“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.
“You’re a bastard,” she told Caesar.
His expression didn’t change a bit. “Let’s see how much of one, though, huh?”
“Violet.” Alberto’s snarl of her name felt like a whip of ice cracking over her skin. What was she supposed to do now? Lie? It seemed if she did lie, Caesar was going to tell her secret anyway. But who was there to help her now? “What is he talking about?”
That panic and the small swell of fear that had swept over Violet earlier began to slowly bleed away as she stared at her father.
She didn’t know why, and even knowing what she did about Alberto Gallucci, she found it hard to be truly afraid of him.
And she wasn’t ashamed.
Not of herself, or the baby she was carrying.
Concerned for her safety, yes.
Not ashamed.
“Violet,” Caesar said quietly, “tell him or I will.”
She closed her eyes for a brief second, needing the darkness and the calm it provided. It was just enough for her to think but not much more.
“Tell me wh—”
Violet’s eyes snapped open, and she found her father staring at her, his brows furrowing and his features darkening. As though maybe he was starting to realize what Caesar had been alluding to where Kaz was concerned, and why he would really send Violet back.
“I’m …” Violet took a breath, calmer than ever and surprised about that fact. “I’m pregnant.”
From the side, Violet could see Caesar’s smile growing.
He was a bastard.
He honestly was.
But there was something in his smile—pride, maybe?
Violet thought it looked more like assurance as Caesar pushed up from the table as if he was done with the entire conversation and day.
What had he done?
What was he planning?
Alberto was frozen, stiff like a statue and staring at Violet as though she was an alien who didn’t belong at his table or in his house.
Truthfully, she didn’t belong there.
She was always meant to be with someone else.
“And that,” Caesar said with a laugh, “is why this sham will never happen.”
Alberto’s mouth opened; he tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
Violet wasn’t sure how to take that.
Carmine, on the other hand, didn’t look the least bit surprised. In fact, that asshole just seemed smug. “I told you. I fucking told you that the Russian wouldn’t just send her back because he was done with her. It was too much effort, Dad. He did too much for—”
“Cazzo, be quiet!” Alberto roared.
Her brother flinched at their father’s rage.
Violet didn’t even twitch.
She was too calm for fear, as strange as that was.
She only felt the faintest flicker of fear when Alberto moved around the table slowly, coming toward her. Violet stood from her seat and took a couple of steps back, just enough to move away from the table and not much more.
“Say it again,” her father demanded.
Violet didn’t hesitate. “I’m pregnant. Eight weeks when he sent me here. Almost twelve weeks now.”
Alberto’s lips curled at the edges in a sneer, but a sound thick with disbelief escaped him all the same. Violet didn’t think she had ever seen her father look so … entirely out of control.
He didn’t know what to do or say, she realized.
He’d never considered this.
Violet had another realization that came on much heavier and faster than the first. It kicked her in the stomach at the same time her father came to stand in front of her.
He couldn’t hide this.
Alberto could do many things where Violet was concerned. He could wipe away the things she had done, set her up in a good marriage that would eventually mask her behavior and actions.
What he could never do, though, was fix a pregnancy.
He couldn’t kill the baby, or force her to do it, not being a God-fearing man like he was. He was a bad man, to be sure, but was he that horrible?
She was already three months along, and whatever plans he had for the marriage wouldn’t have happened for at least another month or more. There would be no passing the child off as someone else’s.
Alberto was backed into a corner.
Nothing he could do would correct this.
Maybe it was that understanding—more than anything—that finally scared Violet.
As fast as lightning, Alberto’s hand came up from his side and grabbed Violet’s face in a stinging, hard grip. His fingers dug into her jaw, holding her in place as he forced her to look up at him.
There was hatred there …
In his gaze, the same hue as hers, she saw hatred.
She had never seen that before.
Not from her father.
“You lied to me—tricked me.” Alberto squeezed her harder, shaking her face just a bit. “Why?”
Violet focused on her father’s rage fueled expression and his words instead of the pain blooming in her face from his rough handling.
She didn’t have a good answer for him.
She had nothing.
“You little … bitch,” Alberto hissed.
Violet stumbled back as her father’s hand shoved against her face, pushing her back into the chair and table. She caught herself in time to keep her from hitting the floor, and she straightened right back up again, refusing to be under her father in any way.
She was not going to give him the chance to hit her when she was down.
Alberto came closer again, but Violet didn’t move.
“You’re a lying, useless fucking whore.”
His words barely stung.
She let them bounce off her.
His fists tightened into balls at his sides, and it was only then that Violet chose to speak again, carefully picking each word she said to make sure her father heard what mattered the most.
“Please don’t hurt my child, Daddy,” Violet said softly.
Alberto hesitated.
Barely.
But he did.
She saw it.
