Where the Snow Falls (Seasons of Betrayal Book 2) (10 page)

Kaz had assumed he would have more time, give him a chance to find dirt on Vasily another way—particularly through the men who worked for him. Some were loyal to a fault, but others didn’t blindly follow Vasily, especially since he had taken Gavrill’s seat.

He hadn’t accounted for how quickly the Italians would find them.

But this could work for him … depending on just how much Vito knew.

He could see it in the man’s eyes, that reluctance to spill secrets he had probably kept for years. But he also knew he was going to die, and holding someone’s confidence meant nothing once you were in the ground.

“They’ve met … before.”

Now, they were getting somewhere. “Continue.”

“Back when the war was at its peak … Word was the boss wanted to have a meeting with yours, but Gavrill ignored the invitation. Vasily answered it instead.”

That much Kaz could remember. Even with how crazy that time had been, he still recalled the cemetery with Violet at his side and how important Vasily had told him that meeting was.

“They made a deal,” Vito said in a rush. “Vasily wanted the boss’ chair. Alberto wanted the fighting to stop. They agreed that Vasily would set it up, and Alberto would do the rest. As long as we avoided each other in the future, there was no need for retaliation.”

Fucking hell. Vasily had done it, but what Kaz was learning now was that it wasn’t just ammunition to use against his father. This information was enough to get the man killed.

And it explained why he never wanted the truth to come out.

“Gavrill was walking with that wife of his, but she had gone into a shop. He never saw it coming.”

“You were there then, no?”

Vito, realizing too late just how much he had revealed, stumbled over his next words. But there was no point, not when Kaz had everything he needed to know now.

Before he could think of something useful to say, Kaz asked, “What was his name—the man who pulled the trigger?”

“I don’t—”

Digging his finger into one of the cuts in Vito’s side, he waited until the man’s screaming finally died off before he said, “I won’t repeat myself.”

“Christian.”

Kaz pulled his finger free, wanting clarification. “And he is the one who killed my uncle?”

Letting his head drop, Vito whispered, “Yes.”

“Good man.” Patting the man on the stomach, he took a step back. “I have a gift for you, Vito. Kolya is going to release you and let you go.”

Even though he had yet to be asked, Kolya grabbed the remote, turning a dial that brought the machine to life and eased Vito to the floor.

Grabbing his own cigarette from a pack, Kaz put it between his lips and flicked the lighter, watching the flame dance. As he took in a lungful, the nicotine burned straight through his lungs. “You make it through those doors, and no one will stop you.”

Vito could barely stand as Kolya cut him free, but his eyes were wild and aware, focused on them so intently that he had yet to see which exit Kaz meant. But he wasted no time moving toward one, though he never turned his back, afraid of what might be done if he did.

But very soon, self-preservation kicked in, and Vito was stumbling over himself to get away. He only got so far before Kaz took one last drag from his cigarette and dropped it on the ground …

Mere feet before Kaz reached for the gun at his waist, raising it until he could see Vito at the end of it, and fired, watching the man’s leg give out as the bullet shredded the muscle of his thigh.

“Don’t stop now,” Kaz said as he started across the floor, his eyes set on the man holding his bleeding wound. “Just a few feet,
suka
.”

With a cry of pain, Vito used his other arm, trying his damnedest to drag himself across the concrete floor while leaving a streak of blood in his wake.

Kaz wasn’t cruel. He allowed the man another few inches before he aimed and fired again, this time in his other leg.

“This can’t be any worse than what was done to Gavrill, no?” Kaz asked over the man’s shouts, unmoved by his tears. “And see, what you don’t know is that my brother was the one to find the body—a child.”

Kaz only remembered pieces, just brief flashes of days and times, but this one … this one stuck with him over the years, branding itself on Kaz’s conscience. He could still remember the way Rus had stopped speaking for forty-eight hours after he found him after coming out of the ice-cream shop he had gone in with his aunt.

Kaz still wasn’t sure what all Rus had seen that fateful day when he had gone off to their uncle’s, only to return with his hands stained red, his eyes wide with horror, even as Vasily stood at his back with his hands on his shoulders.

The only reason Kaz even had an idea of how bad it had been was because he had gone to his father with questions years later—Ruslan still, to this day, refused to speak of it.

Vito raised bloody hands. “Mercy.”

Shaking his head, Kaz used his foot to roll the man over onto his back. “Ask whoever you see on the other side—I have none.”

His head hit the ground hard as the round plugged into his forehead, his body gone limp.

“Looks like I’ll be going home a little early,” Kaz said as he faced the brothers. “It’s only a matter of time before word gets back to Vasily that this first batch didn’t make it home.”

And when he did, Kaz didn’t doubt that Vasily would know exactly what Kaz’s next move would be.

Violet could smell the coffee from the top of the stairs, and it smelled like heaven brewing. She didn’t think it odd that Kaz was brewing a pot of coffee instead of just making the instant blend as he usually did because she was just happy he was making her coffee.

She skidded to a stop in the kitchen entryway at the sight of the man sitting at the island, a newspaper in one hand, an unlit cigarette twirling between the fingers of his other, and two cups of coffee waiting in front of him.

Konstantin.

