All Chapters of Claimed by havoc : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

82 Chapters

Chapter 61: Roxana.

Tristan The headquarters never sleeps. The phone rings and footsteps echo. Screens glow through the darkness. Somewhere downstairs, men are loading weapons into armored vehicles. Somewhere else, my security team is reviewing thousands of hours of surveillance footage. One woman. No one dares stop. Not while my wife is missing. I walk through the operations floor in complete silence. The moment the men notice me, conversation dies. Only keyboards continue clicking. The smell of burnt coffee hangs in the air. Half my men have not gone home in two days. Neither have I. A young analyst suddenly straightens, “Sir… I found something. A blond woman entering Grand Central yesterday.” I stop, every head slowly turns toward him, he swallows, his fingers trail across the keyboard before freezing. “ not Mrs kozlov.” The room falls silent again. I nod once. “Keep looking.” I continue walking, every few feet, another screen flashes images. Airport cameras, subway stations. High

Chapter 62: It belongs to me.

Roxana Something hard drops into my stomach. The urge to run out of the cafe overwhelms me. There’s no way he knows me. There is no way we have seen before unless he’s one of tristan’s men. Has he found me already? My eyes squeeze shut for a minute, i can't believe i walk into this myself.I tighten my grip on the plastic bag in my head, trying as hard as possible to calm my raging breath. Just as I'm about to walk away before something unbelievable happens, the young man smiles innocently. “ You look familiar.” he studies me carefully again, not suspiciously, curiously, like he’a trying to remember something. Then shakes his head, “ my bad. I must have mistaken you for someone else.”A breath I didn't realize i was holding escapes me. My knees almost buckle at the relief that slams into me with full force. I force a smile quickly, “ we haven't met before.”“ maybe not.” he doesn't push. Thank God. He finally turns toward the owner and begin speaking in rapid Spanish. The words

Chapter 63: Where are you?

Tristan The penthouse is exactly the way she left it, I hate it. The elevator door slides open with a soft chime. No footstep greets me. No voice calls my name. Just silence. Cold. Unforgiving. Lucian follows me inside, “You should rest.”I don't answer him. “You have been wearing the same clothes for three days. You need to eat.”Still nothing. I hear him sigh behind me, “At least clean that hand.”The apartment swallows his words. I walk away from him, toward the bedroom, and he follows. Every step feels heavier than the last. The door is half open, and I push it open gently. It swings inward, and everything stops. The familiar scent of her fills the room. Vanilla. Jasmine. Something soft I never bothered to learn the name because I thought it would always be there. My chest tightens. Her book still lies open on the bedside table. Face down. A ribbon marks the page she never finished. A mug sits beside it, coffee. Half full. Cold. My eyes drift farther, her slippers are sti

Chapter 64: Keep looking.

Tristan The words don’t register. Not at first. I stand motionless in the middle of the ruined bedroom, my phone pressed against my ears. Glass crunches beneath my shoes. Blood drips lazily from my knuckles onto the marble floor. “Say it again.” Lucian doesn't. He doesn't need to. My gaze roams the entire bedroom for a while, Lucian finally speaks, his voice coming out low and calm, “ Matteo is dead.” The room seems to shrink, rain taps softly against the shattered bedroom window. My breathing slows. Not because I'm calm. Because my mind has already started working. “How?” “A sniper. According to the first reports.” “No,” I say firmly. Lucian falls silent. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. “No.” I repeat, “That’s how they say he died.” Another pause, “They are saying it was an assassination.” “They are wrong.” Matteo De Luca didn't survive four decades at the top of the Italian underworld only to be taken down by a lucky bullet. Men like him didn't die bec

Chapter 65: The cologne.

Roxana The alarm rings precisely at five thirty. For a foolish second, I think I'm in New York. My hand instinctively reaches toward the other side of the bed, and it touches the cold sheet. Not Tristan. Never Tristan anymore. The realization hits me before I even open my eyes. Mexico. The tiny guesthouse, the narrow mattress. I lie there for another minute, staring upward. After the alarm stops ringing, I finally push myself up. The black apron Daniel gave me yesterday hangs neatly over the back of the chair. It looks oddly important. Like proof that yesterday actually happened. Proof that someone trusted me with something. I climb off the bed and take a quick shower. The water is barely warm, but I don't complain. A week ago, I would have. A week ago, I lived in a billionaire-dollar penthouse overlooking Manhattan. Now I'm grateful the shower works. Funny how quickly people change. Or maybe... how quickly life changes them. I pull on the faded jeans and the clean shirt I b

Chapter 66: I haven't moved on.

