Page 38 of Mission Shift

I took it, nodded my thanks, and swallowed a few gulps.

I was so tired, I longed to curl into a ball and disappear. The last thing I wanted to do was eat, but I had to. Braxton and I both needed whatever was left to get us through tomorrow until we could find a safe place—preferably a town several hours from here—and connect with his people. Based on what I’d heard at the prison, the whole world seemed to want to know Braxton’s whereabouts. As soon as he turned on his phone and made a call, everyone who had been searching for him would head straight for us in no time. I just had to make sure whoever found us was friendly to both of us. That put me in a tricky spot, since I was in a Russian uniform with military credentials that were easy to find. Hopefully, with Braxton by my side, they’d give me longenough to pull out the Ukrainian Special Intelligence Forces ID hidden under the insole of my boot.

I handed Braxton a packet of dried fruit and nuts and opened my own. A few bites later, I took a long sip of water. I caught him glancing at me as he ate. He wasn’t pushing for conversation; he was just…waiting. He was a patient man. Most people filled silence with nervous chatter, but not him. He was willing to give me space without making it uncomfortable.

Maybe it was the exhaustion or the fact that no one had ever really wanted to listen to me before, but the words slipped out before I could stop them.

“I’ve done things, you know…things I’m not proud of. I’ve had to follow orders, hurt people. There are many who have died by my hands. I guess you think I’m a monster…you being a healer and all.”

His chewing slowed, but he didn’t interrupt me. He just angled his body toward mine a bit and kept eye contact, letting me know he was listening.

“I thought I was doing what I had to,” I continued, my self-hatred rising to the surface and boiling over. “Survive. Obey. Climb the ranks. I told myself it was just a job and that I had no choice. But that doesn’t erase what I’ve done. I lost my humanity a long time ago.”

“You’ve been caught in circumstances that were beyond your control…since you were a little girl,” Braxton said gently. “You didn’t get a choice. You were surviving, like you said. And you’re risking everything now to help people—to help me. To do the right thing. That counts for something. A lot, actually. When you saw the world differently for the first time, you chose a different path.”

I shook my head, a humorless smile tugging at my lips. “You think it’s that simple? One good deed doesn’t erase years ofbeing a tool for the Kremlin. I’ve seen too much blood spill. There are too many choices I can’t take back.”

“Maybe not,” he said firmly. “But you’re still here. You’re still fighting to make a difference.”

I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. His words were vexing because they made me want to believe him—to think I could be more than what I’d been shaped into.

“You don’t get it,” I whispered. “My father…he’s not just some powerful business executive. He’s Alexey Melnichenko.”

Braxton frowned, clearly not recognizing the name. I sighed; his world was so different from mine.

“Alexey Melnichenko is one of Russia’s most powerful oligarchs. He controls an energy empire worth billions of rubles in blood money, and he’s also the Pakhan—you know, the boss—of the Tambovskaya Bratva. He’s mafia, Braxton. Mafia, Kremlin, oligarchs—they’re all the same thing in Russia. My father doesn’t just have power; he controls people’s lives. He’s ruthless, cold, and doesn’t care who he destroys.”

Braxton’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait…your father is in the mafia, and he has close ties to the Kremlin? Now I’m getting it.” He whistled, shaking his head.

“More like one of Putin’s closest allies,” I muttered. “Putin uses men like my father to maintain control—just like my father used me. And you want to know the sick part? He killed my mother because shebetrayedhim without even realizing it.”

Braxton sat up straighter. “What? How?”

“She was a kind, hardworking person—a principal dancer for the Estonian National Ballet—you know, a prima ballerina. Too kind for someone married to a man like him,” I said softly, my throat tightening. “She made the mistake of befriending Valentina Volkov—Viktor Volkov’s wife. He is—or maybe I should saywas—the Pakhan of the Volkovi Notchi. Rumor has it Viktor’s own son killed him and Valentina only a few weeks ago.Nikolai must be one ruthless bastard to kill his parents just for control.”

