by Bethany-Kris
He didn’t remember much from that night except the glint of the blade Vasily had used to slice open the skin of his neck. He remembered his voice, the smug quality that spoke so candidly about his impending death, but what Kaz didn’t remember was how his father had looked that night.
Since he had last seen his father, the man had lost weight, his face thinner, his cheekbones more pronounced. A tiredness on his features that hadn’t always been so prevalent.
Before he could reach the weapon, however, Kaz lifted his gun once more, only feeling the slightest pangs in his chest as he pulled the trigger, watching as the heated metal tore through more flesh.
A brief image of his father flashed in his mind—back when they were still father and son, their relationship not tainted by the demands of the Bratva. How caring he had once been, eager to give his time and affection if only for the adoration Kaz showed him in return.
Vasily was a man who wanted to be loved by all and to love in return—but his love came with strings, and despite the many years of his life, he had never learned that love could only be freely given.
Now, he was a shadow of the father Kaz had once known—a man he no longer admired.
Vasily laughed, and sharp moans of pain broke up the sound. “It was only a matter of time,” he said as he turned familiar eyes on his youngest son. “I knew you would find your way here.”
Unbidden, Kaz asked, “Then why didn’t you run further?”
“You wouldn’t have stopped,” Vasily said. “You’re my son, after all.”
Vasily looked at Kaz, as a sense of calm seemed to wash over the man. He had to know that, for the first time in his life, he had been beaten—and despite how good he thought he was, there was no way to talk himself out of this one.
Letting his hands fall to his side, Vasily said, “I’m not afraid to die.”
The statement registered in the back of Kaz’s mind, but even still, his arm raised on its own accord, his Glock pointed at his father’s chest. “And I’m not afraid to kill you.”
The first shot slammed into his chest, sending him back a few steps as he stumbled, his hand going up to cover the wound. Red spilled out between splayed fingers, rivulets running down his arm even as the color bloomed brighter on the backdrop of his white shirt.
His back hit the wall a moment later, his legs giving out beneath him as he sunk to the floor wearing a dazed but pained expression on his face. When Kaz stowed his gun and crossed the floor in unhurried strides, Vasily’s gaze lifted to him until Kaz dropped to his haunches, folding his hands in front of his knees.
“No man should die alone,” Kaz said, answering his unspoken question. “Not even one like you.”
Vasily coughed, blood spraying from his mouth as he tried to draw a breath. “Where did I go wrong with you, Kazimir?”
“It wasn’t where you went wrong with me, but where you let your greed consume you.”
So softly Kaz almost missed the words, Vasily whispered, “Apologize to my girls for me, Kazimir. I owe them that.”
The last words of a dying man, Kaz thought as he didn’t respond, watching his father—the same man who had both raised him as any doting father should and betrayed him as any enemy might—take one last ragged breath before his chest stopped moving.
For a long minute, he remained there, staring at his father, but when he finally stood, heading for the door, Kaz knew he wouldn’t do as his father had asked.
When he went to his mother and sisters, he could only apologize for his own sins.
Violet tiptoed down the hallway, wanting to get past her father’s office without being noticed or called in. It was way too early in the morning for her father’s nonsense. Hadn’t she already put up with enough of it as it was?
Unfortunately, since learning she was pregnant, Violet’s entire schedule had been turned upside down. Before the pregnancy, it was unusual for her to be up before nine or ten in the morning if she didn’t absolutely have to be. The baby seemed to want her up at seven at the latest, with a full bladder to boot.
The good thing about earlier mornings was the fact Violet usually got to spend them alone, sipping on tea or juice on the back porch or in one of the three sunrooms the mansion sported. Everyone else was either asleep or just beginning to prepare for their day.
They were too busy to notice the quiet girl off on her own, lost in her thoughts.
She held tight to those moments. Precious seconds when she could think of Kaz and not worry if someone was watching for even a flicker of unhappiness in her features. Moments when she could have her back turned to a door, say good morning to her unborn baby, and not worry that someone might see her do it.
But she had to be careful.
Which was why she was currently tiptoeing down the hall when she noticed her father’s office doors were wide open.
The low murmurs coming from the office told Violet the space was not empty. She recognized her father’s voice, of course, but the other voices were too quiet for her to distinguish. The closer she got, the better she could hear.
Three people.
Her father.
Angelo.
Caesar.
“We have a bigger problem,” Angelo said.
“I’m not sure that we do,” Alberto replied. “My daughter will do as she’s told. The rest is rather simple.”
“It’s not simple, Alberto. She’s married. And not through the church or another religious entity, but through a Justice of the Peace. We’re not talking about bribing enough people to get an annulment through but an actual divorce.”
“Be that as it may—”
“How long do you expect Caesar to stay in New York?” Angelo interrupted, his tone thickening with his irritation. “Because I will be leaving soon—I expected my son to be following with the promise of a marriage arrangement soon after.”
“The divorce can be put through without trouble,” Alberto said. “If the Russian wanted to stay married, he would have kept her around.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Alberto.”
