Where the Wind Whispers (Seasons of Betrayal Book 3) (12 page)

Her opinion didn’t matter, according to her father.

She had done this to herself—to him.

Her current marriage would not be of any importance soon.

Violet was left struck silent and panicked.

It was only a matter of time, apparently.

She had never wanted Kaz more than in those moments, during that short, stiff conversation when she was left feeling like her father’s possession to do with what he wished whenever he wished to do it.

All the while, Caesar had stood across the room, sipping on whiskey and looking as blank as a piece of paper. He hadn’t shared an opinion as to what was happening, almost as if he didn’t care that it was going on right in front of him.

His father, on the other hand, could not have looked more pleased.

At some point, Violet figured the best thing for her to do was to play her father’s game like she intended to win it. Whatever game her father was playing, of course. She was already married—she was
not
marrying someone else.

Kaz was hers.

She was his.

And even if she hadn’t been pregnant, she still wouldn’t do any of this.

There was only one other person who seemed as though he too had his own end game where Alberto and Angelo’s plans were concerned, and that was Caesar. If she was to believe what Caesar had alluded to, then he did not intend to marry anyone ever—certainly not Violet, anyway.

So what other choice did she have?

Caesar’s way of playing their games was to make them believe he was compliant to their wishes.

Until Violet had a better plan of action, or finally got word from Kaz that he was coming for her, she would have to do the same.

It still felt bad, though.

Unsafe.

The snakes were everywhere.

Violet didn’t want to be the idiot who stepped on one.

“So it’s true then,” Violet heard her father say.

Her steps faltered, and she stopped just outside the dining room’s entrance, where the people inside couldn’t see her. Only a few minutes earlier, one of the maids had come to find her in the library to say dinner was waiting and so was her father.

“Apparently,” Carmine answered. “Heard the word traveling through the streets myself and had to look into it.”

No one had said anything about Carmine being there.

Fun.

“And?” Alberto pressed.

“I did a little checking.”

“I swear, if you’re purposely being difficult, Carmine, you will leave this house with a bloody mouth, son. Do not choose for today to be the day that you test my patience and forgiveness for your foolishness. It will not end well for you.”

“Why is it that every conversation we have lately ends with your threatening me,
Dad
?”

“You know why,” Alberto muttered.

“Moving on,” Carmine said, sighing heavily. “The Russian is dead.”

Violet’s breath caught painfully hard in her chest at the same time her heart leaped into her throat. Blood rushed her ears as her hands curled into tight fists at her sides, her fingernails cutting deep into the sensitive skin of her palm.

No
.

There was only one person she had ever heard her father and brother refer to as “the Russian.”

That was Kaz.

All of the sudden, Violet couldn’t breathe, and sickness started to well hard and fast in her stomach. Her heart was
breaking
—shattered into a million little pieces and cutting her all over like glass shards as it fell to the floor at her feet.

No.

After everything,
this
was how it was going to end?

She refused to believe that; she couldn’t.

“The funeral was today,” Carmine added.

Violet’s grief and pain kicked up a notch, threatening to send her falling to the floor. Somehow, she managed to stay up on shaky legs.

“Get me the remote for the television,” Alberto said. “It’ll be on the news, surely. Vasily Markovic dead? That funeral would have been full of media attention.”

It took Violet an entire fifteen seconds of listening to her brother search for the remote and the two men muttering back and forth for her to realize who her father had said was actually dead.

The relief was sweet.

Like candy melting in her mouth.

Like love in her fucking heart.

Like sun on her face.

If Vasily was dead … then that meant Kaz had done what he needed to do.

And he would be coming for her.

Soon.

“Here,” Carmine said.

Violet walked into the dining room just in time to see her brother slide the remote down the table toward their father. Alberto grabbed it and passed Violet a quiet greeting at the same time, not bothering to mention she was, by his rules, late for dinner considering the maid had called for her a while ago.

He probably didn’t care because now, something else had his attention.

Violet didn’t even bother to wait for her father to invite her to the table or for him to say grace as he usually would before a meal. Her mother was gone—as she seemed to be doing a lot lately—and it was just her and Alberto at the table.

Nicole wasn’t there for Carmine, and there wasn’t even a plate put out for her brother.

She filled her plate with the casserole and potatoes the cook had set out as her father turned on the large flat screen at the other side of the room. All too soon, the newscast on the television flickered back and forth between the anchors at the station and the reporter standing on the edge of the road, across from a cemetery and a church.

Violet couldn’t help herself—she watched the report, listening as Vasily’s name was again verified as the deceased and listing the family members that had been seen at the church. The reporter talked about the affiliations Vasily had been suspected of having to the mafia when alive, and incidents that had been tied to his name and family over the years.

“And the deceased’s sons, Ruslan and Kazimir—”

Alberto hit the mute button on the remote as the reporter said the one name Violet wanted to hear more than anything.

It didn’t matter.

An earlier shot came up on the television, the camera zooming in from far away to catch sight of Kaz in a black three-piece suit, his head turned toward his older brother as he nodded once in response to whatever Ruslan had said.

He didn’t look … sad.

No, if anything, he just looked resigned. Not happy or pleased, but simply accepting of what was happening around him.

Violet supposed that made sense. After all Vasily had done to his son, death was the only real answer Kaz would give for it all.

Now, he had.

Obviously.

Still, Violet stared at the screen long after that brief clip had played itself out and was over. Her reaction at having seen Kaz’s face for the first time in … Jesus, how long had it been now? The days had bled into weeks and then a month.

Too long, she knew.

