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"I'm selective about my clients," I reply, calling his bet. "Have to be sure our values align."

"Values?" Ben looks confused. "It's security work."

Vega chuckles, but his eyes never leave mine. "Your brother understands that effective protection requires more than technical expertise. It requires understanding what truly motivates people."

"And what motivates you?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

"Protecting what's mine." His answer is immediate, definitive. "Making sure certain boundaries are respected."

The words hang between us like a gauntlet thrown down. We're not talking about security contracts anymore. This is about territories and claims and lines that have already been crossed.

"Boundaries are important," I agree, my voice carefully controlled. "Clear communication prevents problems."

"Exactly." Vega discards two cards, then arranges his replacement cards with deliberate precision. When the betting comes around to him, he pushes a significant stack of chips forward. "I'll raise."

I study my hand—five hearts in sequence, nine through king. A straight flush, one of the strongest hands possible in poker. The odds of getting dealt this combination are astronomical, but here it sits in my palm like destiny.

"Call," I say, matching his bet and adding more chips to the pot.

Ben and Marcus fold quickly, sensing the real battle is between Vega and me. Koda watches silently, his weathered face revealing nothing.

"Let's see what you've got," Vega says, setting down his cards with obvious satisfaction. Three kings and two eights. A full house. In most games, it would be a winning hand.

I lay down my cards one by one, revealing the straight flush. Five hearts in perfect sequence, an unbeatable combination that makes Vega's strong hand look ordinary by comparison.

"Lucky draw," Vega observes, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp.

"Skill and patience," I correct, gathering the chips toward me. "Know when to hold, know when to fold."

Ben whoops, but the celebration feels forced. Even he's starting to pick up on the undercurrents now.

Vega and I remain locked in our staring contest across the table, both understanding that this game—the real game—is just beginning. He came here for a reason, and it wasn't to play cards with Ben's training camp.

He came to send a message. And now it's my turn to figure out exactly what that message is.

The rest of the evening plays out like a chess match disguised as a poker game.

Vega wins some hands, loses others, but never stops watching.

Every question sounds casual, every comment seems innocent, but I can feel him cataloging information with each exchange.

He asks about Ben's training schedule, about the cabin's security setup, about how often we all get together like this.

By the time he finally leaves around midnight, I feel like I've been interrogated by a professional.

Ben walks him to the door, thanking him for coming and for the expensive scotch. Vega's security detail materializes from the darkness, escorting him to his SUV with practiced efficiency. The rest of us watch from the windows until his taillights disappear down the mountain road.

"Well, that was interesting," Ben says, returning to the poker table where we're gathering up the chips.

"One way to put it," Koda mutters, his weathered face grim.

Marcus and I exchange another look. Neither of us speaks, but the message is clear—this conversation needs to happen privately.

"We should head out," I tell Ben, grabbing my jacket from the chair. "Early day tomorrow."

"Yeah, me too. Got training at six." Ben claps me on the shoulder. "Thanks for coming up, man. This was good."

It was good, until Vega showed up and turned it into something else entirely. But I just nod and follow Marcus toward the door.

The mountain air is crisp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and that particular stillness that comes with high altitude. Marcus and I walk to our trucks in silence, gravel crunching under our boots. Only when we're sure we're out of earshot does he speak.

“So, what's the plan?" Marcus asks, leaning against his truck's tailgate.

"Plan for what?"

"Don't play dumb. Vega didn't drive thirty miles up a mountain road to play cards." Marcus crosses his arms, studying my face in the darkness. "Guy was fishing all night. Question is, what's he fishing for?"

I consider my words carefully. Marcus has been my partner long enough to know when I'm holding something back, but there are limits to what I can share without putting him at risk.

"He's suspicious about something. Don't know what exactly, but he's definitely poking around."

"Suspicious enough to show up here with armed security." Marcus's tone is matter-of-fact. "That's not casual interest."

"No, it's not."

“So, what are you going to do about it?"

The question hangs in the cold mountain air between us.

Marcus isn't asking because he's worried—he's asking because he wants to know how to prepare.

That's the difference between him and most people.

He doesn't waste time on fear or moral lectures.

He just wants to know what's coming so he can be ready for it.

"I'm going to have to make a decision about Vega sooner rather than later," I say finally.

Marcus nods. "Need backup when you do?"

"I'll let you know."

"Fair enough." He pushes off from the truck. "Just remember, the longer you wait, the more time he has to figure out whatever he's trying to figure out."

"I know."

Marcus climbs into his truck without another word. He understands the situation well enough to know that some conversations can't happen, even between partners. Some decisions have to be made alone.

I watch his taillights disappear down the mountain road before starting my own truck.

The drive back to my place gives me time to think, to process what happened tonight and what it means for everything I've been planning.

By the time I pull into my driveway, I've reached the same conclusion Marcus hinted at. The timeline just got accelerated.

I'm pouring myself a bourbon when my phone buzzes with an email notification. The sender's name makes me pause, then grin. I scan the message quickly, my smile widening with each line. This changes everything—in the best possible way.

I check the time—past midnight, but Audrey might still be awake. Especially if she's been worrying about tonight, about Vega showing up at Ben's place.

She answers on the second ring, her voice soft and concerned. "Reign? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, Princess." I settle into my leather chair, bourbon in hand. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

"How was the poker game?"

The question brings back the memory of Vega's calculating stare across the table. "Interesting. Vega showed up."

There's a sharp intake of breath on her end. "What? Why would he do that?"

"Ben invited him. He didn't know any better." I take a sip of bourbon, letting the burn settle my nerves. The alcohol doesn't erase the image of Vega cataloging details about Ben's cabin, but it helps. "But it confirmed what we already suspected. He's getting suspicious."

“Oh, God. Reign, what if he figures it out? What if he knows about us?"

The fear in her voice makes something protective surge in my chest. I set down my glass and lean forward, as if she could see the intensity in my expression through the phone.

"Hey. Look at me—I mean, listen to me. He doesn't know anything concrete. He's fishing, but that doesn't mean he's caught anything."

"But if he's suspicious enough to show up at your brother's poker game..."

"Then we'll deal with it when the time comes." I keep my voice steady and reassuring, the same tone I use to calm spooked clients. "But tonight, I want to talk about something else. Something good."

"What?"

I think about the email sitting on my phone, about the opportunity it represents. "Can you get away this weekend? Maybe Friday night through Sunday?"

The question seems to surprise her. There's a pause, and I can almost hear her mind working through the logistics. "This weekend? I... Maybe. Why?"

"It's a surprise."

"Reign, I don't know if this is the best time for surprises. If Gio is watching me more closely..."

Her voice carries that familiar note of anxiety, the sound of someone who's been looking over her shoulder for too long. I hate that Vega has made her afraid, hate that she has to calculate the risk of every decision.

"Trust me," I interrupt. "I'll figure something out. Can you do it?"

She's quiet for a long moment, and I can almost hear her weighing the risks against her desire to say yes. The silence stretches between us, filled with everything we can't say over an unsecured phone line.

Finally, she speaks. "Okay. Yes. I'll find a way."

"Good girl. I'll call you tomorrow with details."

"Reign?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever this surprise is, it better be worth the risk."

I grin, thinking about the email and what it's going to mean to her. "Princess, trust me. It's going to be worth everything."