Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1)(4)

Vasily grinned. “Win-win, Italian.”

Would it be?

The fighting would stop.

No more dead men.

Alberto found his daughter sitting beside Vasily’s son, ruffling the tulle layers of her pink dress under her long coat.

He would be able to breathe when his children left his home.

“I will still take the blame for it, despite the fact you’re asking—without really asking—me to do it,” Alberto murmured. “And that concerns me, because that leaves me open to retribution when you suddenly decide that your brother’s death needs avenging. Isn’t that how the mafia goes? An eye for an eye.”

Vasily barked out a laugh. “You do not have very good insight into the Bratva, comrade. We are not like the Italians and sometimes the one death is enough to end it all. We don’t feel the need to keep spilling blood after it’s already stained the ground.”

Well, then …

“I want a guarantee, if I agree,” Alberto said.

“I’m listening.”

“The Markovic Bratva stays out of Brooklyn, barring Little Odessa, of course. Even your businesses and your men’s businesses. I know you simply use Little Odessa as the home base to your operation. You don’t need territory, being an arms trafficker, Vasily. Most of your work is done out of state and country.”

“I’m fine with that demand,” the Russian said. “As long as Coney Island can remain a no man’s zone. No one owns it, so to speak. And while Brooklyn remains your territory, I want a guarantee we can still come and go for personal reasons … safely.”

It didn’t escape Alberto’s notice that Vasily hadn’t confirmed or denied his hand in the arms trade, but he didn’t bother to call him on it.

“Of course, I’ll steer clear of you and yours, and this,” Albert said, and gestured around them, “will never have to happen again.”

A nod from the Russian.

What Vasily was asking for, would be no easy task to complete. Alberto knew firsthand the level of protection one needed as the boss. If Gavrill were half as smart as Alberto thought he was, the man would be surrounded at all times. It wouldn’t be easy, what Alberto was agreeing to, but if it meant his city would finally sleep, he was willing to take the risk.

That, and more.

Alberto also knew that no one could ever know about what had transpired between him and the Russian in this cemetery with their children playing just feet away. It would look shameful for an Italian Don to work with a Russian for any reason, even if it was to his benefit. And he strongly believed that Vasily would feel a similar shame from his people, should it come out that he had worked with an Italian to have his brother killed so that he could take the man’s spot in his organization.

No one could know.

“I’ll see it done,” Alberto said.

Alberto extended a hand, waiting for Vasily to accept and seal the deal between them. With the slightest of smiles, if the dark amusement on his face could be considered one, Vasily gripped his hand. For the first time, Alberto noticed the spider inked on the back of his hand.

It was only a second before Vasily was pulling his hand away, but the sight of it sent a shiver of apprehension through him.

Along came a spider …

Alberto had only heard the saying once, but it had never resonated in him the way it did just then. Some spiders were innocent, but others ... others were deadly. The Russian’s chiming phone had him stepping off to the side.

Alberto quickly made his way off the path and strolled toward his still-animated, happy daughter. She was kicking her legs to and fro, her head tipped back, and her smile was so wide it could outshine the sun. The boy at her side was smiling, too.

“It does not,” he heard the boy say.

“Does too,” Violet said in her sing-song way. “Brown, red, orange, and yellow. Everywhere.”

Alberto stopped walking, confused. What was his child doing?

“What about the sky?” Kazimir asked.

“Gray—like your daddy’s eyes.”

Kazimir’s brow puckered. “But the grass is still green?”

“Very green. Like your jacket.”

Violet closed her eyes, still kicking her legs and smiling.

“Where is the sun, then?” the boy asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Violet laughed. “I closed my eyes, so now I can’t see it, either.”

“But you were supposed to be helping me see, Violet.”

Alberto watched his daughter’s eyes pop back open instantly.

“It’s hiding behind the clouds,” she said. “But we’ll find it again.”

Alberto didn’t quite know what to think. Children weren’t like adults. They didn’t understand the boundaries between cultures, and surely not ones as difficult as Cosa Nostra and Bratva.

But there his girl was, helping a Russian boy to see, in her own little way.

It was still time to go.

“Violet,” Alberto called. “It’s time to go have some gelato.”

Kazimir frowned.

Violet jumped off the bench without argument. “Next time, Kaz.”

“Okay,” the boy agreed, his frown fading.

Alberto didn't correct the children.