Chapter 12
T he private elevator chimed, and Nikon turned away from the window where he’d been watching for Andrey’s arrival. The sight of Grigorii stepping out of the elevator shouldn’t have surprised him. Yet something in his brother’s face, (the grim set of his mouth and the coldness in his eyes), made Nikon’s stomach clench.
But it was what Grigorii carried that made Nikon’s breath catch: their father’s favourite brand of vodka, the one he’d reserved for pouring at family celebrations, exiles, and irreversible decisions.
That vodka had presided over their father’s deathbed, when he’d passed leadership to Grigorii. And that particular brand had been drunk at every major Matvei decision, and key conversations, for generations.
Nowadays, it was never drunk at celebrations—only for moments when the family’s very foundation trembled.
Grigorii placed it in the center of the conference table without a word, the heavy glass base making a dull thud against the polished wooden surface.
“Is that necessary?” Nikon kept his voice flat, betraying nothing of the storm building inside him.
Grigorii’s fingers lingered on the bottle. “You know it is.”
Nikon turned back to the window, where he watched as an unmarked van pulled up to the service entrance ten floors below. Two of Grigorii’s men dragged a figure from the back. It was Andrey, his usual confident swagger replaced by stumbling steps.
“Where did they find him?” Nikon asked, unable to tear his gaze from the scene.
“Private airfield outside the city.” Grigorii moved to stand beside him. “Bag full of cash, a forged passport, and a ticket to Buenos Aires.”
The elevator doors opened again, and Reuben stepped out with Alexei. Alexei’s face was drawn, the bruise from the casino ambush still livid against his pale skin. His gaze went immediately to the vodka bottle, and he flinched.
“You brought that?” Alexei’s voice held a note of surprise.
“Did you expect anything less?” Grigorii’s response brooked no argument.
Reuben crossed to stand beside Nikon at the window, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “That’s him?” he asked, nodding toward the figure being escorted into the building.
“That’s him.” Nikon’s jaw tightened.
Reuben’s eyes shifted to the bottle on the table. “What’s with the drink?”
“Our father’s favorite.” Nikon felt the words scrape his throat. “When that vodka appears, someone’s life is about to change. Usually for the worse.”
Reuben’s expression remained neutral, but Nikon caught the slight widening of his eyes.
The elevator chimed again. All four men turned as the doors slid open, revealing Andrey flanked by two guards.
Despite his disheveled appearance—split lip, rumpled clothes, zip-tied wrists—his chin remained lifted in defiance even while his usually meticulous hair hung limp across his forehead. Andrey’s gaze swept the room, lingering briefly on Reuben before settling on the vodka bottle, pupils dilating at the sight.
“Well.” A hollow laugh escaped him. “At least you’re giving me the good stuff for my send-off.”
One of the guards pushed Andrey into a chair across from Nikon.
“You won’t be drinking today.” Grigorii took his position at the head of the table, unbuttoning his suit jacket with deliberate movements.
Alexei placed a laptop on the table, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. Graphs and transaction logs appeared on the wall screen behind him. “Let’s begin with the financial discrepancies.”
Nikon studied his youngest brother’s face. Gone was the boyish charm Andrey had always wielded like a weapon, replaced by a coldness that made him look more like Grigorii than ever before. But there was something else there too... a flicker of fear behind the bravado.
“You’ve been selling our weapons to Dmitrii.” Nikon kept his voice even though his pulse hammered in his throat.
Andrey’s mouth twisted. “Getting right to it, then? No family pleasantries first?”
“You sacrificed those when you tried to flee the country with our money.” Alexei zoomed in on a particular spreadsheet showing transfer dates and amounts.
Grigorii placed a stack of surveillance photos on the table, sliding them toward Andrey one by one. “Your right-hand man, Daniil, at the south warehouse. Him meeting with Vasily, Dmitrii’s lieutenant. You at the airfield this morning with four-point-two million in cash and a fake passport.”
Nikon watched Andrey’s fingers twitch against the zip-tie around his wrists. It was something Nikon noticed in Andrey since childhood. When caught in a lie, Andrey’s fingers would dance against the nearest surface, as if playing piano keys only he could hear. Some things never changed, even when everything else had.
