Seven hours and one red-eye flight to Chicago later, Kaz was in the backseat of the car that Vadim had sent to pick him up from the private airfield. While he had been free to come and go as he pleased when he was only using the city as a refuge, that was no longer the case when he was attempting to go up against a politician to get to his father.
For that, Vadim, the head and patriarch of the Boykov family, had requested a meeting first.
Though he knew which way the man would lean once he told him everything he knew, Kaz understood the man’s precaution and knew that he would need more than what little Denis had offered if he was to sway the man.
That was why Kaz had tasked Alfie with the job of finding out who was helping his father. It was one of the skills Alfie had mastered. It was why, though he was still skeptical as to what he would find on the tape, Kaz trusted that whatever was there would definitely be enough.
Before leaving, he hadn’t bothered to pack a bag or bring anything with him, though he had found a small electronics shop where he could purchase a camera that fit the tape.
If he were honest, Kaz hadn’t thought the Brit would have been able to find the man, or men, responsible, not in such a short amount of time—less than two weeks actually. But then again, as he pressed play and waited for the footage to play, it hadn’t been less than a couple of weeks.
Longer, in fact, if the timestamp at the bottom of the screen was to be believed. This was more than a month ago, back when Kaz still in the hospital and unable to ask Alfie to do anything.
He didn’t believe for a second that the man would have gone hunting on his own. He was far too selfish.
Then again, he had shown up to the hospital with Vera, as though he had every right …
Maybe Kaz had underestimated their relationship, and even as that thought processed, he didn’t like the idea that there was a relationship at all.
But that was a conversation for another day.
Focusing back on the video, Kaz tried to make sense of what he was seeing. The camera was set at an odd angle—one that made him think whoever was behind the surveillance had worn a hidden camera.
The wearer was at a restaurant, sitting a couple of tables down from Vasily and a man Kaz didn’t immediately recognize. Anger bubbled up inside him as he watched his father smiling, laughing as he enjoyed his drink, as though he hadn’t a care in the world.
As though he hadn’t left Kaz for dead in the middle of a New York sidewalk.
As more time passed—over twenty minutes—Vasily lost that careful smile on his face and his annoyance flared as he said something to the man that earned him a shake of his head. When he repeated the question and got the same answer in response, Vasily reached across the table and fisted the front of the man’s suit jacket. Pulling him until they were nose-to-nose, Vasily’s displeasure was clear.
This time, the man didn’t shake his head. Instead, he yanked out a small cell phone and made a call.
The scene cut off there then another one replaced it just as quickly. This time, it was Denis standing outside a convenience store with a cigarette in his hand as he listened to a call. Whoever was behind the camera, this time, was shorter, and obviously didn’t pose a threat since Denis didn’t seem to pay them much attention.
Was that how Alfie did it? He had a bunch of spies who fed him information?
Denis spoke in rapid Russian, probably not thinking that his conversation would get back to Kaz.
“No,” he said to whomever he spoke with, “he’s still under. The Italian girl hasn’t left his side, and his brother has people in his room at all times.”
He paused a beat, listening to the response on the other end. “Ruslan ordered that we all look for you, but I’ll make sure they stay clear, boss.”
There was only one man Denis would call ‘boss.’
More snippets of video followed that confirmed not only what Denis had said, but questions as to others he had been working with.
By the time he was arriving at the downtown location, Kaz had seen more than enough.
Shutting it down, he let himself out the back of the car instead of waiting for the driver, following one of Vadim’s men into the building when he saw him approach. On the surface, it looked like any other office building, complete with building security, a front desk, and even a sign that told visitors where offices were located, but despite its appearance, the building, aside from the three uppermost floors, was empty.
With a quick call upstairs, the guard pressed his key against the sensor inside the elevator then stepped back out, leaving Kaz to journey up alone. A blinking red light caught his attention in the upper corner of the lift. Vadim was not a man who hid his distrust of others, and one could never be too careful.
Once he finally stopped, and the doors slid open with a ding, Kaz stepped off, and Konstantin Boykov, the heir apparent to the Boykov family, immediately greeted him. Unlike his brother, who seemed to be absent, Konstantin could usually be found with their father—whether that was accompanying Vadim to a meeting or simply because his father had requested he stay longer on a particular matter.
A lot was expected of Konstantin, though he never let that burden show.
“Bullshit,” Konstantin said the minute Kaz was within earshot.
He didn’t have to ask what the other man referred to. Giving the camera in his hand a little shake, Kaz shrugged. “Alfie is good at what he does. Besides, politicians are good at hiding things—it’s what they do.”
“Politician or not,” Konstantin said as he nodded his head toward Vadim’s office, leading the way. “We would have heard something. Nothing happens in this city that we don’t know about.”
