Page 109 of Mission Shift

She wasn’t staying here. Not in this house, not in this country, not in this nightmare she’d been born into. She deserved more than cages, more than war, more than a lifetime of looking over her shoulder.

She deserved freedom.

She deserved love.

And I would give her both.

I wasn’t just getting her out of here; I would give her a reason to fight for something beyond survival. A reason to believe in something other than betrayal and bloodshed.

A reason to believe in me.

As I moved through the ballroom, cutting through the crowd, I kept my pace unhurried. The tux fit like a second skin, tailored to help me blend into this world of polished lies. The whiskey in my hand completed the illusion of a man refined, composed, in control. But my mind wasn’t here. It was miles away, racingthrough a thousand possible scenarios, each one worse than the last.

Then, a deep voice boomed over the music. “Wyatt Sullivan! Finally, I meet the infamous crypto king.”

I turned, meeting the grip of a massive man who clasped my hand in a showy, crushing handshake. He was in his thirties, broad as a goddamn bear but polished in a way that said he belonged here. A gleaming Patek Philippe was wrapped around his thick wrist, and his tux was tailored to perfection. The bastard carried himself like he could buy and sell half the men in the room.

Nik’s voice cut into my earpiece. “That’s Magnus Nygaard. Arms dealer. One of my contacts. Malinov trusts him, but he’s my guy.”

I squeezed his hand just hard enough to make it clear I wasn’t some soft American tech bro. “Magnus,” I drawled, flashing him a smirk. “Pleasure’s mine.”

Magnus grinned. “I’ve heard plenty about you. Big moves in the market today. You giving those Wall Street fossils heart attacks yet?”

I let out a slow, measured chuckle. “They don’t even know what hit ’em.”

Magnus let out a hearty laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Good. Let the old fuckers sweat.”

I released his hand, easing back into a comfortable stance, like I had all the time in the world. The less I looked like a man ready to rip Malinov’s throat out, the better.

“Walk with me,” Magnus said, gesturing toward the edge of the room.

I didn’t argue. We stepped aside just as the ballroom doors opened with a flourish.

Nik’s voice snapped. “She’s coming in.”

I turned my head subtly enough to catch her entrance without being obvious.

Daria—God, she never failed to look perfect.

Malinov dragged her in like she was his prize, his bloated hand clamped around her waist. Her pale azure dress clung to her like liquid silver, and her chin was lifted high, her shoulders squared. To everyone in this room, she looked like a goddess—untouchable, cold, indifferent.

But I saw it.

The barely perceptible strain in her jaw. The way her fingers curled subtly, as if trying to hold something in.

Svetlana’s death had to be playing over and over in her mind.

A greeting line formed, men and women slithering forward to offer congratulations to Malinov for bagging himself a Russian legend.

Magnus and I fell in line, keeping our pace casual.

Katya reappeared, slipping in beside me, looping her arm through mine. Her perfume wafted gently around me, something floral and expensive. “You disappeared on me, my darling,” she purred.

I gave her a half smile. “Got caught up in chatting with my buddy here.”

Katya’s attention flicked to Magnus, her eyes practically undressing him. “And who is this charming man?”

Magnus flashed her a knowing grin and kissed the back of her hand. “Magnus Nygaard. Pleased to meet you.”

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