Page 56 of Day Shift

As I finished cleaning up, my mind went over everything that had happened. The support I’d received from everyone had been incredible, but I was still uncertain about my memories and anxious about the future.

I took the bag from the emergency department upstairs and dropped it on the dresser, still not ready to face what was inside. The soft, luxurious bedding called my name, and I couldn’t fight the urge to take a nap. I was hoping some rest would help clear my head. Murphy jumped onto the bed and curled up beside me. His soft snores and occasional snorts were comforting, and eventually, I drifted off.

I woke up some time later and rubbed my eyes before stretching out across the bed and letting out a groan. The aroma of espresso lingered faintly in the air. My sleep had left me groggy. A shower would be the perfect way to shake off the remnants of my nap.

I padded to the bathroom, appreciating the cool tile under my feet. The place was a dream. I’d not gotten well acquainted with it yesterday because I’d been in such a rush to change when I first arrived. Then, later, I’d been high on endorphins and lost in my arousal with Conan. When I glanced at the shower, memories of his ginormous hands on my skin sent heat skirting to my lower belly. The man knew how to play me better than his guitar. My head was still spinning from the many orgasms he’d given me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew it had been an exceptional night of pleasure, regardless of who I’d been with in the past. I was surprised I hadn’t had any flashbacks, but then again, Conan had demanded my full attention.

Exploring a bit, I found the immaculate space was stocked with everything imaginable—high-end soaps, shampoos, and other toiletries, plush linens, and even a fancy blow dryer and curler. I selected a peony-scented bodywash and some rich, moisturizing shampoo and conditioner. Then I turned on the water, adjusted it until it was just the right temperature, and stepped under the luxurious spray.

The warm water cascaded over me, washing away the morning’s soreness. I sighed in relief. Silky bubbles from the bodywash glided over my skin as I lathered up. I wished I could stay in here all day, but I needed to get going, so I moved on to washing my hair. The steam enveloped me as I massaged shampoo into my scalp, creating a cocoon of comfort while the peony-scented air sent my imagination off to some tropical island.

I reached for the conditioner and worked it through the ends of my hair. For a few minutes, I allowed it to sit, standing under the spray before finally rinsing my hair thoroughly. Turning off the water, I stepped out and wrapped myself in a plush towel.

After that, I took my time drying my hair with the blow-dryer, enjoying the way it fluffed up under the warm air. I decided to style it in a high ponytail, using the hair tie Conan had given me last night. I couldn’t help but smile at the memory of him pulling it out and shaking his long dirty-blond hair like some golden retriever. The man might have had others convinced he was the carefree good boy, but I knew better. He was more like the German-shepherd type.

Feeling refreshed, I dressed in my favorite leggings and a cute summer top, finishing the look with a pair of sneakers. The mirror reflected someone ready to face the day, even if I didn’t feel entirely that way inside.

While I was tidying up the bathroom, I remembered the bag Samantha had brought home from the ED. Curiosity tugged at me, so I headed over to the dresser where I’d dropped it.

After retrieving it and setting it on the bed, I studied it, wondering if whatever was inside would trigger any memories. My heart pounded as I opened it and pulled out a pair of black ankle boots. They were covered in dried blood and had a funky smell.

While I held them in my hands and scrutinized them more closely, a sharp pain shot through my head, and I doubled over, clutching the boots against my thighs. A memory slammed into me with brutal force.

I was in a bedroom—my bedroom, in a brownstone—pulling on these very boots. The room was bathed in early morning light that cast long shadows on the wooden floors. The faint scent of fresh flowers wafted in the air. I was rushing around, packing my bag in a hurry, filled with an inexplicable sense of urgency.

The flashback was intense, each detail vivid and overwhelming. It came like a tidal wave, crashing over me and dragging me under. I gasped for breath because the pain that accompanied the memory was like a vise tightening around my head.

But at the same time, I had a glimmer of excitement. I knew where I was from…where I lived. My home was on a quiet side street in Chelsea. I had a life in New York City. The realization gave me something solid to grasp onto, and a piece of my identity slipped back into place.

Despite this small victory, the details were still fuzzy, and the memory left me trembling. I had to lean against the edge of the bed to steady myself. I was both exhilarated and terrified by the fragments of my past coming back to me.