Andrey’s gaze flicked between the photos, his expression hardening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The numbers don’t lie.” Alexei tapped his screen, bringing up more documents. “Nine million in missing inventory over four months. Transfers matching those exact amounts appearing in accounts linked to Dmitrii’s within forty-eight hours of each theft.”
“And every time,” Nikon added, leaning forward, “you were the only one with access to the shipping manifests, the security codes, and the transport schedules.”
A muscle jumped in Andrey’s jaw. “You’re blaming me because I’m the easy target. The addict. The fuck-up.”
“We’re blaming you because you did it.” Nikon’s voice remained level, though each word felt like acid in his mouth. “We have the evidence. Financial records. Surveillance footage. Your own crew talking to save their skin.”
“My men wouldn’t turn on me.” Andrey’s confident facade cracked slightly.
“Daniil did.” Grigorii slid another photo across the table—Andrey’s lieutenant speaking with Grigorii in what appeared to be an interrogation room. “He was quite thorough once he understood the alternatives.”
Andrey’s nostrils flared, his breath coming faster. His gaze darted around the room, searching for an escape route. Finding none, he suddenly lunged for the vodka bottle in the center of the table.
Grigorii’s hand shot out, catching Andrey’s wrist with bruising force. “You’ve lost the right.”
“The right?” Andrey yanked his arm back, lips curling into a snarl. “What right? The right to drink the precious vodka? The right to be a real Matvei? I’ve always been the afterthought—your baby brother you never trusted with anything that really matters.”
“We gave you everything.” Grigorii’s voice remained steady, but Nikon saw the pale-knuckled grip he had maintained on the edge of the table. “Position. Protection. Power.”
“Scraps.” Andrey spat the word. “You gave me scraps while you three divided everything worthwhile.”
“We trusted you with the street operations.” Alexei gestured to his screen. “All of our product business—”
“The street-level garbage!” Andrey slammed his fists on the table. “Alexei gets the high-rise towers and the clean business. Nikon gets the fancy clients and casino rooms. Grigorii handles the overseas weapons worth hundreds of millions. And what do I get? Dealing with strung-out junkies and street corner pushers.”
Nikon felt Reuben shift beside him, a silent presence taking in every word, every gesture. He’d been quiet throughout the confrontation, watching with the same careful attention he used at poker tables, reading the brothers’ faces like cards being dealt.
“Is that why you did it?” Nikon asked, genuinely curious despite himself. “For a better position?”
Andrey laughed, a brittle sound that held no humor. “I did it because Dmitrii recognized what none of you could see... my potential.”
“Dmitrii recognized a weak link.” Grigorii’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “A way to divide us.”
“I raised you, raised all of you after our parents died.” He gestured around the opulent conference room. “Gave you everything. We have more money than we know what to do with. What more could you want?”
“Respect!” Andrey exploded, veins standing out in his neck as he shouted. “You’ve always treated me like the little fuck-up of the family, not an equal partner. You shunted me off to run drugs on the streets, out of the way of big clients. The big money.”
The raw pain in his brother’s voice caught Nikon off guard. Behind Andrey’s rage was something more vulnerable—the little brother who had always tried to keep up, but always fell short.
“If we see you as a little fuck-up,” Alexei shot back, abandoning his usual calculated calm, “it’s because you keep fucking up! ”
Nikon caught Reuben’s eye, saw the subtle shake of his head. This was spiraling, emotions overriding logic. Exactly what they couldn’t afford.
“Dmitrii respects no one but himself.” Nikon kept his voice quiet, knowing it would cut through the shouting more effectively than trying to match their volume. “He’s only using you. Look at how he’s come between us all.”
Andrey’s gaze snapped to him, then to Reuben. His lips curled into a sneer. “Reuben came between us well before Dmitrii.”
Nikon felt a cold wave wash through him. “Leave Reuben out of this.”
“Why?” Andrey leaned forward, targeting Reuben now. “He’s the reason you all started treating me like I was radioactive. The moment he caught you looking sideways at him in that casino, I became an afterthought.”
“That’s not true.” But even as Nikon said it, he wondered if there was some truth to Andrey’s words. Had his focus on Reuben created a blind spot where his brother was concerned?
