Violet was pretty damn sure her eyes couldn’t stretch any wider than they currently were as she stared at the wall of money across from her.
She knew wealth. Of course, she did.
However, she hadn’t seen a wall of money before.
“Close your mouth,” Konstantin said as he strolled past her, entirely unaffected by her gawking.
“How much is there?”
“A few hundred thousand, give or take.”
Nope.
Violet’s eyes could get wider.
“Seems like a lot more,” she said more to herself than Konstantin.
“Small bills,” Konstantin replied by way of explanation. “You’re not here to stare at the wall, Violet. Come on.”
Still staring at the cash, Violet followed behind Konstantin, only taking her gaze off the wall of cellophane-wrapped bricks of money when he slammed the office door. She couldn’t see it, then.
“Take a seat,” Konstantin said. “I won’t be long.”
Violet took in the office space, which was much larger than she had first realized. Konstantin made his way over to his desk, spinning the leather chair around and falling into it as he opened a drawer at the same time. She didn’t find a seat like he had told her to; instead, she milled about the edge of the office, taking in the artwork on the wall and the books on the shelves.
Konstantin seemed far too interested in whatever he was looking through to notice Violet’s snooping.
That or he didn’t care.
She suspected it was the latter, considering the man had eyes in the back of his fucking head. She’d given him the finger behind his back earlier when he’d made one of his smart-ass comments, and somehow, the bastard knew.
“Are you pissed?” Konstantin suddenly asked.
Violet swung around to stare at him. “For what?”
“I don’t know … Kaz going off without a word? Seems a good reason.”
“Am I supposed to be?”
Violet wasn’t particularly happy—a goodbye or an explanation would have been nice—but she had to trust that Kaz knew what he was doing. She didn’t expect him to sit around and wait after her father’s men had come far too close just three days earlier.
“Better that you’re not,” Konstantin noted, “because I can’t stand pissy women.”
She glowered at him, less than impressed with his crudeness.
Still, Violet let it go, strolling over to a leather chair in the corner to sit down. “What are we doing here, anyway?”
“Making sure things are as they’re supposed to—” His words cut off as his gaze cut to the side, glancing at the flat-screen monitor on the desk. All emotion wiped from his features in a blink. He turned to stone, cold and hard. “Well, shit.”
Violet frowned.
That didn’t sound good.
“Something wrong?”
Konstantin’s gaze flicked to her and then back to the monitor. “No … Not at all.”
“Okay.”
“A word of advice, Violet.”
“For what?” she asked, confused as hell.
“Let him introduce himself first, and don’t speak unless he talks to you. Black is the best color. And pickles are God’s gift to man, much like women and vodka.”
Violet’s brow crumpled. “What?”
Her confusion didn’t last long, as a knock sounded on the office door a second before it was thrown open. The man who strolled in, lit cigar in hand, immediately reminded Violet of Kolya because of his large stature and wide shoulders. He was dressed in all black—from his shoes to his suit to even the cufflinks in the black dress shirt he wore.
Somehow, maybe it was the color of his eyes—a cold black—as his gaze fell on her in the corner and then passed over her just as quickly to look at Konstantin, or maybe it was the almost intimidating quality of his aura, but she knew …
This was the Boykov brothers’ father.
The man’s next words confirmed her suspicions.
“Son,” he greeted. “What did I tell you about bringing guests to the compound? Not to, yes?”
Konstantin’s eyes snapped to Violet but quickly went back to his father. “She’s harmless.”
“I’m sure.”
“Worry not, Vadim. She wouldn’t know where to begin even if I told her to go wild.”
“It isn’t hard to figure out, Konstantin,” Vadim replied coolly. “Anyone with two brain cells could figure it out if they stared at it all long enough.”
“That isn’t Kaz’s style.”
Vadim seemed to take those words in slower than he had the others, mulling over a response as he turned to give Violet another once-over. She could distinguish the similarities in his features to those of his sons’—Konstantin shared his father’s hard lines while Kolya shared the size and demeanor, obviously.
“You can sure tell where she comes from, no?”
Violet blinked, her mouth opening to ask what that was supposed to mean.
Konstantin’s earlier words kept her quiet.
“Like an olive,” Konstantin replied, chuckling.
Violet did look at Konstantin that time, silently questioning.
“You have a darker tone—olive, they call it,” he explained.
What?
“And you’re what—snow white?” Violet asked before she could stop herself.
