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R euben flinched as Corey doubled over, gasping for air after Andrey’s fist connected with his stomach. The two men holding Reuben’s arms tightened their grip, as if worried he might try something stupid. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t even process how quickly everything had gone wrong.

Reuben had always known Corey was an idiot, but stealing from the Russian mafia? That was a very special kind of stupid. He watched his former roommate take another hit and cursed his own cockiness. He’d let himself feel invincible up there in the poker room, reading tells and stacking chips like some kind of prodigy. Now reality had come crashing down, leaving him kneeling on cold concrete while Corey’s pained groans echoed off the walls.

“Did you think I was a fool?” Andrey’s accent thickened with rage. “That I wouldn’t notice?”

Before Corey could answer, another punch turned his words into a wheeze. Blood dripped from his split lip onto his designer shirt—the same shirt he’d been wearing earlier when he’d assured Reuben this was just a friendly game. Just a chance to make some easy money.

Some friendship. Some money.

“Please, boss.” Corey spat blood onto the floor. “I needed the cash. I figured I’d double up, give you back yours right away—”

Andrey’s laugh sliced through the air like broken glass. “You think this is about money?” His fingers flexed, brass knuckles catching the dim light. “You got my money back. That’s true.” A gesture toward the shadows where his brother stood watching. “But Nikon has it now.”

Cold sweat trickled down Reuben’s spine. He’d thought the money was Corey’s—part of whatever success his friend had found after college. Instead, he’d been playing with stolen cash. Mafia cash. Reuben’s stomach lurched at the implication.

“My men told me you happened to be looking for someone.” Andrey paced, each heavy footstep slapping hard against the concrete. “A player. Someone who could handle the big game.” His attention snapped to Reuben. “And, funnily enough, it was right about when your collections came up short.”

The pieces clicked together in Reuben’s mind. Corey hadn’t just been living the high life after graduation. He’d been running drugs. And now...

“Two hundred and fifty thousand light.” Andrey’s voice dropped dangerously low. “The exact amount you needed for tonight’s buy-in.”

“You still got it back!” Corey’s words tumbled out desperate and fast. “Plus what Reuben won—”

The crack of Andrey’s backhand silenced him.

“You think I give a fuck about a few stacks?” Each word precise, measured. “What I care about is respect.”

Reuben’s throat closed as Andrey turned those cold eyes on him. The same eyes as the man in the shadows. But where Nikon’s gaze held calculation, Andrey’s blazed with barely contained violence.

“And you.” Andrey stalked closer to Reuben. “You telling me you didn’t know where the money came from?”

“I swear.” Reuben’s voice came out steadier than he felt. “Corey said it was his stake—”

“Lies.” The word snapped through the air like a whip.

“Actually.” Nikon emerged from the shadows. Despite his terror, Reuben couldn’t help noticing how the harsh fluorescent light caught the waves of his dark hair, silvered threads at his temples only enhancing his commanding presence. “He’s probably telling the truth.” Those piercing blue eyes met Reuben’s, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. “My security team ran his background while he was playing. He’s clean. A finance graduate who’s been grinding mid-stakes games since his last internship fell through.”

Reuben’s chest tightened. How long had they been watching him? How much did they know?

Andrey’s jaw worked beneath his skin. “Are you defending this piece of—”

“Nyet.” Nikon cut him off with a single word of Russian. “I’m simply helping you focus your anger on where it belongs.” He moved closer, each footfall measured like a dance between predator and prey. “Besides, you know the family rule. We each handle our own domain.” A slight tilt of his head toward Reuben. “He tried to cheat my poker room. That makes him my problem.” Nikon’s attention shifted to Corey. “And he stole from your operation. That makes him yours.”

The implication hung in the air like smoke.

Reuben’s world narrowed to the metallic click of Andrey drawing his pistol. Everything seemed to slow down—Corey’s eyes widening, the guards’ grip tightening on Reuben’s arms, the way the fluorescent light caught the gun’s barrel as it swung toward Corey’s leg.

The gunshot cracked through the basement like thunder.

Corey’s scream tore through Reuben’s chest. His former roommate writhed on the floor, blood seeping through his pants where the bullet had torn through flesh and muscle.

Corey collapsed sideways, his body curling around the wound as crimson spread across the concrete. His flashy clothes - the same expensive outfit he’d worn to convince Reuben this was just another poker game - now twisted and stained as he clutched his thigh, choking on screams.

Andrey dropped into a crouch beside Corey, his voice turning silken and cruel. He pressed the gun barrel into the fresh wound and twisted, each subtle movement calibrated to draw out maximum agony. “You. Little. Shit.” Each word fell like shards of ice between Corey’s ragged breaths. “I always knew you were a cocky bastard—” the barrel twisted again, drawing a wet gasp, “—thought you could steal from me and get away with it...” Andrey leaned in, his breath hot on Corey’s face. “You thought you were smart, didn’t you? You feeling smart now?”

