Page 97

“This—” My voice fails me. I try again, clutching the photo so tightly the edges cut into my palm. “This can't be real.”

“And there's something else. Turn it over.”

My fingers are numb as I flip the photograph, revealing a small black square in the center of the white backing. A QR code.

Talon's jaw clenches as he studies it over my shoulder. “Wait here,” he orders, already moving toward the hallway. He disappears into his bedroom, returning moments later with one of the burner phones we keep for emergencies.

“If we scan that, it could lead them right to us,” Z warns, stepping closer to me as Talon powers up the device.

“They already know where we are," Oscar responds. “But this is also our only lead.”

Talon positions the phone over the QR code, his breathing shallow as the scanner activates. A soft beep, then the screen fills with static before resolving into an image that steals the air from my lungs.

Luca hangs suspended from the ceiling, thick chains wrapped around his wrists, his toes barely brushing the concrete floor. His head lolls forward, chin resting against his chest, but I can see the shallow rise and fall of his breathing. He's alive. My brother is alive.

“My God.”

A voice emerges from the phone's speaker—distorted, mechanical, deliberately inhuman. “Hello, Vesper.” It’s the voice of my fucking nightmare. The Collector.

My stomach lurches as the camera pans around Luca, lingering on the lattice of scars crisscrossing his back. Fresh wounds weep over old scar tissue. My knees buckle, Z's arm locks around my waist, holding me upright as the monstrous voice continues.

“We've kept him alive for you, Vesper, as a gift. As a thank you for your donation to my cause.”

The camera zooms in on Luca's face. His eyes flutter open, glazed with pain but still burning with that stubborn Rossi defiance. The screen flickers, then shows a new angle of Luca. “Vesper,” he croaks, her name a broken sound. Someone off-camera presses a cattle prod against his ribs. His body convulses, a hoarse scream tearing from his throat.

“Stop!” I scream, lunging for the phone, but Z holds me firmly in place. “Stop hurting him!"

A figure moves into frame, face hidden behind a smooth, featureless mask. The voice comes through distorted. “You have something I want. And we have something you want. I propose a simple transaction.”

The camera jerks away from Luca's convulsing form, settling instead on a wall where a projection appears. It’s a blueprint I recognize immediately. The Rossi mansion. My childhood home. The place where my nightmares began. A red circle appears over the east wing of the mansion where my father's private study is located. The place where deals were made, where enemies were broken, where family secrets were buried beneath layers of mahogany and blood money.

“Twenty-four hours from now. 10 pm. Any sign of your protectors, and what's left of your brother won't be recognizable.”

Before I can react, Talon wrenches the phone from my grasp, his movements swift and decisive despite his injured shoulder. He removes the battery, then pries out the SIM card, crushing it beneath his heel.

“Tracking?” Oscar asks sharply, already moving toward the windows to scan the perimeter.

“Possibly.” Talon's face is grim as he drops the dismantled phone into a glass of water on the coffee table. “They already knew where to find us. That's the bigger problem. Leave everything behind. We take nothing with us, including the car. They might have a tracker on it.”

My body feels disconnected. Luca's scream echoes in my ears. My brother. Alive. Suffering. Because of me.

“We need to move. Now.”

Oscar is already gathering equipment, his movements sharp and efficient despite the tension coiled in every muscle.

“If they delivered that photo in person, it means they’ve been watching the house.”

The fog that's surrounded me for days suddenly burns away, replaced by a clarity so sharp it's almost painful. The hollow ache in my chest remains, but alongside it blazes something I thought I'd lost forever—purpose.

“I'm going after him." My voice sounds strange to my own ears, stronger, steadier than it's been since Alex died.

“We're going after him,” Talon corrects, already checking the magazine of his handgun. “But we need a plan first.”

LUCA

The guards haven't comefor me in days. Their absence isn't mercy, it's just another form of torture.

I trace the familiar crack in the wall beside my bed, following its jagged path with my fingertip. The sedatives they pump into me run on a timed schedule. Just as I start to feel the fog lifting, just as my thoughts begin to coalesce into something resembling clarity, another dose arrives through the automated system in the wall. A hiss, a cloud of mist, and I'm dragged back under.