Where the Snow Falls (Seasons of Betrayal Book 2)

by London Miller

  What?

  Violet blinked. “Pickles?”

  Serious as ever, Konstantin didn’t seem bothered by Violet’s confusion. “Pickles are a staple—a must. You want one or not?”

  “I’m good,” she settled on saying.

  Viktoria shook her head as she took a pickle her brother offered. “You can’t even dress her up as a Russian.”

  What?

  “You need to come out,” Kolya was saying to Rus as he tugged on a pair of leather gloves. “Maya would love to have you.”

  Parked down the block from 416 Meadow Lane, Kaz weighed the odds as he strapped on the bulletproof vest Rus had handed to him moments before. While Christian Carracci’s odds weren’t great against the three of them, Kaz still didn’t expect the man to go without a fight.

  In the life they led, any man who reacted too slowly wouldn’t survive.

  “We can do this one of two ways,” Kaz said, his eyes still on the house. “I can knock—”

  “It’s four in the fucking morning,” Kolya interjected. “You know, what’s he going to do? Come to the door and say hello?”

  Grinding his teeth for patience, Kaz added, “He wouldn’t expect us to knock. At the very least, it’ll mean less noise.”

  Kolya shook his head as though that wasn’t what he wanted. “And the other option?

  “Or Rus goes around back, and we take the front.”

  “Finally, you’re making sense.”

  Paying him no mind, Kaz was the first out of the car, his Glock at the ready as he started down the street. Though cars lined the street, it was an older neighborhood, one where all but few were in their homes at this hour. That made for very few witnesses if they were careful enough.

  And Kaz was nothing if not careful.

  Rus disappeared around a corner. Kolya was at Kaz’s back as they slipped past the fence surrounding the property and onto the porch. The interior was nearly as dark as the street save for the lone lamp in what looked like the living room—from what Kaz could make out through the curtains.

  Gesturing to the door with a tilt of his head, Kaz looked at Kolya and said, “By all means.”

  Kolya pulled out the small kit he always carried in his back pocket, carefully maneuvering the tools into place as he began working on the locks of the door. It was a trait he had taught both Kaz and Rus, but neither could breach a door quite as cleanly or as quick as Kolya could.

  Twenty seconds and they were in.

  Kaz kept his steps light as he carefully moved through the house, his eyes scanning the space. One thing that was always the same in older houses like these was the layout, so he had a good idea where the master bedroom was located.

  They were barely through the doorway of the back hallway when the rear door opened, and Rus quickly moved to take position behind them. On this side of the house, soft light spilled from beneath a lone door, and if Kaz had to guess, this was Christian’s bedroom.

  He only glanced in the direction of Kolya and Rus, giving the former a slight nod before stepping back. Kolya didn’t hesitate, rearing back to send his booted foot slamming into the door. The wood splintered, bits of it flying as the door crashed open, and a woman’s scream sounded from the other side.

  Kaz was the first through, his gun aimed and ready, zeroing in on Christian as he reached for the firearm on the nightstand at his side. But he didn’t have time for that nonsense—he had shit to do. Pointing the gun at the man’s leg, he fired. The bullet hardly made a noise as it ripped free of the chamber and tore through the blankets that covered Christian’s legs. And from his shout of pain—loud enough to wake the fucking dead—Kaz hadn’t missed his mark.

  “I wouldn’t,” Kaz said, turning his attention to the woman at Christian’s side who, too, had been reaching for her own weapon. “While my mother might be disappointed, I’m not afraid to put a fucking bullet in you if you move again.”

  Fear shone in her eyes as she froze but behind that fear was audacity. He didn’t doubt that as the wife of a made man—judging from the ring on her finger—she was used to others giving her respect at every turn, but Kaz couldn’t give a shit.

  “Russians,” Christian spat, glaring at them. “You’ve got a fucking death wish.”