A whimper bubbled up from Corey’s throat as Andrey dug the barrel in even deeper, the metal grinding against exposed bone. “But you’re not smart, Corey. You’re just a fucking thief. And where I’m from, thieves lose their hands.” Andrey’s eyes gleamed with malice as he pressed the gun barrel against Corey’s trembling hand, the cold steel biting into his flesh. “Maybe I should start with this one. Leave you with nothing but a bloody stump.”

The gunshot cracked through the basement. Corey’s scream tore at something deep in Reuben’s chest as the bullet shattered bone and flesh. Blood sprayed across the concrete in a pattern Reuben’s mind couldn’t help but analyze — like a poker player’s tell, but written in red. The metallic scent filled his nostrils, mixing with the faint acrid smell of gunfire in a way that made his stomach roll.

Through the ringing in his ears, he heard Corey’s voice crack and break into something inhuman. His friend - his stupid, reckless friend - had finally found a game he couldn’t talk his way out of.

And Reuben was next in line to play.

Reuben’s stomach heaved. This couldn’t be happening. This morning he’d been reading rejection emails in his apartment. Now he was watching his college roommate get tortured by the Russian mob.

“Fascinating technique.”

The words, spoken so casually, drew Reuben’s attention back to Nikon. The elder Matvei had moved closer, close enough that Reuben caught the subtle scent of his cologne - something expensive with notes of whiskey and leather that made his head swim. The man carried himself with the fluid grace of a fighter, his muscular frame evident even beneath the perfect cut of his suit.

“Most people.” Nikon gestured at Corey with his scarred hand. “They try to dissociate. Look away. But you...” Those blue eyes studied Reuben’s face. “You’re analyzing. Calculating. Even now.”

Heat crept up Reuben’s neck. He hadn’t realized he’d been doing it—that instinctive need to read people, to understand the dynamics at play. The same skill that had served him so well at the poker table now felt like a curse.

“Please.” The word scraped past Reuben’s dry throat. “He made a mistake—”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Nikon murmured, and then his hand was on Reuben’s face. Those scarred fingers were surprisingly gentle as they cupped his jaw, turning him away from Corey’s torture. “Corey is, as I said, my brother’s concern now.”

Up this close, Reuben could see the faint lines at the corners of Nikon’s eyes, marks of experience that only enhanced his rugged appeal. His touch was warm, almost tender, creating a dizzying contrast with the violence Reuben guessed those hands were capable of inflicting.

Behind them, Corey whimpered as Andrey murmured something in Russian.

“You, however.” Nikon’s hand tightened on Reuben’s jaw, keeping his face firmly turned away from the scene behind him. Nikon’s voice rumbled low in his chest as his thumb traced over Reuben’s jawline. “You are my problem to solve.”

The touch should have horrified him. This man had just watched the torture without flinching. Had orchestrated who knows how many similar scenes in this basement. But there was something in the way those fingers moved along his jawline—something almost tender that made Reuben’s pulse jump for entirely different reasons.

“I’m not—” Reuben swallowed hard. “I didn’t know about the money.”

“I believe you.” Nikon’s thumb brushed across his bottom lip. “But you still used our money to win our money. That’s like taking a loan.” A dangerous smile curved his lips. “And we always charge interest.”

Fresh terror coiled in Reuben’s gut, warring with the unwanted heat Nikon’s touch sparked under his skin. In any other setting, this surprising attention from the handsome older man would have been flattering. But here, with blood on the concrete and Corey’s pained gasps filling the air, it felt like another form of torture.

“What do you want from me?”

The words were barely audible, but Nikon’s smile widened as if Reuben had shouted them.

“What do I want?” Those blue eyes darkened. “Now, that is an interesting question.”

Another scream from Corey made Reuben flinch, but Nikon’s hand kept his face turned away from the violence.

“For fuck’s sake, Nikon.” Andrey’s voice carried equal parts exasperation and rage. “Are you going to make him your bitch or make him pay?”

Nikon’s thumb stilled against Reuben’s lip. Those blue eyes continued to study his face with an intensity that made his skin prickle. The silence stretched, broken only by Corey’s ragged breathing and the soft tap of water dripping somewhere in the shadows.

“Why limit ourselves?” Nikon’s voice carried a dark promise that sent shivers down Reuben’s spine. “When we could have both?”

The words hung in the air like a noose.

Reuben’s mind raced through the implications, each possibility worse than the last. The guards still held his arms, but it was Nikon’s touch that truly trapped him—that firm grip on his jaw that somehow felt more binding than steel.

“Your poker skills are... exceptional.” Nikon’s hand finally dropped away, leaving Reuben’s skin burning where those fingers had been. “It would be a waste to simply punish you.”

Nikon began to pace. “You spotted tells my best dealers missed. Reads that even I hadn’t caught.” A slight smile played at his lips. “And you did it all while maintaining perfect control. No obvious tells of your own. No ego plays. Just...” His hand gestured elegantly. “Pure talent.”

The praise shouldn’t have warmed something in Reuben’s chest. Not here. Not now. Not from this man.

But it did.

“So, I have a proposition for you.” Nikon stopped directly in front of him. “One that could benefit us both.”

