Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1) (10 page)

But it did leave a lasting effect on the relationship
between Violet and her mother. She always saw the woman as cold and
unapproachable. She felt like her mother wouldn’t care about her problems or
thoughts. It wasn’t like Andrea gave her the impression that she wanted to know
those things about Violet.

And then there was Carmine.

Andrea, quite literally, doted on her son constantly.
Despite the fact that Carmine was twenty-seven and more than capable of
handling his own business, their mother made sure to visit his apartment
several times a week to pick up after her son and make sure his fridge was full
of food. As children, Andrea would be quick to take Carmine with her on her
many trips in her rising career as a clothing designer, while she left her daughter
at home with her father.

It was just … an entirely different dynamic.

Violet wasn’t jealous. She had a close relationship with
her father, after all. Maybe even closer than the one Carmine shared with
Alberto. But the same thought always lingered in the back of her mind whenever
she saw her mother and brother together: What had been so different about her
as a child that her mother couldn’t even be bothered to
try
?

“There’s just no point in waiting, Ma,” Carmine said.

Andrea reached over the counter and cupped her son’s cheek
in her palm. “You’re young. Do you really want to settle yourself with a woman
and babies right now?”

Carmine chuckled. “I can still have my fun when I’m
married.”

“Carmine.”

“What?” Carmine flashed a smile. “I’ve waited too long as
it is. I’m not going to wait anymore for the perfect woman who suits what you
want me to have, Ma. I just need an appropriate enough wife.”

Andrea scowled. “For your father, you mean.”

“And for me. I
have
waited too long.”

Dropping her hand from her son’s face, Andrea grabbed a
dishtowel and wiped at the counter. “What does your father think of this?”

“He thinks she’s appropriate.”

There was that word again.

Appropriate
.

Like the only way a woman could possibly be worthy enough
was if she met a certain set of standards determined by those around her. It
irritated Violet in a way she couldn’t explain.

“But you don’t love her,” Andrea said.

“I don’t have to, Ma.” Carmine pushed off the counter, and
grabbed an apple from the fruit tree. “I just need the ring and the license.”

“I don’t like this.”

“You like Nicole,” Carmine pressed.

Well, Violet figured her friend would be happy at least. Carmine
was finally going to settle Nicole into some kind of permanent relationship,
even if he had no intention of being committed to it. It wasn’t like Nicole
didn’t already know Carmine was a manwhore in every sense of the word.

“I liked what she was good for,” Andrea muttered. “And you
know exactly what you used the girl for. I know what you’re doing, son. You’re
trying to butter me up to get your grandmother’s engagement ring for Nicole,
and I won’t give it to you. Buy her one, for all I give a damn. She’s not
having my mother’s.”

Carmine scowled at his mother before turning on his heel
and storming toward the entry of the kitchen. To hide the fact that she had
been eavesdropping on the conversation, Violet stepped into the space at the
same time her brother was just about to leave. He was too pissed off to care
she was there if the way he brushed past her with a grumble and a glare was any
indication.

Andrea didn’t give Violet a second look either before she
was back at the stove, tending the soup again.

“I wanted to say goodbye before I left,” Violet said.

Her mother waved a hand over her shoulder, and nothing
else.

Violet wasn’t surprised. It probably didn’t help that her
mother was now in a mood over Carmine’s choices regarding marriage. Andrea wasn't
going to be able to dote on her son like she did now once he was a married man.

“All right, bye, Ma,” Violet called over her shoulder as
she turned to leave.

“Violet, wait,” Andrea said.

She stopped. “Yeah?”

“I forgot to tell you earlier, but I left a few dresses
from my new collection upstairs in my studio office. I know your friends liked
them, so I kept them for you to have.”

Violet was shocked her mother had even cared enough to do
that. “Okay, thanks.”

Andrea simply waved her off again.

Wanting to get back to Manhattan before the sky started to
darken, Violet quickly made her way back through the mansion and up to the wing
where her father’s and mother’s offices were located. She found the dress bags
her mother mentioned easily enough, and slung them around her arm. She was just
leaving the studio when she realized she had also forgotten her textbook in
Alberto’s office.

Violet shifted the few dress bags to her other arm as she
stopped just outside of her father’s office. The doors had been open all the
way earlier when she left, but now they were closed except for a couple of
inches. She could clearly hear her father and brother talking inside.

