Chapter 9
N ikon had been awake for twenty hours straight when the penthouse clock hit three A.M., his eyes burning as he reviewed the same damning documents again. The potted plant in the corner, some expensive thing Reuben had insisted would ‘ soften the space ,’ cast a distracting jagged pattern across the opposite white wall. The pristine luxury of the room—all clean lines and perfect angles—felt like a mockery against the ugliness of the numbers on his screen.
Nine million dollars missing. His brother’s signature on every document.
“Nine million.” Nikon slammed the inventory report onto the glass coffee table hard enough that Reuben flinched. The sharp pain behind his right eye intensified, a vice tightening with each passing hour. “Nine million in weapons missing over four months, and no one noticed?” His jaw ached from grinding his teeth, another betrayal by his own body.
The penthouse apartment felt too small suddenly, despite its open floor plan and wall of windows overlooking the city. Nikon paced between the L-shaped white sofas.
“Someone noticed.” Reuben sat cross-legged on the sofa, laptop balanced on his knees. The blue glow of the screen caught the angles of his face as he looked up. “They just didn’t say anything.”
Something in Reuben’s steady gaze anchored him. When had that happened? When had this man become the fixed point in Nikon’s increasingly unstable world? Nikon’s fingers ceased their restless tapping. Reuben didn’t offer empty reassurances or platitudes. He dealt in facts, in truths, even when they cut like knives.
It was exactly what Nikon needed, even when he wanted to rage against it.
“You mean someone helped him?” Nikon stopped pacing. His reflection fractured across the decorative mirror on the wall. “Someone else inside our organization?”
His own face stared back at him in fragmented pieces—fitting, since that’s exactly how he felt. Fractured. Part of him still clung to the desperate hope there was some explanation. The other part, the coldly logical Matvei who had helped build the empire Andrey was trying to tear down, already knew the truth. Andrey had always been impulsive, but this... Nikon turned away from his shattered reflection, unable to look at himself any longer.
“Not just that.” Reuben set the laptop aside and padded across the cream tiles, barefoot and wearing one of Nikon’s shirts. He dropped a folder onto the glass coffee table. “Three separate poker games where Andrey’s lieutenants made major losses to Dmitrii’s people.”
Nikon ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the stubble beneath his fingers. “Money laundering.”
“And the money they lost? Practically identical to the street value of the missing inventory.” Reuben tapped the folder. “These aren’t just random items disappearing. These are specific weapons, the kind Dmitrii’s been using to arm his expansion into the east district.”
Paper rustled as Nikon flipped through the folder. His stomach twisted. “Each game occurred the day after a weapons shipment arrived.”
“Andrey is selling our weapons to Dmitrii and using the poker games to transfer payment.”
Nikon closed the folder with care, though his fingers itched to tear it apart. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
A muscle ticked in Nikon’s jaw. “Don’t be sorry. Be certain.” He moved to the kitchen, separated from the living area by a sleek island of black marble. He opened the refrigerator, stared at its contents without seeing them, then closed it again.
“Are you going to eat something, or just intimidate the appliances?” Reuben’s mouth quirked up at one corner.
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re avoiding.” Reuben crossed to the kitchen. “The evidence is there, Nikon. Andrey is working with Dmitrii.”
Nikon pressed his palms flat against the cool marble. “My fucking brother.”
“Yes.” Reuben reached for him, then seemed to think better of it, his hand falling back to his side. “Your brother, who’s been increasingly unstable since his stint in rehab. Who’s been vocal about feeling sidelined in family business?”
“He’s still family.” The words came out sharper than Nikon intended. “If we’re wrong about this...” The sentence hung unfinished. But they weren’t wrong, and that knowledge sat like ice in his stomach.
“We’re not wrong.” Reuben sighed. “You’ve seen the warehouse photos, the inventory discrepancies, the bank transfers. Now the poker games. It’s him, Nikon.”
“We need to be absolutely certain.” Nikon returned to the living room, tapping his finger against the inventory report. His mind raced, figuring out possibilities. “Set a trap. Feed him information only he would have access to. Something that would leave no doubt.”
Reuben perched on the arm of the sofa, watching Nikon with eyes that missed nothing. “What kind of trap?”
“A shipment. One that doesn’t exist.” Nikon began to pace again, his shadow stretching and contracting across the cream-colored floor with each pass of the recessed lighting. “We’ll create documentation for a weapons delivery to the old warehouse on Park Street. The one we stopped using after the police raid last month.”
“We should include specific details,” Reuben suggested, eyes narrowing in concentration. “Unusual calibers or gun modifications. And the documentation should mention a non-standard delivery protocol. Something that would force Dmitrii’s men to approach from a particular direction where we can observe them without being detected.”
Nikon paused mid-stride, a flash of respect crossing his face as he considered Reuben’s words. The suggestion was tactically sound. Better than sound. It demonstrated the same strategic thinking Nikon himself used.
