Where the Snow Falls (Seasons of Betrayal Book 2)

by London Miller

  “I was told you were in Chicago,” Nicole said coolly.

  Kaz stiffened at Violet’s side. He had to know who the woman was, or at least, he should remember her from that night at the club all those months ago.

  Still, he stayed quiet.

  “I was,” Violet settled on saying.

  “But here you are now,” Nicole replied, gaze narrowing. “I’m sure your brother and father would appreciate seeing you, given you just … up and left without a word.”

  Violet didn't bat a lash at the silent accusation in Nicole’s tone and words. “Oh, don’t worry. They’re not stupid men—they knew.”

  Kaz’s tension softened a bit, but he’d moved just a couple of inches closer to Violet. She appreciated he was letting her handle the situation, but she wasn’t sure how much longer that would last.

  “It’s too bad, though,” Nicole said.

  “What is?”

  Her former friend held up a hand, showing off a gold band encrusted with diamonds and an engagement ring to match.

  Violet’s throat dried as she struggled for a response.

  She hadn’t been gone that damn long for Nicole to get married.

  Then again, she’d barely paid attention to her family or their going-ons and only put forth the bare minimum of effort and care when she was forced to before Kaz was released.

  “You missed the wedding—Carmine would have loved to have you there,” Nicole said, passing Kaz a disdainful glare.

  That time, Violet did react in a way she normally wouldn't.

  By scoffing.

  Loud and hard.

  “Right. I’m sure my brother minded that I missed his special day,” Violet said.

  Her sarcasm couldn’t be contained.

  Even Kaz smirked but hid it by glancing away.

  Violet wasn’t done quite yet, though. “But hey, good for you, Nicole. You finally got what you wanted from my brother, right?”

  Nicole’s cold smile melted away, leaving a scowl in its place. “You’re the only one who seems to have forgotten what famiglia is, Violet. So while you have your fun and cause a mess, the rest of us still have a duty to do.”

  Because that was all Nicole would ever be to Carmine.

  Just a duty.

  A wife.

  Proper. Acceptable. Respectable.

  It didn’t have to be for love. He didn’t even have to like her.

  Only the rest of la famiglia had to do those things.

  “I’ll let your father know you’re back in town,” Nicole said, buttoning up her trench coat. “I’m sure he’d love to know I saw you here.”

  Kaz finally decided to step in, clearly having decided that he’d heard enough. Of course, he didn’t do it in the way Violet expected. Like earlier with the too-nice woman at the podium, he simply lifted Violet’s hand with his own, making sure that ring on her finger was clearly visible, and brushed her knuckles with a kiss.

  Nicole’s gaze caught the ring, narrowing.

  “Do that,” Kaz said simply.

  Nicole turned on her heel and left the restaurant without another word or even a look over her shoulder.

  Strangely, Violet felt better after her old friend was gone.

  But not entirely.

  Kaz had yet to relax. “I’m starting to think—as much as I enjoy Alfie’s restaurant—that he might have his hands in too many pots.”

  Violet’s brow furrowed. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  A throat cleared behind them, drawing their attention back to the woman standing behind the podium. She looked a little more wary than she had before when she said, “If you’re ready, the table is open for you.”

  Kaz looked at Violet and then offered the woman an apologetic smile. “Not today—another time.”

  Violet didn’t understand. “Why can’t we eat?”

  Instead of answering, he put a hand on her lower back and guided her out of the restaurant and down the few steps to the sidewalk. Only when a few passersby were long gone out of earshot did Kaz say, “How long do you think that girl was out of the restaurant before she had your brother—or better, your father—on the phone? No, we’re not going to stand around and wait for someone to come make a scene.”

  Ah.

  “I’m still hungry,” Violet muttered.

  Kaz nodded. “How about the diner?”

  She didn’t even have to ask which one he was talking about.

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  “Kazimir?”

