Where the Snow Falls (Seasons of Betrayal Book 2) (17 page)

It wasn’t as shocking or frightening.

She knew what to expect.

Each round fired off a bit easier than the last until she knew the clip had only one bullet left to shoot.

“You’re a decent shot,” Ruslan praised, peering down at the target Violet had been aiming at.

Even she had to admit she’d done pretty well. Most of the rounds either hit the target paper or directly near it. Seemed her aim leaned a bit to the left.

“But not one kill shot,” Ruslan added quieter. “Trust me when I say you want the kill shot. When someone is coming at you and you only have the one chance to end it, you need to make that shot every time. Understand?”

“Practice?”

“Maybe …”

“Ma—”

Violet’s words cut off as a distinctive
snap
echoed, and she glanced away from the targets, looking at Ruslan who was aiming the gun he’d been fiddling with on and off directly at the side of her head.

Her world froze in that split second.

She wasn’t entirely sure why.

It was like every inch of her body, all the parts of her, suddenly zoned in on the barrel of the gun she was looking down. Her heart stuttered in its beats before leaping into her throat and lodging there. Her fists clenched tighter around her own gun pointed down at the table, and her back straightened.

“How easy this would be,” Ruslan murmured softly. “And it would be easy, Violet. All it would take was pulling the trigger and so many things just … go away. Maybe then my father would make his way back to where he should be, and my selfish bastard of a brother would pull his head out of his ass, hmm?”

Violet swallowed hard, unsure and wary in her heart.

She did not know this man at all.

Not that she knew the version of him she’d been chatting with all morning, either.

“You wouldn’t,” Violet said.

Ruslan smiled, cold and fleeting. “You have no idea. Now, you have one round left in your gun. I’d like for you to fire it.”

Violet, somehow in her fear, managed to sneer. “Afraid I might turn it on you?”

“You’d be dead before you blinked. Do as I said. Try for that kill shot this time.”

Ignoring the shake in her breath and the slight tremor in her hands, Violet didn’t see how she had much of a choice but to do what Ruslan wanted, given his gun was still cocked and pointed at her head. So she did what he wanted.

And when she aimed …

Her breaths came slower.

Her hands steadied.

Gaze zoned in …

She didn’t even feel the kickback that final time.

Ruslan looked to the side just as the bullet ripped through the chest of the paper human down the way. Silently, he lowered his gun, hitting the button on the side to release the clip.

It fell out on the table, empty.

“You don’t know me very well,” Ruslan said, never looking back at Violet, “but if you did, you’d know everything I said was a lie. I can’t stand my father, and I like him a great deal more when he’s gone, but I think I would love him if he were dead. As for Kaz—well, love is never selfish, Violet, no matter its form.”

Violet just stared at Ruslan, more unsure than she had ever been in her life.

“Seems fear works in your favor, though,” he continued. “You would have hit your target in the heart. Near instant death when it exploded in their chest.
Ironic
, yes?”

Though his last conversation with his mother hadn’t gone as planned, Kaz gave her a day to calm down before he returned, alone, to tell her of the wedding and details. She still wasn’t happy with him, but at least, her anger had cooled. And if he knew one thing, despite her uneasiness as to who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, Kaz knew that his mother would still attend that day.

Irina was still his mother, after all, and despite his hatred for his father, Kaz loved his mother.

His sisters, Dina and Nika, however, were fucking thrilled because a wedding meant shopping. He couldn’t even say for sure whether they were happy for him or just glad to be out of the house and happily swiping his damn card. But since they were out with Violet, that would at least give them a chance to talk to her and learn who she was.

He couldn’t ask for more than that.

Kaz, on the other hand, was working on his side of the guest list. There was not enough time to invite everyone—his family was extensive—but he needed at least a dozen key figures in attendance.

There was the Boykov family in Chicago—Konstantin having agreed quite readily and Kolya mumbling an affirmative before he hung up.

Of course, he would also invite the highest-ranking members of the
Bratva
, and a few others from neighboring states who he hadn’t talked to in ages due to their relationship with Vasily.

By the time he was on his way across town, Kaz had gotten all the answers he wanted … except for one.

Alfie Shelby.

Though he was notorious for playing both sides of the field, never allowing his loyalty to show for any one man, Kaz still considered the man a close friend. But in his newly appointed position, he wasn’t so sure that the way things stood now could go on for much longer.

