Page 156 of Mission Shift

As we dressed, a thought crossed my mind, and I couldn’t help but voice it. “You know, there’s a chance I could be arrestedby US Customs and shipped off to some prison in El Salvador without so much as a trial.”

Braxton paused in the middle of pulling his shirt over his head. “If that happens, I have no doubt you’ll kick their asses and escape, disappearing without a trace.”

That made me laugh, and the tension in my chest eased slightly. “You’re probably right.”

Once I’d slipped into a conservative black midi-dress with a high neckline and long sleeves, and Braxton had gotten into his suit and tie, we made our way to the main deck, where Nikolai stood gazing out at the approaching harbor. The skyline of Manhattan loomed in the distance.

He turned to us as we approached. “Morning. We’ll be docking at North Cove Marina shortly. It’s one of the few places in the city that can accommodate a yacht of this size.”

I nodded, taking in the marina ahead. “What can we expect from customs?”

“Once we dock, the captain will report our arrival to US Customs and Border Protection,” Nik said. “They’ll likely come aboard for inspection. Given our profiles, it’s crucial we stick to our cover stories without deviation.”

Braxton placed a reassuring hand on my back. “We’ve got this. If we can get by that woman in Norway, then this should be no problem.”

Nikolai’s gaze lingered on us for a moment before he nodded. “Let’s hope so.”

We moved to the dining area for a quick breakfast. The atmosphere was subdued as we got mentally prepared for the impending scrutiny from customs and the meeting with Luca Genovese. The yacht’s crew bustled around, making final preparations for docking.

Soon the yacht eased into the marina. Ropes were secured, and the gangway was lowered. The crew lined up to bid usfarewell. I exchanged brief, heartfelt goodbyes with several members, grateful for their discretion and service during our journey.

While we were descending the gangway, Braxton, Nikolai, and I were met by a pair of customs officers who had been waiting on the dock. One, a tall man with beady eyes, stepped forward. “Welcome to New York. Passports, please.”

We handed over the documents that had been meticulously crafted by Nikolai. The officer scrutinized each one before gesturing toward the yacht. “We’ll need to conduct a routine inspection. Please remain here.”

As the officers stepped around us to board the vessel, Braxton’s hand found mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Minutes stretched on before they returned.

“Everything appears to be in order,” the officer said, returning our passports. “Enjoy your stay.”

Relief washed over me as we made our way to the waiting limousine. The ride through the city was a blur of towering buildings and bustling streets—a stark contrast to the serene isolation of the open sea. The rocking motion of the boat had thrown off my balance, making my steps feel wobbly, and the drive was no better. It was like the road kept shifting under us, as if we were still riding waves instead of pavement.

Soon the car came to a smooth halt at a sleek skyscraper in the heart of the Financial District. Nikolai adjusted his jacket after getting out of the vehicle, a rare expression of unease flickering across his features.

We stepped into the lobby—a large, open room with gleaming marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and modern, high-end furniture—low-profile leather sofas, designer chairs, and minimalist coffee tables. The place reeked of wealth and power—silent, cold, and guarded.

In the center sat a security desk manned by two guards in tailored suits. One of them straightened as we approached.

Nikolai reached into his jacket and handed over his ID. “We’re here to see Luca Genovese. He’s expecting us.”

After giving the ID a glance, the guard looked at his computer for a few seconds and then gave a short nod. “You’re cleared. Use the first elevator on your left. It’s private—goes straight to the top floor.”

“Thank you,” Nikolai said.

The guard pressed something beneath the desk, and a soft chime echoed as the elevator doors slid open.

Nikolai led the way. As the doors shut behind us, sealing us inside the mirrored interior, I watched my reflection tighten with tension. The hum of the elevator accompanied us as we ascended. Worry settled in my chest.

Braxton reached for my hand, intertwining our fingers. “Whatever happens in there,” he murmured, “we face it together.”

I met his gaze in the mirror, drawing strength from his unwavering confidence and loving the way he always held my hand.

The elevator chimed softly, and the doors slid open to reveal a lavish lobby with cubicles leading to a set of large wooden doors.

Chapter forty-three

The three of us entered Luca Genovese’s office like we were walking into a lion’s den. I kept my spine straight and my chin high, calculating every move to earn his respect. Though I didn’t know the man, I was all too familiar with his type and his reputation. He’d been born into the same mafia generation as my father and wasn’t afraid to make examples out of those who dared cross him. And his close association with Nikolai didn’t help ease my mind.

My goal today was to determine what motivated Luca. I needed to know where Braxton and I stood with him, get a read on his relationship with Nikolai, and ensure he understood I wasn’t the type to back down from a fight.

---