As the pain subsided, I wiped away the tears that had welled in my eyes. This was progress, even if it hurt. A piece of my puzzle had emerged, and I clung to it tightly, determined to put together the rest of my story, no matter how painful it might be.

Standing, I looked inside the bag, still open next to me once more, and took a deep breath. My head ached from the intensity of the flashback, but something nudged me to search the bag. At the very bottom was a small envelope. My hands grew clammy as I pulled it out and tore it open. There, nestled inside, was a necklace with a howling wolf charm. As I studied it, I realized that it must be only one half of an interlocking pendant. Its white gold shimmered hypnotically under the soft light of the bedroom as I dangled it in front of me.

Out of nowhere, a violent rush of memories hit me. My vision blurred, and my head pounded as if someone had driven an ice pick into my skull. I clutched the necklace, its cool metal digging into my palm, and suddenly, the dam burst.

Nikolai’s face appeared in my mind—his determined expression when he showed up on our thirteenth birthday, riding that borrowed motorcycle. I remembered the joy that had washed over me as he placed the necklace around my neck and declared our bond unbreakable. We were protectors of each other, just like wolves guarding their pack.

Then came the darker memories of an earlier time—being torn away from him, from all that I knew, and sent to live in an upstate New York boarding school. I saw the faces of my Russian family and their stern expressions as they reminded me of my duty to the family.

Images and feelings assaulted me in rapid succession. Fast-forward, and I was standing in Club Xyst, where I had secretly become part owner. The music, the lights, the clandestine deals in dark corners—it was all a part of my life, a life I loved. The club was a sanctuary for the rich and famous, a place even the governor of New York frequented. My heart pounded as I remembered the thrill and danger of it all. The club, with its underground gambling, bars, and escort services for the city’s elite, was where my true self could come out at night. By day, I was a conservative librarian—but that was a cover story for prying eyes, a prison I’d been stuck in for years. I lived in a world where luxury and crime intertwined, hiding my true identity.

Another flash: I was in the lavish Genovese home, my aunt Elena reminding me of my duties as Anastasia Genovese. I recalled the constant pressure to live up to the family name, the parties, the whispers of arranged marriages. Then the bitter taste of bile rose in my throat as I remembered my arranged marriage to Frankie Moretti, a man I loathed, to solidify an alliance between crime families. I winced when an image of his smug smile appeared, recalling the weight of an engagement ring I refused to wear except on our weekly dates, a ring that was like a shackle on my finger. My stomach turned at the thought of our upcoming wedding, a trap I couldn’t escape. The fact that I’d accepted my fate without a fight made me all the more nauseated. Why had I never considered resisting…escaping to lead my own life?

My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the floor, clutching the necklace to my chest. Sobs racked my body as the memories continued to flood in—both the warmth of Nikolai’s protectiveness and the cold reality of the life I was expected to live. My head throbbed with the intensity of it all, each memory like a shard of glass piercing my brain.

Through my tears, I remembered the happier times with my brother, our shared birthdays, and the unwavering loyalty we had for each other. But these were intertwined with the brutal realities of our mafia ties, the power plays, and the constant fear of retribution.

The pain was crushing, both physically and emotionally. My mind whirled with the onslaught, as if my entire life was being played on fast-forward. Good and bad, joy and sorrow all mingled together in a violent storm that left me gasping for air.

The torrent of my tears mixed with the flood of memories. It was as if I had been reborn into a world that was both familiar and alien. The weight of my past bore down on me, and I struggled to come to terms with who I was and what my life had become.

I was no longer Angel. I was Anastasia Volkov, daughter of a Russian mafia Pakhan—the very man I now knew had kidnapped Samantha and tried to kill her, the Thorin brothers, and others here in Tacoma. My life was a twisted web of betrayal and duty. The overwhelming surge of memories threatened to drown me, but amidst the chaos, one thing became clear—I had to reclaim control of my life, no matter what it took.

“Anastasia Volkov,” I muttered to myself, tasting the name on my tongue. Daughter of Viktor and Valentina, the notorious leaders of the Volkovi Notchi crime syndicate, the very group that ran the city where I had found temporary refuge.

My name had been changed to Anastasia Genovese after my aunt Elena married into the American mafia. Growing up as a New York mafia princess, I’d been bound by traditions and alliances. I was a pawn in a game of power and control. My life had been manipulated, every move dictated by others.

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