Page 33 of Deadly Offer

“You brought that?” Alexei’s voice held a note of surprise.

“Did you expect anything less?” Grigorii’s response brooked no argument.

Reuben crossed to stand beside Nikon at the window, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “That’s him?” he asked, nodding toward the figure being escorted into the building.

“That’s him.” Nikon’s jaw tightened.

Reuben’s eyes shifted to the bottle on the table. “What’s with the drink?”

“Our father’s favorite.” Nikon felt the words scrape his throat. “When that vodka appears, someone’s life is about to change. Usually for the worse.”

Reuben’s expression remained neutral, but Nikon caught the slight widening of his eyes.

The elevator chimed again. All four men turned as the doors slid open, revealing Andrey flanked by two guards.

Despite his disheveled appearance—split lip, rumpled clothes, zip-tied wrists—his chin remained lifted in defiance even while his usually meticulous hair hung limp across his forehead. Andrey’s gaze swept the room, lingering briefly on Reuben before settling on the vodka bottle, pupils dilating at the sight.

“Well.” A hollow laugh escaped him. “At least you’re giving me the good stuff for my send-off.”

One of the guards pushed Andrey into a chair across from Nikon.

“You won’t be drinking today.” Grigorii took his position at the head of the table, unbuttoning his suit jacket with deliberate movements.

Alexei placed a laptop on the table, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. Graphs and transaction logs appeared on the wall screen behind him. “Let’s begin with the financial discrepancies.”

Nikon studied his youngest brother’s face. Gone was the boyish charm Andrey had always wielded like a weapon, replaced by a coldness that made him look more like Grigorii than ever before. But there was something else there too... a flicker of fear behind the bravado.

“You’ve been selling our weapons to Dmitrii.” Nikon kept his voice even though his pulse hammered in his throat.

Andrey’s mouth twisted. “Getting right to it, then? No family pleasantries first?”

“You sacrificed those when you tried to flee the country with our money.” Alexei zoomed in on a particular spreadsheet showing transfer dates and amounts.

Grigorii placed a stack of surveillance photos on the table, sliding them toward Andrey one by one. “Your right-hand man, Daniil, at the south warehouse. Him meeting with Vasily, Dmitrii’s lieutenant. You at the airfield this morning with four-point-two million in cash and a fake passport.”

Nikon watched Andrey’s fingers twitch against the zip-tie around his wrists. It was something Nikon noticed in Andrey since childhood. When caught in a lie, Andrey’s fingers would dance against the nearest surface, as if playing piano keys only he could hear. Some things never changed, even when everything else had.

Andrey’s gaze flicked between the photos, his expression hardening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The numbers don’t lie.” Alexei tapped his screen, bringing up more documents. “Nine million in missing inventory over four months. Transfers matching those exact amounts appearing in accounts linked to Dmitrii’s within forty-eight hours of each theft.”

“And every time,” Nikon added, leaning forward, “you were the only one with access to the shipping manifests, the security codes, and the transport schedules.”

A muscle jumped in Andrey’s jaw. “You’re blamingmebecause I’m the easy target. The addict. The fuck-up.”

“We’re blaming you because youdidit.” Nikon’s voice remained level, though each word felt like acid in his mouth. “We have the evidence. Financial records. Surveillance footage. Your own crew talking to save their skin.”

“My men wouldn’t turn on me.” Andrey’s confident façade cracked slightly.

“Daniil did.” Grigorii slid another photo across the table—Andrey’s lieutenant speaking with Grigorii in what appeared to be an interrogation room. “He was quite thorough once he understood the alternatives.”

Andrey’s nostrils flared, his breath coming faster. His gaze darted around the room, searching for an escape route. Finding none, he suddenly lunged for the vodka bottle in the center of the table.

Grigorii’s hand shot out, catching Andrey’s wrist with bruising force. “You’ve lost the right.”

“The right?” Andrey yanked his arm back, lips curling into a snarl. “What right? The right to drink the precious vodka? The right to be a real Matvei? I’ve always been the afterthought—your baby brother you never trusted with anything that really matters.”

“We gave you everything.” Grigorii’s voice remained steady, but Nikon saw the pale-knuckled grip he had maintained on the edge of the table. “Position. Protection. Power.”

---