Page 46 of Where the Wind Whispers

Vera understood right away, her eyes widening, but there wasn’t any sympathy—not for Vasily, anyway.

“Did you exile him to Russia since you’ve taken his seat?”

Kaz scrubbed a hand down his face. “No, he’s never coming here, there, or anywhere. Ever.”

For the longest time, she merely stared at him, disbelief flickering in her eyes until the tears welled and her lip trembled. “What did you do, Kazimir?”

“Is he dead?”

The question came from Nika, her hand shaking as she brought it up to cover her mouth. Rus, grabbing her hand and Dina’s, pulled them from the room a moment before Dina let out a noisy sob, her tears falling freely.

But Kaz’s attention was quickly snapped back to his mother when he felt the sharp sting on his cheek from her hand. He tensed but kept his hands at his side, though turning back to face her. For the first time in his life, he saw an emotion from her he never thought she would aim at him.

Hate.

“Tell me it was someone else,” she demanded. “Tell me it was just an order you agreed to simply because it was going to happen regardless. Don’t you dare tell me you killed your own father!”

He wouldn’t, but it didn’t matter.

Not when his silence gave her the same answer.

Irina shoved him, using both of her hands and all of her strength. She poured every bit of hurt and anger into the assault, sending him back a step.

Kaz allowed it, welcomed it even.

Because he knew, very soon, he wouldn’t get anything from her at all. “I took care of everything. The funeral—”

Her agonized wail pierced the air a moment before her fists pounded his chest. Still dry-eyed—though even she felt something in the face of their mother’s pain—Vera reached to pull Irina away, but Kaz gave a sharp shake of his head.

This was his penance—he didn’t intend to make it easy for himself.

When her strength finally waned, he caught her, pulling her tight to his chest, even as she sobbed, the sound of it nearly stopping his heart.

An apology was all he had to offer because there was nothing left. “Izvinite, Mama—I’m sorry.”

Only one funeral stuck out in Kaz’s memory, though he had been to many.

Gavrill’s violent death in the streets of Brighton had brought many—both family and friends, even associates—back from the motherland. Everyone had wanted to come and pay their respects to a man loved and feared—a man that was mourned.

Many came for Vasily as well, spectators in all black, but as Kaz surveyed the crowd behind mirrored aviators, he didn’t think a single person, outside of the women at his side, was upset by Vasily’s death.

But everyone kept up appearances, if only for Irina’s sake.

Her sobs had finally stopped two days ago, once she accepted that it was done—she too had a part to play.

A man, whose name Kaz didn’t bother to remember, spoke gallantly as he promised of Vasily going to a better place, offering words of encouragement where they weren’t needed.

Kaz then focused on the media vans parked along the cemetery's edge, along with the people who stood near them. By now, everyone in the five boroughs would know Vasily was dead.

But he only cared about one.

Alberto Gallucci.

The last little pin he needed to knock over.

A day passed and then another. With each one, Violet’s paranoia only became worse. Someone now knew her secret, even if that someone didn’t want to use what he knew to hurt her.

Or so Caesar said.