Page 14 of Deadly Offer

“Questioningyourdecisions, you mean?”

The monitor showed a group of men entering Dmitrii’s club. None of them moved like Reuben.

Thirty-eight minutes now.

Grigorii moved toward the door. “I still have more contacts at the port that I can talk to.” Grigorii’s face hardened, the meaning clear. Someone would bleed tonight. “I’ll find out what they know about the buyers. You...” He jutted a chin at the security feed. “You should call him.”

“He’ll check in when he can.”

Grigorii’s hand rested on the door handle. His mouth thinned as he studied Nikon. Then he released a low grunt—the same sound he made before ending problems permanently.

The door closed behind him. Nikon’s phone sat on the desk, silent. The timestamp on the monitor clicked forward another minute.

Nikon unlocked his bottom drawer and pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey. The glass clinked against the bottle as he poured, his hand steady despite the tension coiling in his chest. Forty-two minutes since Reuben entered Dmitrii’s club.

His phone remained silent. No check-in from Reuben.

The plan was simple: maintain cover, no contact unless necessary. Nikon had set these rules himself. But Grigorii’s warning gnawed at him. If Dmitrii was behind the weapons leak...

Nikon’s fingers found Reuben’s number in his contacts. He stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the call button. One call could blow Reuben’s cover story. Or one call could save his life.

The monitor showed a car arriving at Dmitrii’s. It carried four men Nikon didn’t recognize. His gut twisted as they entered the club. Forty-eight minutes now.

The whiskey glass hit the desk harder than intended. Protocol existed for a reason. Reuben was smart, brilliant at reading people, as well as catching details others missed. He’d recognize danger if he saw it.

But would he see it in time?

Nikon studied the surveillance photos once more. The timestamp on the second facility’s hit aligned with Andrey’s supply run. His youngest brother had been pushing to expand their weapons trade lately, demanding riskier moves and higher profits.

The same way he’d pushed to expand the poker rooms before Reuben arrived. The same way he’d questioned every decision about Reuben since.

The monitor showed no movement at Dmitrii’s entrance. Fifty-two minutes. Nikon’s phone remained silent.

He opened his messages, typed: “Status?” His thumb hovered over ‘send.’ Texting Reuben now meant showing weakness. Showing he didn’t trust Reuben to handle himself.

The whiskey glass was empty. The monitor showed nothing but shadows and parked cars. Fifty-five minutes.

Nikon deleted the message. Poured another drink. Checked his phone again.

Nothing.

A new figure appeared on the monitor. Nikon leaned forward, the glass freezing halfway to his lips. Not Reuben. Just another of Dmitrii’s regulars heading inside.

The door opened behind him. Nikon kept his eyes on the feed. “If this is about the shipping manifests, Grigorii, I’m already—”

“Always so dedicated to work,” Andrey’s voice sliced through the room.

Nikon’s hand moved casually to cover the surveillance photos scattered across his desk. “Late night for you.”

“For both of us.” Andrey drifted closer, his reflection appearing in the monitors’ glow. “Though only one of us seems more interested in watching a single poker room than handling a major security breach.”

“What do you want?”

“Come on, what’s with that tone? Can’t a concerned brother simply check in on family?” Andrey perched on the edge of the desk, deliberately casual. “Especially when that family seems... distracted.”

One hour and fourteen minutes since Reuben entered Dmitrii’s club.

“The weapons shipments—”

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