Where the Snow Falls (Seasons of Betrayal Book 2) (12 page)

Kolya shifted in his seat. “But everyone makes mistakes. It’s where you go from here that matters. Your girl is safe and out of the way, so now you need to do what should have been done before. Let this be the fucking end of it.”

If Kaz had his way, Vasily wouldn’t live to see another nightfall, but more than that, if Kaz stuck to his plan, the seat would be opening up as well.

Within the
Bratva
, killing the boss didn’t necessarily award you the
Pakhan
title. Sure, one could take it, but that didn’t guarantee loyalty, and the brotherhood was nothing if not loyal. But should the seat be freely given, it was there for the taking.

He only needed one more piece before he could end it all.

Christian Carracci.

Alberto’s consigliere.

A phone call to Rus had gotten him most of the details about the man and where they could find him. At first, Kaz thought to tell his brother the truth about Gavrill in person—something he wanted to do face-to-face—but Rus had been curious as to why he was being asked about a man in Cosa Nostra.

Instead of telling him everything, Kaz had merely told him about the role Christian had played in it all but not about Vasily. As he had expected, Rus was more than happy to tag along on their mission to find him, even if he didn’t know the truth as to why they were bringing him in alive.

“It’s all good,” Kaz said as he focused back on Kolya. “It’ll be done soon.”

By the time the jet was rolling down the runway, the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. Rus was waiting next to his truck. When they stepped off the jet, it wasn’t to Kaz his brother offered a smile but to Kolya.

“You still look like shit, Kolya, but that wife of yours can only do so much about that.”

Anyone.
Anyone
else and Kolya would have broken the man’s jaw, but because it was Rus, Kolya merely laughed and clapped the man on the back once he got close.

Of course, Kolya actually liked Rus.

Finally looking at Kaz, Rus said, “I got what you asked for.”

He led the way to the trunk of his car, opening the case inside to display a row of guns.

Nodding, he picked up one of the Glocks and slid the magazine into place. “Let’s go find an Italian.”

Konstantin put the car in park, throwing off his seat belt and reaching for the phone he’d tossed in the cup holder. “Let’s go. I’ve got to grab some shit, and then we can head back to the townhouse.”

Violet passed the home they’d stopped at a look, confused. “Can’t I just wait here?”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

Violet scowled at Konstantin as he pushed open the driver’s door and got out without so much as an explanation for where they were or why they were there. She didn’t even get the chance to open her door before Konstantin was opening it for her.

She stepped out of the car, tightening the neck of her jacket to keep the cold out. “You live here?”

The double-level home was situated on the outskirts of the city in a quiet suburb with houses lining both sides of the road. A small group of young children played in the yard across from the house where they had parked.

“Sort of,” Konstantin said, offering little else.

The walkway leading up to the home was lined with shrubs that had been covered for the winter to protect them from the elements, and the path itself was shoveled clear of snow. Once they reached the painted white steps that led up to the pale yellow front door, Konstantin didn't bother to knock but pushed the door open and strolled right in.

Violet walked in after him, shutting the door behind her as Konstantin kicked off his boots and shrugged off his coat. He gave her a curious look as she stood there, looking around.

“Are you going to wait here, or what?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I don’t know who lives here.”

Violet wasn’t the kind of person who just snooped through someone’s home.

Konstantin smiled, chuckling. “Viktoria, actually. When she’s got shit going on, I stick around to keep an eye on things.”

“Things?”

“Her.”

Violet raised a single brow, curious.

Konstantin didn’t give her an opportunity to press for more details, not that it would have been any of her business to do so. “Worry not, the Ice Queen isn’t home at the moment. You’re safe to make yourself comfortable while I grab what I came for.”

“She leaves her doors unlocked?” Violet asked.

“Who the fuck is stupid enough to break into a Boykov’s home?”

Point taken.

Violet dropped the conversation and went about taking off her own things. By the time she was done, Konstantin had already disappeared down the hallway. She listened to his steps as it sounded like he climbed stairs.

For such a quiet man—at times—he wasn’t very light-footed.

That or Konstantin didn’t feel the need to keep his presence quiet.

Cell phone in hand, Violet made her way down the hallway, peeking into a living room with leather furniture, beige walls, and a flat-screen television large enough to cover nearly half of one entire wall. Pictures on the walls showcased many different faces, but she recognized a few.

The Boykov brothers.

Maya. Some with her husband, some without.

Viktoria.

Violet, feeling a little out of place in a room filled with family photos, decided to find another room to chill in until Konstantin finished his business. She eventually found her way into a kitchen that looked like it was rarely, if ever, used. The immaculate appliances and brightness of the room reminded Violet of the kitchen in Kaz’s apartment—one he had also rarely used.

