Where the Wind Whispers (Seasons of Betrayal Book 3) (10 page)

Even when she was alone in the kitchen with no one else around but the staff for the catering company, Violet’s false smile didn’t crack. It couldn’t.

“Where is the sparkling water?”

The high-pitch demand of Andrea damn near made Violet’s façade slip as her mother flew into the kitchen with Nicole close on her heels. It seemed Andrea had found a new pet in her son’s wife—a little plaything that would nod and smile while agreeing to whatever she said.

Nicole was, essentially, the daughter Violet had never been to her mother.

Maybe she should be glad the two had one another.

They were both vile.

“Hello!” Andrea snapped, her heel tapping against ceramic tile. “Water? Anyone? Now!”

“Here you are, Mrs. Gallucci.”

One of the servers for the catering company stepped forward with a flute of sparkling water in hand. Andrea snatched it with a frustrated sigh then handed it over to Nicole with the same irritation.

“Seems a bit much,” Andrea ranted on, not caring who was in earshot to hear her, “I had wine at supper every night with my preg—”

Her mother’s words stopped when her gaze landed on Violet.

“What are you doing hiding in here?” Andrea demanded.

Violet didn’t move from the wall, perfectly content with her place. “Staying out of the way, Andrea.”

“Better you do,” Nicole muttered around the rim of her glass.

Andrea didn’t say a thing, simply gave Violet a piercing look that said she agreed with her daughter-in-law’s statement, and then she was gone, a hand waving over her shoulder as she went. “Five minutes, Nicole.”

“Got it.”

It seemed like the wait staff decided to leave the kitchen at that moment, or the majority of them did, with trays in hand to serve the guests.

For the most part, Violet was alone with Nicole.

She didn’t like that.

Since her arrival back at her family’s mansion, Violet had been put in Nicole’s path one too many times. Her former friend had no qualms with letting her opinions fly, no matter how unwarranted or unwanted they were, and those around them simply allowed her to do it.

After all, Nicole was the
good
one.

She’d done what was wanted and needed of her. She’d followed the rules.

She was the true
principessa
of the family.

Violet couldn’t find it in herself to give a fuck.

She didn’t have the need or want to be in Nicole’s space for longer than she had to, so Violet decided to suck it up and leave the kitchen to go back to the crowd of guests instead. She didn’t even get beyond Nicole before her former friend had opened her mouth, readying something vile to say without prompting.

“It must be awful for you, isn’t it?” Nicole asked.

Violet almost kept going—
almost
. “What is?”

“The way they whisper and go on in there about you and what you did. Don’t act like you can’t hear what they’re saying—we can
all
hear it. I’m surprised your father hasn’t sent you up to your room just to get you out of their gossiping faces, but then again, it wouldn’t look good for you or your parents for you to be missing from yet another Gallucci event.”

Fucking hell.

Violet should have kept walking.

Instead, she turned on her heel to face Nicole. “And what event would that be?”

Nicole’s hand dropped to the fluttering material of her dress that hung loosely on her frame. As her palm cupped her midsection, it was only then that Violet realized two things. One, Nicole’s fashion sense had changed a great deal since Violet had gotten back from Chicago; she was sporting more loose dresses and blouses. And two, Nicole had a bump.

Not an overly large one, but it wasn’t small either.

Suddenly, the marriage made a hell of a lot more sense. Guessing by the size of Nicole’s pregnancy swell, she was at least five months along, but maybe four, if she was the kind of woman who carried more to her front than her back. Carmine had been talking about marriage, but Violet hadn’t thought he was serious for a minute, and their father certainly hadn’t been overly happy about the idea.

But if he got Nicole pregnant?

Carmine wouldn’t have a choice.

Marriage would save face.

And if they waited a few months after the wedding to announce the pregnancy, most would be unlikely to realize that was the entire reason for the rushed, last-minute marriage.

Violet struggled for a response—her pregnancy was being hidden, not that anyone in the house but her knew it was so. Nicole’s was about to be … celebrated.

That burned a little.

“Congrats,” was what Violet should have said.

She had something else in the back of her mind that wanted to be asked, though. Carmine was, and always had been, Nicole’s ultimate goal in her life ever since she started crushing on Violet’s older brother as a young teenager.

That didn’t mean Carmine was the only man Nicole liked to
entertain
.

Carmine wouldn’t give Nicole exclusivity, and she didn’t give it to him. What he didn’t know, however, wouldn’t hurt him. Or that was how Nicole always put it.

“Does Carmine know it might not be his kid?” Violet asked.

Nicole’s gaze narrowed instantly. “You shut your mouth.”

Well, that answered her question.

