Page 6 of Deadly Legacy (The House of Matvei #3)

Nikon’s expression softened in a way few people ever witnessed. “My brother’s son hanging on your every word about chess. How our worlds have changed.”

“From outsider to family,” Reuben said, voice gentle with wonder.

“And now I’m your chauffeur to chess lessons with my nephew.” Nikon’s laugh rumbled from deep in his chest, warm and intimate. “Anyway, I have business at the casino, but I’ll pick you up when you’re finished.”

As Nikon pulled up to Grigorii’s driveway, he leaned across the console, drawing Reuben into a passionate kiss that lingered, neither man rushing to break away. When they finally parted, Reuben’s fingers traced Nikon’s jawline.

“See you tonight,” he murmured, reluctantly pulling away.

Grigorii’s suburban mansion stood like an anomaly among the more modest luxury homes surrounding it; larger, more imposing, with discreet security features that only trained eyes would notice. The circular driveway welcomed them as Nikon’s sleek black Mercedes pulled into the entrance.

As he stepped out, Reuben glanced at his watch—right on schedule for his Wednesday chess lessons with Samuil. He leaned back into the car window for a moment, saying a quick goodbye as Nikon nodded toward the house.

“I’ll text you when I’m done,” Reuben said, stepping back as the Mercedes pulled away, gravel crunching beneath its tires.

“Uncle Reuben!” Samuil’s excited voice rang out the moment he entered the foyer. The seven-year-old barreled toward him, his dark hair neatly combed, dressed in miniature slacks and a button-down that mirrored his father’s style.

Reuben caught him mid-launch, swinging him up with exaggerated effort. The boy’s small frame was surprisingly solid against his chest. “You’re getting too big for this. What’s your father feeding you?”

“Protein and vegetables,” Samuil replied seriously, then broke into giggles. “I set up the chess board already. I’ve been practicing.”

“Homework first,” came Natalia’s melodic voice as she appeared from the sitting room.

Grigorii’s wife moved with a natural grace that had always impressed Reuben, her elegant figure draped in a simple, yet expensive, cashmere sweater.

At thirty-eight, Natalia carried herself with a poised beauty that drew attention in both high society gatherings and the Matvei’s family business affairs.

Her dark hair was swept into a low chignon, her light brown eyes warm yet observant as they met Reuben’s. “Then chess.”

Samuil’s face fell for a moment before brightening again. “I only have math left. Ten problems.”

“Ten problems it is,” Reuben agreed, setting the boy down. “Show me.”

While Samuil retrieved his homework from the dining room table, Natalia greeted Reuben with brief kisses on both cheeks—family rituals that once felt foreign, now as natural as breathing.

“No Nikon today?” she asked, leading him toward the living room where crystal glasses and an open bottle of wine waited on a silver tray. The room smelled of lemon polish and the faint vanilla scent Natalia preferred.

“Business at the casino,” Reuben explained with a shrug.

“And Grigorii is out on a call,” Natalia sighed. “Matvei’s and their urgent business.”

Reuben settled into his usual spot on the plush carpet beside Samuil, the same corner of the living room where they’d spent countless Wednesday evenings. He guided the boy through multiplication problems while Natalia arranged tea things nearby.

“You’re much better at explaining these than Papa,” Samuil whispered, leaning against Reuben’s shoulder. His pencil scratched softly against the paper. “He gets impatient.”

“Your father is very busy with work,” Reuben whispered back conspiratorially. “He has lots of important meetings.”

“And you don’t?” Samuil looked up, genuine curiosity in his eyes.

“I save my best thinking for chess days,” Reuben tapped the boy’s nose gently. “Plus, your dad asked me to help because I’m good at explaining things. He wants you to learn from the best.”

Once homework was complete, Natalia brought tea in delicate cups, while Samuil set up the chess pieces with meticulous care. The porcelain was warm against Reuben’s palms as he accepted his cup.

“How was your meeting today?” Natalia asked. “Grigorii mentioned it was important—some security company?”

“Quantize Guard,” Reuben confirmed. “They have some innovative surveillance technology. And it went well, I think.”

“Did you win?” Samuil asked, carefully placing knights on the board.

Reuben smiled. “Business isn’t exactly like winning or losing, but—”

“Of course it is,” Samuil interrupted with the certainty only children possess. “Papa says business is always about winning.”

Natalia rolled her eyes. “Perhaps we shouldn’t repeat everything Papa says.”

