued. "They want control of the southern ports, or they say they're going to burn this estate to the ground and take the girl to teach you a lesson about getting soft."

There was a long, terrifying silence from inside the room. Then came the sound of a glass shattering against a stone fireplace.

"If Alberto Falcone thinks he can use a woman to leverage me, he is a dead man breathing," Vincent snarled, a demonic rage vibrating in his voice. "Double the guard on the perimeter. Arm everyone. Tell the capos we are going to war. Nobody sleeps until the Falcone family is entirely wiped off the map."

"Boss," Dante warned gently. "Starting a war over a girl... the Commission won't like it. Is she really worth bleeding the family dry?"

"She is worth burning the world down," Vincent replied, without a second of hesitation.

Tears pricked my eyes. I turned and quietly walked back to my bedroom. I sat on the edge of my bed, looking out the window at the dark trees. Mark was still out there. Even broken and captured, he was still finding ways to destroy my life. Now, he was going to get Vincent killed.

I couldn't let that happen. Vincent had saved my life. I couldn't be the reason he lost his empire.

An hour later, the bedroom door opened softly. Vincent stood in the doorway, his shoulders tense, his eyes dark with the heavy burden of command. He looked exhausted.

"I heard you outside the study," he said quietly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

I stood up, wrapping my good arm around my chest. "I have to leave, Vincent. I'm causing a war. Mark is using the Falcones to get to you. If I turn myself over, or if I just run away—"

"Stop." Vincent crossed the room in three massive strides. He grabbed my shoulders, pulling me firmly against his chest. His heart was beating like a war drum against my cheek.

"You aren't going anywhere," he whispered fiercely into my hair. "You think I'm afraid of the Falcones? You think I care about ports and money? Lena, I have lived my entire life in the dark. You are the first piece of light I have found in thirty years. I am not letting you go back to the monsters. Not today. Not ever."

I looked up into his eyes, seeing the absolute, terrifying devotion burning inside them.

"I'm scared, Vincent."

He leaned down, pressing his lips softly, desperately against mine. It was a kiss that tasted of danger, of salvation, of a promise written in blood.