Chapter 4 - Untouchable
"He broke your arm," Vincent said to me, his voice eerily calm as the sickening sound of David choking and thrashing filled the room.
I nodded slowly, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes.
Vincent stood up. He walked over to where my husband was pinned against the drywall. David's face was turning a mottled purple, his eyes wide with a terror I had never seen before. The monster who had terrorized me for five years was nothing but weak, helpless prey in the presence of an actual apex predator.
"A man who breaks things he is supposed to protect is not a man at all," Vincent said softly to David, examining him with absolute disgust. "He is a liability."
Vincent looked back at me over his shoulder.
"Do you want me to kill him, Lena?"
The question hung heavily in the air. David let out a muffled, pathetic whimper, tears streaming down his face as he looked at me—begging the woman he had just broken to save his life.
For five years, I had been small. I had been invisible. But wearing the coat of the most powerful man in New York, looking at the trembling, pathetic shell of my abuser, I realized something.
I wasn't a broken thing. I was just finally awake.
"No," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "If he disappears, the police will ask questions. I want him to live. I want him to spend the rest of his miserable life knowing that if he ever comes within a hundred miles of me, you will find him."
A dark, proud smile touched the corner of Vincent’s mouth. It was a look of absolute, profound respect.
"Drop him," Vincent ordered.
His men let David fall to the floor. My husband collapsed into a pathetic heap, coughing and gasping for air, clutching his bruised throat.
Vincent walked back to me. Gently, carefully avoiding my injured arm, he lifted me off the floor and into his arms. I weighed almost nothing, but he held me as if I were the most valuable thing he had ever touched.
"Where are we going?" I whispered, leaning my head against his chest as he carried me toward the door, stepping right over my weeping husband.
"To my private surgeon," Vincent replied, his jaw set as we stepped out into the hallway. "And then, you are coming home with me."
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"I'm just a waitress," I said, the adrenaline finally fading and pulling me into exhaustion.
"No," Vincent Moretti murmured, pressing a soft, fierce kiss to my temple as we descended the stairs into the night. "You were a waitress. Tonight, you became untouchable."
