Page 15 of Deadly Offer

“Apparently can wait, huh?” Andrey picked up one of the surveillance photos before Nikon could stop him. “Besides, what’s a few missing caches compared to Dmitrii’s new poker operation? That’s the real threat, isn’t it?”

On the monitor, another car pulled up to Dmitrii’s entrance.

“Or maybe,” Andrey continued, studying the photo with exaggerated interest, “it’s not the poker room that has you worried. Maybe it’s who’s inside.”

Nikon’s phone buzzed. A text from Reuben:

“Made it out. He took the bait. Tell you everything when I C U.”

Relief flooded through him, but he kept his expression neutral as he turned to his brother. “If you have concerns about business decisions—”

“Business?” Andrey laughed, the sound sharp and cold. “Likethesebusiness decisions?” He tossed the photo onto the desk. “Funny how our shipments keep disappearing right when we need leverage against Dmitrii.” His eyes gleamed in the monitor’s glow. “Almost like someone wants us distracted while he builds his empire.”

The feed showed Reuben emerging from the club, but Andrey wasn’t finished.

“You know what’s really interesting?” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “How your pretty boy always seems to know exactly which whales to target. Which ones to bleed dry, which ones to let win? I always assumed you were feeding him theinformation.” His smile turned cruel. “But maybe he’s feeding someone else.”

“Careful.” The word came out like a blade being unsheathed.

“Why? Afraid I’ll say what everyone’s thinking? That you’re so busy protecting your pet project, you can’t see he’s playing both sides?” Andrey shifted off the table, the metallic zipper of his designer track jacket catching the blue light from the monitors. “Or maybe you do see it, and you just don’t care.”

Nikon watched Reuben’s car pull away on the monitor, fighting to keep his hands steady.

“Tell me, Nikon.” Andrey wandered over to the door. “When Dmitrii finally makes his move, whose bed will your pretty boy be warming?”

The door closed before Nikon could respond. On the monitor, Reuben’s taillights disappeared into the night.

Nikon opened his drawer, slipped the surveillance photos inside, and locked it. Tomorrow, he’d hear Reuben’s report. But tonight, he just needed Reuben home safe.

The monitor showed Dmitrii’s empty parking lot. One hour and thirty-two minutes.

End of surveillance.

Chapter 7

Reuben’s fingers fiddled with the edge of a poker chip as he watched Dmitrii work the room like a conductor before his orchestra.

At the first table, Dmitrii clasped an aging oligarch’s shoulder, murmuring something that made the man’s bodyguards shift their weight. Three steps brought him to a Chinese investment banker, where he bowed, speaking in fluid Mandarin that drew appreciative nods. The poker room staff parted before him like water around a stone, eyes downcast, hands clasped behind their backs.

Reuben watched it all, remembering how Dmitrii had changed his act each time they met. Like a theater performer switching masks, Dmitrii played whatever part he thought would get what he wanted. Now, as their eyes met across the room, Dmitrii’s smile told Reuben another show was about to start.

As Dmitrii approached, his grey eyes sharp and assessing beneath the carefully styled dark hair, Reuben was struck again by how different he was from Nikon. He wasn’t quite as tall as Nikon, but his presence demanded attention all the same. Although Reuben suspected that had more to do with careful cultivation than natural charisma.

The first night Reuben walked into Dmitrii’s domain was all business. Dmitrii watched him from behind one-way glass during what was obviously a staged poker game, then brought him to an office designed to intimidate. Dmitrii’s interest then had been immediate. Not quite a cold distance, but the focusedattention of someone who had already decided what they wanted.

During his second visit to Dmitrii’s poker rooms, everything changed. Instead of watching from afar, that time around Dmitrii watched him from the rail like a scientist studying something new under a microscope. His questions dug deeper:How did Reuben read people so well? What made him leave finance? Where did he learn to play like that?

That night, Dmitrii kept a respectful distance. But his eyes never left Reuben, taking in every move, every gesture, every word.

However, tonight felt different. Tonight, Dmitrii kept getting too close. He’d turned from cold businessman to intimate friend, telling stories about his past, acting like someone who really understood Reuben. But everything still felt planned, like a trap being set. Dmitrii was a spider, and his web was made of quiet words and careful touches, all designed to draw Reuben in closer.

“You’re playing better than when you first came here.” Dmitrii was now seated next to Reuben, so close their arms almost touched. It was rare to see the poker room owner playing at his own tables. But, apparently, tonight Dmitrii had made an exception. Dmitrii made a small gesture, and a server appeared right away with his drink; gin, neat. “But then again, maybe you’ve always been good at reading people.”

Reuben’s jaw tightened. He stared at the table, watching the dealer’s quick, steady hands. “Just luck, I guess.”

“Luck?” Dmitrii’s laugh drew every eye in the room before they quickly looked away. “No, I don’t think so. Nikon wouldn’t waste his time on someone who relies on luck.”

Reuben’s shoulders dropped, copying the way losing players looked when they were about to fold. At Nikon’s name, Reuben fought the smile that threatened to creep onto his face. Instead,he made a show of letting his mouth twist into a practiced frown. He moved his chair back a bit in a show of irritation, letting Dmitrii think his plan of needling Reuben was beginning to work.

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