Page 20 of Deadly Offer

“Well?”

Reuben traced the outline of Nikon’s hand on his leg, considering how to explain that Andrey’s betrayal ran deeper than anyone had imagined. “The game’s bigger than we thought. Much bigger.”

Chapter 9

Nikon had been awake for twenty hours straight when the penthouse clock hit three A.M., his eyes burning as he reviewed the same damning documents again. The potted plant in the corner, some expensive thing Reuben had insisted would ‘soften the space,’ cast a distracting jagged pattern across the opposite white wall. The pristine luxury of the room—all clean lines and perfect angles—felt like a mockery against the ugliness of the numbers on his screen.

Nine million dollars missing. His brother’s signature on every document.

“Nine million.” Nikon slammed the inventory report onto the glass coffee table hard enough that Reuben flinched. The sharp pain behind his right eye intensified, a vice tightening with each passing hour. “Nine million in weapons missing over four months, andno onenoticed?” His jaw ached from grinding his teeth, another betrayal by his own body.

The penthouse apartment felt too small suddenly, despite its open floor plan and wall of windows overlooking the city. Nikon paced between the L-shaped white sofas.

“Someone noticed.” Reuben sat cross-legged on the sofa, laptop balanced on his knees. The blue glow of the screen caught the angles of his face as he looked up. “They just didn’t say anything.”

Something in Reuben’s steady gaze anchored him. When had that happened? When had this man become the fixed point in Nikon’s increasingly unstable world? Nikon’s fingers ceased their restless tapping. Reuben didn’t offer empty reassurancesor platitudes. He dealt in facts, in truths, even when they cut like knives.

It was exactly what Nikon needed, even when he wanted to rage against it.

“You mean someone helped him?” Nikon stopped pacing. His reflection fractured across the decorative mirror on the wall. “Someone else inside our organization?”

His own face stared back at him in fragmented pieces—fitting, since that’s exactly how he felt. Fractured. Part of him still clung to the desperate hope there was some explanation. The other part, the coldly logical Matvei who had helped build the empire Andrey was trying to tear down, already knew the truth. Andrey had always been impulsive, but this... Nikon turned away from his shattered reflection, unable to look at himself any longer.

“Not just that.” Reuben set the laptop aside and padded across the cream tiles, barefoot and wearing one of Nikon’s shirts. He dropped a folder onto the glass coffee table. “Three separate poker games where Andrey’s lieutenants made major losses to Dmitrii’s people.”

Nikon ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the stubble beneath his fingers. “Money laundering.”

“And the money they lost? Practically identical to the street value of the missing inventory.” Reuben tapped the folder. “These aren’t just random items disappearing. These are specific weapons, the kind Dmitrii’s been using to arm his expansion into the east district.”

Paper rustled as Nikon flipped through the folder. His stomach twisted. “Each game occurred the day after a weapons shipment arrived.”

“Andrey is selling our weapons to Dmitrii and using the poker games to transfer payment.”

Nikon closed the folder with care, though his fingers itched to tear it apart. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

A muscle ticked in Nikon’s jaw. “Don’t be sorry. Be certain.” He moved to the kitchen, separated from the living area by a sleek island of black marble. He opened the refrigerator, stared at its contents without seeing them, then closed it again.

“Are you going to eat something, or just intimidate the appliances?” Reuben’s mouth quirked up at one corner.

“I’m thinking.”

“You’re avoiding.” Reuben crossed to the kitchen. “The evidence is there, Nikon. Andrey is working with Dmitrii.”

Nikon pressed his palms flat against the cool marble. “Myfuckingbrother.”

“Yes.” Reuben reached for him, then seemed to think better of it, his hand falling back to his side. “Your brother, who’s been increasingly unstable since his stint in rehab. Who’s been vocal about feeling sidelined in family business?”

“He’s still family.” The words came out sharper than Nikon intended. “If we’re wrong about this...” The sentence hung unfinished. But they weren’t wrong, and that knowledge sat like ice in his stomach.

“We’re not wrong.” Reuben sighed. “You’ve seen the warehouse photos, the inventory discrepancies, the bank transfers. Now the poker games. It’s him, Nikon.”

“We need to be absolutely certain.” Nikon returned to the living room, tapping his finger against the inventory report. His mind raced, figuring out possibilities. “Set a trap. Feed him information only he would have access to. Something that would leave no doubt.”

Reuben perched on the arm of the sofa, watching Nikon with eyes that missed nothing. “What kind of trap?”

“A shipment. One that doesn’t exist.” Nikon began to pace again, his shadow stretching and contracting across the cream-colored floor with each pass of the recessed lighting. “We’ll create documentation for a weapons delivery to the old warehouse on Park Street. The one we stopped using after the police raid last month.”

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