Kaz wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that.
Either Carmine had something up his sleeve, something that made him unafraid, or the man was a fool.
“I’ve come to collect what belongs to my father,” Carmine said, his tone never wavering.
Kaz sneered, tipping his head to the side just a bit. “First off, there’s nothing here that belongs to Alberto.”
“We both know that isn’t true.”
“True as the fucking blood I bleed.”
Violet wasn’t a possession to own, and her father wasn’t her master. Besides that, over his fucking dead body was he going to hand Violet over to someone who claimed to be there to collect her like she was property.
“Give that a few minutes,” Carmine said, chuckling. “And we might get to see that blood, scum.”
Kaz let that comment roll off his shoulders. He’d been told worse. “As I said, there’s nothing here that belongs to your father, so be a smart little prick, and go.”
“Not until you give me what I’ve come for, Kazimir. My sister—now.”
“No,” Kaz replied, unfazed.
If this was the only thing Carmine had to toss at Kaz, the fool was going to be surprised at the outcome.
“You’re not walking away from this one, Markovic,” Carmine said, never taking his gaze off Kaz for a moment. “If I were you, I’d get on my knees and beg for a bullet.”
“That’s because you’re weak, Carmine. Unlike you, I don’t get on my knees for anyone.”
Carmine smirked, his voice lowering just enough as to not be heard by the men feet away. “Seems there is a particular slut you’ll get on your knees for, huh?”
It was the “slut” that made Kaz’s eye twitch. He couldn’t ever picture calling one of his sisters that, but Carmine had done it easily, with relish almost.
Words rarely bothered Kaz, not when he had called himself worse during his darker times, but hearing Carmine say that about Violet? It made him snap.
Before he could even check the impulse, his fist was flying, landing with almost perfect precision across the man’s jaw, just as he’d been about to say something else. It was at the perfect angle that as soon as his knuckles met Carmine’s face, he felt the crack of bone.
Even Carmine couldn’t contain a grunt of pain as his head jerked to the side with the force of Kaz’s hit. He had barely drawn his fist back when he heard the unmistakable sound of guns being drawn.
But his attention wasn’t focused on the weapons aimed in his direction, but rather to the car where a door was being opened. Kaz knew, even before the first hint of the man’s dark head showed above the roof, that it was Alberto Gallucci. And though they looked quite similar, there was definitely a difference between father and son.
While Carmine played at being a boss, it was clear that Alberto was one. He had yet to even say a word as he took his time walking past the cars, but he didn’t have to use his words to announce that he was the man in charge. It was just a known fact. Though the men never took their eyes from Kaz, they all stepped out of the way as Alberto neared.
Kaz, on the other hand, was not impressed. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure, Gallucci.”
“No, I’m glad to say we haven’t.” Alberto came close enough to be just a couple of feet away from Kaz, and barely gave his injured son a second glance. Lowering his voice just enough to not be heard by all watching, he said, “Not with you being an adult, anyway. Although I must say, I liked you better as a boy, before you thought to chase after my daughter.”
“I seem to remember that differently, then.”
Alberto rubbed his hands together, as if he was wiping dirt from them. “Oh?”
“I liked her quite well then, too, no?”
The Italian boss stiffened, but that was his only show of irritation. His face remained as cold and impassive as ever as he looked Kaz over once more, then his gaze swept to the house behind him. “I will give you one more chance to give my daughter to me and this all goes away, Kazimir.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I can assure you that if you storm my sister’s home like you own the place, you might not like what Vasily does.”
Alberto smiled then—small and dark. “I think you will soon come to find you have no idea what your father will do.”
Kaz felt the brief urge to reach for the gun at his back, but he beat it down. It would do him no good at that moment, given the weapons still trained on him.
“Two minutes,” Alberto continued, “and she had better be clothed.”
“I told you—”
Alberto held up a hand, stopping Kaz. “I may not like your kind, but there is one thing we Russians and Italians have in common in our business, and that is learned respect. You have, in the highest of regards, disrespected me, Kazimir. And you will either bring me what is mine, or I will take it from you.”