Page 26 of Deadly Legacy (The House of Matvei #3)

“ T hree teams. Four targets. One shot.” Nikon dragged his finger across each monitor, leaving smudges on the glass. “Dmitrii breathes his last today.”

The command center, a windowless room beneath Nikon’s casino’s floor, hummed with quiet tension. Men with hard faces and cold eyes checked weapons wrapped in cloth, not military-issue but personal arsenals.

The distinctive bulges under tailored jackets revealed the marriage of brutality and business that defined the Matvei operation. The screens showed grainy thermal images of Dmitrii’s properties obtained through connections at the security company.

Nikon’s gaze settled on the boatyard feed, where four figures patrolled with the distinctive swagger of hired thugs rather than trained guards.

Stepan approached, a fresh scar running from his jaw to his collar visible above his crisp black shirt. “Surveillance team found the back entrance Andrey told us about. They’re ready.”

“Andrey better not have fed us shit,” Nikon said, right before his phone buzzed. Reuben.

He opened the message, the ice in his veins thawing slightly at the simple text:

I love you. Come home when it’s done.

A beat later, Stepan held out a radio, its casing worn from years of use. “It’s Grigorii.”

“We have eyes on the warehouse.” Grigorii’s voice rumbled through the static. “Roman’s men are drinking. Playing cards instead of watching monitors. Night shift idiots.”

The channel crackled as Alexei cut in. “My man at City Planning will freeze all properties the moment we’re done.” A pause. “Also, some police captains owe me a few favors—their patrols will be elsewhere for two hours.”

Nikon took the radio, knuckles white against the black casing as he grasped it.

“Good. Now everyone in position?” He waited for the chorus of confirmations.

“Good. Clean and quiet until we find the target.” His voice dropped lower, a cold promise rather than a command.

“And anyone who compromises this operation deals with me personally.”

Stepan handed him a tactical vest. “The men have strict orders regarding Dmitrii.”

“Dmitrii is mine.” Nikon’s voice dropped to a register that brooked no argument, his fingers flexing against the grip of his weapon. “Time to close this chapter.”

Nikon felt his mandatory Russian military service training taking over—the familiar calm before an assault, the way time seemed to slow and sharpen. His muscles remembered the rhythm of coordinated strikes, the precise movements that had kept him alive during his year in the special forces.

He’d learned back then, in the brutal efficiency of Russian military doctrine, that success depended on preparation, timing, and absolute control.

Tonight would be no different.

Metal groaned beneath their feet as Nikon led his team across the neglected dock a little over thirty minutes later.

The boatyard smelled of rust and brackish water.

Pre-dawn fog clung to the surface of the water, providing natural cover as they slipped between abandoned equipment and deteriorating storage containers.

Nikon’s earpiece crackled. “We’re in position at the warehouse,” Grigorii confirmed.

“Surveillance hub team ready,” another voice reported.

Nikon checked his watch. Four fifty-eight. “On my mark. Three. Two. One. Execute.”

The radio erupted with staccato reports of the breaches. Nikon signaled his team forward. They moved toward a concrete structure half-hidden by overgrown brush and discarded machinery. Two guards patrolled the entrance, their attention divided between cigarettes and smartphones.

Stepan pointed to himself and another man, then to the guards. Nikon nodded once. Both men disappeared into the fog, returning less than a minute later. No shots, no sound.

“Clear,” Stepan whispered.

The reinforced door had a keypad lock. Stepan produced a small electronic device from his pocket. The security expert attached it to the panel, his swift movements betraying years of experience bypassing such obstacles.

“Grigorii here. Roman and his crew are down. Clean operation. No casualties on our side.”

The lock clicked open. Nikon’s hand steadied on his weapon, his breathing slowing to a measured rhythm. For over a year, Dmitrii’s threat had been a shadow across everything he’d built with Reuben. Today, he would make sure that threat vanished.

They slipped inside, weapons ready. The air hit him immediately; stale and metallic, with underlying notes of mildew and electrical equipment.

The corridor stretched ahead, overhead utility lights casting harsh light on concrete walls. Stepan took point, gliding forward, silent as a ghost despite his size. The first two rooms yielded nothing but supply crates.

The radio crackled again. “Surveillance hub secured. Dismantling equipment now before they can wipe anything.”

Suddenly, a distant thud echoed through the corridor. Nikon’s hand shot up, halting the team mid-step. His eyes narrowed, head tilting slightly as he listened. The men froze, guns raised, breathing shallow. Nothing followed. He flicked two fingers forward, the signal clear and immediate.

