“Violet, did you hear me?”
“Yes, Konstantin. I’ll stay in the fucking car.”
Konstantin laughed his way out of the vehicle, letting the driver’s door slam shut. Violet watched him walk up to the hotel room’s door, and she expected him to knock.
He didn’t.
Violet squeaked in surprised when Konstantin reared back and kicked the door just below the knob, and it swung open, exposing shadows and no one standing behind it. As quickly as he was there, Konstantin was gone, disappearing into the room.
Not even ten seconds later, he was back at the doorway with someone at his side.
Violet’s gaze widened as something heavy and hard welled in her gut.
Amelia.
Konstantin passed Violet a look, a single brow raising as he dragged a fighting, shouting Amelia toward the vehicle. Violet couldn’t help but turn in the seat to watch as Konstantin opened up the back door and shoved Amelia into the backseat as if she was nothing more than a ragdoll with limp limbs.
“You can’t just fucking take—”
“Quiet,” Konstantin said calmly.
Too calm, even.
Violet’s gaze flicked back and forth between her former friend in the backseat and Konstantin’s stone-cold features as he pointed a finger at Amelia.
“Shut up, girl, right now,” he told her.
Maybe it was the deadly calm, uncaring way he spoke or maybe it was the blank blackness in his eyes, but Amelia shrunk back in the seat, silent.
Konstantin flashed a smile, but it still came off as cold and cruel. “Well done.”
He slammed the door on her.
The very second he did, Amelia lunged for the door, ready to escape maybe, but a beep sounded, and the doors locked. Violet’s former friend shrieked her despair, trying and failing to get the latch to open the door.
“Fucking asshole,” Amelia mumbled.
Violet wasn’t even entirely sure why, but her mouth worked before her brain could think it over properly. “He’s not that bad, actually. Just a little moody.”
As if Amelia was only just then realizing she wasn’t alone in the vehicle, her fiery, hateful gaze turned on Violet as she spun around in the backseat. “You …”
Violet caught sight of Konstantin rounding the car, coming toward the driver’s side. “What about me?”
“This is your fault; you and that fucking Russian sc—”
“Watch it,” Violet snapped.
Unlike Konstantin, who was able to be cool and calm in the face of someone who thought he was worth less than the dirt under his shoe, Violet could not say the same.
And fucking no one would disrespect Kaz.
She had heard enough of that bullshit from her father and brother to last her a lifetime over the past several months.
The car beeped again, and Konstantin slid in the driver’s seat, seemingly unruffled by the very unhappy, glaring Amelia in the backseat.
“Sit down and buckle up,” he said. “Or don't and die if we get into an accident.”
Violet turned back around in the seat and buckled her seat belt without a word.
Still, she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder at Amelia.
What is going to happen to her?
“Konstantin?”
“Yes?” he asked, backing the car out of the parking spot.
The hotel room’s door was still wide open.
“Where are we going?” Violet asked.
She figured it was better to edge into the conversation carefully. Maybe she would get more information that way.
Or maybe not.
“Back to the townhouse,” Konstantin replied as he pulled out onto the road.
“And then what?” she hedged.
Apparently, Amelia was not up for word games.
“What are you going to do with me, Russian?” Amelia asked, spiteful and still glaring.
Konstantin glanced into the rearview mirror, catching Amelia’s eye. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Amelia straightened a bit in the seat, defiant as ever. Violet used to admire that about her old friend—Amelia was bold when others might shrink away.
“Are you going to kill me?”
Konstantin smiled, slow and easy. “Only if you ask me nicely.”
Every Thursday like clockwork, Vasily held a meeting, collecting payments and discussing business with the top officers of the Bratva. Since Kaz had joined the ranks, he couldn’t remember his father ever missing a single meeting, and because of this, he knew exactly where the man would be by the time he got everything he possibly could out of Christian Carracci.
It wasn’t anxiety, though the emotion felt akin to that, that Kaz was feeling the closer they came to that building, spotting the line of cars already present. Months of planning had led up to this moment, and it was about fucking time.
Having left Christian in the care of his brother and Kolya with strict instructions not to kill the man, he had cleaned himself up, changed clothes, and made himself as presentable as he could in the short window of time he had.
Appearances meant everything.
He could have gone as he was, showing the other men the brutality of what he had inflicted on the man who had taken one of their own from them, but that wasn’t the image he needed them to see. It wasn’t just about removing Vasily from his seat and taking everything he held dear.
He wanted to make sure no one would question who was in charge by the time he walked out of the room.
Muffled voices carried through the double doors at the end of the hallway, but Kaz didn’t slow his stride, nor did Rus, who was dragging a semi-conscious Christian through the hallway. He only had seconds to ready himself before he was shoving the doors open, bringing all conversation to a halt as eyes turned on him.
But he only cared about one, and as he looked at the head of the table where he was meant to be, he was absent.
Kaz could have almost smiled.
Finally, one—Boris, his name was—was brave enough to speak. “What are you doing here, Kazimir? Vasily—”
“Is not here now, is he? When should we be expecting him?” He didn’t mind waiting; he had all the time in the world at that moment. None of these men were bold enough to make a move against him without Vasily being present anyway.
