Page 41 of All The Darkest Truths (Second Sons Duet #2)

VESPER

The waves don't care that he's gone. They just keep coming, relentless, smacking against the shore like nothing has changed.

I dig my toes into the cold sand, watching the first golden rays of sunlight stretch across the water.

My body aches from another night of restless sleep, punctuated by dreams where Alex is reaching for me from beneath the waters, his mouth forming words I can never quite hear.

I'm so tired of waking up gasping, clutching at empty air.

A week. Seven days of existing in this hollow space between breathing and living.

The Coast Guard stopped searching after a few days. No body was recovered. Just scattered debris and the official designation: presumed dead . Those two words echo in my head with every heartbeat. Presumed. Dead.

But presumed isn't certain. Presumed leaves room for hope, and hope is the cruelest thing of all.

I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as the morning chill seeps through my thin sweater.

The safe house sits behind me on the rocky outcropping, windows still dark, except for the kitchen where Talon is probably making coffee, his movements still careful around his healing shoulder.

Footsteps crunch in the sand behind me, too heavy to be Talon's, too measured to be Oscar's. I don't turn around. I don't need to.

“Thought I might find you here, moya koroleva.”

Z settles beside me, his warmth radiating against my side as he matches my posture, knees drawn up to his chest. He doesn't touch me, doesn't offer platitudes or demands. Just sits, a silent sentinel sharing my vigil.

The silence between us stretches, comfortable in its familiarity. Of the three remaining men in my life, Z understands the value of wordless company. Unlike Oscar with his careful planning or Talon with his need to fill empty spaces with comfort, Z knows when presence alone is enough.

“It's beautiful. The ocean. It shouldn't be allowed to be so beautiful right now."

Z's shoulder brushes mine, a gentle point of contact. “Nature doesn't stop for our grief.”

“No,” I agree. “Nothing stops.”

Except me. I've been frozen in this moment for days, unable to move forward. Suspended in the space between denial and acceptance. The others have tried to pull me toward acceptance, toward healing, but my fingers remain bloody from clinging to the jagged edges of hope.

“You should eat something,” Z says after another stretch of silence. “You barely touched dinner last night.”

I shrug, the movement requiring more energy than I have to spare. “Not hungry.”

“Doesn't matter. Starving yourself won’t bring him back, Vesper.”

Nothing will. Alex is gone because of me. There’s no other way around that bitter truth. He died because he was trying to bring my brother home. He died, and there’s no way for me to apologize for our last conversation.

Z shifts beside me, his hand moving to cover mine where it rests in the sand. His skin is warm against my perpetually cold fingers. I should find comfort in the touch, but comfort feels like betrayal now, as if allowing any relief means accepting that Alex is truly gone.

“He wouldn't want you fading away like this.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “What Alex would want stopped mattering the moment he decided to sacrifice himself.”

The words taste like ash in my mouth, sharp and acrid. I've cycled through every emotion since that night—denial, grief, rage. The anger is easiest to hold onto, burning hot enough to keep the hollow emptiness at bay, if only for a few moments.

“He made a choice,” Z counters. “To save Talon. To protect you.”

“I never asked him to die for me.”

“No one ever asks for sacrifice, moya koroleva. That's what makes it a sacrifice.”

The tide continues its relentless rhythm, each retreat leaving shells and debris scattered across the shore. Like the ocean gave Talon back but kept Alex for itself. A cruel exchange I never agreed to.

“I keep thinking about what we talked about before they left. He told me he couldn't love me the way the rest of you do.”

Z’s fingers tighten around mine, his breathing steady beside me. “Alex always believed he was more monster than man.”

“He was wrong. He wasn't the monster he thought he was.”

“No,” Z says softly. “He wasn’t.”

Another swell crashes against the shore, reaching farther this time, the foam nearly brushing our feet before sliding back. I watch it recede, pulling sand and small stones with it, like it’s still taking pieces of him.

“This feels familiar. It was on another beach that you brought yourself back from the brink, Vesper. When you escaped The Collector. When you chose to live despite everything that had been taken from you.”