Inviting like a showroom floor but cold all the same.

Pulling out a chair at the kitchen table, Violet sat down and looked at the black screen. She hit the home button, hoping for some kind of message from Kaz but finding nothing.

The unease settling deep in the pit of her stomach only grew the longer she stared at her phone. Violet shoved it to the side and stared out the window, watching light tufts of snow begin to fall. If nothing else, it gave her a distraction.

That only lasted a short while, long enough for her to get lost in a daze of white flakes.

And then a door slammed open. The front door.

Violet damn near jumped out of her chair.

“Jesus, Konstantin. What did I tell you about bringing females into my house?”

Great.

Violet tried not to cringe at the venom in Viktoria’s tone, never mind the few Russian words she let loose. Guessing by her anger, they weren’t pleasant words.

All too soon, Viktoria’s figure was passing by the kitchen in a flurry of platinum blonde hair and a black dress. Then the woman slowed her steps, backing up slowly, and eyeing Violet at the kitchen table. A cold, blank slate of nothingness quickly replaced the irritation on her face.

“Hello … Violet, right?” Viktoria asked.

Violet let the girl’s rude attitude bounce off her. Viktoria knew her name—she’d known it the first time they met without Violet even needing to introduce herself.

“Nice to see you again, Viktoria,” Violet said. “Or …
privyet
, right?”

Viktoria looked like she almost wanted to crack a smile but managed to hold it back. “That would be right, but your American accent makes your Russian terrible.”

Violet did smile, still refusing to let the woman bother her. She wasn’t sure what in the hell Viktoria’s problem with her was, but it wasn’t something Violet had done to her. The two didn’t know each other from a fucking hole in the ground. Whatever Viktoria’s issue was, she would need to handle it on her own.

It was her problem, not Violet’s.

“I could have said it
my
way,” Violet said quietly.

Viktoria didn’t look all that impressed. “Oh?”

“
Sì. Ciao. Come stai
?”

“I—”

“I believe she said hello and asked how you were,” Konstantin interrupted his sister, strolling into the kitchen like nothing was amiss. Tossing Violet a smile, he asked, “Yes?”

“Actually, yeah,” Violet replied. “How did you know?”

“Standard greeting.” Konstantin went straight to the fridge, opening it up and bending down to dig inside. “Anyone who travels should at least learn a few simple, easy phrases to get by in a foreign place.”

“You’ve been to Italy?”

Konstantin straightened, bottle of water in one hand, a jar of something else in his other. “No.”

“But you just said—”

“Best to be able to talk to your enemy, too,” he said, smiling in that cold way of his.

Viktoria laughed at that, her gaze cutting to Violet as if she had missed some unspoken joke.

Konstantin dropped the jar to the countertop, the loud clank silencing Viktoria’s laughter instantly. “But,” he drawled, his stare never leaving his sister, “we have no enemies here, yes?”

“You could have said you were playing the babysitter today,” Viktoria said.

“It was a last minute thing,
sestra
.”

Then just as quickly as the conversation had begun in English, the two siblings switched to Russian, effectively leaving Violet confused and out of the loop.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened since she arrived in Chicago.

Somehow, she doubted it would be the last time.

However, it didn't irritate her any less.

Finally, seemingly satisfied with whatever he’d said to his sister, Konstantin returned to English, directing his next sentence to Violet. “You want a snack or something before we go?”

“What kind of snack?”

He pointed at the jar, saying, “Pickles are good.”

What?

Violet blinked. “Pickles?”

Serious as ever, Konstantin didn’t seem bothered by Violet’s confusion. “Pickles are a staple—a
must
. You want one or not?”

“I’m good,” she settled on saying.

Viktoria shook her head as she took a pickle her brother offered. “You can’t even dress her up as a Russian.”

What
?

“You need to come out,” Kolya was saying to Rus as he tugged on a pair of leather gloves. “Maya would love to have you.”

Parked down the block from 416 Meadow Lane, Kaz weighed the odds as he strapped on the bulletproof vest Rus had handed to him moments before. While Christian Carracci’s odds weren’t great against the three of them, Kaz still didn’t expect the man to go without a fight.

In the life they led, any man who reacted too slowly wouldn’t survive.

“We can do this one of two ways,” Kaz said, his eyes still on the house. “I can knock—”

“It’s four in the fucking morning,” Kolya interjected. “You know, what’s he going to do? Come to the door and say hello?”

Grinding his teeth for patience, Kaz added, “He wouldn’t expect us to knock. At the very least, it’ll mean less noise.”

Kolya shook his head as though that wasn’t what he wanted. “And the other option?

“Or Rus goes around back, and we take the front.”

“Finally, you’re making sense.”