“I can’t make your mother give you the ring,” Alberto said,
almost sardonically.

“I know you can, Papa.”

“It’s her ring to do with what she wants. It didn’t come
from my family. Do you want my family’s ring? I have that one.”

Carmine grunted something unintelligible.

“She’s spoiled you rotten, and that is exactly the
problem,” Alberto said with no sympathy in his tone. “She denies you one thing
and you go on a rampage. Did you consider that’s why she did it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“You don’t want to hear the truth, Carmine.”

“No, we have better things to discuss.”

“Indulge me,” Alberto said, sounding bored all of the
sudden.

“The Russians.”

“It’s handled.”

“Then why don’t you sound pleased with that fact?” Carmine
asked.

Alberto sighed heavily. “I worry about your sister, that’s
all. She liked the one all those years ago—made fast friends with him in a very
short amount of time. I don’t need that happening again.”

Violet’s brow furrowed. She remembered Kaz saying they had
met once before, but she hadn’t believed him. Her father wouldn’t mingle with
Russians, not guessing by the way he so easily dismissed and insulted them
every chance he could.

But here Alberto was, saying Violet had met Kaz when they
were children.

“Do you think the Russian boss will keep his end of the
deal?” Carmine asked. “It’s been years. He could decide with recent events that
it’s just not worth the peace of mind, anymore.”

Alberto scoffed loudly. “Peace of mind, Carmine? My God,
son, you are a fool. You walk around in a bubble of your own making half of the
time, believing that because of who you are, the rest of your life will be an
easy road to travel. There is no such thing as peace of mind here, and that
meeting brought neither me, nor Vasily Markovic, any peace, either.”

“Didn’t it?” Carmine asked. “The fighting stopped.”

“For a price,” Alberto muttered.

What price was that?

Inside, Violet knew she was too curious about something
that clearly wasn’t her business to begin with. Still, she moved a little
closer to the doors, wanting to hear every little word if her brother and father
decided to talk quieter.

“My point,” Alberto said, “is that I worry about your
sister. When she finds something she likes—someone—she trusts them too easily.
She has too many friends as it is that I don’t approve of.”

“You could fix the problem by getting rid of it
altogether.”

Violet’s heart stopped for a split second.

It only lasted as long as her father’s silence.

Alberto barked out another one of his bitter laughs. “See,
there you go again, Carmine. You shoot off at the mouth like you understand how
this works, like there will be no consequences for your rash decisions. No, I
cannot justify the war and bloodshed it would cause me if I killed the son of
Vasily Markovic.”

“Papa—”

“Once again, son, you managed to prove to me in very few
words how unprepared you are for a position you think belongs to you, simply
because you were born a boy.”

Ouch.

Even Violet flinched at that.

Clearly she wasn’t the only one who had disappointed their
father lately.

“What about Franco?” Carmine demanded.

“What about your foolish friend?”

“He deserves some kind of retribution for what happened.”

Something smacked against something hard, making it echo
out to Violet’s spot in the hallway. “Goddammit, I am not getting into this
again. I said no to that. The answer is no. If that enforcer defies me simply
because he is your friend and he thinks he can get away with it, I will cut his
fucking heart out.”

Violet had no idea what her father was talking about, but
she decided in that moment her textbook could wait. She didn’t want to be
caught listening, and she really didn’t want to hear anything else.

She couldn’t get out of the mansion fast enough.

“Y
ou look wonderful,”
Alberto praised, taking Violet’s hand as she approached him. “I see you managed
to find a dress.”

Violet smiled, and pretended like there wasn’t a hell of a
lot of eyes watching her at that moment. The long stage meant for the runway
and models was lined on either side by six rows of seats from one side to the
other. The ballroom had been converted for the fashion show’s use. Black and
chrome accents hung from the ceiling. Music pumped through the place courtesy
of the high-profile DJ set up near the entrance of the runway where the models
would come out of.  Media people, flashing their badges and cameras to
keep out of the hands of security, bombarded the venue from every angle.

While this very scene of high-life and socialites was
exactly her mother’s thing, it wasn’t Violet’s. She didn’t feel comfortable in
front of a large crowd being photographed and asked questions about her
mother’s latest designs and the event that was sure to turn heads.