Violet kept going, knowing damn well that if she gave her father the chance to think about his anger for too long, it might not end well for her. “You can hate me forever—you can hate him, too. We did this, I know. But please don’t hurt my baby. What good will it do—what good will punishing me do? You already know what Kaz would do for me. Imagine the hell he will cause you if you hurt his child, too.”
She probably should have stopped at asking him not to hurt the child.
Her intention was not to taunt her father but to warn him.
Violet knew far better than that.
And there was a small part—so very small—that did love him.
Alberto only heard what he wanted to.
She should have expected that, too.
Violet only saw the flash of her father’s hand coming at her fast before it cracked across her cheek. She didn’t get the chance to blink before he hit her again—then again.
The action was profound.
It made her ache.
Not because it hurt, no, but because no matter how much she knew her father was capable of doing, she never truly believed he would physically hurt her. He’d never hit her before. Never even threatened to, really.
Alberto grabbed the collar of the dress she wore, pulling hard and he attempted to drag her away from the table. She felt the fabric bite into her skin before she heard it rip loudly, and then another slap snapped onto her right cheek.
Violet tasted the blood seeping onto her tongue.
A ring thrummed in her ears.
Alberto only stopped long enough to grab her face again as he had earlier, and he clouded her vision, hateful, angry … and sad.
Violet found in that second, she didn’t care.
She didn’t care how her father felt or how much she hurt him.
He’d done this to himself.
“He’s already killed his father,” Violet said, a breathless laugh following right behind her words. “Who do you fucking think he’s coming for next?”
Alberto hesitated.
Again.
Once could be dismissed as a mistake.
Twice might be a saving grace.
Alberto’s grip on Violet loosened. “Why?”
She didn’t know what he was asking. He must have seen the confusion in her eyes.
“All I have ever done was love you—why have you done this to me?”
“It’s not about you,” Violet whispered. “That’s the thing, Daddy. It’s never been about you. You’re the only one who wants it all to be for you.”
Violet had forgotten about the other two people in the room who watched the entire scene unfold without so much as a word. They hadn’t tried to step in, and maybe that was for the better. Who knew what would have happened if they had tried to help.
Not that she thought they would.
Violet was coming to learn that no one was out to help someone else.
No hand would help her up.
She had to do this shit herself.
Alberto’s voice wavered as he said, “We didn’t know you were going to be a girl until you came out into the world screaming in the middle of the night. Your mother was feeling strange—the doctors said she had the baby blues, and it would pass eventually. It never really did with you. So there I was, left to pick your name, and I wanted it to be perfect for you, dolcezza. I wanted you to know how beautiful and loved you were all of your life.”
“And you called me Violet.”
“Because you were beautiful, so precious.”
“Fragile,” Violet replied just as fast. “Dependent; at the mercy of someone else. Easily broken. Forgotten and dying.”
Alberto blinked, silenced.
“I’m none of those things, Daddy, not now.”
“I loved you,” he forced out.
Violet nodded. “With strings. So many strings. Don’t hate me for cutting them when I had the chance.”
Alberto’s hold on her tightened briefly before he let go altogether, shoving her away and pointing a finger at her. “It seems I’ve wasted my effort on the wrong person—my mistake, Violet. It won’t happen again, sweetheart. You’ll understand soon enough what it feels like to have your entire soul ripped away from you while you’re laughed at. You’ll understand how much this hurts and what it feels like to lose your heart. Soon—I don’t need to teach your Russian a lesson, I only need to teach you.”
He turned his back on her when he finished. Violet fixed her ripped dress as best she could, bracing herself for the chance that her father might turn back on her again.
He didn’t.
He kept walking.
Right out of the dining room, around the corner, and out of her sight.
Violet sucked in a shaky breath.
Then she heard his shout, ringing loud and cutting deep.
“Ottenere la cagna fuori,” he had said.
Get the bitch out.
She had heard his threats—veiled as they were—loud and clear just a second ago.
However, she didn’t think she had heard him right at that moment.
“Come on—move,” Caesar ordered.
Violet felt his hand pushing on her lower back, but she was still staring dumbly in the direction her father had gone.
“I don’t …” She struggled to find the words to say.
Caesar was still pushing her forward. “We need to move before he changes his mind, Violet.”
Changes his mind.
Right.
Violet caught sight of Carmine over her shoulder as she was led out of the dining room, still holding her torn dress together to keep some sense of modesty. Her brother hadn’t moved, not once. He still sat at the table, arms crossed and a scowl etched on his face.
It was as if he didn’t give a fuck.
Not about her.
Not about his father.
None of it.
He only cared for himself.
Violet had come to learn that was just the Gallucci way.
It was the only way someone could survive in their family.
“Stop pushing me,” Violet snapped at Caesar as he shoved her harder down the hallway toward the front door. “I’m walking just fine on my own.”
“Walk faster. I didn’t lie. I actually do have a fucking plane to catch.”
“You’re still a bastard.”
Caesar smiled. “This isn’t news.”