All The Pretty Little Lies (Second Sons Duet #1)

13. Oscar

OSCAR

I adjust my tie for the hundredth time as our sleek black SUV pulls up to the nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of Boston. The industrial complex looms before us, its corrugated metal exterior a stark contrast to the luxurious vehicles lining the makeshift parking lot. Zaire catches my eye, a silent conversation passing between us. We're here. It's showtime.

"Remember," I mutter under my breath as we step out onto the gravel, "we're the Blackwood brothers tonight. Talon, you're our cousin, Charles, visiting from London.”

Talon nods, his usually carefree demeanor replaced by a focused intensity. "Got it, Oz. Or should I say, Oliver Blackwood? Can I pick out Alex’s name?”

“Someone is staying with the car,” Alex fires back. “One of us needs to be ready to get us the fuck out of here if and likely when this thing goes south. Plus, there’s no hiding me,” he gestures at his towering stature, “in a crowd, even with a ridiculous fake name.”

“Aw,” Talon whines. “I was going to call you Harry Ballsack.”

"Not on your fucking life,” Alex warns him.

I suppress a smirk. "Let's hope Ricky's intel and these invitations hold up."

Alex, dressed in a suit, casually pulls our SUV up to the main entrance and hops out to open the car, taking his role as our driver seriously. We watch as he’s directed away from the entrance and disappears around the back of the warehouse.

As we approach the entrance, I can't help but marvel at the transformation. What was once a dilapidated warehouse has been converted into a high-end auction house for the night. Velvet ropes and burly security guards funnel guests through a checkpoint, their eyes sharp and hands hovering near concealed weapons.

"Invitations and identification, gentlemen," a guard with a neck as thick as my thigh rumbles.

I produce our forged documents with a steady hand, praying that Ricky's work is as flawless as he claimed. The guard scrutinizes them, his face an unreadable mask. After what feels like an eternity, he nods and waves us through.

"If you plan to bid tonight, please proceed to the registration desk for proof of payment," he adds as we pass through a body scanner.

Inside, the warehouse is a study in contrasts. Industrial beams soar overhead, but the concrete floor is covered in plush oriental rugs. Chandeliers cast a warm glow over clusters of the criminal elite, their designer suits and glittering jewelry at odds with our surroundings.

"I'll handle the registration," Talon murmurs, peeling off towards a discreet desk in the corner.

Zaire's eyes roam the room, cataloging exits, and potential threats. "Heavy hitters are here tonight, Oz," he whispers. "I count at least three family heads and a dozen underbosses."

I nod, my own gaze sweeping the crowd. That's when I see him – Dmitri Petrov, my cousin, holding court near the center of the room. My blood runs cold. If he recognizes us, this entire operation goes up in smoke. A pretty little blonde hangs off his arm, beaming up at him.

"Nine o'clock," I mutter. "Our dear cousin has decided to grace us with his presence."

“Got him,” Zaire remarks.

Talon joins us a few seconds later with a bidding paddle in his hand. He spots Dmitri immediately. Talon casually shifts, angling his body to block Dmitri's line of sight. "Well, isn't this a lovely family reunion?" he quips, but I can see the tension in his shoulders.

“Are we registered? I ask him.

"We're cleared to bid, but the buy-in is steep. Whatever this exotic merchandise is, just cost one of your uncle’s not so secret off shore accounts a ten million dollar deposit.”

I turn to Talon, my eyebrows raised in surprise. "How did you get that information?" I ask, keeping my voice low. The constant murmur of the crowd around us provides some cover, but in a room full of criminals, you can never be too careful.

Talon's eyes sparkle with mischief, a stark contrast to the serious atmosphere permeating the warehouse. "Ask Harry Ballsack," he replies with a wink.

"Ask Al…Harry?" I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper. "He's supposed to be with the car. What's going on?"

Talon leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear as he speaks. "Our boy Harry has been busy. Remember that fancy new smartwatch he's been showing off? Well, it's not just for counting steps and checking his texts."

I feel a mix of admiration and concern wash over me. Leave it to Alex to find a way to be in two places at once. "Go on," I urge, my curiosity piqued.

"That watch? It's a high-tech piece of equipment," Talon explains, his voice tinged with pride. "It's got a built-in scanner that can pick up and decrypt nearby wireless signals. While Harry was 'parking the car,' he managed to intercept some very interesting financial data being transmitted to and from this place. Knowing Dmitri is here…if we find what we are looking for, our uncle will only assume his precious little heir spent the money. None the wiser, and nothing spent from our coffers.”

