Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1)(31)

Violet smiled, and pretended like there wasn’t a hell of a lot of eyes watching her at that moment. The long stage meant for the runway and models was lined on either side by six rows of seats from one side to the other. The ballroom had been converted for the fashion show’s use. Black and chrome accents hung from the ceiling. Music pumped through the place courtesy of the high-profile DJ set up near the entrance of the runway where the models would come out of. Media people, flashing their badges and cameras to keep out of the hands of security, bombarded the venue from every angle.

While this very scene of high-life and socialites was exactly her mother’s thing, it wasn’t Violet’s. She didn’t feel comfortable in front of a large crowd being photographed and asked questions about her mother’s latest designs and the event that was sure to turn heads.

But her father demanded she show, and so she had.

“Thank you,” Violet told her father.

“Where are your friends?” Alberto asked.

“Coming. They got caught up in all the pretty lights outside.”

Alberto caught onto what she was saying, and chuckled. “For some people, the shininess of a red carpet and paparazzi doesn’t wear off, Violet.”

It wore off for her about ten years ago.

When she was a kid, it mostly just scared the hell out of her.

“Sit,” Alberto said, waving at one of the empty chairs beside him.

Violet followed her father’s demand. It wasn’t long before Nicole and Amelia joined her in the front row, along with her brother on the other side of her father, and a few familiar faces behind them. They had some of the best seats in the house nearing the very front of the runway.

Taking a quick look around, Violet picked out a good dozen celebrities that had been handpicked for invitations from her mother, a few musicians that had a taste for fashion, as well as high profile individuals from all across New York. Each event was a little more important than the last, Violet knew. Her mother’s name only grew, and her celebrity status lifted higher with it.

Gallucci was more than just a dynasty.

It was a goddamn brand.

When the lights dimmed and loud voices turned into hushed murmurs, Violet relaxed a little more. She didn’t have a lot of interest in her mother’s shows, but she did enjoy watching the models.

Once, she had even entertained the idea of becoming one. She certainly had a way in, if she wanted to try.

The music changed tempo slightly, just enough to signal something was about to happen. Lights flickered, drawing in the crowd’s attention to the entrance of the runway. Andrea stepped out of the sheer black curtains with her blood red smirk and a single hand held high. Her hair had been piled high on her head in a messy up-do. She wore one of her signature black dresses, detailed along the smooth lines with chrome to fit the theme of the event.

Then, as quickly as her mother had come, she was gone.

The music changed again just as the first model stepped onto the runway. Andrea Gallucci fashions weren’t about being crazy and out there. Her mother liked class, and style. Simple was sometimes the sexiest. She wanted to see each and every woman in one of her designs … if they had the luxury of being able to afford one of the pieces.

Violet figured they were probably half-way through the first run of the collection when her father tensed in his chair beside hers. She shot him a curious glance, noting he was looking down at the phone in his hand. Instantly, his confusion melted into a simmering rage that danced across his scowling lips and narrowed eyes.

She tried to look at his phone, but he quickly hid it.

What was wrong?

Alberto leaned to the side, toward his son. Violet watched her father’s lips move fast—too fast for him to be happy.

It wasn’t like Alberto to cause a fuss on a day that was meant to spotlight and showcase their mother, never mind the public attention on their family.

Something had to be bad for him to do that.

People were taking his picture, catching his visible anger.

Alberto would never risk that being caught—not like this.

“I didn’t,” she heard Carmine say.

“Bullshit.”

The one word from her father might as well have been spit from his mouth. And it hadn’t been quiet, either.

“Daddy,” Violet said softly. “People are watching.”

Alberto straightened in his chair, glanced around and fixed his jacket.

“Papa,” Carmine started to say.

Alberto held up a hand, silencing his son. “I warned you.”

Violet still didn’t understand what was going on. Her father stood from his chair, seemingly oblivious to the people watching him all over again with their curious gazes. People knew who they were—who her father was.

“Apologize to your mother for me,” Alberto said.

He had directed his comment to Violet only, not Carmine.

“Sure,” she said.

Her father offered nothing else before he disappeared into the crowd. Carmine cursed on the other side of Violet, but she ignored him. A heavy feeling had settled in her gut.

“What was that all about?” Nicole asked from Violet’s right.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

And she didn’t know if she wanted to.





Kaz was on his back in nothing more than a pair of jeans, as he lifted the cigarette to his lips, dragged in a lungful and held it, letting the nicotine burn before releasing it. It was rare that he smoked, only indulged a handful of times when he wanted to take the edge off.