Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1)(15)

It didn't work.

He started banging again.

Louder.

“Oh, my God,” Violet mumbled. “Stop, Carmine.”

“I will if you get up.”

But getting up meant being sick and dizzy.

The bed was better.

“No deal,” she said loud enough for her brother to hear. “And no one said you could just come into my condo whenever the hell you wanted, *. That’s not why Daddy gave you a key.”

Carmine scoffed. “That is exactly why he gave me a key, princess. Get up, or I will open this door up myself. You have exactly three minutes, Violet. Don’t test me. I will break it down.”

Violet briefly considered ignoring her brother. Carmine was a lot more mouth than he was action, and he wasn’t allowed to be a dick without some kind of good reason. She wondered why he was even there at her place as she crawled out of bed with enough slowness to rival a snail.

Her mouth was dry, but she quickly found the glass of water and two Tylenol tablets she had left sitting on her bedside table the night before. Popping the pills back, she chugged half of the room-temperature water before setting it back down.

Maybe it was the placebo effect of having taken something, but her headache lessened almost instantly. Glancing down at herself, Violet realized she had managed to put something appropriate on before falling into bed.

Her brother started pounding on the door again.

“Are you up?” he asked loudly.

Violet’s irritation shot up another few notches. Enough to make her stomp over to the bedroom door, unlock it, and swing it open regardless of her very hungover, less-than-perfect appearance.

“Listen, you stupid ass. You don’t get to come into my place this early in the damn morning demanding that I—”

Carmine cocked a brow, shutting Violet’s rant up instantly. The fact that there wasn’t even a hint of amusement on his features only made Violet’s stomach roll a little more.

And it wasn’t from the alcohol she drank the night before.

Her brother was pissed. She could see it in the way his familiar brown eyes darkened as he looked her over.

“You look like shit,” Carmine said.

Violet balled her hands into fists. “I went out last night for my birthday.”

Her makeup was probably a mess, and she was scared to touch her hair for fear she might feel a rat’s nest going on up there.

“How much did you drink?” he asked.

“A bit, Carmine. Why, is that a problem? Because you drink yourself nearly to death every damned weekend.”

Carmine’s gaze narrowed. “Maybe I do, but I sure as f*ck don’t go down to Coney Island when I do it.”

Fuck.

The events from the night before flooded Violet’s memories. Her friends, their stupid choice to go to the hottest new club in a place where they shouldn’t be, and the events that followed.

Kaz.

More than anything else, she thought about Kaz.

Violet realized her silence was not what her brother was looking for, so she tried a different approach. “How mad is Daddy at me?”

Carmine sneered. “He’s spitting bullets.”

Shit.

“I just wanted to have a little fun,” she tried to say. “I didn’t go into Brighton Beach, I promise.”

“No, but you did leave your friends with a bunch of Russians to take them home, and then skipped out with another Russian yourself,” Carmine said.

How did her brother know all of that?

“And both Nicole’s and Amelia’s fathers are ready to …” Carmine trailed off, scowling. “Never mind, let’s go. Dad wants you in Amityville before nine.”

Violet’s throat felt like someone was squeezing it. “Just let me take a shower and get dressed.”

“No, you can come like that.”

She glanced down at her sleep pants and too-large sweater ensemble. Not to mention, she knew her face and hair was a mess.

“Carmine, I am not going out on Park Avenue looking like—”

“You spent the whole night partying?” her brother interrupted.

So this was how he wanted to play that game, huh?

“Daddy will have a fit if I show up to the mansion looking like this,” Violet warned.

Her father was a stickler for appearances. From very young in her teenaged years, Violet had been taught what foundation was for and just how to use a makeup brush. Clothing had to be the latest styles, and she needed to look the part of her father’s daughter each and every time she stepped out of her condo.

No matter what.

“Actually,” Carmine drawled, still sneering, “he thought this might be a good lesson for you.”

“What?”

“A good lesson. Shaming him with your behavior also means you’re shaming yourself, after all. Get your coat, sis.”





The Gallucci mansion had never felt quite as foreboding to Violet as it did when her brother parked his Mercedes in the driveway. She recognized the other vehicles in the circular driveway as belonging to her parents, and another white Lexus that belonged to Nicole’s father, Christian, who was also her father’s consigliere and his personal doctor.

Her nerves picked up a notch when her brother turned off the car and stepped out without a word, slamming the driver’s door behind him. He likely knew that Violet would follow behind when she was ready to face the music. After all, with a protective iron gate behind them closing, there was no where she could go unless her father let her back out.