  Kaz’s head lifted at the call of his name, a smile quickly growing as he took in the woman coming down the steps of the restaurant toward them. Violet recognized the woman instantly, though she’d only met her once, and it hadn’t exactly been a good meeting.

  Vera Markovic.

  “Vera,” Kaz greeted.

  Vera gave Violet a quick look and a tight smile before turning her attention solely on her brother. “Rus said you were back in town.”

  “Trying to keep quiet, yeah?”

  “I can see why,” Vera replied.

  While she didn’t look at Violet, there was no doubt in her mind Vera was talking about her.

  Kaz tugged Violet a little closer to his side. “Be nice.”

  “Be careful,” Vera shot back. “Ma’s having a fit, you know.”

  “I can’t help what Vasily did.”

  “You should go see her, maybe.”

  Kaz’s thumb swept back and forth over Violet’s back, soothing and calm. “I will. What are you doing around here?”

  Vera raised a brow, shrugging. “Seeing a friend.”

  Why did it feel like the whole conversation between Kaz and Vera was laced with things Violet had no clue about?

  “Visit Ma,” Vera repeated.

  “I will,” Kaz assured. “Soon.”

  Vera nodded at Violet’s hand resting on Kaz’s arm, her gaze zoning in on the engagement ring. “And don’t forget to tell her about that, brother.”

  Times had changed since Kaz was back at his family’s seaside mansion. It’d been almost a year, if he thought about it, and he could see the passage of time. There was a distinct lack of cars in the driveway, only the one Mercedes his mother favored.

  Driving up the cobblestone, he parked beside the car, killing the engine as he glanced over at Violet. “Breathe. They’ll love you.”

  Irina Markovic was nothing if not respectful. It didn’t matter whether she disliked someone or not. She put on a proper face and played the part, but while Kaz felt confident that his mother and sisters would like her just fine, under the current circumstances, he wasn’t sure what he would find on the other side of that front door.

  But they would need to get past it because Violet wasn’t going anywhere.

  After going around to her side and opening her door, the pair walked the short distance up the flight of stairs where Kaz then rang the doorbell and waited. It wasn’t long before the door was swinging open with Nika standing on the other side.

  She looked tired, resigned to whoever she would find standing there, but when she caught sight of Kaz, her face split into a grin as she threw her arms around him, nearly taking him back a step. Before he could fully appreciate the moment, she was stepping back and slapping him in the chest.

  “Ma’s been worried sick about you! You just leave and don’t say anything. We thought you were dead, asshole. Why—” In the middle of her tirade, she finally seemed to notice that Kaz wasn’t alone. “Is this her?”

  “Violet, meet my sister, Nika. Nika, this is Violet.”

  “Huh … you’re prettier than I was expecting.”

  “Don’t start,” Kaz muttered low, his words in Russian and meant only for Nika to hear.

  “What?” Nika responded in kind. “I meant it as a compliment.”

  Sometimes, she had a tendency to come across as rude even when she didn’t mean to. “Where’s Mom?”

  “Where she usually is,” Nika mumbled as she finally moved to the side to let t
hem in.

  Glancing back at Violet to see how she was handling all this, he gave her a squeeze before leading the way inside, following behind Nika. The place was just as clean as he remembered, the floor polished and gleaming with fresh flowers in vases around the room.

  At first glance, everything looked the same.

  But Kaz could see what was beneath the surface.

  Irina made a habit of rearranging the rooms, constantly changing the décor to fit whatever mood she was in, but everything he saw had been in place the last time he was there—like it had all come to a standstill.

  “Ma?” Nika called out once she cleared the doorway to the kitchen. “Kaz is here, and he brought Violet.”

  Irina Markovic sat at the dining room table, a mug of coffee cupped in her hands, and her gaze trained on the windows beside her. For just a moment, though she tried to hide it, he saw the fear and worry in her eyes.

  Realizing almost belatedly that she wasn’t alone, Irina quickly set down her cup and got to her feet, smoothing her already perfect hair. “Kazimir, what have I told you about just showing up?” she chided him, even as she came forward to cup his face, kissing both his cheeks. “You know better.”

