Page 17 of Deadly Hands

Nikon moved to the bar, pouring two fingers of scotch. He needed the moment to compose himself, to push down the lingering heat from Reuben’s kisses. “Your concern is noted.”

“Is it?” Alexei accepted the offered drink but didn’t sip it. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re making yourself vulnerable. I saw the way you handled Gilroy tonight - thatwasn’tsubtle. And Reuben’s not just playing the games anymore, is he? I hear he’s providing intelligence on our rivals.”

“Subtlety wasn’t the point.”

“No, marking your territory was.” Alexei’s tone grew gentler. “Which is exactly what has me worried. Our enemies will notice. They already see him at the tables, playing against their representatives. If they realize how much he really observes, how much he tells you...”

Nikon’s hand tightened around his glass. The rational part of his mind knew Alexei was right. And yet...

“He reads people better than anyone I’ve seen.” The words came out more defensive than intended. “A few weeks ago, his observations about the cartel’s money flow helped us-”

“This isn’t about his value to operations.” Alexei cut him off. “This is about how you look at him when you think no one’s watching. About how you nearly broke Gilroy’s hand for touching him. About how I just found you in here, looking more affected by this guy than I’ve seen you by anything in years.”

Silence stretched between them. Nikon moved to the window, staring down at the poker room where Reuben had already returned to his seat at the high-stakes table. Even from this distance, he could see the slight tension in Reuben’s shoulders as he played against men who would kill him if they knew what he really observed during these games.

“There are better ways to integrate him,” Alexei continued. “Ways that won’t paint such an obvious target on his back. Or yours.”

“And what would you suggest?”

“Let him work with me on the more legitimate side of our businesses. His finance background could be useful there. We can still use his talent for reading people, but in boardrooms instead of poker rooms filled with our rivals.”

Nikon watched as below, Reuben called a bet from a Colombian representative, his casual posture betraying nothing of their earlier encounter. Or of the fact that he was likely cataloging every tell, every casual comment that might reveal the cartel’s current operations.

“You think I haven’t considered that?” Nikon’s reflection showed more emotion than he meant to reveal. “Moving him to safer territory?”

“I think,” Alexei stood, moving to stand beside his brother, “you’ve got one of our most valuable intelligence assets making eyes at you across poker tables. And now you’ve just claimed him in front of some of the most dangerous people in our world.”

The truth in those words stung. Below, Reuben won a significant pot, his smile perfectly calibrated - friendly enough to avoid offense, but not so friendly as to invite unwanted conversation. He’d learned that balance quickly, another reason he was so valuable.

“Just be careful, Nikon.” Alexei touched his shoulder. “Not everyone in the family will be as understanding as I am. And our enemies... if they ever realize that Reuben sees more than just their cards...” He let the warning trail off.

After Alexei left, Nikon remained at the window. His world had just shifted on its axis, all because of one unexpected kiss.

The smart move would be to pull back. To protect both himself and Reuben from the dangers Alexei had outlined. To remember that every time Reuben sat at that table, he was gathering information that could get him killed if the wrong person realized what he was really doing.

Instead, Nikon reached for his phone, typing out a message he knew he shouldn’t send:

“Next time, stay when I tell you to.”

When the quick response from Reuben showed up on the screen, something close to a smile tugged at Nikon’s lips:

“Next time, make it an offer instead of an order.”

Chapter 7

The difference between an ordinary business dinner and this one was all in the small details.

Reuben noted them automatically now: the way other diners carefully avoided looking their way, how the wait-staff moved with practiced precision around Nikon’s security, the slight bulge of shoulder holsters under Italian wool suits.

Months ago, during his final internship days in the financial district, business meetings meant Power Point presentations and nervous associates clutching coffee cups.

Now, power wore a different face.

He watched Nikon order for both of them in fluid Russian, each syllable a reminder of how far he’d strayed from his previous life. The private corner table in the Matvei family’s restaurant felt like another test - one he couldn’t afford to fail, especially not after that kiss they were both pretending hadn’t happened.

The waiter poured wine with the steady hand of a sommelier decanting aged Bordeaux, careful not to let the bottle’s label face Reuben - a detail that would have escaped him weeks ago. Now he recognized it as another layer of protection, preventing anyone from photographing their exact vintage from across the room.

Nikon leaned forward, closing the intimate space between them. “Tell me what you see at the bar.”

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