Page 8 of Mafia King

Men who smile across a table of vodka eventually reach for a blade.

Yet the alternative is endless small fires like the one they have just extinguished. One dealer tonight. Two next week. A slow bleed of territory and respect until someone decides to test the center instead of the edges.

“Bar first,” Nikolai says. “Somewhere quiet. We talk it through again before the night is over.”

Xander nods and adjusts course.

The SUV glides through another set of lights, deeper into the part of the city that belongs to neither the Rossinis nor Maxim, at least not yet.

Nikolai rests one hand on his thigh, the other absently brushing the outline of the pistol still in his coat. The dealer’s final words replay once, then fade.

Messages have been sent. Bodies will be found. The rest of the night belongs to clearer thought and colder calculation.

Across town the bar waits… low lights, strong vodka, and the space to decide whether Maxim Kovalev becomes an ally or simply the next name on a longer list.

Nikolai and Xander step through the heavy wooden door of the bar, the low hum of conversation and the soft clink of glasses washing over them as the night air stays outside.

The place is deliberately understated: dark wood panels, leather banquettes along the walls, a long polished bar that runs the length of the room under dim amber lighting.

No thumping music, no flashing lights.

Just the kind of quiet that lets a man think without interruption.

A few clusters of people occupy the corners, mostly men in sharp coats and women who know how to hold a glass without drawing too much attention.

Xander nods to the bartender, an older man with a thick grey moustache who already has two tumblers of clear vodka waiting by the time they reach the far end of the bar.

They take their seats on the high stools.

Nikolai rests one forearm on the cool surface, the other hand wrapping around the glass. The first sip burns clean and familiar.

For a moment the image of the dealer’s body on the concrete flashes behind his eyes, then fades.

Xander lifts his own glass in a silent toast and drinks.

Nikolai sets the tumbler down with a soft click...

“Go find yourself a boy for the night.”

Xander turns his head, one eyebrow rising. “You sure, boss?”

“I’m sure. I want to be alone.” Nikolai’s voice stays even. “Need the space to think. Unwind. You know how it is after a night like this.”

Xander studies him for a second longer, dark eyes checking for any sign that the earlier business is still riding him harder than usual. Nikolai meets the look steadily and gives a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Reassurance without words.

Xander exhales through his nose, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“All right. I’ll be close if you need me.” He drains the rest of his shot, slides off the stool, and makes his way across the room toward a small group of boys clustered near the opposite wall. One of them laughs at something he says before he even reaches them.

Nikolai watches just long enough to see Xander settle in, then turns back to the bar. He raises two fingers. The bartender appears at once, refilling the glass without comment and leaving the bottle within easy reach.

Nikolai takes another slow swallow, letting the heat settle in his chest.

The quiet is welcome. But his mind whirrs…

Maxim’s offer still sits at the edge of his thoughts. The dealer’s blood is still drying somewhere across the city. All of it can wait a little longer.