Page 8 of Day Shift

As I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my cotton blouse and skirt, I couldn’t shake the dread that accompanied putting on my “good girl” persona.

“Back to the grind,” I muttered, grabbing my bag and heading out the door.

The subway car rumbled beneath my feet as I clung to the pole, my fingers tapping an impatient rhythm. The guys at the club didn’t know today was my birthday, and my parents and Aunt Elena, cold and selfish as they were, never celebrated it. The only person on this planet who truly cared about me and made me feel special was the man who shared my birthday—Nik. He was the only one who had ever loved me unconditionally, and we had been inseparable growing up. But that had all changed when I was sent to America to live with Aunt Elena under a new identity. That day marked the end of our childhood together—when we were ripped apart and sent down separate paths. I’d been shipped off to America while Nik remained in Russia. The Austen Elmhurst Preparatory Academy for Girls had become my prison, a place where I was forced to learn how to be a prim and proper socialite—a role I despised.

As the subway lurched forward, I stifled a yawn and considered finding a quiet corner in the library for a catnap once I got there. I’d barely slept over the weekend, and now exhaustion threatened to consume me.

The one good thing I had to look forward to today was seeing Nik. Although we were normally separated by a great distance, he never failed to show up on our birthday.

My mind wandered back to our first year apart. I’d struggled to adjust to life in the US. It had been such a lonely time for me. I hadn’t spoken English at first and was totally unfamiliar with American culture. On our thirteenth birthday, Nik had appeared out of nowhere at my school. He had somehow managed to find his way to Aunt Elena’s house, borrow a motorcycle, and ride all the way to the academy.

That year, he’d given me a necklace with a white-gold pendant of a howling wolf. It was part of an interlocking pair. It served as a reminder of who I was and where I came from—that our last name, Volkov, was the Russian word for “wolf.” Nik had placed the other half around his neck, declaring it a symbol of our unbreakable connection, not just as twins but as protectors of each other. We were akin to wolves who fiercely guarded their pack. This pendant, still resting close to my heart, was a constant reminder of our loyalty and the formidable bond we shared. It served as a powerful tribute to the fact that we were forever intertwined.

“This is one-sixteen; next stop one-two-five; stand clear of the closing doors!” the conductor announced, snapping me back to the present.

“Dammit,” I muttered, realizing I needed to get off at this stop. I dashed for the doors, barely making it out before they slammed shut behind me. As I stumbled across the platform, the throng of people was unforgiving, pushing and shoving like a sea of impatience. I tucked my necklace into my shirt before heading up the stairs and out of the station, wondering when Nik would appear and how our birthday would unfold.

“Excuse me,” I muttered, elbowing my way through the crowd, eager to get some fresh air.

“Watch it!” someone snapped when I bumped into them. I quickly apologized and continued on my way up the stairs.

Once outside, I navigated the busy streets toward the campus gates. Soon I was making my way across Kennedy University’s campus. The scent of freshly cut grass was refreshing as the sprinklers coated each blade in fine mist. A pang of loneliness hit me as I watched the students rush to their morning classes, talking and laughing amongst themselves about their normal, everyday lives.

Genuine connection was something my life lacked. Although I was technically surrounded by people all the time—students here at the university, coworkers at the library, and my friends at the club—I spent most of my time alone. Sure, I’d had some girlfriends at school and in college, but after graduating, we’d all gone our separate ways. I was the only one who’d gotten a job at the university. I hadn’t dated much either. It was impossible to explain why I had to remain a virgin for “the family’s” sake. How did you tell a guy about mobsters loving their virgins and marriage contracts?

After signing on to work at Xyst and meeting Lucian, I’d gained the self-confidence to say fuck that. I at least deserved to experience good sex before getting locked into a lifelong situation with someone I couldn’t stand. Lucian was hot as hell and had zero expectations. He was perfect, and although we didn’t talk about why neither of us continued to want a no-strings-attached type of relationship, we respected each other, and I trusted things wouldn’t get complicated.

