Page 51 of Mafia King

Nikolai does not slow…

“Your fate has already been decided, mylashka.”

16

THEO

This can’t be the end.

I don’t want it to be.

But Nikolai… he’s not the kind of man to accept betrayal…

The motel-room door closes with a solid, final click.

Nikolai turns the deadbolt without looking away from Theo. The sound is quiet, almost polite, yet it seals the small space as completely as any vault.

Theo’s back hits the thin wall beside the window. There is nowhere left to run, even if that was possible with a man like Nikolai hunting him.

The air-conditioning unit rattles under the sill. Outside, a distant truck changes gear on the highway. Inside, there is only the low buzz of the bedside lamp and the man who now stands between him and every possible exit.

Nikolai does not speak. He simply watches Theo, tall and still, the same controlled presence that once felt protective and now feels like the edge of a blade.

Theo’s heart hammers so hard he can feel it in his throat. His mouth is dry. Every instinct screams that this is the moment the story ends… here, in a cheap room that smells of old cigarette smoke, far from the soft rugs and platinum bracelets and bedtime stories that briefly made him believe another ending was possible.

The silence stretches.

In that stretched silence the present slips, and the past rises clean and sharp…

MANY YEARS AGO

Theo is ten years old again, small enough that the banister rails of the ranch-house staircase still feel wide enough to hide behind. Night has settled over the fields.

Young Theo was supposed to be asleep. Instead the raised voices downstairs have pulled him from his cozy bed and drawn him to the landing in bare feet and a thin nightdress, Maximus clutched tight against his chest.

Theo knows those voices. The same three men in suits who have come before, always with papers, always with offers that his grandfather refuses. But tonight they have brought something else.

Baseball bats hang in the men’s hands, the wood dull under the hallway light. Theo tries to call out—to warn his Grandpa, to scream, to do anything—but his voice locks in his throat. He can only watch…

His grandfather stands in the center of the kitchen, shotgun still resting against the wall too far away to reach in time. Grandpa is calm. He has always been calm when these men appear. The first swing catches him across the shoulder. He staggers but does not fall. The second and third land harder. He fights back a little with blocks and half-hearted jabs, solid and stubborn, but three younger men with bats are too many.

Theo can’t put his finger on it, but something doesn’t seem right. Grandpa might be older than these men, but he’s tougher. He’s strong, he’s tough, he should be fighting back properly not letting this happen to him!

But by the time the men step away Grandpa is on the floor, blood at the corner of his mouth, one eye already swelling shut. The tallest of the three leans down…

“Next time it will be worse,” he says, voice almost conversational. “Sell the land while you still can.”

They leave the way they came, through the front door, into the dark, car doors slamming, engines fading down the long driveway.

Theo finally moves. He scurries down the stairs on shaking legs and drops to his knees beside his Grandpa. Maximus tumbles to the floor. His hands hover over the blood and the bruises, useless and small.

But Theo’s grandfather smiles. The smile is crooked from the split lip, but it is real…

“What these men don’t realize,” Grandpa says, voice low and steady, “is that I’m already three steps ahead of them.”

Theo does not understand. He only watches as Grandpa pushes himself to his feet, wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of one wrist, and reaches for the shotgun. He checks the chamber once, then walks out into the night without another word.

Three sharp shots crack across the fields and Theo gasps. He knows what has gone done, but he knows too that shooting people will get you in trouble with the police.