Chapter 5 - THE ENFORCER'S ARRIVAL
The bathroom door shattered into a shower of splinters as Marcus kicked it off its hinges, towering over Lena with a crazed, sadistic grin plastered across his face.
"Who were you talking to, you ungrateful little whore?" Marcus snarled, lunging forward to grab her by her hair.
Lena screamed, curling into a tight ball on the cold tile floor, shielding her broken arm with her body. But before Marcus's fingers could claw into her scalp, the heavy front door of their apartment was blown off its hinges with a tremendous, earth-shattering BOOM.
Marcus froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. The sound wasn't a normal knock or a kicked door—it sounded like a military-grade breaching charge. Heavy, synchronized combat boots thudded against the hardwood floor of the living room, moving with chilling speed and deadly purpose.
"What the—who's out there?" Marcus yelled, stumbling backward out of the bathroom, his drunken bravado instantly replaced by a flicker of primal panic.
He staggered into the hallway just as three massive men in tailored black suits poured into the apartment. They moved like shadows of death, clearing corners with silenced firearms drawn and pointed with terrifying precision. They didn't shout warnings; they didn't ask questions. They neutralized the space in seconds.
Marcus raised his hands defensively, backing away until his spine hit the living room wall. "Hey! Who the hell are you? This is private property! I'll call the police—"
A fourth man stepped through the threshold.
The air in the apartment seemed to drop ten degrees. Vincent Moretti walked in slowly, adjusting the cuffs of his pristine charcoal jacket. His face was a mask of cold, unyielding marble. He didn't look at the expensive artwork on the walls, nor the shattered furniture. His dark, piercing eyes locked onto Marcus with the terrifying focus of a predator looking at a dead animal.
"You're... you're Vincent Moretti," Marcus stammered, his face draining completely of color as he recognized the legendary mob boss from news whispers and underworld lore. "I... I didn't know she knew you! This is a private domestic matter—"
Vincent didn't say a word. He raised his right hand slightly. Two of the enforcers moved forward instantly, grabbing Marcus by his arms and slamming him face-first against the drywall with a sickening thud that rattled the picture frames.
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Vincent walked past Marcus without sparing him a second glance, stepping over the threshold of the ruined bathroom. He knelt down beside Lena, his movements surprisingly gentle as he surveyed her battered, trembling form and the grotesquely twisted left arm.
"I told you to stay alive for eight minutes, Lena," Vincent murmured, his voice softening just enough for only her to hear. "You're safe now. I've got you."