A pained laugh bubbled up in Reuben’s throat. “Like Corey’s proposition benefited me?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Stupid. So stupid to show defiance now.

But instead of anger, appreciation flickered in Nikon’s eyes.

“Clever and brave.” He reached down, fingers ghosting along Reuben’s cheek. “Or perhaps just desperate enough to be reckless.”

Behind them, Andrey muttered something that sounded distinctly unimpressed.

“The proposition is simple.” Nikon’s hand dropped to his side. “You work for me. Play in my games. Help ensure the house always wins big—but subtly. Skillfully.” His eyes gleamed. “The way you played tonight, before we knew about the stolen stake.”

Work for him. The words seemed to echo in Reuben’s head, bouncing off memories of rejection emails and dwindling bank accounts.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you can work off your debt...” Nikon’s gaze traveled down Reuben’s body with particular slowness. “In other ways.”

Heat flooded Reuben’s face. The implication was clear—and horrifyingly tempting in a way he refused to examine.

“You’re blushing.” Nikon’s voice dropped lower, meant only for Reuben’s ears. “Interesting.”

“I’ll take the poker.” The words rushed out too fast, too desperate.

“Are you sure?” Nikon leaned closer, his cologne overwhelming Reuben’s senses. “The other option could be... mutually beneficial.”

Reuben’s heart hammered against his ribs. This close, he could see the flecks of darker blue in Nikon’s eyes. In another life, another situation...

“The poker,” he repeated, firmer this time. “Please.”

“As you wish.” Nikon straightened, adjusting his cuffs. “For now.”

The added words sent another shiver through Reuben’s body—fear or anticipation. He couldn’t tell anymore.

“Disappointing.” Andrey’s voice dripped with mock sadness. “I was hoping to see how far your... expensive tastes... went, brother.”

“Now, now.” Nikon’s smile carried an edge sharp enough to cut. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Reuben’s knees ached against the concrete as Nikon circled behind him. The guards still held Reuben’s arms, but their grip had loosened slightly—as if they too understood that physical restraints were now the least of Reuben’s bonds.

“Let him go.” Nikon’s command carried quiet authority.

The moment the guards’ hands left his arms, Reuben nearly collapsed. Only pride kept him upright, kneeling on the cold floor.

“Stand up.”

Reuben’s legs shook as he obeyed, his body protesting after what felt like hours on the concrete. He forced himself not to look at Corey, who had gone suspiciously quiet.

“Your first game is tomorrow night.” Nikon moved back into view, producing a business card from his jacket pocket. “This address. Nine PM sharp.” He held out the card, waiting until Reuben’s trembling fingers took it. “Dress appropriately.”

The card was thick, expensive stock. Just two lines of elegant text—an address in the city’s financial district, and a phone number.

“What...” Reuben cleared his throat, tried again. “What stakes?”

“Concerned about the buy-in?” Nikon’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t be. The house will stake you.” A pause heavy with meaning. “After all, you’re playing with our money now. Officially.”

More debt. More obligation. But what choice did he have?

“And Corey?” The words slipped out before Reuben could stop them.

Andrey’s laugh held no humor. “Worried about your friend?” He nudged Corey with his shoe, earning a weak groan. “Don’t be. We’ll take very good care of him.”

“Corey made his choice.” Nikon’s voice carried finality. “As you’ve made yours.”

A choice that wasn’t really a choice at all. But as Reuben’s eyes met Nikon’s, he saw something in that gaze that made his breath catch. Interest. Appreciation. Want.

“My driver will take you home.” Nikon gestured toward the stairs. “Rest. Prepare for tomorrow.”

Reuben took one step toward freedom, then another. Each movement felt like walking through deep water.

“Oh, and Reuben?”

He froze at the sound of his name on Nikon’s lips.

“Don’t try to run.” Nikon’s tone remained conversational, almost gentle. “You won’t enjoy the consequences.”

“I won’t.” The words emerged soft and broken, like shards of glass falling onto velvet.

“Good boy.”

Reuben climbed the stairs on unsteady legs, guided by one of the guards. Behind him, he heard Andrey say something in Russian that made Nikon laugh—a rich, warm sound that seemed out of place in the cold basement.

The guard led him through the now-empty poker room, past tables where just hours ago he’d felt invincible. Tumblers still sat half-empty, and poker chips scattered across green-felt like abandoned dreams.

Outside, a black car idled by the curb. The driver opened the door without a word.

As Reuben sank into the leather seat, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from an unknown number:

‘Sweet dreams, little card shark. Tomorrow we play for real stakes.’

Reuben’s fingers tightened around the business card still clutched in his hand. The thick paper cut into his palm, grounding him in reality.

What had he gotten himself into?

The car pulled away from the curb, leaving behind the poker room and its secrets. But as streetlights flickered across his face, Reuben closed his eyes only to see scarred hands gripping his jaw, Corey’s blood spreading across the floor, and Nikon’s smile... that terrible, beautiful smile that seemed to promise both pleasure and pain.