Violet shook her head, amused and sickened at the same time. “It’s no wonder you’re so concerned with pointing out all of my fuck ups, Nicole. I bet you figure as long as you keep my mistakes front row and center for everyone to see, they won’t pay attention to
yours
.”

Nicole’s teeth clenched and she grabbed the flute of sparkling water even tighter.

“But even with what I did,” Violet continued, “my family still welcomed me back. I think we both know they wouldn’t do the same for you.”

Her former friend took a step forward, threatening and angry with only a look. Violet didn't even flinch as Nicole came to stand toe-to-toe with her.

“Be careful what you say about me,” Nicole warned. “I’m not in your shadow now, Violet.”

Was that what this was about?

Who had the spotlight?

Violet had news for Nicole—she didn’t
want
it.

Not the Gallucci side, anyway.

Violet simply smiled, unafraid.

Nicole couldn’t hurt her.

None of these people could, she was learning.

Violet leaned forward, smiling as she whispered in Nicole’s ear. “No, you’re the one who should be careful. Haven’t you heard? I’m ruined now—poisoned. You wouldn't want any of that seeping over on you, right?”

With a laugh, Violet winked as she stepped away from a stone-cold, frozen Nicole.

“Enjoy your night,” Violet said her shoulder. “Don’t forget to smile, Nicole. They
love
that. Remember?”

Violet had just rounded a corner to make her way into the main room when a form saddled up beside her. To her surprise, Caesar Accardo joined her stride as if he’d been walking with her the entire time and slipped her hand around his elbow.

“You look lovely,” he told her.

“You look less bitchy today,” she replied.

Caesar managed a smile that somehow pulled into a smirk as he chuckled. “Bothering your brother’s wife, Violet?”

“Looking for someone’s girlfriend to fuck, Caesar?”

His laughter boomed, echoing down the hallway. Silently, he pulled her into the main room, keeping her shadowed in the entryway as people filtered into the space through the other entrance on the other side.

“You are a riot,” Caesar said.

Violet shrugged. “You’re just arrogant.”

“I’m aware. I’m not drunk enough for this party, though.”

Violet chose not to reply to that. Instead, she asked, “What do you want?”

“I have to say hello—be seen. It’s the proper thing to do. Don’t take it for more than it is; it’s formalities.”

“You mean to say you don’t like me?” Violet put a hand over her heart, pretending to be hurt. “You wound my ego.”

“Nothing worse than you’ve already heard tonight, I’m sure. They’re certainly not quiet when they talk about Alberto’s rebel slut of a daughter who shamed her family and ran off to get married to a rival Russian who then
sent her back
without even the wedding rings he put on her finger.”

Violet couldn’t even bother to be embarrassed. “Ah, you’ve heard all of that, then?”

“And more,” Caesar replied with a sigh. “I take it you haven’t heard the whispers about me, huh?”

That did pique her interest.

Just a bit.

She didn’t particularly like Caesar, as she didn’t know him. She also didn't actively
dislike
him, either. After all, anyone who could piss off Carmine with nothing more than a grin won a dozen and one brownie points from Violet.

“You really haven’t,” Caesar said, glancing down at Violet when she didn’t reply.

He was a handsome man, Violet thought, and she figured it was something he probably used to his benefit more than he should. She had no interest in him, though, so she was confused why he suddenly seemed interested in her.

Or why her father had called his family in from Philadelphia.

“Enlighten me,” Violet said dryly.

“You could sound interested.”

“You could
be
interesting.”

Violet didn’t know why Caesar was there, and she wasn’t about to lead him into believing she cared.

“Be nice,” Caesar drawled, “like I know you can be.”

“You’re wearing on my patience, Caesar.”

But he had given her some entertainment for the evening.

More than this fucking party.

“Seems you and I have something in common, Violet Gallucci,” he told her quietly as people passed, watching them and whispering at the same time.

“Oh?”

“Yes. You see, we both have fathers that we’ve royally pissed off, sadly. Seems my taste for unavailable women is neither appropriate nor respectful as the son of a Don. And being the son of a boss is just about the only reason my half-brother didn't put a bullet between my eyes when he found me in bed with his wife.”

Violet seized stiff, silenced.

Caesar didn’t mind, simply continued on with, “And now, I have to … do the right thing. Make my father happy enough to get him off my ass.”

“You slept with your brother’s
wife
?”

He shrugged, unbothered. “
Half
-brother. And I’m a bastard.”

Clearly.

Carmine probably thought he was a special case where Caesar’s asshole nature was concerned, but obviously, he
wasn’t
. Not at all.

“What does that have anything to do with you being here?” Violet asked after the shock had worn off a bit.

“Something else we have in common,” Caesar replied calmly, “is that you too need to do the right thing where your father is concerned. And so, here I am.”

Violet’s throat tightened.

No …

He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant.

Surely not.