“And we should build in redundancies,” Reuben continued, warming to the strategy. “Multiple observation points, backup surveillance methods in case the primary fails. If we’re gathering evidence that could condemn your brother, it needs to be irrefutable.”
Nikon nodded, a grim satisfaction cutting through his turmoil. Reuben wasn’t just following Nikon’s lead... he was anticipating needs, plugging potential weaknesses in the plan before they formed.
“And if Dmitrii’s men show up looking for non-existent weapons...”
“Then we know the leak came from Andrey.” Nikon stopped pacing, facing Reuben. “No one else would have access to that information. I’ll make sure of it.”
“What about Alexei and Grigorii? Shouldn’t they be involved in this?”
“No.” The word came out too quickly, too forcefully. Nikon moderated his tone. “Not yet. Not until we’re certain.”
Reuben pushed off from the sofa, moving closer until they stood face to face. “You’re trying to protect him, even now.”
“I’m trying to protect all of us.” Nikon rubbed his thumb across his lower lip. “If Andrey is selling us out to Dmitrii, I need to know why, how deep it goes. And if he isn’t—”
“But he is.”
“Then I need proof that will stand before Grigorii and Alexei. Proof that will ensure whatever happens next...” Nikon let the sentence trail off, unwilling to finish it.
“Won’t be your fault?” Reuben completed the thought, his voice gentle despite the accusation.
Nikon turned away, moving to the windows, staring out at the city lights. His reflection stared back. “You don’t understand what it’s like. Grigorii practically raised us after our parents died. Andrey might be a loose cannon, and a pain in my ass, but he’s still my brother.”
“I understand more than you think.” Reuben joined him at the window, their reflections overlapping in the glass. “My family may have disowned me, but I still remember what it felt like to belong somewhere.”
Nikon reached out, his fingers finding Reuben’s, an almost unconscious gesture. “You belong here now.”
“I know.” Reuben squeezed his hand as he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Nikon’s. “That’s why I’m helping you set this trap. Not to hurt Andrey...” he whispered against Nikon’s mouth. “...but to protect you.”
Two days later, Nikon stood in a small observation room overlooking the loading dock of the abandoned warehouse.
The observation room itself was hardly more than a glorified closet; dusty cinderblock walls, a metal desk bolted to the floor, and three plastic chairs that creaked with every slight movement. The smell of mildew and old cigarettes permeated everything. Nikon’s nostrils flared at the underlying metallic tang—blood or rust or both. This warehouse had seen its share of Matvei ‘ business meetings’ in years past.
Through the dirty window, he could see the yellow corrugated metal wall of the main building they were watching, weathered by years of exposure. Paint peeled in long strips where water had seeped between panels. Stacks of wooden pallets lined the concrete loading area, arranged in haphazard piles that provided perfect cover for their surveillance.
The decaying warehouse bore no resemblance to Nikon’s immaculate penthouse, worlds apart in every sense. Yet somehow, this felt more honest—a place where ugly truths could finally surface.
Behind him, Stepan checked the ammunition in his sidearm for the third time. The enforcer’s presence was a calculated risk, as Nikon trusted few men completely, but Stepan had proven his loyalty a dozen times over.
“No one else knows we’re here?” Nikon didn’t turn from the window.
“No one, boss.” Stepan’s voice was low and gravel-rough. “Just like you said.”
“Good.” Nikon checked his watch. Almost time. “Remember, we observe only. No engagement unless I give the order.”
“Understood.” The soft click of Stepan holstering his weapon punctuated the word.
The door to the observation room opened, and Reuben slipped inside, bringing the scent of cold air and coffee. He passed a cup to Nikon, his fingers brushing Nikon’s deliberately.
“Everything’s in place. The fake shipment documents were delivered to Andrey’s office yesterday. If the information is being passed to Dmitrii, his men should arrive within the hour.”
Nikon took a sip of the coffee, letting the bitter heat burn away some of the exhaustion of the last sleepless nights. “And if they don’t show?”
“Then maybe we’re wrong.” Reuben settled into position by the second window, scanning the approach road. “Maybe there’s another explanation.”
“There isn’t.” The certainty in Nikon’s voice surprised even him. Deep down, he already knew the truth. Had known it since they’d found the first discrepancies. He just hadn’t wanted to face it.
Nikon’s thoughts drifted to childhood summers, when he and Andrey would sneak away from Grigorii’s watchful eye to swim in the lake near their dacha. Andrey had always been the daring one, jumping from higher rocks, swimming to the far shore without stopping.
Once, Andrey had gotten caught in a sudden undertow. Nikon had dived in without hesitation, dragging his thrashing brother to safety. After they’d lain on the shore, gasping and laughing, Andrey punched his shoulder in thanks. “Always so serious, Niki,” he’d said. “Always saving me.”
Nikon’s throat tightened. He’d saved Andrey from the water that day. From their father’s belt countless times after. From overdose twice in the last five years. But this? Could he save his brother from this?
