Page 20 of Deadly Hands

“Corey didn’t betray you.”

“No. However, he made a grave mistake. There’s a difference.” Nikon was close enough now that Reuben could smell his cologne. “One you should understand.”

The kiss. They were finally acknowledging it.

“Was it a mistake?” Reuben’s heart hammered against his ribs.

“Was what a mistake?” Nikon’s voice carried an edge beneath its controlled surface.

“You know what.” Reuben tapped the polished surface of the desk, letting his fingers linger. “What we started right here, on this desk. Was it a mistake?”

“That depends.” Nikon’s hand came up, fingers brushing Reuben’s jaw. “On whether you’ve learned the lesson I’ve been teaching you.”

“Which is?”

“Power, Reuben. Real power isn’t in violence or money.” His thumb traced Reuben’s lower lip. “It’s in knowing when to use them. And when to show mercy.”

Understanding clicked into place. “You saved Corey to show me...”

“That I can be merciful.” Nikon’s eyes darkened. “When given reason to be.”

The space between them crackled with tension. Reuben thought of Corey’s missing hand, of the detective they’d be watching tomorrow, of all the careful moves that had brought them to this moment.

“The dinner wasn’t just for show, was it?”

“No.” Nikon’s other hand settled on his waist. “That was for us. Everything else was... convenient timing.”

A knock at the door interrupted whatever might have happened next. Nikon stepped back smoothly as his security chief entered with updates about the detective’s movements.

Reuben watched Nikon shift seamlessly back into business mode, issuing orders and analyzing information. The man who had almost kissed him again vanished beneath the surface of the calculating crime boss.

But now Reuben understood both sides of him better. The mercy and the violence. The business and the desire. The careful dance they’d been performing since they’d first met.

He just wasn’t sure which was more dangerous... understanding Nikon, or wanting him anyway.

Chapter 8

Grigorii’s cryptic text had come an hour ago, and these emergency meetings only meant one thing - something threatened their empire.

Nikon stood in the doorway of the empty building, twenty-two floors above the city. Through plastic-covered windows, city lights mixed with the harsh glow of a few construction lamps hanging from bare beams. He studied the dark shapes of his three brothers in the unfinished concrete room of Alexei’s latest office development project.

Grigorii sat ramrod straight in his tracksuit, worn trainers crossed at the ankles, scarred hands resting on thighs thick with muscle earned through years of violence. Even relaxed, his posture held the coiled tension of a man who’d spent some two decades defending his family’s business. The eldest Matvei brother wore his battered athletic wear like armor, each scuff and stain a battle scar from keeping his younger brothers alive.

Alexei, on the other hand, sat with perfect posture, every movement precise and planned. His custom suit, polished shoes, and platinum watch painted the picture of success. Like his manicured hands, everything about the younger twin’s appearance was carefully chosen to express “respectable businessman.” But it was all part of the mask he wore to hide their family’s true business.

Next to Alexei sat his twin, Andrey, who lounged in expensive streetwear with a swagger that screamed attitude. Unlike his refined twin brother, Andrey loved to show off his wealth; from his flashy diamond watch to his rare sneakers. He carriedhimself like someone who didn’t care what anyone thought. Money hadn’t made Andrey careful like his twin; instead, it had made him bold and reckless in his own dangerous way.

The three other faces of the Matvei criminal empire were waiting to pass judgment on the one thing Nikon couldn’t bring himself to treat as just business.

Reuben.

As Nikon crossed the makeshift meeting space, his eyes were drawn to the single vodka bottle sat atop a rusted metal folding table, its weathered legs uneven against the raw concrete floor.

It was their father’s favorite vodka - a premium Russian brand. Grigorii never held these meetings without it. The bottle served as a reminder of how far they’d come since their parents died, leaving twenty-year-old Grigorii to raise his three little brothers on his own.

The sight of it made Nikon’s jaw clench. His oldest brother only reached for their father’s vodka when difficult decisions needed making.

Grigorii opened the bottle with his scarred hands and poured a drink. He slid the glass across the table to Nikon. The simple act was both an offer and a warning. When their father’s vodka appeared, it meant serious family business ahead.

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