Kaz didn’t disagree. He had found this development rather odd as well. They both had enough reach in their respective homes to have gotten word of anything Vasily did, yet he had managed to stay under the radar until he had been ready to make an appearance.
“We’ll have answers soon enough,” Kaz said beneath his breath as they entered the office.
And even if they didn’t get answers, he was just ready to put Vasily in the ground—it was long overdue.
“Kazimir,” Vadim greeted with his trademark smile, rising from the chair behind his desk to come around and pull him into a hug, clapping him on the back. “It’s been a while, no?”
While it wasn’t easy to get in the good graces of Vadim Boykov, once you were, he treated you like family. But the second that trust was broken, there was no getting back in. That was why he still welcomed Kaz with open arms but vowed to kill Vasily on sight.
“How’s your wife?” Vadim went on as he reclaimed his seat, gesturing for Kaz to take the one opposite him.
“She’s fine.”
Vadim’s smile grew just a bit, though there was a coolness to his voice as he said, “I’m glad to hear. I’ve been trying to convince Konstantin here that it’s time for him to settle down, find a nice girl to make a home with.”
Something akin to horror crossed Konstantin’s face, but he tempered his reaction when his father looked at him. “Yes, find is the operative word. Perhaps, if you stop interfering, I may be able to work on that.”
Vadim tsked but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he focused on Kaz. “What do you have for me? When your brother called, the last thing I expected him to say was that your father was here, considering our last meeting didn’t go over so well.”
Right … when threats of death were issued, and Vadim had gone as far as to pull a gun on Vasily, intending to shoot him at that moment before Kaz and Konstantin got between the men.
Sometimes, when he thought about that night, Kaz wondered why he hadn’t just let Vasily die that day.
“He’s desperate,” Kaz supplied, setting the camera on the desk between them and pushing it across. “I originally suspected he might have gone home to Russia—he still has contacts there—but one of the few still loyal to him told me he was here in Chicago, and this footage confirms it.”
He didn’t explain any further, letting the Chicago boss see the evidence for himself without any input, but almost to the second that he pressed play, Vadim was shaking his head as he pointed at the man Vasily was having a meeting with in the restaurant.
“That’s Collins’ political advisor,” he explained.
If there had been any lingering doubt as to the validity of what Kaz thought, it was gone now. “Collins may have a lot of reach,” Kaz said after a moment, “but there’s only so much he’ll do to protect Vasily.”
“Especially if we’re taking care of a problem for him,” Konstantin added. “He’ll be glad to hand him over should we pay him a visit.”
Only once the tape stopped playing did Vadim give Kaz back his attention. “Should you find your father—if this was not merely a stop before he leaves again—what do you intend to do with him?” Before Kaz could respond, Vadim held a hand up. “I know your intentions, but we often think we can betray blood, but that proves harder when you’re staring down the barrel of the gun at them.”
Without a word, Kaz drew the edge of his collar down, unveiling the scar he was careful to keep hidden. Though it had healed with time, it was still prominent. “Trust me, there’s nothing left.”
Sitting back, Vadim steepled his fingers. “Konstantin, call your brother. I’m sure he would like to be a part of this. Kazimir, I’ll make a couple of calls. We’ll have the location within the next two hours.”
And within the next three, Vasily was a dead man.
The Gallucci mansion was brought to life by the decorations coloring up the halls and the twinkle lights strung up along the vaulted ceilings. Violet didn’t know what occasion warranted the catered party, but she was always the last to know anything where her family was concerned.
She was not a priority now.
Violet walked among familiar faces but offered little more than a nod and a smile when someone tried to engage her in conversation. There was no doubt in her mind that these people—her father and mother’s people—had already formed one opinion or another about her. She was not going to play pretty and pretend for the crowd any more than she would have to throughout the night.
Thankfully, her father wasn’t demanding too much of her. Alberto had mostly left her alone.
It didn’t matter.
Violet was beginning to think the party wasn’t about her. Given the way the guests’ attention focused mainly on her parents, her brother, and his wife, she figured it had something to do with them.
Italians always had to make a show of things.
Over the years, Violet had become accustomed to such parties for nothing more than a simple announcement or even just because someone wanted an excuse to get plastered.
Violet milled about a little more, acting interested and taking flutes of champagne only to dump the contents into the closest flowerpot the moment someone turned their back. When the people started to swell into the two main rooms, she pushed her way into the kitchen, needing to breathe.
She was careful to keep her features schooled no matter where she went—someone was always watching and reporting on her.
Even when she was alone in the kitchen with no one else around but the staff for the catering company, Violet’s false smile didn’t crack. It couldn’t.
“Where is the sparkling water?”
