Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1) (24 page)

Kaz understood far too well how quickly things could
change—because of a look, a conversation, or even a thought. He shouldn’t have
been surprised that it happened to him and Violet, not when he knew better.

Yet, ever since their conversation over breakfast,
everything had changed.

Over the span of two weeks, Kaz had made sure that he
always made time for Violet, no matter when she reached out. It could have been
mid-afternoon, the wee hours of the morning, and occasionally when he was in
the middle of a meeting, it didn’t matter. He kept his phone at his side like a
lifeline, never letting it out of his sight.

“You’ve been busy a lot, Cap,” Abram commented, glancing
over at Kaz from his position in the driver’s seat.

It wasn’t often that Kaz let anyone drive him—most people
were shit drivers in his opinion—but Abram refused to let anyone else behind the
wheel of his truck. Besides, he wasn’t letting the man in his own, not when
Violet was regularly riding in it, and while they were careful, there was still
no guarantee that she hadn’t left some small trace of her presence.

“Oh?” Kaz didn’t want to indulge in the conversation, but
if there was one thing he knew, if Abram asked any questions, somebody else had
asked them first.

“Yeah.”

“I have better shit to do than to sit around asking about
things that don’t concern me,” Kaz responded absently, his mind elsewhere.

Abram, now smiling, looked back to the road. “You see, my
guess is, it’s a woman. You seem like the type to keep that kind of thing
pretty hush.”

Were they really having this conversation? “Then why are
you asking?”

“Can’t hurt to try. Never be afraid to ask questions you
want answers to—someone once told me that.”

Kaz, feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on,
counted backward from ten in his head. “
I
told you that, Abram.”

He snapped his fingers. “Of course you did.”

“Just park the fucking car so we can get this done.”

“So about—”

“Fuck off, Abram.”

The man had no shame, laughing even as he swung the truck
into a smooth parallel park. Kaz was out in seconds, crossing the short
distance into the restaurant owned by a good friend of his—Abram stayed behind
to watch his truck.

The restaurant was located just a few miles outside of
Little Odessa, and was one of the few places outside of his circle that he
frequented on a semi-regular basis. He was a friend of the family—not a part of
the
Bratva
however—that dabbled in trade. If a person needed something
from another, he was the man to go to.

Kaz strolled inside, stopping at the podium where a young
woman was standing, a microphone wrapped around the shell of her ear. Her gaze
shifted to his left, and he realized a moment later that she was listening to
someone speaking on the other end.

Then, she smiled at him, gesturing to a hallway off to the
side. “Mr. Shelby will see you in his office.”

There were cameras set up all around the restaurant,
undetectable to anyone that wasn’t looking for them. Alfred Shelby—or just
Alfie, depending on his mood—was a careful man by nature, and his restaurant
was no exception.

Kaz rapped his knuckles against the solid oak door at the
end of the hall, stepping back so the guard he knew was waiting on the other
side could get a good look at him. Once the door was open, and Kaz was inside,
he smiled at one of his oldest associates.

“How’s business?”

Alfie Shelby was a bull of a man, standing as tall as Kaz
but much wider all around. His hair was short, but wavy, and he had the coldest
eyes Kaz had ever encountered, like whatever switch he had on his emotions was
always turned off.  

“Not bad,” Alfie said reclining back in his seat, folding
massive arms across his chest. “Not bad at all. I guess I have you to thank for
that.”

Kaz waved his words away. “A favor between friends. Let’s
not speak on it.”

Alfie just stared at him, seeming to gauge the sincerity of
his words, before he nodded to the chairs in front of his desk. “Go on, have a
seat.”

Alfie waited until Kaz did just that before he spoke. “Your
father won’t bend on our little issue.”

Yeah, Kaz had been afraid of that. His father liked to
believe he knew what was best for the organization—that was his due as
Pakhan
—but
he still had the mindset of the generations before him, where the
Bratva
didn’t indulge in business with outsiders.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

That was the best he could give, and that was probably more
than he should have. If his
Pakhan
dismissed a new arrangement, that was
meant to be the end of it, and if Vasily knew that Kaz had known about the
meeting in the first place, that wouldn’t go over well.

When you wanted to do business with the
Bratva
, you
went to the
Pakhan
, no one else.

“Good, now—”

Alfie paused, his head tilted to the side, and then his
eyes cut to Kaz. “Your time is up. Looks like you’re not the only one paying me
a visit today.”

Though Kaz didn’t question him, he did wonder why. More
than once, he had sat in the room while Alfie conducted business, and had
offered insight when prompted, but never had he been asked to leave.

