Page 60 of Mission Shift

One of his men followed us to the steps leading up to the vestibule. He kept a hand near his weapon, scanning the street continuously for any threats. Nik didn’t even glance back at the SUV. He moved with the quiet confidence of a man who was certain no one would dare come for him here.

Once Nik stepped up to the door, he turned to the man and said, “Go home. I’ll let you know what the plan is soon enough.”

The man didn’t hesitate; Nik’s orders were law.

Nik stepped up to a security panel next to the inner front door, which scanned his retina before opening. No deadbolts. No chains. Just pure tech. The moment we were inside, the door sealed with a quiet hiss behind us.

Now we were alone, and the utter quiet was a staggering contrast to everything I’d been going through over the last few days.

Nik had spent years transforming the entire home into a hypersecure command center. The atmosphere in here belied the home’s historic exterior. Minimalist. Modern. Impeccably efficient.

Sleek black leather furniture dominated the open-concept space, accented by matte steel fixtures and decorative elements.

One side of the home functioned as a full-fledged surveillance hub. One wall was lined with security monitors—screens flickering with real-time feeds from private networks, hacked security cameras, and encrypted communications. High-end workstations with multiple ultra-wide monitors and custom-built keyboards sat beneath shelves stocked with server towers. This wasn’t just a home—it was a digital fortress.

The kitchen was a modern masterpiece of stainless steel, polished marble, and industrial lighting. It was fully stocked, pristine, like something out of a Michelin-starred restaurant. I knew from experience that Nik could cook, and when he did, it was the only time he seemed remotely human.

Beyond the main living space was a staircase that led up to a floor with several bedrooms, each of which had their own en suite. Not that the man ever had any guests. My guess was that I’d been his first.

Above that floor was a rooftop terrace, which housed an emergency escape route and bulletproof glass walls that overlooked the city skyline.

Nik lived like a man who expected an ambush at any moment—because in his world, one was always possible.

I leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing my arms. “So, what now? The clock is ticking on Daria’s life.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved through the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. “You need a drink.”

I exhaled through my nose. “I don’t need a drink. What I need is to get moving. You and I both know they’re putting her through hell.”

Nik opened one of the kitchen drawers and rummaged for a second before pulling out a worn key ring. A few keys dangled from it.

“Give me your hand,” he said, already stepping closer.

I lifted my arm, the broken cuff still locked tight around my wrist. Nik didn’t hesitate. He slid one of the thinner keys into the cuff’s lock and twisted.

There was a soft click. The cuff loosened and dropped into his palm.

He tossed it onto the counter. “There. You’re officially free.”

He grunted and then retrieved a bottle of vodka and two crystal glasses. Of course it was vodka.

“This isn’t a conversation I want to have sober,” he said, setting the bottle on the counter between us.

I picked up the cuff and turned it over in my hands, wondering if Nik would actually help rescue Daria.

“Something wrong?” he asked, twisting the cap off.

I met his gaze evenly. “Yeah. I don’t trust you.”

He chuckled, pouring the drinks. “Good. That’s how you stay alive in this world.”

“See, that’s a problem for me,” I said coolly. “Because if we’re going to work together, I can’t be constantly wondering what kind of dangerous mafia shit you’re involved in and whether getting Daria back will be your priority.”

He slid a glass toward me. “Trust is a liability, but there’s one thing you should know—I’m a man of my word. A person’s worth is only measured by their ability to stand by their promises no matter the cost. Their willingness to bleed for what they believe in. I told you I would get Daria out, and I will.”

I ignored the glass. “You want me to play the role of one of your mafia thugs? Fine. But I’m not a pawn. If we’re doing this, we do it as equals.” I held his gaze. “And that means I need to know exactly what I’m walking into.”

He blew out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked tired. Not physically worn—he was still the same cocky bastard—but mentally, like he’d spent years calculating every move, every possible outcome of every situation, and it was finally starting to take its toll on him.

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