The high-pitch demand of Andrea damn near made Violet’s façade slip as her mother flew into the kitchen with Nicole close on her heels. It seemed Andrea had found a new pet in her son’s wife—a little plaything that would nod and smile while agreeing to whatever she said.
Nicole was, essentially, the daughter Violet had never been to her mother.
Maybe she should be glad the two had one another.
They were both vile.
“Hello!” Andrea snapped, her heel tapping against ceramic tile. “Water? Anyone? Now!”
“Here you are, Mrs. Gallucci.”
One of the servers for the catering company stepped forward with a flute of sparkling water in hand. Andrea snatched it with a frustrated sigh then handed it over to Nicole with the same irritation.
“Seems a bit much,” Andrea ranted on, not caring who was in earshot to hear her, “I had wine at supper every night with my preg—”
Her mother’s words stopped when her gaze landed on Violet.
“What are you doing hiding in here?” Andrea demanded.
Violet didn’t move from the wall, perfectly content with her place. “Staying out of the way, Andrea.”
“Better you do,” Nicole muttered around the rim of her glass.
Andrea didn’t say a thing, simply gave Violet a piercing look that said she agreed with her daughter-in-law’s statement, and then she was gone, a hand waving over her shoulder as she went. “Five minutes, Nicole.”
“Got it.”
It seemed like the wait staff decided to leave the kitchen at that moment, or the majority of them did, with trays in hand to serve the guests.
For the most part, Violet was alone with Nicole.
She didn’t like that.
Since her arrival back at her family’s mansion, Violet had been put in Nicole’s path one too many times. Her former friend had no qualms with letting her opinions fly, no matter how unwarranted or unwanted they were, and those around them simply allowed her to do it.
After all, Nicole was the good one.
She’d done what was wanted and needed of her. She’d followed the rules.
She was the true principessa of the family.
Violet couldn’t find it in herself to give a fuck.
She didn’t have the need or want to be in Nicole’s space for longer than she had to, so Violet decided to suck it up and leave the kitchen to go back to the crowd of guests instead. She didn’t even get beyond Nicole before her former friend had opened her mouth, readying something vile to say without prompting.
“It must be awful for you, isn’t it?” Nicole asked.
Violet almost kept going—almost. “What is?”
“The way they whisper and go on in there about you and what you did. Don’t act like you can’t hear what they’re saying—we can all hear it. I’m surprised your father hasn’t sent you up to your room just to get you out of their gossiping faces, but then again, it wouldn’t look good for you or your parents for you to be missing from yet another Gallucci event.”
Fucking hell.
Violet should have kept walking.
Instead, she turned on her heel to face Nicole. “And what event would that be?”
Nicole’s hand dropped to the fluttering material of her dress that hung loosely on her frame. As her palm cupped her midsection, it was only then that Violet realized two things. One, Nicole’s fashion sense had changed a great deal since Violet had gotten back from Chicago; she was sporting more loose dresses and blouses. And two, Nicole had a bump.
Not an overly large one, but it wasn’t small either.
Suddenly, the marriage made a hell of a lot more sense. Guessing by the size of Nicole’s pregnancy swell, she was at least five months along, but maybe four, if she was the kind of woman who carried more to her front than her back. Carmine had been talking about marriage, but Violet hadn’t thought he was serious for a minute, and their father certainly hadn’t been overly happy about the idea.
But if he got Nicole pregnant?
Carmine wouldn’t have a choice.
Marriage would save face.
And if they waited a few months after the wedding to announce the pregnancy, most would be unlikely to realize that was the entire reason for the rushed, last-minute marriage.
Violet struggled for a response—her pregnancy was being hidden, not that anyone in the house but her knew it was so. Nicole’s was about to be … celebrated.
That burned a little.
“Congrats,” was what Violet should have said.
She had something else in the back of her mind that wanted to be asked, though. Carmine was, and always had been, Nicole’s ultimate goal in her life ever since she started crushing on Violet’s older brother as a young teenager.
That didn’t mean Carmine was the only man Nicole liked to entertain.
Carmine wouldn’t give Nicole exclusivity, and she didn’t give it to him. What he didn’t know, however, wouldn’t hurt him. Or that was how Nicole always put it.
“Does Carmine know it might not be his kid?” Violet asked.
Nicole’s gaze narrowed instantly. “You shut your mouth.”
Well, that answered her question.
Violet shook her head, amused and sickened at the same time. “It’s no wonder you’re so concerned with pointing out all of my fuck ups, Nicole. I bet you figure as long as you keep my mistakes front row and center for everyone to see, they won’t pay attention to yours.”
Nicole’s teeth clenched and she grabbed the flute of sparkling water even tighter.
“But even with what I did,” Violet continued, “my family still welcomed me back. I think we both know they wouldn’t do the same for you.”
