Page 44 of Mafia King

“I’ll be here,” Theo replies, his eyes full of expectant delight.

Nikolai watches him walk away. The boy moves with easy confidence, disappearing through the heavy doors without a backward glance.

For a moment Nikolai remains still, engine idling.

A fragment of memory surfaces unbidden: a skinny boy on a cracked sidewalk, favorite comic book ripped from his hands by an older street bully, the bright pages torn and scattered while laughter rang out.

After that day, reading had never felt the same—something once private and bright had been made small and unsafe. Nikolai growls and pushes the old image aside with a single sharp breath, puts the car in gear, and drives.

The finance-district meeting is supposed to be straightforward: Xander, a quiet side room in a private club that caters to men who prefer not to be observed, a brief update on the Rossini pressure and the ongoing deep dive.

Nikolai arrives precisely on time, steps through the unmarked door, and stops. Xander is there, as expected.

But so is Maxim Kovalev.

Beside Maxim stands a thin, sharp-eyed man Nikolai recognizes as one of Maxim’s most effective street-level intelligence gatherers—a man who is paid to know things before anyone else does.

The air in the room is immediately wrong.

Nikolai’s posture shifts without conscious thought. Shoulders square, weight balanced, every sense sharpening. He closes the door behind him with deliberate calm and takes the remaining chair, never fully settling into it.

“Maxim,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Maxim’s expression is unreadable. “Neither was I, until an hour ago.”

Nikolai’s gaze flicks to Xander, who gives a slight, tight shake of the head… this was not arranged on their side. Nikolai turns back to Maxim.

“Has the Rossini clan caught wind of my plans?”

“No.” Maxim’s voice is even. “This is about the boy. Theo.”

A cold sweat traces the length of Nikolai’s spine. He keeps his face still. Maxim continues without flourish...

“He is not an undercover cop. In some ways that would have been simpler,” Maxim says, his voice heavy with intent. “He is a data hacker. An underground intelligence asset. The military trained him in special-ops surveillance and infiltration before the discharge. Since then he has worked privately… corporate, personal, occasionally more dangerous targets. He specializes in getting close, becoming trusted, and extracting what his client pays for.”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

How could I be so stupid?

The words land like successive blows. Nikolai’s mind races backward through every shared night, every soft moment, every time he had looked at him with open need or quiet laughter…

The Little play on the rug.

The bedtime story.

The way Theo had taken his cock in his mouth in the department-store bathroom to ease the tension.

All of it reframed in a treacherous, ugly light.

Maxim’s intelligence man speaks for the first time, voice low and precise...

“An unknown source put out a quiet request in certain circles for a complete picture of your financial portfolio,” he begins. “Banking structures, offshore holdings, crypto wallets, the full map. The same source is believed to have hired Theo, or someone matching his profile, specifically for the work.”

Nikolai’s fist comes down hard on the table.

The sharp crack of impact echoes in the small room. Coffee cups jump.