Where the Snow Falls (Seasons of Betrayal #2) - London Miller Page 0,3

More than anything, she had to keep Alberto Gallucci happy.

At least for a little while longer …

Alberto stood, pulling out the chair adjacent to his at the restaurant table for his daughter to sit in. Violet took the seat and pulled it up to the table as a server came with plates of stuffed chicken and pesto in hand, already sliding one in front of her before Alberto had even sat back down.

She wasn’t sure which annoyed her more.

That her father had called her to the restaurant to eat knowing she preferred to keep a distance from him lately, or that he hadn’t even allowed her to choose her own meal for the dinner.

Both were annoying, to be sure, and they each held a certain air of manipulation. One controlled her time and with whom she spent it, and the other decided what she could and could not partake in, even if it was just … food.

It was never just food with her father.

Not now.

A certain Russian had yanked off Violet’s rose-tinted glasses, and she just couldn't let herself forget, no matter how much her father demanded she do so.

Kaz.

She no longer saw her father the same way she did as a child. Back then, Alberto had been almost a god of sorts to a younger her; she thought him invincible when he was put up against the world.

But the truth was a great deal dirtier than she had wanted to admit.

Her father wasn’t the hero she’d always made him out to be—he was just as much the bad guy as anyone else.

Violet had simply come to a point where she decided Alberto Gallucci wasn’t going to choose which bad man she would hand over her loyalty and love to in her life.

And it wasn't as if she had gone into this blind, after all.

Not where Kazimir Markovic was concerned.

“You could smile a little more, dolcezza,” Alberto said, flipping out a napkin to cover his lap.

“Could I?”

Alberto lifted his gaze, his head tipping to the side slightly as he watched her. Months earlier, years ago even, Violet might have shrunk under that gaze, terrified of disappointing the man who proclaimed to love her entirely just because she was a piece of him and nothing more. She would have been heartbroken to see his anger directed at her—as he assured he loved her unconditionally.

But his love did come with conditions.

Her behavior.

Her appearance.

Her image.

His legacy.

That was all it ever was, but he had always made sure to wrap it in such pretty paper that she never looked far enough beyond the surface to see what really lay beneath it all.

Violet learned that far too late.

Unfortunately for her father, Alberto forgot that Violet was cut from the same cloth. She came from him, after all. She was his daughter.

So maybe, he should have seen her pleasantries and fake smiles for what they really were—her own brand of manipulation.

A good child—his child—lived to please him, and nothing more. It was something he wanted so badly that he was willing to overlook the blank stares and dull answers only because he still wanted to see and hear it, if not a little lackluster in delivery.

Violet wasn’t living for her father now.

She was just waiting on somebody else.

At that thought, she passed a look toward the large, decorative brass clock that dominated an entire far wall of the restaurant. Plated on glass, it showcased the time. She did the math in her head, having already tallied the time it would take for Kaz to drive from his destination to his next stop.

Today was important.

He was out.

She wasn’t going to have to keep pretending she gave a fuck for much longer.

“Waiting for something?” Alberto asked.

Violet’s gaze snapped back to her father instantly. “Pardon?”

He cut into his chicken, never looking up from his task. “Your food is going cold, Violet, and instead of eating with me like I invited you here to do, you’re too busy watching the clock. Are you waiting for something?”

“Yes.”

Alberto did lift his head that time. “Oh? Do tell.”

A lie was already on the tip of her tongue. “New fad diet. You shouldn’t take your first bite of your heaviest meal before four-thirty in the evening. Something about the carbs and all from your last meal weighing down digestion.”

Violet nodded at the clock. “Three minutes to start, Daddy.”

“Little strange, isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer him.

She didn’t have to.

“What are your plans after this?” Alberto asked.

Violet shrugged as she picked up her fork and cut a