37. ANASTASIA
Chapter thirty-seven
C onan 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. ”
Seeing Conan so angry, I tried to wrap up my rant. “So, anyway, I panicked, thinking Elena might hold me against my will, and texted Julian to pick me up at the end of the driveway. Then I bolted out the back patio door, around the house, down the driveway, and there he was, thank God. The only reason I got away without being noticed was because no one would ever expect me to do something that audacious.”
I flopped down on the sofa, crossing my arms. Conan joined me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, but I shrugged him off. “Now is not the time to baby me. We need to figure out a way for me to get away from all this. Fast.”
Braxton nodded. “We’ll come up with something, Angel. We’re not letting them take you without a fight.”
Conan grasped my chin between his fingers, turning my face toward him. “You know I will burn down the world to keep you safe. Never doubt that.”
I frowned and nodded against his hold. But what could be done in a situation like this?
Braxton joined us in the living room, sitting down in a chair next to us. Together, they filled me in about how Atticus’s friend Colton had connections with the owner of a security firm. They’d been discussing the possibility of sending a team to infiltrate the church to ensure my safety.
I couldn’t help but joke darkly, “With all the security people and the mafia families I’ve never met, I won’t know who anyone at my wedding is or who wants to kill whom.”
Conan fumed. “We should just run right now. Go somewhere and live off the grid for a while.”
“Between the three families, they’d find us and kill us both,” I said. “The mafia doesn’t like public embarrassment or defiance. You can’t cross the ruling families. Viktor already wants all the Thorin brothers dead. ”
The room was thick with tension, and my body was buzzing from feeling pissed off and helpless.
Finally, Braxton sighed, looking at his watch. “It’s late. We need to get some sleep. The guys from the club want to meet early tomorrow to decide what to do. There’s not much time, and we need a plan now. I’ll update the guys and share with them everything Angel just told us so they can be thinking it through.”
“There’s no way I can sleep,” I said, rubbing my forehead in frustration.
Conan swept me up in his arms, giving Braxton a look. “This one is all wound up,” he said with a smirk. “But I know exactly what she needs. She needs to have the angst fucked right out of her.”
Braxton just shook his head.
Conan carried me upstairs to my bedroom, tossing me face down over the end of the bed. In one rough motion, he yanked my dress up and off. He didn’t bother removing his pants, just jerked them open enough to unleash his dick and impale me from behind. I was instantly wet by the way he dominated me. He wasn’t afraid of taking exactly what he wanted—me. I gasped, clutching the sheets as he roughly fucked me.
Our breaths were ragged as he reached around, his fingers finding my clit. With all my built-up tension, I came quickly, shuddering against him. But he didn’t stop there. He took me in every position imaginable until I lost count of how many orgasms I’d had.
This man had just walked into my life, and now I was wondering how I had ever lived without him. He grounded me with every touch, every kiss. His raw passion made me realize how deeply I craved him—not just his body, but his strength, his protectiveness, his unwavering presence. It wasn’t just about the physical pleasure; it was about the way he made me feel whole, cherished, and safe in a world that was anything but. Every thrust, every whispered promise against my skin solidified the bond we shared, a bond I had never known could exist.
Some hours later, we were spent and sticky with sweat and cum. I was completely undone by this man, addicted to him. It was clear to me now that I would never be able to live without him again. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulled me into a sense of security I had longed for my entire life. I was so exhausted that I barely remembered Conan coming one last time before I slipped into a deep, satisfying sleep.