Roxana I don't stop walking until I'm several steps away from the cafe. Only then do I press both hands against the brick wall beside the entrance and lower my head. Breathe. Just breathe. My lungs refuse to cooperate. My heart is still pounding so violently it hurts. It was only a stranger. Only a man wearing the same cologne. Nothing more. Not Tristan. Not even close. So why did one familiar scent destroy me completely? I squeeze my eyes shut. “ I haven’t moved on,” I repeat. I need to stop lying to myself. It still hurts so much. I cover my mouth until a sob escapes, the cafe door opens and Daniel steps out, “ Roxana.” I hurriedly wipe my face before turning to him, “ I'm fine.” He doesn't look convinced. He walks over slowly, carrying a bottle of water. “You don't look fine.” I force a smile. “I got dizzy.” He raises an eyebrow, “From perfume?” My cheeks turn crimson, he noticed. Of course, he noticed. “ I...” the explanation dies before it reaches my mouth. What

Chapter 67: Reference.

Roxana I wake before the alarm. For a while, I simply lie there staring at the cracked ceiling. The text message from Daniel replays itself in my head. *Maria says to bring a reference and identification tomorrow before you can continue working* Identification, that’s not a problem. The problem is the other word. Reference. I sit slowly, reaching for my backpack. The passport is exactly where I hid it beneath my clothes. My fingers brush over the navy cover. At least I have this. I open it, and the photograph stares back at me. My name is written across it delicately. I slip the passport back into my bag and sit there for several long moments. Who could be my reference? Marco? The thought alone makes me sick to my stomach. Tristan? Imagine asking the man I ran away from to recommend me for a job. My mother? Marco will surely find out. I groan and drop my head into my hands, I have no one, just me. Nobody else. Nineteen years of living yet not one person I can safe

Chapter 68: Adriano.

Tristan Italy has always smelled like old money, wine, and sea salt. Gunpowder hidden beneath expensive perfume. Today, it smells like death and power. Italy doesn't bury power; it displays it. The convoy stretches for nearly a mile—black Rolls-Royces, armored SUVs, police escorts that are officially not police escorts. Every intersection has already been closed before we arrive. Helicopters circle overhead lazily—not because the government is protecting Matteo De Luca, but because half the government works for him. The cemetery is surrounded by black umbrellas despite the sky being clear. Hundreds of men stand silently—politicians, businessmen, judges, mafia bosses—men who smile for the camera and order executions before dinner. Every one of them came, not because they loved Matteo De Luca, but because they needed to know who would stand where after his death. Power leaves footprints, and everyone here follows them. I step out of the car, and the moment my shoes touch

Chapter 69: Invisible.

Tristan Nobody moves. Not until Adriano reaches the front of the De Luca family. The cemetery remains unusually silent; even the wind seems to die down. He stops in front of Matteo’s widow, lowers his head respectfully, and kisses the back of her hand. “My condolences.” His voice stays quiet, controlled, not overly emotional, but not cold either. Perfect. Almost rehearsed. The widow politely nods. One of Matteo’s sons shakes his hand, another simply stares. No smile. No warmth. Just duty. Adriano exchanges only a few words before stepping away. He doesn't linger, doesn’t try to comfort anyone. He simply… exists. Like a man who already knows everyone is watching him. Alessandro exhales beside me. “You see now?” “I do.” “What?” “He’s too comfortable.” His jaw tightens. “Exactly.” A man doesn't attend the funeral of Italy’s most powerful don looking calm unless… he expects to be standing here. Viktor quietly says beside me, “He’s coming.” “I kn

Chapter 70: Rejection.

Tristan The flight from Italy lands just after midnight, and nobody speaks during the drive back to the estate. Not Viktor. Not Nikolai. The silence irritates me more than words ever could. If whatever Dmitry found has to be proof that Belladonna took my wife, I'm going to kill him. Painfully, slowly. If it’s another person, the person will beg for death before I allow it. The image of Roxana bound, scared, crying slips into my head and my knuckles clench unconsciously over the handkerchief I'm holding. I don't know what the fuck he has to say that he couldn't say over the phone. The gate to the estate slides open, and the mansion is brightly lit despite the hour. Too many cars. Too many guards. Too many people I hired to search the whole world for her. I walk inside, no greetings. No questions. The study doors are already open. Dmitry, Lucian, and Texas are already waiting. The moment I see her, I stop. Her face is swollen and red. She has obviously been crying. When

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