Nikolaus
Charlie slept for almost the entire flight, one hand loosely fisted in my shirt, and the other resting where it fell right beside his face.
Once the pressure in his ears had been handled and cum had been milked from his cute little balls, he was out like a light.
By the time we landed in New York, he had slipped so deep into that floaty, submissive headspace of his that waking him fully felt unnecessary and, more importantly, unwise.
His eyes opened when the wheels touched down, hazy and unfocused, his lashes lifting just enough for him to look at my face, as if checking that I was still the one holding him, before tucking himself closer against my chest with a drowsy little exhale and closing them again.
Constantine, who had spent the majority of the flight pretending not to monitor him, only shook his head once the plane began taxiing.
“Well,” he murmured, quiet enough not to startle the boy, “that went better than it had any right to. Can hardly even call it a kidnapping.”
I brushed my thumb over Charlie’s temple, smoothing back a lock of clean, sleep-warm hair. “Mm, I think the incident with those guards scared him closer to me.”
“Should send them a bonus,” Constantine chuckled.
“Their bonus was being able to leave without bullets in their skulls,” I grunted.
Constantine’s mouth twitched, but he had the sense not to argue.
Now, in the back of the car, with the airport receding behind us and the city drawing closer through the tinted windows, Charlie sits in my lap, watching the city in brief, uncertain glimpses through the window, lifting his head no farther than necessary before lowering it again.
The late-morning light reflects off the tall glass towers, the metal ribs of bridges, and the elevated tracks.
Beside us, Constantine scrolls through his phone with one thumb, reviewing messages as they come in. He looks freshly composed after the flight, his tie corrected, his shirt cuffs fastened, not a hair out of place now that we are back in my territory.
“The doctor is already at the building,” he says. “Security sweep is complete. Staff besides Marta and Elise have been cleared out.”
Charlie tries to suppress a tiny shiver at the new names, so I cover his hands with mine and tell him, “It’s alright. They work for me, baby. Marta manages the household. Elise handles the kitchen and helps Marta in her free time.”
His eyes flick up toward mine, wide and tired.
“If you don’t want to meet them yet, you don’t have to,” I add. “But I just know they’ll adore you, Charlie.”
Constantine glances at me over the top of his phone, expression dry.
I ignore him.
“Okay,” Charlie murmurs quietly, like he’s still not quite comfortable with his words. He’s said a total of maybe four or five words since he woke up. It’s not like he’s refusing to talk to me out of resentment or anger or fear. No. It’s more natural than that.
I look back towards Constantine. “I assume they’ve prepared his room?”
He nods. “Yes. It should be ready for him upon our arrival.” A slow smirk slides across his lips. “The ladies were… surprised, to say the least.”
I huff out a short laugh. “I’m sure they were. But they were briefed on things, correct?”
“Yeah. Should be all good.”
The car crosses into Manhattan, and the city presses in closer around us. Charlie peeks out the window again as we move through streets, past glass storefronts, delivery trucks idling at curbs, and workers in suits with coffee in one hand and phones in the other.
He watches a woman walking two tiny white dogs in matching sweaters with more focus than he has given anything since we left the plane.
I lean down. “Do you like dogs?”
The question seems to startle him, almost like he forgot where he was for a second, then he looks back at me and gives the smallest shrug.
Constantine looks up. “Do not buy him a dog today.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You just made a face.”
“I made no face.”
“Whatever you say, Niko.”
Charlie’s breath puffs against my chest, and as I glance down, I catch a half-smile that’s gone just as quickly as it appears.
I pretend I didn’t notice it, but inside, I celebrate the small victory for what it is, then bend and press my mouth to Charlie’s hair. “No dog today.”
His brows pinch, as if he doesn’t know whether he is relieved or disappointed.
“We’ll revisit the matter later,” I decide.
Constantine groans under his breath.
The building comes into view a few minutes later, rising over the block with the kind of quiet confidence that only truly staggering amounts of money can buy.
It isn’t the tallest tower in Manhattan, nor the newest, nor one of those aggressively modern structures designed to dominate every skyline photograph taken within a mile radius.
Instead, it possesses a more understated sort of prestige, the kind reserved for people who long ago stopped needing the world to know what they can afford.
