Page 65 of The Bratva King

“Thank you,” Gabby says.

Frank nods and leaves us to it.

We move through the floor. I let Luke set the pace, which is slower than mine, but I find I don’t mind it. He stops at things that interest him and ignores things that don’t. He asks me questions most adults wouldn’t. The exposed wires. Why are they different colors? Why don’t the floors match?

I answer every question.

Gabby walks beside me. At some point, I end up holding Luke’s hand. I don’t even know when it happened. She falls quiet, giving me and Luke space to talk.

“How many people will work here?” Luke asks.

“When it’s fully open? More than two thousand.”

He stops walking. “That’s a lot of people.”

“It is.”

“Do you know all of them?”

“No.”

He seems to find this acceptable and starts walking again.

We take the service elevator up because the main elevators aren’t running yet. I’m aware of the last time I was in the service elevator. I keep my breathing even and my eyes on the numbers above the door.

Luke watches the numbers, too. He points when the number changes.

“Thirty,” he says. “Thirty-one.”

I wonder if that’s normal. Do four-year-olds know numbers? I try to remember Mila counting, and I can’t think of a time she did. But did I ever ask?

“Almost there,” I say.

The doors open on the penthouse floor, and Luke walks out ahead of us. He stops in the center of the wide corridor and turns in a slow circle.

“It’s quiet up here,” he says.

“It will be,” I tell him. “That’s the point.”

I lead them to the main suite. The doors are propped open. Drop cloths cover most of the surfaces, but the windows on the north and west walls are installed, and the view is unobstructed.

Luke walks to the window.

“Be careful,” Gabby calls out.

He stands at the glass and looks out.

I watch him.

Gabby comes to stand beside me, taking in the massive space. She’s seeing what it will be, I think. The same way she did downstairs.

“This is extraordinary,” she says softly. She’s not talking to me, exactly. It’s more like she forgot for a second that she was saying it out loud.

“Wait until it’s finished,” I tell her.

She looks at the view over Luke’s head. The Strip in the midday heat, shimmering and white. “How long have you been building this?”

“Planning, three years. Breaking ground, fourteen months.”