Where the Wind Whispers (Seasons of Betrayal Book 3) (11 page)

“You didn’t answer my question, Alberto.”

“Which one?”

“How long will I need to stay in New York?” Caesar asked, finally joining the conversation again. “Because I’m already bored, you see, and the longer I stay bored—”

“Caesar,” Angelo warned.

“—the more likely I am to find
someone
to amuse myself with, Don. And we all know how much trouble that leads me into, don’t we? I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“At least, he managed to add the title in there for my benefit,” Alberto muttered.

“He has his good qualities,” Angelo replied absently. “And if he wasn’t my favorite, those occasional qualities would mean nothing. He tends to forget that.”

Caesar scoffed but said nothing else.

“The divorce,” Angelo said pointedly, “is not a simple thing.”

Alberto sighed heavily. “I have contacts—it could be forged, for now.”

Violet’s heart beat so hard in her chest, it was beginning to hurt. She was pretty goddamn sure this was
not
in Kaz’s plans when he sent her back here to be safe. And now … now, she had no real way of contacting him to tell him what the hell was going on and that it was going south really fast.

“How good of a forgery when the marriage is legal, registered, and recognized by the state government?” Caesar asked.

“State—not Federal. It’s a loophole. It would give me time. I have other … documents for Violet as far as identities go. One of those could be used.”

Oh, this was not good.

Violet cringed, wishing she had stayed in bed. It could be as simple as making a phone call, but she knew good and well that her father had all the lines tapped and his security monitored all calls. Even her cell phone was monitored.

How the hell was she supposed to get out of this one?

“I’ll stay a while,” Caesar said, bringing Violet back to the conversation at hand. “It’s not like my brother couldn’t use the time away from me. And besides, your daughter does have one thing going for her.”

Alberto made a disgruntled sound under his breath. “Should I even ask?”

“She’s interesting. I like interesting women. They’re a challenge.”

Angelo chuckled. “And when does that interest wane? With you, it always seems to wane rather quickly.”

Caesar took a second to answer. “Somewhere between a surname change and babies.”

“He’ll never make a good husband,” Alberto groused.

“You didn’t want a
good
husband,” Angelo replied as if he was reminding Violet’s father of that fact. “What you wanted, old friend, was a blanket to cover the shame. I’m providing you with that, aren’t I?”

“Actually,” Caesar put in, “that would be me.”

“This or a grave, son.”

“You could at least make it interesting for me,
Papa
.”

“Well, she
is
technically married,” Angelo said like it was an afterthought. “That is your type, it seems.”

What hell had Violet fell into?

She didn’t know if this was some kind of nightmare or just a sick joke. Hiding the pregnancy was one thing, but she was
not
going to fake marry someone just to please her father or stay in a safe haven.

The more she even had to consider it, the sicker it made her feel.

Violet’s morning sickness had finally decided to show itself at the proper time—for once. All the anxiety and panic she felt began to thump hard in the back of her throat as the bile spilled onto the back of her tongue. She spun fast on her heel, making sure to keep a tight grip on her messenger bag as she went. It was the one thing her father let her keep—though he’d gone through it, only not with a sharp enough eye to realize the white bottle of vitamins were missing their telltale wrapping. He’d never even questioned the prenatal vitamins, really, and she supposed that was sheer luck.

She barely made it out of the hallway, going back the way she had come, and into a spare bathroom in enough time to be sick without making a mess
and
exposing her eavesdropping. Somehow, she managed to get the door shut and the exhaust fan turned on—it offered just enough sound to muffle her vomiting, but not by much.

Violet leaned over the toilet, more sickness spilling into the porcelain, as her bag fell to the tiled floor, the contents falling out. She didn’t even care.

This was
horrid
.

By the time she was finished, the whole bathroom had smelled of vomit, and her cheeks were streaked with tearstains.

Just freaking wonderful.

That wasn’t the worst part, though.

No, that came when the bathroom door was pushed open with a certain care that said whoever was behind it had been listening to her the entire time and was wondering if she was dead or not. Frankly, she’d be wondering that herself had she needed to listen.

“Fuck,” Violet muttered.

Caesar stood outside the bathroom, arms crossed and a curious expression on his face as he watched Violet reach up to flush the toilet. “Well, then …”

“Get out.”

“In a minute.”

“Now,” Violet snarled.

“Sick?”

“Deaf?” she shot back.

On wobbly legs, Violet stood, turning to the sink to turn the tap on and cup water in her hand to drink and swish out her mouth. She only turned around when she heard a telltale rattle behind her. Caesar held the bottle of her vitamins in his hand, though it looked like he’d been refilling her bag for her.

She would have thanked him because it
was
a nice gesture, if he hadn’t been holding those pills.

Her secret …

Jesus.

“Caesar,” Violet started to say.

“Just a second,” Caesar said, holding up a finger as he looked the bottle over. Then he took the top off and looked inside, nodding as though the contents were exactly what he’d expected to find inside.

Shit.

This had just gone from bad to way worse.

“Question,” he murmured, “if you wouldn’t mind answering.”

Well, what options did Violet have at the moment?

“What is it?”