When had that changed? When had his brother’s recklessness turned from boyish adventure to treachery?
“You know,” Reuben broke the silence, “when all this is over, we should consider a vacation. Somewhere with better scenery than abandoned warehouses and poker rooms.”
“Is now really the time for travel plans?” Nikon arched an eyebrow, though something in his chest loosened at Reuben’s casual tone.
“Just trying to give you something to look forward to.” Reuben tapped his fingers against the windowsill, eyes never leaving the loading dock. “Better than watching you brood over there like some caped Russian avenger.”
Despite everything, a smile tugged at Nikon’s lips. This ridiculous American with his pop culture references at the most inappropriate moments. “If anyone would be wearing a cape in this relationship, it wouldn’t be me.”
The smile felt foreign on his face, yet necessary. A moment of lightness in the dark frustration Andrey had created. Leave it to Reuben to know exactly when to offer it.
“Movement.” Stepan’s sharp word cut through their banter. “Southeast approach road.”
Nikon snapped back to focus, checking the time. Forty-seven minutes since they’d taken position. Right on schedule.
A black SUV approached slowly along the access road, headlights off despite the gathering dusk. It pulled to a stop near the stacks of pallets, partially hidden from the main road.
“That’s Vasily.” Nikon recognized Dmitrii’s lieutenant immediately as the man stepped from the SUV. “And the other one—”
“Daniil.” Reuben’s voice was flat. “One of Andrey’s men who played in those poker games.”
Nikon’s camera clicked quietly as he documented the meeting. Each photo was another nail in his brother’s coffin.
The men moved with purpose, Daniil leading Vasily toward a side entrance of the warehouse—exactly where the fabricated documents had indicated the shipment would be stored.
“They’re expecting to find weapons that don’t exist.” Nikon watched as Daniil tried the door, found it locked, then began examining the other entrances. “A shipment that was only mentioned in documents I made sure only Andrey would see.”
“What more proof do you need?” Reuben’s question was soft, almost gentle.
“None.” The word felt like a weight dropping through his chest, settling somewhere near his stomach.
They watched in silence as the men circled the warehouse, growing increasingly agitated as they found no way in, no sign of the promised weapons. Eventually, Vasily made a call, gesturing emphatically as he spoke. Even from a distance, his anger was evident.
“They’re leaving.” Stepan observed as the men returned to their vehicle. “Want me to follow?”
“No.” Nikon lowered his camera. “We have what we need.”
After the SUV disappeared down the access road, the three men remained in the observation room for another fifteen minutes, ensuring no one else would arrive. Finally, Nikon nodded to Stepan.
“Take a different route back. I don’t want anyone connecting you to this location.”
Stepan nodded once, a soldier receiving orders. “And you, boss?”
“We’ll follow shortly.” Nikon’s tone dismissed further questions.
When Stepan had gone, Nikon turned to Reuben, allowing his carefully maintained facade to crack slightly. The weight of what they’d witnessed pressed down on him, making each breath an effort.
“Andrey is working with Dmitrii.” Saying it aloud made it real in a way the evidence hadn’t. Nikon’s hand pressed against the wall, not for support, but as if containing the force of his anger within the concrete beneath his palm. “My brother is betraying the family.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. His own flesh and blood was now jeopardizing everything their family had built.
“What will you do?” Reuben stepped closer, close enough that Nikon could feel his warmth in the chilly room.
“I don’t know.” The admission cost him. Nikon Matvei always knew what to do, always had a plan. “If I tell Grigorii and Alexei...”
Reuben’s expression shifted, surprise flickering across his features before settling into something more complex. Not pity—Nikon couldn’t have tolerated pity—but understanding. It struck Nikon then how rarely he admitted uncertainty to anyone. Power required the illusion of infallibility. Yet here he stood, confessing doubts to this man he loved who had seen him at his most ruthless and hadn’t flinched away.
Reuben didn’t rush to fill the silence with empty reassurances or hasty solutions. Instead, he asked the question Nikon had been avoiding since the first discrepancy appeared in the inventory.
“What happens to Andrey now?” Reuben’s voice remained steady. “Tell me.”
“Exile with a target, maybe. Banishment from family territory with the understanding that he no longer has our protection.” Nikon stared out at the darkening loading dock, the stacks of pallets now just silhouettes against the yellow siding. “It’s a death sentence, just slower than a bullet.”
“And you don’t want to be the one who sentences your brother to death.”
“Would you?” Nikon snapped, then immediately regretted it. “I need time. Time to figure out why he’s doing this, if there’s any way to salvage the situation.”
“Time is something we might not have. If Dmitrii’s man reports back that the shipment was a trap...”
“I know.” Nikon gathered his equipment with quick, efficient movements. “We’ll secure this evidence at the safe house on Second Street. Not at the penthouse, not anywhere connected to the family.”
“And then?”
“Then I need to think. Plan.” The photographer’s case closed with a definitive click. “Find a solution that doesn’t destroy everything.”