“Which one?”
“How long will I need to stay in New York?” Caesar asked, finally joining the conversation again. “Because I’m already bored, you see, and the longer I stay bored—”
“Caesar,” Angelo warned.
“—the more likely I am to find someone to amuse myself with, Don. And we all know how much trouble that leads me into, don’t we? I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“At least, he managed to add the title in there for my benefit,” Alberto muttered.
“He has his good qualities,” Angelo replied absently. “And if he wasn’t my favorite, those occasional qualities would mean nothing. He tends to forget that.”
Caesar scoffed but said nothing else.
“The divorce,” Angelo said pointedly, “is not a simple thing.”
Alberto sighed heavily. “I have contacts—it could be forged, for now.”
Violet’s heart beat so hard in her chest, it was beginning to hurt. She was pretty goddamn sure this was not in Kaz’s plans when he sent her back here to be safe. And now … now, she had no real way of contacting him to tell him what the hell was going on and that it was going south really fast.
“How good of a forgery when the marriage is legal, registered, and recognized by the state government?” Caesar asked.
“State—not Federal. It’s a loophole. It would give me time. I have other … documents for Violet as far as identities go. One of those could be used.”
Oh, this was not good.
Violet cringed, wishing she had stayed in bed. It could be as simple as making a phone call, but she knew good and well that her father had all the lines tapped and his security monitored all calls. Even her cell phone was monitored.
How the hell was she supposed to get out of this one?
“I’ll stay a while,” Caesar said, bringing Violet back to the conversation at hand. “It’s not like my brother couldn’t use the tim
e away from me. And besides, your daughter does have one thing going for her.”
Alberto made a disgruntled sound under his breath. “Should I even ask?”
“She’s interesting. I like interesting women. They’re a challenge.”
Angelo chuckled. “And when does that interest wane? With you, it always seems to wane rather quickly.”
Caesar took a second to answer. “Somewhere between a surname change and babies.”
“He’ll never make a good husband,” Alberto groused.
“You didn’t want a good husband,” Angelo replied as if he was reminding Violet’s father of that fact. “What you wanted, old friend, was a blanket to cover the shame. I’m providing you with that, aren’t I?”
“Actually,” Caesar put in, “that would be me.”
“This or a grave, son.”
“You could at least make it interesting for me, Papa.”
“Well, she is technically married,” Angelo said like it was an afterthought. “That is your type, it seems.”
What hell had Violet fell into?
She didn’t know if this was some kind of nightmare or just a sick joke. Hiding the pregnancy was one thing, but she was not going to fake marry someone just to please her father or stay in a safe haven.
The more she even had to consider it, the sicker it made her feel.
Violet’s morning sickness had finally decided to show itself at the proper time—for once. All the anxiety and panic she felt began to thump hard in the back of her throat as the bile spilled onto the back of her tongue. She spun fast on her heel, making sure to keep a tight grip on her messenger bag as she went. It was the one thing her father let her keep—though he’d gone through it, only not with a sharp enough eye to realize the white bottle of vitamins were missing their telltale wrapping. He’d never even questioned the prenatal vitamins, really, and she supposed that was sheer luck.
She barely made it out of the hallway, going back the way she had come, and into a spare bathroom in enough time to be sick without making a mess and exposing her eavesdropping. Somehow, she managed to get the door shut and the exhaust fan turned on—it offered just enough sound to muffle her vomiting, but not by much.
Violet leaned over the toilet, more sickness spilling into the porcelain, as her bag fell to the tiled floor, the contents falling out. She didn’t even care.
This was horrid.
By the time she was finished, the whole bathroom had smelled of vomit, and her cheeks were streaked with tearstains.
Just freaking wonderful.
That wasn’t the worst part, though.
No, that came when the bathroom door was pushed open with a certain care that said whoever was behind it had been listening to her the entire time and was wondering if she was dead or not. Frankly, she’d be wondering that herself had she needed to listen.
“Fuck,” Violet muttered.
Caesar stood outside the bathroom, arms crossed and a curious expression on his face as he watched Violet reach up to flush the toilet. “Well, then …”
“Get out.”
“In a minute.”
“Now,” Violet snarled.
“Sick?”
“Deaf?” she shot back.
On wobbly legs, Violet stood, turning to the sink to turn the tap on and cup water in her hand to drink and swish out her mouth. She only turned around when she heard a telltale rattle behind her. Caesar held the bottle of her vitamins in his hand, though it looked like he’d been refilling her bag for her.
She would have thanked him because it was a nice gesture, if he hadn’t been holding those pills.
Her secret …
Jesus.
“Caesar,” Violet started to say.
“Just a second,” Caesar said, holding up a finger as he looked the bottle over. Then he took the top off and looked inside, nodding as though the contents were exactly what he’d expected to find inside.
Shit.
This had just gone from bad to way worse.
“Question,” he murmured, “if you wouldn’t mind answering.”
Well, what options did Violet have at the moment?