“Isn’t it?” Andrey’s eyes gleamed with malice. “He’s the one who poisoned you all against me. Ever notice how Grigorii only decided I needed rehab after pretty boy here started whispering in your ears? Before him, nobody cared what I did. After him, suddenly I’m shipped off to get ‘help.’ Do you know what happens to a dealer’s reputation when he goes to drug rehab?”
Nikon saw Reuben’s shoulders tense, though his face remained impassive.
“You were spiraling.” Alexei’s voice had regained some of its composure. “You were using your own product, stumbling into meetings completely high, and leaving us to clean up your mess when you missed shipments. We couldn’t keep covering for you forever.”
“I was managing fine until he came along.” Andrey jerked his chin toward Reuben. “Then suddenly my occasional indulgence became a problem that needed addressing . Do you have any idea what happened to my reputation?” Andrey slammed his tied hands on the table again. “ A motherfucking drug dealer in rehab ? My own suppliers were laughing behind my back. My street captains lost all respect. I became a fucking punchline in our own organization!”
Nikon’s patience was wearing thin. “This isn’t about Reuben. This is about you selling us out and betraying your family.”
“My family?” Andrey laughed again, that same hollow sound. “My family died the moment you three decided I wasn’t good enough. Dmitrii at least sees my value.”
“Enough.” Grigorii stood, buttoning his jacket. “The evidence is clear. The admission is made. Now we decide your punishment.”
A charged silence filled the room. Even the city below seemed to hold its breath, ten floors of gleaming steel and glass separating them from the world that continued unaware of the drama unfolding in this sleek conference room.
One of the guards moved forward to pull Andrey to his feet.
It happened in an instant—Andrey twisted, somehow catching the guard’s wrist, then his gun. The scuffle was brief but violent.
“Nobody move!” Andrey shouted, the stolen weapon now in his grip. “Not one fucking step.”
The vodka bottle tipped, then fell, glass shattering against the floor. The clear liquid spread across the polished wood, soaking into the plush carpet, filling the air with that distinctive sharp scent that had marked every Matvei judgment for years. Their father’s legacy, pooling at their feet as their family fractured. Generations of tradition, dissolving into the fibers beneath them.
In the chaos, Andrey lunged across the table, grabbing Reuben before anyone could react. With surprising strength born of desperation, he yanked Reuben from his chair and positioned him as a shield, pressing the gun against his temple.
Nikon felt himself go utterly still, instinct taking over as he waited for his moment. “Andrey, think about this.”
“I’ve thought about it.” Andrey backed toward the elevator, dragging Reuben with him. “I’ve thought about it for months while you all plotted against me.”
Reuben remained eerily calm, his eyes meeting Nikon’s. In that gaze, Nikon saw not fear but calculation. Reuben was already planning, assessing angles, opportunities.
“Let him go.” Nikon’s voice dropped to a dangerous register. “This is between us, not him.”
“Wrong.” Andrey’s finger tightened on the trigger. “He’s been between us from the start. And now he’s coming with me—my insurance policy.”
The elevator doors stood open behind them. One step, then another. Andrey’s eyes darted between his brothers, the gun never wavering from Reuben’s temple.
Nikon’s heart hammered against his ribs. Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into infinity. The impossible decision stared him in the face: his brother or his lover.
His blood or his heart.
The vodka soaked into the carpet, its scent filling the air—the sharp, clean smell of his father’s favorite drink. The drink that had marked every significant family moment. Births. Deaths. And now, this final severing of ties.
Nikon took a single step forward.
“Stay back!” Andrey’s voice cracked. “I’ll do it. I swear I will.”
In Reuben’s eyes, Nikon saw the flicker—the signal. Three rapid blinks. A barely perceptible nod. The language they’d developed over the months they’d been together. It was a silent code born from nights analyzing each other from across the poker room, and mornings studying each other’s bodies. It was a language no one else in the room could decipher, not even his brothers, who’d known him all his life.
Reuben’s eyes shifted minutely downward, then left. Whatever happened next would happen fast, and Reuben was seemingly already three moves ahead.
Nikon had never felt more a Matvei than in this moment. A moment where Reuben’s heart beat just one trigger pull away from silence.
His palm rested on the grip of his gun, the decision already made in the silence of his mind.