Page 81 of All The Darkest Truths (Second Sons Duet #2)

LUCA - THREE MONTHS LATER

The dead don't scream, but I do.

I wake up with the taste of blood in my mouth, my own this time from biting my tongue.

The sheets are drenched, clinging to my skin like a shroud as I gasp for air that won't come.

The faces from my nightmare—Mario, my father, the nameless women in the facility—they're still there, burned onto the backs of my eyelids.

I'm drowning in sweat and terror when I hear the soft click of my bedroom door. My hand instinctively reaches for the knife I keep under my pillow.

Alex's massive frame fills the doorway. He doesn't turn on the light or speak immediately. Instead, he waits, giving me time to recognize him, to remember where I am. Who I am.

I force myself to breathe, counting silently to ten like Vesper taught me. In through the nose, out through the mouth. My heart still pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape.

"Same dream?" he asks, stepping into the room.

I nod, not trusting my voice to form words yet. The sheets are still tangled around my legs, clinging like a damp weight I need to shed.

“You bit your tongue,” Alex observes, his accent thicker in the dim light. He moves to the bathroom without turning on the lights, returning with a damp cloth that he offers without comment.

I take it, pressing the cool fabric against my mouth, tasting copper and shame.

The nightmares are getting worse, not better.

It’s been months since we escaped, since Vesper reclaimed her son and brought down two empires in the process.

I should be healing. Instead, I’m fracturing further with each passing night.

“Come with me.”

I nod, grateful for the distraction. Anything to escape this room with its phantom screams and memories.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the wood floor cool against my bare feet.

Alex turns his back, giving me privacy as I pull on a t-shirt and sweatpants.

My fingers tremble slightly as I tie the drawstring.

We move silently through the shadowed corridors of the mansion.

Alex walks slightly ahead, his massive frame somehow managing to avoid every creaking floorboard.

I follow in his footsteps, trusting his path through the quiet house.

Even the night guards keep their distance when Alex moves through the halls.

Instead of heading to the kitchen where we usually sit after my nightmares, Alex leads me down a staircase I've never descended before. I hesitate at the top, my instincts flaring with warning.

"Alex, where are we going?"

He pauses, turning to face me. In the dim emergency lighting, his eyes look almost colorless. "There's something you need to see. Something I've been saving for you.”

My stomach tightens with apprehension, but I follow him down the concrete steps. The temperature drops with each step, the air growing cooler and slightly antiseptic. This isn't part of the main house, —it's something else entirely.

At the bottom of the stairs, he places his palm against what looks like a plain section of wall. A hidden scanner glows green beneath his hand, and a door slides open with a pneumatic hiss.

"What is this place?"

"A medical facility. State of the art."

We step into a sterile corridor, bright LED lights flickering on automatically as we move forward. The walls are pristine, the floor polished concrete. It reminds me of the facility where Mario kept me, and my heart rate spikes again.

"Alex, I don't like this." My voice sounds small, childlike, and fearful.

"I know." His massive hand closes gently around my wrist, his thumb finding my pulse point. "Trust me, Luca. Please."

His touch steadies the panic that threatens to consume me. I force myself to breathe as he guides me forward, past several closed doors with electronic locks, until we reach the end of the corridor. The final door is different, heavier, reinforced with what looks like blast-proof steel.

"Before we go in," Alex says, turning to face me fully, "you need to understand something. What's behind this door is my gift to you. For everything they took from you. For everything they did."

"What have you done, Alex?"

Instead of answering, he places his palm against another scanner. The heavy door unlocks with a series of clicks before sliding open.

The smell hits me first, sharp antiseptic layered with rotting flesh. My stomach clenches as Alex leads me inside.

The room is divided by a glass partition. On our side, medical monitors display vital signs—heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen levels. On the other side...

My grandfather.

Mikhail Vasilyev is strapped to a hospital bed, tubes and wires threading through his frail body, tethering him to machines that keep him hovering just above death.

The man who once loomed like a shadow over my entire life is barely a shell now.

sagging over sharp bones, his presence reduced to something sickly and fragile.

His eyes are open, staring blankly at the ceiling with chilling awareness.

“He’s been waiting for you,” Alex says, his voice low and steady in the sterile quiet. “For three months, I’ve kept him alive. For you.”

I step closer to the glass, unable to look away from the wreckage of the man who orchestrated my torment.

Mikhail’s head turns at the sound, slow and deliberate.

His stare locks onto mine with unsettling clarity.

Recognition flits across his sunken features, chased quickly by something that might actually be fear.

“Can he hear us?”

“Yes.” Alex moves to a control panel, pressing a button that casts sterile light across the observation room. “He can hear everything. Feel everything.”

