Where the Snow Falls (Seasons of Betrayal Book 2) (6 page)

A tightening sensation curled around Violet’s chest, threatening to cut off her airways. She knew Vasily was only trying to get a reaction out of her or, worse, frighten her.

But it was working.

“At this point,” Vasily continued, his tone amused as if he were talking about his favorite sports team, “it is no longer a matter of
if
your father will come looking for you, but
when
. And you see, when he does, and when he finds you … you should seriously consider what that might mean, girl. For my son, I mean. While I care for Kazimir on some level, I’m beginning to think his cock makes all the decisions where he’s concerned, and I can’t have that. Perhaps this—your father—is the lesson he needs to learn, no matter how badly it’ll end for him. Is that what you want—his blood on your hands because you fancy yourself
in love
?”

Violet’s teeth clenched. “Go to hell.”

Vasily let out another dark laugh. “Do yourself the biggest favor you can, Violet, and go home to your father before he doesn’t give you a choice. Because if Alberto Gallucci can’t get you back, then I suspect he will blame me—as it’s
my
son you’ve chosen to spread your legs for. Now, should I have to come after you as a … an apology, of sorts … for your father, you will not like how I do so. I will be neither careful nor easy. And you will come, girl, even if you bleed the whole way.”

Well, shit.

The last thing Kaz had been expecting when Konstantin invited him to the compound to talk business was the literal wall of money he was currently staring at in disbelief, his fingers ghosting over the cellophane wrapped around it.

He had heard rumors, of course, that the Boykov family had their hands on their very own print shop—their name for the counterfeiting business they were in—but to see the reality of it … Kaz had no words.

“Yeah, I was like that the first time, too,” Konstantin said as he walked up with his hands in his pockets. “Here, I’ll give you a look.”

Waving for him to follow, Konstantin headed toward the metal steps on the other end of the room that led down to the lowest level of the warehouse where they printed the money.

There were at least two racks of printing presses, each row spitting out sheets of uncut, one-sided denominations. One looked to be printing the front side of a bill, while the other printed the back side.

“Basic printing,” Konstantin said. “Only the basics on the bill. The ink is a car-based paint—the type that gives off the metallic sheen in the sun.”

Kaz raised a single brow, curious. “Why?”

“It’s one way they spot a fake, by using conductivity and magnetic tests on a bill, not that most cashiers have that ability.” Konstantin nodded at the printers as another sheet rolled out. “Those are twenties. We’re working smaller denominations right now for an order, but we do anything from fifties to hundreds, it really just depends. Now, that paper … that’s the important shit.”

“Why’s that?”

“Ever handed over a hundred-dollar bill and the cashier brings out a pen to mark on it?”

Kaz didn't even have to think about it. “Every time I spend one.”

“Very few papers are pretreated in just the right chemicals to make the paper react properly to the ink in those markers. It took us a few tries to find the right paper that was both thin enough to be able to press two sheets together and still feel like a real bill after it was finished, but also to pass that marker test.”

“Which paper was it?”

“The same kind they make phonebooks with,” Konstantin explained.

Kaz laughed, amused at the seeming simplicity of the whole operation. “This can’t be it, man. You don’t just take two sheets of paper and stick them together. If that were the case, we both know there’d be a fuck lot more people in this trade.”

“You’re right.” Konstantin waved at the floor and the metal tables where men stood working before he said, “This business is more than making fake money—it’s almost an art form. And it’s been around for more decades than most people know. It’s one of the oldest practices in the world. Our bills are nearly as good as the real thing.”

“Oh?”

“Damn near. We’ve got the threads, the strip, the watermarks, and the hologram. The only problem we have is the definition of the bills, but you can’t see that small issue unless you have it under a magnifying glass, and most cashiers don’t carry those. Putting it up to the light, seeing what they’ve been told, and marking the bill with the marker is enough.”

Kaz was thoroughly impressed. “How, though?”

“How what?”

“Do you get them that perfect—that unnoticeable, I suppose.”

