Page 3 of Deadly Hands

Both players had folded immediately, their cheeks flushed with more than just embarrassment.

“Who vouched for this one?” Nikon asked, his interest thoroughly piqued.

“Corey Sebastian, sir. One of Andrey’s runners.”

Nikon’s jaw tightened. Of course, it would be one of his younger brother’s problems walking into his poker room. He tapped the screen where those precise hands were shuffling chips, emphasizing his next words. “Keep the cameras on this one.” He straightened his cuffs, the motion practiced and precise. “I’ll observe from the floor.”

The security officer nodded once, sharp and efficient, as Nikon moved toward the door. Whatever game Andrey’s people were playing tonight, Nikon intended to see it unfold firsthand.

The private gaming area opened before him as Nikon descended the main staircase, crystal chandeliers casting shadows that danced across the mahogany-paneled walls.

His domain.

Every detail of the room was crafted to his exacting standards. Everything from the sound the weighted chips made as they clinked to the precise angle of each surveillance camera.

He paused at the bar, allowing himself a moment to observe the room’s dynamics without announcing his presence.

The boy was beautiful in a way that made Nikon’s carefully maintained control slip—just a touch. Lean build wrapped in a well-worn but tasteful jacket, dark blond hair that caughtthe light, and those green eyes that missed nothing. Even the way he moved spoke of natural grace, each gesture precise and deliberate.

Don’t, Nikon warned himself.Not with the clientele.

But his gaze lingered anyway, noting how Reuben’s profile could have been carved from marble—classical features softened by youth, yet sharpened by whatever hardships had led him here.

The security feed had let Nikon stay detached and professional. But now, standing here, watching Reuben handle both the cards and the players so skillfully, Nikon struggled against his growing attraction. The young man was everything he usually fell for - smart, composed, with just enough defiance hiding under those polite smiles. When Reuben laughed at another player’s weak joke, Nikon had to force himself to look away and focus on the game itself.

The smell of aged whiskey and nervous sweat hung in the air, a familiar cocktail that spoke of fortunes made and lost. Crystal tumblers caught the dim poker room light. And ice cracked like distant gunshots as wealthy patrons nursed their drinks between hands. The rich scent of whiskey-warmed leather mixed with hints of gunmetal cologne and cigar smoke that curled beneath the crystal fixtures, creating an atmosphere as carefully crafted as the stakes themselves.

There were six poker players at the main table. Two whales - a tech mogul who’d made his fortune in crypto, and an aging real estate developer who treated hundred-thousand-dollar losses like pocket change. Three seasoned pros who’d earned their places through both skill and discretion. And then there was the boy.

The game was a dance of sharks and prey, but not the usual feeding frenzy. The pros knew better than to scare off the money, while the wealthy players had enough experience to avoid themost obvious traps. A six-handed game meant more action, more pressure, nowhere to hide.

“The usual drink, Mr. Matvei?” The bartender spoke softly over the music.

A slight nod. The glass appeared with three fingers of aged whiskey. The crystal felt familiar in his scarred hands as he watched the boy play. Each move showed skill beyond his years - raising against the crypto kid’s wild bets, backing down from the pros’ pushback, and finding weakness in the developer’s simple style.

Most impressive was what he didn’t do - no flashy moves, no ego plays. Just methodical accumulation when ahead, careful defense when behind. The kind of game that kept both fish and sharks comfortable enough to keep playing, while slowly building an edge.

“Call.” The boy’s voice carried across the room as he faced down Vinh ‘Vinny’ Nam, one pro who’d been crushing games across three continents. The pot had swelled to well over six figures, the largest of the night.

Vinny showed his cards with practiced indifference - kings full of tens. A monster in any game, but especially deadly six-handed. He reached for the pot, already dismissing the new player.

But those hands, still steady, turned over aces full of tens. The higher boat lay there like a quiet accusation.

Vinny’s expression didn’t change, but his knuckles whitened slightly around his remaining chips. The boy had trapped one of the best in the business and made it look natural.

“Sorry about that.” His words were empty, and his hands stayed calm as he collected his winnings.

Nikon’s lieutenant stepped up beside him. “Sir, about the new player- “

A slight lift of Nikon’s finger silenced him. He wanted to watch this next hand play out without distraction. The way the boy arranged his chips spoke of experience beyond underground games—each stack over twenty chips high.

“Who is he?” The question barely disturbed the air between them.

“Reuben Hoyt, sir. Twenty-four years old. Former finance student, graduated top of his class. Been playing mid-stakes games across town for the past year since his last internship ended.”

“And Corey?”

“Claims they were college roommates.”

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