Where the Wind Whispers (Seasons of Betrayal Book 3)

by Bethany-Kris

  Alberto laughed without humor. “You’re a father now. One day you’ll understand my desire to protect my daughter from men like you.”

  “Men like me?” Kaz echoed. “Men like us, no?”

  “I don’t believe it matters anymore,” the Italian said, now looking at Kaz with an unreadable expression. “It’s time, Kazimir.”

  “Yes, I believe it is.”

  “Your life for hers,” Alberto said as he drew out his phone. “As soon as I get what I want, I’ll have the girl released.”

  Kaz retrieved his gun, holding the heavy metal in his hand, the spider web tattooed there stretching and pulling with the movement. How many times had he held this very gun in his hand? Countless, for sure, but he could only think of one other occasion when it mattered as much as this.

  “Don’t worry,” Alberto said with all the confidence in the world. “You won’t suffer long.”

  “I want you to understand that you always had a choice, Alberto—we all have choices. This thing … this fucked-up thing between our families, could have stayed a secret had you and my father just let it go.”

  “Pardon?” Alberto returned, now moving to his feet. “This isn’t meant to be a discussion.”

  Kaz went on as though the man hadn’t spoken. “The two of you caused your own deaths.”

  “How many times must we go through this?”

  “Tell me, where is Anastasya?” Kaz asked.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but if you’re still speaking, you’re not dead.”

  His humor was fading, replaced quickly with annoyance as though Kaz’s question and statements were hindering him.

  “You gave someone explicit instructions as to what to do with Anastasya. Who was that person?”

  Alberto glared at him, the muscle in his jaw working as he ground his teeth, but very slowly, his expression shifted, and had Kaz not been looking for it, he might not have noticed the touch of anxiety in the man’s eyes.

  “Go ahead,” Kaz said as he began screwing the silencer onto his gun. “Give me an answer.”

  “My son would never betray me,” Alberto said with conviction. “He knows his place.”

  “Your son? Right. Did you not wonder why I let him go? I couldn’t give a shit about Carmine—he would’ve died out of spite. You’re a smart man, you should’ve known.”

  Alberto made a snarling sort of sound as he dialed a number and put the phone to his ear, calling Kaz’s bluff, but it didn’t take long before he got the answer he hadn’t been hoping for.

  Kaz shook his head, moving his hands to his front as he stared at the Italian across from him. “That’s always been your problem, Alberto. You only see what you want and not what’s in front of you.”

  Pocketing his phone, Alberto drew in a breath, seeming to stand up straighter. “I’ve given them everything.”

  “Except what they wanted the most—but what do I know?”

  Alberto said something else, the words low and in Italian—a prayer, Kaz thought. How quickly the tables had turned. Straightening his arm, he stared down the barrel of the gun at the man who had terrorized his family.

  It was almost over …

  “Get on your knees.”

  “Not for you or any man,” Alberto said.

  “Get on your knees or I’ll put you on them.”

  Still, Alberto remained where he was—stubborn as only Gallucci men could be. Kaz respected him for it, had expected nothing less, but that didn’t mean he made idle threats.

  Aiming, he put a bullet in each of Alberto’s knees, sending the man toppling to the ground with a shout, blood already pooling into the dark material of his trousers.

  “If you have last words, now would be a choice time.”

  Alberto sat up as much as he could. “I’ll see you in hell, Kazimir.”

  Kaz nodded once. “Say hello to my father.” Another squeeze of the trigger had the man’s head jerking back with the impact of the bullet.

  Stowing his gun, Kaz stared down at the body for a moment longer before heading back out the way he came, feeling as though the weight of the world was lifting with each step he took.

  Rus was waiting for him outside the cemetery, whatever emotions the man was feeling hidden behind sunglasses. Spying Kaz, he pushed off his truck, shooting a nod in his direction before he and the three men he had come with started past him—there was a mess to clean up.

  “Did you check his pulse?” Carmine asked when Kaz got close, not moving from his perch even as Kaz opened the back door. “Bastards like him never die the first time.”