Silence echoed in the room for a split second, making Violet realize she had opened her mouth before she was apparently supposed to.
It didn’t seem to matter.
Vadim’s heavy, thick laughter filled the office, and Konstantin sat back in his chair, grinning in that way of his that said she had managed to surprise him, once again.
“I can see why she might have caught his eye,” Vadim noted after his laughter died down. “Well…” His gaze traveled over Violet’s figure, never lingering for too long, but making sure he got his fill. “One reason, anyway.”
“Dad,” Konstantin murmured.
Vadim waved his son off. “Are you enjoying Chicago, girl?”
“Violet,” she said. “My name is Violet.”
“I know your name. It isn’t what I asked.”
“I like it just fine.”
Vadim, seemingly satisfied with her answer, turned his attention back to Konstantin. “Grisha is waiting at the door for me. I told him I wouldn’t be long, and you know how that bastard gets restless when I make him wait. Is everything set?”
“As well as it can be.”
“The order will be filled on time?”
“And in their hands early,” Konstantin replied just as fast.
“What about New York?” Vadim asked, his gaze sliding back to Violet for a quick moment.
Violet held her breath, waiting for Konstantin’s reply. While he had mostly brushed her questions off, and Kaz had yet to answer her text messages back—she suspected he had spent the morning on a plane—she figured Konstantin would be more likely to give his father a different response than he gave her.
“Nothing yet,” Konstantin replied. “Not that I know much—you wanted me here, hmm?”
Vadim’s hostile demeanor was back in a blink. “You know why that is.”
“Yet you allowed Kolya to—”
“Kolya is not like you. Finish up here and get the girl off the compound. Regardless of who she is or where she comes from, we don’t share secrets, even with friends.” With that, Vadim turned on his heel, making for the door. As he passed Violet’s spot, he said, “A pleasure, Violet, I’m sure.”
“And you …”
She still wasn’t sure what she should call him.
Vadim offered her a thin, cold smile, almost as if he could read her mind. He didn’t offer her a name to call him, though.
It reminded her of someone else—someone who also hadn’t thought she deserved the respect of calling him by his name.
Vasily Markovic.
Once Vadim was gone, and the office door closed, Konstantin sighed loudly.
“Well,” he drawled.
Violet looked at him. “What?”
He looked exhausted all of the sudden. Like that short conversation with his father had taken all of his patience, effort, and give a fuck he had.
“Well,” Konstantin said again, chuckling, “you survived. That’s a mark for you.”
What had she missed?
Violet didn’t think she would get an answer even if she asked.
“Get off your phone.”
Kaz glanced up from the device and over at Kolya, who was seated in a window seat on the other side of the jet. Though his attention focused solely on the night sky outside, he had still known.
Kolya frowned. “I can smell your paranoia from here. Konstantin will look after her.”
He didn’t doubt it, but that didn’t make him worry any less. He could excuse it before because he was still in the city, still close enough that should there be a need, he could get to her. Now, he was thousands of feet in the air, and should she need him, he wouldn’t know for at least another two hours.
But still. The next best thing to Kolya was Konstantin, and should the need arise, Kaz didn’t doubt that he would handle any problem that came up.
“Your Italian, tell me of her.”
Kolya said ‘Italian’ like it was a foreign, mystical thing that he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Everything. I just don’t see it. You know her from fuck all, yet here you are, about to start a war with that father of yours for her.”
What the hell was he supposed to say to that?
Kaz had never considered how others might have felt about his relationship with Violet—he had only cared for her feelings on the matter. That was just the way it was.
But how could he possibly sum up the way he felt about Violet for Kolya to understand? Shit, he could barely explain it to himself.
From that very first glare she sent him in Rus’ office, he knew.
“I was there the day they found Maya, remember?” Kaz asked, the memory popping into his head. “You threw a man through a glass window just because he made her cry—you had known her for all of three minutes.”
Kolya frowned, rubbing his jaw. “That doesn’t sound right.”
Kaz raised a brow. “Which part?”
“I didn’t throw him. It was a punch,” Kolya said with a nod of his head, as though this made all the difference.
“Do you really want to argue semantics?”
“Facts are facts.”
“Regardless,” Kaz said before Kolya could say anymore, “if you were sitting in my seat, you would be doing the same thing.”
“No,” Kolya corrected. “If I were in your seat, I would’ve shot your father in the fucking face months ago—first order of business once I was released. And if Maya’s father—rest his fucking soul—had thought to stand between her and me then he’d be in the ground too. That’s what I need you to remember, Kaz.”