  “I was worried about you,” he said by way of an answer, not bothering to mention Vasily or Vera.

  “You should be. Who doesn’t visit their mother in months?” She didn’t mention his time in jail. She probably never would.

  “I’m here now. That should count for something, no?”

  Irina’s gaze flitted to Violet, but unlike his sister’s, hers remained unexcited. “Violet Gallucci, I presume.”

  Violet was quick with a smile, releasing Kaz’s hand to offer it to her. “Yes, very nice to meet you.”

  Irina accepted her hand without question, a pleasant smile spreading, at least until she glanced down and saw the ring adorning her finger. Like any woman who turned her cheek to her husband’s dealings, his mother gave no outward reaction.

  Releasing her hand, Irina asked, “How long are you two staying? Dina should be home soon, and I’m sure she would love to see you.”

  Glancing at Violet, he tried to gauge her reaction to his mother’s words. “We’ve got time.”

  “Excellent. Nika, would you mind getting Violet something to drink? We’ll be along in a moment.”

  Nika didn’t hesitate to turn away and follow their mother’s orders, but Violet hesitated at his side. It wasn’t lost on her that Irina was doing this so she and Kaz could speak alone, especially since it came right after Irina saw the ring.

  “I won’t be long,” he said in her ear as she walked by him, heading in the same direction Nika had taken.

  Once they were out of sight, Irina lost the mask. All the anger, frustration, and fear she had been feeling over the last few months came pouring out. “Kazimir, what have you done?”

  “Ma—”

  “Don’t. Have you any idea what you’ve caused?”

  Kaz reminded himself that this was his mother, and she was feeling the effects of the chaos around them too. “Nothing that wasn’t already in motion long before Violet stepped foot in Rus’ club. None of this is any fault of mine. Vasily didn’t take off because of her. He took off because of what he did.”

  Irina shook her head, looking far more frustrated than she had moments prior. “You were just a boy back then, Kazimir. You have no idea what Gavrill was like when he wasn’t playing the part. He loved you boys, but he was a tyrant on the best of days.”

  Kaz blinked in surprise, but not because of anything she said, but because of what she didn’t say. “You knew. You knew what Vasily did.”

  “Does she not know the moves you make, Kazimir?”

  “Don’t turn this on me. He—”

  “Was doing the same thing you’re doing now,” Irina said. As she stared at him, he realized it wasn’t anger in her eyes but sadness. “I make no excuses for who your father became after what he did, but don’t pretend your motives aren’t just as selfish as his were. He wanted that seat and was willing to do anything to get it. You want that girl and look at what you’re doing, Kazimir—ready to tear your own family apart and spill the blood of innocents to keep her.”

  Kaz was rarely struck quiet, but his mother very rarely, if ever, raised her voice to anyone—and whether she realized it or not, she was yelling loud enough for the entire house to hear.

  But he didn’t quiet her.

  And he didn’t know why.

  “Whether you want to believe it or not, we both know the truth.”

  Not able to help himself, though he knew he wouldn’t like the answer, Kaz asked, “And what’s that?”

  Irina shook her head, disappointment clear. “You are your father’s son.”

  “Oh, no,” Kaz said, his gaze moving back and forth between the object on the edge of the counter and Violet’s confused expression. “This can’t be had, krasivaya.”

  “I can’t help—”

  “I do not give you a weapon for you to put it down and say you can’t use it. That’s not how that works, Violet.”

  “Well, I don’t know how!”

  Kaz just looked exasperated. “How … how on earth can you possibly not know how to work a gun?”

  “I just … don’t,” she finished lamely.

  “This can’t be had,” Kaz repeated, although it was more to himself that time.

  Violet, still confused as fuck, watched as he pushed away from the counter and snatched his cell phone he’d discarded while he was pouring coffee. Still muttering, albeit in Russian, he typed in a number, turned his back to her, and put the phone to his ear.

