Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1) (19 page)

Ruslan wasn’t far off. The last time Vasily had called him
in this early was because of a shipment Kaz had fucked up and needed to fix.
“Nothing that I’m aware of.” The last thing he was going to mention was Violet.

“I haven’t heard anything, if that’s why you’re
calling—can’t help you this time.”

Kaz only had a few minutes before he would be outside of
Vasily’s residence, so there was no point in him asking for information
anywhere else. He would just have to go in and pray to whoever the fuck was
listening that he wasn’t walking to his death.

“How’s the face?” he asked changing the subject.

Ruslan made a disgruntled noise, sounding almost annoyed as
he said, “Looks worse than it feels. I’ll probably need to avoid Mama for a
while. You know how she feels when she sees that shit.”

Irina wasn’t clueless. She knew all too well what the men
in her life were doing, even without the specifics, but she never liked when it
was staring back at her. That just made the reality of it all sink in a little
more. If they could help it, they didn’t show her that side.

“Do that.”

“Right. Well, call me after your meet.”

Yeah, if he lived to see the end of it … “Will do.”

With a quick farewell, Kaz was off the phone, tossing the
device in his passenger seat as he pulled up to the gate, punched in the code,
and waited for the metal doors to swing open before he pulled in and parked. At
first glance, he could already see that Irina wasn’t at home, nor were the
twins. One of the two matching BMWs that Vasily had bought them for their
birthdays was missing.

He might have been inclined to think of this as a good
thing. Kaz didn’t want to believe that Vasily would kill him under the roof
where Irina and the girls slept, but knowing his father the way he did, he
would have him cleaned up long before any of them got home.

Grabbing his gun from the glove compartment, he checked the
clip before holstering the weapon. It was now or never.

The front door was open when he tried the knob, not all
that surprising since it was pretty well known who the house belonged to.

He crossed the floor to the spiral staircase, heading
upstairs to the second level where Vasily’s office was located. Though the door
was pushed closed from what Kaz could see from down the hall, the gruff, but
soft voices could still be heard.

Rapping his knuckles twice against the door, he pushed the
door open and stepped inside. There were five men in attendance, his father
included. Raj stood off to the side looking disapproving—probably because Kaz
had arrived after him, though they had left from the same place. Two more men
were seated against the back wall, not speaking. And last, there was Andrei who
was standing across from Vasily, his gaze shooting to Kaz the moment he entered
the room.

“Good of you to finally join us,” Andrei said,
condescension dripping from his tone.

Kaz’s brow rose as he regarded the man, but he kept his
mouth shut. He and Andrei had never gotten along, in part because the man felt
Kaz didn’t deserve the spot he had. Andrei had been a part of the brotherhood
for more than two decades, had even spent a tour in a Russian gulag back during
the fall of the Soviet Union, and yet he was still occupying the same position
as Kaz.

Of course, he couldn’t voice his anger to Vasily—not if he
wanted to live—but he lived to make Kaz’s life difficult every fucking chance
he got.

“Sorry, Mom,” Kaz said. “Next time I’ll call to let you
know when I’ll be late for dinner.”

Chuckles arose, making Andrei’s face mottle with red. “You
little—”

“As entertaining as this has been,” Vasily interjected. “We
need to get to business. Take a seat, Kazimir.”

Kaz quickly surveyed the available spots left in his
father’s office to sit, noting the only seats would put his back to someone
else, or a window. Standing where he was, his back was only to the door, and
that was better than it facing men he didn’t trust all that much.

“I’ll stand,” Kaz said.

Vasily passed him an indecipherable look, but settled on a
nod. “Fine. Last night—”

“I still think we should send a message to the Italians,”
one of the two men standing against the wall said.

“I’m going to speak without interruption, or the next time
someone jumps in on my conversation, I will have their tongue removed and
bronzed for a paperweight,” Vasily said rather dryly.

Any and all sounds in the office silenced instantly.

Vasily wasn't known for idle threats, and he always had a
certain flair when it came to making a point.

“Good,” Vasily said, pleased with the quietness around him.
“As I was saying, I wanted to revisit the attack on Ruslan last night, and what
I have decided to do about it.”

