Where the Snow Falls (Seasons of Betrayal Book 2) Page 6

  “You’ve met Rus then …”

  “Yes.”

  “And he approves?” This, Konstantin asked in Russian, knowing Violet wouldn’t understand what he was saying.

  Kaz shrugged. “Couldn’t have gotten here without him.”

  That much was true, but that didn’t mean Ruslan approved of Violet. He was the kind of person who liked someone simply because Vasily didn’t—he and his brother shared that trait—but as to whether Ruslan actually thought anything of Violet, Kaz had never thought to ask.

  It wasn’t as if he had much chance to do so before he was sitting in a jail cell.

  “Curious,” Konstantin said as his gaze shot back to Violet. “What do you see in Kaz?”

  “A part you’ve never seen.”

  Maya’s surprised laughter cut through the room, and even Kolya cracked a smile though it only lasted a few seconds. Even Konstantin was laughing softly at Violet’s remark as he reached for the food in front of him.

  “Have you always been so selfish?”

  The laughter in the room came to a halt as Viktoria’s question pierced the air. She hadn’t even paused her eating when she asked, cutting into her omelet with a little more force than necessary.

  But while Kaz had thought to entertain this interrogation since he knew Violet could handle her own, he knew it was no longer innocent, not with the way Viktoria had asked that question with too much lilting innocence woven through it.

  He didn’t have time for that shit. “Vik—”

  “I’m just asking,” she was quick to say. “Maybe she actually cares about you, or maybe she’s never had Russian cock, but I would like to know what I’m dealing with. Girls like her don’t give a fuck about what happens to everyone else their drama touches.”

  Kaz’s sharp reply was at the ready, but Konstantin beat him to it, and in a way that Kaz wouldn’t have.

  “Enough.”

  Viktoria’s lips pressed together at the sharp command from her brother, not daring to say anything more—no one ever did.

  No one would have thought Konstantin was ever capable of being serious, not when he found humor in most things, but there was another side to him, the one his father had groomed and sharpened—the one that would make him a formidable boss once he took the reins.

  So when he gave a command, there was no question as to whether it would be heeded.

  “I think we’re done now, no?” Konstantin asked, pushing his seat back and getting to his feet.

  Viktoria frowned down at her plate. “I’m not—”

  Konstantin didn’t give her a chance to finish before he was snatching up her unfinished plate and tossing the food in the trash before setting the plate and utensils in the sink. When he looked at his sister expectantly, she silently climbed to her feet and grabbed her coat without meeting anyone’s eyes.

  “Give me a call when you’re ready to get started,” Konstantin said as he clapped Kaz on the shoulder. Then, without warning, he touched a hand to Violet’s back, just a quick touch that couldn’t be mistaken. “Pleasure seeing you again, Violet.”

  She mumbled something in return but seemed too shocked by the situation to say anything more.

  Without a word to anyone, however, Viktoria was out the door ahead of Konstantin; the sound of a car door slamming was heard before he could even close the front door.

  It was after their departure that Kolya stood, readying to leave as well. He stepped off to the side with Kaz as Maya spoke with Violet one last time.

  “You’ll need to get on this,” Kolya said, never taking his eyes off his wife. “Whether for yourself or for her, you only have so long before someone comes knocking.”

  “I hear you.”

  And he did.

  If Vasily didn’t know where he was by now—and Kaz had no doubt he’d been searching—he would within the next twenty-four hours. Undoubtedly with some assistance from Alberto Gallucci.

  And he wasn’t ready for him to enter the equation just yet.

  Violet tipped her head back at the feeling of Kaz’s fingers threading into her hair. From behind the couch, he looked down at her, leaned over to give her a quick kiss, and then straightened back up again.

  “Stay inside,” he said. “Out of sight.”

  She knew better than to argue with him, despite how nice of a day it was outside with the cold. Nice weather for a walk, but Violet had yet to explore the community the townhouse was located in—and they had been in Chicago for a week.

  Always, she was told to stay inside.

  Kaz came and went, without much explanation as to what he was doing, not that Violet minded enough to ask.

  But she was getting a little bored.

  And curious.

  “Violet?” Kaz asked, drawing her out of her thoughts.

  “Hmm?”

  “Inside, out of sight. I’ll be back soon.”

  She straightened back up on the couch, sighing. “Inside. Got it.”

  Kaz tugged playfully on her hair again. “Don’t pout.”

  Violet grinned, unable to stop the action. “I thought you liked that?”

  “Another time,” Kaz responded, smirking in that way of his.

  She tipped her head back for another kiss before he disappeared out of the living room, and she heard the front door close as he left the house. As much as she pretended she didn’t mind when he had to go, once he was gone, everything else felt a little colder.

  The townhouse was too quiet.

  TV was boring.

  At least, when Kaz was there, she could entertain herself with him. Violet wasn’t used to sitting around doing nothing and … waiting.

  Well, that was how Kaz put it.

  She wasn't sure what they were waiting for exactly.

  Flipping through the television channels, Violet tried to find something interesting enough to keep her attention diverted from the restlessness burrowing deep in her nerves. She understood Kaz’s demands, as far as that went. It was likely people were looking for them—their fathers, most importantly.