A tremor runs through me as I press my palm to the cold surface of the glass. Mikhail’s eyes track the movement, his cracked lips parting in a soundless effort to speak. His throat moves, but nothing escapes.

“I’ve been careful,” Alex says, stepping in close enough that his presence warms my back. “Keeping him suspended right at the edge. The damage from your bullet…he would’ve bled out in minutes without intervention. I didn’t let that happen. I made sure he stayed.”

“Why?” The question tears from me, raw and aching.

“Because some debts can’t be settled with a clean death,” Alex replies. His reflection in the glass is unreadable, but there’s something alive and burning just beneath the surface. “He needed to suffer. The way he made you suffer. The way he made all of us suffer.”

I stare at the broken figure behind the glass, searching for the monster of my nightmares in this frail shell of a man. My fingers press harder against the partition, leaving smudges on the pristine surface.

"What have you done to him?"

"Everything he deserves," Alex replies, his accent thickening with emotion. "And nothing that would release him too quickly."

He guides me to a small control panel embedded in the wall. My heart pounds against my ribs as Alex's fingers hover over the panel. "You can speak to him. Or you can administer various...treatments. The choice is yours, Luca. Always yours."

The power of this moment overwhelms me. frail, withered creature who once controlled every aspect of my existence, now completely at my mercy. A man who trafficked in children, who authorized my torture, who manipulated my sister into becoming a weapon.

"I want to go inside," I hear myself say.

Alex studies my face carefully. "Are you certain?"

I nod, unable to articulate the storm of emotions churning inside me. Alex presses a sequence of buttons, and a section of the glass wall slides open. My stomach churns, but I force myself forward, step by deliberate step, until I'm standing beside the hospital bed.

Up close, Mikhail is even more grotesque.

His skin has a waxy translucence that reveals the blue-green tracery of veins beneath.

The bullet wound in his abdomen has been surgically maintained, kept open but prevented from healing completely, the edges red and angry against his yellowed skin.

IV lines snake into his arms, delivering just enough fluids and nutrients to keep him alive.

"Hello, Grandfather," I say, surprised by the steadiness in my voice.

A trembling hand lifts slightly against its restraint, fingers curling as if trying to reach for me. I step back instinctively, the movement automatic after years of conditioning.

"He can't hurt you anymore," Alex reminds me, his massive frame positioned protectively at my back. "He can't hurt anyone."

I lean closer, studying the face that has haunted my nightmares. "Do you recognize me? The grandson you threw away? The one you called weak?"

Mikhail's lips move, forming words without sound. I can read them anyway: "Luca."

"Yes," I confirm, a strange calm settling over me. "I'm still here. I survived everything you did to me."

His throat works, struggling to produce sound. After several attempts, a raspy sound escapes, "Should...have killed...you."

"Yes," I agree, surprising myself with the calm acceptance in my voice. "That was your mistake. One of many."

I move closer, studying the medical equipment surrounding him. Each machine has a purpose, monitoring vital signs, administering fluids, managing pain. Or perhaps, withholding it. Alex has been methodical, as he is in all things.

"I dreamed of this moment," I tell Mikhail, tracing a finger along the cold metal railing of his bed. "When I was in that facility, when they were cutting into me, when I was screaming for help that never came, I imagined what I would do if I ever got my hands on you."

Mikhail's eyes follow my movements, terror evident in their depths. Good. Let him know fear.

"The things I imagined. They would make even Alex uncomfortable. And he's quite creative, as you've discovered."

My grandfather's chest rises and falls in shallow, rapid breaths. The heart monitor beside him registers his increasing distress with quickening beeps.

"You're afraid," I observe, leaning closer.

His lips move again, forming words I can barely make out: "Family...blood..."

Something ugly and fierce rises in me, a tide of rage I’ve kept carefully contained for months. I straighten up, turning away from the pathetic creature on the bed. My eyes lock with Alex’s, those icy blue depths that have witnessed humanity’s worst and somehow remained steady.

"I want to end this. I want him gone."

Alex studies me, his expression unreadable. "Are you certain?"

"Yes." I step closer to him, drawn by some magnetic pull I've felt since the day he pulled me from that hellhole. "Show me how to kill him. How to make it permanent this time."

Alex moves toward me with fluid grace, closing the distance until we're standing mere inches apart. His towering frame blocks out the harsh fluorescent lights. He's so close that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. If I rose up on my toes, just slightly, our lips would meet.

"There are many ways," he considers. “Quick or slow. Painful or merciful. The choice is yours." His hand rises, hovering near my face without touching, always so careful with me. "What do you want, Luca? Revenge? Justice? Release?"

“Revenge,” I smile. “I want revenge.”