Chapter 2 - THE WITNESSES AT THE DOORDaniel tried to force a nervous, barking laugh, but his hands were visibly shaking. He stammered that no one would ever believe me, claiming to any potential listener that I had simply slipped, fallen, and become dangerously confused.
That was his favorite tactic—he would hurt me behind closed doors, then twist reality and rewrite the truth before I could even catch my breath.
But this time, the shattered door, my mangled arm, and the dangerous man waiting on the other end of the line were impossible witnesses.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Three heavy, authoritative knocks shook the apartment's front door.
Daniel ordered me to stay silent, plastered a fake, friendly expression on his face, and walked out to answer it, still desperate to pretend he was in control.
He jerked the door open. "Can I help you?"
Vincent Moretti didn't bother answering with words. He simply said, "No."
Vincent stepped into the hallway, flanked by a professional trauma nurse named Mara and half a dozen building residents and hallway witnesses. He strode past a stunned Daniel, walked straight to the ruined bathroom, and found me huddled on the floor, covered in blood and wooden splinters.
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Yet, he didn't crowd me or touch me without asking. He crouched several feet away, his dark eyes fierce, and told me I only had to focus on surviving the next breath.
That single, respectful sentence broke something frozen and heavy open inside my chest.
