Page 41 of Where the Wind Whispers

Vasily was a man who wanted to be loved by all and to love in return—but his love came with strings, and despite the many years of his life, he had never learned that love could only be freely given.

Now, he was a shadow of the father Kaz had once known—a man he no longer admired.

Vasily laughed, and sharp moans of pain broke up the sound. “It was only a matter of time,” he said as he turned familiar eyes on his youngest son. “I knew you would find your way here.”

Unbidden, Kaz asked, “Then why didn’t you run further?”

“You wouldn’t have stopped,” Vasily said. “You’re my son, after all.”

Vasily looked at Kaz, as a sense of calm seemed to wash over the man. He had to know that, for the first time in his life, he had been beaten—and despite how good he thought he was, there was no way to talk himself out of this one.

Letting his hands fall to his side, Vasily said, “I’m not afraid to die.”

The statement registered in the back of Kaz’s mind, but even still, his arm raised on its own accord, his Glock pointed at his father’s chest. “And I’m not afraid to kill you.”

The first shot slammed into his chest, sending him back a few steps as he stumbled, his hand going up to cover the wound. Red spilled out between splayed fingers, rivulets running down his arm even as the color bloomed brighter on the backdrop of his white shirt.

His back hit the wall a moment later, his legs giving out beneath him as he sunk to the floor wearing a dazed but pained expression on his face. When Kaz stowed his gun and crossed the floor in unhurried strides, Vasily’s gaze lifted to him until Kaz dropped to his haunches, folding his hands in front of his knees.

“No man should die alone,” Kaz said, answering his unspoken question. “Not even one like you.”

Vasily coughed, blood spraying from his mouth as he tried to draw a breath. “Where did I go wrong with you, Kazimir?”

“It wasn’t where you went wrong with me, but where you let your greed consume you.”

So softly Kaz almost missed the words, Vasily whispered, “Apologize to my girls for me, Kazimir. I owe them that.”

The last words of a dying man, Kaz thought as he didn’t respond, watching his father—the same man who had both raised him as any doting father should and betrayed him as any enemy might—take one last ragged breath before his chest stopped moving.

For a long minute, he remained there, staring at his father, but when he finally stood, heading for the door, Kaz knew he wouldn’t do as his father had asked.

When he went to his mother and sisters, he could only apologize for his own sins.

Violet tiptoed down the hallway, wanting to get past her father’s office without being noticed or called in. It was way too early in the morning for her father’s nonsense. Hadn’t she already put up with enough of it as it was?

Unfortunately, since learning she was pregnant, Violet’s entire schedule had been turned upside down. Before the pregnancy, it was unusual for her to be up before nine or ten in the morning if she didn’t absolutely have to be. The baby seemed to want her up at seven at the latest, with a full bladder to boot.

The good thing about earlier mornings was the fact Violet usually got to spend them alone, sipping on tea or juice on the back porch or in one of the three sunrooms the mansion sported. Everyone else was either asleep or just beginning to prepare for their day.

They were too busy to notice the quiet girl off on her own, lost in her thoughts.

She held tight to those moments. Precious seconds when she could think of Kaz and not worry if someone was watching for even a flicker of unhappiness in her features. Moments when she could have her back turned to a door, say good morning to her unborn baby, and not worry that someone might see her do it.

But she had to be careful.

Which was why she was currently tiptoeing down the hall when she noticed her father’s office doors were wide open.

The low murmurs coming from the office told Violet the space was not empty. She recognized her father’s voice, of course, but the other voices were too quiet for her to distinguish. The closer she got, the better she could hear.

Three people.

Her father.

Angelo.

Caesar.

“We have a bigger problem,” Angelo said.