Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1)

by Bethany-Kris

  She nodded.

  “Continue,” he ordered.

  “We took a cab because we knew we were going to be drinking. And after we had been there a while, something happened with Amelia. Like, somebody spiked her drink and we were trying to get out to come home.”

  Alberto pursed his lips, clearly unhappy. He released her chin, and Violet immediately put her head back down. “I already know what came after that, thanks to both Nicole and Amelia.”

  “She’s okay?” Violet asked.

  She hadn’t even gotten the chance to call her friend that morning, and all of her calls from the night before had gone completely unanswered.

  “Do you care?” Alberto asked, seemingly calm. “Because when you allowed your friends to be toted off by strange men—”

  “I wasn’t exactly given a choice,” she interrupted softly.

  Alberto scowled. “Get out of my office right now.”

  Violet’s head snapped up. “What?”

  Her father wasn’t looking at her. He was waving at the two men sitting on the loveseat. “Out, I said! Adesso, stoltos!”

  Carmine and Christian discarded their glasses on the black coffee table and left the office without needing to be told again. Once Violet was alone with her father, the sickness in her stomach only seemed to increase even more.

  “I am so sorry, Daddy,” she said.

  “You are a mess,” Alberto murmured.

  Violet cringed. “I know.”

  “I have never been so disappointed or more embarrassed by you than I am today, Violet.”

  “I’m sorry. We didn’t know, Daddy.”

  Alberto tipped her chin up again with a softer touch than the first time. “You didn’t need to know, dolcezza. You shouldn’t have been down there in the first place. As you already know.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Of course I am.” Alberto sighed, eyeing her smeared makeup. His thumb swept the corner of her mouth like he wanted to will the smudge of lipstick there away. “And now, because of your actions, I have to answer to men who are beneath me for their daughters’ injuries and other problems.”

  Violet’s brow furrowed. “But Nicole and Amelia wanted to go. I didn’t force them.”

  Alberto shrugged. “You seem to forget your place in my life, Violet. You’re my daughter, and when you are with other daughters of made men, their behavior is reflected from yours. Not the other way around. You will always be the one responsible because you, above anyone else, were raised far better.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  “I don’t doubt that.” Alberto let go of her, taking a step back. “The Russian just dropped you off and nothing else, right?”

  “Sì.”

  “Such a shame,” he muttered low.

  Violet blinked away more prickling tears caused by the disappointment she knew her father felt.

  “It won’t happen again,” she said.

  “I should hope not.” Alberto flicked a wrist at the oak doors. “Go to your old room and find something suitable to wear. Fix your face and your hair before you leave this house again. Apologize to your mother for your appearance and behavior.”

  “Okay.”

  Was he finally done?

  While it might not seem like her father had done a lot to punish her, it was the emotional impact that hurt Violet the most.

  “You’re forgiven,” Alberto murmured softly. “But I won’t forget this, topina.”

  Violet sucked in a hard breath, not knowing what to say.

  “You have never given me a reason to distrust you before,” her father continued sadly. “And this was not a good way to start testing my limits with you. I overlook your weekends at the clubs, and your sometimes boyfriends that I don’t approve of because I knew you are too smart to end up in a bad situation or one that might shame our family and my legacy.”

  God.

  “It won’t happen again,” Violet repeated, stronger the second time.

  Her voice was still fucking weak.

  “You’ve never given me a reason,” Alberto said, “until last night.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Vasily demanded.

  Kaz had barely had the phone to his ear before his father’s voice was raging in his ear. Groaning as he rolled over, he rubbed his tired eyes, casting his mind back to the day before to remember what he had done to warrant a pissed off phone call this early in the morning.

  There was Marcus—no one gave a shit about Marcus—and he’d already told Vasily about that, then there was the club, his chat with Ruslan, and then …

  Shit, right.

  Violet Gallucci.

  He hadn’t forgotten her. How could he when the smell of her had lingered in his car even after he’d dropped her off? But he had put it out of his mind.

  It was inevitable that Vasily was going to find out, nothing stayed hidden forever, but he hadn’t thought he’d learn—Kaz glanced over at the clock on his bedside table, reading the time—before nine in the damn morning.

  “Is this where I pretend like I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

  Kaz almost laughed as Vasily spat curses, but even as he found humor in a situation that really wasn’t funny at all, a part of him knew that there was a problem. This wouldn’t be the first time he had done something his father hadn’t approved of, not even the second, but those times had never warranted a phone call. His silent displeasure, sure.

  “My house, one hour.”

  With that parting demand, Vasily hung up—he never was good with the proper way in ending a conversation.

  Throwing the covers off, Kaz swung his legs off the bed, getting up to his feet as he headed toward the en suite bathroom on the other side of his room. With a flick of his wrist, he had the multiple showerheads turned on, raining water from the tiled ceiling.

  He didn’t bother waiting for the water to heat before stripping out of his boxer-briefs and climbing in, letting the coldness wake him up further as he scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling the whiskers covering his jaw.

  Grabbing the soap, he bathed quickly, deciding that it was probably best not to keep Vasily waiting. If he had to guess, the man was a little more than pissed off, and his tardiness would only make it worse.