  She just didn’t understand why he could flash his face in public, but she had to stay put.

  Violet had just found a familiar sitcom she enjoyed and got herself comfortably situated on the couch when a ringing started to echo throughout the bottom floor of the townhouse. It took her a full ten seconds to realize it was the house phone. Since their arrival, that phone had rung maybe twice.

  And once was a restaurant calling back to confirm the address when a deliveryman had lost it on his way over to deliver their dinner.

  Violet scrambled off the couch and went in search of the ringing phone. She found it hanging in the kitchen. Not thinking that she shouldn’t answer the call—Kaz hadn’t said anything about the phone—Violet picked it up.

  Her standard greeting—born of habit and culture—was right on the tip of her tongue.

  “Ciao?” she asked into the receiver.

  “Ah, Italian, even better.”

  Violet straightened at the unfamiliar, gruff voice on the other end of the call. While she didn’t know who was calling, the accent was one she had grown used to. The caller’s next words sealed any confusion she might have had left.

  “I expected my son to pick up the phone, Miss Gallucci, but better it be you, I suppose. What is that old saying—killing two birds with one stone, no?”

  Vasily Markovic.

  Fuck.

  Somehow … she just had a feeling … Violet knew she’d fucked up.

  “I have nothing to say to—”

  “I’m sure you don’t,” Vasily interrupted smoothly. “But better you listen for a bit, anyway.”

  Violet resisted the immediate urge to slam the phone down on the receiver and then call Kaz. But only because Vasily didn't give her a choice as he started talking before she could.

  “What did you think was going to happen, Violet?” the man asked.

  She swallowed the lump forming in her throat and squeezed the phone a littl
e tighter. “I don’t understand what you mean, Vas—”

  “Ah, no, my dear. There’s no need for you to use my name—we’re certainly not familiar enough for that, and I have no intention of becoming familiar enough with you to allow you to use it.”

  Jesus.

  This man was something else.

  Kaz occasionally spoke of his father’s theatrics and the man’s hostile demeanor, but Violet had never experienced it firsthand. She didn't know the man.

  “Before we get off topic, I’ll ask again. What did you think would happen after you took off with my son? Did you think you would be allowed to skip off into the sunset toward a happily ever after of your own making?”

  Violet opened her mouth to respond with something as equally biting as Vasily’s comments, but his sharp laughter stopped her.

  “You’re young, of course,” he said quieter, “and I’m sure that reason alone will be the one and only thing to save you from the worst part of your father’s wrath once he comes looking for you. And, my dear, he will come looking for you.”

  A tightening sensation curled around Violet’s chest, threatening to cut off her airways. She knew Vasily was only trying to get a reaction out of her or, worse, frighten her.

  But it was working.

  “At this point,” Vasily continued, his tone amused as if he were talking about his favorite sports team, “it is no longer a matter of if your father will come looking for you, but when. And you see, when he does, and when he finds you … you should seriously consider what that might mean, girl. For my son, I mean. While I care for Kazimir on some level, I’m beginning to think his cock makes all the decisions where he’s concerned, and I can’t have that. Perhaps this—your father—is the lesson he needs to learn, no matter how badly it’ll end for him. Is that what you want—his blood on your hands because you fancy yourself in love?”

  Violet’s teeth clenched. “Go to hell.”

  Vasily let out another dark laugh. “Do yourself the biggest favor you can, Violet, and go home to your father before he doesn’t give you a choice. Because if Alberto Gallucci can’t get you back, then I suspect he will blame me—as it’s my son you’ve chosen to spread your legs for. Now, should I have to come after you as a … an apology, of sorts … for your father, you will not like how I do so. I will be neither careful nor easy. And you will come, girl, even if you bleed the whole way.”

  Well, shit.

  The last thing Kaz had been expecting when Konstantin invited him to the compound to talk business was the literal wall of money he was currently staring at in disbelief, his fingers ghosting over the cellophane wrapped around it.

  He had heard rumors, of course, that the Boykov family had their hands on their very own print shop—their name for the counterfeiting business they were in—but to see the reality of it … Kaz had no words.

  “Yeah, I was like that the first time, too,” Konstantin said as he walked up with his hands in his pockets. “Here, I’ll give you a look.”

  Waving for him to follow, Konstantin headed toward the metal steps on the other end of the room that led down to the lowest level of the warehouse where they printed the money.

  There were at least two racks of printing presses, each row spitting out sheets of uncut, one-sided denominations. One looked to be printing the front side of a bill, while the other printed the back side.

  “Basic printing,” Konstantin said. “Only the basics on the bill. The ink is a car-based paint—the type that gives off the metallic sheen in the sun.”

  Kaz raised a single brow, curious. “Why?”

  “It’s one way they spot a fake, by using conductivity and magnetic tests on a bill, not that most cashiers have that ability.” Konstantin nodded at the printers as another sheet rolled out. “Those are twenties. We’re working smaller denominations right now for an order, but we do anything from fifties to hundreds, it really just depends. Now, that paper … that’s the important shit.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Ever handed over a hundred-dollar bill and the cashier brings out a pen to mark on it?”

