Page 57 of Where the Wind Whispers

With someone else?

“He’s bearable to people he likes,” Violet said.

Caesar drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Wonderful. I am sure he’ll be incredibly pleasant to the Italian bringing you into Russian territory. They say I like to find trouble for myself. Clearly, they do not understand the mess the New York family is.”

Violet had no idea what Caesar was going on about, and she wasn’t about to entertain his nonsense today.

“Just drop me off and give me a phone. I’ll call him.”

She didn’t have the phone her father had given her. She’d left with nothing.

Violet didn’t really mind.

“You haven’t had any contact at all with him since he sent you back?” Caesar asked, not even entertaining her suggestion.

“No, he told me not to try just in case, and that being safe was most important. I trust him to do the right thing.”

“You do know his number, though, right?”

“Yes,” Violet said.

“What is it?”

“Let me call, Caesar.”

“What. Is. It?”

Knowing damn well she wasn’t going to get anywhere with Caesar, she gave him the number. Caesar plugged it into his phone and put a Bluetooth into his ear. She heard the faint ringing and then Caesar stiffened in his seat.

“You even answer in Russian, huh?” Caesar asked. “I wondered if you’d pick up an unknown number because, given the shit you’ve caused in this city over the last year, an unknown could be a lot of problems.”

Jesus Christ.

“Hey, be nice,” Caesar said, giving Violet a look. “I’m bringing you a gift, Russian. You’re going to want it. Where do you want to meet to pick it up?”

Caesar was quiet for a second longer before he said, “I mean, she’s alive so you could be a little less mouthy to who kept her that way … She wants to come home.” He quieted for a second, but it didn’t last long. “Boundary line it is, then. Ciao, Kazimir.”

He tossed the Bluetooth into the cup holder between them.

Violet stared at Caesar, waiting for him to elaborate on his conversation. When he didn’t, she asked, “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“That sounded … not pleasant at all,” Violet admitted.

Caesar chuckled. “He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t like me at all.”

Violet managed a laugh. “You’re not a special snowflake—he hates most Italians. To be fair, most Italians don’t seem to like him, either.”

“Good to know.”

Caesar was quiet for the rest of the ride. Violet only began to feel slightly better—the pressure in her chest releasing and the sickness in her stomach leaving—when they entered Lower Brooklyn.

It was strange how once, the sight of these streets rang like a warning bell in the back of her head. It hadn’t been somewhere she should be. She had been told her whole life to stay away from this place and Little Odessa.

Now, they felt far more like home than Manhattan or Amityville ever had.

“How do you know where the boundary line is?” Violet asked, honestly curious.