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

40. Vesper

VESPER

I lean back against the plush leather seat, sandwiched between Oscar and Zaire as our sleek black SUV winds through the bustling streets of Boston. The events of last night play through my mind like a fever dream, each memory sending shivers down my spine. Oscar's hand rests on my thigh, his touch both possessive and comforting. I glance at him, taking in his sharp profile and the way his blue eyes scan the passing scenery with calculated precision. Last night, those same eyes burned with passion as he mapped every inch of my body with his lips.

On my other side, Zaire's muscular arm presses against mine, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of my blouse. The memory of his calloused hands on my skin, the gentle way he traced my curves despite his rough exterior, sends a flush creeping up my neck.

In the front seat, Alex is behind the wheel while Talon fidgets with his suit jacket, adjusting it to conceal the arsenal he carries in the passenger seat. His brown eyes meet mine over his shoulder, a playful glint dancing in them as if he can read my thoughts. The ghost of his touch lingers on my skin, recalling how he effortlessly lifted me, his strength both thrilling and reassuring.

The four of them fit together in my life like pieces of an intricate puzzle, each filling a void I hadn't realized existed. Oscar, with his strategic mind and unwavering loyalty grounds me. Zaire's fierce protectiveness and hidden tenderness give me a sense of security I've never known. And Talon, with his easy charm and lethal skills reminds me that life can be both dangerous and exhilarating. Though with Alex, I am still trying to figure him out. He’d been so open with me about his past, but he’s kept me at arm’s length so far.

"You nervous about heading back to the Rossi mansion?" Oscar's voice breaks through my reverie, his tone laced with concern.

I take a deep breath, the scent of leather and cologne filling my lungs. "Yes and no," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's strange. That place was never really home, you know?"

The word 'home' feels foreign on my tongue, a concept I've only recently begun to understand. I look around at the four men surrounding me, each one a pillar of strength in their own right and realize that home isn't a place—it's a feeling.

"I never knew love there," I continue, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "Not like I have now."

Talon's eyebrows shoot up on in the rear view mirror. “Did you just drop the L-bomb? Should we be planning a group wedding?"

I roll my eyes but can't help the smile tugging at my lips. "Shut up, Talon. You know what I mean."

Zaire chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and into my side. "Leave her alone, T. We all know you're just as smitten."

“I would like the record to state that I called the love square,” Alex chimes in.

The SUV falls into a comfortable silence as we continue our journey. I watch the familiar streets pass by memories of my childhood flashing before my eyes. The pristine lawns and towering mansions of my old neighborhood feel cold and unwelcoming now, a stark contrast to the warmth I've found with these men.

As we approach the iron gates of the Rossi estate, I feel Oscar's hand tighten on my thigh. I place my hand over his, our fingers intertwining. "It's okay," I murmur, more to myself than to him. "We're here together."

The gates swing open, revealing the sprawling mansion that once held so much power over me. Its imposing facade no longer instills fear in my heart. Instead, I feel a surge of determination. I'm not the same girl who left this place, desperate for escape. I'm stronger now, surrounded by love and loyalty I never thought possible.

Talon's keen eyes sweep across the manicured lawns and ornate fountains, searching for any sign of danger. After a tense moment, he nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "All clear," he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring.

“Where are his guards?” I comment, noting the lack of security around the entrance or at the gate when we passed. When this was our family home, Father had a small army to protect our family.

“They’re here,” Oscar states, scanning the property. “He would never meet with me without them close enough to make himself feel safe, but considering why I called the meeting, he might have sent them away. Secrets like this are hard to keep with so many ears to hear them.”

Oscar's hand finds the small of my back as he helps me out of the SUV. The gravel crunches beneath my heels, the sound echoing in the eerie silence that blankets the estate. As I stand, smoothing down my designer dress, an armor of silk and lace, Oscar leans in close, his breath warm against my ear.

"Whatever happens in there, Vesper," he whispers, his blue eyes intense and unwavering, "if anything goes wrong, we'll get you out. No matter what."

The determination in his voice should be comforting, but instead, it sets my nerves on edge. What does he know that I don't? What are they expecting to happen behind those imposing mahogany doors?

