“Kazimir, get in here!” Vasily called out, his voice echoing.
The booming sound might have been enough to frighten a lesser man, but Kaz merely rolled his eyes, looking back down to his mother, who was smiling apologetically.
“Go on, you don’t want to keep him waiting.”
As he bent at the waist, giving her a chance to kiss his cheek and wipe away the trace of lipstick before she disappeared around the corner, she made herself scarce for their talk. Kaz hardened himself as he always did, heading into the lion’s den.
The kitchen was a cavernous space, made that way after his mother had made the request. Vasily, who loved to dote on his wife, gave her exactly what she asked for. Bay windows made up one wall, allowing an unobstructed view to the beach a mere walking distance from the house. The sunlight shining in through them made the white cabinetry seem brighter, and the gray marbled flooring stand out more.
Gerald was seated at the dining table, a newspaper in hand as he read the front page, acting oblivious to Kaz’s appearance. Vasily, on the other hand, was glaring at Kaz from his position behind the island, a tumbler filled with amber liquid in his hand.
Unlike Kaz who was dressed in all black, Vasily was dressed in a pin-striped suit, a blood-red shirt beneath it, with a matching handkerchief in the breast pocket of his jacket. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a delicate gold chain that hung around his neck. His once-dark hair was mostly gray now, and thinning in the middle, but he kept it styled where one could hardly tell.
“A little early for spirits, no?” Kaz asked, careful to keep his tone as respectful as possible.
“With the shit you pulled last night,” Vasily started. “I could be drinking from a bottle.” Downing his drink, in one swallow, he set the glass on the counter. “Tell me, what were you thinking?”
It was scary, how quickly Vasily went from angry to calm in a couple of seconds. Kaz could still remember a time when that worried him, when he had no idea what to expect, but now he was older, and his father’s anger didn’t faze him as much.
“They—those girls—were in the wrong place.”
“You knew better,” Vasily said after a moment, already reaching for the carafe of Brandy resting behind him on the marble countertop. “You could have dropped that girl off the second you were out of our territory.”
Kaz took a seat at the bar, unbuttoning his jacket as he did. “I thought it best to make sure they got home safely, as opposed to letting them leave Odessa where we couldn’t guarantee that.”
His father knew what he meant, and that he was right, even if he didn’t voice it. Had they taken a cab home—as Violet was so adamant they should have done—and something were to have happened to them on that trip home, the Markovics would have been blamed. It was their territory after all, and nothing happened without their knowledge.
And for whatever reason, the idea of Violet Gallucci getting hurt didn’t sit well with him.
“Even so, you have created a problem for us.” Vasily poured two fingers, and instead of throwing this one back as well, he sipped. “Alberto Gallucci called me this morning.”
It had been a while since Vasily uttered that name. While the two were more … neutral toward each other than Gavrill and Alberto had been, that didn’t mean the two would ever do business together.
“Oh?”
“Apparently that car of yours was seen leaving a building on Park Avenue.” Vasily gave him a dry look. “I don’t think I have to mention whose building it belonged to, no?”
“Like I said, I made sure the Gallucci girl got home safely. Nothing more.”
“And the other two? Their fathers were not too pleased either.”
Kaz tapped his index finger against the marble. “Ruslan would—”
Vasily made a noise that could be described as a mix between a grunt and a snort, a sneer working its way onto his face.
Kaz, who was doing his best to keep a level head, went from zero to sixty in a moment, that familiar rage he welcomed like an old friend coming to life inside of him. His hand clenched, his body grew tense. There were some things he was willing to put up with from his father.
His need to dominate any room he walked in—Kaz gave him that. He was the Pakhan after all, it was his due.
The snide comments made to and about Kaz—again, Vasily was the boss—but more than anything, Kaz didn’t give a shit.
But one thing that he had never been able to stand was the blatant disrespect Vasily always showed whenever Ruslan’s name was brought up.
“Careful,” Kaz said before he could check the impulse, and even if he’d been able to, he didn’t think he would have restrained himself.