Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1)(6)

Not that Violet wanted to know what Nicole did with her brother.

“You’re not telling Franco where we’re going, right?” Violet asked Amelia.

Her other friend glanced up from her phone again. “Why, so he can gain himself some brownie points with my dad and yours by ratting us out?”

“Just asking.”

“Don’t worry,” Amelia said. “I was only trying to get him to meet up with me later.”

Violet checked out the window, looking for a sign of how close they were to their destination. It couldn’t be far—maybe another ten minutes.

Then she could forget about how she was failing several of her classes, how her father was going to flip when he found out, and about everything else that was stressing her out.

She just wanted to party a little.

That’s what being twenty-one was for, right?

Who cared if Coney Island was no man’s land and off-limits for a principessa della mafia?





The loud crunch of bone was enough to make even the strongest of men flinch, but as Kazimir Markovic—or Kaz, to those that knew him well—straightened, flexing the fingers of the fist he had launched into the man’s face, he didn’t look bothered at all.

“Was that really necessary?” Abram asked from his position in the corner, arms folded across his chest as he regarded the scene with thinly-veiled amusement. “He was just about to tell us the good news, isn’t that right, Marcus?”

Kaz and Abram both looked to the man sprawled on the floor, one hand cradling his face as he groaned in pain. His shirt was wrinkled from Kaz’s former hold on him, and spattered with his own blood. His nose had already been broken, the soft cartilage giving way beneath Kaz’s strength.

Contrary to popular belief, Kaz wasn’t as violent as people made him out to be. He much preferred using rationale and reason to get the things he wanted from others, and that had served him well over the years.

But tonight, he was in no mood.

The last thing he wanted to be doing was tracking down men like Marcus to find out where his money was. He liked to think he was a patient man, giving those that owed him a chance to pay their debts before he came to seek them out.

Except, Marcus had chosen to duck and dodge him for the last three weeks, practically a ghost in a city where no one could hide—at least not from Kaz.

When he had gotten the phone call from Abram that Marcus had been found and instructions were needed, Kaz had to postpone the meeting with his brother to deal with this bullshit.

And if there was one thing Kaz hated, it was being late for a prior engagement.

So, no. His patience was gone, and the last thing he wanted to hear from Marcus was another excuse.

“I-I’ve got your money,” Marcus stuttered out, holding an arm out in front of him, as though that might help ward off any more blows from Kaz. “Please, I can get you—”

“Zatknis’—shut up.” Reaching into his coat pocket, Kaz pulled out a crisp, white handkerchief, tossing it down on the man. “Clean yourself up.”

The portly man rushed to obey, his hands shaking with fear of what Kaz might do next. It wasn’t often that a man broke your nose, and then gave you something to clean up the blood.

“Here’s how this works. Abram here is going to escort you to your office, your home, or to wherever the f*ck it is you keep your money. You hand him over what you owe, plus twenty percent for wasting my time, and I won’t cut off your fingers. Understood?”

Marcus nodded, still holding the handkerchief to his face.

“Good.”

Kaz glanced back to Abram, who looked far too amused by it all and gestured with a tilt of his head for the man to follow him toward the exit. Neither had to worry about Marcus trying to make a run for it, though it would have been entertaining to watch.

“See this done. I have a meeting I’m overdue for.”

Abram nodded once. “Right. Take it easy, Cap.”

Kaz frowned as he watched the man head back toward Marcus, whistling beneath his breath. He had always hated that nickname, ‘Cap,’ but Abram insisted on calling him that—his idea of showing him respect since he was a brigadier—or Captain—in the Markovic Bratva. And no matter how often Kaz asked—or demanded, depending on who you asked—he still did it.

Putting Marcus out of his mind for the time being, Kaz headed out into the night, breathing in the cold air as a wind blew over the vacant parking lot. Across the way sat his baby, the one thing that never failed to make him smile. It had been a present to himself after he’d received his stars.

A matte black, fully customized Porsche Carrera GT.

It was ostentatious to say the least, and when his father had seen it for the first time, he hadn’t approved, but he didn’t bother trying to tell Kaz to get rid of it—he knew the request would go unheeded.

Hitting the unlock button on the fob he carried, Kaz slid inside. He slid the key inside the ignition and started her up. The low hum of the engine was like music to his ears as he pulled out of the lot, heading toward his brother’s nightclub in Coney Island.

It was rare that Kaz visited him there, especially when Sonder was open for business. He wasn’t usually one for the nightlife scene, but whatever his older brother asked of him, he usually provided.

He owed him that much …