  Kaz didn't even have to think about it. “Every time I spend one.”

  “Very few papers are pretreated in just the right chemicals to make the paper react properly to the ink in those markers. It took us a few tries to find the right paper that was both thin enough to be able to press two sheets together and still feel like a real bill after it was finished, but also to pass that marker test.”

  “Which paper was it?”

  “The same kind they make phonebooks with,” Konstantin explained.

  Kaz laughed, amused at the seeming simplicity of the whole operation. “This can’t be it, man. You don’t just take two sheets of paper and stick them together. If that were the case, we both know there’d be a fuck lot more people in this trade.”

  “You’re right.” Konstantin waved at the floor and the metal tables where men stood working before he said, “This business is more than making fake money—it’s almost an art form. And it’s been around for more decades than most people know. It’s one of the oldest practices in the world. Our bills are nearly as good as the real thing.”

  “Oh?”

  “Damn near. We’ve got the threads, the strip, the watermarks, and the hologram. The only problem we have is the definition of the bills, but you can’t see that small issue unless you have it under a magnifying glass, and most cashiers don’t carry those. Putting it up to the light, seeing what they’ve been told, and marking the bill with the marker is enough.”

  Kaz was thoroughly impressed. “How, though?”

  “How what?”

  “Do you get them that perfect—that unnoticeable, I suppose.”

  Konstantin laughed deeply. “Like I said, it’s an art. And I’m not about to spill the secrets that make this trade as lucrative as it is. On a good month, which is fucking almost every month for us, we’re making anywhere from eighty-nine to ninety-one cents on the dollar.”

  Kaz whistled appreciatively, knowing that was a good number to be making on each counterfeit dollar. “Shit.”

  “But that’s business for another day. Let’s go to my office.”

  Konstantin’s office was located on the top floor in the west corner. Though it gave no outward appearance, about a foot of each wall on either side was bulletproof, as well as the door. It was a panic room, and should he ever have the need, a door at the back of the room concealed an elevator.

  Few were as adamant about their security as Konstantin was.

  “You’ve been here a week, no?” Konstantin asked as he circled his desk to take a seat. “What’s the word?”

  “Nothing.”

  Konstantin didn’t answer, just gave him a look.

  “Yeah,” Kaz responded. “I know.”

  Kaz wasn’t foolish enough to believe his father would never find him. He wasn’t Pakhan just because of lineage. So that Vasily had yet to contact him by now troubled him. His lack of contact only meant one of two things.

  Either he knew exactly where Kaz was and was making preparations to send some of his guys to say hello …

  Or he was stalling for Alberto Gallucci.

  It wasn’t like the pair of them hadn’t been willing to make deals before … And from the way they could come together to set Kaz up, he wouldn’t put it past them to be working together now, each with their own incentive.

  “Right. What are you going to do about it?”

  He was going to have to force a reaction.

  His plan could only work if he were able to make Vasily slip.

  “I’ll make the arrangements tonight, that—” Kaz paused as the phone in his pocket vibrated, alerting him to a call.

  The phone was new, a burner, whose number he had specifically given to Violet and only Violet—if Rus or Vera ever had need of him, they could have called Konstantin to relay a message.

  Digging it out, he connected the call and placed the phone to his ear. “Vi—”
r />   “Vasily called.”

  Kaz tensed, hearing the fear in her voice, but he was more concerned with the situation at hand.

  So, as he had thought, Vasily knew where he was—and who he was with—but he had chosen to make a phone call instead of making an appearance to deliver whatever the fuck he had to say in person.

  Alberto was definitely involved.

  Kaz knew his father. Vasily loved grand theatrics when it came to delivering his warnings or punishing someone who crossed him. And while he might not have been able to do it in person, he could still have his fun with a phone call.

  That phone call was probably meant for him, and knowing Vasily, he hadn’t just made a point to say he knew where they were. He had probably said much more.

  “What did he say?”

  “He said something about my father or … it was a lot and—”

  “Violet,” Kaz cut her off, his voice a little sharper than he meant it to be, but he needed her to focus. “I need you to tell me what he said. Everything.”

  “He hinted that my father would be coming to get me, and that, when he did, I needed to be worried about what would happen to you.”

  Fucking Vasily.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Violet.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me. He would put a bullet in my head long before he ever gave Alberto the honor.” Kaz looked at Konstantin, who was paying rapt attention to their conversation and gave a nod, letting him know that this was what they’d been waiting for.

  “And he threatened me—that if he had to, he would drag me back to my father himself.”

  “Don’t—” Kaz had the sudden urge to put his fist through a fucking wall, even as he was trying to remain calm. “That’s not going to happen, Violet. Believe that.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  In the time they had been in Chicago, whenever he had left to attend to business with Konstantin, she had never asked that. Perhaps it had been an unspoken rule in her household not to ask questions that wouldn’t be answered, so for her to be asking him this now … it told him exactly how freaked out she was.

  “I’ll be there within the hour. Just hang tight.”