by Bethany-Kris
For whose sake, he wondered.
“You should sit—all of you.”
His younger sisters didn’t question him, half-absorbed in whatever was more interesting on their phones. Ruslan sat between them, knowing that once Kaz said what he needed to, he would take care of them.
Irina, on the other hand, blinked before her eyes narrowed. “What’s happened?”
Kaz sighed. “Ma—”
“You forget that I am your mother, Kazimir. You don’t command me in my own home.”
Vera laid a hand on Irina’s shoulder, her expression shifting from her usual indifference. “Mama, maybe it would be a good idea—”
Ignoring her, his mother stood her ground, tired eyes trained on Kaz. “Why are you here? You made it quite clear where you stood the last time you walked through those doors.”
“It’s about Vasily.”
“Your father,” she said.
A statement.
A reminder.
But he needed neither.
“Have you both finally settled whatever petty disagreement you had?”
A bit of Kaz’s control slipped. “I wouldn’t consider having my throat slit and left to die a petty disagreement.”
Nika gasped, but Rus quickly quieted her. Irina tried to hide her flinch, but she wasn’t quite able. Her gaze dropping to the floor a moment, she collected herself before asking, “What about your father? When is he coming home?”
There was no easy way to say it, and at that moment, Kaz was reminded of a time when he was a boy and had gotten in trouble in school. That entire journey home, he had worried what she would say once she learned, how upset she would be.
Kaz didn’t fear many things, but he had always feared breaking the hearts of the women he loved.
“He won’t be,” he forced out before he could change his mind.
Vera understood right away, her eyes widening, but there wasn’t any sympathy—not for Vasily, anyway.
“Did you exile him to Russia since you’ve taken his seat?”
Kaz scrubbed a hand down his face. “No, he’s never coming here, there, or anywhere. Ever.”
For the longest time, she merely stared at him, disbelief flickering in her eyes until the tears welled and her lip trembled. “What did you do, Kazimir?”
“Is he dead?”
The question came from Nika, her hand shaking as she brought it up to cover her mouth. Rus, grabbing her hand and Dina’s, pulled them from the room a moment before Dina let out a noisy sob, her tears falling freely.
But Kaz’s attention was quickly snapped back to his mother when he felt the sharp sting on his cheek from her hand. He tensed but kept his hands at his side, though turning back to face her. For the first time in his life, he saw an emotion from her he never thought she would aim at him.
Hate.
“Tell me it was someone else,” she demanded. “Tell me it was just an order you agreed to simply because it was going to happen regardless. Don’t you dare tell me you killed your own father!”
He wouldn’t, but it didn’t matter.
Not when his silence gave her the same answer.
Irina shoved him, using both of her hands and all of her strength. She poured every bit of hurt and anger into the assault, sending him back a step.
Kaz allowed it, welcomed it even.
Because he knew, very soon, he wouldn’t get anything from her at all. “I took care of everything. The funeral—”
Her agonized wail pierced the air a moment before her fists pounded his chest. Still dry-eyed—though even she felt something in the face of their mother’s pain—Vera reached to pull Irina away, but Kaz gave a sharp shake of his head.
This was his penance—he didn’t intend to make it easy for himself.
When her strength finally waned, he caught her, pulling her tight to his chest, even as she sobbed, the sound of it nearly stopping his heart.
An apology was all he had to offer because there was nothing left. “Izvinite, Mama—I’m sorry.”
Only one funeral stuck out in Kaz’s memory, though he had been to many.
Gavrill’s violent death in the streets of Brighton had brought many—both family and friends, even associates—back from the motherland. Everyone had wanted to come and pay their respects to a man loved and feared—a man that was mourned.
Many came for Vasily as well, spectators in all black, but as Kaz surveyed the crowd behind mirrored aviators, he didn’t think a single person, outside of the women at his side, was upset by Vasily’s death.
But everyone kept up appearances, if only for Irina’s sake.
Her sobs had finally stopped two days ago, once she accepted that it was done—she too had a part to play.
A man, whose name Kaz didn’t bother to remember, spoke gallantly as he promised of Vasily going to a better place, offering words of encouragement where they weren’t needed.
Kaz then focused on the media vans parked along the cemetery's edge, along with the people who stood near them. By now, everyone in the five boroughs would know Vasily was dead.
But he only cared about one.
Alberto Gallucci.
The last little pin he needed to knock over.
A day passed and then another. With each one, Violet’s paranoia only became worse. Someone now knew her secret, even if that someone didn’t want to use what he knew to hurt her.
Or so Caesar said.
If there was anything in this life that Violet had learned, it was to trust no one.
No one was out to help or benefit her.
Not when they had to look out for themselves.
Yet Caesar had said nothing about Violet’s pregnancy so far. In fact, that same morning he figured out her secret, he and his father had joined her family for breakfast before Angelo said goodbye and caught a flight back to Philadelphia. The whole time, Caesar kept the conversation going between her family and his own father like nothing was amiss.
