Page 9 of Day Shift

Shaking off the worry, I headed to my bedroom and slipped into my comfiest sweatpants and an old T-shirt before coming back downstairs and collapsing onto the sofa. The sketches of my wedding dress from the renowned designer, Isabella Leclair, lay scattered on the coffee table. I picked one up and examined the intricate lace detailing. This dress was the closest I’d ever get to feeling like a princess. At each fitting, the design came more alive. During the final fitting, I’d stood gazing in the mirror, marveling at how glamorous the dress was, with its fitted waist and chapel-length train. The dress would soon be finished and delivered. Despite its luxurious beauty, all I could think about was how getting married would be like slamming the door closed on my own jail cell.

“Broodmare,” I muttered under my breath, thinking of how my only purpose in life seemed to be producing heirs and forever connecting three powerful mafia families by blood. I hated everything about this life—the patriarchy, the criminality, and the complete disregard for human decency. My time as a Xyst club owner had given me a taste of freedom, but that would vanish once I was forced to marry.

It was ridiculous that, in today’s world, arranged marriages were still a thing. And it was even more pathetic that I was supposed to maintain my virginity. I laughed as I thought of how I’d finally shaken free of that rule and enjoyed every steamy moment with Lucian. Mobsters loved their virgins and trophy wives, but I didn’t care. Both the Volkov and Genovese families should be grateful I was going along with their plans and hadn’t run off. All I wanted was a life free from the constraints of my mafia legacy. But deep down, I knew running away wasn’t an option. They would hunt me down and make me pay.

“Francis Aloysius Moretti,” I said out loud, chuckling at the ridiculous name of my soon-to-be husband. Frankie was hardly a catch. He was forty-six, shorter than me, and demanded I wear nothing but flat shoes. The man had a potbelly and never worked out. He was always sequestered in his midtown office, counting the Moretti’s millions. Our mandatory Thursday night dates over the past six months had been nothing short of torture for me. All he ever talked about was what other people had and what they were doing, always eager to flash his Amex Black Card at Casa Cipriani. If I ate more than half of the food on my plate, he’d make snide comments about me gaining weight.

“Creep,” I murmured, picturing his smug face. I despised him, but I’d been raised for this type of marriage. My mother and my aunt had drilled it into me that my purpose in life was to marry a high-ranking mafia man, and then I could have all the lovers I desired. What a twisted way to live.

After a few more minutes, I headed up to bed and tried to distract myself with a book. But I couldn’t focus, and as the evening wore on, I kept glancing at the clock, hoping against hope that Nik would show up. As midnight approached, I reluctantly began to accept that this would be the first time we wouldn’t spend our birthday together. At the thought of not seeing him on our special day, a sadness overcame me, and eventually, sleep claimed me.

5/28 early morning

I woke up with a heavy heart, the sting of Nik’s absence lingering. I grabbed my phone and started texting everyone in the family.

No response.

Panic began to claw at my insides, and fear twisted my stomach as I got up and tried to start my day.

Something wasn’t right.

Gut-churning worry gnawed at me, a relentless beast that refused to be ignored. In desperation, I decided to call Aunt Elena, hoping for some answers. With a sigh of resignation, I pressed the numbers on my phone screen, my fingers trembling slightly.

I told her about Nik not showing up for our birthday yesterday and that he hadn’t even texted me. I explained that I’d tried him several times and had even called my mother, who hadn’t answered either. Elena didn’t seem too concerned, telling me she hadn’t heard from Nik in many months. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but she hadn’t spoken with either my mother or father in weeks, which was indeed strange, considering the wedding was only a month away. Before hanging up, she promised to try to locate them and that she would let me know as soon as she did.

But that wasn’t good enough. My gut told me I had to go and try to find him. Surely, there’d be someone at the Volkov estate in Tacoma who could give me some answers, and if not, I’d fly my ass right on over to St. Petersburg. One way or the other, I was determined to connect with Nik.

I called Lucian. “Hey, I need to go out of town for a…family emergency. I’m not sure how long it will be and wanted to give you and the guys a heads-up that I probably won’t be able to work this weekend.” As I spoke, I tried not to sound too rattled.

His response was immediate, his voice laced with concern. “Ana, what’s going on? Is there anything I can do? Tell me and I’ll make it happen.” His Irish accent softened his tone, adding a layer of warmth that did little to quell my anxiety.

I hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. The situation was full of potential complications and danger—two things I’d always tried to keep Lucian away from. But he deserved to know why I wouldn’t be at Xyst this weekend.

“I can’t get a hold of my brother, and he was supposed to come see me yesterday,” I began slowly, trying to find the right words to avoid alarming him too much. “There’s trouble back home.”

“Trouble?” he asked with a note of apprehension in his voice. “What kind of trouble are we talking about here?”

I sighed heavily, wishing for once that life could be simple. “Just family stuff.” I meant for my response to come off casually, so as not to worry him too much.

There was a pause on the other end before he responded. “Are you sure you should go alone? I’m not feeling so good about your safety, especially knowing that your family has the kind of connections to make shit like the SLA stuff just go away.”

“I’ll manage. I just need to find my brother and see what’s going on. Don’t worry. I should be back in a week,” I assured him, attempting to keep the tremor out of my voice despite the nagging fear in my gut. “Just…keep things running smoothly at Xyst this weekend for me, okay?”

After promising him I’d check in later, I ended the call and rushed to book a flight and request an Uber to JFK.

I worried the corner of my mouth with my teeth as I hastily threw my essentials—clothes, shoes, toiletries—into a duffle bag, all in record time. I bolted out of my apartment just as the Uber arrived.

The city lights were still twinkling in the early dawn as we sped toward the airport.

Getting checked in at the ticket counter was a close call. I’d cut it far too close to the departure time. The agent gave me a sympathetic smile as she handed back my driver’s license and boarding pass—first-class seat, thankfully—but her kindness couldn’t put a dent in my mounting anxiety.

Navigating through security was another hurdle I overcame by sheer force of will. The race against the clock gave me something to think about besides worrying over Nik. I ran through the airport and made it to the gate just as they were making the final boarding call.

As I settled into my seat on the plane, relief washed over me. Soon, however, a gnawing unease started twisting my stomach into knots again. The plane’s engines roared to life, and while we ascended, I found myself gripping the edges of my phone, staring at the darkened screen, willing Nik to respond.

Something was terribly wrong—I could feel it in my bones. As the miles between New York and Tacoma shrank, my worry grew. I had no idea what awaited me there. A sense of foreboding clung to me like a second skin throughout the long flight.

Chapter four

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