Page 112 of All The Pretty Little Lies

The room falls silent save for the clicking of keys and the low hum of machinery. Minutes stretch like hours as Alex works his digital magic, navigating through encrypted networks and hidden databases. Finally, a triumphant "Got it!" breaks the tension.

Alex swivels in his chair, reaching for a nondescript box on his cluttered desk. From it, he produces a sleek burner phone, its screen dark and lifeless, a blank slate waiting to become the conduit for a conversation that could change everything.

As he hands me the phone, our eyes meet once more. In that moment, I see the gravity of our situation reflected in Alex's gaze. We're about to cross a line, one that we can never uncross. But for Vesper, for her son, it's a risk we have to take.

I take the phone, its weight feeling far heavier than it should. As my thumb hovers over the power button, I can almost hear the gears of fate grinding into motion. Whatever happens next, there's no going back.

With a deep breath, I press the button, ready to set my plan into motion. The phone rings once, twice, three times. Each ring feels like an eternity, the tension in the room thickening with every passing second. On the fourth ring, a gruff voice answers, the sound of it sending a chill down my spine.

"Rossi." The voice is gravelly, laced with suspicion and a hint of irritation.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come. "Mario Rossi," I say, my voice steady despite the rapid beating of my heart, "this is Oscar Petrov."

“How the fuck did you get this number?” he hisses.

“I have my ways,” I sneer back at him. “We need to meet.”

“I'm afraid you've caught me at a bad time. I'm far too busy to entertain outcasts from the Petrov family."

His dismissive tone ignites a fire in my chest. I grip the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. "Is that so?" I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Too busy to discuss how you've managed to provide a fraud as a bride for Victor Petrov's son?"

The silence that follows is deafening. I can almost hear the gears turning in Mario's head, his breath catching ever so slightly. When he speaks again, his voice has lost its casual indifference, replaced by a razor-sharp edge.

"What did you say?" he hisses, the threat in his tone unmistakable.

“I think you heard me quite clearly.”

"You're treading on dangerous ground, boy," he growls. "Do you have any idea what you're accusing me of?"

I let out a dry laugh. "Oh, I have more than an idea, Mario. I have proof. And I think it's time we had a face-to-face chat about it, don't you?"

"You're playing a dangerous game, boy," Mario growls, but I can hear the undercurrent of uncertainty in his voice.

"Perhaps," I concede. "But it's a game I'm willing to play. The question is, are you willing to risk everything on the chance that I'm bluffing?"

There's another pause, longer this time. I can almost hear the wheels of Mario's mind spinning, weighing his options, calculating the risks. When he speaks again, his voice is low, almost a whisper.

"Where and when?"

“Tomorrow. I’ll come to you. It’s best we have this conversation away from prying ears, don’t you think? I mean, if I handed off a fake to my uncle, I don’t think I would want that kind of information moving through the gossip grapevine.”

“Fine. Three o’clock. Come alone.”

The line goes dead, Mario's abrupt hang-up punctuating our conversation like a thunderclap. I lower the phone, a mixture of adrenaline and anticipation coursing through my veins. The air in the room feels charged, electric with the weight of what we've just set in motion.

Alex's face breaks into a slow, calculated smile. His eyes dance with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. "We're making our move, huh?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter the delicate balance we've just tipped.

I nod, my jaw set with determination. "Yes," I reply, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me. "The first of many."

Alex's fingers are already flying across his keyboard, screens flickering to life with satellite imagery and blueprints. "I'll get eyes on the Rossi Mansion," he says, his focus laser-sharp. "By tomorrow, we'll know every entrance, exit, and blind spot."

I clap him on the shoulder, a gesture of gratitude and camaraderie. "Good work, Alex. Keep me posted."

Leaving Alex's tech sanctuary, I make my way back through the dimly lit hallway, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet like old bones shifting in their sleep. The warehouse seems to hold its breath, aware of the momentous events unfolding within its walls.

I pause outside Zaire's room, my hand hovering over the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself and push the door open.

The scene that greets me is a stark contrast to the tension-filled conversation I just left. Zaire is stretched out on his king-size bed, his long frame relaxed against the plush pillows. Vesper is nestled in his arms, her golden hair spilling across his chest like liquid sunshine. The sight of her, safe and protected, sends a wave of relief through me.

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