Page 11 of Deadly Legacy (The House of Matvei #3)

F ifteen minutes. That’s how long Reuben had been watching the Bordeaux breathe in his untouched glass.

Fifteen minutes of replaying the conversation with Alexei about Wallace’s collapsing company, every scenario Nikon had outlined about Dmitrii’s potential involvement, and every childhood memory of his father’s cutting dismissals.

The restaurant had filled around him, the hushed dinner crowd replacing the early evening patrons, ambient lighting dimming to enhance the intimacy of each table.

Reuben’s fingers drummed once on the white tablecloth before he stilled them. The staff at Vasilisa moved with seamless purpose, a well-rehearsed dance that came from knowing their boss’s partner was waiting.

It was nothing ostentatious, just the cool certainty that should anything be required, it would materialize before the need was even formed.

Seven o’clock. He’ll be here any second.

The door opened with a soft chime, and Reuben’s spine straightened, muscle memory from years of his father’s criticism about his posture. Wallace Hoyt entered the restaurant, his steps measured and deliberate, as though expecting the world to pause and take notice.

For a moment, Reuben saw his father through a stranger’s eyes; impressive, commanding, and every silver hair perfectly in place. Then Wallace spotted him, and Reuben caught the momentary falter in his step, the slight narrowing of green eyes so similar to Reuben’s own.

He expected to find me desperate. Grateful for the attention.

Wallace approached the table, extending his hand. “You’re looking well, son.”

“I’m not your son.” Reuben shook the offered hand, the words emerging without heat. Simple fact. “Not since you made that explicitly clear my senior year.”

Wallace’s mouth tightened as he took the seat opposite. “I see your talent for directness hasn’t diminished.”

“One of many talents you overlooked.” Reuben raised his glass in mock toast, still not drinking. “Along with my ‘ surprising ’ financial acumen.”

Wallace unbuttoned his suit jacket as he settled into his chair. “Matthew Capital has made quite the splash. Though I suppose with the right backing , anyone can make a name for themselves.”

Reuben caught the subtle emphasis on ‘ backing ,’ filed it away. “We’ve been fortunate in our investors and partnerships.”

“And also fortunate in avoiding certain regulatory scrutiny.” Wallace’s voice dropped an octave.

The clink of silverware from a nearby table punctuated the silence between them. Reuben inhaled slowly through his nose.

“If you’re suggesting any impropriety in our operations, perhaps we should end this dinner now.” Reuben’s fingers remained steady on his glass stem, but his other hand curled slightly against his thigh, hidden by the tablecloth.

“Not at all.” Wallace backpedaled, his hands lifting in a placating gesture. “Merely an observation.”

The waiter appeared with perfect timing, taking Wallace’s drink order. When he departed, Wallace leaned forward. “You know, I saw your mother, Charlotte, at a gala recently.”

Charlotte. The name landed between them like a heavy stone. The woman who’d traded both son and ex-husband for social standing, who’d dismissed Reuben’s sexuality as ‘ inconvenient’ for her new husband’s political ambitions.

“She asked after you.” Wallace’s lips curved in what might pass for a smile to anyone who didn’t know him better.

A lie. His mother hadn’t asked about him in years.

“I very much doubt that.” Reuben swirled the wine he still hadn’t tasted, watching the burgundy liquid cling to the glass. “Mother made her choices clear when she left. Just like you did when you cut me off.”

Wallace’s face tensed, a flicker of discomfort that vanished so quickly Reuben might have missed it if he hadn’t spent years reading people across poker tables.

“Of course. Ancient history,” Wallace said, taking the scotch the waiter had set before him. He sipped it, then frowned. “This is not properly aged.”

Same old Wallace—nothing ever quite good enough.

“So what brings you to reach out after all this time?” Reuben shifted in his chair, angling for a better view of the bar where he knew Nikon was watching. “Surely not familial warmth.”

Wallace swirled the amber liquid in his glass, ice cubes clinking softly. “I’ve been following your career trajectory. Impressive pivot from academia to venture capital.”

“After your blacklisting efforts closed traditional finance doors.”

“It was a necessary lesson in consequences, I should think.” Wallace’s fingers tightened around his glass. “Though I admit, you’ve shown some remarkable... adaptability.”

The corner of Reuben’s mouth twitched upward. “I simply learned to play the hand I was dealt.”

“Ah yes, your poker phase.” Wallace’s tone suggested discussing a teenager’s rebellion. “Though your current associates seem a little more permanent than those gambling connections.”

Reuben’s pulse quickened. He smoothed his tie, feeling the silk cool against his fingertips. “This city’s financial world is smaller than it appears.”

“Indeed.” Wallace leaned closer, lowering his voice. “What’s more, this city’s financial circles talk. And I believe people might be very interested in knowing who’s really backing Matthew Capital.”

There it was. The threat, thinly veiled.

“Are you asking as a concerned father or fishing for information?” Reuben kept his breathing even, the way Stepan had taught him during training. “Because you haven’t been the former in years. And I don’t provide the latter to competitors.”

Wallace’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I’m simply suggesting we might find mutual benefit in cooperation rather than competition.”

“Cooperation?” Reuben cocked his head.

“Quantize Guard.” Wallace spread his hands on the table. “Their security software is game-changing. Matthew Capital is too new to win their trust alone, but they know and respect my company’s thirty years in the business.”