The third door revealed what they’d been looking for.

Screens lined the far wall. It was not the makeshift setup Nikon had expected, but a professional command center.

Nikon’s teeth ground together. Each monitor displayed a different feed: Matthew Capital’s entrance, his penthouse building’s lobby, even the private balcony where Reuben often stood in the mornings with his coffee.

Stepan muttered something in Russian, his usual stoicism cracking at the sight of dozens of surveillance photos covering the adjacent wall. Every image featured Reuben; leaving their building, at business meetings, even sitting alone at their regular restaurant.

Nikon moved closer, blood pulsing in his temples. The largest screen showed Matthew Capital’s main conference room, the feed active and clear.

“He’s been watching us. Watching Reuben.” Nikon’s voice sounded foreign to his own ears.

Files covered a steel table, labeled with dates and locations. Nikon flipped through them—detailed reports on Reuben’s movements, transcripts of business calls, personal routines. A folder marked “Weaknesses” contained analyses of their arguments, potential pressure points in their relationship.

“Sir.” Stepan nodded toward a map on the opposite wall. Red pins marked Matvei properties, blue ones indicated Matthew Capital locations. Yellow sticky notes detailed security weaknesses.

The radio interrupted. “All of Dmitrii’s men at the north property are secured.”

“South location clear,” another voice confirmed. “Found their money stash. Ten million, at least.”

“Surveillance hub equipment destroyed. All hard drives secured.”

The intel from each location had built a picture of Dmitrii’s crumbling empire. With every report, Nikon imagined a noose tightening around his enemy’s neck.

A small red light blinked on one of the consoles. Someone was watching. The camera above the main monitor swiveled toward them.

“He knows we’re here.” Nikon gestured sharply toward the security feeds, already turning on his heel. “Move. Now.” He strode forward without looking back, gun at the ready, each step quick and purposeful.

They pushed deeper into the facility, past storage rooms containing enough weapons to equip a small army. The construction changed from aging boatyard structures to reinforced concrete. It was a bunker built for a siege.

A door at the end of the hall stood partially open. As they approached, a single gunshot rang out. Nikon flattened himself against the wall, signaling the team to hold position. From inside, heated voices argued.

“—going to die for your stupid pride!”

“I have men coming—”

“They’ve taken everything else! You think anyone’s coming now?”

Dmitrii. The voice carried the distinctive smooth tone Nikon remembered, now cracked with panic.

Stepan raised three fingers, then two, then one. They burst through the door.

The smell hit him first, sweat mingling with expensive cologne. The room was a command center, though far more rudimentary than the previous setup; hastily assembled equipment on folding tables, cables snaking across concrete floors.

Two men spun toward the entrance: Dmitrii in an expensive suit, now rumpled from stress, and a broad-shouldered man Nikon recognized as Dmitrii’s personal bodyguard.

The bodyguard raised his weapon. Stepan fired first, hitting him in the shoulder. The man dropped his gun, clutching his wound.

Dmitrii backed toward a steel door on the far side of the room, eyes darting between Nikon and the exit. He spread his arms with a mocking smile. “Ah, Matvei... didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to interrupt?”

“My mother taught me plenty.” Nikon gestured toward the screens displaying their private spaces. “Including how to deal with men who make things personal.”

“Personal?” Dmitrii’s laugh was hollow. “This is war. Your clever pretty boy made you weak. Made you vulnerable.”

The bodyguard looked between them, blood seeping between his fingers. Understanding dawned in his eyes, a survival instinct flickering. He raised his good hand in surrender, sliding away from Dmitrii.

“Smart man.” Nikon nodded toward Stepan, who moved to secure the bodyguard. “Shame you work for someone with poorer judgment.”

“You think I didn’t plan for this? For you?” His hand inched toward his jacket. “I’ve been ten steps ahead of you from the beginning.”

“I wouldn’t.” Nikon kept his gun trained on Dmitrii’s chest. “It ends now.”

Dmitrii backed toward the steel door, each word dripping with manufactured pain.

“The great Nikon Matvei. You think I wanted what you built? The empire, the respect?” His eyes kept darting between Nikon and his escape route, the theatrical display betraying his true intent.

“That pretty boy who crawled under your skin. Tell me, Nikon, does he know the monster he sleeps beside, or have you fooled him too?”

