Page 60 of Lorenzo's Claim

Once we reached Victor’s house, I barely waited for the car to come to a standstill before I exited and raced up the steps to the door. My fist collided with the glass. It opened within seconds. The guards at the gate had probably announced our arrival.

“What do you want?!” Florence snarled. “You’ve done enough damage tonight,” she hissed, her voice trembling with anger.

She wasn’t as strong as Anastacia.

Anastacia’s voice never trembled, never faltered, no matter how scared or angry she was. Florence’s eyes narrowed as she watched me intently.

“Where is she?!” I demanded. “My wife doesn’t belong here anymore.”

“You shot her father. You could have killed him, and now you have the nerve to come here shouting your demands?”

“Where the fuck is she?” I bellowed as Red appeared beside me.

Victor finally showed his face. “She’s not here.” His hand and shoulder were stitched up and bandaged tightly. “I haven’t seen her since she left me in that warehouse.”

She left him? She didn’t care enough to get him home safely? Wow… I really did underestimate her.

“What do you mean she’s not here?! I’m not in the mood for your games, Victor.” I glanced around, not sure what the hell I was looking for. “She has to be here.”

“My own daughter shot me, Lorenzo. Do you really think she’d come back here?” Victor questioned. “If she left you then that’s on her own accord.”

“Fuck off, Victor. She hasn’t left me.” I didn’t know why, but I was certain she’d never truly walk out on me.

“Maybe she’s at your mother’s?” Red suggested, already calling her number.

“Lorenzo, my daughter knows what she does and doesn’t want. If she chose to leave you, we had no hand in that.” Victor responded. The lack of care and worry was apparent.

“Do you not care where she is? Would you only care if it were Miles?” I asked as I caught Red’s gaze. He shook his head.

She wasn’t with my mother either.

“Do you want me to look for her, Victor?” Chad piped up from behind him at the door.

“No, she’s just throwing a tantrum and wanting attention. You won’t waste your time,” Victor snapped, stepping in front of Florence. “You used her to get what you wanted.”

“As did you. You can pretend you’re innocent in all this, but you’re the worst.” I scoffed, turning my back to him and readying myself to leave and turn the whole damn city on its head for her.

“You’re just like your father. Use and abuse, take and betray,” he spat before slamming the door behind him.

I was about to storm up the steps when Red’s voice stopped me, bringing my thoughts back to my wife.

“She’s not at the graveyard. She’s not at your mother’s. She’s nowhere, Lorenzo.” Red sighed, making his next call.

“I don’t want to hear it. She didn’t just disappear. Call every hotel, every hospital. Leave no stone unturned, do you understand?”

“You almost sound like you care.”

“Not now, Red.” I turned to face the house. “I will not lose someone else because of Victor Fedorov.”

18

My eyes slowly fluttered open,and I was immediately assaulted by the overpowering stench of rot and decay, a vile and putrid odour that seemed to cling stubbornly to the back of my throat. Attempting to shift my position, I quickly realised that my wrists and ankles were tightly bound to a rickety wooden chair, positioning me right in the heart of a grimy, clearly abandoned room. The coarse rope dug painfully into my skin, leaving raw, bloody marks as I struggled against it. For a moment, I squeezed my eyes shut, before forcing them open once more. That's when I saw it. The walls were plastered with pictures of me, covering every inch like a horrific, personal wallpaper. A chill raced down my spine as I realised the unsettling truth: this person had been disturbingly close, even watching me as I slept.

If this was some fucked up game from the man who called himself my husband, I swear I’d kill him.

The sound system, ancient and crackling, blared my own voice on an endless loop. My conversations with family, snippets of laughter, and whispered inside jokes with friends ricocheted around the room, creating a warped symphony that seemed totaunt me with each echo. It felt as though my entire life had been meticulously dissected and cruelly put on display for an invisible audience. My eyes darted frantically around the dim, oppressive space. Cobwebs, like ghostly veils, dangled from the rotting ceiling, swaying gently in the stale air. The threadbare carpet beneath me was stained with dark, ominous patches of blood, and the windows were heavily boarded, allowing only the faintest slivers of light to seep through. My mind raced wildly, struggling to piece together the fragmented memories of how I had ended up trapped in this nightmarish hellhole.

And then it hit me like a wave. I remembered.

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