“That was a long time ago.” I look back at the water. The memory feels distant, like it belongs to someone else—a stronger version of myself I can barely recognize anymore.

“It wasn't,” Z counters firmly. “You survived then. You'll survive now.”

I want to look away, to sink back into the comforting numbness I've wrapped around myself like armor, but Z won't let me.

“I had nothing to lose then. Now I've lost everything.”

“Not everything.” His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, wiping away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen. “You still have us. Luca is still out there, Vesper. He needs you. Just like we do. You need to find your fight again.”

“What if I can't?" The question emerges broken, vulnerable in a way I haven't allowed myself to be since the news came.

“Then we hold the pieces until you're ready to put them back together.”

I rest my head against his shoulder, watching the ocean continue its endless dance with the shore. The numbness that’s been my constant companion begins to crack, hairline fractures spreading through the protective shell I’ve built around myself.

“I’m so angry with him,” I admit, the words burning on their way out.

“I know.”

“And I’m angry with myself—for not being there. For letting you all convince me to stay behind.”

“Your presence wouldn’t have changed the outcome, Vesper.”

But logic doesn’t soften the guilt. It doesn’t fill the Alex-shaped void hollowed out inside my chest.

“I miss him.” The admission tears something open in me. “I miss him so much it hurts to breathe.”

Z’s arm tightens around me, a silent acknowledgment of my pain. We sit together in the steady hush of the sea, my grief finally breaking through the numbness that’s consumed me for far too long.

“Vesper! Z!” Talon's voice cuts through the morning air, sharp with urgency. “Get back up here, now!”

Z tenses beside me, his body instantly alert. He cocks his head, listening to something in Talon's voice that I'm too worn out to catch.

“Something's wrong.” He is already rising to his feet before his declaration registers, pulling me up with surprising gentleness despite the urgency in his movements. “Stay close to me.”

“What is it?” I ask, stumbling as he guides me across the sand, his pace quickening with each step.

“Not sure, but Talon is on edge."

My heart thuds painfully against my ribs as we make our way up the rocky path to the safe house.

We reach the back door, and Z pushes it open carefully, ushering me inside with a protective hand at my lower back. The kitchen is empty.

“In here,” Talon calls from the living room, his voice tight with something I can't identify.

My feet feel leaden, each step requiring conscious effort as we move through the narrow hallway. Z looks over at Talon. “What the fuck is going on?”

Oscar paces the length of the living room. I’ve never seen him like this. Oscar—the calm one, the strategist, the steady force when the rest of us start to unravel. But now, his movements are erratic, barely restrained.

Clutched in his fingers is something small—a slip of paper, maybe, or...something else entirely.

“What's happening?”

Oscar stops abruptly, turning toward us. He holds out what I now see is a photograph, offering it to Z first. He takes it, his body going completely still as he studies the image. The blood drains from his face, and for a moment, I think he might be sick.

“Where the fuck did you find this?”

“On the doorstep. In an envelope addressed to Vesper. No postmark. Someone delivered it.”

My stomach drops. “Let me see it.”

Z hesitates, his fingers tightening on the photo. “Vesper, I don't think?—”

“Show me.” The command comes out sharper than I intend, a flash of my old self emerging through the fog. “Now.”

The twins exchange a look loaded with silent communication before Z reluctantly passes me the photograph. The moment my fingers touch the glossy paper, the world tilts sideways.

It's a cell with industrial lighting. A metal bed bolted to the floor, a toilet with no privacy screen. But it's the figure slumped against the far wall that steals my breath.

Luca.

My brother's face is bruised, one eye swollen nearly shut, but it's unmistakably him. His hair is longer than I remember, lank and unwashed, hanging around his gaunt face. But it's his eyes that gut me, the open defiance that peaks past the exhaustion.

“Luca.” His name emerges as a gasp, my fingers trembling against the photograph. The room spins around me, and I grab the back of the couch to steady myself. “He's alive.”

“Look at the corner,” Talon points out. “Bottom right.”

The date stamp in the corner shows yesterday's date.

“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.”