by Bethany-Kris
“Either we ended it,” Kaz said, as cool and calm as ever, “or we didn’t.”
Violet swallowed the lump keeping her quiet. “We didn’t.”
“What do you want, hmm?”
“I don’t understand what you’re asking.”
Kaz lifted a hand, gesturing to his place, and then between them. “How many times do you want to keep coming here? Staying the night? Sleeping with me, in my bed? Wearing my clothes, cooking in my kitchen? Sneaking away from your father, waking me up in the middle of the night … and I can keep going, Violet.”
He could.
“So maybe I haven’t seen it like that,” she whispered.
“That’s a lie. You see it exactly the same way, or you wouldn’t do it at all because you wouldn’t want to do it.”
Violet hated how he always did that in one way or another. She was used to turning cheek to things she didn’t want to see, or even sticking her head in the sand because it was easier.
Kaz didn’t let her do that.
He forced her to look around, to take inventory and accountability.
She lived a hell of a lot more in the short time she spent with him then she ever did when she was alone.
It was good.
But it was bad, too.
“For the record,” Kaz said quietly, making Violet look up at him again.
“What?”
“I like you being here. Doing those things, all of those things. And the things I didn't say, too. If I had wanted you to stop, if I didn’t want to see where this was going to go, then it would have ended a long while ago.”
Yeah, she knew that, too.
Violet didn’t understand a lot of the shit she felt and thought where Kaz was concerned, but what she did, she liked. And she wasn’t ready to end it like that.
Pushing off the stool, Violet made her way around the island to stand beside Kaz. He watched her the whole while, saying nothing. Moving sideways a bit, he offered her a hand, and she took it, stepping up to sit on his lap. An arm wrapped around her waist, and his hand landed to her bare thigh.
The touch alone was possessive.
Like he intended to keep it there.
“Eat,” he said, tugging her container across the counter and picking up the fork for her to take again.
Kaz’s chin rested on her shoulder.
“What are we doing?” she asked.
Violet didn’t feel like she had to expand on that statement.
Wasn’t it obvious enough?
What were they doing with one another?
Together?
Kaz used his fork to cut a piece of her French toast, and lifted it to Violet for her to take. “Eating.”
“Not what I meant.”
“I think this is exactly what you meant.”
It was, sort of.
The realization came hard and swift.
She wouldn’t be there, otherwise. She wouldn’t have crossed that distance to be closer. She wouldn’t want him holding her like he was.
Intimate.
Sweet.
What was that word he’d used once?
Domestic?
“We’ll figure it out,” Kaz said, his words whispering along her skin.
“Will we?”
“Somehow.”
One week slipped into two, two slipped into four, and before Kaz knew it, an entire month had passed in the blink of an eye. That time was mostly a blur, but the majority of it had been spent with Violet. Despite Ruslan’s appearance at his place, things hadn’t changed much at all. She was still coming to him, sleeping in his bed, and making his place feel like a home even though he had been living there for years now.
It had finally clicked in him, the difference her presence made. He was more relaxed, happy even, and despite that their relationship was mostly confined within those four walls, he didn’t mind it. Kaz didn’t need others to tell him she was his, he only needed to see the way her face lit up when she saw him to know the answer to that.
Kaz had only dropped her off a little more than an hour ago before he got a call from Vasily, telling him to come in. After their last conversation, he had done well to steer clear of his father, besides the few times they had needed to meet for Bratva business.
Though anytime Vasily called him for a meet, it was in the warehouse. Vasily had made a different request, texting him an address he wasn’t familiar with. It was still within the limits of Little Odessa, but Kaz had never had a reason to go to that side, especially when he had no business over there. But when the boss called, even if it was the last thing he wanted to do, he went.
The house Kaz arrived at was in the middle of nowhere, land as far out as the eye could see. It was a pretty secluded place, and for the second time, he wondered what purpose his father had in bringing him here. And unlike the last time his father had called on him for a private meeting, he didn’t go in unarmed.
“Good of you to finally join me,” Vasily said once Kaz was inside, reclining back in one of the two wing-backed chairs in the living room.
Raj was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, looking just as imposing as ever. The last thing Kaz wanted to do was put his back to the man, because while he was sure he could take Vasily, Raj was capable of things he didn’t even want to consider.
Vasily, noticing Kaz’s choice to stick close to the door, smiled, though the sight of it did nothing to calm him. “Is there a problem, Kazimir?”
“Not at all. You called for a meet, here I am.”
“Of course.” Vasily reached for the carafe of whiskey to his left, and the glass sitting next to it, pouring himself a drink. “When you were a boy, I didn’t expect great things from you. Your brother, on the other hand, he was the perfect son. Even with him idolizing Gavrill, I knew he would be exactly what any father could hope for in this brotherhood of ours. I knew the moment he’d sworn the words that he would be my successor, but that all came to an end rather quickly, no? When I caught him fucking that man.”