Braxton sucked in a breath, his face paling in abject shock. He obviously hadn’t had much contact with mafia types before.

“Yes. My mother gave Valentina information—innocent things she didn’t think mattered—but Viktor used it against my father. And my father…he couldn’t let that stand. He had her killed to send a message: no one betrays the Tambovskaya Bratva.” I swallowed hard, forcing down the bile that was clawing its way up my throat. “I learned real fast what happens to people who cross my father—the Kremlin machine.”

“Jesus, Daria…” Braxton whispered.

“Don’t,” I warned, flashing him a defensive glare. “Don’t pity me. I may hate the mafia and everything they stand for, but I accepted my role without question—out of ridiculous self-pity. I was part of it my whole life until a year ago…when I covertly entered a town not far from here to quietly assess how precisely some missiles had struck their intended targets. What I found was a mother holding her little girl to her chest…both dead on the sidewalk in front of a school. It could have just as easily been me and my mother.”

I exhaled sharply, curling my fingers into fists. “When I was young and being trained, at first I just wanted the affirmation—the feeling of pleasing someone and getting the reward. Then, as my classmates and I started taking on more challenges, it was the competition I craved, winning at any cost just to get that hit of praise, like some kind of addict chasing a high.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “And when they finally sent me on real assignments? The reality of life-and-death encounters sent adrenaline shooting up my spine. That became the new addiction—seeing how close I could get to dying while narrowly escaping getting caught. The danger was like a fucking drug. But even still, I wasn’t the type to waste time. I wanted to get in,get the job done, and get out. No discussions. No torture. No unnecessary bloodshed. I neversoughtto kill anyone.”

My throat tightened. “The act of killing was always a reminder that I’d become a monster my mother would have hated. But sometimes, it was shoot or get shot. Part of the job.”

I let out a slow breath, my voice dropping lower. “Once I was out of probation, it stopped being a thrill. It was just work. And I had built such an emotional wall around myself, it was like it wasn’t even me doing it. Like I was watching a James Bond movie and playing the lead role. Until that day…”

I swallowed hard, my lower lip trembling. I had to get this off my chest. “This war is so unjust, and the death of that mother and daughter…it broke me. The more time I spent inside Ukraine working amongst their people, the more I understood that Putin loves to lie as much as he loves spilling blood. Russia invaded a peaceful country purely because of one man’s greed. He doesn’t hesitate to commit war crimes himself, and he encourages his soldiers to rape women and little girls, to torture anyone they come across. They’re using phosphorus bombs on civilians, for God’s sake! Putin has no human decency and wants to destroy all democracies around the world. Break anyone who desires freedom,” I growled. A surge of raw admiration for the fierce, indomitable courage of the Ukrainian people and their unbreakable spirit I’d witnessed first hand ignited a fire deep in my chest.

“That bastard didn’t know what the Ukrainian people were really like though. They’ve stood tall and strong through it all, despite their homes, their hospitals, and their businesses being destroyed. They don’t falter in the face of Putin’s terrorism. And, Ukrainians don’t have to commit crimes against humanity to win. They only need for the US and Europe to keep their promises. They need to be admitted to NATO as soon as possible. They want their children to be raised in a country that’sfree to choose its own leaders—a democracy. No longer will they tolerate suffering under an authoritarian dictator who rapes the land like his soldiers do innocent children.”

My breath shuddered as I forced back the tears burning at the edges of my vision. What I had to say next was going to take its toll on me, but he needed to know the truth—the full, unfiltered truth. I hadn’t just been part of the machine; I had oiled its gears, carried out its orders, never questioning the cost. It had taken this one particular mistake—one devastating, unforgivable mistake—to rip the blinders from my eyes. My fingers dug into my palm, the nails pressing hard against my skin as my heart pounded. I had been on the wrong side, and because of me, lots of people were dead.

“The ballistic missile that killed the mother and daughter—and who knows how many other innocent people—was sent at my command. I got the target wrong. Their deaths are on my hands, and nothing will ever change that.”

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