“Hey, Anastasia!” a familiar voice called out, interrupting my thoughts. Twisting around, I spotted Sarah, one of my coworkers, waving enthusiastically from a nearby bench, coffee in hand. She stood and hurried to catch up, falling into step beside me. “You look tired! Rough weekend?”

“Something like that. It was nonstop,” I replied vaguely, giving her a forced smile. I wasn’t about to reveal the true reason behind my exhaustion. “How about you? How was your weekend?”

“Pretty uneventful. You know, the same old, same old.” She shrugged.

We reached our building, and I lugged open the large wooden door, holding it for her. As she entered, she threw a question over her shoulder. “Hey, what do you think about joining me, Josh, and his buddy for dinner on Friday? Kind of a low-key double date. William’s great—works over in the Provost’s office as an auditor. Could be fun, right?”

Internally, I groaned. Not the matchmaking spiel again. Oh, God, how I hated it when people tried to fix me up. It happened all the time. Was there something about me that screamed “desperate for male attention—please, set me up” or what?

“Um, thanks for the invite,” I said, “but I’ve just met someone, and he seems super nice, so I’ll have to pass this time.” I hoped that would politely nip the blind date idea in the bud.

“Really? That’s news! What’s he like? Do I know him? What’s he look like? Where does he work?”

Great, now I’d opened up a whole other can of worms. “It’s super early on in the relationship, so I’m keeping it on the down low for now. If it starts to go anywhere, I’ll make sure to tell you all the juicy details.” I wiggled my eyebrows and veered off toward my office. “See you later,” I said, making a quick escape.

When I entered my office, I found a box sitting on my desk, labeled: “New accessions from the Smithsonian” and a note from Mr. Henley that read: Organize, review, and enter all pertinent information regarding these newly acquired documents into the library’s system.

Curious, I opened the box and rifled through its contents. I was surprised to discover historical documents from the early 1900s related to the Genovese crime family. I skimmed through them, intrigued. One was a police file that had evidence showing they were involved in bootlegging during Prohibition, while another detailed their alliance with Al Capone. Carefully and methodically, I spent the next few hours examining everything in the box, finding other snippets of information about the family to which I now belonged. One particular document caught my eye. It mentioned how the Genovese family, along with several other mafia families, had been involved in an alliance called the Commission, in 1931. Another stated that Charles “Lucky” Luciano, the founder of the modern American Mafia, had been a prominent member of the Genovese family.

As I scrutinized the documents, I thought of my own family—the Volkovs. I didn’t see them often, but when I did, it was either at our estate in Tacoma or at my grandmother’s home in St. Petersburg. Although I spoke fluent Russian, my Northeastern American accent always gave me away as an outsider when I visited my homeland. My family had purposefully kept me in the dark about most things regarding the Volkovi Notchi. It was as if they thought ignorance would protect me. Or maybe it was to protect them.

All throughout the day, I kept checking my phone and watching the door, but Nik hadn’t found me yet. It was unusual—he was always with me on our birthday. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Maybe he planned to meet me at home? With that in mind, I tidied up my office and left campus.

When I passed by the bodega next to the subway entrance, I treated myself to a small, fragrant bouquet from their outdoor stand. It was my birthday after all. Once I arrived home, I tried calling Nik. No answer. A hint of worry crept into my chest.

I called my mother, only to receive no response. I debated calling my father, but decided against it. He wouldn’t care where Nik was if he wasn’t doing something for him, nor would he care about anything else I had to say. His apathy toward me was ridiculous.

While I waited there with nothing else to do, I thought about Nik, about how different he was from our father. He despised working for him. It pained me to see him trapped in a life he’d never wanted, but I still had hope that one day, we could both break free from our family’s dark legacy.

“Where are you, Nikolai?” I whispered, gazing at the bouquet, which was now in a vase sitting on the table.

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