Page 87 of Day Shift

The guys exchanged looks, and Lucian gave me an approving smile.

Angel pulled away and sighed. “I need to call Nik. I didn’t tell him I was leaving, and I want to know where he stands. His mixed messages have left me unsure if he’s on Viktor’s side or mine.”

Picking up her phone, she scrolled through her contacts and called him, but there was no answer. Her shoulders slumped, and she looked deflated. She shrugged. “I guess I’ll try again later.”

It was after one o’clock, and she needed to go home, get dressed, and head to the church. We agreed to reconvene tomorrow morning. Hopefully, we could make a solid plan after she learned how the wedding was set to go down. There was so much we didn’t know about these people. One thing was clear though—they were all violent assholes who didn’t care about killing people, so we needed to proceed with caution.

Chapter thirty-seven

Conan stood on the stoop in front of my house, arms crossed, with an expression that could freeze hell.

“Thank you, Julian. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as I exited his car.

I was so thankful that Julian had been true to his word and had kept watch outside Aunt Elena’s house. When I’d bolted from the rehearsal dinner, he had taken me straight home.

Before I had even crossed the sidewalk, Conan was there, hoisting me up by the waist. I jumped into his arms, wrapping my legs around him. My dress bunched up around my hips, giving whoever was near a free peep show. He kissed me ferociously, like he hadn’t seen me in forever. Then he turned and carried me straight into the kitchen, plopping me down on the counter without breaking our kiss.

As he devoured my mouth, a loud clearing of a throat interrupted us, and we wrenched ourselves from each other. Conan took my face in his giant hands and pulled me in for a sweet kiss on the forehead, inhaling slowly through his nose, his jaw clenched, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

“Well then, looks like you’re unscathed,” Braxton said with a chuckle. “When Julian texted us you’d requested a fast exit, we didn’t know what to expect.”

Conan and I turned and faced him. Here I was, precariously perched on the counter with my dress hiked up, flushed from his passionate kiss. Meanwhile, Conan had an obvious pocket rocket.

“You would be right,” I said, motioning for Conan to step back so I could hop off the counter. “What a suffocating night. From the moment I arrived at the church until just a few minutes ago, I was held hostage to my aunt’s fuckery.”

My blood boiled, and I stormed around the apartment, replaying the awful encounter in my mind. I paced back and forth, flailing my hands around as I began ranting to Conan and Braxton.

“I’m telling you guys, from the minute I stepped into St. Peter’s Church, it was like I’d been transported back to childhood—everyone treating me like I was still twelve. From the get-go, Bianca and Carlotta, Frankie’s older sisters, stared at me like I was a stray dog that had wandered into their precious garden. They barely spoke to me, just enough to get the introductions over with,” I all but shouted.

“Then there were his parents, whom I was directed to address as Mr. and Mrs. Moretti only. Now let me just say, I’ve known intimidating people—my parents are no saints—but these two exuded menace as if it was second nature to them—a legacy of their mafia family roots, I’m sure. The way they watched me, it was like they were sizing up a lamb for slaughter. And those groomsmen, Frankie’s friends, leered at me the entire time. Disgusting, lecherous pigs, eyeing me like a piece of meat. I can’t even remember their names, but his best man leaned in close and said, ‘Can’t wait to have my turn with you after Frankie’s done. Hope you’re ready for a real man.’”

Conan’s face went crimson, fury radiating from him. He clenched his teeth until his jaw started twitching, but I didn’t stop. I needed to get it all out.

“Aunt Elena orchestrated everything like it was her big Broadway debut. Everyone marched to her orders, even Father Russo, who I used to think was unshakable. He just went along with whatever she said. And me? I barely got a word in. Frankie’s sisters complained nonstop, especially about the dressing room at the back of the church. Too small. Too old. They even griped to Father Russo about everything.”

I paused for a breath, thinking about St. Peter’s.

“I love that church. It has always been my safe haven, a place where peace and kindness thrived amidst the cold indifference I endured from my family during visits to the city. But Frankie’s family, they were so irreverent and bitchy. The stained glass, the tabernacle, the altars—they respected none of it. Can you believe that?”

I stopped pacing and turned to face Conan and Braxton, who were both now leaning against the counter, listening intently. “After the rehearsal, I was shoved into a town car with Frankie and his family. That ride to Elena and Luca’s home was the longest, most uncomfortable hour of my life. No one said a word. We just sat there in this oppressive silence. It was horrendous.

“When we got to the house, it was as cold and formal as ever. I felt like a stranger. The food was pretentious and gross too. They served some weird caviar dish that smelled like rotten fish and a foie gras that looked like a science experiment gone wrong.”

Conan and Braxton’s expressions hardened as they listened. “I kept trying to get a private word with Luca, but Elena clung to him like a leech. The one moment I got with him when I first arrived, Luca hugged me, kissed my cheeks, and whispered, ‘Trust me, I’m taking care of everything.’ Cryptic as hell. I had no idea what he meant, and I wanted to talk further, but my aunt wouldn’t leave his side.”

I started to pace again.

“As the dinner wore on and the alcohol flowed, my aunt made a couple of remarks about how I should just stay with them until after the wedding so I wouldn’t cause any more trouble. That put me on edge. Then I overheard her telling Bianca and Carlotta that my appearance was atrocious and that she was going to have a couple of personal stylists come and whip me into shape. She suggested I stay the night so they could start on my reformation first thing in the morning. They cackled, and Bianca made a nasty remark about the scar on my forehead.” I traced it with my fingers, reminding myself how Conan had called it a badge of courage.

“Those two make Cinderella’s stepsisters look like Goody Two-shoes,” I muttered.

Conan looked ready to break something.

“Settle down, brother,” Braxton warned, glancing at Conan’s clenched fists. But it was too late. Conan picked up a glass and hurled it against the wall, shattering it into pieces.

“Your family is sick, Angel. I want to kill those motherfuckers for treating you like that and thinking they can marry you off to that bastard Frankie…”

Braxton placed a hand on his shoulder. “Breaking stuff won’t help.”

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