Page 18 of Deadly Legacy
The elevator hummed as it carried him to the basement level. Matthew Capital’s private gym—another one of Nikon’s security measures—was small but well-equipped, ensuring Reuben could maintain his training without leaving the building.
The sharp smell of disinfectant mixed with sweat hit him as he pushed open the door. Stepan was already there, winding athletic tape around his knuckles and wrists. The head of security’s massive frame made the gym seem smaller than it was. He nodded when Reuben entered.
“Didn’t expect to see you today,” Stepan said, his muted Russian accent softening the words. Stepan had been stationed at Matthew Capital as part of Nikon’s increased security measures, spending his downtime in the gym between patrol rotations. “Something happen?”
Reuben stripped off his dress shirt, revealing the lean muscle he’d developed over months of training. “Just needed to clear my head.”
Stepan tossed him some hand wraps. “A clear head is good. But a focused mind is better.”
They moved to the mats. Reuben’s first punches carried unusual force, his movements aggressive rather than controlled. The impact against the pads sent vibrations up his arms, each hit landing with a satisfying thud. Stepan blocked easily, his expression unreadable.
“More power today. Good.” Stepan adjusted his stance with a grunt. “Form is garbage, though. Balance first, always. Power follows.”
Reuben tried again, focusing on his footwork. His knuckles stung with each impact against Stepan’s practice pads, the sharp pain oddly satisfying.
Three combinations later, Stepan stepped back, frowning. “Your mind is elsewhere. In a real fight, this gets you killed.”
Reuben lowered his hands, sweat dripping down his temples and leaving cool trails on his heated skin. “My father contacted me. Wants to meet before the Quantize Guard presentation.”
“Ah.” Stepan nodded, understanding immediately. “The father who cut ties.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Reuben grabbed a towel, wiping his face. “Nikon arranged for us to meet at Vasilisa tonight.”
Stepan’s eyes narrowed, a rare flicker of approval crossing his normally impassive face. “Smart choice.” His fingers already tapped rapidly on his phone. “I’ll adjust the security rotation.”
“I don’t need—” Reuben’s hands lifted in protest.
“Not for you,” Stepan interrupted, his thick finger tapping Reuben’s chest once. “For Nikon. He’ll pace all night, checking his phone every three minutes.” He hesitated, then added, “I understand complicated fathers. Mine was a bastard too.”
The admission surprised Reuben. In months of training, Stepan had never shared anything personal.
“What happened between you?” Reuben asked, taking a water bottle from the small fridge. The cold plastic felt good against his palm.
Stepan flexed his hands, considering his words. “He drank, he hit, he blamed us for his failures. When I was twenty, I saw him in Moscow after years apart.” He gestured for Reuben to correct his stance, moving his right foot slightly outward. “I thought seeing him would fix something.”
“Did it?”
“No. But it showed me something important.” Stepan’s eyes met Reuben’s. “He was still the same cruel man, but I was no longer the scared boy. But that knowledge? It freed me.”
Reuben considered Stepan’s words, turning them over in his mind. The parallel was clear; both facing fathers who had caused pain, both needing to confront that past not for reconciliationbut for closure. The insight was unexpected, coming from the typically reserved security chief.
“Thank you,” Reuben said simply. “For sharing that.”
Stepan nodded once, then raised the practice pads. “Now hit properly. Anger doesn’t win fights. Control does.”
They trained for another thirty minutes, Reuben’s focus sharpening with each combination. By the time they finished, his muscles burned pleasantly, and the mental fog had lifted. The anxiety about meeting Wallace remained, but it had transformed from a knife between his ribs to a stone in his pocket; still present but manageable, something he could carry.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes in the executive locker room, Reuben returned to his office. He spent another hour reviewing the Quantize Guard specifications, making notes for tomorrow’s presentation. The technical details provided a welcome distraction from thoughts of his father.
When he finally left Matthew Capital, the evening sky had darkened to deep blue. His watch showed just past 5:30 as his driver navigated toward the penthouse he shared with Nikon.
“Home sweet home,” Reuben murmured to himself as the elevator opened directly into their foyer. The sound of running water from the master bathroom told him Nikon had already returned. The space felt like a sanctuary after the day’s tensions. Chrome and glass furniture stood alongside heavy wooden pieces with Cyrillic carvings. Their merged tastes created something neither would have chosen alone, but both now claimed as home.
In the bedroom, with the shower still running behind the closed bathroom door, Reuben stood before his closet, deliberating. His fingers trailed over his collection of suits, stopping on a deep blue one with subtle pinstripes. Wallace had once called it “too flamboyant for serious business.” Thememory of his father’s disapproving frown surfaced. It was the same expression he’d worn when Reuben had come out to him.
Reuben pulled the suit out, armor for the battlefield ahead.
The sound of the shower shut off in the master bathroom. Moments later, Nikon emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets still clinging to his shoulders.