But her father demanded she show, and so she had.

“Thank you,” Violet told her father.

“Where are your friends?” Alberto asked.

“Coming. They got caught up in all the pretty lights
outside.”

Alberto caught onto what she was saying, and chuckled. “For
some people, the shininess of a red carpet and paparazzi doesn’t wear off,
Violet.”

It wore off for her about ten years ago.

When she was a kid, it mostly just scared the hell out of
her.

“Sit,” Alberto said, waving at one of the empty chairs
beside him.

Violet followed her father’s demand. It wasn’t long before
Nicole and Amelia joined her in the front row, along with her brother on the
other side of her father, and a few familiar faces behind them. They had some
of the best seats in the house nearing the very front of the runway.

Taking a quick look around, Violet picked out a good dozen
celebrities that had been handpicked for invitations from her mother, a few
musicians that had a taste for fashion, as well as high profile individuals
from all across New York. Each event was a little more important than the last,
Violet knew. Her mother’s name only grew, and her celebrity status lifted
higher with it.

Gallucci was more than just a dynasty.

It was a goddamn
brand
.

When the lights dimmed and loud voices turned into hushed
murmurs, Violet relaxed a little more. She didn’t have a lot of interest in her
mother’s shows, but she did enjoy watching the models.

Once, she had even entertained the idea of becoming one.
She certainly had a way in, if she wanted to try.

The music changed tempo slightly, just enough to signal
something was about to happen. Lights flickered, drawing in the crowd’s
attention to the entrance of the runway. Andrea stepped out of the sheer black
curtains with her blood red smirk and a single hand held high. Her hair had
been piled high on her head in a messy up-do. She wore one of her signature
black dresses, detailed along the smooth lines with chrome to fit the theme of
the event.

Then, as quickly as her mother had come, she was gone.

The music changed again just as the first model stepped
onto the runway. Andrea Gallucci fashions weren’t about being crazy and out
there. Her mother liked class, and style. Simple was sometimes the sexiest.
 She wanted to see each and every woman in one of her designs … if they
had the luxury of being able to afford one of the pieces.

Violet figured they were probably half-way through the
first run of the collection when her father tensed in his chair beside hers.
She shot him a curious glance, noting he was looking down at the phone in his
hand. Instantly, his confusion melted into a simmering rage that danced across
his scowling lips and narrowed eyes.

She tried to look at his phone, but he quickly hid it.

What was wrong?

Alberto leaned to the side, toward his son. Violet watched
her father’s lips move fast—too fast for him to be happy.

It wasn’t like Alberto to cause a fuss on a day that was
meant to spotlight and showcase their mother, never mind the public attention
on their family.

Something had to be bad for him to do that.

People were taking his picture, catching his visible anger.

Alberto would never risk that being caught—not like this.

“I didn’t,” she heard Carmine say.

“Bullshit.”

The one word from her father might as well have been spit
from his mouth. And it hadn’t been quiet, either.

“Daddy,” Violet said softly. “People are watching.”

Alberto straightened in his chair, glanced around and fixed
his jacket.

“Papa,” Carmine started to say.

Alberto held up a hand, silencing his son. “I warned you.”

Violet still didn’t understand what was going on. Her
father stood from his chair, seemingly oblivious to the people watching him all
over again with their curious gazes. People knew who they were—who her father
was.

“Apologize to your mother for me,” Alberto said.

He had directed his comment to Violet only, not Carmine.

“Sure,” she said.

Her father offered nothing else before he disappeared into
the crowd. Carmine cursed on the other side of Violet, but she ignored him. A
heavy feeling had settled in her gut.

“What was that all about?” Nicole asked from Violet’s
right.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

And she didn’t know if she wanted to.

Kaz was on his back in nothing more than a pair of jeans,
as he lifted the cigarette to his lips, dragged in a lungful and held it,
letting the nicotine burn before releasing it. It was rare that he smoked, only
indulged a handful of times when he wanted to take the edge off.

The day had come and gone, filled with long hours of
business with the men that answered to him, and some that didn’t. Now that he
was finally home, he was ready to call it a night. Try and get some sleep
before he needed to be back up and doing that shit all over again.

