Page 4 of Pistols and Plush Toys

Nikolai wrapped his hand around a bar in the window and gave it a firm tug. It held.

“Stop worrying,” Gerard said from behind him. Nikolai had heard the footsteps and recognized them, so he didn’t startle.

“You’re supposed to be being with Alex.”

“Alex and Pyotr have it covered,” Gerard said. “I figured the real crisis might be here.”

Nikolai made a sound of derision but didn’t look away from the barred window. The bars had been soldered in and didn’t at all match the aesthetic of the rest of his house. They looked hard. Ugly.

The rest of the room hadn’t been otherwise changed at least. Mostly it had been emptied out, including the adjoining half bath. Left in the room was the bed with crisp new sheets, a bedside table, and a small refrigerator now stocked with drinks and snacks.

“Is fine. We say this plan was best.”

“We did, ” Gerard said, switching from English to Russian. He wasn’t a native speaker like Nikolai was and only switched when they needed to have a private conversation or he was about to step into something that made Nikolai uncomfortable.

Nikolai had a bad feeling it was the latter.

Gerard continued, “But this has to feel a little bit like home, yeah?”

Nikolai shot Gerard a sharp look.

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. Gerard had 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. He needed to 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.”

Gerard flashed him a smile. “No problem. It’s what friends are for. But seriously, if you fire another chef and Meri calls me in the middle of Love Connection again to rant, I’m going to knife you.” He drew his knife out faux threatening. “I can’t live react if I can’t live watch.”

Gerard had a social media presence. Every time he brought it up Nikolai's eyes glazed over. He didn’t care much for social media.

“I’m will try best,” Nikolai sighed.

Then Gerard was gone.

Nikolai lingered, looking the room over. Was the plan really going to work? He oscillated between complete confidence and utter doubt.

Once, the Vitale family had had a lot of honor. Their agreements with the Tkachenko family were ironclad. This plan relied on that history. On whoever was above Mattia Vitale’s head caring when Nikolai Tkachenko leaned on him. To tell that bastard in no uncertain terms to cut the shit.

Another ping came from his phone in his pocket. Meredith . Nikolai forced himself out of the room and headed to the dining room. Meredith was there waiting for him.

Today she was wearing a vibrant green blouse, her platinum blonde hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Her jewelry matched the blouse, green and gold. One of the pieces was from their last summer’s ouroboros collection, and the snake looked beautiful wrapped around her wrist.

“I was just about to send a search party,” Meredith said.

“Gerard was here,” Nikolai said, immediately throwing his friend under the bus. “We were finalizing plan.”

“I thought I saw his car outside.” Meredith raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t he supposed to be with Alex?”

Nikolai could feel her eyes on him and he sidestepped it, taking a seat in front of the single table setting. “He was just wanting to go over it all again.”

Meredith’s considering hum told him that she didn’t believe him for a second. Maybe even that a side conversation between herself and Gerard had occurred.

The Nikolai of a decade ago would’ve taken offense to that, but he was past such things now.

Meredith was the wheels of the operation, the keeper of the schedule, and Gerard was his veritable partner in crime.

Between the three of them they managed a lucrative business, so Nikolai getting ruffled every time a conversation about him was had behind closed doors was pointless.

He was over forty now and had done enough therapy to know those conversations were usually in his best interest anyway.

“Well, I guess you should be quick with your lunch then,” Meredith said briskly. “I heard they’re on the way, so I’ll be heading out.”

Nikolai looked down at the provided meal. It appeared to be pelmeni.

“Did you eat?” He asked.

“Yes, I thought it was very good,” she said. “But if you fire this chef I might not be able to get someone for you while we’re in the middle of this mess.”

She tried to make it a threat, but it sounded the exact opposite to Nikolai. No chef meant more delivery food, which was Nikolai's favorite kind. Plus, Meredith couldn’t micromanage his diet if he could order whatever he wanted on his phone when she wasn’t around.

“I’m understand,” he said.

“A week, two tops,” Meredith said, echoing the conversation they’d had originally about the plan.

Nikolai and Gerard were taking front on it because Meredith wanted nothing to do with it.

She usually worked from his house, but she’d be in one of their offices for the next two weeks instead.

That worked for Nikolai, considering he wanted as few targets here as possible in case Vitale retaliated.

“Yes. It will be quick. Simple.”

“You’ve said,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

She’d made her opinion of their plan unavoidable, and it had almost swayed him and Gerard from carrying it out. The only reason it hadn’t was that she hadn’t been able to come up with anything better either.

If they did nothing, the Mattia Vitale problem would only get worse.

“It will be okay,” Nikolai said, picking up this fork.

“You’re should go.” He pushed around some of the dumplings dubiously.

The dish almost smelled like it should, but he knew it wouldn’t taste like бабушкин pelmeni.

He didn’t know why the chefs even tried at this point.

They’d have better job security not messing around with Russian cuisine.

“Take a bite before I go,” Meredith said. “I’m curious.”

Nikolai did so, chewing slowly. Immediately he hated it. It wasn’t anything like how бабушка would make it. The dough was fine, but the meat wasn’t right. It was bland.

He pushed the plate away and Meredith sighed, long-suffering.