It, at the very least, made him curious.

Because of the position of the office, Kaz could see most
of the restaurant—with the exception of the kitchens. Standing where he’d been
no more than ten minutes ago was the last person Kaz had expected.

Carmine Gallucci.

He could see it, somewhat, the similarities between him and
his sister—the blond hair—but the rest of him was a carbon copy of his father.
And he held himself like it too, his shoulders back, his head held high as
though everyone around him was beneath his notice.

Kaz couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the man in
person, and it was even longer since he had given him any thought. But as
Carmine’s gaze lifted to his, awareness making them narrow as his guard shot
up, he had Kaz’s full attention.

“Right, gentlemen,” Alfie spoke up, stepping between them
once Carmine got close. “This is a respectable place, yeah? And as much as I
would enjoy watching the two of you try and beat the shit out of each other,
though my money’s on Kazimir here—Russians, they’re fucking savages, you
know?—that won’t happen in here.” He gestured to the door with a tilt of his
head. “Outside and down the street, far away from my place, and you can do as
you please. You still want to have words, Gallucci, you know where to find me.
Now, get the fuck out.”

Carmine looked like he wanted to argue, even more pissed
off by the way Alfie casually disregarded him, but as quickly as his flare of
temper showed in his face, he swept his hands over the front of his suit
jacket, even going as far as straightening his tie. He tried to make himself
seem taller, but next to Alfie and Kaz, he still looked like a boy playing
dress up.

“Nah, I’m good. You see,”—and this was aimed at Kaz as his
gaze shifted past Alfie— “we Italians don’t need to act like dogs in the
street. We know how to behave.”

Kaz smiled at his answer. “You’re right about one thing,
Gallucci. I am a fucking dog, and when the day comes that you’re ready to find
out what that means, look me up.” Clapping Alfie on the shoulder, Kaz headed
for the door.

But as he passed—the two Italian guards moving to the side
to let him pass without incident—Carmine started forward and bumped Kaz’s
shoulder hard enough to make his temper flare. Before he could quell the
impulse, Kaz had his hand around the man’s throat, shoved him backward, and
made his head crack against the wall.

The impact was enough to silence the room, and while
Carmine’s guards rushed to grab their weapons, Alfie made it clear, in that
silent way of his, to not do it.

“That’s your one, Gallucci,” Kaz said squeezing harder,
feeling the muscles in Carmine’s throat constrict as he fought for air. “Test
me again and you won’t like the results.” As quickly as he had grabbed him, Kaz
released his hold, laughing lightly as Carmine wheezed. “Walk away, before I
give your father a real reason to start a war.”

Carmine coughed, his eyes watery and angry. “Fuck you,
Markovic. You’re a fucking nobody. Had it not been for my family doing yours a
favor, you wouldn’t be standing there.”

“Is that so?” Kaz asked, intrigued though he didn’t mean to
be.

He had already been curious about the meeting that had
happened all those years ago between their families, but he had yet to question
Vasily about it, not really seeing a need to. Yet, this was at least the third
time in as many months that the meeting had been brought up to him, and it was
clear that Carmine knew something about it.

Kaz never liked when anyone had information he didn’t have.

“Why don’t you enlighten me?” Maybe then he would have an
answer.

But despite how idiotic Carmine looked, he wasn’t about to
spill secrets. “Savages, the whole fucking lot of you. We should have put all
of you down, and not just that uncle of yours.”

“Savages?” Kaz asked, his voice going calm. “Savage enough
to cut out a heart, Gallucci?” Almost immediately, the Italian reacted to his
words, his face going ashen, and in that moment, Kaz had everything he needed.
“Was it you that cut out his heart?” he asked as he got in the man’s face. “Did
you finally get to be a fucking man, you little
suka
? Because let me
explain one thing to you. I am a fucking savage—I live for that shit—and had I
not been called off from coming after you, I would have found you and cut off
your fingers, one by one. And only after you understood what real pain was,
would I have gone for your heart.”

Carmine kept his mouth shut, and was still glaring, but
beneath that careful facade, Kaz saw a trace of fear, and that was enough for
him.

“Careful what monsters you play with, Gallucci, I’m worse,”
Kaz finished, stepping back, and this time, he didn’t wait for the man to give
a rebuttal, but exited the restaurant, and climbed into Abram’s truck.

“Take me to my place,” he said when Abram was finally
inside and starting the truck up.

“But what about—”

“
Zatknis’
—Shut up. Do as I said.”

Abram didn’t argue further.