He had just ground out the cigarette in the ashtray on his
bedside table when his phone’s vibrations cut through the silence. He
contemplated ignoring the call for only a handful of seconds before he saw who
was calling.

Ruslan.

The party had gone well a few days ago. Vasily had left him
be, though he hadn’t spoken to him once. Even the monthly meeting had been easy
enough. And while they didn’t talk every day, Kaz and his siblings, when they
did call, he never ignored their calls.

“Rus, what’s up?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

Kaz sat straight up, already on his feet before Ruslan
could get out another word. It was his tone, the hardness that was twined
around his words, that made Kaz move without question. His brother was fully
capable of handling himself, had been for far longer than Kaz was alive, so if
Ruslan was calling him, it was serious.

“Talk to me.” Kaz grabbed a shirt from the closet, not
bothering to pull it on as he snatched his keys from the counter and practically
ran out of his apartment. “Are you at the club?”

“Yeah. I got a call from one of my guys, said they saw an
Escalade driving around. I didn’t think much of it until he called again and
said he saw it again circling the club. Once is a coincidence, and twice …”

He didn’t have to finish that statement for Kaz to know
what he meant. Twice meant somebody was trolling.

But who the fuck was stupid enough to be so obvious about
it?

“I’m on my way.” Climbing in his car, Kaz started it up and
sped out of the parking lot, ignoring the speed limit as he gunned through
traffic. “You armed?”

“I’m not a fucking idiot, Kaz,” Ruslan returned, sounding
as though he was walking. “I got this.”

“I’m ten minutes out,
brat
.”

“Probably somebody trying to flex their shit,” Ruslan
returned. “By the time you get here, I’ll be out back to check the perimeter.
It’s probably not—who the fuck are you?”

Kaz knew the question wasn’t aimed at him as Ruslan’s tone
had changed from annoyance to outright anger. There were only certain people that
inspired that kind of reaction in him. His father and Italians.

“You fucked up, Russian,” someone said, their voice
carrying over the line loud and clear.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ruslan asked, his
voice softer, as though he’d taken the phone away from his ear.

Whatever response that might have been said was lost as a
grunt sounded, then the phone dropping. Kaz heard all of this, and knew with
absolute certainty that it was Ruslan’s grunt that he’d heard.

Fuck.

Pressing down on the gas pedal a little further, Kaz’s back
hit the seat as he did ninety the rest of the way.

His tires screeched as Kaz came to a stop in front of the
club, barely putting the car in park as he jumped out, grabbing his M9 from the
middle console as he went. Abandoning his car—even with the keys inside—Kaz
ran, throwing caution to the wind.

At this hour, there was only a few drunk stragglers left,
but they seemed oblivious to anything and anyone around them, including the
fact that Kaz was carrying a gun for anyone to see.

Kaz was just rounding the corner, spotting the giant lump
on the ground that he immediately could see was Ruslan, his face bloody and
nearly unrecognizable.

It felt like a punch to his chest, the rage that filled
him, and though his first instinct was to go to his brother and make sure he
was breathing, the sound of peeling tires and the smell of burning rubber made
his head jerk up. He just caught sight of the Escalade driving out of the lot,
and when he did, his gun was up and aimed without a thought, bullets splitting
the air as he fired.

He ran, even as he pulled the trigger, shattering the back
windshield with a bullet, embedding another in the trunk, and a final one in a
tail light before the truck disappeared out of view.

“Rus!”

Kaz jogged back to his brother, two fingers already going
to his pulse as he carefully rolled him over, scanning him for any bullet
wounds, but it seemed the blood coating his shirt was mostly from his face.
Feeling the firm, but slow heartbeat beneath his hand, Kaz sagged in relief,
using his free one to tug the phone out from his back pocket.

“You’re going to be all right, Rus,” Kaz said, dialing the
number for the man they kept on their payroll for this kind of thing. Ruslan
hated hospitals and avoided them as much as he could.

“What the fuck happened?”

Kaz let go of Ruslan only to pick up his gun and point it
back at Nathaniel as he appeared at the back entrance, holding the door open.
At least until he saw Ruslan on the ground, then a rage the likes of which Kaz
had never seen fell like a mask over his face as he ran over.

“What—”

Before he could repeat the question, Kaz asked one of his
own. “Where the fuck were you?”