It was different when Vasily was in the seat—he refused to do business with Alfie because of his neutral stance, but Kaz hadn’t cared. And even now, he still didn’t, but the men who worked under him wouldn’t stand for it, no matter how powerful Alfie was.

“Welcome home, Kazimir,” Alfie said from his position behind his desk. “It’s good to see you, mate.”

“You too, Alfie,” Kaz returned as he clasped the man’s hand in his own before taking a seat.

“I hear congratulations are in order.”

It shouldn’t have surprised him that Alfie knew about the wedding—there was very little that the man
didn’t
know. Even still, he doubted Violet had shared the news with anyone just yet, and he had only informed a select number of people, none of whom did business with Alfie.

“Who told you?”

Alfie waved his hand in the air as though the answer was insignificant. “A little dove, but that’s not important at the moment, is it? You’re here to discuss business, eh? Let’s discuss.”

“We’ve done good business together,” Kaz said, tapping his fingers against the arm of his seat.

“One-point-two million last quarter because of that arms deal, but who’s counting?”

He didn’t doubt the proceeds were as high as Alfie said—no one could do numbers like him. “And you understand why I can’t have my business tied with those who would try to take it from me.”

“Right, because you’re the—fucking hell, what’s the name your people call it—
pakhan
?”

Alfie wasn’t a man who was careful with his words so as not to offend—most of the time he was
trying
to offend someone—but Kaz had learned it was just that accent of his, Cockney he thought it was called. So he knew better than to let Alfie’s words get to him, but he could already tell by the way the other man was sitting a little straighter that his temper was flaring.

“I am. You know what that means.”

Alfie rubbed his jaw. “I know fuck all about your politics, mate—and I don’t care to know. Whatever feud you lot have against the other means nothing to me.” Alfie rested an elbow on his desk, pointing at Kaz. “Because while you two fuck about, money is lost in the process.”

“But as you said,” Kaz spoke up, already feeling that rush of annoyance overtake him. “That has fuck all to do with you.”

“Yet there you sit, in my fucking chair like a big man, expecting me to sever business arrangements for the sake of your fucking vendetta.”

The tension in the room was escalating, to the point that before he knew it, Kaz was on his feet. “There comes a time when you have to pick sides, Alfie.”

“
Fuck
off,” Alfie returned, slowly rising from his chair, his eyes blazing as he laid his fists against the wood. “Even if I were, who’s to say I’m picking your fucking side, Kazimir? The only thing your
Bratva
has shown me over the last year is that you care more about domestic bullshit than how to conduct business. I expected it from that cunt you call a father, but you were supposed to be better than that, yet here you stand.”

“Don’t insult me again. You won’t like how I answer.”

Whether he considered Alfie a friend was immaterial—it was a lesson Kaz had to learn. Respect was earned, not given. And if he wanted to keep it, that meant never letting someone insult him without consequence.

“And what exactly would you do about it? Run off to that fucking brother of yours, though I think he knows how to better handle a cock before a gun. Or maybe to the fucking Gallucci you have warming your bed—perhaps she’ll be worth more in name besides what she can do with her mou—”

Kaz had his gun out and pointed at Alfie’s face before he could finish the sentence. “Finish,” he said, his gaze never straying from Alfie. “Give me the opportunity to show you what it truly means to not give a fuck who you have to kill when it comes to the woman you love. Test me.”

No one, and he truly meant no one, pulled a gun on Alfie and lived to tell about it. He took the action as an act of war.

“This meeting can end one of two ways,” Kaz went on, aim never wavering. “Either we sit and discuss the new business arrangements between us if you agree to sever your ties with the Gallucci family, or I can leave and sever our own. We can either remain partners, or I’ll leave with you as my enemy, and they don’t last long. Make your choice.”

Alfie neither moved nor spoke, his expression unreadable. After another heartbeat of silence, Kaz was sure he had his answer, but then Alfie smiled.

“Then let’s discuss.”

Only Alfie could remain unbothered that a gun was in his face.

As Kaz put his gun away and took a seat, he remembered something Alfie had once told him around the time they met.

He respected the bold.

Being twenty-one—almost twenty-two—Violet figured she could handle sixteen-year-old twins.