Kaz wasn’t usually one to lash out, but he was angry,
angrier than he had been in a long time. And it wasn’t because of Carmine
bumping him, but because of what he’d said—or rather, the things he hadn’t.
Before, he hadn’t cared enough to question Vasily about his uncle, or about the
meeting, but now he needed answers.

And he would get them.

V
iolet stared at her
reflection in the bathroom mirror, taking her time to touch up her makeup while
she had the chance. She was alone in the restroom, which was unusual
considering it was in a semi-busy hall of the college. But she was grateful for
the privacy all the same.

Smoothing her hands down the front and sides of her dress
to smooth out the lace fabric that always seemed to ride up or crinkle, her
fingers hitched in their travels over her hips. It was automatic reaction—an
ache pulsed between her thighs when she pressed her fingers into that one spot,
because she knew what was there.

Or what had been there.

Marks. The smallest of bruises that didn’t hurt at all.

His marks.

Kaz.

Violet shook her head, needing away from those thoughts as
she focused back on her reflection. Her classes for the day were almost over,
thankfully. She had one left, and then she was free for the evening.

Already, she was considering messaging Kaz to meet up with
her somewhere safe. As long as she stayed off her father’s radar, and wasn’t
called away, she didn’t worry all that much.

And it was becoming a habit she didn’t want to break.

She typed a text. Kaz answered.

She asked him away. He went.

Violet liked it more than she should. It was a stupid game
to be playing with a man that was entirely off-limits to her in a big way.
Whatever they were doing—whatever they were—was not something that would be able
to continue on forever.

It all was going to end eventually.

She just wasn’t sure this was the time.

Fluffing out the waves of her hair with her fingers, Violet
leaned a little closer to the mirror. Tipping her head to the side, the blonde
strands fell over her neck, exposing the tight collar of her dress that fit
snugly around her throat.

He was usually so careful, she thought.

He never left something that might be seen by someone else.
Not something that would be obvious, or might get them—her—in trouble.

But Kaz had left something a little too close to the column
of her neck a couple of days earlier. Just a small mark on her right
collarbone—his teeth.

And Christ, it had been good.

That pain was good.

Addictive
.

Violet tugged the collar of her dress outward from her
neck, exposing the discolored mark to her reflection. She had the means to hide
it if she needed to—clothes and makeup, but she couldn’t help but keep going
back to it every single time she had the chance to do so without being caught
or questioned.

Before she could think better of it, Violet grabbed her
phone from her purse resting on the bathroom counter. She unlocked the device,
opened the messages, and found the contact she wanted. Holding the phone at an
angle that would keep her face hidden, she snapped a shot, making sure the mark
was visible, and then sent it off.  

A message quickly followed, but not from who she expected
when she glanced back down at the phone.

Her father’s number lit up the screen. For a moment, Violet
panicked, thinking she had sent that picture to the wrong person, but she
opened up the message to find it was just coincidence.

Gee will be at the main entrance of the University in ten
minutes
, the text read. Another followed right after.
Do not
keep him waiting.

Violet cussed under her breath, gaze cutting back to the
mirror. How in the hell was she supposed to fix her grades—yet another thing
her father still wasn’t aware of—and manage to keep from flunking out the
semester, if she couldn’t even get a full day of classes in?

It didn’t even matter.

She glanced back down at her phone again, waiting for a
message from Kaz, responding to that picture.

It didn’t come.

She didn’t have the time to wonder why.

Her father was waiting.

Violet found the Gallucci mansion lit up and full of people
when she arrived. The tone of her father’s text message had not suggested there
was a last minute party or dinner going on that he wanted her to attend, so she
was confused at the sight of so many vehicles and people milling about.

That idea quickly faded away when she realized it was all
men.

Her father’s men.

Gee, who would usually open her door to let her out, exited
the vehicle without so much as a goodbye. Violet, more confused than ever, grabbed
her messenger bag and purse off the floor before leaving the backseat of the
car. Inside the house, she found several familiar faces going in between rooms
and chatting quietly.

Too quietly for her to really discern what was being said.

After she had put her things away—but made sure to keep her
phone hidden in her dress pocket—Violet went in search of her parents. As she
passed her father’s men, she heard snippets of conversations she probably
wasn’t supposed to, but took note of anyway.

“Russian, yeah,” one man said.

“Carmine was down awful deep in Brooklyn,” said another.

“It could have been worse,” came someone else’s opinion.

Violet’s brow furrowed as she took the random statements
in. What exactly had happened that would cause enough of a fuss for her father
to call his men to his home, not to mention her?

Passing by the entertainment room, Violet saw her
friends—old friends—chatting to one another in a corner. Amelia and Nicole
barely noticed her as she stopped to at least acknowledge their presences. In
two weeks, they had said less than a few words to her in passing, and that was
only if they had no other choice.

