42. DARIA
Chapter forty-two
I t was the day before we were set to arrive in Manhattan, and the ocean was calmer than it normally was at this time of year. Soft sunlight warmed the deck. The swell barely rocked the hull. Even the wind had settled, leaving nothing but an open blue sky stretching out in every direction.
Braxton and I were sitting just outside the hot tub in lounge chairs, barefoot and half dressed the way people are when the hours start bleeding together and there is no one around to impress. It had been almost fifteen days since we had run for our lives from Malinov’s estate. The long days at sea had turned the yacht into its own little world. Here we were drifting far from reality—no wars, no guns, no questions about who we were pretending to be. Just…us.
I stretched my legs out and reached for my mimosa, dragging my fingers through the droplets of condensation that had gathered on the outside of the glass. “Do you think she knew?”
“Who knew what?” Braxton asked, completely confused by where my thoughts had drifted.
“The customs officer in Norway. Do you think she knew that my papers were fake?”
He gave me a sideways glance, a half smirk curling one edge of his mouth. “The battle-axe with the resting execution face? Yeah. She could sniff out a lie faster than Nik can sniff out a bottle of top-shelf vodka.” He grunted beside me. “If she didn’t know, she damn well suspected. I’m still surprised she let us go.”
I cracked a smile. “She was such an odd woman. I couldn’t get a fix on her. She’d make a great addition to the FSB.”
“Yeah, and she was built like a fridge—barely five feet tall and almost as wide,” he quipped.
“And she hated me on sight.”
Braxton sipped his water and shrugged. “Nah. She hated how good you were at dodging her questions.”
I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them. “She didn’t trust me.”
“She didn’t trust anyone,” he said. “Except maybe that clipboard.”
I laughed at that—because it was true. The woman had clutched that thing like it held state secrets. “The worst part was when she kept asking me where we met, like she expected the answer to change.”
“Yeah, but you killed it,” Braxton said. “I mean, I just had to stand there looking like I couldn’t keep my hands off you, which wasn’t exactly hard.”
He leaned over and pressed a kiss to my shoulder.
“Doting husband was an easy role to play,” he murmured. “Because it’s true.”
That made my stomach clench in a way that wasn’t from nerves.
I looked away, letting my gaze follow the curve of the horizon. “It’s strange,” I said. “Out here, everything feels so simple. I’ve spent my whole life with enemies around every corner, always waiting for the next mission, the next lie, the next moment someone would try to break me.”
Braxton reached over and rested his hand lightly on mine, intertwining our fingers.
“But out here, with you…” I said, “I’ve been able to just be. No directives. No one expecting me to play a part. It’s the first time I’ve existed without an agenda.”
“This is the real you,” Braxton said. “And I like her. A lot.”
I looked at him then, and there was something tight in my chest that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had always been there, but I’d pushed it down. Long ago, I’d learned to bury my emotions before they could be used against me.
But now I didn’t know what to do with them. With him.
He hadn’t told me he loved me.
I hadn’t told him either.
We’d said the words, while we’d been rehearsing for whatever questions the customs authorities might throw at us. We’d kissed and touched like we couldn’t get enough of each other. But the actual truth—the scary, open, exposed truth of how we felt—was still hanging there, just out of reach.
“Do you ever wonder if this is too good to be true?” I asked.
He blinked. “Too good?”
“This. Us. The ocean. The quiet. Feeling safe.”
Braxton studied me, his brows pulling together slightly. “It’s not too good to be true. It’s earned. You’ve bled for this peace, Daria.”
I wanted to believe that, but some part of me was still waiting for it to be yanked away.
“I only ever felt truly loved once,” I said quietly. “By my mother. And when she died, it shattered something in me. I think it taught me that love is dangerous, that it’s always followed by loss.”
Braxton nodded. He understood because he’d suffered the same sort of loss.
“I’m scared,” I admitted, “because when I’m with you, I feel it again—that thing I lost. And if I lose it again…”
His hand squeezed mine. “You won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No,” he said. “But I can promise I’ll fight like hell to make sure you never feel alone again.”
We sat there a while longer, the water gently slapping the hull beneath us as the sun began to set. Many things awaited us in America—Luca, Braxton’s brothers, the new life I hadn’t asked for—but out here, for just one more day, I had peace.
And I had Braxton.
Even if neither of us had said the words, I felt them in everything he did.
And maybe that was enough.
For now.