Surely.

She had been sixteen not that long ago, after all.

She was
wrong
.

Dina and Nika Markovic were like identical hurricanes when focused on something in particular, especially if that
something
was shopping, apparently.

“Gold and black?” Nika asked.

“Classic,” Dina replied.

Violet was tempted to hide behind the display cabinet of vases as she said, “Less basic, please.”

“
Basic
?”

The word had been practically screeched—though it came from two different tenors. Despite how identical the twins were, they had subtle differences. One was a bit shorter, if only by a half an inch. The other had a habit of cocking her eyebrow even when she didn’t realize she was doing it. And their voices—they each had their own unique sound.

That, however, was about as far as it went.

“Black and gold are great,” Violet said, “if this was going to be a huge event in a giant hall that needed an entire overhaul to fit the day, but it’s not.”

Nika pouted—Dina scowled.

“And black is … dark,” Violet settled on saying.

“Black is classy,” Dina shot back.

“Elegant,” Nika put in.

Violet sighed, knowing she should pick her battles wisely, and chose to go a different route. “What colors would your mother enjoy?”

Both twins perked at that question.

“Cream, probably,” Nika said.

Dina only nodded in agreement.

Violet could do cream. “Black and cream, then.”

She barely even got the sentence out of her mouth, and the twins were already spinning on their heels. Dina went straight back to the displays of linens, and Nika headed for the centerpiece display.

It was going to be a
long
day.

She liked the Markovic twins, to be sure, but she hadn’t quite realized how much effort went into planning even a small event, never mind with a pair of twin hellions determined to break their brother’s credit card.

Violet shook her head, knowing the twins probably wouldn’t even hear her as she said, “I’m going to step outside for a minute and ... get something from the car.”

Or take a break.

Yes, a break sounded perfect.

As she suspected, neither of the twins said a thing in response.

Violet left the boutique with her head down, already digging through her purse to find her cell phone that had probably fallen to the very bottom. Her hand had just grabbed a hold of the device as she bumped straight into a hard, tall form.

She didn’t know why, but she knew who it was without even looking up. Maybe it was because of the way his pocket-handkerchief folded into three peaks when most people just chose a simple square. Maybe it was the familiar cologne he wore and had used for the majority of her life.

Or maybe it was his chuckles at her lack of attention.

Soft and amused, but still unsurprised and dry.

Her
father
.

“Violet,” Alberto murmured.

Instinctively, Violet took a giant step back as her head snapped up to stare her father straight in the face. Old habits were hard to break, and that was never more evident than when she replied, “Hello, Daddy.”

But even as she spoke, Violet was looking for a way out of the situation. She glanced back at the boutique she’d just left, knowing damn well two very important people inside needed to stay there, out of sight and safe from whatever might happen next. It wasn’t an option to draw attention to the twins, so she couldn’t go back inside. Her car was parked alongside the street just a few spots down from where her father stood, but she was pretty damn sure her father wasn’t going to just let her pass.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Alberto asked, lifting a hand toward the sky.

Snowflakes drifted down slowly around them.

It felt like time slowed for that split second.

“It’s cold,” Violet finally said.

What else could she say?

Alberto’s sharp gaze swept the street, down beyond Violet’s spot, then to the side, and after he had looked across the street, his attention was back on her. “How was Chicago,
topina
?”

Little mouse
.

He’d called her that for years. More than she cared to count.

But it didn’t quite feel the same.

Violet chose not to answer, as his question felt like bait, and she wouldn’t be the fool who got stuck on that proverbial hook.

Alberto didn’t seem to mind. “Your …
Russian
has quite a way about him, doesn’t he?”

She did blink that time, unsure of what Alberto was implying. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Holding up a hand, her father ticked off fingers.

One, then two, three, four, five, and finally, the sixth on his other hand.

“Six,” he said quietly.

Violet forced back the lump in her throat. “I don’t under—”

“I don’t expect you to,” Alberto interrupted, sharper than before. “If there was anything I tried to do as your father—being who I was in the position that I was—it was making sure your head was thoroughly buried in the sand when it came to
business
. You didn’t need to understand or
see
, don’t you understand? It would do no man any good to have a wife who was a little too nosy—too
curious
.”

She swallowed hard, eyes darting behind her father to the man casually walking up the street, hands tossed in his pockets and his head down.