We begin our ascent up the grand marble steps, my footsteps echo against the stone in a rhythm that feels like a countdown. The men form a protective square around me, Oscar to my right, Zaire to my left, Talon and Alex bringing up the rear. Their presence is both comforting and suffocating, a reminder of the danger we might be walking into.

As we approach the massive double doors, I can't help but notice how the brass knockers gleam in the afternoon sun, polished to perfection, just like everything else in my father's world. The perfect facade hiding the rottenness within.

Oscar pauses at the threshold, his hand hovering over one of the knockers. He glances back at us, a mischievous glint in his eyes despite the tension. "Should we knock?" he asks, his tone light but underlined with caution. "Wouldn't want to be rude to our gracious hosts."

Before anyone can answer, Zaire steps forward, his tattooed hand reaching for the ornate handle. Without hesitation, he turns it and pushes the door open. The heavy wood swings inward with an ominous creak that seems to reverberate through my very bones.

"No need for formalities," Zaire growls, his voice low and dangerous. "We're family, after all."

As the door opens wider, revealing the opulent foyer beyond, I take a deep breath. The familiar scent of lemon polish and old money assaults my senses, bringing with it a flood of memories, some tender, most painful. I steel myself, drawing strength from the four men surrounding me.

We step over the threshold together, a united front entering the lion's den. The click of the door closing behind us sounds like the sealing of a tomb. The entrance looks much the same as it did when I walked out of the door two years ago. The grand foyer stretches before us, a testament to opulence and old money. Gleaming marble floors reflect the soft light from the crystal chandelier hanging overhead, each facet catching and scattering rainbows across the room. The sweeping staircase, with its intricately carved mahogany banister, curves gracefully upward, leading to the second floor where so many of my childhood memories—both cherished and painful—reside.

My eyes are drawn to the top of the stairs, where a familiar gilded frame hangs. But the faces staring back at me are not the ones I expect. Instead of my father's stern visage and my mother's forced smile, I see my uncle's family portrait. A portrait of fucking lies.

My breath catches in my throat as I take in the scene. My uncle stands tall and proud, his hand resting on the shoulder of his wife, who sits primarily in an antique chair. Bianca sits next to her mother. It's a vision of familial harmony, of strength and unity. But I know better. The portrait is a masterpiece of deception, each brushstroke carefully crafted to hide the rot beneath the surface. A wave of nausea washes over me as I stare at this visual representation of my uncle's coup. This is more than just a change in decor—it's a statement. A declaration that the old order has fallen, and a new regime has taken its place.

I feel Oscar's hand on the small of my back, a gentle pressure grounding me in the present. Zaire shifts beside me, his body coiled with tension as if ready to spring into action at any moment. Talon's eyes dart around the room, cataloging every potential threat and exit point.

"Well," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, "I guess some things do change."

As I stand there, surrounded by the men who have become my chosen family, I realize that while the house may look the same, I am not. I am no longer the scared girl who fled this place two years ago. I am Vesper Rossi, and I have returned to reclaim what is rightfully mine.

I lead our group down the familiar corridor. The portraits of Rossi patriarchs lining the walls seem to watch us with judging eyes, their painted gazes following our every move. The air grows heavy with tension as we approach my father's, no, my uncle's, study.

Oscar moves ahead, his hand brushing against mine in a brief, reassuring touch before he steps forward to open the heavy mahogany door. The polished handle gleams under the soft light of the wall sconces, and for a moment, I'm transported back to countless childhood memories of standing before this very door, heart pounding, waiting to be summoned inside.

Oscar pushes the door open, revealing the room beyond. Talon follows close behind, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow. I can almost see the gears turning in his head as he assesses potential threats and escape routes.

With Zaire and Alex flanking me, their presence solid and comforting at my back, I step into the study. The scent of leather-bound books and expensive cigars washes over me, so achingly familiar it makes my chest tighten. The room is bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the intricately patterned Persian rug.

My eyes are immediately drawn to the massive mahogany desk that dominates the room. It's the same desk I remember from my childhood, its surface scarred with countless memories. But the man sitting behind it is not my father.

