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"Family game," I reply, not moving from the doorway. "Just the usual suspects."

"Of course." His gaze moves past me, taking in what he can see of Ben's cabin interior. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion.Ben was kind enough to invite me, and I thought it might be nice to spend an evening away from business."

The words sound reasonable, but nothing about this situation feels right. Vega doesn't do anything without a reason, and showing up here with armed security isn't a social call.

"Come in," I say, stepping aside with practiced hospitality. "Ben's been looking forward to having you."

Vega moves past me with the careful precision of someone managing healing injuries, but there's nothing weak about his presence. If anything, surviving the bombing seems to have sharpened his edges.

His security detail remains outside, which tells me this isn't meant to be a hostile encounter. At least, not yet. But their presence is a message—Vega wants us to know he came prepared for trouble.

"Gio!" Ben's voice carries genuine enthusiasm as we enter the main room. "Glad you could make it, man."

The cabin's interior is exactly what you'd expect from a mountain training retreat—rough wooden walls, stone fireplace, furniture built for function over form. A poker table dominates the center of the room, surrounded by mismatched chairs that have seen better days.

"Ben, thank you for the invitation." Vega's smile becomes warm and genuine, the kind of expression that probably fools most people. "Koda, good to see you again."

"Gio." The old mountain man's greeting is neutral, professional. They've worked together for months, but there's no warmth between them.

"I brought something to contribute to the evening." Vega produces a bottle of twenty-five-year-old scotch, setting it on the table with deliberate ceremony.

"That's generous," Ben says, accepting the gesture. "You didn't need to bring anything."

"Nonsense. A guest should always contribute." Vega's eyes find Marcus, who's remained seated at the poker table, beer in hand. "Marcus, good to see you again."

Marcus nods politely but doesn't stand. "Gio."

"How are you feeling?" Ben asks, gesturing toward Vega's sling. "That accident looked brutal on the news."

"Much better, thank you." Vega accepts the beer Ben offers, though I notice he only takes a small sip. Staying alert. "These things happen in my line of work. The important thing is moving forward."

The casual reference to his business sends a chill through the room. Everyone here knows what Vega really does for a living, but hearing him acknowledge it so openly feels like a threat.

"Well, you're here now," Ben says, either missing the undercurrents or choosing to ignore them. "Ready to lose some money at cards?"

"I never lose," Vega replies with a smile that's all teeth. "But I'm always ready to play."

The words hang in the air like a challenge. Not just about poker, but about everything else simmering beneath the surface of this encounter.

I move toward the poker table, hyperaware of Vega's presence behind me, of how his eyes catalog every detail of Ben's home. The security setup, the sight lines from the windows, the isolated location. Information he could use, weaknesses he might exploit.

"Five-card stud," I announce, settling into my usual chair. "Nothing wild."

Vega takes the seat directly across from me, his good hand arranging chips with practiced ease. "Perfect. I prefer games where skill matters more than luck."

Marcus deals the cards, his movements economical and precise. The familiar ritual of poker provides a framework forwhat's really happening here—a careful dance of power and information, where every word carries multiple meanings.

“So, Gio," Marcus says, tossing in his ante, "you nervous about the Thompson fight? Big payday riding on this one."

"Confident," Vega replies, studying his cards. "Ben's ready for this level of competition. Thompson is tough, but he's never faced anyone with Ben's combination of power and intelligence."

"Damn right," Ben agrees. "Thompson is about to learn why they pay me the big money."

The easy banter continues, but I can feel the real conversation happening beneath the surface. Vega's questions are too casual, his interest in our group dynamics too intense. He's gathering intelligence, building a profile of everyone at this table.

"Interesting place," Vega observes, his gaze sweeping Ben's modest cabin. "Very authentic mountain living."

"Keeps me focused," Ben explains. "No distractions, just training and preparation."