18. Theo
THEO
The side salon is quieter than the main lounge, separated by a wide archway and a partial screen of dark wood. Tall windows look out over the docks where cranes stand idle against the evening sky. Soft lamps cast warm pools of light across low tables and deep chairs.
Theo sits opposite Milo, a glass of sparkling water untouched in front of him, still feeling the residual adrenaline of the past two days settle into something almost like calm.
Milo studies Theo with open, intelligent eyes for a moment, then smiles. “You’re a Little, aren’t you?”
“I am. You too?”
Milo’s smile widens.
“Yup,” Milo says. “I kinda guessed after I saw you in the toy department with Nikolai the other day. The way you looked at the stuffies was a giveaway.”
A soft laugh escapes Theo before he can stop it. The memory of that afternoon—Nikolai patient and open-minded beside him, the grey rabbit and the blue dinosaur—feels strangely distant and precious at the same time.
“I didn’t think anyone noticed.”
“Maxim notices everything,” Milo says, “and then he tells me the parts he thinks I’ll find interesting.” He leans back slightly, the movement graceful and unhurried. “You’re wondering what it’s like. Living with a man like him.”
Theo nods. The question has been sitting in his chest since the moment he watched the easy, grounded way Milo and Maxim occupied the same space.
Milo’s expression softens, but there is steel underneath…
“It’s everything to me. Yes, it’s dangerous.
There are nights I don’t sleep until he walks back through the door, and mornings I check the street from the window before I let myself believe the quiet is real.
But I would never change it. He sees all of me…
the good and the less good… and he never asks me to be smaller than I am. That kind of safety is worth the risk.”
Theo absorbs the words in silence. When he finally speaks, the truth comes out more raw than he intended.
“After I was discharged from the military,” Theo begins, “I felt completely alone. No one understood the way my head worked, or the things I was capable of. Becoming a hacker and a spy gave me purpose. It paid well. It kept me sharp. But underneath all of it, what I really wanted was to feel loved and protected. With Nikolai… I feel that. Even after everything that happened. Especially after everything that happened.”
Milo’s gaze is steady and kind. “You and Nikolai sound like a great couple already. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching, it’s the same way Maxim looks at me.”
The observation lands warmly. Theo feels a small, private smile form.
“Having a Pakhan for a Daddy is… intense,” Theo says, happy to say it out loud.
Milo laughs under his breath. “Tell me about it. The rules, the expectations, the way they both manage to be terrifying and ridiculously soft in the same five-minute span. I wouldn’t trade it either.”
Quickly, they fall into an easy, conspiratorial banter after that.
Comparing the particular brand of dominance that comes with men who run entire criminal empires, the unexpected gentleness that surfaces when the doors are closed, the strange comfort of knowing the same hands that can end a life can also pour hot milk and choose the perfect stuffie.
For a short while the danger outside the room feels almost abstract.
The moment ends when Nikolai and Maxim appear in the archway, Xander a respectful distance behind them. Both men carry the focused energy of decisions already made…
“It’s time to go,” Nikolai says.
Theo rises at once. He turns back to Milo, the connection still new but already real.
“I’d love to hang out again. Properly,” Theo says. “When things are quieter.”
Milo’s smile is immediate. “I’d like that too.” He looks to Maxim. “Is that cool?”
Maxim’s expression remains serious, but he gives a single nod. “Yes. Once the current business is handled. There is serious work to finish first.”
The two boys step toward each other and share a brief, firm hug. Theo catches the faint, clean scent of Milo’s cologne and the solid reassurance of another young guy who understands exactly how precarious and precious this life can be.
As Theo pulls back, a quiet, clear thought surfaces: he hopes he lives long enough to see Milo again.
Nikolai’s hand settles lightly at the small of Theo’s back, guiding him toward the exit. Theo walks beside him, the warmth of the short conversation still lingering, the heavier knowledge of what comes next settling once more across his shoulders.
Outside, the evening air is cool.
The city waits.
And somewhere in its tangled streets, Tracker and the Rossini family are still moving pieces that could bring a fatal roadblock to the life that Theo is so close to living…
Theo scans the area with a vigilant eye. The gunsmith works out of a plain, windowless unit on the far side of the old industrial quarter.
No sign.
No welcoming light.
Only a heavy steel door and a single camera that tracks their approach.
Nikolai parks the car himself and leads Theo inside with a brief, familiar nod to the man who opens the door. The interior is bright, ordered, and smells of gun oil and cold metal.
Racks of carefully maintained firearms line the walls behind reinforced glass. The gunsmith is middle-aged, soft-spoken, and asks nothing beyond what is required.
At Nikolai’s quiet instruction he unlocks a small drawer and places a tiny custom pistol on the felt-lined counter.
“For my boy,” Nikolai says.
“Wow, yeah, okay,” Theo says, here eyes wide and a sudden grin on his face.
The gun is matte black, no larger than Theo’s palm, designed to sit flat and nearly weightless inside a sock or the lining of a boot. Theo picks it up. The balance is perfect, the trigger pull clean even in dry fire.
Nikolai stands close beside Theo, voice low enough that only he can hear.