  It wasn’t like Kaz hadn’t known that by taking the Gallucci girl home—fuck, even just talking to her—there would be a problem. He knew better. But that hadn’t stopped him from getting her in his car and taking off. Sure, it was innocent, definitely not something worth starting a war over, but even he could see the implications of his actions.

  Like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

  Back out again, Kaz toweled off, next rubbing it through his hair before he tossed it on the counter and headed into his closet. And despite his lackluster attitude in terms of everything else in his life, there was one thing that Kaz definitely cared about.

  His attire.

  A lot could be said about a man that broke the law for a living, but more could be said about one that made sure he looked good while doing it.

  He chose a black-on-black ensemble—seemed appropriate—before he dressed and ran his fingers through his hair to push it back out of his face. Heading back into his bedroom, he grabbed the Beretta M9 he kept beneath his pillow, holstering it at his back, then smoothing his jacket over it.

  Grabbing his keys, he was out of his place and heading down Oceana Drive in no time. The drive to Vasily’s beachfront mansion was only a fifteen-minute drive away, twenty-five if there was traffic, a distance that felt far too short for Kaz most days.

  The house he was driving to hadn’t been the only residence in Little Odessa that Kaz lived in. Before, they—he, his parents, and siblings—lived in a more modest two-story a little ways away. Vasily had moved the family after Kaz’s eleventh birthday, and some months after Vasily had become the new Pakhan.

  As he turned onto 296 West End Avenue, typing in the code to get through the gated entry, Kaz co
uld already see the fleet of cars parked in the driveway. Most were of his father’s collection—all luxury, but none as bold as Kaz’s Porsche—and one, he knew, belonged to his father’s attorney, Gerald Tansky. Since the man got paid even if he was only stopping by, Kaz had to wonder why he was there.

  Pulling around, he parked a good distance away from the other vehicles, because family or not, if you scratched his car, he’d be pissed. Exiting, he dug his hands into his pockets as he headed for the front door, checking his surroundings as he always did before raising his fist to knock. He took a step back, waiting, listening to the soft click of heels as they neared the door. His smile, a genuine one this time, was already curling his lips before she even had the door open.

  Swathed in a peach-colored dress that ended at her knees, Irina Markovic looked every bit of the housewife that she was. Never a hair out of place, the brown strands were twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck, showing off the simple diamond earrings adorning her ears.

  “Kazimir,” she said warmly, already reaching to draw him into her embrace.

  When his father called him that, it annoyed him, but he never minded from her. “Privyet, Mama,” he spoke softly, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “How are you?”

  “Very well. Your father is waiting for you in the kitchen.”

  He could tell just by the look on her face that Vasily was definitely angry with him and she was curious as to why, but she would never come right out and ask. She followed the rules in that way.

  Waiting at her side as she closed and turned the locks, he figured since he was there, he didn’t have to rush. He was on time after all.

  “How are you, Kazimir? You look tired,” she said looking up at him, even in her heels, as they headed for the kitchen.

  “Fine, Mama. It was just a long night.” And an early morning, but he didn’t bother mentioning that. To say he was not a morning person was an understatement. Thankfully, a lot of his business could be done at night.

  “And your brother, how is he?”

  This question was asked softly, so low that Kaz knew the question was meant only for him to hear, and that fact annoyed him. Not because she was asking the question at all, but because she felt she had to sneak to do it.

  “Good.”

  “You’ll watch after him, yes?” she asked reaching for his hand, squeezing it lightly.

  Ruslan didn’t need looking after, plus he was the oldest, but because she rarely saw him, she made this request whenever Kaz came around. Since she couldn’t dote on Ruslan, she made sure at the very least, Kaz watched out for him. Sometimes, Kaz felt like he was the oldest.

  “Of course, I—”

  “Kazimir, get in here!” Vasily called out, his voice echoing.

  The booming sound might have been enough to frighten a lesser man, but Kaz merely rolled his eyes, looking back down to his mother, who was smiling apologetically.

  “Go on, you don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  As he bent at the waist, giving her a chance to kiss his cheek and wipe away the trace of lipstick before she disappeared around the corner, she made herself scarce for their talk. Kaz hardened himself as he always did, heading into the lion’s den.

  The kitchen was a cavernous space, made that way after his mother had made the request. Vasily, who loved to dote on his wife, gave her exactly what she asked for. Bay windows made up one wall, allowing an unobstructed view to the beach a mere walking distance from the house. The sunlight shining in through them made the white cabinetry seem brighter, and the gray marbled flooring stand out more.

  Gerald was seated at the dining table, a newspaper in hand as he read the front page, acting oblivious to Kaz’s appearance. Vasily, on the other hand, was glaring at Kaz from his position behind the island, a tumbler filled with amber liquid in his hand.

  Unlike Kaz who was dressed in all black, Vasily was dressed in a pin-striped suit, a blood-red shirt beneath it, with a matching handkerchief in the breast pocket of his jacket. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a delicate gold chain that hung around his neck. His once-dark hair was mostly gray now, and thinning in the middle, but he kept it styled where one could hardly tell.