Konstantin laughed deeply. “Like I said, it’s an art. And I’m not about to spill the secrets that make this trade as lucrative as it is. On a good month, which is fucking almost every month for us, we’re making anywhere from eighty-nine to ninety-one cents on the dollar.”

Kaz whistled appreciatively, knowing that was a good number to be making on each counterfeit dollar. “Shit.”

“But that’s business for another day. Let’s go to my office.”

Konstantin’s office was located on the top floor in the west corner. Though it gave no outward appearance, about a foot of each wall on either side was bulletproof, as well as the door. It was a panic room, and should he ever have the need, a door at the back of the room concealed an elevator.

Few were as adamant about their security as Konstantin was.

“You’ve been here a week, no?” Konstantin asked as he circled his desk to take a seat. “What’s the word?”

“Nothing.”

Konstantin didn’t answer, just gave him a look.

“Yeah,” Kaz responded. “I know.”

Kaz wasn’t foolish enough to believe his father would never find him. He wasn’t
Pakhan
just because of lineage. So that Vasily had yet to contact him by now troubled him. His lack of contact only meant one of two things.

Either he knew exactly where Kaz was and was making preparations to send some of his guys to say hello …

Or he was stalling for Alberto Gallucci.

It wasn’t like the pair of them hadn’t been willing to make deals before … And from the way they could come together to set Kaz up, he wouldn’t put it past them to be working together now, each with their own incentive.

“Right. What are you going to do about it?”

He was going to have to force a reaction.

His plan could only work if he were able to make Vasily slip.

“I’ll make the arrangements tonight, that—” Kaz paused as the phone in his pocket vibrated, alerting him to a call.

The phone was new, a burner, whose number he had specifically given to Violet and only Violet—if Rus or Vera ever had need of him, they could have called Konstantin to relay a message.

Digging it out, he connected the call and placed the phone to his ear. “Vi—”

“Vasily called.”

Kaz tensed, hearing the fear in her voice, but he was more concerned with the situation at hand.

So, as he had thought, Vasily knew where he was—and who he was with—but he had chosen to make a phone call instead of making an appearance to deliver whatever the fuck he had to say in person.

Alberto was definitely involved.

Kaz knew his father. Vasily loved grand theatrics when it came to delivering his warnings or punishing someone who crossed him. And while he might not have been able to do it in person, he could still have his fun with a phone call.

That phone call was probably meant for him, and knowing Vasily, he hadn’t just made a point to say he knew where they were. He had probably said much more.

“What did he say?”

“He said something about my father or … it was a lot and—”

“Violet,” Kaz cut her off, his voice a little sharper than he meant it to be, but he needed her to focus. “I need you to tell me what he said. Everything.”

“He hinted that my father would be coming to get me, and that, when he did, I needed to be worried about what would happen to you.”

Fucking Vasily.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me, Violet.”

“But—”

“Trust me. He would put a bullet in my head long before he ever gave Alberto the honor.” Kaz looked at Konstantin, who was paying rapt attention to their conversation and gave a nod, letting him know that this was what they’d been waiting for.

“And he threatened me—that if he had to, he would drag me back to my father himself.”

“Don’t—” Kaz had the sudden urge to put his fist through a fucking wall, even as he was trying to remain calm. “That’s not going to happen, Violet. Believe that.”

“When are you coming back?”

In the time they had been in Chicago, whenever he had left to attend to business with Konstantin, she had never asked that. Perhaps it had been an unspoken rule in her household not to ask questions that wouldn’t be answered, so for her to be asking him this now … it told him exactly how freaked out she was.

“I’ll be there within the hour. Just hang tight.”

He hung up before she could give an answer, the grip on his phone tightening as he looked at Konstantin. “It’s time to move.”

The leaves could change colors, time could transcend all things, but Vasily Markovic knew that life was a funny thing—which was why he was exiting his car at the crack of dawn and heading for the graveyard a few blocks down.

How often had he passed this very one, barely sparing it a glance as he continued, the visual of it fading to the back of his mind, but today, he was forced to view it again … for the same reason he had stepped foot in one all those years ago.

