3. ANASTASIA
Chapter three
T he sound of my alarm pierced through the early Monday morning silence, but it barely registered. My head ached from sleep deprivation and the stress of a hectic weekend at Club Xyst. I groaned, cursing the necessity of getting up. My body protested as I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. I was desperately craving coffee and breakfast that I simply didn’t have time for. I had to get moving.
While the hot water beat against my skin, my mind wandered to the events of the weekend. Uncle Luca had come through for me, helping resolve the issue with the NYSLA that had threatened to yank Xyst’s liquor license. It had been a doozy of a situation. The drunk kid with a fake ID had punched one of the most senior cops on the force. The cop had wanted to throw the book at us, and it had attracted quite a lot of attention to the club, threatening to unravel everything we’d built. Uncle Luca had stepped in and made sure the issue was swept under the rug. The cops involved would have a fatter bank account and conveniently have no memory of the incident.
My uncle was the only one in my family who knew about my involvement with the club, finding it amusing that I was able to keep it a secret from everyone else. As a powerful second in the Genovese family, he had connections and influence that never failed to amaze me.
It was rumored that he would soon be stepping up as the next Don—the top boss—of the Genovese family. He admired my tenacity and, for reasons I didn’t know, had kept my endeavors with Xyst from my parents and Aunt Elena. With his help, the police in the 6th precinct were paid off, ensuring they wouldn’t shut down the club’s underground gambling operation.
“ Anastasia, I like how you come to me. Trust me. Most of those your age in the family are too afraid to even look me in the eye. Not you. You’re a force to be reckoned with ,” he’d told me on Saturday when we met to discuss the liquor license issue. I smiled at the memory.
By Sunday, everything had been resolved. When I’d informed Lucian of the situation, he had raised an eyebrow, clearly amazed and curious—maybe even a little suspicious—about how I’d taken care of the matter so quickly. But, as usual, I’d just played it off as having good political connections. Thankfully, he hadn’t questioned me further.
Once I finished showering, I dried my hair, applied a bit of makeup, and dressed for my library job. It was so annoying to have to wear my conservative attire after spending the weekend at Club Xyst, but it was necessary to maintain appearances .
As I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my cotton blouse and skirt, I couldn’t shake the dread that accompanied putting on my “good girl” persona.
“Back to the grind,” I muttered, grabbing my bag and heading out the door.
The subway car rumbled beneath my feet as I clung to the pole, my fingers tapping an impatient rhythm. The guys at the club didn’t know today was my birthday, and my parents and Aunt Elena, cold and selfish as they were, never celebrated it. The only person on this planet who truly cared about me and made me feel special was the man who shared my birthday—Nik. He was the only one who had ever loved me unconditionally, and we had been inseparable growing up. But that had all changed when I was sent to America to live with Aunt Elena under a new identity. That day marked the end of our childhood together—when we were ripped apart and sent down separate paths. I’d been shipped off to America while Nik remained in Russia. The Austen Elmhurst Preparatory Academy for Girls had become my prison, a place where I was forced to learn how to be a prim and proper socialite—a role I despised.
As the subway lurched forward, I stifled a yawn and considered finding a quiet corner in the library for a catnap once I got there. I’d barely slept over the weekend, and now exhaustion threatened to consume me.
The one good thing I had to look forward to today was seeing Nik. Although we were normally separated by a great distance, he never failed to show up on our birthday.
My mind wandered back to our first year apart. I’d struggled to adjust to life in the US. It had been such a lonely time for me. I hadn’t spoken English at first and was totally unfamiliar with American culture. On our thirteenth birthday, Nik had appeared out of nowhere at my school. He had somehow managed to find his way to Aunt Elena’s house, borrow a motorcycle, and ride all the way to the academy.
That year, he’d given me a necklace with a white-gold pendant of a howling wolf. It was part of an interlocking pair. It served as a reminder of who I was and where I came from—that our last name, Volkov, was the Russian word for “wolf.” Nik had placed the other half around his neck, declaring it a symbol of our unbreakable connection, not just as twins but as protectors of each other. We were akin to wolves who fiercely guarded their pack. This pendant, still resting close to my heart, was a constant reminder of our loyalty and the formidable bond we shared. It served as a powerful tribute to the fact that we were forever intertwined.
“This is one-sixteen; next stop one-two-five; stand clear of the closing doors!” the conductor announced, snapping me back to the present.
“Dammit,” I muttered, realizing I needed to get off at this stop. I dashed for the doors, barely making it out before they slammed shut behind me. As I stumbled across the platform, the throng of people was unforgiving, pushing and shoving like a sea of impatience. I tucked my necklace into my shirt before heading up the stairs and out of the station, wondering when Nik would appear and how our birthday would unfold.
“Excuse me,” I muttered, elbowing my way through the crowd, eager to get some fresh air.
“Watch it!” someone snapped when I bumped into them. I quickly apologized and continued on my way up the stairs.
