Page 16 of Deadly Legacy (The House of Matvei #3)

T he digital display on Nikon’s desk showed ten different camera feeds, each capturing a section of the sprawling casino floor below his office.

Outside, beyond the bullet-resistant glass, the city pulsed with energy.

Car horns blared. Neon signs flickered. And a constant flow of people sought entertainment, release, or fortune.

Inside the Matvei establishment, that energy transformed into something disciplined and—most importantly—profitable.

Nikon stood at his desk, loosening his tie with one hand while reviewing the quarterly profit margins with the other. The numbers satisfied him. Up fifteen percent from the previous year, with the newly expanded poker room showing particular promise. Reuben’s influence, no doubt.

The thought of his partner brought a momentary softening to Nikon’s features. His eyes crinkled at the corners before his expression returned to one of shrewd observation.

“Guy at table twelve hasn’t lost a hand since he sat down.” Nikon didn’t turn his head as Stepan’s familiar presence appeared at his right shoulder. He tapped the screen showing table twelve. “Six in a row.”

Stepan stood with the stillness of a man who had learned patience in the hardest schools. “He came in with Senator Greason and his people. Background looked clean at first.”

“But?” The corner of Nikon’s mouth pulled downward.

“Why would someone counting cards need an earpiece?”

Nikon straightened his shoulders. His muscles tensed beneath his tailored suit. “Something’s off tonight. Security’s running behind schedule.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Stepan’s voice dropped lower. His gaze darted to the security camera in the corner of the room. “Found bugs in the VIP section. Three of them. Russian military grade, same manufacturer Dmitrii always uses. Even has his trademark modification to the transmission frequency.”

Nikon tilted his head, a muscle working in his jaw as he processed the information. “Show me.”

Nikon followed Stepan through the private corridor connecting his office to the security monitoring room.

The distant chime of slot machines mingled with the low murmur of conversations.

Ten o’clock shift was in full swing. The sounds grew fainter as they moved deeper into the secure area, where only trusted personnel had access.

The monitoring room hummed with the quiet efficiency of multiple systems working in concert. Three of Nikon’s security team sat at workstations. The men acknowledged Nikon with slight nods, but continued their surveillance without interruption. Professionals who understood the hierarchy.

Stepan gestured to a small metal table where three tiny devices lay, each no larger than a cufflink.

“First one was behind the painting in the high-stakes room.” Stepan pointed to each device in turn. “Second in the vent above the VIP bar. Third under the poker table where the whales sit.”

Nikon picked up one of the devices, rolling it between his fingers. The metal felt cool against his skin. “Range?”

“Estimated twenty meters. Audio only, no video.” Stepan tapped a sequence on one of the nearby keyboards. Security footage appeared on the main screen. “These two placed them about forty minutes ago.”

The screen showed two men in expensive suits moving through the casino with the confident air of regulars.

Nothing about them would have triggered suspicion to an untrained eye.

But Nikon caught the subtle signs; the too-perfect posture, the calculated casualness, and the way they scanned the room while pretending not to.

“Dmitrii’s people.” Nikon confirmed as his index finger traced their path on the screen.

Nikon’s fingers tightened around the bug until the metal edges bit into his skin. The thought of what he would have done to these men in the past flashed through his mind.

Nikon had a favorite abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, where questions could be asked politely before escalating into the kind of brutal demands that left permanent marks.

The methods he’d used—methods that made strong men break and earned him both fear and respect—were likely ones Reuben would never approve of, would never want to imagine him capable of.

Nikon set the device down and inhaled slowly, feeling the air fill his lungs as he considered his next move.

“They’re still here?” Nikon’s voice remained level, but his pulse quickened.

Stepan nodded, pulling up live footage. The men had moved to the main bar area during peak hours, perched on stools near the center. Their untouched drinks sat before them while their eyes methodically cataloged every detail of the casino floor.

“I’ll handle this myself.” Nikon straightened his already perfect tie, smoothing the silk with the same controlled attention he gave every important task.

Stepan’s eyebrows rose a touch. “You want us to grab them?”

“No.” Nikon’s eyes narrowed as something inside his mind shifted. A subtle adjustment of strategy. “I’ll approach them directly. Have teams ready, but keep your distance unless I signal.”