From what he could see, Vasily was alone in the graveyard, but one glance at his watch let him know that he wouldn’t be this way for long.

Finding a bench off the pathway, he took a seat, gazing out toward the tombstones a short distance away. What would his say once he was buried?

And more, who would mourn?

Not his children, he knew. He had loved them and given them the world and anything they could have possibly wanted, yet they still betrayed him at every turn, both publicly and privately.

For the longest time, he had forgiven their mistakes and made allowances for things that his own father would have killed him for, but they were not grateful for this.

Especially not Kazimir.

His youngest son had been his legacy, the person who would carry on their name and would one day sit in Vasily’s seat. He’d spent years grooming him, steering him to become the perfect soldier, but Kazimir had other plans.

He rebelled, even when there was nothing to rebel against, simply because he could. It was a trait of his, one that had gone unchecked for years because Vasily had no mind to worry about such things.

Perhaps that was why the blame for Kazimir’s recent actions could be laid at his feet.

He should have quelled the boy’s curiosity in the girl back when he still could have. Or at the very least, he should have used a firmer hand with him.

But at the moment, he didn’t have time to ponder what should have been—he could only change the present.

And if Kazimir thought his actions would go unchecked, perhaps it was time for another lesson.

“Your son has certainly caused enough issues, Vasily,” said Alberto Gallucci as he entered the graveyard, his gaze straying to Vasily.

“Yet your daughter is at the center of them all,” Vasily said as the man drew closer. “So where does the blame really lie?”

Alberto didn’t offer a response to that. “You called me for a meeting, Markovic. Let’s not waste time.”

“They’re in Chicago,” Vasily began, not sure what all the man knew or didn’t, “with former associates of mine.”

“Former?”

“There was a bit of a misunderstanding.” That was all he was willing to offer. There was no need to tell him that Vasily had tried to have the entirety of the Boykov family executed. “Kazimir reached out to them knowing that should I ever step foot in that city, there is a price on my head.”

“Sounds unfortunate … for you.”

On any other occasion, the flippant way in which Alberto responded would have made Vasily furious, but for now, he tempered his reaction and forced a smile. “But while my men and I have very familiar faces, yours do not.”

Alberto stood a little straighter, and Vasily could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

Before he could offer input, Vasily went on. “I have an address. The only thing left is for someone to offer them a ride home.”

Whether voluntary or not, if he had to drag Kazimir’s ass back in pieces, he would, and he wouldn’t like the way it was done.

“What you choose to do with your daughter is no business of mine, but should you choose to take them, let no harm come to my son.” He wanted that privilege for himself.

“Send me the address. I’ll see it done.”

As quickly as Alberto had entered the cemetery, he was ready to leave, but Vasily wasn’t done yet.

“Word of caution, comrade. For whatever reason, my son thinks himself in love with your daughter. We took her from him once, but it won’t be so easy again. I don’t doubt for a second that he will kill to keep her, so be prepared to lose a number of your men.”

“Yet you still expect no harm to come to that boy of yours.”

Vasily glanced down at his hand to the spider that decorated his flesh. “My son won’t see the end of winter.”

From the moment Violet had ended the phone call with Vasily Markovic the week before, she couldn’t shake the nerves putting her on a steep edge.

Maybe that was why when a soft knock interrupted the quiet townhouse, Violet damn near jumped out of her skin. No one ever seemed to knock when they visited, instead opting to walk right in. It took Violet a little bit of getting used to, but she had almost come to expect it.

Knocking, on the other hand, not so much.

When the soft taps became more persistent, Violet decided she didn’t have much of a choice but to answer the door. It wasn’t like the stupid thing would protect her if someone really wanted to get in.

Checking through the frosted glass slates of the window, Violet found Maya waiting. She’d shoved her hands into the pockets of her thick winter jacket, and her head was tipped down as if trying to keep the chill away from her face.

Violet didn’t hesitate to pull the door open for the girl. “Hey, Maya.”

A wide smile answered her greeting. “Morning.”

“Since when do you knock?”