When silence met his question, he looked at one of Vasily’s underlings and said, “Call him.”
He didn’t move, boldly staring Kaz down as though he had every right to sit there in defiance. It didn’t matter if Vasily was the Pakhan. Kaz still had stars, and his ranking afforded him certain luxuries.
Including making an example out of anyone who didn’t give him the respect he’d earned. What kind of boss would he be in the eyes of these men if he let them walk all over him?
Kaz gestured for Rus and Kolya to enter the room before he shut the doors and locked them, just as his father would have done had he been there—the act a signal for the beginning of the meeting. He was all but forgotten for a moment as they all looked at the bleeding man, curiosity mixed with disgust flitting over their faces.
They knew he was Italian but not the reason he was in the same room as them.
But before he would address that, Kaz had to attend to another matter.
As he crossed the floor, he undid the cufflinks at his wrists, drawing the sleeves back one at a time and rolling them up to his elbows. Flexing his fingers, he could just see the bruising along his knuckles from hitting Christian, but even with the ache in his hand, it didn’t matter.
“I thought I asked you to do something,” Kaz said as he came upon the man in his seat opposite that of Vasily’s. “Yet here you sit.”
The man ground his teeth, a fire in his eyes. “You’re not my boss.”
“And when he’s not here, these stars,” Kaz said, dragging his shirt to the side to show one of them, just in case the man had forgotten, “make me your fucking boss. So when I say do something, I expect it to be done, yes?”
/> Since he lacked the stars that would mark him as a Captain in the Bratva, Kaz’s words were true. He was above him in ranking—and truthfully, defying the orders of any Vor was punishable by death.
“You’re a dead man,” he growled back, expression tight.
If anything, Kaz had to respect the man’s loyalty. “By the time I leave this room, Igor, I won’t be the one with a target on my back. Pick a side but choose wisely.”
“Fuck you.”
Unbidden, Kaz laughed. “Fuck me? Are you sure about that?”
That unwavering defiance was steady in his eyes, and Kaz could see the answer in the man’s eyes, even as he opened his mouth. His lips were just drawing back, about to form another ‘f,’ but before he could utter the remark again, Kaz pulled the gun from his waist and pressed the barrel to the man’s head.
Igor only had the chance to widen his eyes; that arrogance disappeared as fear took its place, but before he could even think to do anything about it, Kaz had pulled the trigger. The force of the bullet threw him from his seat. His body crumpled to the floor, even as everyone else stood, looking at Kaz in surprise.
But Kaz merely put his gun away, pulled the heavy chair at the head of the table out, and sank into it.
It was far more of a declaration than anything he could have possibly said.
“Seventeen years ago, my uncle, your Pakhan,” Kaz started, pointing at each of the men in the room, “was gunned down in cold blood by that man there.”
They all looked at Christian then, who was conscious enough to realize he was in enemy territory and in a room with said enemies. What little hope he might have had that he would survive this day and night fled.
“He was given the orders by Alberto Gallucci.”
“Then he’s a fucking dead man,” Boris proclaimed from his spot at the table. Back when Gavrill was still around the two had always worked closely. Besides Rus, Kaz didn’t doubt that Boris would gladly go to war for Gavrill’s death.
“Gallucci will answer for his part in due time, but someone else needs to answer first.”
“Who?” someone else called out.
“Vasily. He sanctioned the hit. He gave the orders and promised no vengeance for the death.”
Silence met his declaration, disbelief heavy in the air. He knew the questions they were probably asking themselves … Why? What reason would justify Vasily to have his brother killed?
And the most important …
Why should they trust his word for it?
“How long has it been since I was released from jail on charges we all know should have easily been thrown out? In that time, has my father not been hounding every single one of you to find me? To bring me back so he can teach me a lesson … yet here I am with company,” he said, gesturing at Rus, Kolya, and Christian, “and he’s nowhere to be found. On the day I’m here to show proof of his aid in helping our fucking enemies, he disappears.”
It would have been just as easy for him to have Christian repeat back everything he had told him, and probably more, but he wanted to bring their doubts to the forefront first. Every single one of them had had a suspicion about Vasily ever since the man became the boss, but the fear of what Vasily might have done prevented them from ever stepping forward.
Now, they had the freedom, and Kaz had merely spun the web.
As he had told Igor, Kaz said, “Call him, see if he answers. What reason would he have not to?”
Except, now, Kaz suspected with some certainty that his father knew he was back in the city. And as smart as he was, he had to know only one thing would drag him back to a city where he was being hunted.
Boris dug his phone out of his pocket, dialing the number and putting it on speaker before laying the device on the table.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times, but then the phone went to voice mail.
Someone else called ... then a third ... even a fourth, yet not once did Vasily answer the phone.
His non-answer told them everything they needed to know.
One by one, each of the men sank back into their chairs, turning to face him. Kaz didn’t allow himself to revel in it … not yet.
There was still too much work to do.
