Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1)(18)

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 f*cking weak.

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





“Are you out of your f*cking 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—f*ck, 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.