27. ANASTASIA
Chapter twenty-seven
T he aroma of espresso stirred me awake, dragging me from the depths of sleep. As I stretched, my muscles and most intimate places ached and tingled from a night well spent. Conan had lit a fire in me—a blazing wildfire that engulfed my senses and left me craving more. I’d needed his touch and the lust in his eyes more than I’d ever thought possible. He had a way of tethering me to the now when my past was nothing more than a hazy mirage. The intensity with which he had taken me was as terrifying as it was thrilling. Every move he made was just right, as though he was attuned to all my wants and needs.
His hands had explored every inch of my body with reverence, tracing patterns on my skin that left me shivering in anticipation, only to be followed by his lips tracing the same journey, leaving me desperate for more. God, how I loved that he took his sweet time, stretching out each moment and prolonging every possible pleasure.
With Conan, I mattered. I was even treasured. The way he looked at me—like I was the only woman worth knowing—filled me with a sense of belonging that had been absent since waking up in that sterile hospital room.
Every stroke spoke volumes about his longing for me; every smoldering gaze screamed of his need. Yet he never took without giving first. Each kiss he imprinted on my skin held promises of bliss; each caress sent waves of pleasure crashing over me until all thought evaporated and only raw sensations were left.
Afterward, he’d cradled me so close, and our bodies had tangled together as if attempting to meld into one. His steady heartbeat and protective hold reassured me that I mattered. He saw me as stunning when I was shattered, significant when I felt inconsequential. And even though I couldn’t recall who I used to be, Conan reminded me of who I was—a woman desired and cherished for just being herself.
Rolling over, I reached out, searching for him, but his side of the bed was empty and cold. I peeked around the room and into the en suite, but there was no sign of his massive form.
I rose and quickly took care of my business, not bothering to run a brush through the tangled bird’s nest that was now my hair. I threw on a pair of soft pink shorts and a heather-gray T-shirt that hung off my shoulder, then made my way downstairs barefoot. The wooden steps were cool beneath my feet as I followed the enticing aroma of coffee all the way to the kitchen.
Atticus, Samantha, and Conan were already up and dressed, ready for their shift at St. John’s. The sight of them in their scrubs whiplashed me right back to the hospital. God, how much I’d hated being in that place. Although…seeing Conan’s ink-wrapped muscles bulging against the constraints of the fabric did make tingles erupt in my belly. The thought of playing naughty nurse games later kicked my imagination into high gear.
Atticus cleared his throat, breaking me away from my dirty thoughts. Conan noticed the way I was ogling him and smirked. I turned my attention to Atticus, who handed me a freshly poured cup of espresso from his fancy coffee machine.
“Looks like you could use this more than I could at the moment,” he said, cocking his head and giving my hair a judgmental once-over.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Samantha said, spreading cream cheese on a bagel. “Don’t pay him any mind. Want some breakfast? We’ve got bagels, cold cuts, fruit…the works.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking a sip of the rich espresso. “What’s with the big spread?”
“Gotta fuel up for the chaos of the ED,” Conan said, shoving a bagel into the toaster. He winked at me. “Didn’t mean to wake you. You must be exhausted after yesterday.”
“Yeah, yesterday was…a lot,” I said, sitting on a barstool at the island. “But honestly, I’m more tired from a certain someone wearing me out last night.” I bounced my eyebrows a couple of times, hoping to get a rise out of Conan.
Samantha burst out laughing. “Well, after what Murphy and I saw, I’m not surprised. Poor dog. I think you and Conan might have permanently scarred him with what he witnessed by the pool!”
“Oh God,” I groaned, cheeks burning. “Sorry about that.”
“Well, it’s his own fault. Murphman is the one who interrupted us,” Conan shot back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “And, hey, if he learned anything, it’s how to have a good time.”
Atticus shook his head. “I’m sure Murphy will survive. He’s seen worse. ”
“Besides, no shame here,” Conan said, grinning at me. “You all know that. Right, Atticus?”
Atticus nodded, keeping his expression deadpan. “Absolutely. Conan’s shamelessness is well-documented.”
“Too late to tame him now,” Samantha quipped, handing Conan a clean plate.
I laughed, savoring the warmth of the espresso as I peeked over the rim of my cup. Samantha set a plate of toasted bagels and fruit in front of me, and we dug into breakfast. Soon we were chatting about the day ahead.
After polishing off his food and setting his plate in the sink, Conan walked up next to me and said softly, “Seriously though, I didn’t mean to wake you. You must be tired after just getting out of the hospital and dealing with the arraignment.”