I take a moment to process this information, my eyes scanning the room once more. The opulence surrounding us suddenly seems even more significant. "So, Harry essentially hacked into their system without even stepping foot inside?"

Talon nods, a grin spreading across his face. "Exactly. He's our eyes and ears on the outside, feeding us real-time intel. And let me tell you, the numbers he's seeing? They're astronomical."

“And he’s communicating with you how?”

“That’s our little secret,” he winks.

"What else has he found out?" I ask, my mind already racing with possibilities.

Talon's expression grows serious. "That's the thing. The amount of money changing hands tonight? It's not just about rare artifacts or illegal goods. Whatever's being auctioned off, it's big. Like, 'change the balance of power in the underworld' big."

I feel a chill run down my spine. This is bigger than we anticipated.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this, brother, “Zaire remarks. “We’re too exposed, and with Dmitri here, we’re sitting ducks.”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of our mission pressing down on me. The temptation to abort is strong, especially with Dmitri's unexpected presence, but I can't shake the feeling that we're on the cusp of something monumental. The air in the warehouse seems to crackle with anticipation, and I'm not about to walk away now.

"We're staying," I announce quietly, my voice firm despite the knot of anxiety in my stomach.

Zaire's eyebrows furrow, a silent question in his eyes. I can see the concern etched on his face, but he trusts my judgment. Talon, on the other hand, looks almost excited by the prospect of danger.

"Alright, but we need to be smart about this," I continue, my eyes darting around the room. "We're going to spread out. Talon, take the bidding paddle. You arrived at the academy after Dmitri left, so he won't recognize you. Mingle, listen, and for God's sake, try not to draw attention to yourself."

Talon grins, taking the paddle with a flourish. "Me? Draw attention? Never," he quips, but I can see the steel behind his playful demeanor. He understands the gravity of the situation.

"Zaire, I want you near the exits. Keep an eye on the security and catalog any changes in their positions or behaviors. If things go south, we'll need a quick escape route."

My brother nods, his posture already shifting as he slips into surveillance mode. "Got it. What about you?"

“I’ll be around.”

Zaire nods, his posture shifting subtly as he slips into surveillance mode. He moves away, his steps casual but purposeful, blending seamlessly with the other guests.

Left alone, I take a moment to survey the room. The air is thick with anticipation, hushed conversations, and tinkling glasses, creating a symphony of wealth and power. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over the gathered criminals, their faces a mix of excitement and barely concealed greed.

I make my way towards the bar, strategically positioned to overhear conversations without drawing attention. As I wait for my drink, a martini that I have no intention of actually consuming, I catch snippets of whispered exchanges.

"...heard it could change everything..."

"...worth every penny if it's real..."

"...Victor Petrov himself is interested..."

My ears prick up at the mention of my uncle's name. Whatever's being auctioned tonight, it's clear that Victor wants it badly. And that alone is reason enough for us to interfere.

The bartender slides my drink across the polished surface, and I nod my thanks. As I turn, I nearly collide with a statuesque redhead in a shimmering gown. She stumbles slightly, and I reach out to steady her, my free hand grasping her elbow.

"My apologies," I murmur, slipping easily into the role of Oliver Blackwood, charming and slightly aloof.

She looks up at me through long lashes, a coy smile playing on her crimson lips. The redhead's eyes sparkle with interest as she appraises me. "No harm done," she purrs, her voice a sultry whisper. "I'm Natasha. And you are?"

"Oliver Blackwood," I reply smoothly, angling my body to shield my face from the crowd. I lean in close as if sharing a secret. "I must say, you've saved me from a terribly dull evening. These events can be so...tedious."

Natasha laughs, a tinkling sound that draws the attention of nearby guests. Perfect. I guide her towards a quieter corner, using her as a living shield against Dmitri's potential gaze.

"Oh, I don't know," she says, trailing a manicured finger down my lapel. "I find there's always excitement to be found if you know where to look."

I arch an eyebrow, playing along. "Is that so? And where might one find such excitement, Ms...?"

"Just Natasha," she interjects, her smile widening. "And as for excitement, well...that depends on what you're into, Mr. Blackwood."

