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“ H e’s early,” reported the security chief, standing at attention in Nikon’s office. “Already reviewing the player profiles you provided.”

Nikon allowed himself a small smile as he switched his attention to the security feed. Reuben moved differently tonight - less like prey, more like someone trying to convince himself he belonged. It was amusing, really. Especially since Nikon had ensured tonight’s game would test every ounce of that fragile confidence.

The security feed followed Reuben’s progress through the foyer. The boy’s fingers absently straightened his silk tie - a nervous tell that made Nikon’s smile deepen. The tie was new. Expensive. Clearly bought for tonight with money Reuben didn’t have to spare.

“Have someone show Mr. Hoyt the ropes.” Nikon’s fingers drummed against the polished mahogany of his desk. “And make sure he understands about the cameras.”

The security chief nodded and retreated, leaving Nikon alone with the surveillance feeds. On the screen, Reuben’s eyes widened as he took in the poker room’s understated luxury. Different from last night’s location - this one connected directly to one of Nikon’s legitimate establishments. The perfect cover for the less-than-legal activities that would unfold here tonight.

Nikon watched as his floor manager approached Reuben. The boy’s spine straightened, shoulders squaring as if preparing for a fight. But his voice, when it came through the speakers, remained steady.

“Mr. Matvei said to arrive early.”

The floor manager gestured toward the ceiling’s discrete camera housing. Reuben’s gaze followed, understanding dawning in those expressive green eyes. His throat worked as he swallowed - another tell Nikon filed away for future reference.

The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of technical instruction. Table limits. House rules. Security protocols. Reuben absorbed it all with that sharp intelligence that had first caught Nikon’s attention.

A light tap at Nikon’s door preceded his lieutenant’s entrance. “The players are arriving. Should I tell Mr. Hoyt about the adjusted stakes?”

Nikon’s eyes remained fixed on the security feed where Reuben was practicing chip handling. Those clever fingers moved with natural grace, but tension lined his shoulders. “$750,000 buy-in. Make sure he knows it’s house money.” His lips curved. “And that he’s responsible for every penny of it.”

The lieutenant’s footsteps faded down the corridor. On the screen, Reuben’s face paled as he received the news. His hands stilled on the chips, knuckles whitening. But he didn’t run. Intriguing.

Time to make an appearance.

Nikon adjusted his cuffs as he descended to the poker room floor. The familiar sounds washed over him - chips clicking, ice cubes settling in crystal, quiet murmurs of conversation carrying hidden threats. His domain. His carefully crafted arena where power shifted with each dealt card.

Reuben’s head snapped up at his approach, those green eyes darkening with something more complex than fear.

“I trust everything meets your expectations?” Nikon kept his voice low, intimate. A conversation just for them, despite the crowded room.

“The stakes...” Reuben’s throat worked. “That’s more than—”

“Than you’ve ever played for?” Nikon stepped closer, using his height advantage. “Consider it motivation to stay focused.”

Something flashed in Reuben’s eyes - defiance, perhaps. Or determination. Either way, it sent a pleasant heat through Nikon’s blood.

“The game starts in ten minutes.” Nikon’s hand found Reuben’s shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to feel the tension beneath the fabric. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Two hours into the game, Nikon watched from his preferred spot against the rail as Reuben folded another hand. The boy was playing too tight, letting the weight of the stakes paralyze him. At this rate, he’d blind himself out of the game before midnight.

The bathroom break couldn’t have come at a better time.

Nikon waited thirty seconds after Reuben left the table before following. The restroom’s muted lighting cast elongated shadows across the Italian marble, creating swirling patches of darkness between the ornate sconces.

Reuben stood at the sink, splashing water on his face. His reflection in the mirror showed pupils blown wide with stress.

“Having fun?” Nikon leaned against the door frame, effectively blocking the exit.

A humorless laugh escaped Reuben’s throat. “Is that what this is supposed to be?”

“It could be.” Nikon reached into his jacket, producing a silver flask. “If you’d stop playing scared money.”

“Scared money?” Water droplets clung to Reuben’s lashes as he turned. “You handed me three-quarters of a million dollars and told me not to lose it. How exactly should I be playing?”

