Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
MATEO
I can tell Lorenzo is getting tired of it. The physical torture has slowed, but the psychological games have only gotten worse. He doesn’t hit me the way he used to. Now he just waits, watches, lets the silence eat at me.
I know for a fact he doesn’t know I’m married. He hasn’t said Vanessa’s name once. I don’t think he even knows she exists, and honestly, that might be the only thing keeping her safe. Because the second he mentions her—the second he even hints that he knows about her—I will find a way to kill him.
Every morning, I wake with the sun spilling through the window and force myself through a routine of pushups, sit-ups—anything I can do to keep my strength from slipping away. My body is the only thing I still have control over in this place.
Afterward, I go to the window and scan the horizon, desperate for anything that might tell me where I am. All I ever see are mountains and endless rows of vineyards stretching across the countryside. It should be beautiful. Instead, it just reminds me how far from home I am.
The building itself is a big warehouse that’s empty and perfect for hiding someone no one is supposed to find. For torture. For erasing people.
Escaping feels impossible. The door is locked from the outside, and the only window is far too small for me to fit through. Every route out of here is closed, and every day I spend inside makes the walls feel tighter.
Like clockwork, the door opens and the same enforcer walks in. I’ve tried everything to get something out of him—his name, a reaction, anything—but he never gives me more than silence. He drops my food on the ground, just like always.
It’s the same miserable meal every day: stale bread, some kind of oatmeal, and an apple. It’s the only real food I get—just enough to keep me alive. Sometimes I get a sandwich, but that only happens every few days, usually when they know my body needs more.
I’ve lost weight since being in this room, but not enough to strip me of my strength. I make sure of that. They can’t see what I do in here. I’ve searched for cameras more times than I can count. If there are any, they’re hidden as well as nails in the walls.
Most days, Lorenzo doesn’t even come in anymore, which somehow makes it worse. The waiting is its own kind of torture. He keeps me guessing, never knowing when he’ll show up. But today I know he won’t—sandwiches only come when he’s about to hurt me, and I haven’t had one in over a week.
So the day passes like every other, with me sitting alone in this room, running through every possible escape in my head… and none of them get me home any faster.