Page 52 of The Bratva King

He doesn’t look back to see if we’re following. He just moves toward the far end of the kitchen, past Irina, who has suddenly found a great deal of interest in the stovetop. Nikolai opens a door I hadn’t noticed. It’s flush with the cabinetry, which is why I missed it. Everything in this house is designed so that nothing looks out of place.

I put Luke down, take his hand, and we follow.

The pantry is not a pantry.

I stop in the doorway and stare.

It’s the size of my old bedroom. Shelves run from the floor to the ceiling along three walls, lined with food and organized with a clinical precision. Everything faces forward. Labels out. Grouped by category. Little printed labels on the shelf edges dictate what belongs where.

A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth, but I shut it down.

This would be Luke’s dream pantry. It’s what the inside of my son’s brain would look like if it were a room.

The cereal is on the second shelf from the bottom on the left wall. I let go of Luke’s hand. He wanders in ahead with his blanket trailing behind him across the clean tile floor.

He moves with the reverence of a priest entering a cathedral. Again, I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. Few things excite my son. This is heaven for him.

He stops in front of the cereal.

There are at least twelve boxes, all lined up with their fronts facing out. The row is so neat that it looks staged.

Luke studies them with the intensity he usually reserves for his dinosaur books.

Nikolai comes to stand beside him. He crouches down, rests one arm on his knee, and looks at the row of boxes at Luke’s level.

I lean against the doorframe with my coffee and watch them.

“That one.” Luke points.

“Cocoa Puffs,” Nikolai says.

“No,” Luke says. He points again. “That one.”

“Frosted Flakes.”

Luke looks at him like he’s said something offensive.

“No.”

“Agreed. Those are for Mila. She likes them. I don’t. They get soggy too fast.”

Luke nods. “Soft.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking about what he said at the park. He’s quiet. Like me.

He’s not wrong.

Nikolai reaches for the Froot Loops, and Luke’s face lights up.

“That one,” he says.

Nikolai takes the box off the shelf and hands it to him. Luke hugs it to his chest with both arms, his blanket bunched under one elbow.

“Good choice,” Nikolai says.

I look at the box in his hand, then at his face. Sometimes, I can afford the generic version. I’m not sure he’s ever had the real thing. I doubt there’s a difference in flavor, but if there is, Luke will know.

I follow them back into the kitchen.