Paying him no mind, Kaz was the first out of the car, his Glock at the ready as he started down the street. Though cars lined the street, it was an older neighborhood, one where all but few were in their homes at this hour. That made for very few witnesses if they were careful enough.

And Kaz was nothing if not careful.

Rus disappeared around a corner. Kolya was at Kaz’s back as they slipped past the fence surrounding the property and onto the porch. The interior was nearly as dark as the street save for the lone lamp in what looked like the living room—from what Kaz could make out through the curtains.

Gesturing to the door with a tilt of his head, Kaz looked at Kolya and said, “By all means.”

Kolya pulled out the small kit he always carried in his back pocket, carefully maneuvering the tools into place as he began working on the locks of the door. It was a trait he had taught both Kaz and Rus, but neither could breach a door quite as cleanly or as quick as Kolya could.

Twenty seconds and they were in.

Kaz kept his steps light as he carefully moved through the house, his eyes scanning the space. One thing that was always the same in older houses like these was the layout, so he had a good idea where the master bedroom was located.

They were barely through the doorway of the back hallway when the rear door opened, and Rus quickly moved to take position behind them. On this side of the house, soft light spilled from beneath a lone door, and if Kaz had to guess, this was Christian’s bedroom.

He only glanced in the direction of Kolya and Rus, giving the former a slight nod before stepping back. Kolya didn’t hesitate, rearing back to send his booted foot slamming into the door. The wood splintered, bits of it flying as the door crashed open, and a woman’s scream sounded from the other side.

Kaz was the first through, his gun aimed and ready, zeroing in on Christian as he reached for the firearm on the nightstand at his side. But he didn’t have time for that nonsense—he had shit to do. Pointing the gun at the man’s leg, he fired. The bullet hardly made a noise as it ripped free of the chamber and tore through the blankets that covered Christian’s legs. And from his shout of pain—loud enough to wake the fucking dead—Kaz hadn’t missed his mark.

“I wouldn’t,” Kaz said, turning his attention to the woman at Christian’s side who, too, had been reaching for her own weapon. “While my mother might be disappointed, I’m not afraid to put a fucking bullet in you if you move again.”

Fear shone in her eyes as she froze but behind that fear was audacity. He didn’t doubt that as the wife of a made man—judging from the ring on her finger—she was used to others giving her respect at every turn, but Kaz couldn’t give a shit.

“Russians,” Christian spat, glaring at them. “You’ve got a fucking death wish.”

“Maybe so,” Kaz agreed as he walked to the man’s side and dragged him out of the bed, a far easier job now that he had a bullet in his leg. “But by the time I finish with you, you’re going to wish it were as simple as that.”

“What do you want to do about her?” Kolya asked in Russian, never taking his eyes off the woman.

Kaz knew the score. They would barely make it a foot out the door before she would be on the phone and calling for someone or at their backs with a gun. He hadn’t lied when he said he would put a bullet in her, even if he had yet to kill a woman over the course of his life. And even if he wasn’t able to pull the trigger, Kolya had no qualms in the matter—he would do it with ease.

“Tie her up,” Kaz finally answered, barely sparing the woman another glance as Rus came forward to zip tie Christian’s wrists behind his back. “And stuff her ass in a closet.”

There was no need for her to die, not when it didn’t benefit him in any way.

As Kolya took a step forward, Christian’s wife made a soft sound of distress, her eyes flickering to the door, as though she could possibly make it through before one of them caught her.

“You lay a fucking paw on—”

But Christian didn’t get to finish his threat, not before Kaz’s annoyance kicked up and he sent the man’s face slamming into the wall before he dropped like a sack of bricks.

“You talk too much,” he said absently, and then to Kolya, “Finish with her then meet us at the car.”

Between him and Rus, they carried Christian’s limp body out of the house and down the street, stuffing him in the trunk. Taking a step back, Kaz surveyed the damage to the man’s leg in the low light. He hadn’t hit the femoral artery—he wasn’t bleeding nearly enough—but if he didn’t at least tie it off, the man would be dead before they made it to the warehouse.

Whipping off his own belt, Kaz fit it around the man’s thigh, cinching it as tight as he could before grabbing an old shirt and tying it around the bleeding flesh. His work done, he slammed the trunk shut, wiping his hands along the front of his pants.

It wasn’t long before Kolya was out of the house and slipping into the car after them. Rus didn’t hesitate to pull onto the street, chasing the rising sun through the streets of Amityville until they were entering their own territory in Brighton Beach. By the time they reached a line of warehouses and Rus was pulling into the third, the sun was high in the sky, and Kaz could see far too clearly the blood that coated his hands.

But by the time he finished in here, it would cover him.

Over the span of a few minutes, Kaz pulled Christian from the trunk, stringing him up across the room. He used the controls on a side wall to raise the hook just high enough that he wouldn’t be able to keep his balance. Kolya and Rus lingered in the back, allowing him to do what he wanted without interference.