Charlie follows its ascent with his eyes as we draw closer, his head tilting back to take in the upper floors disappearing into the sky.
I can feel his uncertainty returning. New places always carry a certain mental weight, but this isn’t merely a new place.
It’s an entirely different world from the one he leaves behind.
The driver—a lesser, but no less qualified, version of Alex, since he insisted on taking a different flight back—turns into the resident entrance beneath the building, leaving the noise and congestion of the city behind in favor of the quiet underground parking garage.
As the car rolls to a stop in front of the private elevator lobby for the penthouse, I feel Charlie begin to tremble. It’s such a minute tremble that I’m not even sure he’s aware of it.
“Time to get out, baby,” I whisper.
By the time I step out of the car with Charlie beside me, the elevator is already waiting, Constantine having used the access key card to call it.
Charlie sticks close as we ride to the top, and when the doors open, we’re met with the lower level of the penthouse.
The entry gallery stretches ahead in warm limestone and oak, opening gradually into the main living space beyond.
Sunlight pours through walls of glass that extend nearly two stories high, illuminating the polished floors and casting long reflections across the room.
Beyond the windows, Manhattan unfolds in every direction, the city appearing less like a collection of buildings and more like an endless sea of steel, glass, and movement.
When I glance down at the boy beside me to gauge his reaction, I find Charlie staring ahead with shocked disbelief. It isn’t too surprising, but I still have to hold back a laugh at how it looks like his brain has short-circuited at the sight.
The living area alone is larger than many apartments, arranged around a central sitting space anchored by a marble fireplace and surrounded by carefully curated pieces collected over decades.
A floating staircase curves upward toward the second floor, while the far end of the room opens onto the terrace beyond.
Even from here, the water is visible in the rooftop pool, stretching along the edge of the building like a strip of liquid glass, reflecting the sky so perfectly that it appears to merge with the horizon.
His attention drifts from the windows to the staircase, then to the terrace, then back to the windows again as though he cannot quite decide where to look first.
The expression on his face is impossible to miss. He’s overwhelmed yet curious, and also intimidated; I find all three reactions deeply satisfying.
“It’s bigger than your old apartment,” Constantine observes dryly, to which Charlie actually lets out the faintest breath of laughter.
His face immediately reddens when he realizes he’s made a noise, his gaze dropping toward the floor as though he’s somehow embarrassed by the slip.
I place a hand against the small of his back, smiling. “Come on,” I tell him. “There’s more to see.”
We’ve barely crossed the living room when footsteps approach from deeper within the penthouse.
Marta appears first, with Elise following several paces behind her.
The contrast between the two women has always amused me.
Elise is nearly thirty years younger, soft-spoken and endlessly patient, the sort of person who worries about everyone around her, whether they deserve it or not.
Marta, meanwhile, is more no-nonsense, able to make dangerous men clean up after themselves with nothing more than a look and a hand on her hip.
Age has done nothing to soften her. Her silver-streaked dark hair is pinned neatly away from her face, and she carries herself with all the confidence of a woman who gets shit done.
The moment her eyes land on Charlie, I can tell she’s holding back a scowl.
“Marta,” I say.
“Mr. Makris.”
Her response is perfectly respectful. The look accompanying it is considerably less so.
Elise steps forward before either of us can continue. “Welcome home, sir,” she greets me, then Charlie, “Hello, Charlie.”
Charlie inches closer to me. It makes me want to puff up with pride.
Elise offers him an apologetic smile, while Marta continues glaring at me. “I’m Elise. You must be exhausted. If you need anything at all, you only have to ask.”
Charlie, now pressed against my side, replies softly, “Thank you, but I’m okay right now.”
Elise’s eyes light up at the sound of his voice. “Well, just let me know when that changes, okay?”
He nods, then turns his attention to Marta.
“It’s nice to meet you, sweetheart,” she says. “My name is Marta, and despite what he may have told you, I’m in charge around here. Both myself and Elise will be able to help with anything you need.”
Charlie looks genuinely startled by the kindness in her voice.
To be fair, so am I.
Not because Marta lacks compassion, but because she reserves that particular tone for children and people she believes have been mistreated.
“His room is ready?” I ask, dragging her attention away from Charlie. She fixes me with another scathing look.