  Anastasya was still awake, babbling, smiling wider when she got a good look at Kaz. The sight of her happiness made his chest feel tight. Nothing else mattered, not anymore.

  “Let’s get you home, printsessa.”

  Violet’s world had stopped turning at some point.

  She thought maybe it had happened when her child was taken from her, but she quickly realized that was not the case at all.

  Her world came to a standstill when she was forced into the mansion by one of her husband’s men, but she had to watch her husband and child disappear into a vehicle, and then … drive away.

  She didn’t even get to see Anastasya.

  No time, Carmine had said.

  Kaz had to make hard choices—Violet understood that. Between the two of them, he was better at it, frankly.

  That didn’t mean she felt good about.

  Violet sat by the windows in the living room, watching the long length of their driveway as the wind began to blow. The few, scattered snowflakes that had started to fall were blown in every direction, and the trees bent hard from the wind.

  Anastasya was too little to be out in this.

  She would get sick.

  Violet didn’t allow her thoughts to stray much further than those things. She knew that if she did, then the fear would take over her again. It could be as simple as a thought about what was taking so long, or why hadn’t Kaz called yet, and there she would be … fucked.

  She had to trust her husband.

  He knew what he was doing.

  He would come home, and he’d have their child with him.

  He would.

  Violet didn’t know how long she sat there on the window ledge, watching the wind blow and the driveway fill with snow. She purposely avoided looking at the large, ornate clock filling one-half of a wall across the room. A watched pot never boiled, after all. Long enough that it became darker outside, and the men in the mansion started to murmur among themselves in the next room.

  For the most part, they left her alone.

  She was thankful for that bit of graciousness.

  Even behind the window and safely inside the warm house, Violet could still hear the wind whistling outside.

  It chilled her right down to the bone.

  It almost sounded like crying whines scratching against the window.

  How appropriate …

  At some point, Violet must have turned her head to look at the clock, even after she’d promised herself she wouldn’t, because the next thing she knew, lights were coloring up the wall. Headlights—from someone driving up the driveway.

  She didn’t even wait to look out the window and see if it was her husband.

  No, she flew off the damn window ledge, bolting out of the room and making her way to the front of the house. The men in the next room trailed after her, one demanding she leave the door closed as her husband had said.

  Violet didn’t listen.

  She threw the door open just in time to see Kaz’s SUV pull up. He’d refused to take whatever Carmine had come in, demanding to take his for the car seat that was in the back for the baby.

  Violet’s heart finally started beating again.

  Her lungs took in a real breath.

  A hand snaked around her wrist just as she tried to go out the door to meet her husband, but she managed to jerk out of the hold, and it wasn’t more than a blink of time before she was down th
ose front steps.

  Kaz’s arms were already open—peace reflecting in his eyes.

  Violet didn’t ask when she found his embrace.

  She didn’t ask what had happened.

  She didn’t want to know.

  But she knew, even as he hugged her tighter and kissed her mouth softly, that it was over.

  It was all perfectly fine.

  “I think the baby’s hungry,” Kaz told her.

  She could hear Anastasya’s soft coos coming from the back seat of the SUV.

  The wind, as hard as it was, barely registered to Violet’s overworked senses.

  “Krasivaya, let’s get the baby inside,” Kaz said quietly, “and get back to life.”

  Because life for them was loving.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  She held him for another thirty seconds first.

  Kaz let her.

  Four years later …

  “Daddy, look!”

  Kaz turned from the conversation he was having to search the yard for his daughter, finding her some distance away, picking up multi-colored leaves that had fallen the night before. She was a curious girl, always finding things to explore—from the various rooms in the house to the giant yard in the back of their house—but she never ventured too far.

  If he was around, and even if he wasn’t, she found things to share with him—a present, she had told him with a brilliant smile.

  This time, she held up a leaf bigger than her hand that had already turned orange with the changing weather. Holding it well above her head, she dashed to him, her dark curls bouncing around her face as she came.