Nikon moved through his casino with purpose.

He navigated around gamblers, servers, and security personnel, acknowledging each with appropriate attention.

The constant sounds of shuffled cards, raucous conversation, and clinking of casino chips created a rhythmic backdrop as he descended to the main floor.

This was his territory. His domain.

His presence seemed to alter the atmosphere.

Staff stood straighter. Dealers missed beats in their shuffles.

Players glanced up from their games—curious or wary, depending on their relationship with the Matvei family.

Nikon acknowledged a few regulars with a slight nod.

But his eyes never lost sight of his targets at the bar.

The two men sat on adjacent stools, tumblers of amber liquid before them. Their conversation halted as Nikon approached. The taller one, with a jagged scar across his right eyebrow, shifted his weight. His hand moved closer to his jacket. Nikon noted the movement.

“Gentlemen.” Nikon slid onto the stool beside them. He placed both hands on the bar, fingers spread, showing he held no weapon. “I see you’re making yourselves comfortable.”

The second man, who had a nose that appeared bent unnaturally from a poorly-set break, forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Mr. Matvei. Didn’t expect to see you down here.”

“No?” Nikon raised two fingers. The bartender immediately placed a glass of vodka before him without a word. “I find surprises inconvenient. They disrupt operations.”

His words carried a clear threat. Broken-Nose’s fingers drummed once against the bar counter before stilling. He swallowed hard enough for his Adam’s apple to bob hard.

“Just having a drink,” Eyebrow-Scar said, voice carefully neutral. He gestured loosely at the crowded casino floor. “Nice place you got.”

“Indeed.” Nikon lifted his glass, taking a small sip. The vodka burned cold down his throat. Yet his eyes never left Eyebrow-Scar’s face. “It’s so nice, in fact, that guests sometimes forget themselves. Leave things behind. Small things. Electronic things.”

Eyebrow-Scar’s shoulder tensed. A slight tightening most would miss. His gaze shifted to the exits where Stepan’s men stood, hands clasped in front, feet shoulder-width apart.

Nikon rose to his feet and then placed a hand on his shoulder.

The gesture appeared friendly to any observers across the casino floor.

But his fingers found the nerve cluster beneath the collarbone.

And pressed down. The expensive fabric of the man’s suit couldn’t disguise the twitching muscle beneath.

“You have two options,” Nikon said, voice low enough that only the three of them could hear it over the ambient casino noise.

He leaned closer, as if sharing a friendly joke.

“Walk out now, tell your boss his toys are compromised, and stay the fuck out of my place. Or stay, and we continue this conversation somewhere more private.”

Eyebrow-Scar winced under the pressure. Beads of sweat formed along his hairline.

“If we pick the first option?” he asked, voice strained.

“Then we understand each other.” Nikon released his grip slightly, offering the illusion of choice.

Broken-Nose suddenly jabbed a finger toward Nikon’s chest. “You don’t scare us. Word is you’ve gone soft since—”

Nikon moved. He grabbed the man’s extended finger and twisted sharply. A wet pop of cartilage tearing free from joint cut through the clinking glasses and muted conversations around them. Broken-Nose’s scream caught in his throat as Nikon’s other hand clamped over his mouth.

“Quiet now.” Nikon removed his hand once the initial shock passed. A beat later, he straightened his cufflinks as though nothing had happened. “You’ll disturb my other guests.”

Around them, three of Nikon’s security had materialized. Their jackets hung open just enough to reveal holstered weapons.

Dmitrii’s men froze, hands nowhere near their own guns. Their eyes darted between Nikon and the security personnel. Fight-or-flight calculations played across their features.

Broken-Nose cradled his hand against his chest. His face drained of color. His breath came in short, shallow bursts.

“As I was saying to your colleague,” Nikon continued, turning back to Eyebrow-Scar as though nothing had happened. He straightened the lapel of the man’s suit. “When Dmitrii wants a civilized conversation about boundaries, my door is open. Until then, consider this a courtesy.”

Nikon straightened to his full height, adjusting his suit jacket. The platinum cufflinks caught the light.