Kaz shoved his hands in his pockets, curious but wisely
choosing to stay quiet. It would do him no good to open his mouth at that
moment, and he was well aware of that fact.

“And, what of it, boss?” Andrei asked.

Vasily picked up a mail opener from the desk, and fiddled
with the dull knife. He spun the tip against the pad of his index finger as he
spoke again. “You have to understand the way the Italians work, especially one
like Alberto Gallucci. A man like him understands the value and weight of a
proper apology.”

Kaz’s irritation jumped a notch.

His father seemed entirely unfazed by what had happened to
Ruslan the night before as he set the letter opener down, and picked up his
phone. Swiping at the screen, Vasily passed it a look before turning it off and
setting it back down with a nod.

“And while I would usually send out a message of my own
after something like this happens, I have chosen not to this time,” Vasily
said, eyeing each man, but lingering a little while longer on Kaz when he
finally came to him.

It was like his father knew the rebuttal was right on the
tip of his tongue.

“Do you have an opinion on that, Kazimir?” Vasily asked.

Kaz kept his cool demeanor firmly in place. “I have an
opinion on my brother being attacked, yes.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

That was the only answer Kaz was willing to offer.

His nonresponse to his father stretched on for a long while
until Vasily let out a heavy, annoyed breath and rested back in his large
chair.

“I have reason to believe the attack was misguided, and
appropriate action will be taken,” Vasily informed.

“By whom?” Kaz dared to ask.

Vasily smiled. “Men who understand the value and weight of
an apology. Only if I do not receive what I want, then I will revisit this
discussion and Ruslan’s attack again.”

Kaz didn’t like that statement at all, but what could he
say?

His father made the calls.

And if, after everything was said and done, and nothing
happened to Ruslan’s attackers, Kaz could always handle the issue himself. If
he felt the punishment he might receive for doing so would be worth the reward
in the end.

Vasily drummed his fingers to the desk and said, “For the
next little while, I want everyone to be careful and quiet about business. Be
mindful of the territory we have, as there is no need to begin pushing against
someone else’s lines when we are perfectly capable of working within our own.
At least until the dust settles, and I have gotten what I wanted.”

Kaz cocked a single brow. “And what is that?”

Vasily didn’t answer.

No one else seemed to want to question the
Pakhan
on
his decisions, or what was really going on. Kaz was left to the task. 

“What exactly are we waiting for?” Kaz asked.

Picking his phone up again, Vasily turned the screen on and
checked it. He then placed it back to the desk before clasping his hands
together and looking straight up at his son.

“A message.”

V
iolet hugged her bomber
jacket a little tighter when the wind picked up. She usually enjoyed walking
around her parents’ large property because it was so quiet and calm. Over the
years, her father had several different landscapers come in and add pathways,
small bridges, and seating areas throughout the many acres of wooded property
behind the mansion.

It was the peaceful place in her otherwise hectic life.
There were no rushing cars, beeping horns, or hordes of people all around when
she strolled through the woods.

Just her, the trees, and rustling leaves.

She could remember being maybe seven or eight before her
father finally allowed her to walk the pathways by herself without someone
supervising her. But even then, Violet knew there had been someone watching.
Alberto never let his young children go unattended for very long, not with who
he was and his position.

“Come back here, Olly!” Violet shouted as a flash of beige
hair disappeared around a turn.

A few seconds later, the dog trotted right back like he had
been told. It was one of the only things the Golden Retriever had going for
him—he listened. Olly was Carmine’s dog, and while Violet mostly tried to avoid
her brother, she did like Olly a lot. He was a good companion to walk with, but
today he was restless and kept running ahead of Violet.

That wasn’t like the dog.

Usually, he would stay right at her side, no matter what.

It was one of the many demands Alberto had made when
Carmine got the dog just after his twenty-first birthday. Their father made it
clear that if the dog was going to come and go from his home when Carmine was
busy or out of town, then Olly needed training, and he needed to listen to
commands.

Carmine agreed. Alberto allowed Olly to come and go from
the Gallucci mansion after one year of constant training with a professional
dog trainer.

Violet took a seat on a wicker bench, keeping a hold on
Olly’s collar as his head lifted high and he sniffed the air again. She didn’t
want him bolting off. God knew if he did and didn’t come back, Carmine would
blame her.

