Page 18 of Deadly Legacy (The House of Matvei #3)

T he notebook slipped from Reuben’s grip as the town car lurched into a narrow service tunnel, sliding across the polished leather seat between him and Wallace.

“They’re still behind us.” Reuben glanced at the man beside him—familiar silver hair, familiar profile, but a stranger’s panicked breathing. “How deep are you in with Dmitrii?”

Wallace loosened his tie with trembling fingers, the confident financial titan nowhere to be found. He twisted in his seat every few seconds to stare through the rear window. “Deep enough that if we don’t lose them in the next five minutes, we’re both dead men.”

The car slammed to a halt, throwing them forward against their seatbelts. The driver cursed as a delivery truck blocked their path ahead.

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re boxed in.” The driver’s voice shook. “There’s nowhere to—”

“We need to move. Now.” Wallace grabbed the notebook and shoved it inside Reuben’s jacket with the practiced efficiency of someone used to making demands of other people. “There’s a wine cellar entrance through that service door. If we can get to it, it connects to Grand Maison’s kitchen.”

“And I should trust you because?” Reuben’s fingers brushed against the notebook inside his jacket, its edges sharp against his skin. He analyzed Wallace’s expression, searching for any sign of deception.

“Because right now, I’m your only option.” Wallace’s voice carried that old authoritative tone from Reuben’s childhood. “Your security guys are down. Dmitrii’s men are right behind us. What’s your plan?”

The driver’s window shattered, sending glass shards across the car’s interior. Reuben reacted instantly, ducking low and shoving the door open. Wallace scrambled after him as gunfire peppered the car’s frame.

Reuben darted toward the service door, his body moving on instinct. Stepan’s voice echoed in his head: Low profile, quick steps, use cover.

The notebook pressed against Reuben’s ribs, each breath pushing it against the tender spot from yesterday’s training bruise.

Wallace fumbled with the wine cellar’s service door. The musty scent of old wood hit Reuben’s nostrils as he shoved his father aside and hit the door with his shoulder, breaking through into a dimly lit corridor stacked with wine crates.

“This way.” Wallace pointed toward a narrow passage between wooden shelves. His hands trembled as he straightened his suit jacket—the nervous tic so familiar it made Reuben’s stomach tighten.

Footsteps echoed behind them. Reuben grabbed Wallace’s arm and pulled him deeper into the cellar. They crouched behind a rack of dusty bottles, the cool dampness of the stone floor seeping through Reuben’s pants.

“Keep talking. What’s Dmitrii’s hooks into you?” Reuben kept his voice low, ears straining for sounds of pursuit.

Wallace’s face contorted. “My company was going under. Three big investments tanked all at once. I needed money fast.”

“So you went to Dmitrii? Seriously?” Reuben’s grip tightened on the wine rack.

“I told you, I thought they were legitimate investors. By the time I figured out who Dmitrii really was...” Wallace ran a hand through his silver hair, the perfectly coiffed strands falling out of place just like his life had. “I was already in too deep.”

The sound of bottles clinking made them both freeze. Footsteps moved slowly through the adjacent aisle.

Reuben signaled silently, pointing to himself and then toward the sound. Wallace shook his head frantically, eyes wide with alarm.

Ignoring him, Reuben moved—positioning exactly as Stepan had drilled into him. He rounded the corner and struck in one fluid motion. The man collapsed without a sound.

Wallace gaped at his son. “Where the hell did you learn that?”

“I’ve had a good teacher.” Reuben grabbed the fallen man’s weapon and checked the safety. “Keep talking. What’s Dmitrii’s angle with Quantize Guard?”

“The surveillance system.” Wallace’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Their facial recognition software blows everything else away. With that technology, Dmitrii could track anyone in the city.”

“Including Nikon and his brothers,” Reuben concluded.

“Listen to me—stay away from Nikon Matvei.” Wallace grabbed Reuben’s sleeve. “That man’s dangerous. His whole family is nothing but criminals.”

Reuben rolled his eyes. “Wow, thanks for the heads-up. Hadn’t noticed.”

Wallace’s face darkened. “You’re playing with fire, Reuben. These people aren’t like us.”

“ These people? ” Reuben’s laugh came out harsh and brittle. “You mean unlike the father who kicked me out when I came out? Who made sure no financial firm in the city would touch me?”

A crash echoed from the far end of the wine cellar, cutting their argument short. The sound of heavy boots stomping on broken glass carried through the stillness.