Kaz didn’t react to Vasily’s words—it wasn’t like this was a secret finally being revealed. He remembered all too well the night Vasily learned that Ruslan was gay. That was both the day Ruslan had come out of the closet, and Kaz had learned to truly hate the man that spawned him.
Despite the changes to the Bratva, and the advances their organization had made over the years, there was still one concept that Vasily had refused to let go of—no man in his Bratva would be gay. Kaz was sure that if it were not for the blood that ran in Ruslan’s veins, his brother would be dead by Vasily’s hand. He had almost done it that night, using his fists to tell Ruslan exactly how he felt about his preference in sex.
Ruslan, for reasons known only to him, had not fought back, had merely taken the onslaught of hits until he wasn’t conscious anymore. Kaz had only arrived later to find the result of his father’s disgust. From that day forward, Ruslan had been practically disowned within their family, forced out as though he was nothing at all. He still had his place within the organization, Vasily hadn’t taken that away, but it had become quite clear that Ruslan was no longer Vasily’s intended successor.
“You, however,” Vasily said dragging Kaz back to the present conversation, “as defiant as you are, I was surprised you had made it to this point. I won’t say that you’re not good at what you do, you’ve obviously done quite well for yourself, but you lack discipline. You fail to realize that there are consequences to your actions and that no one, not even you, can defy me.”
Kaz pushed off the wall, striding further into the room. “What are you getting at, Vasily?”
“I was curious,” he went on as though Kaz hadn’t spoken, “as to why you haven’t been around as much lately, and when you are, you’re asking questions that are of little importance. So I did some digging of my own, Kazimir—and let me be honest, I almost wished you had the same predilection as your brother. At least that could be contained. But Violet Gallucci? I thought you knew better than that.”
/> Vasily withdrew a picture, and even from his distance, Kaz could clearly make out his own face, along with Violet’s. He still remembered that day … picking her up and grabbing ice cream on their way back to his place, before she had spent the night. It had been a good day, but he had never suspected that he was being followed, that anyone had gotten that close to him to take pictures.
How the fuck hadn’t he noticed?
“I’ve been lenient with you, Kazimir,” Vasily went on. “I allow you your tantrums, your displays of defiance in the presence of others. You’re still young, after all. But on this, I have never, and will not ever, bend. This is your last chance to heed me, boy. Walk away. Do not go near her again. This is my final warning. If she means that much to you, think of an excuse, I don’t give a fuck. But when you leave this place today, I want there to be no mistake. Violet Gallucci no longer exists to you. Am I understood?”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Kaz said, his voice steady, his eyes locked on Vasily. “But understand me. I’m not going to walk away from her because you command it.”
He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. She was too important to him, too ingrained in every aspect of his life for him to try and dig her out. If he did, he wasn’t sure what was going to be left.
Now, it was Vasily getting to his feet, that mask of indifference slipping as the anger peeked through. “Do not force my hand, Kazimir. I am at least trying to give you the opportunity to finish this on your own.”
“Why?” he asked suddenly.
“What?”
“Keeping us apart, why is that so important to you? Our families have been enemies for years, but that could end just by us being together. At the very least, it would ensure that neither attacks the other. What are you hiding that might get exposed?”
It was clear that Vasily had been expecting the question, as his mask didn’t slip again. “Next time, I won’t be so generous.”
Kaz got close enough to Vasily to make sure his point couldn’t be misunderstood. “Believe me when I say that the last thing I need is your generosity. And until you burn these fucking stars off my chest, you don’t get to control who I’m with. You want to speak on Rus, then speak on the consequences of your actions, because the only reason I let you walk away was because he asked it of me. If you think to touch a hair on Violet’s head, I’ll bury you.”
“Kazimir, you—”
“Over the years, you’ve made it quite clear where I stand with you. You want our name to continue on, and the only way you can have that is through me. If I’m going to take that seat, I’ll do it the way I want. Now, do you understand me?”
Vasily was quiet for some time as he stood opposite Kaz, staring him down like he had never witnessed this side of him before. He had obviously thought it would be easy, that he would merely need to give a command and Kaz would heed it. But there was one thing about Kaz that he seemed to have forgotten. Kaz was never one to blindly follow rules.
That just wasn’t who he was.
“Sure,” Vasily said after a spell, “I understand completely, but I do have a question for you, Kazimir. What do you think Alberto Gallucci will do to that daughter of his once he finds out who she’s spreading her legs for?”
“You fucking wouldn’t …”
Vasily held the picture up once more, waving it in front of Kaz’s face. “A picture tells a thousand truths, and this … this is just one of many that I have.” He shook his head, a laugh escaping him, “You should have kept those curtains closed, Kazimir.”
Violet kept her head down, attention focused solely on the silent phone in her hand, as she walked toward the entrance of her building. Like she had a hundred times earlier that day, she checked through her call log and her text messages.
