Page 152

“What's happening? Why is...why is she here?” she questions, her voice small as she takes another hesitant step forward.

The color drains from her face as she stares at me, her manicured hand rising to her throat in a gesture both defensive and stunned. Gone is the confident woman I remember from my father’s study. Bianca looks fragile, uncertain—like she’s seeing a ghost. Her own personal bogeyman, the one about to destroy her life for stealing mine.

“Cousin,” I greet her, forcing warmth into my voice despite the circumstances. “It's been a long time.”

“You shouldn't be here,” she hisses, glancing nervously at Victor. “You disappeared.”

I lift my hand to my chest. “It doesn’t appear that I did, cousin. What is it that they say? The stories of my disappearance are greatly exaggerated, or is that about death? Either way, here I am.”

“Sit,” Victor orders her. Bianca sheepishly complies, settling herself into the chair next to mine.

“I don't know what she's told you,” Bianca begins, her voice trembling slightly despite her obvious attempt to appear composed. "But whatever it is?—"

“Is it true that you are not Mario Rossi's biological daughter?” Victor cuts her off.

I watch as the blood drains from Bianca's face, her lips parting in silent shock.

“I...I don't...” she stammers, her fingers twisting the expensive fabric of her dress.

“A simple question,” Victor continues as he rises. “One with a simple answer. Yes, or no.”

“You dare question my identity,” Bianca’s voice sharpens. Gone is the simpering fool. What remains is cold, calculated steel. “I am Bianca Rossi. Daughter of Mario Rossi. This—” she gestures at me with a sneer, “—this is nothing but a desperate ploy from a woman who abandoned her responsibilities and now regrets it. She's lying to you. Can’t you see? She disappeared for years and now suddenly reappears with these...these fabrications? This woman wants what I have. My position. My husband. My son.”

The vehemence in her voice is impressive. If I didn't know better, I might believe her myself.

“Call my father,” she insists. “He will verify it.”

“Your father is in no position to answer anything, Bianca,” I interject. A wide smile forms on my face. “He’s dead. I shot him myself.”

She stills. “You…you killed my father?” She shoves herself from her seat, launching herself towards me. “You fucking bitch!”

“Enough,” Victor cuts her off, his voice sharp as a blade. He rises from behind his desk, towering over all of us as he gestures to one of the guards. “So it is true. You deceived me, Bianca.”

“I am a Rossi!” Bianca screams, her voice cracking with desperation. “You have no proof! Just the words of a woman who abandoned her family!”

Victor's expression doesn't change as he studies her. I watch his hand slip beneath his desk, the movement so smooth it's almost imperceptible.

“I have all the proof I need.”

The gunshot is deafening in the confined space of the study. I flinch instinctively as crimson mist erupts from the back of Bianca's head, spattering across the antique wallpaper behind her. Her body crumples instantly, collapsing in a heap at my feet. Warm droplets of her blood speckle my cheeks and hands.

For a moment, I can't process what I've just witnessed. Bianca's eyes remain open, frozen in that final moment of terrified realization, but the light behind them is already gone. A pool of blood spreads beneath her head, seeping into the intricate pattern of the Persian rug.

“Such a waste,” Victor remarks, lowering the pistol with casual indifference. He glances at the guards who haven't moved a muscle. “Clean this up. And inform my son his marriage has been...terminated.”

My heart hammers against my ribs as I force myself to remain still, to betray no emotion despite the horror unfolding before me.

I can't tear my gaze away from her face. The woman who stole my life, now just an empty vessel on expensive carpet.

“Miss Rossi!” Talon's voice cuts through my shock, his footsteps pounding in the hallway outside. “Vesper!”

The doors burst open as he fights his way past the guards, his face twisted with alarm. He freezes when he sees the scene. Me, still seated, splattered with Bianca's blood, Victor, standing calmly with the gun still warm in his hand, and Bianca's body sprawled between us.

Victor places the pistol on his desk with deliberate care, the metal making a soft click against the polished wood. He straightens his cuffs before walking toward me with measured steps.

“My apologies for the...theatrics,” he says, extending his hand to help me up. “Some problems require immediate solutions.”

I stare at his offered hand, noting the absence of blood spatter on his immaculate suit. Somehow, he'd managed to execute Bianca without getting a single drop on himself. I place my trembling fingers in his, allowing him to pull me to my feet. My legs feel unsteady beneath me as I step carefully around Bianca's body.