Wallace gripped Reuben’s arm. “There’s another exit through the kitchen storage. We need to move.”

They crept between the racks, the rich scent of aged oak and cork filling Reuben’s nostrils as they moved deeper into the cellar. Something shifted to their left—a shadow where there shouldn’t be one.

“Down,” he hissed, pulling Wallace behind a stack of crates as a flashlight beam cut through the darkness where they’d been standing seconds before.

Wallace’s breathing came too fast and too shallow. Reuben pressed a hand against his father’s chest, a steadying gesture that felt strange after years of distance. The rapid heartbeat beneath his palm reminded him that beneath the polished exterior, his father was just a man.

“Dmitrii’s been planning this for months,” Wallace whispered, his voice barely audible over the drip of condensation from the ceiling pipes. “The charity gala next week is his big move. Half the city’s power players will be there.”

“And you’re on the guest list?”

“Me and Charlotte both.” Wallace’s voice broke slightly. “He collects people and their connections. That’s his strength.”

“Like how you used yours to make sure I couldn’t get hired?” Reuben couldn’t keep the edge from his voice.

Wallace winced. “I thought I was protecting our reputation.”

“You were punishing me for not being the son you wanted.”

The beam of light swept closer. Reuben held up a hand for silence and weighed their options. The exit Wallace mentioned stood twenty feet away, but with no cover between here and there. They needed a diversion.

“When I count three, run for that door,” Reuben whispered, nodding toward the kitchen entrance. “Don’t stop, no matter what happens.”

Before Wallace could protest, Reuben grabbed a bottle and hurled it toward the opposite end of the cellar. Glass shattered against stone with a spectacular crash.

“One, two, three.”

They sprinted for the door as shouts erupted behind them. Reuben pushed at Wallace’s back, propelling him forward as heavy footsteps thundered in pursuit.

The kitchen door gave way under their combined weight. They stumbled into the bright space, the sudden light stinging Reuben’s eyes after the cellar’s darkness. A chef turned, knife in hand, eyebrows shooting upward.

“Private wine selection,” Wallace announced with sudden composure, his voice steady despite his disheveled appearance. “Sorry for the interruption.”

The contrast was so absurd that Reuben almost laughed. His father’s ability to switch to executive mode even in crisis was both impressive and infuriating.

“Service exit?” Reuben asked the chef, who pointed wordlessly toward the back.

They pushed through the bustling kitchen, past line cooks who barely looked up from their stations. The heat from the ovens hit Reuben’s face as they passed, a stark contrast to the cool cellar they’d escaped. Pans clattered and burners hissed while chefs called orders over the din.

“The gala’s a pure power play,” Wallace continued, straightening his tie as they walked.

“Dmitrii’s spent months cultivating the city’s elite.

Half the board members from tech companies will be there, including Quantize Guard’s investors.

Once he has their surveillance system, he’ll be able to track anyone who crosses him. ”

“You talk like you’re not part of his plan.” Reuben pushed open the service exit, checking both directions before stepping into the alley. The sudden chill raised goosebumps on his sweat-dampened skin.

“I was just a tool to him. Same as your mother.” Wallace’s shoulders slumped. “Same as you would be if he got hold of you.”

“Why should I believe you now?” Reuben’s fingers brushed the notebook inside his jacket. “After everything you’ve done, why the sudden concern?”

Wallace’s eyes found Reuben’s, showing a vulnerability Reuben had never seen before. “You were never the disappointment. I was.”

“ Don’t. ” Reuben’s throat tightened as he scanned the alley, focusing on a delivery truck idling at the far end. Anything to avoid looking at his father’s face and whatever truth might be written there. “Save the family therapy for when we’re not being hunted.”

They moved quickly between dumpsters, the stench of rotting vegetables mixing with grease from the kitchen vents. Reuben tensed at every sound; a bottle rolling across concrete, a door slamming, a distant car horn.

“Nikon has a safehouse three blocks from here,” Reuben said, decision made. “If we can reach it, we’ll be protected.”

Wallace stopped short. “A Matvei safehouse? You’re taking me to Nikon?”

“I’m taking you somewhere safe. Got a better idea?”

The sound of a door banging open behind them ended the debate. Two of Dmitrii’s men spilled into the alley, weapons drawn.

“Run!” Reuben shoved Wallace forward, then turned to face the pursuers.

The first attacker rushed him, knife extended. Reuben sidestepped, grabbed the man’s wrist, and twisted. The knife clattered to the ground as the man howled in pain.

