THE RULES

Nikolai's Pov

Ace was smarter than I had initially given him credit for and that was fine. Smart people were easier to manage than stupid ones because they understood consequences clearly. The stupid ones needed reminders.

Ivan was still in bed. Ivan was never awake before ten unless someone was on fire.

I set my mug down, walked around the counter, and sat two seats away from Ace at the breakfast bar. He looked up at me because he had no choice.

"We should talk about how this works," I said.

He set the newspaper down. "Okay," he said.

"You have access to the main floor and the rooftop garden upstairs. The east wing is off limits entirely. You do not open any closed door in this apartment without permission and you do not approach my men with questions or requests."

I watched his face while I spoke. He kept it very still, which required effort I could see in the slight tightness around his jaw. "You do not use any phone in this apartment. You do not attempt to contact anyone from your life before last night."

He was quiet for a moment. "What about my jobs," he said.

"You no longer have jobs," I said.

"My landlord will notice I am gone," he said. "He will contact the university. Someone will file a missing persons report."

"Your lease has already been handled. Your landlord has been compensated for the remaining months," I said. "No one is filing anything."

He blinked once. "How."

"Money," I said simply.

He looked down at the counter. I could see him processing that, fitting it into the shape of the situation he was in. When he looked back up his expression was controlled. "What about my acadmic record," he said. "If I just stop showing up I will fail the semester."

"That has been handled as well," I said.

"How," he said again.

"The same way everything is handled," I said. "Does it matter."

He pressed his mouth flat. "It matters to me," he said, quietly but clearly.

I looked at him. "Your record will show a medical leave of absence. You will not fail the semester." I picked up my coffee. "Is there anything else you need to know about your current situation."

He was quiet for a second. "I want to be able to go outside," he said.

I set my mug down. "No."

"Not alone," he said. His voice was steady even though his hands on the counter were not. "With one of your men. I just want actual air. I am not going to run into the street and start screaming. I understand what that would get me."

"The answer is no," I said.

He looked at me directly then. There was something in his expression that was neither fear nor anger but something between them, more honest than either. "I have a healing bullet wound, no phone, no money and no way out of this building," he said. "I am not asking for freedom. I am asking for fifteen minutes of fresh air."

I held his look. He did not drop his eyes, which told me something. Most people looked away from me within the first few seconds of sustained eye contact. It was not a common trait.

"We will revisit it in a week," I said.

"That is not a yes," he said.

"It is not a no either," I said. "Eat your breakfast."

He looked like he had more to say and chose not to say it. That was the correct decision. He pulled the plate toward him and started eating with the focused, careful manner of someone who was very hungry but did not intend to show it.

I drank my coffee and looked at the city through the windows. The surveillance points my men had found around the building were three now. All of them had been used recently and vacated cleanly. Whoever was watching us was patient, methodical, and trained well enough to leave almost nothing behind.

We had one partial boot print from the third location. The brand was military issue. That narrowed it down but not enough yet.

Ivan appeared at the top of the stairs at half past nine, hair loose and shirt only half buttoned. He came down slowly, looked at Ace, then looked at me with his eyebrows raised in a question I answered with a slight shake of my head.

"Morning," Ivan said to Ace, dropping onto the stool beside him and reaching across him for the coffee pot without asking.

Ace leaned back slightly to give him room. "Morning," he said.

"Sleep well," Ivan said, pouring his coffee and settling in like he planned to stay for a while.

"Fine," Ace said.

"You are a terrible liar," Ivan said pleasantly. He sipped his coffee and looked at me over Ace's head with that expression he had, the one that meant he found something more interesting than he expected to. I looked back at the window because encouraging Ivan in the morning was never worth the result.

Ace picked up his fork and ate. He said nothing. Outside the city moved through its morning.

Ivan caught me watching Ace and raised his coffee cup slightly in a small, amused toast. I looked back at the window.

Somewhere in the city a patient man with military boots was watching our building and waiting for something. I intended to find out who sent him and what he wanted before he figured out that we already knew he was there. That was the part of this business most people did not understand. The real work was never the violence. The violence was just the final step. The real work was the waiting and the watching and knowing exactly when to move and when to stay still. I was very good at all three.

The man outside would find that out eventually.

For now there was coffee and a quiet morning and Ace eating his breakfast like a man who had made a decision to survive whatever came next. I found that considerably more interesting than I had expected to.