Reuben leaned back, feeling the firm press of the chair against his spine. “You’re suggesting we partner on the acquisition?”

“My firm would be the public face of the deal.” Wallace nodded, shoulders relaxing as if victory was already his. “And your team would handle the technical evaluation and integration planning.”

The translation was clear: Wallace takes the credit, Reuben does the work. Nothing had changed.

“You disowned me,” Reuben said, the calmness in his voice surprising even himself. “Used your connections to blacklist me professionally from every financial institution. And now you want to use my success to save your company?”

Wallace’s mask slipped. “That’s not—”

“My analysts show Hoyt Investment Group has lost three major clients in the past quarter.” Reuben kept his voice steady. “Your cash reserves are depleted, and your debt payments have triggered warning flags with your creditors.”

Wallace’s face drained of color. His phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting with a text. As he glanced down, Reuben noticed how his father’s throat worked convulsively—a nervous tic he’d never displayed before.

“Problem?” Reuben asked.

“Nothing urgent.” Wallace silenced the phone too quickly, his knuckles white around the device.

The reaction was so uncharacteristic that Reuben felt a shift in the dynamic. His father was answering to someone else. The Wallace Hoyt he knew would never show such naked anxiety.

Reuben tapped three fingers against his water glass—the signal.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Nikon leave his position at the bar, moving toward their table with the calm authority that made even powerful men step aside.

Wallace tracked Nikon’s approach, his gaze sharpening with recognition.

Impossible—they’d never met. Yet his father’s shoulders stiffened in a way Reuben knew wasn’t merely the wariness of a stranger approaching.

He knows who Nikon is. Someone’s shown him photos.

“We seem to have company,” Wallace murmured, straightening his already impeccable tie.

Nikon arrived at the table, his shadow falling across Wallace’s face. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Wallace, this is Nikon Matvei.” Reuben watched his father’s face carefully. “My partner.”

The deliberate ambiguity hung in the air—business partner? Romantic partner? Both? Wallace’s gaze flickered between them, calculating the implications.

“Mr. Hoyt.” Nikon extended his hand. “I’ve heard much about you.”

Wallace hesitated a fraction too long before shaking it. “I wish I could say the same, Mr. Matvei.”

Another lie. The recognition in Wallace’s eyes had been immediate.

Nikon slid into the chair beside Reuben, his thigh pressing against Reuben’s under the table. The warm weight of his hand settled firmly on Reuben’s knee; a gesture invisible to Wallace but grounding for Reuben.

“Apparently, Wallace was just proposing a partnership on the Quantize Guard acquisition,” Reuben explained, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Using his company’s ‘ established reputation ’ as the public face.”

Nikon’s thumb traced a small circle on Reuben’s knee. “How generous of him. After everything.”

The clink of glasses from the bar punctuated the silence that followed. A burst of laughter from across the restaurant only heightened the tension at their table.

Wallace’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Business and personal matters should remain separate.”

“Is that what you told your banking connections when you blacklisted your own son?” Nikon’s voice remained conversational, almost pleasant. “Or was that particular mix of business and personal acceptable?”

“You don’t understand our family dynamics, Mr. Matvei.”

“On the contrary.” Nikon’s smile never reached his eyes, his voice dropping to that velvet-covered-steel tone Reuben had heard him use before confrontations. “Family loyalty is something I understand perfectly. Even more so recently.”

Wallace checked his watch, then abruptly stood. His chair scraped backward, the sound cutting through the restaurant’s ambient murmur. “I should go. We can continue this discussion another time, when we’re all less... emotionally invested.”

“No need.” Reuben remained seated, not granting his father the courtesy of rising. “Matthew Capital will be pursuing Quantize Guard independently. But good luck with your bid.” He tilted his head. “And with whoever sent that text, that worried you so much.”

A muscle flickered near Wallace’s temple, his throat visibly tightening. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course not.” Reuben smiled. “Give my regards to Mother, next time you see her at a gala.”

After Wallace left, his back rigid with affronted dignity, Reuben finally took a sip of his wine. The rich flavor spread across his tongue, a celebration of victory he’d waited years to taste.

“He recognized you,” Reuben said quietly. “Someone’s shown him your photo.”

Nikon nodded, scanning the restaurant to ensure no one was within earshot. “Someone’s pulling your father’s strings, and we both know why.”

“Dmitrii.”

“I’m sure of it. I noticed the fear in his eyes when that message came through on his phone... that wasn’t normal business pressure.”

Reuben turned the stem of his wineglass between his fingers. “Wallace Hoyt doesn’t scare easily. I’ve never seen him look like that.”

“We could use this.” Nikon’s hand still rested on Reuben’s leg, warm and steady. “Feed misinformation through your father back to Dmitrii. Make them think we’re focusing on one aspect of Quantize Guard while we secure another.”

Reuben considered the proposition. Over a year ago, such tactics would have seemed foreign, even reprehensible. Now he saw them for what they were - just business by other means.

“Let’s do it,” Reuben agreed.

Nikon studied him. “Your father is still useful, then.”

“More useful than he ever was as an actual father.” Reuben placed his hand over Nikon’s. The weight of Nikon’s signet ring pressed against his palm, the metal warmed from Nikon’s skin.

Reuben stared at the empty doorway where Wallace had left. “Time to teach my father a lesson about underestimating me.”