Chapter 2
Two Months Later
E verything in the private poker room was designed to lie; from the gentle whir of air conditioning that masked high-stakes conversations to the crystal glasses that made million-dollar losses look elegant.
Reuben dealt another hand, his own practiced smile the biggest deception of all.
Ten years of academic excellence, a finance degree from an ivy league university, and now here he was... stuck dealing cards to men who made more than the average annual salary in a day.
Reuben’s side gave a phantom twinge, a souvenir from the warehouse standoff well over a month ago. Ever since Ramiro had pointed that gun at him, Nikon had kept Reuben firmly tethered to the poker tables; safe, in-place, and utterly wasted.
The irony might have been bitter if he hadn’t grown to love the game, to appreciate the subtle power of being the one person at the table whose eyes saw everything.
James Donovan’s tell was in his left eyebrow; a slight twitch when he was bluffing. Mr. Hui, the tech mogul, had a habit of touching his pinky ring before a big bet. These were all the little details that Reuben filed away, using them to orchestrate the flow of the game exactly as Nikon wanted.
Nikon .
The heat of Nikon’s gaze pressed down from the mezzanine above, an ever-present reminder of both his protection and possession. Reuben resisted the urge to touch the diamond- encrusted watch adorning his wrist—another beautiful shackle disguised as a placating gift.
It had been weeks since he’d stared down the barrel of Ramiro’s gun, and yet Nikon still watched him as if someone might materialize with a weapon at any moment. The concern would have been touching if it didn’t come packaged with invisible chains.
What had Grigorii said that day at the warehouse? “My brother chose better than he knew.” The words had lingered, a reminder that in Nikon’s world, people were assets first, individuals second. Even those he claimed to love.
“I’ve heard your insight into people is remarkable, Mr. Hoyt.” Donovan’s voice was casual, but something in his tone made Reuben’s instincts prickle. “I imagine that skill could serve you well in... other capacities.”
Reuben caught the subtle glance Donovan cast toward the mezzanine. Testing boundaries. Seeing how far the leash extended.
Reuben’s shoulders tensed as he exhaled sharply. Is that all anyone saw when they looked at him? Nikon Matvei’s prized belonging—either an asset to be coveted or a weakness to be exploited?
Reuben’s lips curved into his dealer’s smile; professional, pleasant, revealing nothing. “The cards are the only things I need to read, Mr. Donovan.” He nodded toward the older man’s dwindling poker chip stack. “Speaking of which, I believe it’s your bet.”
Donovan’s eyes lingered a moment too long on Reuben as he pushed forward his chips. The look wasn’t overtly inappropriate–nothing so crude–but rather the kind of interest that spoke of future intentions.
Above them, a chair scraped loudly against hardwood. Reuben’s pulse quickened even as he maintained his composure, hyper-aware of every small sound that might indicate Nikon’s movement.
“Full house,” Mr. Hui announced quietly, laying down his cards.
Reuben nodded, already calculating the pot distribution while tracking Donovan’s reaction in his peripheral vision. But something else overshadowed the older man’s disappointment at losing the hand.
The heavy scent of Donovan’s cologne grew stronger as he leaned forward to collect his remaining chips. “You know,” he murmured, voice pitched for Reuben’s ears alone, “someone with your talents could do a lot better than playing gatekeeper in Matvei’s playground. In fact, I’ve heard whispers about Dmitrii Miroslav’s operations. He values independence in his associates.”
The name hung in the air like a noose. Reuben’s hands never faltered as he collected the cards, but his mind raced. Everyone knew Miroslav was expanding his underground gambling territory, challenging the established order. The fact that Donovan would dare mention him here, in Nikon’s own establishment...
Reuben’s fingers stilled for a moment too long on the cards before resuming their fluid movement. “I appreciate the compliment, Mr. Donovan, but I’m quite satisfied with my current position.” The lie was as smooth as the silk of his tie.
A quiet click of expensive shoes on the spiral staircase sent a thrill down his spine. Reuben didn’t need to look up to know how Nikon would appear; dangerous grace wrapped in a bespoke suit.
“Gentlemen.” Nikon’s voice carried that peculiar mix of charm and warning that never failed to give Reuben a small thrum of excitement. “I trust the evening has been profitable?”
The other players murmured polite responses, but Donovan’s smile took on a slight edge. “Quite enlightening, actually. You’ve cultivated quite a treasure here.”
