Kaz wasn’t the type to drop someone—her—with nothing, not even a call at least.
Violet went back to worry in a blink.
“Miss Gallucci?”
Lost in her thoughts and concerns, Violet hadn’t realized she was standing in front of her building with her attention still down on her phone, and her feet practically cemented to the ground.
Violet’s head snapped up at an unfamiliar voice calling her name. She found a tall, thin man wearing a black ensemble, sunglasses included, standing right in front of her, blocking her path to her building’s entrance doors. In his hand, he held a manila envelope that looked to be a foot long, the same in width, and a half of an inch thick.
“You are Violet Gallucci, yes?” he asked.
Other than his lips moving, the man’s expression never changed from the stony mask he wore. Violet might have thought he was a statue had he stayed quiet, and she probably would have run right into him because of her distraction.
What concerned her more, was the familiar accent coloring his words.
Russian.
There should be no Russians approaching her in front of her building.
“You can talk, can’t you?” the man questioned.
Violet’s gaze narrowed. “I can.”
“Good. Then answer my question.”
“I suspect you already know who I am if you stopped me,” she replied. “How many women have walked past you in the last thirty seconds?”
That time, the man’s mask did crack. The faintest hint of a sneer curved the edges of his lips upward, but it quickly fell. “Here,” he said, holding out the package. “A gift for you.”
Violet hesitated, not reaching to take the item. “From who?”
“Vasily Markovic sends his regards. And to your father as well, of course. Have a nice day, Violet.”
She froze in place as the envelope was shoved roughly into her hand, forcing her to take it as the man passed her by without another word being said between them.
Violet could already feel the panic welling in her stomach and leaping into her throat as her hands began to shake. Her gaze flicked between the envelope, and the man disappearing into the crowd of people flooding the sidewalk.
Vasily Markovic.
The name chanted in her ringing ears.
She felt sick all over.
Grabbing the rip tab on the side of the package, Violet pulled, opening the top of the envelope. Tipping it upside down into her waiting hand, pictures fell out. She let the envelope fall to the sidewalk, uncaring of the people walking around her, as she began to slide her hand over the pictures, flipping between them.
All sorts of pictures.
Some could maybe be explained away, like the black and whites of her and Kaz walking side by side toward his car. Or even the ones of them exiting a store together.
Others, the sepia toned shots of them walking near the closed pier might be harder to explain, but possibly doable if she had a good enough excuse.
Ones, full color and close up, of her and Kaz where he was kissing her cheek, or holding her hand might not be so simple.
But the most damaging, the ones that scared her above all the others, were shots of them in his apartment. The ceiling-to-floor windows were almost always covered in the day and evenings, but she had opened them sometimes, just to watch the ocean at night. The apartment was high enough that no one directly below would be able to see inside, but …
The pictures looked like they had come from right out in the ocean.
Like someone had taken a high-grade lens and watched them.
Violet stared at the pictures again.
Four shots in total.
Her in his clothes. Her on his lap, naked then.
The other two were the same.
There was only one where her face was clearly visible, as she had turned her head just enough for the person to catch her like that.
Violet couldn’t breathe.
Sends his regards …
To her father?
Had these photos been sent to her father?
Violet didn’t move as a buzzing began in her hand, under the stack of photos. She pulled her hand free, staring at the number lighting up the screen.
Alberto Gallucci, it read.
There was a brief moment where Violet felt like time just stopped around her. Where there was no New York street, no busy people, and no world moving, and turning. It was just her, a stack of photos, and her father’s call needing to be answered.
She ran through the last three months in her mind, and wondered …
Were there things she should have done differently?
Would she, if given the choice to go back?
Had she done what was always wanted of her?
All her answers were the same.
No.
Her fingers still trembled when she swiped at the screen to answer her father’s call. Putting it up to her ear, Violet said, “Hello, Daddy.”
“You’re just arriving home from school, right?” Alberto asked.
His tone was too gruff, she thought.
Too strained and forced.
Like he didn’t want to frighten her, maybe.
“Yeah,” Violet confirmed. “Just looking at the front door right now.”
“Don’t move. Gee will be there in ten minutes.”