It wasn’t even her responsibility to look after his damn
dog.

But she hadn’t been given much of a choice.

Ever since her father called Violet to the Gallucci mansion
three days prior, he had refused both her and her brother’s requests to leave.
It wasn’t often that it happened—a situation where Alberto locked his family in
just to be safe, but this was one of those times.

She knew it had to do with the attack, the Russians, and
what might come of it.

Alberto had said nothing except, “Just to be careful.”

That was it.

He didn’t offer anything else, and he refused to explain to
Violet why she had to miss classes. She couldn’t even have a driver take her
off of the Gallucci property.

But if it was a matter of safety, then she chose not to
argue.

Almost daily, she did stare at the contact on her phone for
Kaz, considering making a call or sending him a message. But given how someone
was always around—her father, Carmine, her mother, or even one of Alberto’s
men—she didn’t feel safe doing so.

Anyone could pick up her phone and despite it being locked,
messages still flashed on the screen. She didn’t want to take the risk.

Standing from the bench, Violet pulled on Olly’s collar to
make him turn around and follow her back to the mansion. He refused to budge,
still pointed in the other direction.

“Time to go back to the house,” Violet told the dog. “Come
on, Olly.”

The dog’s ear flicked.

Carmine had been absent from the mansion for the better
part of the morning, and Alberto hadn’t given much of an answer as to why or
where her brother was. He’d simply said that Carmine was around, and had
business to attend to. Apparently, that business had lasted for most of the
day.

Because Violet had been stuck entertaining the asshole’s
dog all damn morning and afternoon.

“Olly,” Violet muttered, tugging lightly on his collar
again. “Aren’t you hungry?”

At the mention of food, Olly would usually run straight for
his bowls, wherever they may be. Violet didn’t even get an ear flick out of him
for that one.

Then, the dog’s head picked up higher, like he had heard
something farther beyond in the pathways. She supposed he could have, knowing
the dog had far better hearing than she did. But Alberto had been clear when
she said she was going for a walk.

Stay on the stone walkways. Not beyond.

After a certain point in the woods, the pathways turned to
dirt instead of stone. There were a couple of small cabins toward the back of
the property that they sometimes used for parties in the summer and things like
that, but it was too cold for anyone to be in them now.

Olly lurched forward with a bark, and Violet went with him,
her hand slipping out of his collar just at the last second. It saved her from
taking a tumble to the ground, but barely.

“Olly!”

Her shout did nothing. The dog was already gone.

Cursing under her breath, Violet righted her jacket and
jogged after the dog. She wasn’t going to put up with Carmine’s nonsense if she
lost his dog because it wouldn’t listen to her.

Before she knew it, her sneakers crunched on dirt as she
called out for the dog again. It would be a good half hour, maybe even a
forty-five minute, walk back to the mansion from where she was now.

And she had already gone too far, so there was no point in
turning back now.

Violet had just caught a flash of beige fur when she
noticed that the lights to one of the cabins were on, making her pause.
Normally Alberto would have told her if anyone was staying in them, and since
they were supposed to be empty, she didn’t think twice about going up to the
door, ready to knock.

But something made her pause … Instead of knocking as she
had planned to do, she walked around the side, peeking through the windows
there. The furniture was still covered in sheets, the place empty of anyone as
far as she could see, but even still, that feeling of unease didn’t fade.

She was almost to the back of the cabin when she finally
found Olly standing next to the small, rectangular window that looked into the
basement. She hissed a command for him to stay, not raising her voice above a
whisper, but it didn’t matter, Olly wasn’t moving. Whatever had made him run
off was there in the basement, it seemed.

Getting a firm grip on his collar this time—she didn’t need
him running off again—her curiosity got the best of her as she crouched down to
see whatever it was that held his attention.

Carmine was in the room, along with two others that Violet
couldn’t make out from where she was standing, but what surprised her the most
was that Franco was in the room as well. Except, he wasn’t there by choice.

A steel table had been set up in the center of the room, a
plastic tarp placed beneath it, and on that table was Franco, his arms strapped
down on either side of him, his legs cuffed in the same way. A light sheen of
sweat was covering his face and naked torso, and if Violet wasn’t mistaken, he
was shaking as well.