“Kolya might have mentioned that it’s rude to just walk in on people,” Maya said.

“Might have?”

“Yeah, but what the fuck does he know. He doesn’t like anyone, so …”

Violet laughed and waved Maya in, closing the door behind her once she was safely out of the cold.

“What are you doing here?” Violet asked. “Kaz is … out somewhere.”

Again
, Violet held back from adding.

She knew Kaz was handling things that needed to be handled, but she couldn’t help the impending feeling of dread that often bled its way into her system when he wasn’t around.

“I didn’t come to see Kaz,” Maya replied.

“Oh?”

“No, I came to see if you wanted to do something—with me, of course.” Maya gave another one of her brilliant, pixie-like smiles. “You don’t even leave this house, and that has to be pretty boring. Why don’t I show you some of the city today?”

Violet hesitated, considering the offer. She didn’t want to refuse. She liked Maya and had from the second she met her. The Russian woman was hard
not
to like, as far as that went. She just wasn’t sure if she
should
leave the townhouse.

Kaz had been clear; Violet wasn’t supposed to leave the townhouse without him. He’d let her know that morning he would be back before noon and that everything was perfectly fine, so she wasn’t to worry.

Easier said than done.

But she was bored—out of her damn mind, actually.

Maya’s offer sounded like it would cure the cabin fever that always settled in whenever Kaz had to leave for something or another.

“I probably shouldn’t,” Violet said. “Laying low and all that.”

“Why not? Nothing’s happened. There is no problem. It’s just a drive to see the city; it’s not like you’re going to be splashing your face in front of cameras or something. You’re not as well known here in Chicago as you are in New York.”

Violet laughed softly. “You’re really good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“Convincing people to do what you want.”

Maya shrugged, innocence lighting up her features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. Still, Kaz would probably have a fit.”

“Kolya was heading over his way when I left. He said he would let him know, but he figured there was no reason why not. And if my husband is good with it, then Kaz most likely will be, too.”

“Why is that?”

“You have met Kolya, yes?” Maya asked, all innocence gone. “He finds very little good in anything.”

Violet conceded the point. From what little she had learned about Kolya Boykov, what his wife said made a lot of sense. “Not a long drive, okay? Kaz is coming back by noon.”

Maya rocked on her heels, joyful in a blink. “Yes, we can do that. Noon, it is. Let’s go.”

Chicago lived up to its name. The city was large, windy, and
cold
.

But … it wasn’t all that different from New York.

“Here,” Maya said, holding out a to-go cup of tea for Violet to take.

The cup warmed her hands as she leaned against Maya’s car. Just across the street was the parking lot for one of the city’s parks. With a thick layer of crisp, white snow covering as far as Violet’s eye could see, the city almost looked … peaceful.

Even with the people bustling around, the noise coloring up the cold air, and the unfamiliar streets staring back at her, it was one of the most peaceful sights she had ever seen.

Maya smiled around the rim of her cup. “So what do you think?”

“I like Chicago,” Violet admitted.

Well, she liked it more now. She hadn’t been here before, and for the time she had been in the city, she had spent it hidden away in a townhouse with Kaz.

Not that she was complaining because she wasn’t.

But she was grateful to see more of the city.

“If you overlook the school system and the crime rate, it’s not half bad,” Maya said teasingly.

“That’s a little … hypocritical coming from a Boykov, isn’t it?” Violet grinned to let Maya know she was only joking.

“Hey, I just married a Boykov. I, myself, have no hand in his business.”

Violet pursed her lips, humming, “Mmmhmm.”

“I do love Chicago, though. Have you considered it at all?”

“Considered what?”

“Staying. With Kaz, I mean.”

Violet stilled on the spot, her hot tea burning her tongue when she tipped the cup a little too high. She hadn’t exactly given much thought to staying in Chicago. Kaz hadn’t mentioned it, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it might be one of his many plans.

He’d bought a townhouse, after all. Decorated it to make it cozy and comfortable like a home. He seemed more at peace in Chicago than she could remember him being in New York.