Page 10 of Day Shift

After arriving in Tacoma, I took an Uber to the Volkov estate on Fox Island. It was still early in the day, since I’d gained three hours traveling west. Windblown police tape greeted me, wrapping around the property like a sinister ribbon. The sight sent chills down my spine. From the looks of it, the tape had been here for months. The lawn and flower beds had been ignored. The grass was knee-high, and weeds were growing out of control. Very strange.

The gated entrance stood open, but police tape blocked any vehicles from entering the driveway. I told the driver to let me out by the mailbox. He looked at me like I was crazy for getting out here in the rain, but I didn’t say anything, acting like I’d expected this situation. I gave him a reassuring smile and grabbed my bag before shutting the door.

Confidently, I stepped onto the driveway and ducked under the tape. My heart was racing and adrenaline was pumping, but I made sure to maintain a calm demeanor so as not to arouse suspicion. After idling there for a minute, the Uber driver finally took off.

In the past, there had always been someone here to greet me. I didn’t have any sort of key or code to get in, but I knew the place fairly well, so I decided to go around back and break in through a service entrance. I found a landscaping brick in a flower bed and used it to break the door’s window and let myself in. Quickly, I shoved my bag into the coat closet and made my way farther into the house. The place was a mess. Broken items were strewn about, and there was not a single computer or electronic device in sight. Meandering through the first floor, memories from my occasional visits here reminded me of how formal and stuffy my relationship was with my parents. Dinners were like dining at a three star Michelin restaurant where casual chit chat was unacceptable. The only good thing about coming here had been hanging out with Nik. When he could get away from my father, we’d always have the best of times. My heart pounded as I dialed Nik’s number again and searched the place over, but he never answered.

What the hell was going on?

Suddenly, distant police sirens disturbed my search. They were getting closer by the second. Realizing I must have set off some sort of silent alarm, I bolted for the garage. In my haste to enter one of the cars, my phone slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the floor and into a drainage grate. “Shit,” I cursed under my breath, but I couldn’t afford to waste time retrieving it. The sirens sounded as if they were nearing the driveway. Breathlessly, I got into the driver’s seat of the nearest vehicle. Lucky for me, the keys were in the ignition and the garage door opened when I pressed the button for it.

Torrents of rain lashed at the windshield, distorting my view as I frantically maneuvered out of the driveway and onto the road. How would I ever explain who I was or why I’d broken into the house? A house surrounded by police tape. I had no way of proving I was the daughter of the man who owned the place—a man who operated a crime syndicate. Even if I could prove my true identity, I was bound by secrecy to protect the family and the plans for me to marry Frankie. No, I just needed to get away and hope they didn’t follow me.

Of course, I had terrible timing. Just as I turned out of the driveway, police cars descended like a swarm of angry hornets. Panicking, I gunned the engine, making the tires skid against the slick asphalt. The wailing sirens sliced through my nerves, making it impossible to think straight. All I wanted was to get away from them somehow. I’d never been chased, and I was terrified that if they caught me, they’d trace me back to the Volkovs, ruining the many years of hard work everyone had spent developing my new identity.

The rearview mirror reflected a menacing parade of flashing red and blue lights. They closed in fast as I careered down the winding country road. The rain-soaked landscape sped by in a blur of green and gray, but I only pushed harder on the accelerator.

The shrieking sirens and the terror threatening to burst through my chest spurred me to race recklessly through each twist and turn. My knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, my lips trembling from the adrenaline. The world outside morphed into a kaleidoscope of blurred colors and bright lights. Everything was moving too fast.

The car groaned under my command, its tires skidding precariously on the rain-soaked pavement as I pushed it beyond its limits. A sharp turn loomed ahead—too sharp, too unanticipated. I spun the wheel desperately, but it was futile.

Time seemed to slow down. The car careened off course with a screech of protesting rubber, hurling toward an ominous silhouette of a tree looming in my path. At that moment, every detail was amplified—the dreadful crumple of metal folding in upon itself as it met unyielding wood, the shattered glass raining down around me like diamonds.

The airbag deployed with a violent burst, slamming into me like a punch from a heavyweight boxer. It stole my breath away and filled my nose with the bitter tang of burned rubber and powdered chemicals. My body was whipped back and forth inside the car like a rag doll. Then my head smacked into the side window with a sickening crunch. Pain erupted throughout my body like wildfire—raw and all-consuming.