She already knew what it would say.
No missed calls.
No new texts.
Violet chewed on her inner cheek, barely noticing the people passing her by on the busy street. The messenger bag hanging off her shoulder, filled with her stuff from school and her laptop, felt heavier for no reason in particular. She already had enough invisible weight wearing her down, the bag only added more.
Selecting a familiar contact on the phone log, Violet scrolled down to the last message she had gotten from the number.
One week prior.
Next time. -K.
That was it.
Violet hadn’t heard a single thing from Kaz since that last message he sent after he dropped her off just beyond the Little Odessa border. She’d called a couple of times, but it rang through to voicemail, and she didn’t exactly think it was smart to leave that type of message.
But he knew her number.
And so she waited for something to come back, and when it didn’t, Violet started to worry that maybe something was wrong. The worry turned to anger, but that quickly bled away.
Kaz wasn’t the type to drop someone—her—with nothing, not even a call at least.
Violet went back to worry in a blink.
“Miss Gallucci?”
Lost in her thoughts and concerns, Violet hadn’t realized she was standing in front of her building with her attention still down on her phone, and her feet practically cemented to the ground.
Violet’s head snapped up at an unfamiliar voice calling her name. She found a tall, thin man wearing a black ensemble, sunglasses included, standing right in front of her, blocking her path to her building’s entrance doors. In his hand, he held a manila envelope that looked to be a foot long, the same in width, and a half of an inch thick.
“You are Violet Gallucci, yes?” he asked.
Other than his lips moving, the man’s expression never changed from the stony mask he wore. Violet might have thought he was a statue had he stayed quiet, and she probably would have run right into him because of her distraction.
What concerned her more, was the familiar accent coloring his words.
Russian.
There should be no Russians approaching her in front of her building.
“You can talk, can’t you?” the man questioned.
Violet’s gaze narrowed. “I can.”
“Good. Then answer my question.”
“I suspect you already know who I am if you stopped me,” she replied. “How many women have walked past you in the last thirty seconds?”
That time, the man’s mask did crack. The faintest hint of a sneer curved the edges of his lips upward, but it quickly fell. “Here,” he said, holding out the package. “A gift for you.”
Violet hesitated, not reaching to take the item. “From who?”
“Vasily Markovic sends his regards. And to your father as well, of course. Have a nice day, Violet.”
She froze in place as the envelope was shoved roughly into her hand, forcing her to take it as the man passed her by without another word being said between them.
Violet could already feel the panic welling in her stomach and leaping into her throat as her hands began to shake. Her gaze flicked between the envelope, and the man disappearing into the crowd of people flooding the sidewalk.
Vasily Markovic.
The name chanted in her ringing ears.
She felt sick all over.
Grabbing the rip tab on the side of the package, Violet pulled, opening the top of the envelope. Tipping it upside down into her waiting hand, pictures fell out. She let the envelope fall to the sidewalk, uncaring of the people walking around her, as she began to slide her hand over the pictures, flipping between them.
All sorts of pictures.
Some could maybe be explained away, like the black and whites of her and Kaz walking side by side toward his car. Or even the ones of them exiting a store together.
Others, the sepia toned shots of them walking near the closed pier might be harder to explain, but possibly doable if she had a good enough excuse.
Ones, full color and close up, of her and Kaz where he was kissing her cheek, or holding her hand might not be so simple.
But the mo
st damaging, the ones that scared her above all the others, were shots of them in his apartment. The ceiling-to-floor windows were almost always covered in the day and evenings, but she had opened them sometimes, just to watch the ocean at night. The apartment was high enough that no one directly below would be able to see inside, but …
The pictures looked like they had come from right out in the ocean.
Like someone had taken a high-grade lens and watched them.
Violet stared at the pictures again.
Four shots in total.
Her in his clothes. Her on his lap, naked then.
The other two were the same.
There was only one where her face was clearly visible, as she had turned her head just enough for the person to catch her like that.
Violet couldn’t breathe.
Sends his regards …
To her father?
Had these photos been sent to her father?
Violet didn’t move as a buzzing began in her hand, under the stack of photos. She pulled her hand free, staring at the number lighting up the screen.
Alberto Gallucci, it read.
There was a brief moment where Violet felt like time just stopped around her. Where there was no New York street, no busy people, and no world moving, and turning. It was just her, a stack of photos, and her father’s call needing to be answered.
She ran through the last three months in her mind, and wondered …
Were there things she should have done differently?
Would she, if given the choice to go back?
Had she done what was always wanted of her?
All her answers were the same.
No.
Her fingers still trembled when she swiped at the screen to answer her father’s call. Putting it up to her ear, Violet said, “Hello, Daddy.”
“You’re just arriving home from school, right?” Alberto asked.
His tone was too gruff, she thought.
Too strained and forced.
Like he didn’t want to frighten her, maybe.
