Page 88 of Mission Shift

Late the next day, after we’d had some much-needed time apart, Nik leaned against the counter, casually sipping his espresso as if we weren’t days away from kicking in the devil’s front door.

“St. Petersburg is Volkovi Notchi territory,” he said smoothly.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You sure about that? Because, from what I’ve been reading, Melnichenko and Malinov have the full weight of the Kremlin behind them.”

Nik smirked, tapping a cigarette against the counter before lighting it. He took a slow drag, then exhaled. “So do I on any given day. Loyalty in the Kremlin lasts about as long as a bottle of vodka at a Russian wedding. They’ll back whoever keeps them drunk on power.”

I tilted my head, skeptical. “You sure you’re not overestimating your pull?”

Nik shrugged, taking another drag of his cigarette. “I never overestimate. That’s how men like me stay alive.”

I wasn’t sure what pissed me off more—his arrogance or the fact that I believed him.

I had spent my whole life problem solving under pressure. That was the job of a paramedic—assess the scene, triage, stabilize, move.

Nik operated the same way.

Only, instead of saving lives, he controlled every single moving piece on the board.

Chapter twenty-four

The next morning, when Svetlana entered my room carrying a tray full of breakfast foods, she was silent, her movements careful. She set the tray next to me on the bed and moved to open the curtains. Under her breath, she whispered, “The Devil watches.”

I didn’t move, but my pulse ticked up at hearing her use my term of contempt for the man. She must have been suffering under my father’s abuse all these years. Perhaps I’d found an unexpected ally.

She turned toward the bed, fluffing the pillows as if mindlessly tending to the room. When she reached for one of the decorative pillows, her hair slipped around her cheeks, shielding her face.

“There are cameras everywhere,” she whispered in warning. “Even the bathroom.”

I had expected as much. My father was a paranoid psychopath.

Every movement I made, every breath I took, every word I uttered was being recorded, monitored, analyzed.

I kept my face neutral and nodded once, shifting on the bed as if uninterested in her presence. “I’d love something to read,” I murmured, pulling the tray closer.

The scent of fresh bread, honey-drizzled porridge, and bacon and eggs filled the space between us, making my stomach grumble. This was nutritious food I very much needed.

I picked up the small glass of juice and sipped, rolling the taste of cranberry over my tongue.

Beside the plate, a small collection of vitamins sat neatly in a porcelain dish.

I glanced at Svetlana.

She was doing everything she could to help me heal. She wasn’t just feeding me; she was fortifying me.

I set the juice down and picked up a piece of warm bread, tearing off a bite and popping it into my mouth. “Thank you,” I said casually.

Svetlana simply nodded. “I’ll be back later for the tray.”

She turned to the bookshelf, running her fingers along the spines of fairy tales and Russian children’s classics—remnants of a past that no longer belonged to me. Her hand hovered over one, and she pressed her lips into a faint line.

“You don’t have much in here for an adult,” she murmured, plucking a book from the shelf and turning it over in her hands. She studied the faded cover ofRuslan and Ludmila, a classic Russian epic about a knight rescuing a princess, before setting it on the nightstand.

I glanced at the book, then at her.

“You’re right,” I said, picking it up and flipping it open to a random page. “I prefer more realistic stories where the most unsuspecting person becomes the hero.”

Her gaze flicked over to me, and she smirked. “Yes, especially when the bad guys never see it coming because they assumed the hero to be a nobody.”

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