  “Maybe so,” Kaz agreed as he walked to the man’s side and dragged him out of the bed, a far easier job now that he had a bullet in his leg. “But by the time I finish with you, you’re going to wish it were as simple as that.”

  “What do you want to do about her?” Kolya asked in Russian, never taking his eyes off the woman.

  Kaz knew the score. They would barely make it a foot out the door before she would be on the phone and calling for someone or at their backs with a gun. He hadn’t lied when he said he would put a bullet in her, even if he had yet to kill a woman over the course of his life. And even if he wasn’t able to pull the trigger, Kolya had no qualms in the matter—he would do it with ease.

  “Tie her up,” Kaz finally answered, barely sparing the woman another glance as Rus came forward to zip tie Christian’s wrists behind his back. “And stuff her ass in a closet.”

  There was no need for her to die, not when it didn’t benefit him in any way.

  As Kolya took a step forward, Christian’s wife made a soft sound of distress, her eyes flickering to the door, as though she could possibly make it through before one of them caught her.

  “You lay a fucking paw on—”

  But Christian didn’t get to finish his threat, not before Kaz’s annoyance kicked up and he sent the man’s face slamming into the wall before he dropped like a sack of bricks.

  “You talk too much,” he said absently, and then to Kolya, “Finish with her then meet us at the car.”

  Between him and Rus, they carried Christian’s limp body out of the house and down the street, stuffing him in the trunk. Taking a step back, Kaz surveyed the damage to the man’s leg in the low light. He hadn’t hit the femoral artery—he wasn’t bleeding nearly enough—but if he didn’t at least tie it off, the man would be dead before they made it to the warehouse.

  Whipping off his own belt, Kaz fit it around the man’s thigh, cinching it as tight as he could before grabbing an old shirt and tying it around the bleeding flesh. His work done, he slammed the trunk shut, wiping his hands along the front of his pants.

  It wasn’t long before Kolya was out of the house and slipping into the car after them. Rus didn’t hesitate to pull onto the street, chasing the rising sun through the streets of Amityville until they were entering their own territory in Brighton Beach. By the time they reached a line of warehouses and Rus was pulling into the third, the sun was high in the sky, and Kaz could see far too clearly the blood that coated his hands.

  But by the time he finished in here, it would cover him.

  Over the span of a few minutes, Kaz pulled Christian from the trunk, stringing him up across the room. He used the controls on a side wall to raise the hook just high enough that he wouldn’t be able to keep his balance. Kolya and Rus lingered in the back, allowing him to do what he wanted without interference.

  Dragging his shirt over his head, Kaz tossed the material on a nearby table, feeling the chill of the room sinking into his skin. How long had it been since he was in this room? It wasn’t often that he used this space, or even that he really needed to, but for Christian Carracci, he would make an exception.

  “Come now,” he said slapping the man’s cheek a couple of times to stir him awake. “I don’t want you to miss the good part.”

  It wasn’t until Kaz put a little more power behind his slap that the man stirred. It took a moment of low groaning before Christian finally jerked in his bonds, forcing his head up, wary eyes on Kaz.

  “Who—”

  “All will be explained in due time, comrade.” Kaz took a step back. Cracking his knuckles, he drew the man’s gaze to his movements. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy this as much as he would, but he could already feel the adrenaline coursing through him. �
��January 21st, 1998, where were you?”

  His brows arched together, and Christian shook his head. “That was seventeen years ago. How the hell should I know?”

  “I know where I was,” Kaz said conversationally. “Home with that bastard of a father of mine. I can even tell you where my brother was that day. Want to know?”

  Christian looked at Kaz as though he’d lost his mind. “What the fuck are you going on about?”

  “He was with our uncle, Gavrill,” Kaz said, ignoring the man’s words.

  The restlessness of the room faded as Christian finally understood why he was there. Kaz didn’t have to turn and look to know that they had Rus’ complete attention. Even if he didn’t know everything, he was now piecing together what he did know.