Of the two Boykov brothers, Violet liked Konstantin better. If only because the man seemed more approachable, although he was a little strange sometimes. She also hadn’t seen Konstantin around nearly as much as Kolya was, but she blamed that on Maya coming over to the townhouse. Her husband usually just followed, scowl always in place.

Konstantin, however, was almost a stranger to Violet.

Yet she did like him a little bit more than she did his brother.

“You make a habit of this, I see,” Konstantin said, never taking his eyes off whatever he was reading in the newspaper.

Violet didn’t have the first clue what he was talking about. “Pardon?”

He waved a hand, gesturing at her. “I’m going to assume you sleep with nothing on when you come down in the mornings wearing … that.”

She glanced down at the white T-shirt she had on, realizing what he meant. Embarrassment heated her cheeks as she said, “Don’t start, Konstantin.”

The man was already grinning. “Coffee will still be hot. I’m doing the right thing by reading and not looking at you. Get dressed.”

Violet cursed her way back upstairs and found something more suitable to wear. She didn’t have a great selection, though, as she hadn’t been given much time to go out and shop for clothes. She only had what she’d brought with her.

And so what if she liked Kaz’s clothes?

Once Violet was back down in the kitchen, she silently glared at Konstantin as he slid her coffee across the island toward her.

“Is this a thing?” she asked.

Konstantin raised a single brow high. “A
thing
?”

“A Russian thing or something.” Violet almost smiled at the look of confusion passing over Konstantin’s features. “It seems like none of you ever knock. You all just come right in and make yourself at home. And where is Kaz?”

“For one thing, no, it is not a
Russkaya
thing, as you said. It’s a Boykov thing,” he said, a sly smile tilting the corner of his mouth upward. “We’re very … personable people.”

“Or you like inserting yourself into other people’s spaces.”

Violet was only teasing, and guessing by the amusement in Konstantin’s gaze, he knew it, too.

“Personable, a nuisance—same thing, no?”

“You and I have two different ideas of what being personable means,” she said.

Konstantin only shrugged, picking the newspaper back up. “Perhaps if you dressed when you woke up, you wouldn’t be put in these sorts of situations, yes?”

Violet knew he was just trying to get a reaction out of her, as it seemed Konstantin liked to do that with people—especially those he was friendly or close with. But she wasn’t so stupid of a girl that she didn’t recognize what else he had done.

He hadn’t answered her question about Kaz’s whereabouts.

“You must think I’m an easily distracted, simple Italian girl, huh?” Violet asked before lifting her coffee for a sip.

Konstantin’s attention never wavered from the paper. “Tell me, Violet, what was it like growing up in a Cosa Nostra family?”

What did that have to do with anything?

Still, she answered. “Suffocating.”

He dropped the paper just an inch. “That is an … interesting word to use. Why?”

“I didn’t realize it as I grew up, but now that I can look back at it all from the outside, it’s a lot clearer to me. It’s all about being groomed, from the clothes I wore to the way I did my hair. My behavior, my attitude, my image. Everything was checked, rechecked, and constantly monitored. That’s suffocating when you’re never really making choices for you but for your family.”

“What makes you think being with a
Bratva
man is any different? You still need to consider how you or your image may affect or reflect on him, especially a man like Kaz.”

“There’s a big difference.”

Konstantin dropped the pretense and the newspaper, discarding it to the island as he turned to face her fully. “Go on, tell me.”

“I was never given the choice with my family. Kaz has always been my choice.”

For a long while, Konstantin didn’t respond. He simply stared at her, taking in her words, and probably weighing them. Frankly, Violet didn’t give a shit what he or anyone else thought about her or the relationship she had with Kaz. People were always going to assume things about them—that she was just following behind a man, rebelling in a new way. Or maybe some might assume Kaz was using her as a way to push against the constraints set out for him by his family.

She honestly just didn’t care.

Violet didn’t need to explain or correct anyone.

Kaz knew.

She knew.

The rest could politely fuck right off.

“You surprise me,” Konstantin said, watching her in the most unnerving way. “But it isn’t the first time, and I learn quickly, so I doubt you’ll manage it again.”

“I’m well aware some people don’t think I’m … up to standard. For Kaz, I mean.”

Konstantin chuckled. “Would there not be people who thought the same of him where you’re concerned, Violet?”

She hadn't really considered that, but when she did, one single thought came to mind.

A moment.

As passing and quick as it had been all those months ago.

Her father’s statement to Kaz as he held a gun to Alberto’s head.

If only you were Italian, my boy
.

It didn’t matter that he would die for her—kill for her. He wasn’t good enough because he wasn’t Italian.

Konstantin’s smile faded away the longer Violet stayed silent. “You made the choice, yes? That’s what you said—he was a choice.”

“What about it?” Violet asked.

“You also chose the hell that comes with it, girl. Being Italian is just one of those things. You were right. People will always think you aren’t up to par, but I’m sure as you did with me, you’ll find a way to surprise them. You don’t have to be good enough for everyone else, Violet, only him.”

Violet took those words in and decided to keep them in the back of her mind whenever she felt out of place in their world. Maybe it was the culture, the language barrier at times, or just simply feeling like she was always being appraised and judged, but she’d needed those words.