“What is it?”
“You could be a little nicer right now, Violet.”
“Could I?”
Caesar dropped the vitamins in the bag and handed it over, not giving it another ounce of his attention. Instead, his gaze focused on her. “Tell me, you don’t have your wedding bands hidden somewhere, right?”
“You already know the story—he sent me back without them.”
A smile graced his features, and then it was gone just as fast as it had come.
“No man who gives a woman a ring and his last name would take it back unless he intended to give it to her again someday,” Caesar said quietly. “He wouldn’t care to, you see? If he truly didn’t want her anymore, she could take the rings, his name, and run with it, as long as she was gone. I thought—maybe—your Russian was a special case. Cultural differences, we’ll say. Indulge me—how wrong was I?”
Violet shot a look behind Caesar, wondering who else might be in the hallway listening.
He seemed to take note of her distraction. “It’s fine. They’re drinking in your father’s office—I closed the door on my way out.”
“That doesn’t make me safe.”
“You—this agreement between our families that they’re working on—are a means to an end for me, nothing more. Not a means that I chose or wanted, mind you, but one nonetheless. If you have a way out of this for me, I would love to hear it.”
Violet swallowed hard. “I thought I was interesting—a challenge. Wasn’t that was you said earlier?”
“Spying is a bad habit.”
“You should close doors you intend to talk behind.”
“True enough,” he agreed, “but you just got a whole lot less interesting, Violet. Married women are one thing. Pregnant women are a whole other breed. No offense.”
“None taken. You’re not a very good made man, are you?”
Caesar smirked at that question. “I’m good at pretending to be, and isn’t that what matters?”
She was good at pretending, too.
Sometimes, a person had to work with what they had.
From the moment Vasily’s heart had stopped beating, it felt like there was a ticking clock in Kaz’s head. Counting down each second until he was back home and could start the arrangements for Vasily’s funeral, he knew that he would have to pay his mother and sisters a visit first before he did anything.
That idea weighed on him the most.
On the flight home, he thought of taking the easy way out. He could send one of his men to deliver the news that Vasily was dead—have them lie and say it was one of Vasily’s many enemies who had finally put him in the ground. But Kaz thought it better to tell the truth than to conceal what he had done.
The truth, no matter how painful, was always easier than a lie.
Now, as he drove toward his former home with something akin to anxiousness churning in his stomach, he knew that this would probably be the last time he stepped foot in this house—at least for a while.
The cars were parked in a neat line, Vera’s Bentley parked between the twins’ cars, and their mother’s car closest to the house. Before arriving, Kaz had called Vera, letting her know that she needed to come by the house.
He didn’t doubt that she knew exactly what he had to say—he could hear it in the way she hesitated before agreeing. No part of him thought this would be easy—before Vasily had let greed corrupt his mind, he had been a loving husband, a doting father.
In times like these, it was much harder to remember the harm he had done as opposed to the good memories they shared. Even Rus had been uncharacteristically silent on the ride over, lost in his own thoughts, but once they cleared the gate, he sat up a little straighter and snapped off his seat belt.
Before he stepped out of the car, Rus said, “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
&
nbsp; Kaz didn’t respond, letting his silence answer for him as he pocketed the keys to his Porsche and followed Rus up the front steps and into the house.
When was the last time he’d been here? Though it couldn’t have been very long ago—before the wedding, he thought—he felt like nothing had changed in the short time he’d been gone.
Just another reminder of how dependent his mother really was on Vasily. Since Vasily ran, it was like her life had come to a standstill. Kaz tried to muster up the guilt he knew he should feel, but he couldn’t, not when he still had the scar across his throat—a reminder of his father’s love.
“I totally—oh, Rus is here! And Kaz!”
Nika was the first to find them, her cell phone pressed to one ear, a smile splitting her lips as she ended the call without bothering to say goodbye. She launched herself at Rus first, earning a chuckle from the big man before she gave Kaz the same treatment, nearly strangling him with the force of her grip.
“I feel like it’s been forever since I last saw you guys,” she said looking back and forth between them.
Seeing her like this, untouched by the grief their world sometimes brought, Kaz felt that familiar flicker of hesitation. He could just tell his mother and Vera, he reasoned. They were older and could process what he would say better than two seventeen-year-olds.
But wouldn’t he want to know?
Wouldn’t he have demanded that whoever was delivering the news tell him as well? He remembered all too well what he had been like as a teenager, wanting to be treated like he was older than he was.
Even if he wanted to spare them, they would learn—he would have, had the positions been reversed.
“Where are—”
“What’s all the commotion about?” Vera asked, appearing from around the corner, quickly followed by Irina and Dina. “Oh, Kaz. It’s about time you got here. You do remember that I work, right? I can’t just take off whenever I feel like it.”
Vera didn’t ramble, nor did she really say more than she had to—that was just who she’d always been. She was nervous, worried about what he was going to say, but Kaz didn’t doubt she knew the answer, even as she pretended she didn’t.