Throwing the covers off, Kaz swung his legs off the bed, getting up to his feet as he headed toward the en suite bathroom on the other side of his room. With a flick of his wrist, he had the multiple showerheads turned on, raining water from the tiled ceiling.
He didn’t bother waiting for the water to heat before stripping out of his boxer-briefs and climbing in, letting the coldness wake him up further as he scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling the whiskers covering his jaw.
Grabbing the soap, he bathed quickly, deciding that it was probably best not to keep Vasily waiting. If he had to guess, the man was a little more than pissed off, and his tardiness would only make it worse.
It wasn’t like Kaz hadn’t known that by taking the Gallucci girl home—fuck, even just talking to her—there would be a problem. He knew better. But that hadn’t stopped him from getting her in his car and taking off. Sure, it was innocent, definitely not something worth starting a war over, but even he could see the implications of his actions.
Like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
Back out again, Kaz toweled off, next rubbing it through his hair before he tossed it on the counter and headed into his closet. And despite his lackluster attitude in terms of everything else in his life, there was one thing that Kaz definitely cared about.
His attire.
A lot could be said about a man that broke the law for a living, but more could be said about one that made sure he looked good while doing it.
He chose a black-on-black ensemble—seemed appropriate—before he dressed and ran his fingers through his hair to push it back out of his face. Heading back into his bedroom, he grabbed the Beretta M9 he kept beneath his pillow, holstering it at his back, then smoothing his jacket over it.
Grabbing his keys, he was out of his place and heading down Oceana Drive in no time. The drive to Vasily’s beachfront mansion was only a fifteen-minute drive away, twenty-five if there was traffic, a distance that felt far too short for Kaz most days.
The house he was driving to hadn’t been the only residence in Little Odessa that Kaz lived in. Before, they—he, his parents, and siblings—lived in a more modest two-story a little ways away. Vasily had moved the family after Kaz’s eleventh birthday, and some months after Vasily had become the new Pakhan.
As he turned onto 296 West End Avenue, typing in the code to get through the gated entry, Kaz could already see the fleet of cars parked in the driveway. Most were of his father’s collection—all luxury, but none as bold as Kaz’s Porsche—and one, he knew, belonged to his father’s attorney, Gerald Tansky. Since the man got paid even if he was only stopping by, Kaz had to wonder why he was there.
Pulling around, he parked a good distance away from the other vehicles, because family or not, if you scratched his car, he’d be pissed. Exiting, he dug his hands into his pockets as he headed for the front door, checking his surroundings as he always did before raising his fist to knock. He took a step back, waiting, listening to the soft click of heels as they neared the door. His smile, a genuine one this time, was already curling his lips before she even had the door open.
Swathed in a peach-colored dress that ended at her knees, Irina Markovic looked every bit of the housewife that she was. Never a hair out of place, the brown strands were twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck, showing off the simple diamond earrings adorning her ears.
“Kazimir,” she said warmly, already reaching to draw him into her embrace.
When his father called him that, it annoyed him, but he never minded from her. “Privyet, Mama,” he spoke softly, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “How are you?”
“Very well. Your father is waiting for you in the kitchen.”
He could tell just by the look on her face that Vasily was definitely angry with him and she was curious as to why, but she would never come right out and ask. She followed the rules in that way.
Waiting at her side as she closed and turned the locks, he figured since he was there, he didn’t have to rush. He was on time after all.
“How are you, Kazimir? You look tired,” she said looking up at him, even in her heels, as they headed for the kitchen.
“Fine, Mama. It was just a long night.” And an early morning, but he didn’t bother mentioning that. To say he was not a morning person was an understatement. Thankfully, a lot of his business could be done at night.
“And your brother, how is he?”
This question was asked softly, so low that Kaz knew the question was meant only for him to hear, and that fact annoyed him. Not because she was asking the question at all, but because she felt she had to sneak to do it.
“Good.”
“You’ll watch after him, yes?” she asked reaching for his hand, squeezing it lightly.
Ruslan didn’t need looking after, plus he was the oldest, but because she rarely saw him, she made this request whenever Kaz came around. Since she couldn’t dote on Ruslan, she made sure at the very least, Kaz watched out for him. Sometimes, Kaz felt like he was the oldest.
“Of course, I—”