I allow a slow smile to spread across my face, all the while scanning the room over her shoulder. Zaire has positioned himself near a fire exit, casually sipping champagne. Talon is engaged in animated conversation with a group of middle-aged men, no doubt charming them effortlessly.

"I'm interested in many things," I murmur, returning my attention to Natasha. "Art, history, the thrill of acquisition..."

She leans in closer, her perfume enveloping me in a cloud of jasmine and something darker, more exotic. "Then you've come to the right place. I hear tonight's offerings are...unprecedented."

Before I can probe further, a hush falls over the crowd. A distinguished man in a tailored suit takes the stage, tapping a microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll please take your seats. The auction is about to begin."

Natasha's eyes light up. "Duty calls," she says with a wink. "Perhaps we can continue this conversation later, Oliver."

I watch her sashay away, mentally filing away her face and name for future reference. As the crowd settles into their seats, I find a spot near the back, close enough to observe but far from Dmitri's line of sight.

The first item up for bid is a newly discovered Fabergé egg, its enamel surface gleaming under the spotlights. The bidding is fierce, with paddles rising in quick succession. It goes for a cool fifteen million to a portly man with a thick Russian accent.

Next comes a set of Romanov jewels, each gem sparkling with history and bloodshed. I watch as Talon raises his paddle once, twice, before bowing out gracefully. The necklace sells for twenty-three million to a severe-looking woman in the front row.

As the auction progresses, I find my attention waning. Priceless artifacts and illicit goods change hands for astronomical sums, but nothing seems to justify the level of secrecy and excitement surrounding tonight's event. I begin to wonder if Ricky's intel was off, if we've risked everything for nothing more than an elaborate, high-stakes yard sale.

But then, just as I'm considering signaling to Zaire that we should cut our losses, the auctioneer's voice takes on a new timbre of excitement. "Ladies and gentlemen, we now come to the pinnacle of tonight's offerings. I assure you, what you are about to see is truly unprecedented."

The crowd stirs, a palpable wave of anticipation rippling through the room. I straighten in my seat, every nerve on high alert. I lock eyes with Talon, who waits for my signal if it’s her.

A hush falls over the room as a woman is led onto the stage. Her hands are clasped in front of her, her face hidden behind a black blindfold. A pair of noise-canceling headphones covers her ears, effectively cutting her off from her surroundings. She's dressed simply in a white shift dress that falls to her knees, her bare feet padding silently across the stage.

My breath catches in my throat. This isn't an object – it's a person. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.

The woman in the red dress – Natasha – steps up beside her, a predatory smile on her face. With practiced ease, she begins to manipulate the blindfolded woman's body, positioning her like a living doll. She turns her this way and that, showing off her figure to the salivating crowd.

"As you can see," the auctioneer continues, his voice dripping with false charm, "our offering tonight is in peak physical condition. Young, healthy, proven stock with an impeccable pedigree…and a virgin."

The crowd murmurs excitedly, and I can practically see the dollar signs in their eyes. I feel sick.

I scan the crowd, my stomach churning at the hungry looks on their faces. My eyes land on Dmitri, and I have to stifle a growl. He's laughing, actually laughing, as he watches the woman on stage. The blonde on his arm joins in, her tinkling laughter a discordant note in the tense atmosphere.

I study the girl on stage, my heart pounding in my chest. Her build is rounder than I remember Vesper's being, curves softened by what looks like a deliberate attempt to fatten her up. The long blonde hair cascading down her back is familiar, but without seeing her face, I can't be certain. I strain my eyes, searching for any identifying mark, any hint that this could be her.

The bidding starts at an obscene amount, paddles shooting up across the room. I catch Talon's eye, and he raises an eyebrow, waiting for my signal. But I hesitate, uncertainty gnawing at me. What if I'm wrong? What if this isn't Vesper at all, but some other poor soul caught in this nightmare?

"Five million," a voice calls out, breaking through my reverie.

"Ten million," counters another.

As the bids climb higher and higher, I notice a change in the woman in red - Natasha. Her smile grows wider, more predatory, as she slinks around the blindfolded woman. There's a gleam in her eye that sets my teeth on edge.

"Twenty-five million," someone shouts, and a ripple of excited murmurs sweeps through the crowd.