But before Angelo had left for his flight, her father finally said the word she had been dreading.
Marriage.
At first, it was shocking, even if she had already known from spying.
Alberto had posed the offer of marriage without even the air of suggestion, as though he didn’t intend to argue about it at all with her. Her refusal fell on deaf ears, and she’d been left not knowing what else to say.
Her opinion didn’t matter, according to her father.
She had done this to herself—to him.
Her current marriage would not be of any importance soon.
Violet was left struck silent and panicked.
It was only a matter of time, apparently.
She had never wanted Kaz more than in those moments, during that short, stiff conversation when she was left feeling like her father’s possession to do with what he wished whenever he wished to do it.
All the while, Caesar had stood across the room, sipping on whiskey and looking as blank as a piece of paper. He hadn’t shared an opinion as to what was happening, almost as if he didn’t care that it was going on right in front of him.
His father, on the other hand, could not have looked more pleased.
At some point, Violet figured the best thing for her to do was to play her father’s game like she intended to win it. Whatever game her father was playing, of course. She was already married—she was not marrying someone else.
Kaz was hers.
She was his.
And even if she hadn’t been pregnant, she still wouldn’t do any of this.
There was only one other person who seemed as though he too had his own end game where Alberto and Angelo’s plans were concerned, and that was Caesar. If she was to believe what Caesar had alluded to, then he did not intend to marry anyone ever—certainly not Violet, anyway.
So what other choice did she have?
Caesar’s way of playing their games was to make them believe he was compliant to their wishes.
Until Violet had a be
tter plan of action, or finally got word from Kaz that he was coming for her, she would have to do the same.
It still felt bad, though.
Unsafe.
The snakes were everywhere.
Violet didn’t want to be the idiot who stepped on one.
“So it’s true then,” Violet heard her father say.
Her steps faltered, and she stopped just outside the dining room’s entrance, where the people inside couldn’t see her. Only a few minutes earlier, one of the maids had come to find her in the library to say dinner was waiting and so was her father.
“Apparently,” Carmine answered. “Heard the word traveling through the streets myself and had to look into it.”
No one had said anything about Carmine being there.
Fun.
“And?” Alberto pressed.
“I did a little checking.”
“I swear, if you’re purposely being difficult, Carmine, you will leave this house with a bloody mouth, son. Do not choose for today to be the day that you test my patience and forgiveness for your foolishness. It will not end well for you.”
“Why is it that every conversation we have lately ends with your threatening me, Dad?”
“You know why,” Alberto muttered.
“Moving on,” Carmine said, sighing heavily. “The Russian is dead.”
Violet’s breath caught painfully hard in her chest at the same time her heart leaped into her throat. Blood rushed her ears as her hands curled into tight fists at her sides, her fingernails cutting deep into the sensitive skin of her palm.
No.
There was only one person she had ever heard her father and brother refer to as “the Russian.”
That was Kaz.
All of the sudden, Violet couldn’t breathe, and sickness started to well hard and fast in her stomach. Her heart was breaking—shattered into a million little pieces and cutting her all over like glass shards as it fell to the floor at her feet.
No.
After everything, this was how it was going to end?
She refused to believe that; she couldn’t.
“The funeral was today,” Carmine added.
Violet’s grief and pain kicked up a notch, threatening to send her falling to the floor. Somehow, she managed to stay up on shaky legs.
“Get me the remote for the television,” Alberto said. “It’ll be on the news, surely. Vasily Markovic dead? That funeral would have been full of media attention.”
It took Violet an entire fifteen seconds of listening to her brother search for the remote and the two men muttering back and forth for her to realize who her father had said was actually dead.
The relief was sweet.
Like candy melting in her mouth.
Like love in her fucking heart.
Like sun on her face.
If Vasily was dead … then that meant Kaz had done what he needed to do.
And he would be coming for her.
Soon.
“Here,” Carmine said.
Violet walked into the dining room just in time to see her brother slide the remote down the table toward their father. Alberto grabbed it and passed Violet a quiet greeting at the same time, not bothering to mention she was, by his rules, late for dinner considering the maid had called for her a while ago.
He probably didn’t care because now, something else had his attention.
Violet didn’t even bother to wait for her father to invite her to the table or for him to say grace as he usually would before a meal. Her mother was gone—as she seemed to be doing a lot lately—and it was just her and Alberto at the table.
Nicole wasn’t there for Carmine, and there wasn’t even a plate put out for her brother.
She filled her plate with the casserole and potatoes the cook had set out as her father turned on the large flat screen at the other side of the room. All too soon, the newscast on the television flickered back and forth between the anchors at the station and the reporter standing on the edge of the road, across from a cemetery and a church.
Violet couldn’t help herself—she watched the report, listening as Vasily’s name was again verified as the deceased and listing the family members that had been seen at the church. The reporter talked about the affiliations Vasily had been suspected of having to the mafia when alive, and incidents that had been tied to his name and family over the years.
