Page 60 of All The Darkest Truths (Second Sons Duet #2)

VESPER

The sound of 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 you are assuming the head of your family, considering your uncle is very much alive.”

“Actually, that is no longer the case. He’s dead. I killed him myself.”

The silence that follows is charged with an electric tension that makes the hair on my arms stand on end.

“Did you, now?” Victor's voice has dropped an octave, carrying a blend of skepticism and intrigue. “That's quite a claim from a woman who's been missing for years.”

“It's not a claim. It's a fact.” I keep my voice steady, channeling the steel that's become my armor. “Mario was a traitor. To my family, to yours, and to the agreements our families made.”

Z moves closer, his body a warm presence at my back as he listens. His breath tickles my neck as he leans in to hear Victor's response.

“And what would you know of those agreements, Miss Rossi? The alliance your father brokered on your behalf was fulfilled by your cousin. Your services are no longer required. Bianca has already provided me with my heir.”

“You mean, I provided you with an heir?”

“I oversaw the birth myself, Miss Rossi. You were not present.”

“I wasn’t the birth mother, but I assure you, Victor, I am that boy’s mother. You’ve been deceived from the moment you consented to her marriage to Dmitri.”

I can almost hear Victor's breathing change through the phone.

“Explain yourself.” His tone brooks no argument.

“Bianca isn’t a Rossi. She doesn’t have a drop of my family’s blood running in her veins,” I continue.

“This is a serious accusation, Miss Rossi.” Victor's voice has taken on a blunt edge.

“I have proof. Records from my captivity. Records of the medical torture I was put through to produce your grandson under the direction of my uncle for the benefit of his bastard daughter and your alliance.”

“Do you?” Victor's tone is glacial. “Because from where I sit, this sounds like the desperate fabrication of a woman who abandoned her responsibilities and now regrets it.”

I feel Z's hand tighten on my shoulder, silently urging me to stay calm. I take a deep breath, steadying myself.

“I didn't abandon anything,” I reply, keeping my voice level despite the anger bubbling beneath the surface. “I was taken. Abducted by the man you know as The Collector.”

Victor's dismissive scoff crackles through the speaker. “A convenient story. The Collector is a myth used to frighten children and weak men.”

“He's very real. And I have the scars to prove it.”

“What you have, Miss Rossi, is audacity.

" His voice hardens. "You disappear for years, then suddenly resurface with my estranged nephews at your side. Don’t be shocked. Where one goes, so does the other. Now, you’re claiming some elaborate conspiracy?

This is nothing more than a transparent attempt to worm your way into my family's good graces now.”

Oz moves closer, his expression tense as he watches me. I press on.

“The DNA tests are ready to be sent to you,” I say, playing the strongest card I have.

“Medical records from the fertility clinic showing the extraction of my eggs, the creation of embryos using Petrov sperm, and the implantation into Bianca.

Records of payments from Mario Rossi's private accounts to keep it all hidden.”

“You expect me to believe my son was deceived? That I was deceived?”

“I expect you to verify everything I'm saying,” I counter. “I'm offering to send you the proof. All of it. Right now."

Z ‘s body heat radiates against my back as he listens. His breath tickles my ear as he whispers, “Good. Keep pushing.”

“And what would you gain from this...revelation, Miss Rossi?” Victor's voice drips with suspicion. “If what you say is true, and that remains to be seen, why come to me now?”

I exchange glances with Oz, who gives me an encouraging nod.

“Because I want what is rightfully mine. My son," I say, allowing raw emotion to bleed into my voice. “I want my place at the table.”

“Your place at the table,” he repeats, each word measured carefully. “You believe you're entitled to that after all this time?”

“I'm not just entitled to it. I'm demanding it.” My voice gains strength as I continue. “That boy is my flesh and blood. My Rossi legacy. The rightful continuation of our families' alliance that Mario perverted for his own gain.”

Z's hand slides down to the small of my back as I push forward.

“You've always prided yourself on legacy, Victor. On blood. On the purity of the Petrov line.” I pause, letting my next words land with precision. “Wouldn't you want to know if your grandson, your heir, isn't being raised by his true mother?”

“You have one minute to convince me this isn't an elaborate game, Miss Rossi.”

“Check your email. Oz is sending the first documents now.”

Oz nods, hitting send on his laptop with a theatrical flourish. We wait in tense silence, the only sound in the room our collective breathing.

“These could be fabricated,” he says finally, though there's a new note in his voice, uncertainty where before there was only dismissal.

“That is just the tip of the iceberg, Victor. I have videos, photos, and financial records. I have enough proof for my claim.”

The line falls silent, and I can almost see Victor sitting in his palatial office, turning over the evidence we've provided, his mind working through all the angles. The silence stretches until I wonder if he's hung up.

“What exactly are you proposing, Miss Rossi?” His voice, when it finally comes, has lost its dismissive edge. Now it carries the careful consideration of a chess master evaluating an unexpected move.

I take a deep breath, feeling Z's hand press more firmly against my back in silent support.

“The political alliance as originally contracted,” I say steadily. “A marriage between me, as the head of the Rossi family, and Dmitri. It's your only way to guarantee true-born Rossi-Petrov heirs.”

Z's hand tenses against my spine, but he remains silent. We've rehearsed this, planned for it, yet the words still taste like ash in my mouth.

“A bold proposal,” Victor says, the faint sound of ice clinking against glass coming through the line. “Especially considering Dmitri is already married to your cousin.”

