Page 50 of Where the Wind Whispers

The silence stretched on between the three people in the dining room for long enough that Violet wondered if her father had understood her hidden message. Alberto finally opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted only by the sound of footsteps outside the dining room.

Caesar strolled in with his usual smirk in place and his hands tucked in his pockets. He seemed entirely unbothered as he came in without notice or even a greeting to Alberto. He passed Violet by without a word as well, but he did give her a nod as he rounded the table, moving toward Carmine.

Violet swore whenever the two men were in the same room together, it was as if a volcano was ready to erupt.

Carmine looked fit to kill.

Caesar looked bored out of his fucking mind.

It was both strange and amusing.

“You could have called if you were coming over,” Alberto said to Caesar.

The younger man shrugged, pulling out the chair that Carmine was reaching for and sitting down in it without a care in the world. Carmine barely managed to keep his cool as he moved down the table and took another seat closer to his father.

“Busy day,” Caesar explained, giving the newscast a fleeting glance before his attention was back on the table. “Figured it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

“Respect always matters,” Alberto said.

“Except Caesar wouldn’t know the meaning of that word,” Carmine replied with a false smile.

Caesar simply nodded. “He has a point, for once.”

Carmine scowled.

Alberto ignored them both. “What do you want, Caesar?”

Violet caught Caesar’s gaze as he leaned back in his seat, relaxed and seemingly happy. “Actually, I came to catch you up to speed on a few things, but …” He trailed off, nodding toward the television. “I assume you already have been, at least on that end.”

Alberto’s frown deepened. “You have no need to be bothering yourself in the Russian’s affairs here in New York. Mind your business while you’re here, Caesar. It won’t be much longer before you’re back in your own territory.”

For a moment, Caesar looked as though he was considering that statement, but then he chuckled and shook his head. “Well, Alberto, let me catch you up to speed on my end, then, since you already know what’s happening with the Russians down in Odessa.”

Violet tried to gage her father’s blank expression, but Alberto was giving nothing away. Carmine was doing his best not to even look at Caesar, so he wasn’t any fucking help.

She didn’t know what in the hell was going on.

And that made her nervous.

“I’ll be back in Philly by eleven tonight,” Caesar said. “Booked the ticket this morning. Don’t bother with my father or telling him. I’ll catch him up when I get home.”

“You’ve got another week in New York,” Alberto replied.

“No, I have a few hours. You see, I don’t need to be here, Alberto. You’re never going to have your daughter’s marriage resolved because it doesn’t need to be, you understand. The marriage between her and I will never happen because her Russian wouldn’t ever allow it to happen. Are we all getting it yet?”

Violet damn near shrunk into her seat the more Caesar talked and not because she wanted to hide away from the words he was saying, but because her father had slowly started to stand from his chair. Now, he was leaning over the table, facing Caesar with his hands pressed against the shined wood and his eyes burning with rage.

“What did you just say?” Alberto asked, each word coming out more forceful than the last.

Caesar didn’t even blink. “Ask your daughter.”

Violet stiffened, her back straightening in the chair as she gave Caesar a look from the side. She needed to know what in the hell he was doing or playing at before she could join in.

She hoped he wasn’t doing what she thought he was doing …

Caesar was a bastard—he’d said it himself—but was he so much of a bastard that he’d sacrifice her for his own gain?

“Ask her what?” Alberto barked. “She isn’t the one barging into my home and rescinding on a deal—”