“You have three minutes to leave through the front entrance,” he stated coldly. “My men will escort you,” he added with finality.

Nikon turned his back deliberately. One step. Two steps. Three steps. Four steps. Five.

“Dmitrii sends his regards about your brother, Andrey.” Eyebrow-Scar’s voice carried clearly despite the casino noise.

Nikon’s stride faltered. His right foot hesitated mid-step for a fraction of a second. So brief that only the most observant would notice. His shoulders stiffened beneath his tailored jacket.

He did not turn around.

“Two minutes,” he amended without looking back. The muscles in his neck tightened.

Nikon glanced at the two men being escorted from his casino. “Stepan, sweep the entire building again. They may have planted more than we found.”

“Already in progress, sir.” Stepan nodded toward three security team members fanning out across the floor. “Full spectrum scan, private rooms first.”

“Good work.” Nikon smoothed an invisible wrinkle from his lapel. “I’ll be in my office.”

The elevator hummed softly as it carried him back to the upper floor. Over a year ago, he would have had the two men dragged to a warehouse for questioning. Now Nikon found himself handling confrontations with a different touch. Still firm, but with calculated restraint.

He could almost hear Reuben’s voice suggesting alternative approaches, diplomatic solutions. The thought brought an unbidden smile that he quickly suppressed. Perhaps his partner’s influence was making him... not softer, but calmer.

He entered his office and crossed to the bar cart. The vodka bottle felt substantial in his grip as he poured a measure into a glass. He held it up to the light, watching the liquid catch and scatter the illumination from the soft overhead light in his office.

The door swung open without a knock. Alexei strode in, his Italian loafers silent against the carpet.

“Next time announce yourself,” Nikon said without turning. “I could have shot you.”

“Stepan just told me what happened.” Alexei dropped into the chair across from Nikon’s desk. “Broke a finger in the middle of the main floor? Bold choice.”

“He put hands on me in my own house.” Nikon finally took a sip of vodka. “The lesson needed to be clear.”

Alexei’s mouth quirked upward. “Rather civilized of you, Nikon.” The words carried a gentle mockery, but his eyes held understanding.

“Different times.” Nikon tapped his fingers against the desk. He didn’t elaborate further.

“Say no more.” Alexei leaned forward, sliding a phone across the desk. “Dmitrii just sent me this. A formal invitation to Le Délice. Tomorrow. Nine o’clock.” He loosened his tie, watching Nikon’s reaction.

Nikon’s eyebrows rose as he picked up the phone. He read the message twice. “That was too fast.”

“Too fast?” Alexei crossed his legs, Italian leather shoes gleaming under the office lights.

“Those men barely would have had time to report back before this was sent.” Nikon set the phone down. It made a soft click against the wooden desk. “He’s playing games. Improvising.”

“It’s a trap.” Alexei leaned back in his chair, studying his brother with sharp eyes.

“Le Délice is too public, too easy to monitor. One incident there and the Mayor’s goodwill to us evaporates, donations or no donations.

Dmitrii knows that. He’s trying to force us into territory where we can’t respond without consequences. ”

“Of course it’s a trap.” Nikon moved to the window. He pressed his palm against the cool glass, feeling the vibration of the city below. Late night traffic flowed like blood through veins. “The only business Dmitrii’s interested in is taking ours .”

Nikon turned back to face his brother. “Decline. But have someone watch the restaurant.” Nikon made a circular motion with his finger. “Let’s see who shows up expecting to meet us.”

Alexei nodded, already typing. His fingers moved across the phone screen with nimble precision. “Done.”

“There’s something else.” Nikon returned to his desk. He sat heavily in the leather chair. “One of Dmitrii’s men mentioned Andrey.”

The typing stopped. Alexei’s fingers froze mid-air. “What about him?”

“Nothing specific.” Nikon’s voice hardened. His eyes narrowed to blue slits. “Dmitrii’s using him. Parading our brother around like a trophy of war.”

Alexei’s throat worked. The muscles in his neck corded visibly. “Andrey chose his path.”

“Yes.” Nikon rubbed his thumb across an old scar on his knuckle. “But does Dmitrii know how to use him against us?”