“And the deceased’s sons, Ruslan and Kazimir—”
Alberto hit the mute button on the remote as the reporter said the one name Violet wanted to hear more than anything.
It didn’t matter.
An earlier shot came up on the television, the camera zooming in from far away to catch sight of Kaz in a black three-piece suit, his head turned toward his older brother as he nodded once in response to whatever Ruslan had said.
He didn’t look … sad.
No, if anything, he just looked resigned. Not happy or pleased, but simply accepting of what was happening around him.
Violet supposed that made sense. After all Vasily had done to his son, death was the only real answer Kaz would give for it all.
Now, he had.
Obviously.
Still, Violet stared at the screen long after that brief clip had played itself out and was over. Her reaction at having seen Kaz’s face for the first time in … Jesus, how long had it been now? The days had bled into weeks and then a month.
Too long, she knew.
Her reaction was immediate and profound in her soul. Warmth in her blood and fire in her heart. She had been getting used to turning off her emotions and keeping herself in check every waking moment because someone was always watching, and it had never been more difficult to do than at that moment.
Kaz had done what he set out to do, and now all that was left was her.
“Violet.”
Alberto’s call of her name was the only thing that took Violet’s attention away from the television. She checked her reflection in the large mirror opposite the dining table, noting her expression had stayed neutral, thankfully.
She didn’t know how she managed it.
“Yes?” Violet asked.
Alberto stared at her for a long while, saying nothing. Even Carmine was watching her as if he was waiting for her to jump from her chair.
“Is something wrong?” Violet asked her father when he continued his silent treatment.
He blinked, schooling his features as he replied, “I don’t know. Is something wrong?”
Violet looked back at the television, the news already having moved on to a new story. “Not that I know of.”
“That didn’t bother you at all, then?” Alberto pressed.
“Bother? Why would it bother me?”
Alberto leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he stared hard at Violet. “You did run off with the Russian, you know, before he sent you back. It wouldn’t be such a stretch for me to think you were still … hurting over it all.”
Violet smiled, cold and slow. “Hurt, Daddy? This doesn’t hurt at all.”
The silence stretched on between the three people in the dining room for long enough that Violet wondered if her father had understood her hidden message. Alberto finally opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted only by the sound of footsteps outside the dining room.
Caesar strolled in with his usual smirk in place and his hands tucked in his pockets. He seemed entirely unbothered as he came in without notice or even a greeting to Alberto. He passed Violet by without a word as well, but he did give her a nod as he rounded the table, moving toward Carmine.
Violet swore whenever the two men were in the same room together, it was as if a volcano was ready to erupt.
Carmine looked fit to kill.
Caesar looked bored out of his fucking mind.
It was both strange and amusing.
“You could have called if you were coming over,” Alberto said to Caesar.
The younger man shrugged, pulling out the chair that Car
mine was reaching for and sitting down in it without a care in the world. Carmine barely managed to keep his cool as he moved down the table and took another seat closer to his father.
“Busy day,” Caesar explained, giving the newscast a fleeting glance before his attention was back on the table. “Figured it wouldn’t matter anyway.”
“Respect always matters,” Alberto said.
“Except Caesar wouldn’t know the meaning of that word,” Carmine replied with a false smile.
Caesar simply nodded. “He has a point, for once.”
Carmine scowled.
Alberto ignored them both. “What do you want, Caesar?”
Violet caught Caesar’s gaze as he leaned back in his seat, relaxed and seemingly happy. “Actually, I came to catch you up to speed on a few things, but …” He trailed off, nodding toward the television. “I assume you already have been, at least on that end.”
Alberto’s frown deepened. “You have no need to be bothering yourself in the Russian’s affairs here in New York. Mind your business while you’re here, Caesar. It won’t be much longer before you’re back in your own territory.”
For a moment, Caesar looked as though he was considering that statement, but then he chuckled and shook his head. “Well, Alberto, let me catch you up to speed on my end, then, since you already know what’s happening with the Russians down in Odessa.”
Violet tried to gage her father’s blank expression, but Alberto was giving nothing away. Carmine was doing his best not to even look at Caesar, so he wasn’t any fucking help.
She didn’t know what in the hell was going on.
And that made her nervous.
“I’ll be back in Philly by eleven tonight,” Caesar said. “Booked the ticket this morning. Don’t bother with my father or telling him. I’ll catch him up when I get home.”
“You’ve got another week in New York,” Alberto replied.
“No, I have a few hours. You see, I don’t need to be here, Alberto. You’re never going to have your daughter’s marriage resolved because it doesn’t need to be, you understand. The marriage between her and I will never happen because her Russian wouldn’t ever allow it to happen. Are we all getting it yet?”
Violet damn near shrunk into her seat the more Caesar talked and not because she wanted to hide away from the words he was saying, but because her father had slowly started to stand from his chair. Now, he was leaning over the table, facing Caesar with his hands pressed against the shined wood and his eyes burning with rage.
