Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1)(87)

He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. She was too important to him, too ingrained in every aspect of his life for him to try and dig her out. If he did, he wasn’t sure what was going to be left.

Now, it was Vasily getting to his feet, that mask of indifference slipping as the anger peeked through. “Do not force my hand, Kazimir. I am at least trying to give you the opportunity to finish this on your own.”

“Why?” he asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Keeping us apart, why is that so important to you? Our families have been enemies for years, but that could end just by us being together. At the very least, it would ensure that neither attacks the other. What are you hiding that might get exposed?”

It was clear that Vasily had been expecting the question, as his mask didn’t slip again. “Next time, I won’t be so generous.”

Kaz got close enough to Vasily to make sure his point couldn’t be misunderstood. “Believe me when I say that the last thing I need is your generosity. And until you burn these f*cking stars off my chest, you don’t get to control who I’m with. You want to speak on Rus, then speak on the consequences of your actions, because the only reason I let you walk away was because he asked it of me. If you think to touch a hair on Violet’s head, I’ll bury you.”

“Kazimir, you—”

“Over the years, you’ve made it quite clear where I stand with you. You want our name to continue on, and the only way you can have that is through me. If I’m going to take that seat, I’ll do it the way I want. Now, do you understand me?”

Vasily was quiet for some time as he stood opposite Kaz, staring him down like he had never witnessed this side of him before. He had obviously thought it would be easy, that he would merely need to give a command and Kaz would heed it. But there was one thing about Kaz that he seemed to have forgotten. Kaz was never one to blindly follow rules.

That just wasn’t who he was.

“Sure,” Vasily said after a spell, “I understand completely, but I do have a question for you, Kazimir. What do you think Alberto Gallucci will do to that daughter of his once he finds out who she’s spreading her legs for?”

“You f*cking wouldn’t …”

Vasily held the picture up once more, waving it in front of Kaz’s face. “A picture tells a thousand truths, and this … this is just one of many that I have.” He shook his head, a laugh escaping him, “You should have kept those curtains closed, Kazimir.”





Violet kept her head down, attention focused solely on the silent phone in her hand, as she walked toward the entrance of her building. Like she had a hundred times earlier that day, she checked through her call log and her text messages.

She already knew what it would say.

No missed calls.

No new texts.

Violet chewed on her inner cheek, barely noticing the people passing her by on the busy street. The messenger bag hanging off her shoulder, filled with her stuff from school and her laptop, felt heavier for no reason in particular. She already had enough invisible weight wearing her down, the bag only added more.

Selecting a familiar contact on the phone log, Violet scrolled down to the last message she had gotten from the number.

One week prior.

Next time. -K.

That was it.

Violet hadn’t heard a single thing from Kaz since that last message he sent after he dropped her off just beyond the Little Odessa border. She’d called a couple of times, but it rang through to voicemail, and she didn’t exactly think it was smart to leave that type of message.

But he knew her number.

And so she waited for something to come back, and when it didn’t, Violet started to worry that maybe something was wrong. The worry turned to anger, but that quickly bled away.

Kaz wasn’t the type to drop someone—her—with nothing, not even a call at least.

Violet went back to worry in a blink.

“Miss Gallucci?”

Lost in her thoughts and concerns, Violet hadn’t realized she was standing in front of her building with her attention still down on her phone, and her feet practically cemented to the ground.

Violet’s head snapped up at an unfamiliar voice calling her name. She found a tall, thin man wearing a black ensemble, sunglasses included, standing right in front of her, blocking her path to her building’s entrance doors. In his hand, he held a manila envelope that looked to be a foot long, the same in width, and a half of an inch thick.

“You are Violet Gallucci, yes?” he asked.

Other than his lips moving, the man’s expression never changed from the stony mask he wore. Violet might have thought he was a statue had he stayed quiet, and she probably would have run right into him because of her distraction.

What concerned her more, was the familiar accent coloring his words.

Russian.

There should be no Russians approaching her in front of her building.

“You can talk, can’t you?” the man questioned.

Violet’s gaze narrowed. “I can.”

“Good. Then answer my question.”

“I suspect you already know who I am if you stopped me,” she replied. “How many women have walked past you in the last thirty seconds?”

That time, the man’s mask did crack. The faintest hint of a sneer curved the edges of his lips upward, but it quickly fell. “Here,” he said, holding out the package. “A gift for you.”