Where the Snow Falls (Seasons of Betrayal #2)(42)

And f*cking no one would disrespect Kaz.

She had heard enough of that bullshit from her father and brother to last her a lifetime over the past several months.

The car beeped again, and Konstantin slid in the driver’s seat, seemingly unruffled by the very unhappy, glaring Amelia in the backseat.

“Sit down and buckle up,” he said. “Or don't and die if we get into an accident.”

Violet turned back around in the seat and buckled her seat belt without a word.

Still, she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder at Amelia.

What is going to happen to her?

“Konstantin?”

“Yes?” he asked, backing the car out of the parking spot.

The hotel room’s door was still wide open.

“Where are we going?” Violet asked.

She figured it was better to edge into the conversation carefully. Maybe she would get more information that way.

Or maybe not.

“Back to the townhouse,” Konstantin replied as he pulled out onto the road.

“And then what?” she hedged.

Apparently, Amelia was not up for word games.

“What are you going to do with me, Russian?” Amelia asked, spiteful and still glaring.

Konstantin glanced into the rearview mirror, catching Amelia’s eye. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Amelia straightened a bit in the seat, defiant as ever. Violet used to admire that about her old friend—Amelia was bold when others might shrink away.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Konstantin smiled, slow and easy. “Only if you ask me nicely.”





Every Thursday like clockwork, Vasily held a meeting, collecting payments and discussing business with the top officers of the Bratva. Since Kaz had joined the ranks, he couldn’t remember his father ever missing a single meeting, and because of this, he knew exactly where the man would be by the time he got everything he possibly could out of Christian Carracci.

It wasn’t anxiety, though the emotion felt akin to that, that Kaz was feeling the closer they came to that building, spotting the line of cars already present. Months of planning had led up to this moment, and it was about f*cking time.

Having left Christian in the care of his brother and Kolya with strict instructions not to kill the man, he had cleaned himself up, changed clothes, and made himself as presentable as he could in the short window of time he had.

Appearances meant everything.

He could have gone as he was, showing the other men the brutality of what he had inflicted on the man who had taken one of their own from them, but that wasn’t the image he needed them to see. It wasn’t just about removing Vasily from his seat and taking everything he held dear.

He wanted to make sure no one would question who was in charge by the time he walked out of the room.

Muffled voices carried through the double doors at the end of the hallway, but Kaz didn’t slow his stride, nor did Rus, who was dragging a semi-conscious Christian through the hallway. He only had seconds to ready himself before he was shoving the doors open, bringing all conversation to a halt as eyes turned on him.

But he only cared about one, and as he looked at the head of the table where he was meant to be, he was absent.

Kaz could have almost smiled.

Finally, one—Boris, his name was—was brave enough to speak. “What are you doing here, Kazimir? Vasily—”

“Is not here now, is he? When should we be expecting him?” He didn’t mind waiting; he had all the time in the world at that moment. None of these men were bold enough to make a move against him without Vasily being present anyway.

When silence met his question, he looked at one of Vasily’s underlings and said, “Call him.”

He didn’t move, boldly staring Kaz down as though he had every right to sit there in defiance. It didn’t matter if Vasily was the Pakhan. Kaz still had stars, and his ranking afforded him certain luxuries.

Including making an example out of anyone who didn’t give him the respect he’d earned. What kind of boss would he be in the eyes of these men if he let them walk all over him?

Kaz gestured for Rus and Kolya to enter the room before he shut the doors and locked them, just as his father would have done had he been there—the act a signal for the beginning of the meeting. He was all but forgotten for a moment as they all looked at the bleeding man, curiosity mixed with disgust flitting over their faces.

They knew he was Italian but not the reason he was in the same room as them.

But before he would address that, Kaz had to attend to another matter.

As he crossed the floor, he undid the cufflinks at his wrists, drawing the sleeves back one at a time and rolling them up to his elbows. Flexing his fingers, he could just see the bruising along his knuckles from hitting Christian, but even with the ache in his hand, it didn’t matter.

“I thought I asked you to do something,” Kaz said as he came upon the man in his seat opposite that of Vasily’s. “Yet here you sit.”

The man ground his teeth, a fire in his eyes. “You’re not my boss.”

“And when he’s not here, these stars,” Kaz said, dragging his shirt to the side to show one of them, just in case the man had forgotten, “make me your f*cking boss. So when I say do something, I expect it to be done, yes?”