“For now,” he declared, “the Italians live. Vasily is the priority.”
“And what about him?” Boris asked, gesturing with a tilt of his head to Christian.
“I’m sure we can find something fun to do with him.”
Perhaps they could cut off his ears, remove his eyes, and rip his tongue from his mouth to mail off as gifts to Alberto.
Hear no evil … Speak no evil … See no evil.
It felt appropriate.
“And make no mistake,” Kaz went on, “the Italians will answer for their part in Gavrill’s death, but Violet is off-limits to you. If that is a problem for anyone in this room, I will gladly send you on your way right behind Igor. Do not doubt me on this.”
Silence followed.
“Glad we’re in agreement. Now,” Kaz said, folding his hands on the table, “what do you have for me?”
A heartbeat or maybe two later, envelopes were lifted from pockets and set on the table before him.
“Pickle?”
Amelia huddled on the edge of the couch with an afghan blanket tossed around her shoulders, refusing even to look at Konstantin when he posed the question. It had come off as innocent, but an edge of humor lingered in his tone. Just enough to say he enjoyed pestering Amelia with his constant chatter.
And he did talk.
A lot.
A lot more than Violet had heard him chat since she had met him, actually.
“You know,” Konstantin began conversationally, “it’s only polite to answer someone when they ask you a—”
“Would you shut up?” Amelia barked.
Violet snickered into the book she was reading but didn’t even bother to hide the fact she was closely watching the two over the edges of the pages. Frankly, it was the most entertainment she’d had since Kaz had up and left without so much as a word.
And really, she was less likely to be pissed off—or rather, let the anger she did feel fester more than it was—if she focused on what was directly at hand.
Like Konstantin’s sudden need to bother his … captive.
Well, Violet guessed that was what Amelia was.
Her former friend didn’t have much to say to her, even when she tried striking up a conversation. When Violet attempted to question Konstantin on what he was doing with Amelia, or what would happen, she received another one of his many blank looks that essentially told her fuck all.
“What’s going to happen when you go back to New York, huh?”
Violet met Amelia’s gaze at the question. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t, but you do, and that’s interesting.” Amelia’s fiery stare slid toward Konstantin. “More interesting than he is.”
“Liar,” Konstantin said, waving a pickle in Amelia’s direction. “I am greatly amusing.”
Even Violet lifted her brow at that one. “Greatly is a bit of a stretch.”
“No one asked you. You only need to be interesting to one man, and that isn’t me.”
Violet stared at Konstantin for a long while, taking in his words. She was coming to find with him, a person needed to listen to what he did say because it was often what they weren’t expecting, but it was a lot more than what he simply offered.
In other words, she took nothing he gave at simply face value.
From what she just gathered, Amelia was … interesting to him.
Well, then.
Violet turned back to Amelia. “Whatever happens, happens.”
It wasn't that simple.
She was a little worried.
Terrified was more like it.
Angry that she had yet to even get a fucking call from Kaz since he’d been gone … but still, she was concerned.
“Your father will kill him,” Amelia said q
uietly, that fire in her eyes dimming just a bit.
Violet never dropped her old friend’s stare when she replied, “He has to catch him first.”
For as much bravado as was in Violet’s tone, she didn’t feel it quite the same way in her heart. No, in there, a heavy weight rested like a poisoned ball ready to explode.
Because Amelia was right.
Alberto Gallucci seemed like a simple, laid-back man from afar.
He was anything but.
He did not make idle threats.
“Was it really worth it?” Amelia asked. “All of this—the mess it made—was he worth it?”
For that, Violet didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Konstantin pushed off the arm of the chair, standing straight and offering the jar of pickles he held to Amelia once more. “Pickle?”
Huffing like she was just goddamned tired of his games, Amelia snatched the jar from Konstantin’s outstretched hand and pulled a pickle from it. “There, now shut up.”
Konstantin only smirked in response and took the jar back without a word.
But he did turn to Violet.
“Oh, I forgot,” he said.
Violet looked up at him. “Forgot what?”
“You have a plane to catch tonight. You should probably pack your bags.”
“Oh, but Daddy has missed you,” Kaz whispered to himself as the garage door slowly rolled up, revealing his Porsche on the other side.
Just a couple of days before, he’d had the car shipped back from Chicago. How long had it been since he felt that kind of power beneath his hands? It was supposed to be just a car, just a material possession that he enjoyed occasionally, but it was just another reminder of what Vasily had attempted to take away from him.
Behind the wheel, he took his time starting the engine, wanting to savor the sounds of gears shifting and bringing the beast to life.
He was home.
Backing out of the garage, Kaz headed toward the same airstrip he had driven to when they were leaving the city. It only seemed fitting that the same brought them back again.
Since his return, Vasily still hadn’t surfaced, and if he knew what was good for him, he would remain out of sight. There hadn’t been an urgency to finding Kaz when he disappeared to Chicago, but now, every single man of the Bratva was scouring for any trace of the old Pakhan.
Where the Snow Falls (Seasons of Betrayal Book 2) Page 13