“And yet,” her father continued, gaining her attention once more, “here you are, Violet. My curious little thing—sunny like the brightest day, lighting up everyone’s lives, hmm?”

It took every fucking ounce of control Violet had not to react to the way her father posed his statement so innocently, like it wouldn’t and didn’t mean a damn thing.

Except it did.

He meant his words to soften her, she knew. He meant to remind her of a relationship she’d once thought she had with this man, only to learn it was not as rosy pink as she’d once thought it was.

Alberto’s gaze dropped to Violet’s hand clenching around the straps of her bag. She knew exactly what he was staring at—her engagement ring.

Somehow, she managed to stand a little bit straighter.

“Six,” Alberto repeated, “six men dead because of what you have done with that Russian, and possibly a seventh soul, but we don’t know about Amelia.”

Violet froze on the spot, finally understanding what her father had been alluding. Strangely, the urge to stare her father in the eye to show she was unaffected by his words rose up hard and swift. “And what am I supposed to do about that?”

Alberto went in a different direction, sort of.

“I should have quelled that curious desire of yours back when you were younger,” Alberto said softly, never looking away from the ring. “But I thought it was sweet how your curiosity bled into everything around you, no matter what you did. I thought—stupidly—rules would be enough. That, if I repeated them often enough, you would hear them.”

“I did hear them,” she whispered.

“Heeding, however, is an entirely different matter.”

He was right.

She didn’t even bother to deny it.

Sighing, Alberto finally glanced away from the engagement ring she wore to stare her in the eyes again. He offered her a slight smile, though it felt cold and untrue.

“I hope this taught you something today,” he said.

Violet’s brow furrowed. “What could you have possibly taught me?”

“You’re never invisible to me, Violet. No matter how fast you run, or where you try to hide, I will always find you; I can’t help but see you,
dolcezza
, as you’re too sunny to hide in the shadows like that Russian of yours. You’re impossible to miss. Today, I might not be able to do much—too public—but that day will come.”

She sucked in a hard breath, refusing to bite the chain her father offered.

“I’m happy,” she told him.

Maybe she thought appealing to the side of Alberto Gallucci that was softer than the side he showed to run his family would get her further. Maybe she hoped he would see her words were the truth.

Violet wasn’t stupid, though.

The very moment she said her truth, she was well aware it fell on deaf ears.

She was no longer just Alberto’s daughter. She had lost what sympathy and affection he afforded her when she disobeyed him, when she betrayed him.

And she wasn’t even sorry.

Alberto’s expression didn’t waver in the slightest. “Yet I’m not.”

Violet didn’t even know what to say to that statement.

Apparently, her father wasn’t looking for a response.

Alberto turned on his heel, glancing once over his shoulder, his stare dropping to the ring on her finger again. “Nothing, darling, and I do mean
nothing
, is unfixable. You only have to ask.”

Before she could respond, Alberto stepped out onto the street, holding a hand high to wave at the car that slowed to let him cross the road. Violet watched her father go until he disappeared around a building and was out of sight.

It didn’t matter.

All of the sudden, it seemed she couldn’t breathe.

One week blended into the next as the wedding quickly approached. Despite the short time period, things had come together rather well, thanks in part to the overzealous females in his family. And now that the Chicago family had flown in, he had spent very little time with Violet as they kept her so busy.

But that was for the best, he thought, since Vasily had yet to show his face.

The last thing he needed was for Vasily to make a grand appearance at the wedding.

He didn’t want anything to ruin that day for Violet.

Kaz would do everything in his power to make it a good day for her, even if it wasn’t going to be everything of her dreams. It just wasn’t possible with their time crunch.

It was one reason why he was concerned by the current expression on her face.

Since the day she had gone out shopping with his sisters, she’d had this look, one he hadn’t been able to read. Not quite sure what to make of it, he had elected to give her some time, knowing just how much everything was changing.

He understood it was a lot to undertake in such a short period of time, so he didn’t want to add more stress.

But it had gone on too long now.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked looking over in her direction.

Violet was scanning through a book of wedding things that Vera had given her. He thought they were on linens for the tables.

“I’m wondering how your sister keeps track of all this,” she said, gesturing to her lap. “Even I don’t remember half the things I’ve already agreed to.”