Page 46 of All The Darkest Truths (Second Sons Duet #2)
VESPER
The Rossi Mansion looms ahead like a beautiful nightmare, its towering columns and sprawling grounds a gilded cage I once called home. From the passenger seat, I watch it grow larger through the windshield.
"Are you ready?" Talon asks, his voice tight with tension as he navigates the winding drive. His grip on the steering wheel is ironclad, and his injured shoulder remains carefully rigid beneath his tailored suit.
I don't answer immediately. How do you tell someone you're walking willingly into hell? That you calculated the cost of your soul and found it a fair trade for your brother's life?
“As ready as I'll ever be,” I finally reply, my fingers unconsciously tracing the small bump on my upper arm where Alex’s tracker sits beneath my skin.
The thought of him stirs a sharp ache in my chest, but I shove it down, lock it away.
I can't afford to break—not when Luca’s life hangs in the balance.
“Remember, we stick to the plan. I drop you at the entrance, then circle around to the rendezvous point. Z and Oz should already be in position in the tunnels.”
“I know,” I say, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. “We've been over this a dozen times.”
“And we'll go over it a dozen more if that's what it takes to keep you safe," he says, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “The moment anything feels wrong…”
“I activate the tracker,” I finish for him. “I know the plan, Talon.”
The gravel crunches beneath our tires as we round the final curve of the driveway. The mansion's facade comes into full view. Security lights automatically illuminate the manicured grounds.
My stomach knots as memories flood back—my father's study door always closed, the hushed conversations that stopped when I entered a room, the parade of men in expensive suits with cold eyes who would pat my head before disappearing behind those heavy oak doors.
“They're watching us.” He nods subtly toward a security camera mounted discreetly among the climbing roses. “Have been since we passed through the gates.”
I straighten my spine, smoothing my expression into controlled indifference. “Good. Let them see exactly what they expect—a desperate sister coming to save her brother.”
The car slows as we approach the circular driveway in front of the main entrance. Massive stone steps lead up to double doors flanked by Doric columns. Two men stand at attention on either side of the entrance, their suits unable to hide the bulges of the weapons beneath.
“This is where we part,” Talon says, bringing the car to a stop. His hand finds mine, squeezing once, hard. “Remember, princess, no matter what happens in there, we're coming for you.”
I turn to him, memorizing the lines of his face. “I know.” I lean forward to press my lips against his. The kiss is brief but fierce, a promise and a goodbye wrapped into one. “Stay safe.”
“You too.” His voice cracks slightly as I pull away, his fingers reluctant to release mine.
I step from the car into the cool evening air.
The crunch of gravel under my boots echoes in the silence as I approach the stairs.
Behind me, Talon's car idles for a moment longer than necessary before pulling away, the sound of the engine fading as he circles around to the eastern edge of the property.
One of the guards steps forward as I reach the bottom of the stairs. “Identification,” he demands, his voice flat, emotionless.
“Vesper Rossi,” I reply, my tone equally cold. “I believe I'm expected.”
He nods once, stepping aside to allow me passage.
“We've been instructed to search you before entry,” the second guard states, moving forward with mechanical precision.
I raise my arms without protest, forcing myself to remain still as his hands pat down my body with impersonal efficiency. The search is thorough but not invasive. he real inspection, I suspect, will come later when I'm face to face with The Collector.
“She's clean,” the guard announces, stepping back.
The massive doors swing open silently, revealing the marble foyer. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across gleaming floors.
“This way, Miss Rossi.” A new figure emerges—tall, lean, with the careful movements of someone trained in violence. “The Collector is waiting for you.”
I follow without comment. The house is eerily quiet, our footsteps echoing against marble and hardwood. Paintings of Rossi patriarchs line the hallway.
We turn down a corridor I know all too well, heading toward my father's study. The mahogany door looms before us, the intricate carvings along its frame depicting scenes from Dante's Inferno, my father's twisted idea of humor. My escort pauses, knocking twice before pushing it open.
“Miss Rossi has arrived,” he announces, stepping aside to allow me entry.
I cross the threshold, the familiar scent of leather-bound books and aged whiskey washing over me.