“Like the player I saw last night.” Nikon unscrewed the flask cap. “The one who read souls across the felt and made them dance to his tune.” He extended the flask. “The one who wasn’t afraid to take risks.”

“That was different.” But Reuben’s eyes fixed on the flask with obvious longing.

“Was it?” Nikon moved closer, invading Reuben’s space. “Or are you just making excuses?”

Color rose in Reuben’s cheeks. “I don’t need your whiskey.”

“No?” Nikon’s free hand caught Reuben’s chin, tilting it up. “Then perhaps you’d prefer my previous offer? The one about working off your debt in... other ways?”

Reuben snatched the flask, his fingers brushing Nikon’s in a way that sent electricity dancing up his arm. The boy took a long pull, throat working as he swallowed. A drop of whiskey clung to his bottom lip.

Nikon’s thumb itched to brush it away.

“Better?” He kept his voice low, intimate in the marble-enclosed space.

Reuben’s tongue darted out, catching that tempting droplet. “We’ll see.”

The change was immediate when they returned to the table. Reuben’s posture loosened, his betting patterns grew aggressive but controlled. He stopped playing his cards and started playing his opponents.

Nikon’s chest filled with something dangerously close to pride.

By hour five, Reuben had tripled the starting stack. His reads were perfect, his timing impeccable. The quiet player to his left - one of the Colombians’ top lieutenants - had gone from dismissive to wary.

More interesting was what Reuben didn’t seem to notice - the spectator on the rail wearing a silk Versace shirt dripping with gold chains, whose face darkened each time Reuben won a pot from their man.

The stack grew to $1.2 million before the inevitable happened.

“You fucking cheated!” The words exploded from a player who’d just lost his third major pot to Reuben. The man lunged across the table, chips scattering like shrapnel.

Nikon moved before his security could react. His hand found the man’s throat, pushing him back against the rail with precise pressure.

“I suggest,” Nikon kept his voice conversational even as his fingers tightened, “you rethink that accusation.”

Recognition dawned in the man’s bloodshot eyes. His face paled. “Mr. Matvei... I didn’t realize—”

“Clearly.” Nikon released his grip, letting the man stumble. “Cash him out.”

Nikon turned to find Reuben stood frozen beside the poker table, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and something that might have been gratitude. His hands trembled slightly where they rested on the felt - another tell to file away.

“Join me for a drink.” The words weren’t a request. Nikon’s hand settled on the small of Reuben’s back, steering him away toward the restaurant’s private section before he could refuse.

Reuben’s pulse jumped visibly at his throat, but he didn’t pull away from the touch. Progress.

The restaurant sat adjacent to the poker room - a Michelin-starred establishment that served as one of the Matvei family’s more respectable ventures. White tablecloths and crystal stemware provided the perfect cover for less savory dealings, while the private dining sections offered discrete spaces for sensitive conversations.

Reuben hesitated at the threshold between the two spaces, as if crossing from the poker room to the restaurant might somehow make everything more real. Nikon’s hand remained steady against his back, both guidance and warning, as he led them to his preferred corner booth.

“Your tells are showing.” Nikon guided Reuben into the booth, while positioning himself to block any exit route. “You keep glancing at the door.”

“Can you blame me?” Reuben’s fingers worried the edge of a leather-bound menu. “After what just happened?”

“The situation was handled.”

“By choking a man against a rail?”

Nikon signaled the waitress, ordering their finest bourbon without consulting Reuben. “Would you have preferred I let him attack you?”

Color rose in Reuben’s cheeks. He dropped his gaze to the table, shoulders tense beneath that expensive new shirt.

“Now,” Nikon leaned forward, pitching his voice low. “Tell me about the Colombian.”

“What?” Reuben’s eyes snapped up, startled.

“The quiet player on your left. What did you notice?”

“Why do you want to know? Isn’t he a regular?”

Nikon’s jaw tightened at the questioning. The boy would need to learn when to stop pushing. But for now... “Humor me.”

Reuben sat back, some of that poker table confidence returning to his posture. “Fine. He has three tells. A lip twitch when he’s strong, a finger tap when he’s drawing, and he holds his breath for exactly three seconds before bluffing.”

“And?”

“And he kept looking at someone on the rail. A guy in a purple tie who seemed... unhappy every time I won a pot.”