There was nothing to cover his head, so his panicked,
frenzied gaze was clear for them all to see. She knew she should have walked
away then, put everything she was seeing to the back of her mind and act as
though it had never happened. But she felt stuck, almost frozen in time as she
watched the scene play out before her.

Franco wasn’t the only one in distress, however. Carmine,
while off to the side, was pacing the floor, scrubbing a hand down his face
every few seconds, as though he too were still trying to make sense of what was
happening. He wasn’t wearing the same clothes he’d been in earlier—instead, he
was in a pair of wrinkled jeans and a shirt whose logo was so faded, the
original design couldn’t be made out.

He shook his head hard, muttering something that Violet
couldn’t hear, but one of the men he was in the room with could. The man
gestured to Carmine first, then to Franco who was now pleading, his hands in
tight fists as he tried to break free of his restraints.

It was rare, Violet thought, for her brother to display
such anguish. Alberto had never been easy on him that way, always demanding
that Carmine act like a man, even when he was a boy. So, to see this emotion in
him made Violet’s own heart seize with worry.

What was happening?

It took some convincing, or rather it was a sharp slap to
the back of Carmine’s head, that finally had him crossing the room, picking up
an instrument from the table near the wall. Violet crept a little closer,
squinting her eyes to see better, but there was no need, not when Carmine came
right back to where he had been standing, and she could now see what he was
holding.

The glint of silver drew her gaze down to his hand, to the
small blade she might not have noticed otherwise. It was thin, almost concealed
entirely, but it was the sharpened tip that told her what it was.

A scalpel.

It was time to leave. She needed to
leave
, but no
matter how loud the words were screamed in her own head, she remained in place,
though her grip on Olly’s collar tightened just a little more.

Carmine approached slowly, as though this was the last
thing he wanted, his face reflecting each plea that was shouted from Franco’s
mouth. He stopped just at the edge of the table, and though he was looking at
Franco, he couldn’t meet his eyes—that was one place he refused to look.

He raised his instrument, his hands shaking as he brought
it down to Franco’s chest, resting it right in the middle, but he didn’t cut,
not yet. Or at least not before he mouthed an apology that would mean nothing
in the next few seconds. Because once he finally dragged that blade down, blood
welling immediately as Franco’s skin split open, he screamed, a blood-curdling
yell that even Violet could hear.

One of the other men in the room rushed forward, clamping a
hand over Franco’s mouth to muffle his cries of pain, even as he used his
substantial weight to hold a thrashing Franco still. Carmine didn’t remove the
blade until he reached the man’s abdomen, then backed away, his face a little
greener than it had been before.

But that was only the first, because very soon, that
scalpel was replaced with bolt cutters, and Carmine had to return to his once
childhood friend.

Nausea churned heavily in her stomach, threatening to spill
out of her in a moment’s notice. Finally, when she saw Carmine position the
metal around one of Franco’s ribs, she squeezed her eyes shut just as he
snapped it free.

Scrambling backward, Violet dragged Olly with her as she
hurried away, breathing heavily through her nose as she tried to quell her need
to vomit what little she had eaten that day.

Maybe it was the fact that Olly sensed Violet’s distress,
but the dog didn’t fight to return to the cabin as she pulled him back to the
pathways. She couldn’t run fast enough, couldn’t make her mind forget the
images burning their way into her retinas.

Even when she closed her eyes, it was still there.

All of it.

Swallowing convulsively, she desperately willed the vomit
to stay away. The burning prickle of tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them
away.

Once her sneakers hit the stone pathways again, she took a
deep breath. It didn’t help. She might have been back in the safe zone, but she
felt anything but okay.

How was she supposed to sit at the dinner table later with
her brother, knowing what she did, seeing what she had?

Oh, God.

Violet was three-quarters of the way back to the mansion
when she nearly rammed right into her father as they both came around a blind
turn in the path. She was moving much faster than Alberto was.

“Slow down, Violet,” her father said, chuckling.

It didn’t sound true.

She schooled her features, knowing her panic and fear had
to be written on her face as clear as day.