“Oh, I’m tired all right, but it has nothing to do with the hospital or the arraignment.” I smiled up at him through my lashes. “Don’t worry. I’ll take it easy and be good to go when you get back later.”
He cupped my cheek and stamped a kiss on my forehead. “It won’t be too late when I get home, so plan on some more music therapy.” He grinned, nodding toward the living room. “My guitar is next to the hearth. I’ll play all your favorite songs tonight.”
“Home, huh?” Atticus said, cocking one of his sharp brows at Conan. “So, you’ve decided to move in with us? Are you going to start paying rent too?”
“Nah, you know what I mean, you little fucker,” Conan said with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes. “You know I love my place over in Ruston. It might not be an ostentatious fortress like this place, but it has everything I need conveniently within walking distance. ”
Samantha and I both chuckled, watching the brothers verbally spar.
Atticus stood up, straightening his shirt. “All right, time to head out. Hope traffic’s light this morning. Conan, you riding with us, or are you taking your Jeep?”
“I’ll drive myself. I’ve got errands to run after I get off,” Conan said, grabbing his keys.
Samantha started clearing the plates from the island.
“You guys get going. I’ll clean up,” I offered.
“Are you sure? This kitchen is like a sci-fi spaceship,” Samantha warned.
I waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll figure it out. Go, save lives.”
As they gathered their things and headed for the garage, Samantha glanced up, her eyes widening. “Oh, I almost forgot! Angel, I have your personal items from the ED. They were in my car from where I brought them home from the hospital yesterday.”
I glanced up, curious. “My personal items?”
Already heading toward the garage, Samantha explained, “Yeah, when the EMTs brought you in, you didn’t have much on you. No purse, wallet, or even a phone—”
“We had to cut off your clothing because of your injuries,” Conan added, walking back to where I sat. “I don’t remember there being anything except maybe a pair of shoes. I was too focused on keeping your neck aligned and dealing with that gash on your forehead.”
I cringed, heat creeping up my face. “So everyone saw me naked? Including you guys?!”
Atticus nodded, sympathy in his eyes. “Yeah, it was quite the introduction. But don’t worry; we’ve all seen worse.”
Conan reached over and squeezed my hand. “You’re a trooper, Angel. Don’t sweat it. ”
Samantha returned with the paper bag a couple of minutes later and set it on the counter. “Here you go. Just to warn you, there may be blood on whatever’s in there. We usually plop a person’s stuff in the bag in a rush, and then it gets labeled and stored.”
“Okay, thanks for letting me know.” I stared at it, curious but not ready to deal with memories that might be provoked by blood-covered shoes.
Before they left, Conan gave me a sweet kiss. “Take it easy while I’m gone, okay?”
“I will,” I said, rising from the island to get going with the dishes and dismissing him as I started rinsing off the plates.
Then they were out the door, leaving the house quiet. Murphy trotted up to me, his tail wagging. I couldn’t resist slipping him a piece of leftover turkey. The silence felt strange after a month of constant activity and noise in the hospital.
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.
After meeting Conan and experiencing a taste of freedom, I couldn’t go back to that life.
But there was a big problem—Frankie Moretti. The marriage contract had been signed long ago to form an alliance between our families. The wedding was scheduled for June twenty-ninth—less than a week away. The thought of the contract made me want to vomit.
I thought about Club Xyst and my friends—Lucian, Lachlan, Julian, and Gabriel. They must be worried sick about me. What did they think had happened to me? Had they gone searching for me, delving into my secret life? Worry began to rise in my chest. Viktor would do anything to keep my true identity hidden, including murdering anyone who stood in his way.
Flashes of my special relationship with Lucian made me shudder. He was the reason—the only reason—I’d learned how to thoroughly enjoy sex. It was strange to think about how similar Lucian and Conan were, how they knew how to play my body. Yet, Conan was different… I’d given myself over to him both physically and emotionally even though what we had was still in the beginning stages. I was his blank journal, open to whatever story we wanted to write together.
I adored Lucian, but we’d always had a firm understanding that our relationship was no strings attached. There could never be anything permanent between us, so it was easy, controlled. But with Conan, we were just two normal people getting to know each other with the possibility of…falling. Now, though, that possibility was shattered. There was no way I’d involve him in the nightmare that was my life. No, he deserved so much better than what I could ever offer. Hell, who was I kidding? I had nothing to offer. How was I even going to explain to him who I was now that I knew what my father had done to him and those he cared so deeply about? It was best for me to slip out of his life and figure out how to protect him before either of us caught feelings.