  She barely heard the faint murmur of someone answering before Kaz said, “What are you doing today, brat?”

  Violet hesitated, almost positive she knew that word meant “brother.”

  “Well, un-plan. I need something,” Kaz said. “Be here in twenty.”

  Kaz hung up the call and spun around to face Violet. For a long moment, he just stared at her.

  “What?” she finally asked, unnerved by his watching.

  “I have to do something today. Rus will teach you.”

  “Teach me—what?”

  “Guns,” Kaz explained. “He’s a good teacher. He has patience when others don’t.”

  That was that.

  Not even an hour and a half later, Violet followed behind Ruslan Markovic as he opened the rusted, dented metal door of what appeared to be a shoddy, run-down warehouse.

  Something dripped down from the hallway ceiling, and she squeaked when the water—Jesus, she hoped it was water—hit her shoulder.

  Ruslan only laughed. “What, does this place offend your sensibilities, princess?”

  Violet tried not to glare … and failed. “I feel like just looking at the door earned me the need for a tetanus shot.”

  “Cute. Let’s go. Watch your step.”

  Violet did as she was told, noticing how every few feet down the hallway, the floor dropped off a few inches. Like very large steps.

  And then they weren’t in a hallway at all, but standing at the mouth of a large warehouse with a dirt floor, weapons of all kind lining the walls, and lights high above.

  The strange security panel Violet had watched Ruslan punch numbers into on the outside of the building finally made sense. She had thought it odd a place that seemed so old and unused would need any kind of security.

  What could possibly be hidden inside to keep safe?

  Guns, apparently.

  Many guns.

  “Pretty, isn't it?” Ruslan asked, noting the look of wonder on Violet’s face.

  “I don’t know if that’s the word I would use.”

  “You’ve seen guns before, yes?”

  “Not this many.”

  “But you have,” he pressed.

  Violet stared him straight on. “You might be surprised to learn this, but before I met Kaz, I had never even heard a gunshot before.”

  “Huh.”

&nb
sp; That was all he said.

  Huh.

  “Is that surprising?” she asked.

  Ruslan shrugged. “No, more interesting than anything. Didn’t your father have guns in his house?”

  “One—I saw it in his office. I don’t know about others. I never noticed.”

  “You never noticed because he didn’t have them,” Ruslan replied just as fast. “Believe me, they’re hard to miss when you're the kind of man who needs one close by.”

  He waved at one of the many walls lined with all sorts of weaponry. “Pick a handgun. Might as well choose one you like because you’ll be taking it with you. The semantics of guns are essentially the same—load the clip, take the safety off, cock the hammer, and then the trigger. Simple.”

  Violet still didn’t understand why she needed to know this at all. “What if I said I didn’t like guns?”

  “Then this will be a lot harder on you than it needs to be. It’s non-negotiable. Pick a gun.”

  Ruslan was not like Kaz, Violet was learning.

  Kaz said he had more patience, but she didn't think that was true at all. Or maybe it was the fact Violet had an entirely different relationship with Kaz than she did with Ruslan. She didn't know the oldest Markovic brother all that well to begin with.

  Clearly, Ruslan was not going to handle this situation with kid gloves.

  Or Violet, for that matter.

  Still hesitant, Violet moved toward the rows of guns when Ruslan waved at her as if he was shooing a frightened little dog away from his massive form. She looked over the wall that seemed to house the majority of the handguns, and she didn’t have a fucking clue what she was looking at.

  When she reached for a particular one that was rather long with a brushed steel finish, Ruslan cleared his throat, stopping her attempt to grab the weapon.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “What?”

  “Not the Eagle. It’s got about ten pounds of weight you can’t handle, not to mention the kickback. Something smaller—try again.”

  “But I like that one.”

  “And I bet you like not having a sprained wrist, too,” Ruslan replied, sounding bored. “Pick a different one.”