Caesar dropped Violet’s arm as a server passed, taking a step away to grab a glass of wine on the moving tray before it was out of reach. “Due time, Violet. It’ll all happen in due time. Tonight, though, is for your brother. Shame that wife of his is pregnant—that doesn’t hold my interest at all.”

Wonderful.

Despite the predilection to the contrary, money didn’t always buy safety.

No one was safe, no matter how much protection came with the position that called for it. And when it came to the men in the
Bratva
, someone somewhere was always trying to put a bullet in their heads.

Vasily was a wanted man—wanted by two of the most powerful factions of the
Vory v Zakone
—and if he’d been smart, he might have reached out to his politician friend and asked that he find him a way out of the country.

Hiding in Chicago wasn’t his brightest idea, and despite his eagerness to finish his business with Vasily, Kaz had learned his lesson. If it seemed too good to be true, it had to be. And for that reason, he didn’t go alone to the safe house that Vadim had been given the address to.

Rus, Konstantin, and Kaz—along with a number of others Vadim had sent along with them—sat in the back of Kolya’s Hummer with the surly one behind the wheel as he navigated through late-day traffic.

Despite Konstantin’s whistling in the background—a low, haunting sound that resonated in the truck—Kaz tuned them all out, focused instead on what awaited him at the address they were drawing closer to.

It was a shipping yard, Kaz realized as they drew nearer, and he could just see the shipping containers on the other side of the fence. Before they reached the entry point, however, Kolya killed the lights to his truck, slowing to a crawl as he parked on a side road and killed the engine.

There was no conversation as they each got out of the car, going around to the trunk as they strapped on bulletproof vests and the special case Kolya kept in the trunk of his car was opened, unveiling the AK-47s he had hidden inside.

Kaz didn’t bother with one. Instead, he checked over his Glock one last time. When he finished, Rus clapped a hand on his shoulder, as he often did when they were younger and he wanted to offer brotherly advice—this time wasn’t quite like the others.

“Ready?”

As he asked this, the others Vadim had sent along were already at the gate, cutting away the padlock that kept the gate closed to those who didn’t belong. With one sharp snap of the tool against the metal, it dropped to the ground.

Kaz nodded once. “Let’s get this done.”

As the first shot rang out, sending them jogging toward the entrance, Kaz thought about the warning Vadim had given them before they took off.

With the mayor’s cooperation, they had more than just his cooperation, but his help in another matter. Someone hearing gunshots was inevitable, and it wouldn’t take long before they were calling the police to report it.

Kaz hadn’t the slightest idea as to how they would handle that situation, but Vadim had assured him in that vague, all-knowing way of his that he had already taken care of the matter.

As they neared the gate, Kolya and Rus in front, Kaz and Konstantin behind, the eldest Boykov said, “We have a twenty-minute rule to get in and get out before one of Chicago’s finest rides by to reports shots being fired.” He looked at Kaz and asked, “That enough time for you?”

Even if it weren’t, he would have to make sure it was.

Kaz didn’t waste any more time, rushing through the gate as his heart pumped anew with each step he took. The gunshots were impossibly loud, nearly drowning him in harsh echoes, but he kept moving, keeping his head down, and Rus close at his heels.

On the south end of the yard, they entered a building through a thick, steel door, one that had been installed after Vasily had made a home inside it, but with a makeshift key, they were in within seconds.

One of Vasily’s guards turned in a rush, but he was too late to stop the bullets Rus drilled into him.

“Go,” Rus said as he nodded his head at the staircase while still firing at the other end of the hall.

Kaz didn’t hesitate, starting up the stairs with a swiftness he hadn’t felt in years, but as he reached the top, the loud crack of a gunshot brought him up short. When it was quiet once more, Kaz called, “Don’t make this hard on both of us, Vasily.”

A snarled, Russian curse sounded a moment before Vasily was pulling the trigger again in quick succession.

Vasily was too proud of a man to bow before any man—it was why they both had the stars tattooed on their knees—so Kaz hadn’t expected anything less. He had come here expecting this to be hard, to defy death in a means to finally put his father down.

His finger wrapped around the trigger, Kaz swung around the corner, firing before he even had a clear view of what awaited him on the other side of the landing.

Fresh holes appeared in the door at the end as Kaz fired off more rounds, but just as he was about to pull the trigger once more, he heard the unmistakable grunt a moment before something heavy clattered to the floor.

He didn’t waste time, crossing the floor and shoving the door open, on guard and ready for anything Vasily had planned.

Vasily’s hand was bloody, a few of his fingers missing, his gun at his feet as he simultaneously tried to grab hold of his only weapon and tend to his wound. The scent of vodka was strong in the room, so strong that Kaz’s nose stung inhaling.

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.”