Page 76 of Where the Wind Whispers

Violet’s heart was just a few feet in front of her, saying something in Russian to another man, but Kaz’s gaze was still firmly stuck to her. She imagined she was quite a sight standing there, probably as white as a ghost and feeling about the same.

Dead inside.

Or damn well nearly there.

Her soul, however, was off to her right, sleeping comfortably in her aunt’s arms and so entirely unaware of the hell that was promising to be unleashed.

All because she was here—born and alive.

All because her mother loved her.

“Violet,” Kaz said, moving to stand in front of her, “it’s—”

“Please don't say that it’s fine.”

Her voice barely broke the level of a whisper.

It still, somehow, made her throat ache.

She didn’t want to be afraid.

She was not fragile—not weak under a man’s thumb.

Certainly not her father’s now.

Yet that all-consuming terror she had only felt once before when her husband lay in a coma, his future uncertain, was exactly what she felt at that moment.

For her child.

Her husband.

Not a single bit of it was for herself, though.

Alberto didn't want harm to come to her.

He wanted to hurt her in a different way.

“Let’s call this—”

Violet pushed past Kaz, not bothering to let him finish whatever he was trying to tell the guests of the small welcoming party. At first, she had appreciated that they had thought to put something like this together since Kaz was so very careful about letting people into their lives, even if they were familiar with the people.

Now, she wanted the eyes off her.

She wanted her child and her husband safe.

She wanted them all out of her house.

Vera barely said a thing when Violet carefully took a sleeping Anastasya from her arms without so much as a word as to why she was doing so. Violet didn’t bother with a goodbye to the guests as she cradled the baby close and left the main room without a look over her shoulder.

She could hear the chatter begin behind her as soon as she was gone.

She caught bits and pieces.

The Italians.

A message.

Violet didn’t need the obvious stated. She was not naïve; she was far from a dumb woman who stuck her head in the sand. But that didn’t mean she needed to face her anxiety and panic with all of them watching.