Nikon’s pulse quickened. He hadn’t noticed that detail himself. “Go on.”

“There’s more to it than just tension over money.” Reuben leaned forward, voice dropping lower. “Watch his left hand when the cartel guy approaches the rail. He does this subtle gesture - like he’s trying to wave someone off without being obvious. But only when certain pots are in play.”

Nikon’s mind raced through weeks of surveillance footage. He’d never caught that detail.

“He’s signaling which hands he’s playing with personal funds versus cartel money.” Reuben’s fingers tapped the table, reconstructing the pattern. “The gesture comes before the action, every time. And those are the pots he plays most aggressively - when he’s trying to win back what he’s lost of their money.”

“How did you—”

“The timing.” Reuben’s eyes took on that focused sharpness Nikon had first noticed at the poker table. “He makes the gesture, then three hands later the purple tie guy checks his phone. Like he’s confirming something. My guess? He’s reporting losses to someone higher up. Someone our quiet friend is terrified of disappointing.”

Nikon kept his face carefully neutral, but his heart hammered against his ribs. This was valuable intelligence - the kind that could shift the balance of power in upcoming territory negotiations.

“There’s something else.” Reuben glanced toward the poker room. “Every time the Colombian wins a big pot, he touches his wedding ring. But when he loses? He slides it off and on. Like he’s reminding himself what’s at stake.”

“A man with a family to protect.”

“A man with a family being held as collateral.” Reuben’s voice held certainty. “The cartel knows he’s been losing their money. They’re using his wife and kids to ensure he keeps playing - keeps trying to win it back.”

Nikon studied Reuben’s face, looking for any sign of deception. But he saw only that same sharp intelligence that made the boy so dangerous at the poker table.

“You saw all this in six hours of play?”

“I saw it in the first hour.” A ghost of a smile touched Reuben’s lips. “The rest was just confirmation.”

Nikon leaned back, heat spreading through his chest as he absorbed the full scope of Reuben’s observations. The boy hadn’t just read tells - he’d dissected an entire operation, laying bare vulnerabilities that Nikon’s own surveillance team had missed for weeks. The kind of vulnerabilities that, properly exploited, could bring empires to their knees.

A dealer who could spot cheating was valuable. A player who could win consistently was an asset. But this... this ability to strip away masks and expose the raw fears beneath? To decode the subtle language of power and desperation? That wasn’t just useful. That was a weapon.

His weapon, now.

Valuable information indeed. Information that would make the Colombians bleed at their next negotiation. Information that made Reuben far more dangerous - and far more delicious - than Nikon had initially calculated.

“Speaking of owing money...” Nikon gestured to his lieutenant, who approached with a black bag. “Let’s discuss your night’s earnings.”

The lieutenant emptied the bag onto the table. Stacks of hundreds created a small fortune between their bourbon tumblers.

“Twenty percent.” Nikon separated out several stacks, sliding them toward Reuben. “Ninety thousand dollars. Your cut.”

Reuben’s mouth fell open, creating an image Nikon filed away for later contemplation. “But... the debt...”

“Isn’t about money.” Nikon caught Reuben’s wrist as the boy reached for the cash. “The debt is paid when I say it’s paid.”

Fire flashed in those green eyes. Reuben stood, shoulders squared for confrontation.

Three of Nikon’s guards moved instantly, their stance making clear what would happen if Reuben took another step.

Nikon didn’t move. Didn’t need to. He simply waited, watching the emotions play across Reuben’s face until the boy sank back into his seat.

“You must see the opportunity here.” Nikon released Reuben’s wrist, letting his fingers trail across the pulse point. “Tonight proved what I already knew. You’re wasted grinding those small stakes games.”

“What opportunity?” Bitterness laced the words. “Being your prisoner?”

“Being my partner.” Nikon gestured at the money. “This is just the beginning. Think about what we could accomplish together.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy with possibility. Reuben’s gaze dropped to the cash, then lifted to meet Nikon’s eyes.

“Do I have a choice?”

“There are always choices.” Nikon’s lips curved. “Some are just more pleasant than others.”

Understanding darkened Reuben’s eyes. His fingers closed around the stack of bills, the movement carrying all the weight of surrender.

“Good choice.” Nikon raised his glass in a mock toast. “Welcome to the family business.”