13. Nikolai
NIKOLAI
Late afternoon light fills the living room in soft gold. From the kitchen Nikolai can see Theo clearly: he sits cross-legged on the large rug, surrounded by the new purchases from the department store.
The grey rabbit and the small blue dinosaur are propped against a cushion.
An open coloring book lies in front of the boy, the forest-animal pages already half-filled with careful strokes of green and brown from the scented markers.
Theo is humming quietly under his breath, completely absorbed. Nikolai smiles and finishes preparing his espresso and then leans against the counter, cup warm in his hand.
He takes a slow sip and simply watches Theo, his Little, for a long moment. This side of being a Daddy is still new. The bedtime story and the off-key lullaby the night before had felt surprisingly natural once he began; the shopping trip this afternoon had felt equally right.
Nikolai has never built space in his life for anyone else’s softer needs. Yet watching Theo color with quiet focus, his shoulders relaxed in a way Nikolai has rarely seen, he thinks this could work.
The structure, the care, the permission to be small for a while… it fits something in him as cleanly as the darker, more demanding side of their dynamic already does.
Nikolai drains the last of the espresso. His phone vibrates once against the stone countertop. The encrypted message is from Xander…
XANDER: Deep dive complete on first pass.
Only solid hit is a dishonorable discharge from the military three years ago.
After that… nothing. No employment records that hold up.
No lease history under his name. No credit trail worth mentioning.
It’s like he stops existing the moment he left the service.
Nikolai’s jaw tightens. He sets the empty cup down with deliberate care. Theo is intelligent. Observant. He asks the right questions and notices details most people miss.
A young man with Theo’s mind and his training should have been able to walk into any number of legitimate, well-paid positions if he wanted them. Dishonorable discharge or not, there’s something amiss.
The clean absence of a normal paper trail is not normal.
Nikolai types back...
NIKOLAI: Keep digging. Make it priority. Full resources.
Xander’s reply arrives almost immediately.
XANDER: Understood. Possibility he’s undercover? Fed or local? Well, if he is, I’ll find out. You can count on me, Pakhan.
Nikolai stares at the screen for several seconds. The thought has already formed in his own mind, cold and precise.
He answers with two words. Keep digging.
Nikolai locks the phone and sets it face-down. No judgements yet. Not until he has more.
But from this moment Nikolai resolves he will watch the boy more closely—every reaction, every casual comment, every place his eyes linger when he thinks he is not looking.
Nikolai pushes the unease aside for now and walks into the living room. Theo looks up as his shadow falls across the rug. His smile is immediate and open.
Nikolai lowers himself to the carpet opposite the boy, long legs folding with practiced ease. He picks up the blue dinosaur and makes it hop toward the grey rabbit in exaggerated steps.
Theo laughs, the sound light and genuine, and soon both of them are moving the stuffies around in a wacky, invented story. After a few minutes Nikolai shifts the game…
“Cops and robbers,” Nikolai says, giving the rabbit a stern voice. “This one is a good citizen. But this one is a rat. He’s been informing to the cops. Telling them everything.”
Nikolai watches Theo’s face carefully.
“What should happen to the rat?” Nikolai asks, letting his words hang in the air.
For the briefest moment Theo freezes. The marker in his hand goes still. The boy’s eyes flick to the dinosaur, then back to Nikolai, something unreadable passing through them too quickly to name.
Then Theo breaks into a wide grin, the hesitation gone as if it never existed.
“He should have all his candies for the week confiscated!” Theo declares, reaching over to make the rabbit wag a disapproving paw at the dinosaur. “No sweets until he learns to keep his mouth shut!”
Theo bursts out laughing. The sound is bright and unrestrained. Nikolai laughs with the boy, the sound low and real, even as the quieter part of his mind continues to turn.
The freeze had been short.
Almost nothing.
Yet it had been there.
Nikolai lets the game continue, moving the stuffies through increasingly ridiculous scenarios while Theo’s laughter fills the room.
Outwardly he is present, playful, the Daddy who is learning how to share this softer space.
But inwardly the question remains sharp and unanswered…
Could Theo really be an undercover cop?
The afternoon light shifts another degree across the rug. Nikolai keeps playing, keeps watching, and keeps the new, colder layer of attention carefully hidden behind an easy smile and warm embrace…
Nikolai eases the black town car to the curb a short distance from the grand old bookstore Theo has chosen.
The building rises four stories of weathered stone and tall arched windows, its entrance framed by heavy wooden doors that look as if they have stood for a century.
