Page 118 of All The Pretty Little Lies

Talon's eyebrows shoot up on in the rear view mirror. “Did you just drop the L-bomb? Should we be planning a group wedding?"

I roll my eyes but can't help the smile tugging at my lips. "Shut up, Talon. You know what I mean."

Zaire chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and into my side. "Leave her alone, T. We all know you're just as smitten."

“I would like the record to state that I called the love square,” Alex chimes in.

The SUV falls into a comfortable silence as we continue our journey. I watch the familiar streets pass by memories of my childhood flashing before my eyes. The pristine lawns and towering mansions of my old neighborhood feel cold and unwelcoming now, a stark contrast to the warmth I've found with these men.

As we approach the iron gates of the Rossi estate, I feel Oscar's hand tighten on my thigh. I place my hand over his, our fingers intertwining. "It's okay," I murmur, more to myself than to him. "We're here together."

The gates swing open, revealing the sprawling mansion that once held so much power over me. Its imposing facade no longer instills fear in my heart. Instead, I feel a surge of determination. I'm not the same girl who left this place, desperate for escape. I'm stronger now, surrounded by love and loyalty I never thought possible.

Talon's keen eyes sweep across the manicured lawns and ornate fountains, searching for any sign of danger. After a tense moment, he nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "All clear," he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring.

“Where are his guards?” I comment, noting the lack of security around the entrance or at the gate when we passed.When this was our family home, Father had a small army to protect our family.

“They’re here,” Oscar states, scanning the property. “He would never meet with me without them close enough to make himself feel safe, but considering why I called the meeting, he might have sent them away. Secrets like this are hard to keep with so many ears to hear them.”

Oscar's hand finds the small of my back as he helps me out of the SUV. The gravel crunches beneath my heels, the sound echoing in the eerie silence that blankets the estate. As I stand, smoothing down my designer dress, an armor of silk and lace, Oscar leans in close, his breath warm against my ear.

"Whatever happens in there, Vesper," he whispers, his blue eyes intense and unwavering, "if anything goes wrong, we'll get you out. No matter what."

The determination in his voice should be comforting, but instead, it sets my nerves on edge. What does he know that I don't? What are they expecting to happen behind those imposing mahogany doors?

We begin our ascent up the grand marble steps, my footsteps echo against the stone in a rhythm that feels like a countdown. The men form a protective square around me, Oscar to my right, Zaire to my left, Talon and Alex bringing up the rear. Their presence is both comforting and suffocating, a reminder of the danger we might be walking into.

As we approach the massive double doors, I can't help but notice how the brass knockers gleam in the afternoon sun, polished to perfection, just like everything else in my father's world. The perfect facade hiding the rottenness within.

Oscar pauses at the threshold, his hand hovering over one of the knockers. He glances back at us, a mischievous glint in his eyes despite the tension. "Should we knock?" he asks, his tonelight but underlined with caution. "Wouldn't want to be rude to our gracious hosts."

Before anyone can answer, Zaire steps forward, his tattooed hand reaching for the ornate handle. Without hesitation, he turns it and pushes the door open. The heavy wood swings inward with an ominous creak that seems to reverberate through my very bones.

"No need for formalities," Zaire growls, his voice low and dangerous. "We're family, after all."

As the door opens wider, revealing the opulent foyer beyond, I take a deep breath. The familiar scent of lemon polish and old money assaults my senses, bringing with it a flood of memories, some tender, most painful. I steel myself, drawing strength from the four men surrounding me.

We step over the threshold together, a united front entering the lion's den. The click of the door closing behind us sounds like the sealing of a tomb. The entrance looks much the same as it did when I walked out of the door two years ago. The grand foyer stretches before us, a testament to opulence and old money. Gleaming marble floors reflect the soft light from the crystal chandelier hanging overhead, each facet catching and scattering rainbows across the room. The sweeping staircase, with its intricately carved mahogany banister, curves gracefully upward, leading to the second floor where so many of my childhood memories—both cherished and painful—reside.

My eyes are drawn to the top of the stairs, where a familiar gilded frame hangs. But the faces staring back at me are not the ones I expect. Instead of my father's stern visage and my mother's forced smile, I see my uncle's family portrait. A portrait of fucking lies.

My breath catches in my throat as I take in the scene. My uncle stands tall and proud, his hand resting on the shoulder of his wife, who sits primarily in an antique chair. Bianca sitsnext to her mother. It's a vision of familial harmony, of strength and unity. But I know better. The portrait is a masterpiece of deception, each brushstroke carefully crafted to hide the rot beneath the surface. A wave of nausea washes over me as I stare at this visual representation of my uncle's coup. This is more than just a change in decor—it's a statement. A declaration that the old order has fallen, and a new regime has taken its place.

I feel Oscar's hand on the small of my back, a gentle pressure grounding me in the present. Zaire shifts beside me, his body coiled with tension as if ready to spring into action at any moment. Talon's eyes dart around the room, cataloging every potential threat and exit point.

"Well," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, "I guess some things do change."

As I stand there, surrounded by the men who have become my chosen family, I realize that while the house may look the same, I am not. I am no longer the scared girl who fled this place two years ago. I am Vesper Rossi, and I have returned to reclaim what is rightfully mine.

I lead our group down the familiar corridor. The portraits of Rossi patriarchs lining the walls seem to watch us with judging eyes, their painted gazes following our every move. The air grows heavy with tension as we approach my father's, no, my uncle's, study.

Oscar moves ahead, his hand brushing against mine in a brief, reassuring touch before he steps forward to open the heavy mahogany door. The polished handle gleams under the soft light of the wall sconces, and for a moment, I'm transported back to countless childhood memories of standing before this very door, heart pounding, waiting to be summoned inside.

Oscar pushes the door open, revealing the room beyond. Talon follows close behind, his eyes scanning every corner, everyshadow. I can almost see the gears turning in his head as he assesses potential threats and escape routes.

With Zaire and Alex flanking me, their presence solid and comforting at my back, I step into the study. The scent of leather-bound books and expensive cigars washes over me, so achingly familiar it makes my chest tighten. The room is bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the intricately patterned Persian rug.

My eyes are immediately drawn to the massive mahogany desk that dominates the room. It's the same desk I remember from my childhood, its surface scarred with countless memories. But the man sitting behind it is not my father.

---