He looked at Kolya. It was very rare that the man made a spiel since he rarely spoke unless needed, but when he did, there was a reason.
“You forgot how this business is done. When I asked you why you came to Chicago, it was not because you’re not welcome—it was because you left New York before Vasily was cold in the ground. You forgot the one lesson the fucking bastard taught all of us: Never turn your back on the motherfucker you’re trying to kill. You gave him too much time to prepare.”
Kolya shifted in his seat. “But everyone makes mistakes. It’s where you go from here that matters. Your girl is safe and out of the way, so now you need to do what should have been done before. Let this be the fucking end of it.”
If Kaz had his way, Vasily wouldn’t live to see another nightfall, but more than that, if Kaz stuck to his plan, the seat would be opening up as well.
Within the Bratva, killing the boss didn’t necessarily award you the Pakhan title. Sure, one could take it, but that didn’t guarantee loyalty, and the brotherhood was nothing if not loyal. But should the seat be freely given, it was there for the taking.
He only needed one more piece before he could end it all.
Christian Carracci.
Alberto’s consigliere.
A phone call to Rus had gotten him most of the details about the man and where they could find him. At first, Kaz thought to tell his brother the truth about Gavrill in person—something he wanted to do face-to-face—but Rus had been curious as to why he was being asked about a man in Cosa Nostra.
Instead of telling him everything, Kaz had merely told him about the role Christian had played in it all but not about Vasily. As he had expected, Rus was more than happy to tag along on their mission to find him, even if he didn’t know the truth as to why they were bringing him in alive.
“It’s all good,” Kaz said as he focused back on Kolya. “It’ll be done soon.”
By the time the jet was rolling down the runway, the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. Rus was waiting next to his truck. When they stepped off the jet, it wasn’t to Kaz his brother offered a smile but to Kolya.
“You still look like shit, Kolya, but that wife of yours can only do so much about that.”
Anyone. Anyone else and Kolya would have broken the man’s jaw, but because it was Rus, Kolya merely laughed and clapped the man on the back once he got close.
Of course, Kolya actually liked Rus.
Finally looking at Kaz, Rus said, “I got what you asked for.”
He led the way to the trunk of his car, opening the case inside to display a row of guns.
Nodding, he picked up one of the Glocks and slid the magazine into place. “Let’s go find an Italian.”
Konstantin put the car in park, throwing off his seat belt and reaching for the phone he’d tossed in the cup holder. “Let’s go. I’ve got to grab some shit, and then we can head back to the townhouse.”
Violet passed the home they’d stopped at a look, confused. “Can’t I just wait here?”
“No.”
“But—”
“No.”
Violet scowled at Konstantin as he pushed open the driver’s door and got out without so much as an explanation for where they were or why they were there. She didn’t even get the chance to open her door before Konstantin was opening it for her.
She stepped out of the car, tightening the neck of her jacket to keep the cold out. “You live here?”
The double-level home was situated on the outskirts of the city in a quiet suburb with houses lining both sides of the road. A small group of young children played in the yard across from the house where they had parked.
“Sort of,” Konstantin said, offering little else.
The walkway leading up to the home was lined with shrubs that had been covered for the winter to protect them from the elements, and the path itself was shoveled clear of snow. Once they reached the painted white steps that led up to the pale yellow front door, Konstantin didn’t bother to knock but pushed the door open and strolled right in.
Violet walked in after him, shutting the door behind her as Konstantin kicked off his boots and shrugged off his coat. He gave her a curious look as she stood there, looking around.
“Are you going to wait here, or what?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I don’t know who lives here.”
Violet wasn’t the kind of person who just snooped through someone’s home.
Konstantin smiled, chuckling. “Viktoria, actually. When she’s got shit going on, I stick around to keep an eye on things.”
“Things?”
“Her.”
Violet raised a single brow, curious.
Konstantin didn’t give her an opportunity to press for more details, not that it would have been any of her business to do so. “Worry not, the Ice Queen isn’t home at the moment. You’re safe to make yourself comfortable while I grab what I came for.”
“She leaves her doors unlocked?” Violet asked.
“Who the fuck is stupid enough to break into a Boykov’s home?”
Point taken.
Violet dropped the conversation and went about taking off her own things. By the time she was done, Konstantin had already disappeared down the hallway. She listened to his steps as it sounded like he climbed stairs.
For such a quiet man—at times—he wasn’t very light-footed.
