Page 87 of Broken Bonds

“Fuck,” I hear Josh yell. “Lionel, do you know what this means?” he asks me as soon as I’m by his side. He points to a note written on a piece of paper taped to the room’s front door.

You stole my life, but she will always be mine.

Very soon we will settle this, little brother.

What the fuck is this all about. I don’t have a brother. Or do I?

Chapter 27

“What the hell is this?” I growl, my voice echoing off the walls. I clench my fists in frustration as Josh tries to explain the situation to me. But his words are like a foreign language, and I can’t comprehend how any of this relates to my origin.

“Mathilda has been researching this for weeks,” Josh says, placing a hand on my shoulder as if that will calm me down. “She believes it all connects to you.”

Memories flash through my mind - the man who looked just like me, that hauntingly familiar voice. And then Stella, my dear wife, missing and possibly in danger. My blood boils with rage.

“Where is she?” I demand, turning to face whoever cleared their throat behind us.

“Mrs. Kral’s car is gone,” the man reports. “Someone used her card at an ATM and we’re reviewing security footage.”

I feel a surge of anger building up inside me. “What the hell does that mean? Is she safe or not?”

“We’re doing everything we can,” Josh assures me before walking away to make some calls.

But I can’t stand still and wait for updates. I need to do something - anything - to find Stella and bring her back to safety.

Gritting my teeth, I take a deep breath and try to think rationally. Mathilda has connections with the Feds, but I don’t want them taking control of this situation. Not yet, at least.

My mind races with possibilities as I try to come up with a plan. Whoever tried to kill me must have taken Stella - it’s the only explanation that makes sense. And whoever they are, they’ll soon realize they messed with the wrong person.

I won’t let them hurt her. I won’t lose her again.

The thought of Stella being injured or scared fuels me with a fierce determination. A fire burns within me, pushing me forward to take action.

I can’t fail her. I won’t fail her.

As Josh continues to make calls, I pace back and forth, my mind consumed with thoughts of Stella. Every second feels like an eternity as I wait for any news.

But deep down, I know that whoever has given me a second chance at life must have plans to do the same for Stella. They wouldn’t bring me back just to take her away from me again.

I cling onto that sliver of hope, my fists clenched tight as fear and worry gnaw at my insides. My resolve never faltering, I refuse to lose her. I’ll go to the ends of the earth to find her and bring her back to where she belongs - in my arms, in our home.

With a heavy thud, I collapse onto the worn loveseat in the dimly lit living room. My elbows dig into my knees and my head hangs low in my hands. I catch sight of the glistening gold band that now adorns her finger, placed there by that bastard who dared to lay claim to what is mine. Next to it lies a legal pad, filled with hastily scribbled notes from Stella. A map detailing the route she took before her disappearance catches my eye.

My mind races as I piece together the clues and formulate a plan. With determination coursing through my veins, I make a mental note to have a word with my mother about not only her blatant interference in my marriage but also about this supposed brother and stolen life.

In the business world, I am known for being ruthless yet fair. My reputation is immaculate, which has propelled me to great heights. My investors trust me because they know that in every deal I make, everyone comes out a winner.

But now, this theory that someone wants me dead over personal vendettas seems absurd. And to top it off, apparently I have supposedly stolen someone’s life? It doesn’t make sense, yet here I am, grappling with this unfamiliar reality.

Gathering myself, I pick up my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find my mother’s number. I must extract crucial information about my past before confronting her about her meddling ways. Every word I speak must be carefully chosen.

“Son,” she answers on the second ring, “how was the party last night? You’re calling me so early, I didn’t expect to hear from you today.”

She knows exactly why I’m calling.

“Listen,” I cut her off, not in the mood for small talk or reminiscing about the party. “Do you remember if there was anyone else like me at the orphanage where I was adopted?”

I can hear her gasp on the other end of the line.

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