Dragging his shirt over his head, Kaz tossed the material on a nearby table, feeling the chill of the room sinking into his skin. How long had it been since he was in this room? It wasn’t often that he used this space, or even that he really needed to, but for Christian Carracci, he would make an exception.

“Come now,” he said slapping the man’s cheek a couple of times to stir him awake. “I don’t want you to miss the good part.”

It wasn’t until Kaz put a little more power behind his slap that the man stirred. It took a moment of low groaning before Christian finally jerked in his bonds, forcing his head up, wary eyes on Kaz.

“Who—”

“All will be explained in due time, comrade.” Kaz took a step back. Cracking his knuckles, he drew the man’s gaze to his movements. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy this as much as he would, but he could already feel the adrenaline coursing through him. “January 21st, 1998, where were you?”

His brows arched together, and Christian shook his head. “That was seventeen years ago. How the hell should I know?”

“I know where I was,” Kaz said conversationally. “Home with that bastard of a father of mine. I can even tell you where my brother was that day. Want to know?”

Christian looked at Kaz as though he’d lost his mind. “What the fuck are you going on about?”

“He was with our uncle, Gavrill,” Kaz said, ignoring the man’s words.

The restlessness of the room faded as Christian finally understood why he was there. Kaz didn’t have to turn and look to know that they had Rus’ complete attention. Even if he didn’t know everything, he was now piecing together what he did know.

“Now, I’ll ask you again. Where were you on that day?”

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Christian glared at him. “You think you have all the answers?”

Kaz’s fist was slamming into the man’s stomach in the next breath, not even close to feeling satisfied despite Christian’s shout of pain. “I don’t have to have all the answers—that’s what you’re here for.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to suffer,” Kaz answered. “I want to watch you fucking
bleed
for what you did to my uncle. I want to know what your bones feel like when they finally snap, but for now, I’ll settle on what you know about that day and the order given.”

Christian didn’t respond.

His patience wearing thin, Kaz picked up a pair of vise grips, turning them over in his hands. “I once used these on a man, got his fingers between the teeth, applying just enough pressure to get his attention. But he was a fucking masochist—refused to say anything until the flesh of his finger split down the middle.” Tapping the man’s forehead with the tool, Kaz asked, “Are you a masochist, Christian? How long will you hold out before your mouth is nothing but mush and blood? If you’d like, I’ll even count your teeth for you.”

Ah and there it was. That healthy dose of fear men got when they realized just what they were dealing with. It was easy to pretend somebody from the outside was nothing. That they couldn’t be worth half their salt.

How easily some seemed to underestimate him.

But they wouldn’t, not for much longer.

“You can’t kill me for that,” Christian said, forcing his head back up. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Tell me about this deal.”

He seemed to realize his error too late. Kaz didn’t care about the death, but he wanted to know about the happenings before it. It wouldn’t be enough that Alberto gave Christian the order. No, he needed proof of Vasily’s involvement in the matter. He could have only hoped that the consigliere knew some of the finer details—he was closest to Alberto after all—and that information would get him exactly where he needed to be.

“You know, or we wouldn’t be here.”

Tired of the man, Kaz pulled the belt he had tied around his leg free and let it drop to the ground then ripped off the makeshift bandage. Shifting his hold on the vise grips, he shoved the handle into the bullet wound, using every bit of his considerable strength to shove the handle deeper past shredded muscle.

Christian tried to maintain his balance, but between jerking his leg, trying to escape the agony he was in, and the ties biting into the flesh of his wrists, he couldn’t go anywhere.

Blood pooled around the weapon, sliding hot and wet across Kaz’s fingers, the sight of it both unsettling and riveting. He was seconds from extracting it and finding another weapon to use on him when Christian finally broke.

“Vasily!” Christian shouted, voice thick with pain. “It was all his idea.”

“Good man,” Kaz said releasing his hold on the weapon though it stayed embedded in his flesh. “Finish.”

Taking a few deep breaths to fight his way through the pain, Christian replied, “In exchange for an end to the war, he would give us Gavrill.”

“And he would be free to take the boss’ seat,” Kolya supplied from his position across the room.

Rus’ expression was unreadable.

It all made sense now, the reason why Vasily was so adamant about them avoiding the Italians all these years. He knew Kaz would figure it out, would finally connect the dots and find what he had been hiding. It also explained his hatred and jealousy toward his brother, the need to be more than he was.

A desperate man always made mistakes.

And his mistake was turning against his own for greed.

“You asked what I wanted from you, Carracci, and now, I have an answer to your question.” He waited until the man’s eyes focused on him. “I want to watch my father burn, and you’re the key to that.”