Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1)(7)

Kaz had only been driving for a handful of minutes when his phone rang. He took one hand off the wheel, dug his phone out, and read the name that flashed across the screen. He thought of not answering and letting it go to voicemail, but Vasily Markovic was not one to be kept waiting. And even if he did ignore the call, Vasily would just call back until he answered.

Sliding his finger across the screen, he connected the call. “Kaz.”

“What have I told you about this?” His father’s voice came in loud on the stereo of his car. “Your mother named you Kazimir, act like it.”

This wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion, and probably wouldn’t be the last. Then again, there was very little about him that his father didn’t take issue with.

“Have you seen to the new storage?”

That was code for: 'Did you make Marcus regret not paying on time?’ “It’s under control.”

“Good. And the shipment from Dulles?”

“Secured.”

That was the way these things worked. It was one thing to say that Kaz was a shit son, but no one could ever say that he took his position in the Bratva lightly. Not anymore. This was what he lived and breathed, the only thing he was sure of lately.

Truthfully, the Bratva was the only thing he and Vasily had in common.

His earliest memories were of Vasily’s role in the Bratva. From the time when he was his brother, Gavrill’s, sovetnik, or right hand, to when he became the acting Pakhan, the boss, after Gavrill’s death. Sometimes, Kaz thought Vasily was a better boss than he was a father—and there was a strong chance that Vasily felt the same way about him.

To say that they didn’t get along outside of their mutual responsibility to the Bratva was an understatement.

“You’re meeting with Ruslan soon, no?” Vasily asked.

Kaz heard it, even if he didn’t want to, the derision in his father’s tone when he said his brother’s name. For those that didn’t know the man, they might have missed it, but Kaz had his whole life to study him. He could practically see the slight curl to his lip that Kaz was sure would be there if they were in the same room together.

But Kaz never called him out on it, he bit his tongue.

He bit his tongue about a lot of things.

“I am.”

Vasily was quiet for a moment. “Be careful out there. Stay mindful of where the lines lay.”

He received that warning any time he ventured anywhere near Brooklyn, although he did go further in from time to time for personal reasons. Back when he was younger, before he could understand what the Bratva meant, a truce had been called between his father and Alberto Gallucci, head of the Gallucci Crime Family. The years before it had been wrought with tension, the animosity escalating to heights of which people hadn’t seen since the Valentine’s Day massacre.

Even Kaz had felt the unforgiving hand of what an escalating turf war could do to a city. Sometimes, as he lay awake at night, he could still feel the heat of the blast on his face.

Hear the sharp cries of alarm as the car that had been not too far in front of him had blown up into a cloud of black smoke, the ensuing fire raging for hours.

No, in that regard, Kaz had no interest in testing the boundaries set before him.

“Yeah,” Kaz said drifting back to the present. “I got it.”

Vasily hung up then, without a goodbye.

Tossing his phone on the passenger seat, Kaz gunned through traffic, just spotting the glowing blue lights through his tinted windshield that shone from the club’s exterior.

Sonder had been a pet project of Ruslan’s, something he’d worked on for the better part of a year before he had even thought to try and open it—but that was his brother. A perfectionist. He went over the details numerous times, working through any problems that might arise, and making sure he had a solution before he ever got started. Ruslan didn’t believe in failure.

There was already a line forming at the doors where Ruslan and Nathaniel stood like sentinels, ensuring that only those they deemed worthy stepped foot inside. Despite the late hour—or maybe because of it—the line stretched down the block.

As he came around the corner, eyes shifted to his car, some in amazement, some in envy, but he paid none any mind as he parked in the alley next to the club. Climbing out, he pocketed the key and headed around the side to the entrance. The thumping bass of the music playing inside echoed out to the street and alley. Kaz drummed his fingers against his thigh to the beat.

At the front of the club, he didn’t bother to get in the mile-long line. He walked straight to the doors where his brother and Nathaniel were standing.

Ruslan caught sight of Kaz and smiled, holding out a hand. Kaz took it, and his brother brought him in for a one-armed hug before releasing him just as quickly. He was the only person Kaz would allow to do that shit.

“Brat,” Kaz greeted.

“Brother,” Ruslan replied in English. “Did you finish out your business?”

“Mostly.”

“Then you deserve a drink.”

Kaz laughed. “The business wasn’t drink-worthy. But talking to Vasily, after, certainly was.”

Ruslan’s lips drew into a thin line at the mention of their father. His brother, more than anyone, understood just how exhausting it could be to even have a simple conversation with Vasily Markovic.