Page 34 of Deadly Hands

Reuben noticed Nikon reaching for the concealed weapon under his fine suit - a subtle reminder of the Matvei family’s power structure. Whatever Nikon felt for his brother, clan loyalty would always come first.

“Andrey.” Grigorii’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “You’re late.”

“Traffic.” Andrey’s attempt at casual dismissal slurred slightly at the edges as he dropped into his chair. “Some of us still handle street-level business, not just playing cards all day.”

The dig was aimed at Nikon but landed on Reuben. He felt Nikon’s fingers tighten on his knee, a protective gesture that somehow made everything worse. These men had killed for less than Andrey’s implied insult, and Reuben’s presence was forcing Nikon to choose between family loyalty and... whatever this thing between them had become.

“Speaking of business.” Grigorii nodded to the maitre d’, who began redirecting other diners away from their section. The staff moved with efficient grace, clearing nearby tables without drawing attention.

“A toast.” Grigorii raised his glass, the dark red wine catching the light like a fresh wound. “To family loyalty.”

The words hung heavy in the air as two of Grigorii’s men appeared, dragging a third figure between them. Young–God, so young–barely out of his teens, with fear radiating from everypore. Reuben recognized him as one of Andrey’s newer recruits, the one who’d been watching their poker room with too much interest lately.

The boy’s age hit Reuben like a physical blow. A few months ago, that was him, kneeling on the floor while men in tailored suits decided his fate. The only difference was that Nikon had seen something worth keeping in Reuben’s fear.

Grigorii stood with calculated grace, drawing everyone’s attention like moths to a flame. “Sometimes,” he said, voice gentle in a way that made Reuben’s skin crawl, “loyalty must be taught through example.”

The gun appeared in Grigorii’s hand with the natural grace of a conductor raising his baton. The young man began to sob, the sound cutting through the restaurant’s carefully maintained silence.

“Please,” his words shuddered between sobs, “Mr. Matvei, I didn’t—”

The gunshot split the silence. Reuben watched helplessly as the boy collapsed, crimson spreading across the carpet like spilled wine. Around them, the restaurant staff materialized with cleaning supplies concealed in service carts, their movements so rigorous they seemed choreographed.

“That,” Grigorii tucked the weapon away, “was your traitor, Andrey.”

Andrey lurched to his feet, his movements uncoordinated and desperate. “You had no right! He was mine to—” His protest died as Grigorii raised one scarred hand.

“Sit down.”

Andrey collapsed back into his chair like a puppet with cut strings. In that moment, despite the drug-fueled aggression, he looked terrifyingly young himself.

Reuben pulled away when Nikon reached for him, his fingers trembling against the tablecloth. The boy’s deathreplayed behind his eyes, overlaid with the memory of Luka’s interrogation weeks ago. He’d given Nikon that information too, his careful observations leading to violence with the same ruthless efficiency as Grigorii’s bullet.

“Now you’re wondering if you could have prevented this.” Grigorii’s voice drew Reuben’s attention back to the present. The eldest Matvei watched him with something almost like kindness in his battle-hardened face. “Don’t. In our world, choices have immediate consequences. The boy chose to sell information about Andrey’s operation to the Mexicans. Just asyouchose to stay that first night.”

The cleaning crew continued to work in silence, erasing evidence of the execution like they were clearing wine stains at a normal dinner service. The casual professionalism of it all made Reuben’s stomach turn.

“And you, Andrey.” Grigorii turned to Andrey, whose drug-fueled bravado had crumbled. “You’ve been sampling our product. Using our own supply, compromising security, and making stupid rash decisions that put the family at risk.”

“I haven’t—” Andrey’s protest withered under his brother’s stare.

“The attempt on Reuben’s life wasfuckingstupid.” Grigorii’s words fell like stones into still water. “Had you succeeded, you would have started a war within our own organization. Did you think Nikon wouldn’t burn everything to ash to avenge him?”

Two quiet moments merged: Nikon’s sharp intake of breath and Reuben finding something unexpected in Grigorii’s eyes... understanding.

“Now you get it,” Grigorii said, his accent growing stronger. “We can’t have people choosing sides.”

The carpet where the boy had died was already clean, no trace remaining of what had happened moments ago. OnlyAndrey’s trembling hands, and the lingering scent of bleach, suggested anything out of the ordinary had occurred.

“Andrey.” Grigorii’s tone shifted, carrying the weight of final judgment. “You will come with me tonight. We will... address your situation.”

Relief and terror fought on Andrey’s face. The others knew what this meant. He would be fixed - whether he wanted it or not.

“The rest of you,” Grigorii surveyed the table, “willnotinterfere. Is that clear?”

Nikon inclined his head, though Reuben could feel the rage simmering beneath his controlled exterior. Alexei, meanwhile, raised his glass with a thin-lipped smile, before sipping his drink.

“Grigorii.” Andrey’s voice cracked, drug-induced confidence evaporating entirely. “I only meant to—”

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