Page 7 of Deadly Legacy
Reuben moved to the bar, selecting a bottle of premium Russian vodka. “My father built his entire identity around being the one in control. I wonder if he even realizes he’s being used.”
Nikon leaned against the counter, watching Reuben pour. “I doubt your father knows what he’s gotten himself into.”
“Are you suggesting I should warn him?” Reuben handed Nikon a glass.
“Would he listen?”
“Not to me.” Reuben’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. “Though he might if I sent a six-foot-two Russian with a gun.”
“Is that how you see me now? Your personal enforcer?” Nikon chuckled as he raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of vodka. The clean, mineral bite spread across his tongue, warming his throat without the harsh burn of cheaper spirits.
“Among other things.” Reuben’s eyes held a teasing light. “Although you wear too many expensive suits to be just muscle.”
Nikon felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. Even amid threats, Reuben’s ability to find levity kept him grounded. “My personal stylist will be relieved to hear it,” he said, the rare hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Your personal stylist is me telling you which shirt looks best.” Reuben sipped his vodka, nose wrinkling slightly at the pepper-sharp finish. “Though I admit you’d look intimidating even in sweatpants.”
“I don’t own sweatpants,” Nikon replied seriously, which made Reuben laugh.
“Of course you don’t. You probably sleep in tailored pajamas.”
“I sleep in nothing,” Nikon countered, his voice dropping lower. “As youwellknow.”
Reuben’s eyes darkened with desire for a moment before he cleared his throat, reaching for his glass. The momentary escape into playfulness had served its purpose—a small release valve for the pressure building around them. But the threat remained, demanding their attention.
“I’ll have Stepan increase your security detail tomorrow.” Nikon kept his tone neutral, watching for resistance.
Surprisingly, Reuben only nodded. “Reasonable precaution. Still, while my father’s an asshole with a thousand ways to destroy someone’s life, getting his hands dirty with physical violence isn’t his style. He prefers financial and social destruction—it’s cleaner.”
“Your father, no. Dmitrii? Absolutely.” Nikon downed the remaining vodka in one swallow before setting down his empty glass. “I need to make one more call.”
Reuben studied him, head tilted slightly. “You’ve got that look. The one that says you’re plotting something you don’t want to tell me about.”
“I’m not plotting. I’m investigating.” Nikon’s lips twitched. “There’s a distinction.”
“A very Matvei distinction.” Reuben’s tone was light, but his eyes were serious. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Perhaps once, Nikon would have deflected, protected Reuben from his concerns until he was sure. Now he hesitated, weighing truth against protection.
“Just a theory until I confirm it.” He leaned in, pressing his lips gently against Reuben’s in a soft, reassuring kiss. “Give me an hour.”
In the privacy of his home office, Nikon made his calls and arranged deeper surveillance on Wallace Hoyt through Stepan, his head of security. The man’s quiet efficiency and absolute discretion made him perfect for the sensitive task.
After finishing his calls, Nikon moved silently to the living room doorway. Reuben sat on the couch, phone pressed to his ear, his free hand gesturing as he spoke about leverage ratios and market positions. Even discussing business, he was beautiful—focused, intense, brilliant.
He leaned against the doorframe as he watched. Was withholding this surveillance truly about shielding Reuben from potential hurt? Or was it the ghost of his former self, the man who dictated rather than discussed?
Protection,Nikon told himself.
If his suspicions about Dmitrii proved wrong, Reuben wouldn’t have to face yet another disappointment from the father who had already hurt him so deeply.
Chapter 3
The razor glided along Reuben’s jaw as he watched Nikon’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. Steam curled around them both, remnants of Nikon’s shower, infusing the air with the spicy scent of his expensive body wash.
“You’re overthinking.” Nikon leaned against the doorframe, a towel wrapped around his waist. Water droplets traced paths down the defined muscles of his chest, pausing at the constellation of scars Reuben had memorized with his fingers.
“And how would you know what I’m thinking?” Reuben rinsed the blade, tapping it against the sink.