“I thought you said you were coming alone, Petrov,” my uncle's gruff voice snarls.

I step out from behind the protective wall of my men and show myself. “Well, when you’ve been held captive for the last two years, you tend to feel safer in numbers, Uncle Mario,” I reply.

He looks up from the papers spread before him, his pen frozen mid-stroke. His eyes widen in shock, mouth falling open slightly as he takes in the sight of me standing before him. For a moment, the carefully crafted mask of the ruthless crime boss slips, revealing a flicker of genuine surprise and fear?

"Vesper," he breathes, my name falling from his lips like a prayer—or a curse. He quickly composes himself, straightening in the high-backed leather chair that once belonged to my father. "What an unexpected surprise."

I feel a surge of satisfaction at having caught him off guard. It's a rare thing to see Mario Rossi rattled, and I savor the moment, letting the silence stretch between us.

"Uncle," I reply, my voice cool and controlled. I take a step forward, feeling the solid presence of my men behind me. "You look surprised to see me. I wonder why that could be the case.”

Mario's lips tighten into a thin line as he rises from his chair, his hands splaying across the polished surface of the desk. "Vesper, my dear, we thought…"

"No," I cut him off, my voice sharp as a blade. “Don’t pretend that you haven’t known where I’ve been the last two years.”

I take another step forward, my eyes never leaving his face. The room seems to shrink around us, the tension palpable in the air. I can feel the steady presence of Oscar, Zaire, Talon, and Alex behind me, their silent support giving me strength.

"It’s funny. The last time I stood in this room," I begin, my voice low and steady, "I was arguing with my father. I stood right here," I continue, moving to stand in the exact spot where I'd faced my father two years ago. "Right here, where I told him I wouldn't marry Dmitri Petrov. That I wouldn't be a pawn in his power games."

I run my fingers along the edge of the desk, feeling the smooth wood beneath my skin. How many times had I stood on the other side of this desk as a child, barely able to see over its imposing surface?

"He told me I had no choice," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "That it was my duty to the family. And now look at where we are."

I turn back to face Mario, noting the beads of sweat forming on his brow. "My father is dead, and you've taken his place. And isn't it ironic, Uncle, that the very man my father wanted me to marry is now married to your daughter? But, she’s not really your daughter, is she?"

Mario flinches at my words, his composure cracking further. I press on, relishing the way he squirms under my gaze.

“You forget your place, niece.”

His words ignite a fire within me, rage coursing through my veins like molten lava. I laugh, a harsh, bitter sound that echoes off the wood-paneled walls.

"My place?" I spit the words out, venom dripping from every syllable. "You dare speak to me about my place?"

I stalk around the desk, my movements fluid and predatory. Mario flinches, I can smell the fear radiating off him in waves, mingling with the scent of his expensive cologne.

"For two years," I continue, my voice low and dangerous, "you let Natasha take everything from me. My home, my family, my dignity. You ordered every violation done to me."

Mario's eyes widen, a flicker of guilt crossing his features before he masks it with indignation. "Vesper, you don't understand-"

"Oh, I understand perfectly," I cut him off, slamming my hands down on the desk. The sharp crack echoes through the room, making him flinch. "You allowed me to be sold like livestock once I'd served my purpose. Tell me, Uncle, how much did my suffering line your pockets?"

He shakes his head vehemently, sweat beading on his upper lip. "No, no, you've got it all wrong. I never-"

"Don't you dare lie to me!" I roar, my composure finally shattering. "I know what you did. Every. Single. Detail."

I lean in close, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, so similar to my father's and yet so different. "I know about your plan for your daughter to take my place as Dmitri’s bride. Honestly, that part doesn’t bother me. Being married to a monster isn’t really where I saw my future heading. For that, I am grateful. But, you had to take it a step further to protect your dirty little secret. You took from me. You created a life from my own body and gave it to your daughter. The daughter who doesn’t have a single drop of Rossi blood in her.”

Mario's face drains of color, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. I press on, relentless in my assault.

"You stole that innocence from me. Look what you made, Uncle Mario.”

