Free Where the Snow Falls (Seasons of Betrayal Book 2) by Bethany-Kris, London Miller

nodded at the printers as another sheet rolled out. “Those are twenties. We’re working smaller denominations right now for an order, but we do anything from fifties to hundreds, it really just depends. Now, that paper … that’s the important shit.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Ever handed over a hundred-dollar bill and the cashier brings out a pen to mark on it?”
    Kaz didn't even have to think about it. “Every time I spend one.”
    “Very few papers are pretreated in just the right chemicals to make the paper react properly to the ink in those markers. It took us a few tries to find the right paper that was both thin enough to be able to press two sheets together and still feel like a real bill after it was finished, but also to pass that marker test.”
    “Which paper was it?”
    “The same kind they make phonebooks with,” Konstantin explained.
    Kaz laughed, amused at the seeming simplicity of the whole operation. “This can’t be it, man. You don’t just take two sheets of paper and stick them together. If that were the case, we both know there’d be a fuck lot more people in this trade.”
    “You’re right.” Konstantin waved at the floor and the metal tables where men stood working before he said, “This business is more than making fake money—it’s almost an art form. And it’s been around for more decades than most people know. It’s one of the oldest practices in the world. Our bills are nearly as good as the real thing.”
    “Oh?”
    “Damn near. We’ve got the threads, the strip, the watermarks, and the hologram. The only problem we have is the definition of the bills, but you can’t see that small issue unless you have it under a magnifying glass, and most cashiers don’t carry those. Putting it up to the light, seeing what they’ve been told, and marking the bill with the marker is enough.”
    Kaz was thoroughly impressed. “How, though?”
    “How what?”
    “Do you get them that perfect—that unnoticeable, I suppose.”
    Konstantin laughed deeply. “Like I said, it’s an art. And I’m not about to spill the secrets that make this trade as lucrative as it is. On a good month, which is fucking almost every month for us, we’re making anywhere from eighty-nine to ninety-one cents on the dollar.”
    Kaz whistled appreciatively, knowing that was a good number to be making on each counterfeit dollar. “Shit.”
    “But that’s business for another day. Let’s go to my office.”
    Konstantin’s office was located on the top floor in the west corner. Though it gave no outward appearance, about a foot of each wall on either side was bulletproof, as well as the door. It was a panic room, and should he ever have the need, a door at the back of the room concealed an elevator.
    Few were as adamant about their security as Konstantin was.
    “You’ve been here a week, no?” Konstantin asked as he circled his desk to take a seat. “What’s the word?”
    “Nothing.”
    Konstantin didn’t answer, just gave him a look.
    “Yeah,” Kaz responded. “I know.”
    Kaz wasn’t foolish enough to believe his father would never find him. He wasn’t Pakhan just because of lineage. So that Vasily had yet to contact him by now troubled him. His lack of contact only meant one of two things.
    Either he knew exactly where Kaz was and was making preparations to send some of his guys to say hello …
    Or he was stalling for Alberto Gallucci.
    It wasn’t like the pair of them hadn’t been willing to make deals before … And from the way they could come together to set Kaz up, he wouldn’t put it past them to be working together now, each with their own incentive.
    “Right. What are you going to do about it?”
    He was going to have to force a reaction.
    His plan could only work if he were able to make Vasily slip.
    “I’ll make the arrangements tonight, that—” Kaz paused as the phone in his pocket vibrated, alerting him to a call.
    The phone was new, a burner, whose number he had