The second attacker circled more cautiously. Reuben shifted his weight, centered his balance. The man lunged, and Reuben countered, driving his elbow into the attacker’s solar plexus. The impact jolted through Reuben’s arm.

His body responded automatically, each movement flowing from Stepan’s endless drills. He was no longer the defenseless poker player who needed protection. The realization brought sharp satisfaction.

“Reuben!” Wallace’s voice cut through his focus. His father stood frozen at the end of the alley, an expression caught between horror and awe.

More shouts echoed from the restaurant. Reuben grabbed the fallen knife and ran, pushing Wallace ahead of him. They wound through back streets, turning randomly to break their trail.

“When did you—” Wallace gasped between breaths, “—learn to fight like that?”

“A lot’s changed since you kicked me out.” Reuben checked over his shoulder, found the street momentarily clear. “Left here.”

They turned into a narrow passage between two apartment buildings. Reuben counted doorways until he found the unmarked entrance. He punched a code into the keypad, and the door clicked open.

“Inside. Quick.”

The safehouse was sparse but secure—reinforced doors, no windows, basic furnishings. Reuben locked the door behind them and activated the security system.

Wallace sank into a chair, breathing heavily. His tailored suit was torn at the shoulder, dirt streaked across what had been immaculate fabric. He looked deflated, the imperious financial titan reduced to an exhausted old man.

“They’ll kill me for this.” Wallace gestured to the notebook now crumpled inside Reuben’s jacket. “If Dmitrii finds out I’ve given you that information...”

“Why did you?” Reuben remained standing, adrenaline still pumping through his system. “Why now?”

“Because I had nobody else to turn to.” Wallace’s voice cracked. “Because despite everything, you’re still my son.”

The raw honesty in his father’s voice twisted something in Reuben’s chest. He wanted to believe him, but knew too well how masterfully Wallace could manipulate.

“I’ll have someone take you somewhere safe,” Reuben said finally.

He drew the notebook from his jacket and turned it in his hands, its edges softened with sweat from their flight through the wine cellar.

The motion caught Wallace’s eye. It was a reminder of everything his father had to lose.

“But this doesn’t fix anything between us. ”

Wallace nodded, looking relieved at even this small concession. “Be careful. Dmitrii seems obsessed with destroying Nikon, and he’ll use anyone to do it.”

Reuben made arrangements with a quick phone call, then waited until Nikon’s security team arrived. Four heavily armed men in suits entered the safehouse, nodding respectfully to Reuben before taking positions around Wallace.

“Take him to the secondary location,” Reuben instructed the team leader. “Full protection protocol until further notice.”

As the door closed on his father’s hunched form, exhaustion finally hit Reuben. His body ached from the fight, and his mind raced with the implications of Wallace’s notebook now nestled in his pocket.

Outside, the city had transformed into a network of potential threats. Reuben felt exposed despite the armored car Nikon had sent and the two security men flanking him. Every pedestrian, every passing vehicle became a possible danger.

They took the long way home, doubling back and switching cars twice. By the time they reached the building, Reuben could barely stand. The adrenaline crash hit him hard, leaving him hollow.

Four additional security personnel guarded the private elevator. Their faces remained impassive, but Reuben noticed the tightness around their eyes, the subtle tells of heightened alert. Nikon had clearly mobilized all available resources.

The penthouse door opened before Reuben could reach for his key. Nikon stood in the doorway, knuckles white against the frame, his blue eyes hard as ice.

“I’m okay,” Reuben said, stepping inside.

Tension rippled across Nikon’s face as the door closed behind them. He moved forward a beat later, hands gripping Reuben’s shoulders, eyes darting over every inch of him. His fingers moved from Reuben’s arms to his chest to his face, each touch a question that needed answering.

“Your security team—” Nikon’s voice was low, dangerous. “They’ve been dealt with.”

“They’re alive?”

“Unfortunately.” Nikon’s eyes flashed with cold fury. “I wanted their heads for letting you walk into danger, but Grigorii insisted we need every man right now.” His fingers paused at a cut on Reuben’s cheek. “Stepan’s training worked, then.”

Reuben nodded, letting himself lean against Nikon’s solid presence. His father’s notebook dug into his thigh, a physical reminder of all they still had to face.

“Dmitrii made his move,” Reuben said. “And we need to talk about my father.”

Nikon’s eyes darkened, anger and concern battling across his features as he pulled Reuben closer, one hand curling at the nape of his neck.

“First, I need to know you’re really alright.” Nikon’s voice roughened. “Then we destroy him.”