Reuben kept his eyes on the cards as he shuffled them. But his body betrayed none of the electricity coursing through his veins as Nikon’s hand came to rest on the small of his back. Reuben noted how Nikon’s fingers splayed wider now than before the port incident, as if trying to shield more of him from danger. Another small change since that day at the warehouse.
The touch was light, almost casual, but Reuben knew better. Every gesture Nikon made was designed to send a clear message: Mine .
The burden of that message settled around Reuben like a heavy coat; comfortable and confining all at once. Part of him wanted to lean into that touch, to accept the protection it offered. But another part wanted to shrug it off, to prove he could stand on his own two feet in this world.
“I recognize value when I see it,” Nikon replied, his thumb tracing small circles against Reuben’s spine. “Though I’m sure someone of your experience understands that true value isn’t always about profit.”
The undercurrent of threat in those words raised the hair on the back of Reuben’s neck. It was the same tone Nikon had taken after hearing about the gun incident with the cartel; a mix of rage and menace that had morphed into suffocating vigilance.
Reuben could feel the tension building between the two men, could read it in the subtle shifts of their body language; from Donovan’s relaxed posture to Nikon’s coiled restraint.
“A word, kotyonok ?” Nikon’s use of the Russian endearment sent heat through Reuben’s chest, even as part of him bristled at being called ‘ kitten ’ in front of the other men at the table.
“Of course.” Reuben set the deck down with steady hands. “Michail will take over for the next few hands.”
As if summoned, Michail emerged from the rail where the other dealers waited. Reuben stood, adjusting his jacket in a gesture that was part habit, part need to put something between himself and Nikon’s touch. The subtle sounds of the poker room followed them; the soft shuffle of cards, the gentle clink of crystal, and the low murmur of conversation that never quite reached their ears.
Nikon guided them toward a private alcove, his hand never leaving Reuben’s back. And the moment they were hidden from view, he spun Reuben around, pressing him against the dark paneled wall with careful force.
“He wants you.” Nikon’s words ghosted across Reuben’s lips.
Reuben tilted his chin up, meeting that possessive blue gaze. “Everyone wants something in this world. I handled it.”
“Did you?” Nikon’s thumb traced along Reuben’s jawline, the gentle touch at odds with the dangerous edge in his voice. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were enjoying his attention.”
Something hot and defiant flared in Reuben’s chest. Here it was—the seeming eternal dance between them. Nikon’s need to protect warring with Reuben’s need to prove himself.
“Is that why you came down here?” Reuben’s voice was steady, even as his heart raced. “To mark your territory? I talked down an armed cartel enforcer two months ago. So I think I can handle James Donovan making suggestive comments.”
Nikon’s lips curved into that smile that never failed to make Reuben’s breath catch. “Do I need to mark my territory?”
Neither spoke as the words lingered between them. Reuben could feel his dick begin to harden, could smell Nikon’s expensive scent mixed with something darker, something uniquely him.
“You know I love you,” he said, the words coming out huskier than intended. “But I’m not your property.”
Something flickered in Nikon’s eyes—vulnerability, perhaps, before it was quickly shuttered.
“I do these things because I love you.” The words emerged rough-edged, as if dragged unwillingly from somewhere deep. “You’ve seen what happens to people in my world who aren’t protected.”
Images of the warehouse standoff flashed through Reuben’s mind; Ramiro’s gun, Grigorii’s calm calculation, the knife’s edge between life and death.
Before Reuben could respond, footsteps approached the alcove. “Mr. Matvei, my apologies.” One of the security staff appeared, his expression neutral. “But your brother Alexei is on the line. He says it’s urgent. About Miroslav.”
Reuben felt Nikon’s entire body tense, saw the subtle shift in his eyes that most would miss. After months of studying Nikon’s every tell, Reuben knew this one meant trouble.
“Go,” Reuben murmured, smoothing Nikon’s tie back into place. “I need to return to the table, anyway.”
Nikon’s eyes searched his face for a beat before he nodded. “We’ll finish this conversation later.” His voice dropped lower, sending a wave of heat through Reuben’s groin. “In my office.”
As Nikon strode away, Reuben allowed himself a moment to breathe, and to push down his growing arousal. The poker room’s ambient sounds filtered back in; cards shuffling, chips clicking, and ice cubes settling in glasses.
When Reuben returned to the table, he read the slight changes in the players’ postures. Donovan’s renewed interest, Mr. Hui’s careful neutrality, the other players’ studied focus on their cards. Every tell, every facial tick told its own story.
“Shall we continue?” Reuben’s hands moved on auto-pilot as he once again shuffled the deck of cards.