  “Now, I’ll ask you again. Where were you on that day?”

  Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Christian glared at him. “You think you have all the answers?”

  Kaz’s fist was slamming into the man’s stomach in the next breath, not even close to feeling satisfied despite Christian’s shout of pain. “I don’t have to have all the answers—that’s what you’re here for.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to suffer,” Kaz answered. “I want to watch you fucking bleed for what you did to my uncle. I want to know what your bones feel like when they finally snap, but for now, I’ll settle on what you know about that day and the order given.”

  Christian didn’t respond.

  His patience wearing thin, Kaz picked up a pair of vise grips, turning them over in his hands. “I once used these on a man, got his fingers between the teeth, applying just enough pressure to get his attention. But he was a fucking masochist—refused to say anything until the flesh of his finger split down the middle.” Tapping the man’s forehead with the tool, Kaz asked, “Are you a masochist, Christian? How long will you hold out before your mouth is nothing but mush and blood? If you’d like, I’ll even count your teeth for you.”

  Ah and there it was. That healthy dose of fear men got when they realized just what they were dealing with. It was easy to pretend somebody from the outside was nothing. That they couldn’t be worth half their salt.

  How easily some seemed to underestimate him.

  But they wouldn’t, not for much longer.

  “You can’t kill me for that,” Christian said, forcing his head back up. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “Tell me about this deal.”

  He seemed to realize his error too late. Kaz didn’t care about the death, but he wanted to know about the happenings before it. It wouldn’t be enough that Alberto gave Christian the order. No, he needed proof of Vasily’s involvement in the matter. He could have only hoped that the consigliere knew some of the finer details—he was closest to Alberto after all—and that information would get him exactly where he needed to be.

  “You know, or we wouldn’t be here.”

  Tired of the man, Kaz pulled the belt he had tied around his leg free and let it drop to the ground then ripped off the makeshift bandage. Shifting his hold on the vise grips, he shoved the handle into the bullet wound, using every bit of his considerable strength to shove the handle deeper past shredded muscle.

  Christian tried to maintain his balance, but between jerking his leg, trying to escape the agony he was in, and the ties biting into the flesh of his wrists, he couldn’t go anywhere.

  Blood pooled around the weapon, sliding hot and wet across Kaz’s fingers, the sight of it both unsettling and riveting. He was seconds from extracting it and finding another weapon to use on him when Christian finally broke.

  “Vasily!” Christian shouted, voice thick with pain. “It was all his idea.”

  “Good man,” Kaz said releasing his hold on the weapon though it stayed embedded in his flesh. “Finish.”

  Taking a few deep breaths to fight his way through the pain, Christian replied, “In exchange for an end to the war, he would give us Gavrill.”

  “And he would be free to take the boss’ seat,” Kolya supplied from his position across the room.

  Rus’ expression was unreadable.

  It all made sense now, the reason why Vasily was so adamant about them avoiding the Italians all these years. He knew Kaz would figure it out, would finally connect the dots and find what he had been hiding. It also explained his hatred and jealousy toward his brother, the need to be more than he was.

  A desperate man always made mistakes.

  And his mistake was turning against his own for greed.

  “You asked what I wanted from you, Carracci, and now, I have an answer to your question.” He waited until the man’s eyes focused on him. “I want to watch my father burn, and you’re the key to that.”

  The unnerving thing about Konstantin Boykov was his quietness. One minute, he could be smiling, loud, and seemingly in a good mood, and the next, he was quiet and still, staring off into nothing and looking like a damn statue.

  Violet wasn’t quite sure what to make of that as she sipped from a cup of coffee and watched the youngest Boykov brother across the room.

  Ankle crossed over his knee, not a speck of dirt or dust on his suit, and a blank expression firmly etched in place, Konstantin looked like something carved from ice.

  “Must you stare?” he asked, surprising Violet.