Braxton must’ve sensed I was spiraling, because the next thing I knew, he had risen from his chair and was tugging his shirt over his head. “C’mon,” he said, flicking his chin toward the hot tub. “We’ve got this view, the warm water, and no Nik breathing down our necks. Let’s not waste it.”
I looked at him for a second, trying to decide if my brain could shift gears. Then I stood. “Fine. But only if I get a seat with the jets.”
Braxton smirked. “You can have all the jets, baby. I just want you.”
We stripped down in sync, folding our clothes and tossing them into a loose pile near the deck chairs. Even though the air was warm, the instant heat of the tub still made me flinch a little as I stepped in. Braxton followed, sinking low and releasing a groan, making me smile. I was oh so familiar with the sound by now.
I sat across from him at first, letting the heat melt some of the tension from my shoulders. He reached his arm along the edge of the tub, his fingertips tracing the water.
“You ever think,” he said, “that maybe life was supposed to be like this all along?”
I blinked. “Warm and wet?”
He grinned. “Easy. Simple. Just you and me and a place where there are no troubles.”
I didn’t know how to respond, but I moved closer.
Braxton shifted, meeting me in the middle, and we shared a kiss that wasn’t hungry—it was quiet, as if he were letting me decide what came next.
I climbed onto his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck, lowering my body to fit against his, just as we’d done so many times before. My thighs hugged his hips as I straddled him, the heat of the water enveloping us while the cool evening air drifted over our shoulders. Steam curled around us in lazy spirals, blurring the edges of reality like we were suspended in a dream. We kissed again, just enjoying each other’s presence. He ran his hands along my back, mapping me out as if he were memorizing every inch of my body.
“You okay?” he finally asked against my lips.
I nodded. “I just…don’t want this to end.”
“It won’t,” he said. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Actually, life will be better with family, not to mention dry land.”
The proximity of his body, solid and strong beneath mine, made my insatiable desire for him flare up. I shifted my hips, finding him hard and ready, and the groan that rumbled from his chest made my stomach clench.
I guided him into me slowly, letting my head fall forward against his shoulder as we moved together, surrounded by steam and salty air.
Braxton’s hands came to rest on my hips, holding me steady for a moment, then roamed up my sides, his thumbs grazing the undersides of my breasts before cupping them. He kissed along my collarbone, then moved lower. I leaned back to give him better access, my eyes fluttering shut when his mouth closed over one of my nipples.
It was slow, rhythmic—his lips, my breath, the quiet pulse of the ocean underneath us. Every time I rose and sank back down onto him, our movements mimicked the ocean. His hands moved to my thighs, caressing me in a possessive, almost desperate way.
I matched his pace, then picked it up. The water lifted me just enough to make everything glide flawlessly. I read every flicker in his eyes, every shift in the muscles of his shoulders. I knew him now—his body, his breath, the way everything tightened just before he lost control.
I loved watching him come undone.
When I started to move harder, faster, he gripped my waist and took over, pulling out to his tip and then thrusting back in, filling me completely. He kissed me so hard that I tasted every moan. I broke apart in his arms, burying my head in his neck, and seconds later, he followed—his body going rigid, then jerking as he held me through the last waves.
We stayed like that for a long time, letting the water settle around us.
He rested his forehead on mine. “You know”—he chuckled—“I think Nik would keel over if he walked in on us now.”
I snorted. “He wouldn’t survive the trauma.”
Braxton wrapped his arms around me again, and in the middle of the Atlantic, with no idea what the future would bring, we just held on to each other.
The morning sun streamed through the cabin’s porthole, casting a warm glow on the bed where Braxton and I lay entwined. His steady breathing tickled the nape of my neck, a comforting warmth that I wished could last forever. I closed my eyes, imagining a life where we could escape to a secluded island, free from the shadows that loomed over us. But reality tugged at the edges of my daydream. We had to get out of bed; there was too much to do today.
I shifted slightly, turning to face him. His eyes remained closed, but a contented smile played on his lips. I reached up, tracing a finger along his jawline before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Braxton,” I whispered, “it’s time to wake up.”
He stirred, pulling me closer. “Mmm, five more minutes,” he murmured.
I chuckled softly. “If we had all the time in the world, I’d grant you that. But we need to get moving.”
He opened one eye, peering at me with mock annoyance. “You’re too practical for your own good.”
I smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “And you’re too laid back for yours.”
He sighed, stretching his arms above his head before rolling out of bed. “All right, let’s face the day.”
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 arrested by 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 us farewell. 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.