39. ANASTASIA
Chapter thirty-nine
I stood in front of the full-length mirror and hardly recognized the woman staring back. This was surreal, like I was looking at a stranger. The past twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind. My hair, now a cascade of soft waves highlighted with golden streaks, framed a face meticulously made up to perfection. My fingernails and toenails gleamed with a delicate French manicure, and my skin glowed from a spray tan. I’d been plucked, shaved, and buffed to an almost unreal version of myself.
When Conan had dropped me off at Aunt Elena and Uncle Luca’s ostentatious mansion yesterday, I’d plastered on a confident smile to keep him from worrying. Luca had insisted I arrive at noon sharp, and the moment I’d stepped through the door, a swarm of people had whisked me away to one of the guest rooms. They’d handled me as if I were a makeover challenge they were determined to win.
An entire team of stylists had descended on me, stripping me of my belongings and violating my personal space without a second thought. It was as though I were a prisoner being processed at a jail—no, it was worse than that. My one experience with being taken into custody back in Tacoma hadn’t been pleasant, but it was nowhere near as awful as this had been.
They’d scrubbed me clean, waxed everything—even places I’d never imagined—plucked my eyebrows, given me a spray tan, and even highlighted my hair. I’d endured manicures, pedicures, and an endless array of treatments. It had been exhausting and invasive. They’d left no part of me untouched. They didn’t care about my feelings or comfort.
My cell phone was the first thing Elena had taken from me, cutting off any chance of contacting Conan.
Standing here now, I clutched my rumbling stomach. Dinner the night before had been a joke. I’d barely eaten because I was so upset, but even if I had been hungry, the bland, steamed vegetables and plain grilled chicken wouldn’t have done much to fill me up. The idea was to keep me from getting bloated, I was sure, but it was also about control, about making sure I knew my place.
At the crack of dawn, the stylists had woken me for a hot bath to wash off any spray tan residue, and then they’d started on my hair and makeup. Breakfast had been a single piece of toast, to avoid a food baby in my wedding dress as they’d so charmingly put it. Elena forbade me from wearing the tank top, shorts, and sneakers I’d planned for my escape, instead forcing me into sexy lingerie and ballet slippers. At least they were flat and I would still be able to run in them.
Late in the morning, Elena had burst into my room with a new plan: the bridesmaids were coming to the house to get ready together. Fully dressed, we would take a limo straight to the church, walk up the front steps, and march down the aisle without delay.
Panic was setting in. My plan had been to dress at the church and fake being sick so I could escape out the back door. Now, I had no idea how I was going to get away.
My mind whirled with these thoughts as I continued to stare at myself in the mirror. The woman in the reflection was stunning, the complete opposite of the nervous, tormented mess I was inside. My waist was cinched tight, and I could barely breathe, but I had to admit the dress was beautiful. Glancing over my shoulder at the deep V of the back, I admired how it showed off my spine in an elegant way.
My thoughts were interrupted when the door swung open and Frankie’s two sisters strode in.
“Oh, it must’ve taken an army to make you presentable,” Bianca said with a sneer, her eyes scanning me from head to toe.
Carlotta chimed in, “Long hair at your age? Seriously? And wearing it down at a wedding? How inappropriate. It should be up in a conservative bun or chignon. And those bangs…smoothed back and held in place with hairspray would be so much classier.”
I tried to ignore their cutting remarks, instead turning back to the mirror to focus on the beautiful dress I wore. It was perfect, like something out of a fairy tale. I felt like Cinderella, but this was no ball. This was a nightmare dressed up as a wedding. Their criticisms faded into the background as I ran my hands down the gown. The intricate lace, the delicate beading—everything about it was exquisite. It was such a waste for this beautiful dress to be part of a sham. I sighed. What a shame that this day—meant to be one of the happiest in a woman’s life—was so utterly miserable for me.
Elena burst into the room, already dressed. “Let’s go, ladies,” she snapped brusquely. “Time to head out.”
“Finally,” Bianca said. “Let’s get this over with so Frankie can have his little plaything, the Moretti and Genovese families can cement their alliance, and we can get on with our lives.” She muttered this to Carlotta under her breath as if I were invisible.
I turned to Elena, annoyed. “Aunt Elena, may I have my cell phone back?”
She dismissed me with a cold “No.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, nerves gnawing at me.
“Stop that nasty habit,” she snapped.