"Come now, gentlemen," Natasha purrs into a microphone, her voice a silky caress that sends shivers down my spine. "Surely you can do better than that? After all, we're not just selling a pretty face here. What we're offering tonight is power. The kind of power that comes with a name. A name that carries weight in our world. A name that opens doors and topples empires."

The crowd murmurs, intrigued. Natasha's grin widens. My blood runs cold. There's only one woman whose name could hold that much sway in our world.

"That's right," Natasha says, reveling in the crowd's growing excitement. "This is none other than Vesper Rossi, the jewel of the Rossi crime family."

The room erupts into chaos. Bids fly fast and furious, the amount skyrocketing to unimaginable heights. I see Dmitri lean forward, his eyes burning with a mixture of lust and greed that makes me want to tear him apart with my bare hands. But I can't move. I'm frozen in place, my eyes locked on Vesper. Now that I know it's her, I can’t look away.

She’s alive. She’s really fucking alive.

Zaire materializes at my side, his voice low and urgent.

My heart pounds in my chest as I watch the bidding war unfold. The room spins around me, a dizzying blur of greed and depravity. I feel Zaire's presence beside me, solid and reassuring, but it does little to quell the storm raging inside me.

"Oz," Zaire whispers urgently, his breath hot against my ear. "We need to move. Now."

I nod, my eyes never leaving Vesper's form on the stage. She stands there, blind and deaf to the world around her, unaware that her fate is being decided by the highest bidder. The sight of her, vulnerable and exposed, ignites a fire in my chest that threatens to consume me.

"Fifty million!" Talon's voice rings out, clear and confident. The crowd gasps, heads turning to locate the source of such an outrageous bid.

I see Dmitri's eyes narrow, his gaze sweeping the room. It's only a matter of time before he spots us. We need to act fast.

"Z," I murmur, my voice barely audible over the commotion. "Get to Alex. Tell him to be ready. We're going to need a quick exit."

Zaire nods, melting into the crowd with practiced ease. I start to make my way towards the exit, but I stop. I can’t leave her. Not again. I turn, watching the bidding war continue.

"Sixty million!" Another voice calls out, and I recognize the thick Russian accent as one of Victor's associates.

Talon counters immediately. "Seventy million!"

The air in the room grows thick with tension, the excitement palpable. I can see the greed glittering in Natasha's eyes as she stands next to Vesper, her hand possessively placed on the small of her back.

I watch, my heart pounding, as the bidding war rages on. The numbers climb higher and higher, each new bid eliciting gasps and murmurs from the crowd. But amidst the frenzy, one thing stands out to me like a beacon in the night: Dmitri isn't bidding. Not one single bid.

My cousin, the man who's supposed to marry Vesper, sits there with a smug smile on his face, whispering occasionally to the blonde on his arm. It's as if he knows something we don't, and that realization sends a chill down my spine.

Talon, however, is in his element. He stands tall, his face a mask of calm determination as he squares off against two representatives from other European families. I recognize them vaguely - one from the Moretti clan of Italy, the other from the Durand family in France. They were also in the running for the marriage alliance with the Rossis, and now they're fighting tooth and nail for Vesper.

"One hundred and fifty million," the Moretti man calls out, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining composure.

"One seventy-five," counters the Frenchman, sweat beading on his brow.

Talon doesn't miss a beat. "Two hundred million," he announces, his voice ringing clear through the warehouse.

The room falls silent for a moment, the sheer magnitude of the bid sinking in. I can see the other bidders wavering, their resolve crumbling in the face of such astronomical sums.

But then, just as I think it's over, the Italian finds his second wind. "Two twenty-five," he croaks out.

Talon's eyes flash, and I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. He takes a deep breath, and I hold mine, waiting.

"Two hundred and fifty million dollars," Talon declares, his voice steady and sure.

The silence that follows is deafening. The auctioneer looks around the room, his gavel poised in the air. "Two hundred and fifty million going once...twice..."

I dare to hope, my eyes fixed on Vesper's still form on the stage. She hasn't moved throughout this entire ordeal, unaware that her fate hangs in the balance.

"Sold!" The gavel comes down with a resounding crack that seems to echo through my very bones.

Chaos erupts. Two burly men in black suits rush towards Talon, ushering him behind the stage. I watch him go, my heart in my throat. This is it. We've done it.

I feel a hand on my arm and turn to see Zaire. His face is grim, but there's a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. "Time to go," he says, pulling me towards the exit.