Page 63 of Mafia King

The war against the Rossini leadership ends in the space of three heartbeats. Silence settles over the garden, broken only by the distant crackle of remaining pockets of resistance inside the house being extinguished.

Maxim lowers his weapon and turns to Nikolai. He extends a hand…

“I’m looking forward to carving up the Rossini territory between us.”

Nikolai takes the offered hand, grip firm. “I’m looking forward to a long and prosperous arrangement.”

The alliance is sealed in the simplest possible currency: mutual victory and mutual interest.

Nikolai turns to Theo. The automatic rifle hangs at the boy’s side. There is blood spatter on his cheek and a fierce, living light in his eyes. Nikolai pulls his darling boy into his arms, heedless of the weapons and the carnage around them.

Theo rises onto his toes to meet his Daddy.

“I love you,” Nikolai tells him, the words raw and certain in the aftermath. “I want this. I want us. Forever.”

“I love you too,” Theo answers, voice steady against his chest. “Forever.”

Xander appears at the edge of the garden, phone in hand, expression urgent.

“Time to leave,” Xander urges. “My source at the city cops says he can’t postpone their dispatch any longer. Five minutes, maybe less.”

No one argues.

The remaining men are already melting back toward the waiting vehicles, weapons secured, the house left burning behind them.

Nikolai keeps Theo’s hand locked in his as they move. The black night air feels cleaner somehow.

Tracker is dead. The Rossini clan is finished. The boy who once came to destroy Nikolai walks at his side as his equal and his own.

Nikolai has everything he needs to ensure that his reign will continue long into the night and for many more years to come.

20

THEO

AFEW WEEKS LATER

Morning light fills the kitchen of the townhouse in soft gold. Theo sits at the wide oak table with his laptop open, the screen reflecting in his eyes as his fingers move with quiet precision across the keys.

Across from Theo, Nikolai cradles a double espresso, watching him work with the same calm attention he once reserved for more lethal tasks.

Maximus the blue cow sits propped between them, an empty miniature cup in front of him as if he too is part of the morning briefing.

Theo is deep inside the digital life of a corrupt judge who has spent the past year putting Nikolai’s men away on manufactured evidence and inflated charges. The man’s offshore accounts are layered but not layered well enough. Within twenty minutes Theo has the full map: account numbers, transfer histories, the quiet payments from the same intermediaries who once funneled money for the Rossinis.

Theo glances up. “Do we show this to the press, or do we take the money?”

Nikolai takes a slow sip of espresso. “Do both.”

Theo smiles and returns to the keyboard. He downloads every incriminating file, packages it cleanly for later release, then moves the funds in a series of rapid, untraceable hops until the balance sits safely inside one of their own hidden offshore accounts.

When the final confirmation appears he leans back, closes the laptop, and exhales.

“Work’s done,” Theo trills with a satisfied delight. “Yay!”

Nikolai sets his cup down. “Want to hit the Little club later? Have a proper playdate?”

Theo shakes his head, already feeling the softer part of himself rising. “I’d rather just chill at home and play here today, Daddy.”