Page 58 of Mafia King

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.”