Her former friend took a step forward, threatening and angry with only a look. Violet didn’t even flinch as Nicole came to stand toe-to-toe with her.
“Be careful what you say about me,” Nicole warned. “I’m not in your shadow now, Violet.”
Was that what this was about?
Who had the spotlight?
Violet had news for Nicole—she didn’t want it.
Not the Gallucci side, anyway.
Violet simply smiled, unafraid.
Nicole couldn’t hurt her.
None of these people could, she was learning.
Violet leaned forward, smiling as she whispered in Nicole’s ear. “No, you’re the one who should be careful. Haven’t you heard? I’m ruined now—poisoned. You wouldn’t want any of that seeping over on you, right?”
With a laugh, Violet winked as she stepped away from a stone-cold, frozen Nicole.
“Enjoy your night,” Violet said her shoulder. “Don’t forget to smile, Nicole. They love that. Remember?”
Violet had just rounded a corner to make her way into the main room when a form saddled up beside her. To her surprise, Caesar Accardo joined her stride as if he’d been walking with her the entire time and slipped her hand around his elbow.
“You look lovely,” he told her.
“You look less bitchy today,” she replied.
Caesar managed a smile that somehow pulled into a smirk as he chuckled. “Bothering your brother’s wife, Violet?”
“Looking for someone’s girlfriend to fuck, Caesar?”
His laughter boomed, echoing down the hallway. Silently, he pulled her into the main room, keeping her shadowed in the entryway as people filtered into the space through the other entrance on the other side.
“You are a riot,” Caesar said.
Violet shrugged. “You’re just arrogant.”
“I’m aware. I’m not drunk enough for this party, though.”
Violet chose not to reply to that. Instead, she asked, “What do you want?”
“I have to say hello—be seen. It’s the proper thing to do. Don’t take it for more than it is; it’s formalities.”
“You mean to say you don’t like me?” Violet put a hand over her heart, pretending to be hurt. “You wound my ego.”
“Nothing worse than you’ve already heard tonight, I’m sure. They’re certainly not quiet when they talk about Alberto’s rebel slut of a daughter who shamed her family and ran off to get married to a rival Russian who then sent her back without even the wedding rings he put on her finger.”
Violet couldn’t even bother to be embarrassed. “Ah, you’ve heard all of that, then?”
“And more,” Caesar replied with a sigh. “I take it you haven’t heard the whispers about me, huh?”
That did pique her interest.
Just a bit.
She didn’t particularly like Caesar, as she didn’t know him. She also didn’t actively dislike him, either. After all, anyone who could piss off Carmine with nothing more than a grin won a dozen and one brownie points from Violet.
“You really haven’t,” Caesar said, glancing down at Violet when she didn’t reply.
He was a handsome man, Violet thought, and she figured it was something he probably used to his benefit more than he should. She had no interest in him, though, so she was confused why he suddenly seemed interested in her.
Or why her father had called his family in from Philadelphia.
“Enlighten me,” Violet said dryly.
“You could sound interested.”
“You could be interesting.”
Violet didn’t know why Caesar was there, and she wasn’t about to lead him into believing she cared.
“Be nice,” Caesar drawled, “like I know you can be.”
“You’re wearing on my patience, Caesar.”
But he had given her some entertainment for the evening.
More than this fucking party.
“Seems you and I have something in common, Violet Gallucci,” he told her quietly as people passed, watching them and whispering at the same time.
“Oh?”
“Yes. You see, we both have fathers that we’ve royally pissed off, sadly. Seems my taste for unavailable women is neither appropriate nor respectful as the son of a Don. And being the son of a boss is just about the only reason my half-brother didn’t put a bullet between my eyes when he found me in bed with his wife.”
Violet seized stiff, silenced.
Caesar didn’t mind, simply continued on with, “And now, I have to … do the right thing. Make my father happy enough to get him off my ass.”
“You slept with your brother’s wife?”
He shrugged, unbothered. “Half-brother. And I’m a bastard.”
Clearly.
Carmine probably thought he was a special case where Caesar’s asshole nature was concerned, but obviously, he wasn’t. Not at all.
“What does that have anything to do with you being here?” Violet asked after the shock had worn off a bit.
“Something else we have in common,” Caesar replied calmly, “is that you too need to do the right thing where your father is concerned. And so, here I am.”
Violet’s throat tightened.
No …
He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant.
Surely not.
Caesar dropped Violet’s arm as a server passed, taking a step away to grab a glass of wine on the moving tray before it was out of reach. “Due time, Violet. It’ll all happen in due time. Tonight, though, is for your brother. Shame that wife of his is pregnant—that doesn’t hold my interest at all.”
Wonderful.