I step back from the desk, my anger giving way to a cold, calculated calm. With deliberate grace, I begin to twirl, my dress flaring out around me like the petals of a deadly flower. The movement is slow, controlled, reminiscent of a ballerina in a music box—beautiful, yet mechanical and slightly unnerving.

"What do you want, Vesper?" Mario asks, his voice strained as he watches me spin. His eyes dart nervously between me and the men standing guard at the door. "Money?”

“You cannot buy what you’ve already sold, Uncle. You see," I continue, my voice steady despite my constant motion, "everything in this room, everything in this house—it all belongs to me. You're just a temporary caretaker, a placeholder."

"Oh, my dear niece," he chuckles, wiping tears from his eyes. "You truly believe you can just waltz in here and take it all back? You're a woman, Vesper. A woman without a family to back her outside of myself and your cousin, and I’ll never do that.”

His words hit me like a physical blow, but I refuse to let him see how they affect me. I stand tall, chin raised defiantly.

"You're wrong," Oscar's voice cuts through the tension, calm and steady. He steps forward, his presence a comforting warmth at my side. "She has a family."

Mario's eyes dart between us, confusion evident on his face before realization dawns. His lips curl into a sneer as he takes in the protective stance of the men around me, the way Oscar's hand rests possessively on the small of my back.

"I see," he spits, disgust dripping from every word. "So, this is what it's come to, eh? For someone who was so against marrying into the Petrov family, you’re still fucking one, aren’t you? Tell me, niece, did you spread your legs for all of them, or just the pretty ones?"

The room seems to vibrate with tension, the air crackling with barely contained rage. I can feel the fury radiating off the men behind me, but it's nothing compared to the inferno blazing inside my chest.

"You're no better than a common whore. Selling herself to whatever fool has enough cash to pay for her time," he snarls.

The words have barely left his mouth when a blur of motion catches my eye. Zaire surges forward, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. Before anyone can react, his fist connects with Mario's jaw with a sickening crack.

Mario falls back in his chair, blood trickling from his split lip. Zaire doesn't give him a chance to recover, grabbing him by the lapels of his expensive suit and slamming him against his desk. A stack of papers tumble to the floor as Mario's head connects with the solid wood.

"You don't get to talk about her like that," Zaire growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You don't even get to say her name, you piece of shit."

I watch, frozen in place, as Zaire's hands tighten around Mario's throat. My uncle's eyes bulge, his face contorted in pain.

"Zaire, stop," I order. The same tone that Zaire uses on me when the weight of our world comes crashing down around me and I lose control. The room falls silent, save for Mario's labored breathing. Zaire's grip loosens, but he doesn't step away. His eyes are dark with rage. I can see the muscles in his jaw working as he fights to control himself.

"Is that why you came?" Mario rasps. “To have one of your paramours kill me for you?"

His words hang in the air, heavy and accusatory. I feel a surge of emotions, anger, disgust, but also a flicker of something else. Pity, perhaps? For a moment, I see my uncle not as the monster he's become, but as the man I once knew. The uncle who used to sneak me extra desserts at family dinners, who taught me how to play chess on lazy Sunday afternoons.

But that man is gone now, replaced by this bitter, power-hungry shell.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of old books and polished wood. Dust motes dance in the golden light, swirling in intricate patterns as if choreographed by an unseen hand. I move closer. I push the memories aside, steeling myself against the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm me. This man before me may wear my uncle's face, but he is no longer the person I once loved more than my own father.

Leaning down, I bring my face level with his. Our eyes lock, and I see a flicker of fear in the depths of his gaze. Good. Let him be afraid. Let him feel a fraction of the terror I've lived with for the past two years.

"I've learned something about myself since you kidnapped, violated, and sold me.” The words hang in the air between us, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths.

Mario's eyes narrow, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension clouding his features. "And what's that, my dear niece?" he asks, his voice hoarse from Zaire's assault.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his cologne, the same brand he's worn for as long as I can remember. It's a scent that once brought comfort, but now only serves to fuel my resolve.