“You could be a little nicer right now, Violet.”

“Could I?”

Caesar dropped the vitamins in the bag and handed it over, not giving it another ounce of his attention. Instead, his gaze focused on her. “Tell me, you don’t have your wedding bands hidden somewhere, right?”

“You already know the story—he sent me back without them.”

A smile graced his features, and then it was gone just as fast as it had come.

“No man who gives a woman a ring and his last name would take it back unless he intended to give it to her again someday,” Caesar said quietly. “He wouldn’t care to, you see? If he truly didn’t want her anymore, she could take the rings, his name, and run with it, as long as she was
gone
. I thought—
maybe
—your Russian was a special case. Cultural differences, we’ll say. Indulge me—how wrong was I?”

Violet shot a look behind Caesar, wondering who else might be in the hallway listening.

He seemed to take note of her distraction. “It’s fine. They’re drinking in your father’s office—I closed the door on my way out.”

“That doesn’t make me
safe
.”

“You—this agreement between our families that they’re working on—are a means to an end for me, nothing more. Not a means that I chose or wanted, mind you, but one nonetheless. If you have a way out of this for me, I would love to hear it.”

Violet swallowed hard. “I thought I was interesting—a challenge. Wasn’t that was you said earlier?”

“Spying is a bad habit.”

“You should close doors you intend to talk behind.”

“True enough,” he agreed, “but you just got a whole lot less interesting, Violet. Married women are one thing. Pregnant women are a whole other breed. No offense.”

“None taken. You’re not a very good made man, are you?”

Caesar smirked at that question. “I’m good at pretending to be, and isn’t that what matters?”

She was good at pretending, too.

Sometimes, a person had to work with what they had.

From the moment Vasily’s heart had stopped beating, it felt like there was a ticking clock in Kaz’s head. Counting down each second until he was back home and could start the arrangements for Vasily’s funeral, he knew that he would have to pay his mother and sisters a visit first before he did anything.

That idea weighed on him the most.

On the flight home, he thought of taking the easy way out. He could send one of his men to deliver the news that Vasily was dead—have them lie and say it was one of Vasily’s many enemies who had finally put him in the ground. But Kaz thought it better to tell the truth than to conceal what he had done.

The truth, no matter how painful, was always easier than a lie.

Now, as he drove toward his former home with something akin to anxiousness churning in his stomach, he knew that this would probably be the last time he stepped foot in this house—at least for a while.

The cars were parked in a neat line, Vera’s Bentley parked between the twins’ cars, and their mother’s car closest to the house. Before arriving, Kaz had called Vera, letting her know that she needed to come by the house.

He didn’t doubt that she knew exactly what he had to say—he could hear it in the way she hesitated before agreeing. No part of him thought this would be easy—before Vasily had let greed corrupt his mind, he had been a loving husband, a doting father.

In times like these, it was much harder to remember the harm he had done as opposed to the good memories they shared. Even Rus had been uncharacteristically silent on the ride over, lost in his own thoughts, but once they cleared the gate, he sat up a little straighter and snapped off his seat belt.

Before he stepped out of the car, Rus said, “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

Kaz didn’t respond, letting his silence answer for him as he pocketed the keys to his Porsche and followed Rus up the front steps and into the house.

When was the last time he’d been here? Though it couldn’t have been very long ago—before the wedding, he thought—he felt like nothing had changed in the short time he’d been gone.

Just another reminder of how dependent his mother really was on Vasily. Since Vasily ran, it was like her life had come to a standstill. Kaz tried to muster up the guilt he knew he should feel, but he couldn’t, not when he still had the scar across his throat—a reminder of his father’s love.

“I totally—oh, Rus is here! And Kaz!”

Nika was the first to find them, her cell phone pressed to one ear, a smile splitting her lips as she ended the call without bothering to say goodbye. She launched herself at Rus first, earning a chuckle from the big man before she gave Kaz the same treatment, nearly strangling him with the force of her grip.

“I feel like it’s been forever since I last saw you guys,” she said looking back and forth between them.

Seeing her like this, untouched by the grief their world sometimes brought, Kaz felt that familiar flicker of hesitation. He could just tell his mother and Vera, he reasoned. They were older and could process what he would say better than two seventeen-year-olds.

But wouldn’t he want to know?

Wouldn’t he have demanded that whoever was delivering the news tell him as well? He remembered all too well what he had been like as a teenager, wanting to be treated like he was older than he was.

Even if he wanted to spare them, they would learn—he would have, had the positions been reversed.

“Where are—”

“What’s all the commotion about?” Vera asked, appearing from around the corner, quickly followed by Irina and Dina. “Oh, Kaz. It’s about time you got here. You do remember that I
work
, right? I can’t just take off whenever I feel like it.”

Vera didn’t ramble, nor did she really say more than she had to—that was just who she’d always been. She was nervous, worried about what he was going to say, but Kaz didn’t doubt she knew the answer, even as she pretended she didn’t.

For whose sake,
he wondered.

“You should sit—all of you.”

His younger sisters didn’t question him, half-absorbed in whatever was more interesting on their phones. Ruslan sat between them, knowing that once Kaz said what he needed to, he would take care of them.

