Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1)(35)

He wanted to know why.

If Kaz wasn’t allowed to go after the Italian who attacked Ruslan because of his father's orders, Vasily had said nothing about Violet.

... for once.

Kaz stood from the couch, still simmering in his fury and settled on his decision. Manhattan might be a warrant for his death, but he was willing to risk it after tonight.

“You’ll be all right, yes?” Kaz asked his brother.

Ruslan glanced up, a knowing glint burning behind his eyes. “Stay in Brighton, Kaz.”

“I’m not planning on going anywhere. You heard Vasily—I was told no … and called a child.”

“That doesn’t mean you’ll listen.”

“I’m going home, brat.”

Ruslan let out a heavy breath, turning back to the television. “Sure you are.”





Violet snatched a flute glass filled nearly to the rim with champagne and tossed the bubbly drink back in one long pull. She knew it didn’t look well on her to be drinking like that with so many people around to watch, but her nerves were frayed enough to make her reach for a second glass as soon as she finished the first.

Just holding the second one was enough.

It was there if she needed it.

Out of the whole event of her mother’s fashion shows, the one thing Violet usually enjoyed the most were the after parties. While she could get an up close view of high profile people and celebrities sitting along the runway at the actual event, during the parties afterwards, she was rubbing elbows with those same people.

Most of the time, it was surreal.

Tonight, she was not in the mood.

It didn’t help that her friends had all but deserted her after arriving to the rented private upper-Manhattan loft space that her mother preferred to use for her after parties. Both Nicole and Amelia were gone off into the crowd of guests somewhere, putting their faces in front of the right people and smiling just the way they had been taught.

Violet knew the game. She used to play it, too.

Not tonight.

Glancing around the loft, she took in the black with chrome detailed decorations that matched the theme of her mother’s show. Chandeliers full of glittering crystals hung low from the vaulted ceiling. Most of the people had changed attire from what they had been wearing at the show, to sexier nightwear that they could move and dance in. Music from a DJ filled the space.

Violet’s mind was somewhere else entirely.

Her father had yet to come back. It wasn’t like Alberto to leave his wife hanging on a night that was as important as this one. Andrea was pissed off to the high heavens, but she was hiding it well enough, with her usual smile plastered on and a hand held out, ready to accept praise for her latest designs.

Violet was still worried. It put her on edge, which meant she just wasn’t in the mood for the party or the people. She would much rather be back at her condo where she could at least feel safe.

Maybe that’s what it was.

Maybe she just didn’t feel safe out in the open like this when something was clearly wrong.

Turning her back to the crowd, Violet stared out one of the loft’s many floor-to-ceiling windows as she tipped the flute glass up for another drink. The alcohol settled in her blood with a heavy quality, numbing her senses enough to take that edge off for the moment.

She wasn’t stupid enough to think it would last for long.

“There you are.”

Violet turned on her heel at the sound of her mother’s voice. Andrea’s smile was wide, but her eyes spoke of irritation as they narrowed in on Violet.

“What are you doing over here in the corner by yourself?” Andrea asked low, careful not to talk loud enough for others to hear. “I found your friends, but you weren’t with them. Do you know the people who are in here tonight, Violet? You should be out there talking to them.”

“I can do that on another night, Ma,” Violet said. “You’ll have another two shows this year alone.”

Andrea’s lips thinned. “What is the problem?”

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“Well, get untired,” her mother snapped.

Violet bit back her retort, knowing it wouldn’t do anything except piss her mother off further. Andrea’s bad mood was only caused because of her husband’s absence. Otherwise, she would leave her daughter alone.

“Aren’t there people who want to talk to you?” Violet asked.

“Yes, but at the moment, I’m busy chasing after my daughter.”

“It’s not like you want to be doing that, so why are you even bothering?”

Andrea straightened, her hand clenching tight around the flute glass she held. Violet stood still and strong in the face of her mother’s barely-hidden anger. She felt a little proud of herself for having stood up to Andrea for once, because she usually wouldn’t, and instead, would let her mother criticize her as much as she wanted.

Maybe Violet was just growing up from that sort of nonsense with her mother. As a child, and a young teen, she had constantly tried to seek her mother’s approval in any way she could. While she loved attention from her father, she had always wanted some sort of affection from her mother as well.

Andrea’s affection only came when she approved of something, and not in between.

She was the very definition of conditional love.