She settled more comfortably into her chair, adjusting the sleeve of her cashmere sweater. “I ran into your mother at the Metropolitan Museum’s benefit last month. I approached her to say hello, as we were seated at adjacent tables.”

“Let me guess,” Reuben said, moving a chess piece for Samuil to study. “She looked right through you despite having met you three times before.”

Natalia smiled with a practiced grace that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “She remembered me as ‘ that Russian woman ’ and asked if I was enjoying American culture. Then excused herself when the Vandermeres waved her over.”

“The Matvei name opens some doors,” Natalia continued, “but certain circles remain... selective. Your mother has mastered that particular dance.”

Reuben absently straightened one of Samuil’s knights on the chessboard.

He learned that reality all too well recently—Matvei money could get you through any door in the city’s high society, but it couldn’t buy you an invite.

The family had learned this lesson over years of strategic philanthropy and calculated appearances.

“A political campaign contribution here and there,” Reuben murmured, thinking of Alexei’s meticulous financial maneuvering, “that’s enough to build up some clout in the city to be noticed.”

“And despised,” Natalia added with a small, knowing smile, “by the old money circles in equal measure.” Her fingers traced the rim of her teacup. “They’ll take our donations, but keep us at arm’s length. Your mother doesn’t appear to have that problem.”

Reuben nodded, unsurprised. “Charlotte’s greatest skill is knowing exactly whose hand to shake and whose to avoid for maximum social advantage.”

Since establishing Matthew Capital, Reuben had occasionally heard mentions of his parents in financial circles, though neither had attempted to contact him. Their continued silence, despite his professional resurgence, spoke volumes.

“The interesting thing is,” Natalia said, pouring more tea, “I’ve been seeing your father at these functions as well.”

“Wallace attending charity galas?” Reuben paused, knight in hand. “That’s unlike him.”

“Your father has been unusually visible lately—hosting dinners, making appearances at charity events, very public displays of confidence.”

Reuben’s fingers fiddled with the chess piece. “That’s strange. He always preferred working behind the scenes.”

“Three events in just the past week,” Natalia continued, stirring honey into her tea. “The Children’s Hospital Gala, the Symphony fundraiser, and a private dinner at Astor’s with the mayor.”

“Is Uncle Reuben’s papa coming to visit?” Samuil asked innocently, looking up from arranging his pawns.

Reuben drew a careful breath as Natalia answered with the poise of a diplomat. “No, sweetheart. They work in different companies.”

“Like competitors?” Samuil’s brow furrowed. “Like in chess?”

“Exactly like chess,” Reuben agreed, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Speaking of which, are you ready to learn the Ruy Lopez?”

“The Ruy Lopez opening appears straightforward,” Reuben explained once the board was ready, moving his bishop to target Samuil’s knight. “But it creates pressure that intensifies throughout the game.”

Samuil’s small face scrunched in concentration. “Like when Daddy talks to people who owe him money?”

Reuben suppressed a smile. “Something like that.”

An hour later, after Natalia had taken Samuil upstairs for bedtime, Reuben asked if he could make a private call. Natalia directed him to use Grigorii’s wood-paneled study, assuring him her husband wouldn’t mind. The heavy door sealed the room behind him as he pulled out his phone.

“Jacob? It’s Reuben.” He spoke to Matthew Capital’s senior research analyst, a meticulous data specialist working for the firm.

Jacob Reynolds had quickly built a reputation at Matthew Capital for finding obscure connections that others missed—exactly the skill Reuben needed right now.

“I need everything you can find on Wallace Hoyt’s social calendar for the past month.

” He paced the thick carpet, mind racing.

“Focus on who he’s meeting, especially anyone connected to city permits or surveillance contracts. ”

He paused by the window, looking out at the manicured grounds now veiled in darkness.

“I think he’s crafting a public narrative.

Forging connections he can use when this escalates beyond business.

” Another pause as he listened to Jacob’s response.

“Yes, exactly. And check his campaign contributions too—anyone running for office or heading regulatory committees.”

As he ended the call, Reuben’s mind sharpened with the same intensity that had once served him at high-stakes poker tables.

His father had dealt the first card in what would become an intricate game of strategy and bluff.

Poker had taught Reuben patience—the ability to read tells, to see beyond the immediate hand to the long game that would follow.

Wallace might have opened this round, but Reuben intended to rake in the pot.