“I need to get out of here,” I whispered, panic setting in. “I can’t let them get hurt because of me.”
The knowledge of Viktor’s ruthlessness sent shivers down my spine. He would order a hit on the Thorin brothers without a second thought. Atticus, Samantha, Conan—they were all at risk because of my mere presence in their home.
Tears streamed down my face. I had to protect them all. I had to leave and face my past, find Nikolai, and figure out a way to escape the mafia’s grip. I couldn’t let the people who had been good to me suffer because of my screwed up life.
With a shuddering breath, I wiped away my tears, determination replacing my fear. Finding Nikolai was my top priority now. He was the key to finding a way out. But first, I had to get out of here without drawing any attention to myself.
I stood up, my resolve strengthening. “This ends now,” I muttered, slipping the necklace over my head. The pendant rested against my chest, a reminder of who I was and the strength that was in me. I would need every ounce of that strength if I was to save the people I cared about.
The clock was ticking. I had to act fast.
I moved to the bathroom sink and washed my face with cold water, hoping to lessen the swelling and blotchiness of my face. My mind spun with questions. Where did Nikolai fit into all this? The memory of him stepping in front of me and blocking my path at the arraignment flashed in my mind. At the time, I had brushed him off as some curious guy trying to get a glimpse of the Jane Doe from the wreck. Why the hell didn’t he say something to me? Why did he act like he didn’t know me?
Anger bubbled up inside. Why hadn’t he come to the hospital? If he knew where I was, why stay away? Was Viktor keeping him from me, or was Nikolai just as filthy as our father? The thought of my twin being involved in our father’s dirty dealings twisted my gut.
“Why didn’t you come to me on our birthday, Nikolai?!” I shouted, feeling the sting of his absence all over again. Every year, no matter what, he had found a way to be there—but not this year.
I paced the room, trying to think. I needed answers. Although I dreaded what I had to do next, I couldn’t stay here and put these good people at risk. Viktor wouldn’t hesitate to kill them if he thought they were harboring me.
The best thing I could do was leave and find Nikolai. Maybe he was at the Volkov estate on Fox Island. Normally, if he was in town, that was where he would be staying. But now, with the change of ownership, I had no clue. Just then, I remembered tucking my bag in a closet inside the house on the day of the wreck…and losing my phone in the garage. I needed those things in order to function. The laptop Sam had given me was helpful, but it wasn’t the same as having a phone with all my contacts, apps, and passwords. Not for the first time, I wondered about the New York City socialite who now owned the estate. She had to be involved in the mafia, but was she Russian or American?
I bet the woman had never even laid eyes on the place, and if anyone was there right now, it would be Nik. There had to be a connection between him and the socialite; I just knew in my gut. I didn’t want to take the time trying to use the laptop to hunt for a roundabout way to contact him, because that might attract attention .
Not having my phone was annoying, so I decided to just wing it and order an Uber out to the estate. I was grateful Sam had given me a gift card to buy a few essentials while I was in the hospital. I hated not having control over my life or the ability to act independently. Hopefully, I could sneak in and get my things and then get out quickly if Nik wasn’t there.
I glanced at the clock. It was still early, so I had time before anyone came home to leave without getting caught. Somehow, I’d explain it to them later. I couldn’t imagine their reaction to finding out who I was. What an honest-to-God clusterfuck my life had turned into.
Grabbing a small backpack, I packed some things, taking only the essentials.
Murphy padded over, jumped up on my knee, and nudged my hand with his wet nose, as if he knew exactly what was happening. I scratched behind his ears. “All right, buddy,” I said softly. “Time for me to go.”
I leaned against the doorframe of the guest bedroom, trying to steady my nerves. Leaving this place meant stepping back into a world I hated, but I didn’t have a choice. I had to protect the people who had shown me kindness and find a way to reclaim my life from the grip of the mafia.
“I can do this,” I said to Murphy as we headed down the stairs. “I have no other choice.”
Just then, it hit me hard that the amnesia hadn’t been a prison—it had been an opportunity for a fresh start. The wreck, the mental freedom I’d experienced over the last month, had changed me forever. I stood there in limbo between a past I no longer called my own and a present that wasn’t real.
I glanced around the living room and, taking a final, resolute breath, headed out the door, ready to face whatever came next.