  She slammed into his legs with a giggle, though she was careful to keep her prize out of harm’s way. “Your present,” she said when he picked her up, laying one slightly damp hand against his cheek, as she forced him to look at her.

  “Spasibo, printsessa,” he said with a kiss to her forehead, accepting the leaf. It, too, would go into a book he kept tucked away in his office where it would be pressed between its pages, along with a date.

  He wanted to remember these moments, such tiny little details among the sea of memories they shared, but they were the ones that meant the most. And he was sure, one day, he would be glad to have made it at all when she was too old to care about bringing him the best flower, or leaf, or picture.

  Anastasya was growing up too fast.

  “Let’s go find your mother, yes?”

  She nodded, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he excused them, walking back to the house where more voices could be heard. Violet was in the kitchen with his mother and Vera; her face lit up as she laughed at whatever joke had been made before he came inside.

  Her stomach was swollen, rounded with their son, and Kaz didn’t think she had ever looked more beautiful.

  When she turned smiling eyes to him, he remembered what had made him fall in love with her in the first place.

  Violet was his sun.

  It certainly takes a special kind of skill to sit down with another author and create something beautiful together with your words, and so in all honesty, this series would never have happened without a single email from London asking me to “bring the Italians.” I have to thank her for that—for trusting that I was the right person to write this crazy journey with.

  To my family, you have all my love; a never-ending waterfall of my love and respect for supporting me through my own crazy journey. Especially my hubby, who knew the struggle this was privately, and loved me through it.

  Eli, Tracy, and Christine, the ladies who helped to proofread this series also deserve so much hugs and love for dropping everything at a moment’s notice to pick up the next book in Kaz and Violet’s tale to do their job. Also, for being the shoulders I needed when mine were just far too tired. And thank you to Nina and Jenny, for the editing in this series, and the insight.

  For my readers, I could never forget you … I can’t say what’s coming next, I never really know. But thank you for coming along on this ride, for giving over your trust and time, and allowing me into your lives with yet another couple.

  All my love.

  -Kris

  Wow, what a long road this has been, but it has been totally worth it.

  H, I always give thanks to you first because you keep me sane when I feel like I'm drowning.

  To Mary J, where would I be without your influence? I love you so so so much.

  Of course, I have to also thank Jenny with Editing 4 Indies because you are everything that I could ever hope for in an editor.

  And to the readers, both old and new, THANK YOU for your enthusiasm for Kaz and Violet. I hope this last installment was everything you hoped for and more.

  -LM

  Bethany-Kris is a Canadian author, lover of much, and mother to three very young sons, one cat, and two dogs. A small town in Eastern Canada where she was born and raised is where she has always called home. With her boys under her feet, a snuggling cat, barking dogs, and a spouse calling over his shoulder, she is nearly always writing something ... when she can find the time.

  Find Bethany-Kris at:

  Her website,

  or on Facebook,

  on her blog,

  or on Twitter - @BethanyKris.

  Sign up to Bethany-Kris’s New Release Newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/bf9lzD

  With a degree in Creative Writing, London Miller has turned pen to paper, creating riveting fictional worlds where the bad guys are sometimes the good guys. Her debut novel, In the Beginning, is the first in the Volkov Bratva Series.

  She currently resides in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and two puppies, where she drinks far too much Sprite, and spends her nights writing.

  Find London at:

  Her website,

  or on Facebook,

  or on Twitter - @LMAuthor.

  Copyright © 2016 by Bethany-Kris and London Miller. All Rights Reserved.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted material is illegal and punishable by law. No parts of this work may be reproduced, copied, used, or printed without expressed written consent from the publisher/author. Exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in reviews.

  eISBN 13: 978-1-988197-22-7

  Editor: Jenny Sims

  Proofreaders: Eli P., Tracy A.

  Cover Artwork © London Miller

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, corporations, locales and so forth are a product of the author’s imagination, or if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to a person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.