With a frustrated huff, I headed to the door. Two stylists trailed behind, gathering the train of my dress and guiding me down the stairs. My mind raced with each step I took. When we got outside, they helped me into the waiting limo.
The drive to the church was a form of slow torture, giving me plenty of time to worry about everything that might happen. I wished I could tell Conan about the change of plans—that we wouldn’t be dressing at the church but heading straight inside. Our strategy hadn’t been great to begin with, and now it was completely shot. My only hope was to escape from Elena’s clutches by sprinting to the other end of the church and out the back door. But now, that would create a big scene, and I’d most likely be stopped. I worried that one of the guys would charge in after me and get gunned down.
Panic bubbled inside me as the limo rolled along, but I tried desperately not to let it show. From under my dress, I pulled out the necklace Nik had given me and fidgeted with it. When the stylists and Elena had tried to take it, I’d threatened to ruin my appearance and told Elena she should be grateful I was going along with this farce. I even said I’d rather be dead than go through with the wedding. Elena had laughed, telling me that death could be arranged, but in the end, she’d relented and allowed me to wear the necklace. I wondered if Nik would show up, if he even knew what was going to happen today.
At least Elena had gone in a separate car with Uncle Luca.
One other thing I was grateful for: Elena had decided not to allow any children in the ceremony. The thought of a child being caught in the middle of a possible shoot-out was unbearable to me. Even if it meant I would be harmed, I would never risk a child’s safety.
After the long, torturous drive, the limo pulled up to the front steps of the church. I continued to twist the necklace around my finger, staring out the window. There was nothing I wanted less than to walk down that aisle. This was like a bad dream.
Bianca snapped at me, “Stop fiddling around with that thing.” After I had tucked it back inside my dress, she added, “Make sure to watch your step and not trip on your way down the aisle.”
Carlotta laughed. “Wouldn’t that be humiliating?”
I scanned the front of the church, hoping I would see one of the guys and perhaps at least be able to say something to one of them, but none of them were there. Without my phone, I had no way of knowing what was going on with them. Anything could have happened overnight. What if they had been taken somehow or were hurt? My thoughts were interrupted when the car door opened and a big guy I didn’t recognize offered me his hand to help me out.
Getting out of the car in that massive wedding gown was like trying to wrangle a wild beast. Eventually, I managed to stand on the sidewalk with the chapel-length train billowing around me. Bianca and Carlotta were quick to exit the vehicle behind me. The two stylists were right behind them. They fussed over my dress, shaking out the train and pulling the veil over my head, making sure everything was perfectly situated. Bianca and Carlotta wasted no time heading up the stairs of St. Peter’s.
I glanced around, wondering if I should take off running now. At this point, improvisation was my only option. I hated Elena, Viktor, and Valentina. None of them had ever shown me an ounce of kindness. My entire life had been a lie, and I was nothing more than a poker chip in Viktor’s game. Just as I was about to bolt, Luca stepped up beside me, taking me by the elbow.
“You’re not having thoughts of running, are you?” he asked. “The church is full of some of New York’s most powerful people. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them now, would you?”
I turned to face him, forcing a weak smile onto my face. “No, Uncle Luca. Of course not. This was my sole purpose for being born, right?” He squinted and frowned, nodding his head slightly. A rare reaction to my sarcasm.
Luca was the one walking me down the aisle because most people didn’t know that Viktor Volkov was my father. Despite everything, I was happy Luca was here. For some reason, I trusted him—at least a little—to keep me safe. I glanced up the stairs, wondering if my legs would even carry me. They were shaking like jelly.
My uncle placed one hand around my waist and took my arm. Then we slowly made our way up the stairs, the wind catching my veil and sending a chill down my spine. As we walked, Luca had to support my weight. His expression was as impassive as usual while he kept us moving forward.
We reached the top of the stairs and then the doors leading to the narthex. Bianca and Carlotta had already entered and should be heading down the aisle. Two men stood on either side of the doors, ready to open them. The string quartet started playing the “Bridal Chorus” by Wagner. Just before I stepped forward, a soft whistle caught my attention. I snapped my head to the left and spotted Lucian standing at the corner of the portico. He gave me a barely noticeable nod before disappearing to the side of the building.
Luca made a gesture to the men at the doors, and they opened them in unison.
All the guests stood, fixing their eyes on me. Heat rose to my cheeks, spreading through my whole body. Luca turned and pretended to fix my veil, smiling at me. "Pay attention,” he said. Then he tucked my arm over his, and we crossed into the narthex.