"I've learned that blood means absolutely nothing," I say, each word precise and cutting. "Blood doesn't determine your family. A family, a real one, doesn't need to share a single drop of it."

As I speak, I feel a shift in the air around me. The men who came with me, Oscar, Zaire, Talon, and Alex, seem to draw closer, their presence a tangible force at my back. I draw strength from them, from the bonds we've forged through trials and tribulations.

"Family," I continue, my voice growing stronger with each word, "is not about shared DNA or family trees. It's about loyalty, trust, and unconditional love. It's about standing by someone's side when the whole world has turned its back on them."

I straighten up, looking down at Mario. The afternoon light streaming through the windows catches the tears welling in my eyes, turning them into liquid gold. But these aren't tears of sadness or fear. They're tears of revelation, of a truth so profound it shakes me to my very core.

"You taught me that lesson, Uncle," I say, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. "When you betrayed me, when you sold me like chattel, you showed me exactly what family isn't. And in doing so, you set me free to find my own family. One that will soon help me rule from this very seat.”

“You’ll have to kill me first before you’ll put your ass in this seat.”

“That can be arranged,” I threaten him.

Mario's eyes flicker with a dangerous glint, his lips curling into a devious smile that sends a chill down my spine. He leans back in his chair, a newfound confidence radiating from him despite the bruises forming on his throat.

"Family, family, family," he mocks, his voice a low growl. "You speak so passionately about it, my dear niece. And yet, in all your righteous anger, in all your talk of betrayal and loyalty, you seem to have forgotten someone rather important."

My heart skips a beat, a cold dread seeping into my bones. I struggle to maintain my composure, but I can feel my mask slipping. Mario's smile widens, like a predator sensing weakness in its prey.

"What are you talking about?" I manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Why, your brother, of course, or have you forgotten him so easily?" Mario's eyes glitter with malicious glee, like a cat toying with a wounded mouse. He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking ominously in the tense silence of the study. "Oh yes, your dear brother Luca. The prodigal son, the heir apparent until he wasn't."

I clench my fists at my sides, my nails digging crescents into my palms. The pain grounds me, keeps me from losing myself.

“I happen to know where he is. Well, was,” he sneers. "He's been alive and well this entire time," Mario continues, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "A little hard to find, to be honest. Your father made sure of that. But I...well, let's just say I have my ways."

I feel a hand on my lower back, steadying me. I didn’t even notice him moving behind me. Oscar's touch, warm and reassuring, anchors me.

"You want to know where he is, don't you, Vesper?" he purrs, his voice silky smooth. "You want to see your dear brother again, to reunite your fractured family?"

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. "What will that information cost me?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.

“Smart girl. Never expect anything for free. Maybe my brother taught you something about our world after all.” Mario's smile widens, revealing teeth that seem too sharp, too predatory. "It's simple, really. You walk away. You and your companions," he gestures dismissively at the men behind me, "leave this house, leave Boston. You forget about your claims to the Rossi empire, about your misguided quest for revenge. About your son, who is thriving with his mother and father. You disappear, and I'll tell you where to find Luca."

The offer hangs in the air between us, tempting and terrible all at once. I can feel Oscar's hand tighten on my back, a silent reminder of his support. Zaire shifts restlessly behind me, his anger a palpable force. Talon's eyes are darting around the room, no doubt calculating odds and escape routes. And Alex, steady and silent, radiates a calm that helps center me.

I close my eyes for a moment, letting the competing desires war within me. The longing to see Luca again, to hold my brother and know he's safe, is almost overwhelming. But the thought of walking away, of letting Mario win after everything he's done, makes my blood boil.

When I open my eyes again, I see Mario watching me intently, a vulture waiting for its prey to succumb. I straighten my spine, drawing strength from the presence of my chosen family behind me.

“Walk away, and I will give you everything you need to get him back,” he doubles down.

I feel Oscar's hand at the small of my back again, the cool metal of a gun pressing against my skin through the thin fabric of my dress. Without breaking eye contact with Mario, I reach behind me, my fingers closing around the grip of the pistol. The weight of it is familiar, comforting even, as I bring it forward.