That or Konstantin didn’t feel the need to keep his presence quiet.
Cell phone in hand, Violet made her way down the hallway, peeking into a living room with leather furniture, beige walls, and a flat-screen television large enough to cover nearly half of one entire wall. Pictures on the walls showcased many different faces, but she recognized a few.
The Boykov brothers.
Maya. Some with her husband, some without.
Viktoria.
Violet, feeling a little out of place in a room filled with family photos, decided to find another room to chill in until Konstantin finished his business. She eventually found her way into a kitchen that looked like it was rarely, if ever, used. The immaculate appliances and brightness of the room reminded Violet of the kitchen in Kaz’s apartment—one he had also rarely used.
Inviting like a showroom floor but cold all the same.
Pulling out a chair at the kitchen table, Violet sat down and looked at the black screen. She hit the home button, hoping for some kind of message from Kaz but finding nothing.
The unease settling deep in the pit of her stomach only grew the longer she stared at her phone. Violet shoved it to the side and stared out the window, watching light tufts of snow begin to fall. If nothing else, it gave her a distraction.
That only lasted a short while, long enough for her to get lost in a daze of white flakes.
And then a door slammed open. The front door.
Violet damn near jumped out of her chair.
“Jesus, Konstantin. What did I tell you about bringing females into my house?”
Great.
Violet tried not to cringe at the venom in Viktoria’s tone, never mind the few Russian words she let loose. Guessing by her anger, they weren’t pleasant words.
All too soon, Viktoria’s figure was passing by the kitchen in a flurry of platinum blonde hair and a black dress. Then the woman slowed her steps, backing up slowly, and eyeing Violet at the kitchen table. A cold, blank slate of nothingness quickly replaced the irritation on her face.
“Hello … Violet, right?” Viktoria asked.
Violet let the girl’s rude attitude bounce off her. Viktoria knew her name—she’d known it the first time they met without Violet even needing to introduce herself.
“Nice to see you again, Viktoria,” Violet said. “Or … privyet, right?”
Viktoria looked like she almost wanted to crack a smile but managed to hold it back. “That would be right, but your American accent makes your Russian terrible.”
Violet did smile, still refusing to let the woman bother her. She wasn’t sure what in the hell Viktoria’s problem with her was, but it wasn’t something Violet had done to her. The two didn’t know each other from a fucking hole in the ground. Whatever Viktoria’s issue was, she would need to handle it on her own.
It was her problem, not Violet’s.
“I could have said it my way,” Violet said quietly.
Viktoria didn’t look all that impressed. “Oh?”
“Sì. Ciao. Come stai?”
“I—”
“I believe she said hello and asked how you were,” Konstantin interrupted his sister, strolling into the kitchen like nothing was amiss. Tossing Violet a smile, he asked, “Yes?”
“Actually, yeah,” Violet replied. “How did you know?”
“Standard greeting.” Konstantin went straight to the fridge, opening it up and bending down to dig inside. “Anyone who travels should at least learn a few simple, easy phrases to get by in a foreign place.”
“You’ve been to Italy?”
Konstantin straightened, bottle of water in one hand, a jar of something else in his other. “No.”
“But you just said—”
“Best to be able to talk to your enemy, too,” he said, smiling in that cold way of his.
Viktoria laughed at that, her gaze cutting to Violet as if she had missed some unspoken joke.
Konstantin dropped the jar to the countertop, the loud clank silencing Viktoria’s laughter instantly. “But,” he drawled, his stare never leaving his sister, “we have no enemies here, yes?”
“You could have said you were playing the babysitter today,” Viktoria said.
“It was a last minute thing, sestra.”
Then just as quickly as the conversation had begun in English, the two siblings switched to Russian, effectively leaving Violet confused and out of the loop.
It wasn’t the first time it had happened since she arrived in Chicago.
Somehow, she doubted it would be the last time.
However, it didn’t irritate her any less.
Finally, seemingly satisfied with whatever he’d said to his sister, Konstantin returned to English, directing his next sentence to Violet. “You want a snack or something before we go?”
“What kind of snack?”
He pointed at the jar, saying, “Pickles are good.”
What?
Violet blinked. “Pickles?”
Serious as ever, Konstantin didn’t seem bothered by Violet’s confusion. “Pickles are a staple—a must. You want one or not?”
“I’m good,” she settled on saying.
Viktoria shook her head as she took a pickle her brother offered. “You can’t even dress her up as a Russian.”
What?