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Vesper looks between us, her brow furrowed in that way that always means she's cutting through unnecessary complications. “Why don't I just call him?" she asks, her directness catching us all off guard. “You have his number, right? Seems more direct than intermediaries. You're his nephews.”

The simplicity of her suggestion momentarily stuns us into silence. Z stares at her as if she's suggested we walk into a nuclear reactor without protection.

“Just call Victor Petrov?” Talon repeats, incredulity coloring his voice.

“Yes," Vesper says, unfazed by our collective shock. "Direct approach. No games.”

“You don't just call Victor Petrov. The man has layers of security, gatekeepers, protocols.”

“Actually,” I interject, my mind already working through the logistics, “it's not the worst idea.”

Z turns his glare on me. "Have you lost your mind?"

“Think about it," I continue, unperturbed by his reaction. "What's Victor's greatest weakness? His pride. His ego. A direct call from the head of the Rossi family, a woman he believes was stolen from him, would appeal to that ego."

Talon nods slowly. "The unexpectedness of it might work in our favor. Victor appreciates boldness, even from his enemies."

“This is insane," Z mutters, but I can see his resistance weakening.

“Do we have his number?" Vesper asks.

My brother's jaw works silently for a moment before he reluctantly pulls out his phone. "I still have his private line. He never changed it. thinks it's a power move, letting us know we could call but never would."

“Until now,” Vesper says, her hand outstretched for the phone.

Z hesitates, his thumb hovering over the screen. “Vesper, once we do this, there's no going back. You understand that, right? Victor isn't just some garden-variety psychopath.”

"We don’t have a choice. The clock is ticking, and I am not wasting another second. Make the call.”

VESPER

The soundof Victor Petrov's phone ringing echoes through our apartment like a death knell, each tone more ominous than the last. I hold my breath, watching Z's face harden into something cold and unrecognizable as he waits for the connection.

The line clicks. A gruff voice answers in rapid Russian, the syllables sharp as broken glass.

Z's responds in English, his accent suddenly thicker than I've ever heard it. “This is Zaire Petrov. I need to speak with my uncle.”

A beat of silence, then the voice switches to heavily accented English. “Zaire? This is...unexpected.”

“Put him on.” The command in Z's voice is unmistakable. voice of a man who expects to be obeyed despite years of estrangement.

I move closer, my heart hammering against my ribs as a muffled exchange takes place on the other end. Z's breathing carefully measured.

Oz and Talon position themselves on either side of me, a protective formation we've fallen into without discussion. The seconds stretch like hours until finally, a new voice comes through the speaker, deep and authoritative.

“Nephew.” The single word carries decades of history, dripping with equal parts disdain and curiosity. "I trust you have an excellent reason for ignoring your exile from this family.”

Z's jaw tightens, a muscle working beneath the skin.

“I have someone here who wishes to speak with you.” Z's voice remains steady, though I can see the tension in every line of his body. “The head of the Rossi family.”

Victor's laugh is like gravel being crushed underfoot. “Mario knows how to contact me directly. Why is he using you as a mediator?” His tone sharpens. “What have you done, nephew?”

Z's eyes meet mine, a silent question. I nod once, stepping forward to take the phone from his hand. Our fingers brush during the exchange, his skin cool against my feverish touch.

“This is Vesper Rossi,” I say, forcing strength into my voice.

“Miss Rossi.” Victor's tone shifts subtly. “I had heard rumors of your...reemergence. Though I find it curious you're in my nephew's company. I have to admit it is quite surprising that youare assuming the head of your family, considering your uncle is very much alive.”