Her reaction was immediate and profound in her soul. Warmth in her blood and fire in her heart. She had been getting used to turning off her emotions and keeping herself in check every waking moment because someone was always watching, and it had never been more difficult to do than at that moment.

Kaz had done what he set out to do, and now all that was left was her.

“Violet.”

Alberto’s call of her name was the only thing that took Violet’s attention away from the television. She checked her reflection in the large mirror opposite the dining table, noting her expression had stayed neutral, thankfully.

She didn’t know how she managed it.

“Yes?” Violet asked.

Alberto stared at her for a long while, saying nothing. Even Carmine was watching her as if he was waiting for her to jump from her chair.

“Is something wrong?” Violet asked her father when he continued his silent treatment.

He blinked, schooling his features as he replied, “I don’t know.
Is
something wrong?”

Violet looked back at the television, the news already having moved on to a new story. “Not that I know of.”

“That didn’t bother you at all, then?” Alberto pressed.

“Bother? Why would it bother me?”

Alberto leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he stared hard at Violet. “You did run off with the Russian, you know, before he sent you back. It wouldn’t be such a stretch for me to think you were still … hurting over it all.”

Violet smiled, cold and slow. “
Hurt
, Daddy? This doesn’t hurt at all.”

The silence stretched on between the three people in the dining room for long enough that Violet wondered if her father had understood her hidden message. Alberto finally opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted only by the sound of footsteps outside the dining room.

Caesar strolled in with his usual smirk in place and his hands tucked in his pockets. He seemed entirely unbothered as he came in without notice or even a greeting to Alberto. He passed Violet by without a word as well, but he did give her a nod as he rounded the table, moving toward Carmine.

Violet swore whenever the two men were in the same room together, it was as if a volcano was ready to erupt.

Carmine looked fit to kill.

Caesar looked bored out of his fucking mind.

It was both strange and amusing.

“You could have called if you were coming over,” Alberto said to Caesar.

The younger man shrugged, pulling out the chair that Carmine was reaching for and sitting down in it without a care in the world. Carmine barely managed to keep his cool as he moved down the table and took another seat closer to his father.

“Busy day,” Caesar explained, giving the newscast a fleeting glance before his attention was back on the table. “Figured it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

“Respect always matters,” Alberto said.

“Except Caesar wouldn’t know the meaning of that word,” Carmine replied with a false smile.

Caesar simply nodded. “He has a point, for once.”

Carmine scowled.

Alberto ignored them both. “What do you want, Caesar?”

Violet caught Caesar’s gaze as he leaned back in his seat, relaxed and seemingly happy. “Actually, I came to catch you up to speed on a few things, but …” He trailed off, nodding toward the television. “I assume you already have been, at least on that end.”

Alberto’s frown deepened. “You have no need to be bothering yourself in the Russian’s affairs here in New York. Mind your business while you’re here, Caesar. It won’t be much longer before you’re back in your own territory.”

For a moment, Caesar looked as though he was considering that statement, but then he chuckled and shook his head. “Well, Alberto, let me catch you up to speed on my end, then, since you already know what’s happening with the Russians down in Odessa.”

Violet tried to gage her father’s blank expression, but Alberto was giving nothing away. Carmine was doing his best not to even
look
at Caesar, so he wasn’t any fucking help.

She didn’t know what in the hell was going on.

And that made her nervous.

“I’ll be back in Philly by eleven tonight,” Caesar said. “Booked the ticket this morning. Don’t bother with my father or telling him. I’ll catch him up when I get home.”

“You’ve got another week in New York,” Alberto replied.

“No, I have a few hours. You see, I don’t
need
to be here, Alberto. You’re never going to have your daughter’s marriage resolved because it doesn’t need to be, you understand. The marriage between her and I will never happen because her Russian wouldn’t ever allow it to happen. Are we all getting it yet?”

Violet damn near shrunk into her seat the more Caesar talked and not because she wanted to hide away from the words he was saying, but because her father had slowly started to stand from his chair. Now, he was leaning over the table, facing Caesar with his hands pressed against the shined wood and his eyes burning with rage.

“What did you just say?” Alberto asked, each word coming out more forceful than the last.

Caesar didn’t even blink. “Ask your daughter.”

Violet stiffened, her back straightening in the chair as she gave Caesar a look from the side. She needed to know what in the hell he was doing or playing at before she could join in.

She hoped he wasn’t doing what she thought he was doing …

Caesar was a bastard—he’d said it himself—but was he so much of a bastard that he’d sacrifice her for his own gain?

“Ask her
what
?” Alberto barked. “She isn’t the one barging into my home and rescinding on a deal—”

“There was no deal to begin with,” Caesar interjected calmly. “Don’t you understand, Alberto? This never existed in the first place—it would have never happened.
Ask. Her
.”

Alberto’s face reddened in his anger, but he turned on Violet, looking like he was ready to make war. “What is he going on about?”

“I don’t know,” Violet said.

Her heart thumped hard in her chest, the panic making her throat thick. Even still, her words came out clear and confident. She was far too good at this lying thing.

“She does know,” Caesar replied, sighing. “She knows exactly what I’m talking about. She’s too precious to the Russian, Alberto. And when you have precious things that others want to take, the best thing you can do is give them over to someone else who thinks they’re precious, too. Even if it’s only for a little while.”

Violet’s head snapped to the side, and she glared hard at Caesar.

“Tell him,” Caesar said, still smiling in that cold way of his. “Tell him why the Russian sent you away, Violet.”

She swallowed hard, her teeth grinding in an effort to keep quiet.