Page 1 of Deadly Offer

Chapter 1

“She wants you to come for dinner again.” Grigorii checked his watch, the gold case gleaming briefly as he moved his wrist. “My wife. She says my son keeps asking about the man who can read minds.”

Reuben leaned against a stack of pallets, the rough wood catching on his suit jacket. “I’m not psychic. Just observant.”

“To a seven-year-old?” A barely perceptible lift appeared at the corner of Grigorii’s mouth. “It’s the same thing. My little Samuil, he thinks you’re like those American comic books. Next time, bring a cape.”

A puddle on the concrete floor reflected the industrial lights overhead, and the warehouse air hung heavy with the tang of metal and saltwater, undercut by the chemical sweetness of industrial lubricant.

The harbor smell was everywhere inside the building. It showed how close the Matvei business was to the outside world. Through the open doors, Reuben could see shipping containers with a specific trading company logo on them. It was one of the legal businesses that the Matvei’s ran.

Nine months ago, Reuben was just a scared poker player in Nikon’s casino. He had been afraid for his life. But now, things were different. Now he was joking with the head of the Matvei arms operation while waiting for a cartel representative.

Life took strange turns.

“I’ll remember the cape.” Reuben scanned the warehouse, taking in Grigorii’s men positioned strategically throughout the space. But something about one of them, (the one by thenortheast corner), seemed off. Slight tension in the shoulders. Eyes that moved too often.

Probably nothing.

Grigorii checked his watch again. “You should come to my underground fights sometime. Stepan’s fighting Saturday.” He nodded toward Nikon’s man, standing silently nearby. “He won again last night. Big money.”

Reuben raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking to Nikon’s enforcer. “That why he’s here?” Reuben shifted on his feet. A chill permeated the concrete floor, seeping through the soles of his shoes. Reuben had learned that the Matvei’s preferred these industrial spaces—neutral ground where blood could be washed away with a pressure hose if negotiations failed. “Are you looking to recruit me for your fight club?”

“He’s here...” Grigorii’s eyes crinkled with amusement “... because my brother doesn’t trust me to keep you safe.” Grigorii’s mouth hardly moved when he smiled. Just a slight softening around the eyes and a subtle shift in his stance. Not like Nikon, whose rare smiles transformed his entire face. The family resemblance was there, but filtered through two entirely different personalities. “Still, the fighting would be good for you. Toughen you up.”

Before Reuben could respond, the side door opened, and three men walked in.

The leader—Túlio—strode forward with the confident gait of someone who believed spaces belonged to him the moment he entered them. His two associates flanked him, hands hovering near concealed weapons.

“Matvei.” Túlio nodded slowly, looking around the warehouse before focusing on Reuben. “And Nikon’s man.”

Reuben kept his expression neutral, though his stomach tightened. Being assessed by cartel members wasn’t on his list of favorite activities.

“Túlio.” Grigorii extended a hand. “Good to see you again. How’s business?”

“Business would be better if our shipment had arrived on schedule.” Despite the words, Túlio clasped Grigorii’s hand, his smile never reaching his eyes.

The cartel’s shipping schedule had shifted since their last meeting three weeks ago, another sign of the escalating tensions along the coast. Each port authority crackdown changed the rhythm of their operations, forcing adaptations that rippled through the entire network.

“Stepan.” Túlio acknowledged Nikon’s enforcer with something closer to genuine respect. “Good fight last night. You made me money.”

Stepan dipped his head a fraction of an inch, his massive frame shifting closer to Reuben. Nine months in the Matvei organization had taught Reuben to recognize protective positioning when he saw it.

“Underground fights?” Reuben glanced between Stepan and Túlio. “I didn’t realize you were a fan of the sport.”

Túlio’s laugh was genuine. “Sport? No. Investment. When a Matvei enforcer steps into the ring, smart money follows. You haven’t been?” He studied Reuben with new interest. “You should. Stepan here has quite the right hook.”

Grigorii cleared his throat, drawing attention back to business. “We have a small issue with the port authority. Nothing serious, but it’s caused a slight delay with your shipment.”

“Slight?” One of Túlio’s men—younger, with a scar bisecting his left eyebrow—stepped forward. “Three days is not slight when my boss is expecting delivery.”

The temperature in the warehouse seemed to drop. Reuben could sense Stepan tensing even further, preparing for trouble.The distant sound of gulls crying outside the open bay doors all of a sudden seemed very far away.

“Ramiro.” Túlio’s voice carried a warning, his gaze fixed on the younger man who had just stepped forward. “Let me handle this.”

But the damage was done. The atmosphere had shifted from cautious business to something more precarious.

“How much longer?” Túlio’s tone now was more guarded.

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