Page 123 of Mission Shift

“Now, I won’t get into what happened next,” Nikolai went on, swirling the brandy in his glass, “but let’s just say my sister Anastasia came after me, got in a car wreck, and while dealing with amnesia, fell for Braxton’s other brother.” His smirk deepened. “Poor Conan had no idea he was falling for a girl who had an arranged marriage contract to one of the biggest mafia families in the US—the Morettis. Trust me when I tell you, things went sideways fast.”

I set my drink down on the counter. “I’ve heard rumors.”

Nikolai raised an eyebrow. “Then you know it was a goddamn disaster.”

I tilted my head. “How did Braxton get so tangled up in all of it?”

Nikolai leaned against the bar, his expression losing some of its usual sharpness. “The Thorin brothers…they’ve been thick as thieves their whole lives. Trauma bonds people. They always have each other’s backs.” He tapped a finger against the counter. “Braxton followed Conan to Manhattan out of that same loyalty. And when shit went down? He didn’t run.”

I frowned slightly. “Meaning?”

Nikolai’s smirk faded. “Meaning I got shot. And Braxton, along with Conan, saved my life.”

The realization landed heavier than I wanted to admit. A life debt. That wasn’t a concept that needed explaining.

Nikolai’s gaze sharpened on me. “He’s as honest as the day is long. Never asks for anything. Never takes advantage. He’s a good man—the kind I don’t come across often.” A beat of silence passed before he added, “The closest thing I’ve ever had to an actual friend.”

I lifted my glass, taking a slow sip, watching Nikolai as I processed what he had told me. He wasn’t lying. I had spent a lifetime learning how to read men—how to spot deceit and find the weak points in their masks. Nikolai wasn’t weak, but he wasn’t hiding much either. Although, I wasn’t as certain of my powers of perception as I had once been, after Braxton had deceived me. And it had been a deception, regardless of his intentions.

Nikolai studied me like he was calculating how much to say next. “Braxton wanted to see the world and broaden his understanding. When I mentioned I had a home in Ukraine and that I preferred to live there instead of rotting in the shadows of Moscow, he got curious. Started asking questions about the war, about what it was really like—not just the shit his media feeds him.”

I rolled the glass between my fingers, listening with interest.

“Of course, I told him not to come,” Nikolai continued, tilting his head slightly as if recalling the moment. “Strongly suggested it, in fact. But, Braxton being Braxton, he ignored me and insisted on coming and then volunteered with the Global Food Outreach. Because he’s a fucking bleeding heart.”

Before I could respond, a voice came from the doorway.

“Well, shit. I take five minutes for a shower, and suddenly, I’m a bleeding heart?”

I turned as Braxton stepped into the room with that same infuriating half smirk playing at his lips.

My pulse jumped.

He had changed his clothes. Gone was the tuxedo that had made him look like some rogue MI6 operative. Now, in perfectly fitted dark jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt that stretched over his shoulders and chest just right, he didn’t just look good—he looked right. The tux had suited him, but this? This was him. Broad, powerful, at ease in his own skin. And, of course, his hair still had that perfect, effortless messiness that made it seem like he’d just rolled out of some magazine spread.

I forced myself to take another sip of brandy, pretending I wasn’t staring.

Nikolai grinned. “You are a bleeding heart, Thorin.”

Braxton stepped closer, rolling his shoulders. “Not how I’d describe myself, but sure.” His eyes flicked to me. “You two bonding?”

Nikolai smirked. “Just explaining to Daria why you’re not, in fact, a lying bastard.”

Braxton’s gaze held mine for a fraction too long before he released a breath, shaking his head. He walked up to the bar, scowling at Nikolai. “Fantastic. If she didn’t hate me enough already, I’m sure you defending me has done nothing but make her more suspicious.” He glanced over at me, his brows bouncing as he let out a humorless grunt.

Something about his tone and how he looked at me did funny things low in my belly. Everything Nikolai had just told me altered the picture I’d painted of Braxton in my mind.

Was I being too hard on him?

Nikolai let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You did good work tonight, rescuing the damsel in distress. Maybe I’ll make a mobster out of you yet.” He lifted the bottle of cognac andgestured to an empty chair. “Come sit. Have a drink. You’ve earned it.”

Braxton didn’t move right away, his gaze shifting between us like he was trying to measure the room. Finally, with a small shake of his head, he crossed the space and dropped into the seat Nikolai had indicated.

Nikolai went through the methodical process of warming another glass of brandy, like we had all the time in the world. We all watched in silence for a couple of minutes, and then Nikolai slid the glass toward Braxton, who picked it up and tilted it slightly before taking a slow sip.

“You’re awfully relaxed for a guy being chased by the Russian military and the Tambovskaya Bratva,” Braxton said, setting the glass down.

Nikolai smirked. “This isn’t my first time pissing off the wrong people.” He gestured vaguely toward the boat’s windows and the dark waters that stretched endlessly beyond. “I have the best captain and crew—Magnus Nygaard’s personal pick, and Magnus doesn’t hire idiots. This boat has outrun every government’s prying eyes from here to South America.” He shrugged, like none of that was impressive. “Magnus himself has more money than anyone on the planet, but you’ll never see his name inForbes. Most of it is buried in banks across the world, where no one can touch it.”

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