Page 56 of Mafia King

The entrance is unmarked, as to be expected. You either get an invite here, or you don’t come. It’s a simple as that in Maxim’s world.

Inside, the lighting is low and deliberate, the wood dark, the carpets thick enough to swallow footsteps. It is a place designed for conversations that never appear in any official record.

Nikolai arrives with Theo at his side and Xander a half-step behind.

Maxim is already waiting in the main lounge, Milo seated gracefully beside him. The two men exchange a brief, measured nod. No unnecessary warmth, no wasted words.

“The boys can keep themselves amused,” Nikolai says.

Maxim gives Milo a quiet look. He rises at once, offers Theo a small, genuine smile, and the two boys move together toward a quieter side salon that overlooks the water.

Nikolai watches them go for a second longer than strictly necessary. Then he turns back to the business at hand. Xander takes a position slightly to the side, present but silent.

Nikolai and Maxim sit opposite each other in deep leather chairs. A bottle of clear vodka and two heavy glasses already wait on the low table between them. Nikolai does not reach for his yet...

Instead, Nikolai lays out the situation without embellishment: the original contract against his financial structure, Theo’s role, the compromise of his identity, the cash-payment message that smelled of a trap, and the growing certainty that Tracker is either a Rossini cut-out or something close enough to make no practical difference.

When Nikolai finishes, the room feels tighter. It’s now or never as far as Nikolai is concerned…

“I will ask this only once,” Nikolai says. “Will you handle the Tracker situation with us, knowing full well it is almost certainly the Rossini family behind it? We all know what that would mean. We know it would bring death. But we also know what it could mean for both our futures to have this matter resolved.”

Maxim lifts his glass, takes a slow sip, and does not answer immediately.

Nikolai can see the evaluation happening behind the older man’s eyes—the weighing of risk against long-term advantage, the calculation of how much blood and capital a joint operation will cost, the quiet assessment of whether Nikolai’s current position is strength or exposure.

Tension settles across the table like a third presence before Finally Maxim sets the glass down.

“Are you certain you can trust the boy?” Maxim asks.

The question lands cleanly. Nikolai feels the old, sharp surge of emotion rise: possessiveness, residual fury at the original betrayal, the newer and more complicated need to protect what he has claimed. His right hand closes into a fist against his thigh hard enough that the knuckles ache. For a moment the control Nikolai lives by threatens to slip.

But Nikolai forces it back into place and answers with absolute clarity.

“The boy is mine. Forever. He has proven his devotion to me. Of course I can trust him.”

Maxim studies him for another long second, then nods once.

“Very well. I will work with you on this. Understand, however, this is not a lifelong pact. Once the immediate situation is dealt with, we will sit down and properly renegotiate a longer-term agreement on territory and terms.”

“Agreed,” Nikolai says. “And I commend your integrity for stating it plainly.”

They raise their glasses and drink. The vodka is cold and clean. Xander steps forward at the signal…

“I’ll contact our best generals on both sides,” Xander says. “Quiet mobilization. No noise until we are ready to move.”

Nikolai gives a short confirmatory nod.

The decision is made. Tracker and the Rossini clan are going down, and the timeline has just compressed from eventual to imminent.

Across the lounge, through the open archway to the side salon, Nikolai can see Theo and Milo seated together near the window. Their conversation appears easy; Milo is showing Theo something on his phone, and Theo’s expression has softened into the first unguarded smile he has seen on his face since the motel. The sight settles something deep in Nikolai’s chest.

Maxim follows Nikolai’s gaze and speaks without turning.

“The right boy always helps a Pakhan to be strong.”

Nikolai nods. For the first time the future arranges itself with unexpected clarity: Theo not as a vulnerability or a redeemed liability, but as an integral part of the life he intends to keep building. The softer hours and the harder ones both. The loyalty already proven and the loyalty still to be tested.

Now it is simply a question of removing the two obstacles that stand in the way: Tracker and the Rossini family, before either can strike first.