Irina, on the other hand, blinked before her eyes narrowed. “What’s happened?”

Kaz sighed. “Ma—”

“You forget that I am your mother, Kazimir. You don’t command me in my own home.”

Vera laid a hand on Irina’s shoulder, her expression shifting from her usual indifference. “Mama, maybe it would be a good idea—”

Ignoring her, his mother stood her ground, tired eyes trained on Kaz. “Why are you here? You made it quite clear where you stood the last time you walked through those doors.”

“It’s about Vasily.”

“Your father,” she said.

A statement.

A reminder.

But he needed neither.

“Have you both finally settled whatever petty disagreement you had?”

A bit of Kaz’s control slipped. “I wouldn’t consider having my throat slit and left to die a
petty disagreement
.”

Nika gasped, but Rus quickly quieted her. Irina tried to hide her flinch, but she wasn’t quite able. Her gaze dropping to the floor a moment, she collected herself before asking, “What about your father? When is he coming home?”

There was no easy way to say it, and at that moment, Kaz was reminded of a time when he was a boy and had gotten in trouble in school. That entire journey home, he had worried what she would say once she learned, how upset she would be.

Kaz didn’t fear many things, but he had always feared breaking the hearts of the women he loved.

“He won’t be,” he forced out before he could change his mind.

Vera understood right away, her eyes widening, but there wasn’t any sympathy—not for Vasily, anyway.

“Did you exile him to Russia since you’ve taken his seat?”

Kaz scrubbed a hand down his face. “No, he’s never coming here, there, or anywhere. Ever.”

For the longest time, she merely stared at him, disbelief flickering in her eyes until the tears welled and her lip trembled. “What did you
do
, Kazimir?”

“Is he dead?”

The question came from Nika, her hand shaking as she brought it up to cover her mouth. Rus, grabbing her hand and Dina’s, pulled them from the room a moment before Dina let out a noisy sob, her tears falling freely.

But Kaz’s attention was quickly snapped back to his mother when he felt the sharp sting on his cheek from her hand. He tensed but kept his hands at his side, though turning back to face her. For the first time in his life, he saw an emotion from her he never thought she would aim at him.

Hate.

“Tell me it was someone else,” she demanded. “Tell me it was just an order you agreed to simply because it was going to happen regardless. Don’t you
dare
tell me you killed your own father!”

He wouldn’t, but it didn’t matter.

Not when his silence gave her the same answer.

Irina shoved him, using both of her hands and all of her strength. She poured every bit of hurt and anger into the assault, sending him back a step.

Kaz allowed it, welcomed it even.

Because he knew, very soon, he wouldn’t get anything from her at all. “I took care of everything. The funeral—”

Her agonized wail pierced the air a moment before her fists pounded his chest. Still dry-eyed—though even she felt something in the face of their mother’s pain—Vera reached to pull Irina away, but Kaz gave a sharp shake of his head.

This was his penance—he didn’t intend to make it easy for himself.

When her strength finally waned, he caught her, pulling her tight to his chest, even as she sobbed, the sound of it nearly stopping his heart.

An apology was all he had to offer because there was nothing left. “
Izvinite, Mama
—I’m sorry.”

Only one funeral stuck out in Kaz’s memory, though he had been to many.

Gavrill’s violent death in the streets of Brighton had brought many—both family and friends, even associates—back from the motherland. Everyone had wanted to come and pay their respects to a man loved and feared—a man that was mourned.

Many came for Vasily as well, spectators in all black, but as Kaz surveyed the crowd behind mirrored aviators, he didn’t think a single person, outside of the women at his side, was upset by Vasily’s death.

But everyone kept up appearances, if only for Irina’s sake.

Her sobs had finally stopped two days ago, once she accepted that it was done—she too had a part to play.

A man, whose name Kaz didn’t bother to remember, spoke gallantly as he promised of Vasily going to a better place, offering words of encouragement where they weren’t needed.

Kaz then focused on the media vans parked along the cemetery's edge, along with the people who stood near them. By now, everyone in the five boroughs would know Vasily was dead.

But he only cared about one.

Alberto Gallucci.

The last little pin he needed to knock over.

A day passed and then another. With each one, Violet’s paranoia only became worse. Someone now knew her secret, even if that someone didn’t want to use what he knew to hurt her.

Or so Caesar said.

If there was anything in this life that Violet had learned, it was to trust no one.

No one was out to help or benefit her.

Not when they had to look out for themselves.

Yet Caesar had said nothing about Violet’s pregnancy so far. In fact, that same morning he figured out her secret, he and his father had joined her family for breakfast before Angelo said goodbye and caught a flight back to Philadelphia. The whole time, Caesar kept the conversation going between her family and his own father like nothing was amiss.

But before Angelo had left for his flight, her father finally said the word she had been dreading.

Marriage.

At first, it was shocking, even if she had already known from spying.

Alberto had posed the offer of marriage without even the air of suggestion, as though he didn’t intend to argue about it at all with her. Her refusal fell on deaf ears, and she’d been left not knowing what else to say.