Mario's eyes widen as the barrel comes into view, his smug expression faltering for the first time. I can see the wheels turning in his head, calculating his odds, searching for an escape route. But there is none. Not this time.

The gun feels alive in my hand, an extension of my will. I can feel every groove of the grip, every minute imperfection in the metal. Time seems to slow, the world narrowing down to just me, Mario, and the weapon between us.

“Tell me where I can find Luca.”

My uncle steels his face. “My offer hasn’t changed just because you don’t agree to the terms. He’s better off where he is. Your brother would have ruined this family. The Rossi empire deserved better than a f…” The crack of the gunshot cuts him off, the sound impossibly loud in the confines of the study. For a moment, everything is still, frozen in the aftermath of that single, violent act. A warm spray of my uncle’s blood splatters against me from the wound in his shoulder. The tiny droplets seeping into my clothes.

“Fuck!” he roars.

"That," I say, my voice eerily calm over Mario's pained gasps, "was for every night I spent in that hellhole you sent me to. For every time I cried out for help, and no one came."

I move closer, the gun still trained on him. Behind me, I can hear the shuffling of feet as my men adjust their positions, ready to act if needed. But this is my moment, my reckoning.

“You can’t do this. I am the fucking head of this family,” he snarls back with pain lacing every syllable that slips from his lips.

A bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You forget that I am a Rossi, too, and despite what you think, I can take your place just as easily as you stole it from my father.”

Mario whimpers, his face pale with pain and fear. Blood drips onto the antique Persian rug, each drop a stark reminder of the violence that has always lurked beneath the surface of our family's polished veneer. “You fucking bitch…”

I fire again, hitting his other shoulder. My uncle roars in pain again.

“I have a counter proposal. You tell me where my brother is, and I let you live,” I pause, allowing a sinister smile to cross my face. I let the weight of my words sink in, watching as the color drains from Mario's face. His eyes dart frantically between the gun in my hand and my face, searching for any sign of mercy. He finds none.

"You wouldn't," he gasps, his voice trembling. "You're not a killer, Vesper. You're not…”

The third gunshot rings out, drowning his protests in a cacophony of noise and pain. Mario's body jerks violently as the bullet tears through his groin spraying a fine mist of blood across the polished mahogany desk. The metallic scent of blood fills the air, mingling with the acrid smell of gunpowder.

His scream echoes off the wood-paneled walls, a primal sound of agony that sends shivers down my spine. But I don't flinch. I don't look away. I watch as he writhes in pain, clutching at the bloody mess of where his dick used to be with his already bloodied hand.

"You were saying?" I ask, my voice eerily calm over his pained gasps. "I'm not what, exactly?”

Mario's eyes are wild with fear now, darting between my face and the gun still trained on him. Sweat beads on his forehead, mingling with the tears of pain streaking down his cheeks. He opens his mouth to speak, but only a choked sob escapes.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," I say, raising the gun slightly higher. "Where. Is. Luca?"

Mario's eyes widen as he realizes where I'm aiming now. Right at his cold black heart. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, a bead of sweat trailing down his neck to disappear into his blood-soaked collar.

"Vesper, please," he whimpers, his earlier bravado completely shattered. "You don't understand. I can't just-"

"Wrong answer," I cut him off, my finger tightening on the trigger.

"Wait!" he screams, throwing up his hands in a pathetic attempt to shield himself. "He was...he was with you," he confesses.

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. "What?" I manage to choke out.

"Luca," Mario continues, his words tumbling out in a rush now. "He was in the same facility as you. You were together the entire time."

"Where?" I demand, my voice cracking with desperation. “Where is it?”

Mario's eyes flutter, struggling to focus on my face. "The Collector," he mumbles, blood-stained spittle flying from his lips. "Luca is with The Collector.”

"Where?" I press, leaning in closer. "Where can I find The Collector?"

Mario's laugh is a wet, gurgling sound that makes my stomach turn. "You don't find The Collector, Vesper. The Collector finds you."

“Tell me where my brother is,” I roar, but the only noise that comes from my uncle’s lips is the rasp of one final breath. Taking with it my chance to find my brother.