Page 90 of Day Shift

Although the guys objected at first and made their attempts to come up with a better strategy, nothing seemed as feasible. With no other options, they finally agreed on my plan, promising to keep watch and never let me out of their sight.

Conan nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t happy about the idea of me being in the church with those people. “I’m meeting with the security firm this afternoon. They’ll have a team ready to help as well,” he said.

I shared my location on my phone with everyone, ensuring they’d know where I was at all times. “I need to go home, pack, and get to Elena and Luca’s house. I can’t be late and make Luca mad. We need him on our good side.”

As I grabbed my things, Conan and Lucian discussed their next steps. Then Conan turned to me, his expression softening. “Ready?”

“Let’s go,” I said, taking a deep breath. This had to work. It was our only shot. We left the club with a plan in place and a sliver of hope in our hearts.

Chapter thirty-nine

Istood in front of the full-length mirror and hardly recognized the woman staring back. This was surreal, like I was looking at a stranger. The past twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind. My hair, now a cascade of soft waves highlighted with golden streaks, framed a face meticulously made up to perfection. My fingernails and toenails gleamed with a delicate French manicure, and my skin glowed from a spray tan. I’d been plucked, shaved, and buffed to an almost unreal version of myself.

When Conan had dropped me off at Aunt Elena and Uncle Luca’s ostentatious mansion yesterday, I’d plastered on a confident smile to keep him from worrying. Luca had insisted I arrive at noon sharp, and the moment I’d stepped through the door, a swarm of people had whisked me away to one of the guest rooms. They’d handled me as if I were a makeover challenge they were determined to win.

An entire team of stylists had descended on me, stripping me of my belongings and violating my personal space without a second thought. It was as though I were a prisoner being processed at a jail—no, it was worse than that. My one experience with being taken into custody back in Tacoma hadn’t been pleasant, but it was nowhere near as awful as this had been.

They’d scrubbed me clean, waxed everything—even places I’d never imagined—plucked my eyebrows, given me a spray tan, and even highlighted my hair. I’d endured manicures, pedicures, and an endless array of treatments. It had been exhausting and invasive. They’d left no part of me untouched. They didn’t care about my feelings or comfort.

My cell phone was the first thing Elena had taken from me, cutting off any chance of contacting Conan.

Standing here now, I clutched my rumbling stomach. Dinner the night before had been a joke. I’d barely eaten because I was so upset, but even if I had been hungry, the bland, steamed vegetables and plain grilled chicken wouldn’t have done much to fill me up. The idea was to keep me from getting bloated, I was sure, but it was also about control, about making sure I knew my place.

At the crack of dawn, the stylists had woken me for a hot bath to wash off any spray tan residue, and then they’d started on my hair and makeup. Breakfast had been a single piece of toast, to avoid a food baby in my wedding dress as they’d so charmingly put it. Elena forbade me from wearing the tank top, shorts, and sneakers I’d planned for my escape, instead forcing me into sexy lingerie and ballet slippers. At least they were flat and I would still be able to run in them.

Late in the morning, Elena had burst into my room with a new plan: the bridesmaids were coming to the house to get ready together. Fully dressed, we would take a limo straight to the church, walk up the front steps, and march down the aisle without delay.

Panic was setting in. My plan had been to dress at the church and fake being sick so I could escape out the back door. Now, I had no idea how I was going to get away.

My mind whirled with these thoughts as I continued to stare at myself in the mirror. The woman in the reflection was stunning, the complete opposite of the nervous, tormented mess I was inside. My waist was cinched tight, and I could barely breathe, but I had to admit the dress was beautiful. Glancing over my shoulder at the deep V of the back, I admired how it showed off my spine in an elegant way.

My thoughts were interrupted when the door swung open and Frankie’s two sisters strode in.

“Oh, it must’ve taken an army to make you presentable,” Bianca said with a sneer, her eyes scanning me from head to toe.

Carlotta chimed in, “Long hair at your age? Seriously? And wearing it down at a wedding? How inappropriate. It should be up in a conservative bun or chignon. And those bangs…smoothed back and held in place with hairspray would be so much classier.”

I tried to ignore their cutting remarks, instead turning back to the mirror to focus on the beautiful dress I wore. It was perfect, like something out of a fairy tale. I felt like Cinderella, but this was no ball. This was a nightmare dressed up as a wedding. Their criticisms faded into the background as I ran my hands down the gown. The intricate lace, the delicate beading—everything about it was exquisite. It was such a waste for this beautiful dress to be part of a sham. I sighed. What a shame that this day—meant to be one of the happiest in a woman’s life—was so utterly miserable for me.

Elena burst into the room, already dressed. “Let’s go, ladies,” she snapped brusquely. “Time to head out.”

“Finally,” Bianca said. “Let’s get this over with so Frankie can have his little plaything, the Moretti and Genovese families can cement their alliance, and we can get on with our lives.” She muttered this to Carlotta under her breath as if I were invisible.

I turned to Elena, annoyed. “Aunt Elena, may I have my cell phone back?”

She dismissed me with a cold “No.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, nerves gnawing at me.

“Stop that nasty habit,” she snapped.

With a frustrated huff, I headed to the door. Two stylists trailed behind, gathering the train of my dress and guiding me down the stairs. My mind raced with each step I took. When we got outside, they helped me into the waiting limo.

The drive to the church was a form of slow torture, giving me plenty of time to worry about everything that might happen. I wished I could tell Conan about the change of plans—that we wouldn’t be dressing at the church but heading straight inside. Our strategy hadn’t been great to begin with, and now it was completely shot. My only hope was to escape from Elena’s clutches by sprinting to the other end of the church and out the back door. But now, that would create a big scene, and I’d most likely be stopped. I worried that one of the guys would charge in after me and get gunned down.

Panic bubbled inside me as the limo rolled along, but I tried desperately not to let it show. From under my dress, I pulled out the necklace Nik had given me and fidgeted with it. When the stylists and Elena had tried to take it, I’d threatened to ruin my appearance and told Elena she should be grateful I was going along with this farce. I even said I’d rather be dead than go through with the wedding. Elena had laughed, telling me that death could be arranged, but in the end, she’d relented and allowed me to wear the necklace. I wondered if Nik would show up, if he even knew what was going to happen today.

At least Elena had gone in a separate car with Uncle Luca.

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