A jagged shard of metal came flying through the window and sliced open my forehead, and warm blood began trickling down into my eyes, blurring what little sight remained. My ribs screamed in protest. Each gasp for air was a struggle between breathing and utter suffering.

As consciousness began to ebb away, the shrill wail of approaching sirens grew louder. The world around me became dim, my body succumbing to the overwhelming pain and shock.

I gave a final shudder before darkness claimed me, swallowing the last vestiges of reality as I slipped away from the chaos and into—

Chapter five

“Fuck!” I banged my fist against the cold concrete wall. I couldn’t believe I’d been stuck in this eight-by-eight hellhole overnight and missed Anastasia’s birthday for this FBI bullshit. Every year, without fail, I’d been there for her. Now, she was probably thinking I’d blown her off with no explanation. She would think I didn’t care, which was worse than any beating I could have taken.

Two days ago, I had landed at SeaTac to handle the last formalities of the transfer of my father’s estate trust. As my Pakhan, Viktor Volkov was always entangling me in Volkovi Notchi business. For this particular assignment, my job had been to ensure that all the documents were in order, according to my father’s instructions, so they could be signed and made official by the next day when the FBI’s seizure would no longer be enforced. The plan had been simple: verify everything, jump on an early flight to JFK, scoop up the little sis from the library, and celebrate her birthday as she deserved. But no, they’d snatched me right at the airport, just as I was about to board my flight.

Sitting here on this stiff, uncomfortable cot, I chuckled and thought about how Anastasia always rolled her eyes whenever she heard me call her my little sister. It was technically true, since I was twenty-two minutes older, but she would argue she was the more mature one.

Thinking about her sitting by herself in her modest brownstone, waiting for me, pissed me off all the more. Long ago, I had promised to always look out for her, protect her, and make sure she was safe and happy. Since the day they’d shipped her off to the States and tried to erase her identity—changing her name as if that could scrub away who she truly was—she had been my responsibility and would remain so until my last breath. Ana was the only one who had ever had my back unconditionally, the only damn person who loved me just as fiercely as I loved her.

Now here I was, wasting time in this dump, trapped by the FBI on some trumped-up charges just because I was Viktor Volkov’s son, while she was all alone, wondering why I’d never showed. This was not how I’d planned things to go. Not at all.

Since the age of twelve, I’d been my father’s lackey. I’d never gotten a formal education, but trust me, the school of hard knocks had taught me plenty. My father—if you could even call him that—had ensured I’d gotten my hands dirty early on and learned all the devious tricks of his trade. But unlike him, I found no pleasure in the power plays and violent games. Sure, my hands were stained with blood, but that wasn’t something I was proud of. I had no choice; if I wanted to stay alive, I had to not only follow orders but also prove my loyalty, which he tested regularly.

But this life, his way, wouldn’t be my endgame. I’d been building something on the side, a network of companies. I’d slowly and carefully made my way in this world, establishing my own empire so that Ana and I could rid ourselves of all things mafia. I now had a conglomerate of enterprises. Perhaps they were not all legal in some countries, or squeaky clean, but hell, they were a damn sight better than the shit my father was involved in—drugs, human trafficking, or stealing from any sucker too slow to pay attention.

I leaned back against the wall, trying not to inhale the stench of mildew and sweat that lingered in the cell’s air, and thought of my sister again. Ana was the only pure thing in our twisted family. I despised the underhanded scheming of my parents and my aunt, who had traded her happiness for unsavory alliances with American crime families like the Genovese and Morettis. If they only knew that they themselves were pawns in Viktor’s grand plan to take over, they’d never have gone along with accepting my sister as blood payment to seal the alliances.

I sighed. God, how I was ready to get out of this cell. It was ludicrous of me to have thought I could avoid ending up in American legal custody. I was Viktor’s son and second, after all. Really, I should have expected this. Despite my careful planning and the distance I maintained from Viktor’s dealings, his shadow loomed large over my life.

But this was particularly bad timing. And now I’d ruined Ana’s birthday.

I was confident the Volkov family attorney would spring me soon. Harrison Tate was the best in the business when it came to mafia transactions. Tate was a sharply intelligent man who had served the Volkov family for years. With a remarkable blend of loyalty and legal acumen, he’d kept much of their empire intact through various crises.

Leaning my head back against the wall, I closed my eyes. All I could do was bide my time.

Soon, the metallic clinking of keys approached. The cell door swung open, and a stern-faced police officer stood there, another officer not far behind him. “Volkov, interrogation room. Now. You know the drill. Hands out in front of you.”

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