Page 33 of Mafia King

He is standing in a wide, elegant hallway. High ceilings. Dark wood paneling. An antique console table with a single silver tray for keys.

The floor is polished hardwood that gleams under soft recessed lighting. Everything about the space speaks of old money and quiet elegancy, the kind of townhouse that has stood for a century and will stand for another.

It is nothing like the empty shell apartment Nikolai took him to before.

This place is lived in. Real. His.

Nikolai watches Theo take it in, expression unreadable.

“Pull your jeans and briefs up,” Nikolai says. “We have standards around here…”

Theo obeys at once, face still hot. The denim scrapes over the tender skin of his ass. He buttons and zips with fingers that are not entirely steady, then follows him deeper into the house when he turns and walks away.

The kitchen is large and open, all oak cabinets and a wide island of dark stone. Slithers of light pour through tall windows that look onto a quiet, tree-lined street.

Nikolai moves with the same unhurried certainty he shows everywhere else. He fills a kettle, measures coffee for himself into a heavy ceramic press, then reaches for a small saucepan.

Theo stays near the doorway, watching, the platinum bracelet still missing from his wrist and the memory of his warning about it still vivid.

He watches Nikolai pour milk into the pan, heat it carefully, then tip it into a mug. A light dusting of chocolate sprinkles follows. The domesticity of the gesture is so unexpected that Theo’s throat tightens.

Nikolai carries both drinks to a deep leather couch set in the corner of the kitchen—worn, comfortable, clearly used often—and sits. He nods at the space beside him.

“There,” Nikolai says, his voice clear and low.

Theo crosses the room and settles onto the soft leather. Heat blooms across his face, but he keeps his eyes on the mug Nikolai places in his hands.

Hot milk. Chocolate. Exactly the kind of drink a Little might ask for after a hard play or kink session...

The thought lands with quiet force.

Nikolai sees that part of him. He is answering it without making it a performance, and Theo is all there for it.

They sit in silence for a short while. Nikolai drinks his coffee black and strong. Theo cradles the warm mug and lets the sweetness settle on his tongue.

Outside, leaves move in a light breeze. Inside, the only sound is the soft tick of an unseen clock.

Finally Nikolai sets his cup down and turns toward him.

“I have a lot to tell you about myself,” Nikolai says.

The words are simple. Measured. But the weight behind them is unmistakable.

Theo’s breath catches. He looks at him properly… at the controlled lines of his face, the dark eyes that have already seen him come apart more than once, the quiet authority that never needs to raise its voice.

Nikolai is not playing a short game. He is not treating Theo like a temporary distraction or a one-night conquest.

The empty apartment, the secret casino, the careful way he has tested and claimed his body, the decision to bring him here—to the real place—all of it points to something larger.

Nikolai likes him.

Truly likes him.

The realization hits hard enough that a soft gasp leaves Theo’s throat before he can stop it.

Heat rushes up his neck.

His fingers tighten around the mug.