No calls. No messages.

No dinners or time at the clubs on the weekends.

Kaz had been right, in a way. Her friends weren’t very real
at all when it came right down to it. They blamed her entirely for a situation
that had been caused by all three of their choices, not just hers.

But she didn’t really care.

Better to move on, and let it go.

Dwelling on it wouldn’t do her any damn good. Amelia and
Nicole probably figured she would eventually make her way back into the folds
with an apology and a willing acceptance to take all the blame.

Violet was done with those games.

Entirely.

They were not in high school anymore, and she refused to
indulge their desire to act like they were.

Finally, Violet found at least one person she was looking
for. Her father was in his favorite spot—his office. Leaning over his desk with
palms pressed to the top and his knuckles white from the pressure, Alberto
looked fit to have a spell. Her father was not a small man by any means. His
larger size dominated the room in presence alone, and he often came off as
intimidating to others who didn’t know him well.

But she knew him.

And right then, while Alberto looked angry, she could see
his worry—his panic.

Alberto nodded to a man at his side—Vito, Amelia’s father,
and his underboss—when Vito said something too low for the rest to hear. Across
from his desk, Carmine stood with his arms crossed and a deep scowl etched on
his face.

“You can’t just let it go unanswered,” Carmine said.

“I can do whatever I want to,” Alberto snapped right back.
He stood straight, brushing Vito off when the man tried to calm the situation
down. “And you—what did you do in all of this to cause a scene like that?”

Carmine opened his mouth to speak, but Alberto held a hand
high, stopping him.

“Do not lie to me, son,” her father warned. “I will know
you did. Do you think your men—those enforcers—are so loyal to you that they
forget which hand has fed them for years? Don’t. Lie.”

“I might have knocked him a little as I passed him by in
the hallway,” Carmine said, “but that doesn’t justify Kazimir’s response,
boss.”

Alberto’s gaze narrowed. “Men of honor hold themselves to a
far higher standard than games of that sort, Carmine. And you, as a Capo, are
well aware of that. Since when have I ever accepted childish taunting and
antics between my men to encourage tensions, huh? When? Answer me.”

“You don’t.”

“I don’t,” Alberto repeated, spitting the words out.

Violet was still trying to catch up to what she was
hearing. But she understood enough. Clearly, Carmine and Kaz had a run in at
some point over the day, and it did not end well.

“And now,” Alberto continued, “I have men in an uproar
because this is the second issue in the span of a month with the Russians.”

“We could … finish them off,” Vito suggested quietly.

“What for?” Alberto asked. “And to whose gain?”

Violet figured she should probably make herself known or
scarce, but she found her feet were like cement stuck to the floor.

When Vito didn’t respond, Alberto turned back on Carmine.

“I know you’re … sensitive … over the events from a couple
of weeks ago,” Alberto said, “but that was a choice made by me, not the
Russians. And if you want someone to take your anger out on, you are more than
welcome to meet me behind a closed door where we will discuss my choices as a
boss and his capo and nothing more. Stay away from the Russians, Carmine. And
stay the fuck away from that restaurant, regardless of the business you have
with Alfred Shelby.”

Carmine straightened a bit more, glared at his father and
tipping his chin up. Alberto almost mimicked the pose perfectly, and it struck
Violet in that moment how similar her brother and father really were.

“Are you scared of the Russians?” Carmine asked, deadly
calm. “Is that it, boss?”

Alberto didn’t even blink. “I have no need to be, and you
will not make a reason for me. Is that understood?”

Just as quickly as her brother’s defiance had shown itself,
it left. Carmine gave one nod, and then moved toward the door, but stopped in
his step as he saw her standing there.

Alberto noticed her then, too.

“Violet,” her father said, his tone turning much softer
than it had been.

Almost … relieved.

“I didn’t know we were having a party … or whatever,”
Violet said, pointedly looking around at the men in Alberto’s office.

Alberto waved it off. “Nonsense. No party. I just wanted to
have you come over, see your face. I worry.”

Oh.

Violet understood, then.

Something had happened, and her father panicked, calling
her to the mansion. He wanted to make sure she was safe from any possible
action—no matter how slight it was—they might face.

“Of course,” Carmine said, scoffing as he tried passing
Violet in the doorway.

She didn’t move, confused by the bitterness in her
brother’s tone. Looking up at him, she found his cold, brown eyes boring down
into hers.

“Always worry about poor, little Violet, right?” Carmine
asked, shooting his father a look over his shoulder.