by Bethany-Kris
The Gallucci mansion was brought to life by the decorations coloring up the halls and the twinkle lights strung up along the vaulted ceilings. Violet didn’t know what occasion warranted the catered party, but she was always the last to know anything where her family was concerned.
She was not a priority now.
Violet walked among familiar faces but offered little more than a nod and a smile when someone tried to engage her in conversation. There was no doubt in her mind that these people—her father and mother’s people—had already formed one opinion or another about her. She was not going to play pretty and pretend for the crowd any more than she would have to throughout the night.
Thankfully, her father wasn’t demanding too much of her. Alberto had mostly left her alone.
It didn’t matter.
Violet was beginning to think the party wasn’t about her. Given the way the guests’ attention focused mainly on her parents, her brother, and his wife, she figured it had something to do with them.
Italians always had to make a show of things.
Over the years, Violet had become accustomed to such parties for nothing more than a simple announcement or even just because someone wanted an excuse to get plastered.
Violet milled about a little more, acting interested and taking flutes of champagne only to dump the contents into the closest flowerpot the moment someone turned their back. When the people started to swell into the two main rooms, she pushed her way into the kitchen, needing to breathe.
She was careful to keep her features schooled no matter where she went—someone was always watching and reporting on her.
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.
&n
bsp; 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 t
he 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.
