Page 121 of All The Pretty Little Lies

"Why, your brother, of course, or have you forgotten him so easily?" Mario's eyes glitter with malicious glee, like a cat toying with a wounded mouse. He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking ominously in the tense silence of the study. "Oh yes, your dear brother Luca. The prodigal son, the heir apparent until he wasn't."

I clench my fists at my sides, my nails digging crescents into my palms. The pain grounds me, keeps me from losing myself.

“I happen to know where he is. Well, was,” he sneers. "He's been alive and well this entire time," Mario continues, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "A little hard to find, to be honest. Your father made sure of that. But I...well, let's just say I have my ways."

I feel a hand on my lower back, steadying me. I didn’t even notice him moving behind me. Oscar's touch, warm and reassuring, anchors me.

"You want to know where he is, don't you, Vesper?" he purrs, his voice silky smooth. "You want to see your dear brother again, to reunite your fractured family?"

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. "What will that information cost me?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.

“Smart girl. Never expect anything for free. Maybe my brother taught you something about our world after all.” Mario's smile widens, revealing teeth that seem too sharp, too predatory. "It's simple, really. You walk away. You and your companions," he gestures dismissively at the men behind me, "leave this house, leave Boston. You forget about your claims to the Rossi empire, about your misguided quest for revenge. About your son, who is thriving with his mother and father. You disappear, and I'll tell you where to find Luca."

The offer hangs in the air between us, tempting and terrible all at once. I can feel Oscar's hand tighten on my back, a silent reminder of his support. Zaire shifts restlessly behind me, his anger a palpable force. Talon's eyes are darting around the room, no doubt calculating odds and escape routes. And Alex, steady and silent, radiates a calm that helps center me.

I close my eyes for a moment, letting the competing desires war within me. The longing to see Luca again, to hold my brother and know he's safe, is almost overwhelming. But the thought of walking away, of letting Mario win after everything he's done, makes my blood boil.

When I open my eyes again, I see Mario watching me intently, a vulture waiting for its prey to succumb. I straighten my spine, drawing strength from the presence of my chosen family behind me.

“Walk away, and I will give you everything you need to get him back,” he doubles down.

I feel Oscar's hand at the small of my back again, the cool metal of a gun pressing against my skin through the thin fabric of my dress. Without breaking eye contact with Mario, I reach behind me, my fingers closing around the grip of the pistol. The weight of it is familiar, comforting even, as I bring it forward.

Mario's eyes widen as the barrel comes into view, his smug expression faltering for the first time. I can see the wheels turning in his head, calculating his odds, searching for an escape route. But there is none. Not this time.

The gun feels alive in my hand, an extension of my will. I can feel every groove of the grip, every minute imperfection in the metal. Time seems to slow, the world narrowing down to just me, Mario, and the weapon between us.

“Tell me where I can find Luca.”

My uncle steels his face. “My offer hasn’t changed just because you don’t agree to the terms. He’s better off where he is.Your brother would have ruined this family. The Rossi empire deserved better than a f…” The crack of the gunshot cuts him off, the sound impossibly loud in the confines of the study. For a moment, everything is still, frozen in the aftermath of that single, violent act. A warm spray of my uncle’s blood splatters against me from the wound in his shoulder. The tiny droplets seeping into my clothes.

“Fuck!” he roars.

"That," I say, my voice eerily calm over Mario's pained gasps, "was for every night I spent in that hellhole you sent me to. For every time I cried out for help, and no one came."

I move closer, the gun still trained on him. Behind me, I can hear the shuffling of feet as my men adjust their positions, ready to act if needed. But this is my moment, my reckoning.

“You can’t do this. I am the fucking head of this family,” he snarls back with pain lacing every syllable that slips from his lips.

A bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You forget that I am a Rossi, too, and despite what you think, I can take your place just as easily as you stole it from my father.”

Mario whimpers, his face pale with pain and fear. Blood drips onto the antique Persian rug, each drop a stark reminder of the violence that has always lurked beneath the surface of our family's polished veneer. “You fucking bitch…”

I fire again, hitting his other shoulder. My uncle roars in pain again.

“I have a counter proposal. You tell me where my brother is, and I let you live,” I pause, allowing a sinister smile to cross my face. I let the weight of my words sink in, watching as the color drains from Mario's face. His eyes dart frantically between the gun in my hand and my face, searching for any sign of mercy. He finds none.

"You wouldn't," he gasps, his voice trembling. "You're not a killer, Vesper. You're not…”

The third gunshot rings out, drowning his protests in a cacophony of noise and pain. Mario's body jerks violently as the bullet tears through his groin spraying a fine mist of blood across the polished mahogany desk. The metallic scent of blood fills the air, mingling with the acrid smell of gunpowder.

His scream echoes off the wood-paneled walls, a primal sound of agony that sends shivers down my spine. But I don't flinch. I don't look away. I watch as he writhes in pain, clutching at the bloody mess of where his dick used to be with his already bloodied hand.

"You were saying?" I ask, my voice eerily calm over his pained gasps. "I'm not what, exactly?”

Mario's eyes are wild with fear now, darting between my face and the gun still trained on him. Sweat beads on his forehead, mingling with the tears of pain streaking down his cheeks. He opens his mouth to speak, but only a choked sob escapes.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," I say, raising the gun slightly higher. "Where. Is. Luca?"

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