Once outside, I navigated the busy streets toward the campus gates. Soon I was making my way across Kennedy University’s campus. The scent of freshly cut grass was refreshing as the sprinklers coated each blade in fine mist. A pang of loneliness hit me as I watched the students rush to their morning classes, talking and laughing amongst themselves about their normal, everyday lives.
Genuine connection was something my life lacked. Although I was technically surrounded by people all the time—students here at the university, coworkers at the library, and my friends at the club—I spent most of my time alone. Sure, I’d had some girlfriends at school and in college, but after graduating, we’d all gone our separate ways. I was the only one who’d gotten a job at the university. I hadn’t dated much either. It was impossible to explain why I had to remain a virgin for “the family’s” sake. How did you tell a guy about mobsters loving their virgins and marriage contracts?
After signing on to work at Xyst and meeting Lucian, I’d gained the self-confidence to say fuck that . I at least deserved to experience good sex before getting locked into a lifelong situation with someone I couldn’t stand. Lucian was hot as hell and had zero expectations. He was perfect, and although we didn’t talk about why neither of us continued to want a no-strings-attached type of relationship, we respected each other, and I trusted things wouldn’t get complicated.
“Hey, Anastasia!” a familiar voice called out, interrupting my thoughts. Twisting around, I spotted Sarah, one of my coworkers, waving enthusiastically from a nearby bench, coffee in hand. She stood and hurried to catch up, falling into step beside me. “You look tired! Rough weekend?”
“Something like that. It was nonstop,” I replied vaguely, giving her a forced smile. I wasn’t about to reveal the true reason behind my exhaustion. “How about you? How was your weekend? ”
“Pretty uneventful. You know, the same old, same old.” She shrugged.
We reached our building, and I lugged open the large wooden door, holding it for her. As she entered, she threw a question over her shoulder. “Hey, what do you think about joining me, Josh, and his buddy for dinner on Friday? Kind of a low-key double date. William’s great—works over in the Provost’s office as an auditor. Could be fun, right?”
Internally, I groaned. Not the matchmaking spiel again. Oh, God, how I hated it when people tried to fix me up. It happened all the time. Was there something about me that screamed “desperate for male attention—please, set me up” or what?
“Um, thanks for the invite,” I said, “but I’ve just met someone, and he seems super nice, so I’ll have to pass this time.” I hoped that would politely nip the blind date idea in the bud.
“Really? That’s news! What’s he like? Do I know him? What’s he look like? Where does he work?”
Great, now I’d opened up a whole other can of worms. “It’s super early on in the relationship, so I’m keeping it on the down low for now. If it starts to go anywhere, I’ll make sure to tell you all the juicy details.” I wiggled my eyebrows and veered off toward my office. “See you later,” I said, making a quick escape.
When I entered my office, I found a box sitting on my desk, labeled: “New accessions from the Smithsonian” and a note from Mr. Henley that read: Organize, review, and enter all pertinent information regarding these newly acquired documents into the library’s system .
Curious, I opened the box and rifled through its contents. I was surprised to discover historical documents from the early 1900s related to the Genovese crime family. I skimmed through them, intrigued. One was a police file that had evidence showing they were involved in bootlegging during Prohibition, while another detailed their alliance with Al Capone. Carefully and methodically, I spent the next few hours examining everything in the box, finding other snippets of information about the family to which I now belonged. One particular document caught my eye. It mentioned how the Genovese family, along with several other mafia families, had been involved in an alliance called the Commission, in 1931. Another stated that Charles “Lucky” Luciano, the founder of the modern American Mafia, had been a prominent member of the Genovese family.
As I scrutinized the documents, I thought of my own family—the Volkovs. I didn’t see them often, but when I did, it was either at our estate in Tacoma or at my grandmother’s home in St. Petersburg. Although I spoke fluent Russian, my Northeastern American accent always gave me away as an outsider when I visited my homeland. My family had purposefully kept me in the dark about most things regarding the Volkovi Notchi. It was as if they thought ignorance would protect me. Or maybe it was to protect them.
All throughout the day, I kept checking my phone and watching the door, but Nik hadn’t found me yet. It was unusual—he was always with me on our birthday. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Maybe he planned to meet me at home? With that in mind, I tidied up my office and left campus.
When I passed by the bodega next to the subway entrance, I treated myself to a small, fragrant bouquet from their outdoor stand. It was my birthday after all. Once I arrived home, I tried calling Nik. No answer. A hint of worry crept into my chest.
I called my mother, only to receive no response. I debated calling my father, but decided against it. He wouldn’t care where Nik was if he wasn’t doing something for him, nor would he care about anything else I had to say. His apathy toward me was ridiculous.
While I waited there with nothing else to do, I thought about Nik, about how different he was from our father. He despised working for him. It pained me to see him trapped in a life he’d never wanted, but I still had hope that one day, we could both break free from our family’s dark legacy.
“Where are you, Nikolai?” I whispered, gazing at the bouquet, which was now in a vase sitting on the table.
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.