I started to ask him what he meant, but he only enigmatically whispered, “You will know.” The tension in the church was palpable, and other than the music, it was deadly silent. We slowly made our way across the narthex.
No, no, no—I couldn’t marry Frankie Moretti.
My eyes scanned for an escape, and I tried to pull away, but Luca had a firm hold and was all but dragging me down the aisle. My mind raced as I frantically tried to find a way out. I visualized how the rooms on either side of the sanctuary were laid out. To my left was the sacristy and the vestry, and to the right was a cloakroom, with a door leading out to the side of the building. That was my only hope for escaping, but I would have to dart past Frankie and his groomsmen to get there.
When we crossed from the narthex into the sanctuary, my breath caught. There were so many faces I didn’t recognize, and I assumed most of the men were carrying guns. I had no idea who among them would care if I were murdered in broad daylight, but I guessed most of them wouldn’t blink an eye. It was up to me to save myself.
My eyes darted from side to side, while my feet dragged, desperate to find a way out. Then I saw Frankie, and bile rose in my throat. This couldn’t be happening. Not him, not now. I swallowed hard. A few more steps, and we were in front of the priest and next to Frankie. Luca lifted my veil over my head and kissed my cheeks. My feet felt like they were made of concrete as he turned and placed my hand into Frankie’s sweaty palm. My future husband’s hand seared into mine, and tears threatened to spill over.
Frankie turned toward the priest, towing me along with him.
Father Russo began with the sign of the cross and a greeting. I glanced over my shoulder as he started the opening prayer and saw Viktor, Valentina, and Elena sitting stoically, as if they didn’t know me, only a few feet away. Painful childhood memories flashed through my mind. Then I caught sight of Nik behind them, on the end of the pew, and froze.
Frankie tugged on my hand, trying to bring my attention back to the priest, but my eyes were locked on Nik. I could always read his features like a book. Something bad was about to go down. He was nervous, worried even. Nik never got nervous. My bottom lip quivered. Terror surged through me.
Just as I turned back toward Father Russo, a gunshot echoed through the sanctuary.
Time stopped. Everything slowed down, each second seeming to last an eternity. Father Russo’s throat burst open in a gruesome spray of blood. I recoiled, rotating in time to watch Frankie’s face disintegrate from the impact of the bullet. Blood and bits of flesh spewed everywhere. The priest’s body crumpled forward, colliding with Frankie. Both men fell onto me, their combined weight knocking me to the floor.
Warm, sticky blood sprayed over me, soaking into my dress. The air was filled with the metallic scent of it, as well as a faint smell of Frankie’s cologne, gagging me. The once pristine white lace of my gown had become a grotesque canvas of dark crimson streaked with Father Russo’s and Frankie’s blood, bone, and flesh, creating a macabre painting of life and death .
Screams erupted in the sanctuary. I turned my head, every movement sluggish, to see Nik diving out from the pew. His body seemed to be moving through water, slow and deliberate, as he reached for me. Finally, he grabbed me under my arms and yanked, but I couldn’t move. Frankie’s body was pinning the train of my dress to the floor.
Nik kicked Frankie’s corpse off me, and it flopped over like a dead fish. My almost-groom’s head was twisted at a bizarre angle, and one of his eyes was missing, replaced by a gaping, bloody socket. More shots rang out, ricocheting off the stone columns, creating a deafening cacophony. The sanctuary descended into bedlam. All around me, guns were being drawn and safeties clicked off. Those caught in the crossfire continued screaming and running for cover.
Blood dripped from my face and ran down my neck as I tried to comprehend the scene surrounding me. I lay there, immobilized by the horror of the moment, while Nik struggled to pull me up amidst the layers of my gown. The church, a place of supposed sanctity and peace, had become a grisly battleground.
Nik screamed something, snapping me out of my slow-motion nightmare and thrusting me into a fast-speed reality. “We have to go!” he shouted. He lunged toward the door to the sacristy, but I remembered the gunshot had come from there and tugged him to the right, toward the cloakroom. Together, we made a run for it as more shots rang out.
Just as we reached the door, it flew open. Conan stood there, his expression radiating rage and fear. His eyes were wide, his jaw was clenched, and his nostrils flared with each breath. Nik shoved me into Conan’s arms, gathered up my train, and pushed us both into the cloakroom before joining us, slamming the door shut, and locking it.