Page 7 of Pistols and Plush Toys

Gerard held up his hands passively.“You didn’t want to talk about it before, so I’m checking in now.”

“This is not the basement. We are not–we are nothing like him.”

“We aren’t,”Gerard said confidently.“But this is outside the lines of the stuff we’ve done before. I wouldn’t be your best friend if I wasn’t checking to see how you’re doing with it, Kolya.”

He leaned on the nickname until Nikolai huffed and turned back to look at him. Nikolai had proposed this idea originally, because he was still his father’s son, but he’d waffled as they’d gotten close to execution. Ultimately Gerard had talked him around. Because it wasn’t just business, there were people’s lives on the line. A city on the line.

Mattia Vitale couldn’t be left unchecked.

“I’m fine. I don’t like this plan and I don’t trust it, but what else do we have?”

They’d had this exact conversion no less than ten times. Gerard stared at him. “Maybe you should call Dr. Quincy,” he finally said in English. “It’s been a while.”

Nikolai's former therapist. Gerard didn’t say it to be cruel, but Nikolai still felt it like a knife. It was only two decades worth of controlling his reactions that meant he didn’t fold his arms defensively across his chest.

“And what I’m say?” He asked haughtily. “I am kidnapping person and feel bad?”

Gerard gave him a look. “You forgot to empty your trash. At least three bottles in there by my count. Maybe you could talk about that.”

Fuck. He’d forgotten.

“Is fine,” Nikolai growled. “Is under control.”

Gerard sighed. “You can bullshit a lot of people, Kolya, but not a professional bull shitter.” Gerard’s hand went to his pocket and Nikolai knew he was fingering the switchblade there. Gerardhad a thing with knives. He always had at least one on him, and he’d fidget with them during idle moments.

It said a lot that he wasn’t pulling it out now.

Nikolai blew out a breath. This bedroom wasn’t cold, but goosebumps prickled up the back of his neck. For a second he could smell damp basement air, the all too familiar mold and crumbling stone scent. He hadn’t seen his father’s basement for over two decades, but every so often those memories came back with the kind of clarity that made him nauseous.

He wanted a drink now, which was the worst of it. There was a brand new handle of vodka in his office, and he itched to pour himself a glass. The first swallow would be sharp and bracing. It would clear everything else out, keep him focused.

He still had time before everyone arrived, he could just grab a bottle—

No. No, he couldn’t. He was working. Heneededto be sober. Present. The vices were allowed only after hours. He’d promised himself that.

Not to mention he’d only be proving Gerard right.

“I will think about Dr. Quincy,” Nikolai conceded in the silence. “After. Right now, no distractions. We are needing to focus.”

“Cheers,” Gerard said. “I’ll take it. But look, if at any point you need to talk, you come to me, okay? We don’t do that stonewall bullshit your dad did. We agreed Brooks would stay here because this place is the most secure, but if you can’t handle it–”

“I can handle it,” Nikolai cut in.

Gerard let out a belabored breath. “Yeah, yeah. You know what I mean though.”

“Yes,” Nikolai said stiffly. He was still thinking about the vodka. About how good it would feel. The warm burn in his chest after it went down. The way it made everything easier.

But he couldn’t have it. Not now.

Simultaneously, both of their phones chirped in their pockets. Gerard reached for his before Nikolai did, too distracted by his thoughts.

“Orders from on high,” Gerard said. “That’s my cue.”

He meant Meredith then. Nikolai pulled out his phone. She’d texted a request for Gerard to take point at the gate and for Nikolai to come to lunch.

“Hey, and maybe try not to fire your new chef this time,” Gerard added as he turned to the door, “I have to keep hearing about it from Meri.”

“I make no promise,” Nikolai said. Just before Gerard was out of the room, Nikolai forced the words out. “Thank you. For the talk.”

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