Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1)(36)
Violet just didn’t care anymore.
“What did you just say to me?” Andrea asked.
If she held that glass any tighter, it very well might shatter.
Violet nodded at the glass. “Careful. We all know how quickly spilled blood can end a good party.”
Andrea’s hand loosened a bit. “Fine. If you want to leave like your father did, then go. God knows you’re doing nothing for me standing here in the goddamn corner.”
She smirked, knowing her mother’s words were only meant to hurt. For the majority of the night, her mother had ignored her, more so after hearing her daughter be complimented on the dress she’d chosen to wear. She hadn’t missed the looks Andrea had shot in her direction when she thought Violet didn’t notice, either.
The red dress Kaz picked out.
Unable to stop herself, though she knew she shouldn’t, Violet brushed her hand across the skirt of the red dress and said, “Even standing in a dress like this?”
Andrea’s jaw ticked. “Especially in a dress like that. You’re dressed like a whore.”
“You never did like it when someone looked better than you, Ma.”
Her mother didn’t respond to that. Instead, she clenched her teeth, turned on her heel, and stormed back into the flood of guests.
Violet was already heading toward the door.
Tapping his thumb against the steering wheel, Kaz stared out the windshield, watching and waiting for the moment that Violet Gallucci appeared. He knew she wasn’t home yet—he’d been out on the street long enough to know that much. But he was a patient man …
In his other hand, he turned a cigarette over between his fingers, thinking of how the nicotine within would take the edge off and give him peace of mind. For now, he was jittery with anticipation. There was a certain thrill to be where he was, especially knowing that he courted the wrath of more than one man if anyone knew where he was, or worse, what he had planned.
There was no guarantee what this night would bring—it wouldn’t be the first time he had made a mistake—but by the end of it, and of this he was sure, his point would be made, whether the girl he was waiting on liked it or not.
Glancing over at the illuminated dash, Kaz checked the time once more, then as he contemplated withdrawing his phone, just to keep himself busy, blinding headlights caught his attention. The town car they came from slowed down in front of Violet’s building.
The rear, passenger door swung open, and after a moment, the very person he’d been waiting on for more than an hour stepped out, slamming the door shut behind her. Before she could get far, however, the passenger’s window rolled down and a masculine voice called out to her. She turned, a flash of annoyance in her eyes as she went back, bending over to see inside the car and listen to what was being said.
The position made the material of the dress pull tighter across her backside, drawing his attention there and down the length of her legs.
Kaz might have hated the girl at the moment, but he could still appreciate the sight she made.
After a rather brief conversation, one that had Violet nodding, she was finally allowed to walk inside, and only when she was through the doors did the car pull away.
Stepping out of his own vehicle, Kaz tucked his cigarette away, making his way to the entrance. There was no guarantee that the doorman would let him in. Though the man looked ancient, he probably remembered a face and knew that he didn’t live in the building, but that didn’t stop Kaz.
Deftly, he pulled a hundred-dollar bill free from his suit jacket, holding it between two fingers as he offered it to the man without question. “I’m here to see the Martins on fifteen,” he said by way of explanation.
Whether there was an actual Martin family, or the man just wanted the money, Kaz was let through.
There was no sight of Violet in the lobby, but there was no need. Knowing men like Alberto Gallucci, he wouldn’t just allow his daughter into any apartment. No, it would need to be at the top, and one with a fair level of privacy, in case he or any of his associates were to visit.
Arriving at the bank of elevators, he checked the numbers. There were four, with two having never left the lobby floor, and another only going up to the second floor. The last, however, had stopped on the 26th floor—which must have been the one Violet had taken.
Boarding one, he pressed the number, watching the doors close as he drummed his fingers against the railing. After a while, he curled his fingers around the cool metal, needing to get his shit together. He had too many tells—the bouncing of his knee, drumming his fingers—like no matter how carefully controlled he tried to force himself to be, his nerves always manifested themselves.
When the bell dinged—the doors opening once more—Kaz stepped out, glancing down the hallway. To his surprise, there was only one unit on the floor, the door at the end. As he stopped in front of it and knocked, he didn’t bother covering the peephole, but purposefully took a step back so that she would have a clear view as to who stood on the other side.
He waited. And waited. Then considered the logistics of kicking the f*cking door in before it swung open, Violet standing on the other side of it, wide-eyed like she had never seen a man before.
The cameras hadn’t done her justice, not even a little. In person, he could see the warm glow of her skin, the way her dress hugged to her curves. She looked beautiful, stunning really, enough that it made him want to drink her in further, and that annoyed the f*ck out of him.