“I’m not comfortable with you putting your life on the line. You know that,” Nikolai says. “But I also understand there is no other clean way to draw Tracker into the open. At least with this you will be able to defend yourself if everything else fails.”
Nikolai rests a steady hand at the small of his back. “There will be gunmen and snipers waiting in the wings the entire time. You will never be truly alone. Still… the first critical moments will still belong to you.”
Theo turns the little pistol over once more, then meets his eyes. “My grandpa taught me a thing or two about how to fire a gun.”
“Is that right,” Nikolai answers, a look of intrigue in his eyes.
The gunsmith leads them through a side door into a compact private range. The booths are narrow, the backstops deep, the lighting clinical and shadowless.
Theo loads the tiny weapon with the quiet efficiency his grandfather drilled into him on long summer afternoons behind the ranch house: breathing steady, stance solid, sight picture clear.
He raises the pistol and puts five rounds into the center of the target in a tight, rapid group that barely disturbs his posture.
The speed and accuracy are clean, professional, and completely at odds with the soft Little who had colored forest animals on Nikolai’s living-room rug only days earlier.
When Theo lowers the gun and turns, Nikolai is staring at him with an expression he has never quite seen on his face before: surprise edged with something darker and more protective.
Nikolai recovers with a wry twist of his mouth. “I didn’t realize how much danger I was actually in around you. Perhaps I would have eased off the spanks.”
Theo laughs, the sound bright and sudden against the concrete…
“If you had done that, then I might have shot you.”
The tension breaks just enough for them to step toward each other. Nikolai’s hands frame his face and he kisses him… deep, thorough, almost fierce.
Theo melts into it, the little gun still warm in his hand, the solid wall of his body the only steady point in a world that is about to become far more dangerous. Then Nikolai breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against Theo’s. His voice is quieter, rougher…
“I fear I might be about to lose the best thing in my life if this showdown goes wrong,” Nikolai says. “After all these years I find the one. And we must face this so early…”
Theo feels the weight of the admission settle between them. He lifts one hand and rests it against his chest, feeling the strong, controlled beat of his heart.
“I would rather die fighting for you than live a lie,” Theo says, the words steady and clear. “This is who I am now. And I’ve never felt happier.”
Theo slips the tiny pistol into the specially sewn pocket inside his sock, feels its negligible weight settle against his ankle, and looks up at the man who has claimed him completely.
Theo knows they are headed toward a climax. Tracker, the Rossinis, the trap that is almost certainly waiting—him and Nikolai will meet it together.
The fear remains, sharp and real, but it no longer stands alone.
Belonging stands beside fear, and for the first Theo realizes that it might just be the perfect combination.
Later that evening the townhouse is quiet and dimly lit. Theo stands in front of the wide mirror in Nikolai’s bedroom, the soft overhead light casting a clean glow across the glass.
Theo has changed into a plain black t-shirt that sits close to his body, dark jeans that allow easy movement, and a pair of well-worn black Converse.
The outfit is deliberately ordinary, nothing that draws the eye, nothing that restricts him if he needs to run or fight.
He studies his reflection for a long moment, then draws a slow, deliberate breath.
“I’ve got this,” Theo says to himself. “I’ve got this.”
The tiny custom pistol already rests flat against his ankle inside his right sock, its negligible weight a constant, reassuring pressure.
Theo feels ready.
All that remains is the final set of coordinates from Tracker.
The bedroom door opens quietly. Nikolai steps inside and crosses the room without a word. His arms slide around Theo from behind, pulling him back against the solid wall of his chest.
Theo leans into the embrace, covering his forearms with his hands. For a few seconds they simply stand there, watching their joined reflection in the mirror.
“I’ll do you proud,” Theo says, voice steady.
Nikolai’s mouth brushes the side of his neck, the kiss warm and lingering. “I’m already proud of you.”
The soft press of Nikolai’s lips against his skin sends a low current of arousal through him, unexpected and sharp even in the middle of the tension.
Theo’s eyes flutter half-closed for a heartbeat.
Then the sharp ping of an incoming encrypted message cuts through the quiet.
Both of them turn at once.
Theo crosses to the laptop open on the dresser and reads the short message that has appeared:
Coordinates.
A time.
A location on the industrial edge of the city—exactly the kind of isolated ground that can be turned into a killing field with the right preparation.
Nikolai is already moving.
“We leave now,” Nikolai says. “This is our time. This is our city. Now we show it.”
They take the stairs quickly. Theo grabs the car keys from the console table in the hallway while Nikolai checks the pistol at his hip one final time.
Outside, the night air is cool and clear.
Theo slides into the driver’s seat of the black town car without discussion; Nikolai takes the passenger side so he can begin contacting his men the moment the doors close.
Theo pulls away from the curb and guides the car through the quiet residential streets, then out onto the faster roads that lead toward the industrial district.
As the familiar rhythm of driving settles over Theo, the earlier edges of fear begin to recede.
His military training returns in clean, practiced layers: breath control first, then the deliberate slowing of his heart rate, then the narrowing of focus until the only things that matter are the road ahead, the weight of the gun against his ankle, and the mission parameters already forming in his mind.
Tracker is waiting.
But so are they.