Page 60 of The Bratva King

“I am being reasonable.”

“You’re being stubborn, Miss Collins.”

“Please, call me Gabby.”

He gestures for me to sit down at the long center island. I take my sandwich and drink and sit down. He sits, leaving one stool between us.

“What are your options?” he asks.

The silence stretches.

“There are shelters,” I say softly.

“Shelters are for those who don’t have options. You have an option.”

“I could call a friend,” I whisper.

“Who?”

I hate that he’s right. I hate it in my bones. I bargain with myself. If I stay two weeks, I’ll get another paycheck, assuming I still have a job. I don’t know if he would fire me. He said I have a week off.

A month tops. Two paychecks. Enough for a deposit and first month’s rent.

“I need to teach him to swim,” I say.

“There’s a fence. And a gate.”

“And one time it’s left open. One time he figures it out.”

I take a sip of the scotch and try not to make a face. It’s smoother than I expected. I'm used to whatever came in a plastic handle when I could afford it at all.

“Tell me about him,” Nikolai says.

I look up. He takes a sip, his eyes locked on mine. He’s not asking in a prying way. Not in the way people ask about Luke because they’re curious or uncomfortable or want to offer unsolicited opinions about screen time and sugar intake. He asks like he wants the answer.

I set down my sandwich. “What do you want to know?”

“What does he need? What are the rules?”

I smile. Nobody asks about the rules. People assume they know, or think I’m being overprotective, or get offended when I explain. Nobody just asks.

“Routine,” I say. “That’s the biggest one. Same order, every day. If something changes, I tell him before it happens. Not right before.” I pick at my sandwich. “He doesn’t do well with surprises. Sometimes it’s fine; sometimes it’s not. I haven’t quite figured out why. I’m not sure he knows, either."

He nods.

“Loud, sudden noises are hard for him. He’ll manage, but it costs him. He needs quiet time after. He likes small spaces when he’s overwhelmed. His blanket helps. But he doesn’t want to be touched when he’s overwhelmed. Don’t try to pull him out of it. Just let him know you’re there if he needs you.”

He almost looks surprised. “I know.”

“He doesn’t make eye contact when he’s processing something big. That doesn’t mean he’s not listening. He hears everything.” I smile. “Everything. So, please watch what you say around him.”

He nods again.

Oddly enough, I think he does know.

“He loves all things dinosaurs. He knows facts most people don’t. He likes SpongeBob. Chicken nuggets.” I pause and look him in the eyes. “And apparently, he loves ketchup and mayo mixed together.”

I see the slightest reaction. It almost looks like pride. “It’s good,” he says.