  “A little early for spirits, no?” Kaz asked, careful to keep his tone as respectful as possible.

  “With the shit you pulled last night,” Vasily started. “I could be drinking from a bottle.” Downing his drink, in one swallow, he set the glass on the counter. “Tell me, what were you thinking?”

  It was scary, how quickly Vasily went from angry to calm in a couple of seconds. Kaz could still remember a time when that worried him, when he had no idea what to expect, but now he was older, and his father’s anger didn’t faze him as much.

  “They—those girls—were in the wrong place.”

  “You knew better,” Vasily said after a moment, already reaching for the carafe of Brandy resting behind him on the marble countertop. “You could have dropped that girl off the second you were out of our territory.”

  Kaz took a seat at the bar, unbuttoning his jacket as he did. “I thought it best to make sure they got home safely, as opposed to letting them leave Odessa where we couldn’t guarantee that.”

  His father knew what he meant, and that he was right, even if he didn’t voice it. Had they taken a cab home—as Violet was so adamant they should have done—and something were to have happened to them on that trip home, the Markovics would have been blamed. It was their territory after all, and nothing happened without their knowledge.

  And for whatever reason, the idea of Violet Gallucci getting hurt didn’t sit well with him.

  “Even so, you have created a problem for us.” Vasily poured two fingers, and instead of throwing this one back as well, he sipped. “Alberto Gallucci called me this morning.”

  It had been a while since Vasily uttered that name. While the two were more … neutral toward each other than Gavrill and Alberto had been, that didn’t mean the two would ever do business together.

  “Oh?”

  “Apparently that car of yours was seen leaving a building on Park Avenue.” Vasily gave him a dry look. “I don’t think I have to mention whose building it belonged to, no?”

  “Like I said, I made sure the Gallucci girl got home safely. Nothing more.”

  “And the other two? Their fathers were not too pleased either.”

  Kaz tapped his index finger against the marble. “Ruslan would—”

  Vasily made a noise that could be described as a mix between a grunt and a snort, a sneer working its way onto his face.

  Kaz, who was doing his best to keep a level head, went from zero to sixty in a moment, that familiar rage he welcomed like an old friend coming to life inside of him. His hand clenched, his body grew tense. There were some things he was willing to put up with from his father.

  His need to dominate any room he walked in—Kaz gave him that. He was the Pakhan after all, it was his due.

  The snide comments made to and about Kaz—again, Vasily was the boss—but more than anything, Kaz didn’t give a shit.

  But one thing that he had never been able to stand was the blatant disrespect Vasily always showed whenever Ruslan’s name was brought up.

  “Careful,” Kaz said before he could check the impulse, and even if he’d been able to, he didn’t think he would have restrained himself.

  With the command resting between them, Vasily paused—the glass he was bringing to his lips suspended in the air—his gaze moving to Kaz. Even Gerald looked up from his reading, where he was acting as though he was not listening to the conversation.

  That was the thing about having one’s father as the boss as well. The lines blurred as to which persona you got. It was one thing for Kaz to speak out of turn to his father. Though still disrespectful, it could be excused. But to speak to a Pakhan as though he were equal, that was an offense not taken lightly. It didn’t matter that Vasily’s vocalized response was one of a father’s feelings toward his so
n, the discussion at hand was between a boss and his soldier.

  Placing his glass back on the counter, Vasily laid both hands down, leaning his weight into them as he narrowed cold eyes on Kaz. His displeasure bled out of him. “What did you say?”

  Kaz had a choice, everyone always had a choice, just as he’d told Violet last night. He could repeat himself, risk his father’s wrath, or he could bite his tongue and stay silent. Knowing his mother was still somewhere in the house, Kaz chose the latter.

  “Nothing.” It took a lot for him to even voice that—Kaz wasn’t usually one to back down from a fight.

  A heartbeat’s time. Two. Then, Vasily’s shoulders relaxed as he straightened. “Finish what you were saying.”

  “Ruslan took one home.” Kaz didn’t remember the girl’s name, or had he even bothered to find out? “And Nathaniel took the other to the hospital. Undoubtedly, you already know this. So, instead of wasting time on what we already know, how about you tell me the real reason you called me here.”

  Vasily frowned. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why was any of that necessary?” Vasily elaborated. “What happened before this?”

  Truthfully, Kaz hadn’t thought much of what had ultimately caused the girls to be in Ruslan’s office. The only thing he remembered hearing was a glass breaking near the bar, and the girls’ cries of alarm from where he’d stood with Ruslan.

  While his brother had immediately went to help the women, Kaz had lingered behind, making sure the broken glass was cleaned up and that no one else was hurt, then he went to see if his brother needed any help with them.

  “One had too much to drink, I assume. I didn’t see it all.”

  That did nothing to placate his father, however. He still looked baffled, and a bit annoyed by it all. “You knew better,” Vasily said again, shaking his head. “How many times have I told you that Brooklyn is off-limits to you? And that you were to never be around the daughter of Gallucci.”

  The first he had said so many times that Kaz thought his head would bleed. And the second had been repeated a few times, but not nearly as much as the first. It wasn’t as though Kaz had had any interest in Violet before last night. He had never given the girl a second thought.