Page 148 of Mission Shift

Nik took another drink, then set his mug down. “Luca Genovese. Old-school Italian-American mafia. Ruthless as they come—calculating, methodical. He runs the Genovese family out of Manhattan, but don’t let the zip code fool you. He’s the boss of bosses on his side of the Mississippi. Practically owns the underworld of the Eastern US—drugs, extortion, ports, unions, politics. All of it traces back to him. His roots go deep, into the old Sicilian bloodlines. He didn’t just inherit the business—he evolved it.”

“I’ve heard of the Genovese and Moretti families,” Daria said. “But what do they have to do with you?”

Nik exhaled through his nose and gave her a tight smile. “My father was playing a long game. A twisted one. Years ago, he decided the Volkovi Notchi needed to expand—plant roots in America. But not just any roots. He wanted a merger. Bloodlines. Legacy. His goal was to infiltrate and eventually take over the New York mafia from the inside out.”

Daria’s brow lifted. “You mean…through marriage?”

Nik nodded once. “Exactly. He figured if he could link our name to theirs—if a Volkov married into Luca Genovese’s family—the two syndicates could combine, and our influence would stretch from Moscow to Manhattan.”

My stomach twisted. I already knew most of this, but hearing it laid out like it had been some corporate takeover made it worse.

Nik leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “My aunt Elena—my mother’s sister—was his first pawn. She moved to New York years ago. Found her way into Luca’s life and seduced him. Convinced him they could be the next global power couple—Genovese and Volkov. It worked. Luca fell for her. Hard.”

Daria’s expression darkened. She already saw where this was headed.

“But,” Nik went on, “there was a problem. Elena couldn’t have kids, which meant there’d never be an heir. No blood tie between the families. And for guys like Luca and Viktor, blood is everything.”

He paused, rubbing at the wrinkles crossing his forehead.

“So Viktor made a new move,” he said. “He sent my sister, Anastasia, to the States. Ripped her out of our house in St. Petersburg and shipped her off to a boarding school in upstate New York when we were twelve. Put her under Elena’s care. That was the setup—groom her to be a mafia bride, perhaps even Luca’s if he got rid of Elena.”

Daria went stiff beside me, her spine locked straight like a steel rod.

Nik caught my eye and smirked bitterly. “You can imagine how well that sat with me. Anastasia was just a kid. But to Viktor, that didn’t matter. He saw her as an asset.”

Daria’s eyes narrowed. “Did it happen?”

“No,” Nik said flatly. “Thank God. Though, at some point, Viktor made a few side deals with the Moretti family, promisingthem a connection to the Volkov bloodline if they helped him sideline Luca. The Morettis figured that, if they had a Volkov heir, they wouldn’t need the Genovese family anymore. It was all about leverage. About power. Luca agreed to give Anastasia over to Franky Moretti as his wife, confident the Morettis were firmly in his corner after years of successful deals and family ties strengthened by multiple intermarriages. Both families had supposedly agreed it was in their mutual interest to keep other Russian mafia syndicates out of the US—unaware that Elena was more than willing to stab all of them in the back. That plan fell apart when Braxton’s brother, Atticus, and his now-fiancée, Samantha, got dragged into Viktor’s bullshit, leading to my sister meeting and falling for the other brother, Conan, following a car wreck in Tacoma a month or so before she was contracted to wed Franky Moretti.”

He leaned back in the chair, his expression turning colder. “And the wedding… That turned into a war zone. Several members of the Moretti family were taken out, along with Viktor, Valentina, and Elena. Or so everyone was told.”

Daria glanced at me quizzically, and I forced myself to keep my expression neutral.

Nik and I were sitting on one hell of a secret.

He grabbed his coffee and took a slow sip. “So, yeah. Everything blew up. Luca lost his shit. He was pissed at Elena for lying to him, pissed at Viktor for playing both sides, and pissed at Valentina for going along with it. But he and I”—Nik shrugged—“we came to an understanding. I stay out of his way, keep the Bratva wolves off his turf, and he lets me run the Volkovi Notchi my way. I stay out of his business, and he doesn’t put a bullet in my head.”

He turned to Daria, his eyes narrowing, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “But thanks to you, I’ve been exposed as a Russian traitor who gave safe passage and protection to a womanworking for Ukraine. Worse—one who spit in the face of her own Bratva bloodline.”

“You didn’t have to help me,” she said evenly.

“No,” Nik agreed, “but I did. And now I’ve got to manage the fallout. The old guard in my syndicate already thinks I’m too young and too westernized. The younger ones? They want cleaner ways to make money, such as tech, crypto, and security firms. They’re sick of human trafficking and blood-soaked ledgers. I can offer that future, but only if Luca’s on board.”

“So that’s what the meeting’s about,” I said.

Nik crossed one leg over the other and leaned back. “He wants to make sure we’re all still useful, that his ties to my family still mean something, and that other Russian syndicates won’t be stepping onto his territory.”

Daria’s lip curled in disgust. “So…classic mafia bullshit.”

Nik laughed. “Exactly.”

She turned to me. “You do understand, right? That your family’s tied in now. You and your brothers—whether you like it or not—you’re part of this.”

I shook my head. “We don’t have anything they want.”

Nik dropped his foot and leaned forward, his eyes dark. “You have the one thing they always want—blood. Take Anastasia, for example. If they ever get their hands on her, they’ll control me. And now you?” He pointed at me. “You’re married to the Tambovskaya Bratva’s only heir.”

Daria flinched slightly.

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