  “For someone who makes a lot of noise most of the time, it’s kind of strange when you’re quiet.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  Konstantin offered nothing else, and he didn’t look away from the pale beige wall he’d been staring at for the last half hour.

  “Are you … thinking or something?” she dared to ask.

  “No.”

  “Meditating?”

  Finally, Konstantin’s stony mask cracked as his brow crumpled. “Do you actually know someone who does that?”

  “Meditates?”

  “That’s what you said, no?”

  Violet frowned. “I can’t say I do.”

  Konstantin shrugged. “I’m not meditating.”

  “So you just stare at walls and do nothing.”

  It wasn’t even a question.

  “Am I bothering you?”

  “Well—”

  “It wouldn’t matter if I were,” he interrupted with a slight smile.

  Violet sighed. “You’re impossible.”

  “You don’t have to live with me, so it matters very little what you think of my behaviors.”

  “I pity the woman who does live with you, then.”

  Konstantin chuckled. “Nice try, but Viktoria doesn’t get much of a choice in that.”

  Huh.

  Violet took that information in just as Konstantin had easily handed it over. She wasn’t all too surprised to learn that Konstantin was single, considering he hadn’t brought women around when he did visit, unlike Kolya, who almost always brought his wife. And for that matter, no one ever said a thing about Konstantin being involved with someone.

  “Do you do this—”

  The ringing of a phone interrupted Violet’s question. Konstantin passed her a look that told her to keep quiet as he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and placed the device up to his ear.

  “Konstantin here,” he said, gazing turning back on the wall and growing silent as he listened for a few moments. “Is that so? I wasn’t aware a problem was left behind.”

  Violet’s back stiffened at his statement, wondering what it meant.

  “No, it’s fine,” he added after a quick second. “I will handle it. Do not bother the boss with it.”

  Once Konstantin was off the phone and had discarded the device back into his pocket, he pushed up from the chair with a curious glint in his eye.

  “What?” Violet asked.

  “Seems we have business to do.”

  She hugged her coffee cup a little closer to her chest. “But I don't want to do business.”

  She just wanted to stay hidden away in the townhouse until Kaz came back. The l
ast time she decided to go on a trip, bad shit happened.

  “Well, too bad. I can’t leave you here alone, and someone else might not be as nice with the problem your father’s people left behind.”

  Wait … what?

  “You won’t explain that if I ask, will you?” she asked.

  Konstantin grinned. “No, but don’t worry. You will see soon enough. Let’s go.”

  All too soon, Violet sat in the passenger seat of Konstantin’s vehicle as unfamiliar streets passed her by in a blur of white snow and buildings. It really was a shame that she couldn’t enjoy Chicago more, but maybe someday …

  “You will stay in the car, yes?”

  Despite the fact he’d posed that statement as a question, it didn’t sound like Konstantin was actually offering Violet a choice in the matter.

  “I thought you were supposed to be watching me,” she said, glancing back at him.

  Konstantin never took his eyes off the road. “It is safe to say we only have one problem left in Chicago to take care of, which I am handling now. The only reason we know about this problem is because of one that managed to survive but we had a little fun with.”

  Violet shivered—the only problems in Chicago had been her father’s men. She did not like the sound of what Konstantin was suggesting at all.

  Better she didn’t ask.

  She was learning that was the best way to get through the day where Bratva men were concerned. Don’t ask, and they wouldn’t tell. She didn’t mind turning her cheek.

  “Almost there,” Konstantin said, more to himself it seemed.

  Violet focused on the buildings passing them by and only really took note of where they were when it became more rural on the outskirts of the city. Konstantin began humming a tune and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel a second before he pulled off the road and into a small parking lot that belonged to what looked to be a hotel of sorts.

  Not necessarily a shoddy one, but it wasn’t upscale, either.

  “Stay in the car,” Konstantin repeated as he pulled in front of one of the rooms with a large, tarnished “7” displayed on the door.

  Violet was sure she saw the curtain move on the window beside the door, but—