“You’re thinking about doing something. That is enough.”
“I’m supposed to be okay with my brother being jumped by a bunch of Italians over some female’s lies? You want to be like Vasily and tell me to look the other way?”
Ruslan grunted under his breath. “Leave it alone. Maybe now they’ll fuck off, yeah? They made their point, Kaz.”
Kaz didn’t think it was that simple, but given the state of his brother, he wasn’t about to argue the point with him. Ruslan was all about keeping the peace where other people were concerned. He didn’t put himself into shit that would cause problems, and he didn’t like to make others uncomfortable if he could help it.
While Kaz typically appreciated that in his brother, he didn’t find it to be a virtue when Ruslan looked like he’d just gotten stomped on by a bunch of horses.
A bit of guilt swam through Kaz as he looked his brother over again. It was, in a way, his fault that Ruslan had been put in this situation at all. If it hadn’t been for him ordering Ruslan to take the girl home, she wouldn’t have been able to lie about who had drugged her.
Following that guilt was a hell of a lot of irritation and rage.
Her friends had to have known the truth. She was fucked up in that office, and long before she entered it, too—if their stories that night were any indication to go by. While he didn’t know much about the other two girls, Violet Gallucci didn’t seem like the type to throw others under the proverbial bus to save her own ass.
But if she knew her friend was lying to her boyfriend to save face, then that’s exactly what she had done to his brother.
And that pissed him off.
“If you’re going to keep that bouncing shit up,” Ruslan said, still flicking through channels on the television, “then I am going to make you leave.”
Kaz stilled again. “You’d think after having your face beat in, you’d be a little quieter.”
Ruslan laughed, a wince following right behind. “Yeah, you’d think.”
But that wasn’t Ruslan’s style.
Out of the corner of his eye, something on the television’s guide caught Kaz’s attention. “Wait, go back.”
“I am not watching fashion shit, Kazimir. If you suddenly took possession of a vagina between your legs, feel free to go home and watch it on your own flatscreen.”
“Shut the fuck up. No, there was one—Gallucci Fashions, it said. Go back.”
Grumbling under his breath, Ruslan did what he was told. Sure enough, it was a live shot of Andrea Gallucci’s latest collection she had released. Beside him, his brother sighed and muttered on, but Kaz was too busy scanning the faces in the crowd behind the models.
Front row and center, he found her.
Violet.
The camera quickly left her position as it continued following the model’s walk, but what he had seen was enough for him to consider a few things.
Her friends had been sitting on one side of her. Her brother on the other. An empty chair was between them, probably reserved for Alberto himself.
Except the man wasn’t there.
Fury filled Kaz’s throat with a sickening taste all over again, and he clenched his fists tight enough that his fingernails bit into his palms.
Had the Italian boss decided to forgo his wife’s show because he had better business to attend to, say like making sure his orders were followed through?
Kaz wasn’t sure, but he didn’t like the look of it.
“Are you done watching this?” Ruslan asked.
“Yeah, whatever.”
Ruslan changed the channel, but not in quick enough time for Kaz to miss the camera’s next shot landing directly on Violet and her friends again. It lingered a bit longer the second time—long enough for him to see her perfectly coiffed like she always seemed to be whenever she was out in public.
That wasn’t what irritated him the most, however.
It was seeing her with the other two—mostly the one who lied and caused his brother to be beaten like an animal. She had to have known her friend was saying falsehoods about what had happened that night, and yet, she didn’t correct the lies.
And those who didn’t correct other’s lies were just as bad as those who spoke them.
No, she was sitting right there with the other girl, even as she wore that fucking red dress that he’d chosen at the boutique. It was almost like she was taunting him, even if she couldn’t have possibly known that he was going to see her wearing it.
He wanted to know why.
If Kaz wasn’t allowed to go after the Italian who attacked Ruslan because of his father's orders, Vasily had said nothing about Violet.
... for once.
Kaz stood from the couch, still simmering in his fury and settled on his decision. Manhattan might be a warrant for his death, but he was willing to risk it after tonight.
“You’ll be all right, yes?” Kaz asked his brother.
Ruslan glanced up, a knowing glint burning behind his eyes. “Stay in Brighton, Kaz.”
“I’m not planning on going anywhere. You heard Vasily—I was told no … and called a child.”