Inside are narrow staircases, shadowed reading nooks, and entire corners devoted to forgotten first editions and leather-bound histories.
It is the kind of place someone could lose hours in without noticing.
Theo turns in the passenger seat, already reaching for the door handle, a light, almost merry energy in his movements…
“I’m excited!” Theo trills.
“Two hours,” Nikolai says. “I have business in the finance district. I’ll pick you up right here.”
Theo leans across and kisses him—soft, quick, lingering just long enough to taste of the afternoon’s earlier playfulness.
“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.
Xander does not flinch.
Maxim merely watches.
Rage rises in Nikolai’s chest, cold and absolute. He has allowed the boy into his home. Into his bed. Into the carefully guarded softer corners of himself that almost no one has ever seen.
And the entire time Theo has been working a contract aimed at the one thing a man in his position can never afford to have mapped by an enemy: the money that keeps the entire structure standing.
Nikolai straightens up.
“I will handle the boy,” Nikolai says, voice flat and final. “He will never cross me… or anyone else… again.”
No one offers advice.
No one asks for details.
Everyone understands what is being said.
Maxim gives a single, measured nod. Xander’s expression is carefully neutral, waiting for orders that will come later.
Nikolai leaves the room without another word. The corridor outside feels too narrow. The late-afternoon light when he steps onto the street is too bright. He walks to the car, starts the engine, and pulls into traffic with controlled precision.
Inside Nikolai’s chest the black mood settles deep and cold. The image of Theo walking merrily into the bookstore—soft, open, still carrying the residual glow of their morning and afternoon—plays against the new knowledge like two incompatible films.
The Daddy who had chosen stuffies and told dragon stories is gone.
In his place is the pakhan who has been played.
Now all that remains is a final, deadly vengeance…
Nikolai parks half a block from the bookstore, kills the engine, and sits for a full minute with both hands locked on the wheel.
The rage is still red-hot behind his ribs—hot enough that he can feel it in his teeth. He forces air in through his nose and out through his mouth, slow and deliberate, the same way he has done before every serious confrontation of his adult life.
The last thing he can afford is for Theo to see the fury on his face the moment he walks through the door. If he senses the shift too early he will spook, and a spooked asset is harder to contain.
Nikolai wants to give the wretched boy one chance to explain.
That is what he tells himself as he steps out of the car and crosses the pavement.
One chance.
The professional courtesy of a man who has already decided the outcome.
In truth the decision is already made. Theo has been paid to map his money.
He has slept in his bed, crawled for him, laughed with him over stuffies on the living-room rug, all while running a contract against the foundation of everything he has built.
Nikolai is in no doubt, the boy will face his fate.
The only variable left is whether he tells him the truth before he delivers it.
The heavy wooden doors of the bookstore swing shut behind him.
Soft overhead lights glow between tall shelves that stretch toward high ceilings. The ground floor is busy with the usual late-afternoon browsers: students, quiet professionals, an elderly couple moving slowly along the history wall.
Nikolai keeps his expression neutral, almost bored, and begins to move. He takes the long way through the fiction section, eyes scanning every reading chair and every narrow aisle.
No dark hair, no familiar sparkling eyes.
Nikolai climbs the wide central staircase to the second floor—travel and biography—and walks the full perimeter. Still nothing.
On the third floor the shelves grow denser, the lighting lower, the reading nooks deeper and more shadowed. He checks each one methodically, the cold calculation in his chest tightening with every empty corner.
Worry begins to bleed into the anger.
Two hours. He should still be here.
The store is large, but it is not endless. If Theo has already left—if he felt the change in him when they parted, or if some quiet warning reached him from the same underground channels that hired him—then the next steps become sharper and less controlled.
Nikolai pauses at the foot of the final staircase that leads to the top floor. Then he remembers his words, Theo’s voice from a few days earlier, soft and almost shy, describing his favorite place in the entire city….
A particular nook on the highest level, tucked between the rare-book cases and a tall arched window that looks out over the older rooftops. He had spoken of it more than once—the worn leather chair, the quiet, the way the light fell across the pages in the late afternoon.
Nikolai takes the stairs two at a time. The top floor is quieter than the rest of the store. Dust motes hang in the slanted light. The air feels older here, heavier with the weight of books that have not been opened in years.
Nikolai moves past the glass cases of first editions, past a narrow gallery of maps, and toward the far corner where the arched window stands. His right hand rests loosely at his side, close to the familiar weight of the pistol he never leaves behind.
The rage has cooled into something precise and final.
One chance.
Then Theo faces what comes next and the final chapter of his short life comes to a close…