The study remains unchanged—walls lined with first editions behind glass, the massive desk dominating the center of the room, leather chairs positioned strategically for intimidation rather than comfort.
But it's the figure standing by the window that draws my attention. He is tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his back to me.
“Vesper,” he says, his voice sending ice through my veins. “How kind of you to accept my invitation.”
The Collector turns slowly, his face hidden behind the same expressionless covering from the video.
I force myself to breathe, to appear calm, even as primal fear claws at my insides.
This man had stripped away everything I was—reduced me to flesh, bone, and terror—and now he sits at my father’s desk.
The same chair my uncle died in not all that long ago.
“Where’s my brother?” I demand.
He smiles. “Direct to the point.” He gestures to the chair across from him. “Sit.”
“I’ll stand, thanks.” I keep my voice even, refusing to give in to even the smallest of his power plays. “I didn’t come here for pleasantries.”
The Collector tilts his head, studying me through the smooth, vacant eyeholes, silent and calculating.
“Still defiant,” he muses, his tone almost appreciative. “After everything you've lost, everything you stand to lose, you refuse to bend.” He steps around the desk, his movements fluid and controlled. “I've always admired that about you, Vesper.”
I force myself to hold my ground as he approaches, though every instinct screams at me to retreat. The subdermal tracker in my arm suddenly feels heavy, a reminder of what's at stake. Stall. Buy time. Give the twins a chance to find Luca.
“You said this was a transaction,” I say coolly. “I'm here. Where's my brother?”
He stops just beyond arm's reach, close enough that I can smell his cologne. "All in good time. We have much to discuss, you and I.”
“I have nothing to discuss with you,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend. “I came alone, as directed. It's time for you to hold up your end of the deal. Give me my brother.”
The Collector’s voice slices through the air, laced with amusement so cold it raises the hairs on my arms. He turns away, gloved fingers drifting across the edge of my father’s desk like he owns the place.
“So impatient,” he murmurs, tone patronizing. “Do you know how many deals were made in this very study, Vesper? Hundreds—maybe thousands. Your father was quite the negotiator.”
He moves to the painting behind the desk—a Caravaggio, if I remember right—and traces the ornate frame with a kind of reverence that makes my stomach turn.
“Every transaction that built the Rossi empire happened right here,” he continues, voice coated in unsettling nostalgia. “Deals that secured your family’s power, your wealth, your reputation. Always in the Rossi’s favor.”
My patience thins with every word. “I didn’t come here for a history lesson.”
“No?” He tilts his head. “But history is exactly why we’re here. Your family’s. Yours. Ours .”
I dig my nails into my palms, using the sharp sting to stay focused. Every second he wastes is another chance for Oz and Z to move through the tunnels. Keep him talking. Keep him distracted.
“Then let’s talk about that history,” I say, tone steady. “Starting with why you’re so obsessed with my family.”
He exhales, something close to a sigh, though it carries a weight that feels far too pleased. “Obsessed is such an adolescent word. I prefer... invested . Deeply invested.”
“Is that why you took me? Why you went after my brother?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, the room seems to contract around his silence, heavy and crawling. When he finally speaks, it’s with a voice like velvet stretched too tight over something sharp.
“Because you were always the missing piece. And your brother...was leverage.”
“I took you because I saw an opportunity to topple the Rossi empire. To right the wrongs done unto my family.”
He turns back to face me, one gloved hand resting on my father's desk as if he has every right to touch it.
“Your grandfather was a thief, Vesper. Did you know that? Not the kind that robs homes in the dead of night, oh no, Elio Rossi was far more sophisticated.” His voice drips with venom. “He stole through contracts and handshakes, through promises made and conveniently forgotten.”
I keep my expression neutral, though my mind races. This revelation feels significant, a piece of the puzzle I've been missing. My paternal grandfather had been dead for years when I was born. My parents rarely talked about him at all. My mother, especially.
“Have you ever heard your father speak of the Vasilyev family?” The Collector asks, his head tilting slightly as he studies my reaction.
I search my memory, trying to recall if I'd ever heard the name mentioned in hushed conversations or angry arguments. “No,” I answer honestly. “He never mentioned them.”