Nikon recognized the familiar stalling tactics. “You’ve only known how to destroy or steal. Never build.” He took another step forward. “That’s why you’ll always lose.”

He watched Dmitrii’s smile turn sharp, switching strategies when the first attempt failed. “What about Andrey? Your own brother? The one you threw away?”

Nikon recognized the distraction tactic for what it was. “We’re not here about Andrey.”

“Hit a nerve?” Dmitrii’s smile was sharp. “Speaking of your precious brother, he slipped his leash. One minute he was there, next the dog was gone.” His face contorted with genuine anger. “Should’ve kept him chained.”

The bodyguard’s eyes darted between them, calculating his odds. “Mr. Miroslav, please. No one’s coming. It’s over.”

Rage twisted Dmitrii’s features. In a fluid motion, he drew his gun and fired at his own bodyguard. The shot went wide, shattering a monitor.

Before anyone could react, Dmitrii slammed through the steel door behind him. The clang of his footsteps echoed from the metal staircase beyond.

“Secure him.” Nikon nodded toward the wounded bodyguard before following Dmitrii through the door.

The stairwell stank of cold metal and fear. Dmitrii’s footsteps pounded upward, his labored breathing bouncing off the concrete walls.

Nikon ascended steadily, gun ready. No need to rush. The stairs only led one way.

“It’s over, Dmitrii. Your network is gone. Your protection is gone.”

“Nothing’s over while I’m breathing!” Dmitrii’s voice echoed. Another shot rang out, the bullet ricocheting dangerously. Nikon ducked, continuing his pursuit.

At the third landing, Dmitrii stood cornered. His gun raised, pointed at Nikon’s chest. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his composure shattered.

“All my life, I fought for everything.” Dmitrii’s chest heaved, spittle flying from his lips. “While you had brothers, loyalty, everything handed to you on a silver platter. Then I build something—something real—and you want it destroyed because I dared to reach for your level.”

“You targeted Reuben.” Nikon’s voice was ice, throat tight with rage. “You made it personal.”

“You should thank me.” A wild smile spread across Dmitrii’s face, eyes gleaming with a hint of madness.

“I showed you your soft underbelly. The great Nikon Matvei, undone by a pretty face and a smart mouth. You think you’re invincible with him?

He’s your greatest weakness. I just needed to prove it. ”

His finger tightened on the trigger. Nikon lunged forward as the shot cracked through the stairwell. Pain seared across his arm as they collided. The gun clattered down the stairs.

They grappled on the landing, each movement fueled by rage. Dmitrii fought with unexpected strength, landing a solid punch to Nikon’s jaw. The taste of copper filled Nikon’s mouth.

Dmitrii stumbled backward, reaching for something at his ankle. The glint of a blade flashed between them. Nikon blocked the thrust, seizing Dmitrii’s wrist. They crashed against the railing, metal groaning under their combined weight.

“I should have killed you years ago.” Dmitrii hissed through clenched teeth.

“You never had the strength to face me directly.” Nikon twisted Dmitrii’s arm, forcing the knife from his grasp.

The railing gave way with a sickening crack. Dmitrii’s eyes widened as his balance failed. His hand shot out, clutching Nikon’s sleeve in desperation. For a heartbeat, they were suspended... enemies linked by circumstance and hatred.

Nikon looked into Dmitrii’s eyes, then deliberately opened his fingers, releasing the fabric in his grip. Dmitrii plummeted down the concrete stairwell, his scream echoing off the walls until it ended with a distant thud three floors below.

Silence filled the space.

Nikon stood motionless at the railing, staring down at the crumpled form lying broken on the landing.

Done.

Stepan appeared a heartbeat later at the stairwell entrance, gun drawn. His eyes moved from Dmitrii’s body to Nikon.

“It’s finished,” Nikon said.

Stepan holstered his weapon, looking down at Dmitrii’s body. “What are your instructions for disposing of him?”

Nikon pressed his hand against the bullet graze on his arm. “Take Dmitrii to the meeting location we discussed. Stage it like a deal gone wrong.”

The radio crackled. “All properties secure. No survivors. No witnesses.”

“Secondary team reporting in. All surveillance equipment destroyed. No traces left.”

Nikon stared down at Dmitrii’s body once more. “Confirmed. Clear out.” He turned away without another word.

Outside, the boatyard lay quiet under the gray light. Nikon pulled out his phone and read Reuben’s message again:

I love you. Come home when it’s done.

He typed a simple reply:

Done. Coming home.