“My false cousin,” I correct him. “And marriages can be...dissolved when they're built on lies.”

Victor chuckles, the sound devoid of humor. “And in return for this generous offer? What do you get out of this arrangement, Miss Rossi?”

"Revenge on the people who did this to me.”

“Your uncle is already dead.”

“Yes, that is he, but I want revenge on the man who held me captive for years. Medically raped me over and over again for your family’s benefit.”

"Who?"

“The Collector.”

“The Collector is a myth.”

“Turns out, he’s not.”

“The Collector,” Victor repeats, a new edge to his voice. “You claim to know his identity?”

“I don't claim anything. I know exactly who he is.” I steady myself against Z's solid presence behind me. “Mikhail Vasilyev.”

The silence that follows is so absolute that I can hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. Even through the phone, I can feel the temperature drop at the mention of that name.

“That's impossible.” Victor's voice has lost all its calculated coolness, replaced by something raw and visceral. “Mikhail Vasilyev is dead. His entire bloodline was wiped out decades ago.”

“Not all of it,” I counter. “Considering I am his granddaughter.” Silence falls again. “Is it safe to assume that I have your attention now, Victor?”

The sound of shattering glass comes through the speaker, followed by rapid Russian that even Z looks startled to hear.

“Proof. I need absolute proof.”

“DNA doesn't lie, Victor. My mother's. Mine. My son's.” I pause, letting the implication sink in. “Your grandson carries Vasilyev blood.”

“That is impossible.” Victor's voice trembles with barely contained rage. “Elizaveta Rossi was not?—”

“My mother was Elizaveta Vasilyev before she became a Rossi,” I cut in, pressing our advantage while he's off-balance. “Sold by her father to secure protection from your family. A sacrifice he's been plotting to avenge ever since.”

Another string of Russian curses crackles through the line. Z's eyes widen slightly at whatever Victor is saying.

“My grandfather orchestrated everything,” I continue relentlessly. “My abduction. The harvesting of my eggs. The creation of your grandson. All to infiltrate your family from within.”

“If what you say is true...” Victor’s voice is cold, calm—like still water hiding sharp rocks beneath. “Then your own blood betrayed you. Why should I trust you now?”

“Because I want what you want. The destruction of Mikhail Vasilyev. I want my family’s legacy back. I want the power to protect my son. You can give me those things, and I can give you Mikhail.”

A pause stretches across the line, taut with calculation.

“You understand what you're proposing. An alliance against your own blood.”

“Mikhail Vasilyev may share my blood, but he is not my family.” The words burn with a truth I've only recently come to understand.

“You mentioned proof,” Victor says, the sound of a lighter flicking open coming through the speaker. “I want all of it. Every document. Every recording. Every trace of this...conspiracy.”

“Of course,” I reply, nodding to Oz, who's already preparing the secure file transfer. "But I won't send everything electronically. The most damning evidence comes with me, in person.”

“You expect me to bring you to Russia based on partial evidence and your word?” His laugh is sharp, disbelieving.

“I expect you to act in your own self-interest," I counter smoothly. “The safety of your grandson. The integrity of your bloodline. The chance to finally eliminate Mikhail Vasilyev.” Victor says nothing. “This deal is only on the table for twenty-four hours, Victor. Take it, and protect your family’s legacy, or don’t, and live with the knowledge you were sold a bill of goods for a daughter-in-law. The choice is yours.”

“Very well,” Victor says after a long pause, his voice hardening into something cold and final. "A plane will be waiting for you at Hanscom Field in two hours. The pilot will have clearance for my nephews as well."

My heart hammers against my ribs. worked. I catch Z's eye, the slight widening of his pupils the only indication of his surprise.

“Thank you,” I begin, but Victor cuts me off.

“Do not mistake this for trust, Miss Rossi. Consider it...professional curiosity.” Ice clinks against glass as he takes a drink.

“And know this, if you are lying to me, if this is some elaborate scheme, I will personally ensure that you suffer in ways that will make your time with The Collector seem like a pleasant memory. Your death will be measured in weeks, not moments.”

I swallow hard, knowing his threat isn't empty. “I understand.”

“Good. Then we have nothing more to discuss until you arrive.” The line goes dead before I can respond.

I lower the phone slowly. "We're in."

“Holy shit,” Talon breathes. “You actually did it.”

Z takes the phone from my hand, his fingers brushing against mine. “That was...” He shakes his head. “You played him exactly how you needed to.”

“Not exactly,” I counter, already heading toward the bedroom to pack. “He’s still suspicious. We need to make sure our evidence is airtight before we get there.”

“How long until your grandfather expects an update?” Oz asks, already moving to his laptop where he's compiling the files we'll need.

“Soon.” I glance at the black tablet sitting on the coffee table, its sleek surface reflecting the overhead lights. “He'll want to know my progress toward eliminating Victor.”

“Then we give him what he wants,” Z says, his expression hardening. “We tell him you're on your way to Russia. Let him think his plan is working.”

I nod. "He'll want video confirmation. Proof I'm following through.”

“So we give him a show,” Talon suggests. “Record something on the plane that makes it look like you're committed to his mission.”

“It needs to be convincing,” I warn. “He's not easily fooled.”

Z's hand comes to rest on my shoulder, his touch steadying. “Then we'll make it convincing.”

“I hope you're right, Z. Because if this plan fails, if he sees through our charade, I fear the consequences will be dire.”