Free Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1) by Bethany-Kris, London Miller

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