A Gambling Man Novels & Stories

He seemed guilty because he couldn't help her in time. I put my hands inside my pocket and stared at the woman's face. "She talked to me too. I sensed something wrong with her words. It's like she knew what was going to happen to her." "I didn't know that the famous gambler was here," a man spoke up. His voice was loud, so everyone heard what he said. He was just sitting where he was earlier. He was the man I played poker with.

However, Arsenio raised one hand on purpose. Bastian took one step back. Keep far. The woman smiled with satisfaction. He cheered happily because he got a big response. "Third game, gentlemen. How's it going?" The man started playing his gambling game again. "Ah, no! I give up. My money is gone!" grumbled one of the slightly stockier men, as he got up from his seat. Throwing his hand away roughly when the seductive woman who had accompanied him for the last few hours, tried to hold back.

“Would you like some hot cocoa to cool off?” “That would be nice, thank you,” he said and mum dashed off to the kitchen. “You work in Alpha Waylen’s mansion right? Do they not pay you over there? Sorry if I’m being too forward, but it’s just that I noticed the landlord always harasses you every month,” The man sighed. “It’s fine. I work at Alpha Waylen’s mansion as the CCTV guy and the pay is decent but I have a bad gambling addiction, and I end up losing the money. Although sometimes I win my bets,”

As she walks over the road, she overheard some old man talking in the alleyway. “Hey, I heard some gamblers won some big money” the middle-aged man with a big belly spoke as he exhales the smoke. “Those b*stard got lucky, I heard they have 1 million, I can’t believe a b*start like them got a big money like that, it should’ve been me!” the other middle-aged man shouts as if he’s drunk, his left hand is holding a bottle of beer. “Haaaa, now, now, don’t shout” The other middle-aged man who has been smoking, calming down the drunk middle-aged man.

“You really never learn, do you?” Mr. Romero said coldly, staring down at the man kneeling before him. Blood trickled from the man’s mouth, a deep cut visible on his forehead. His body trembled slightly; he had clearly just endured a brutal beating from Romero’s men. They were inside a private gambling den. And the man on his knees was Seren’s father. A man is buried deep in debt after losing everything to gambling. “Give me one more chance. I can win it back,” he pleaded.

Early in the morning, both of them sent text messages reminding me to attend. However, when I arrived, a fat, greasy man took me to a storage room. “Babe, Mr. Connelly told me to take good ‘care’ of you today. So, are you coming on your own, or do I have to make you?” “Did your Mr. Connelly forget to tell you that this is rape? That it’s illegal? Oh, and I forgot to mention—I hired over a dozen bodyguards.” “You—” Before he could finish speaking, one of my bodyguards had already pinned him to the ground.

“That's not what I meant.” I surge forward, my heart pounding with anger and aching with pain. “It better not be. You're stealing from me, Manuel. Stealing. Mama would not be proud to call you her son. You need to get it together. Because if you don't, you'll soon have no one. And what will you do then, huh?” A huge man in a nondescript but well-fitting suit approaches us. He only slows down long enough to sweep his obsidian gaze from side to side, noticing the casino gamblers in the vicinity staring at the commotion.

Money could talk all kinds of languages. Someone at the bar lifted a hand in a wave to me. A pair of hauntingly dark eyes rested on my face. The guy was tall and skinny, with long fingers wrapped around a black bottle without a label on it. He brought the bottle to his lips and drank without breaking eye contact with me. Two men stood on either side of him. They were almost as tall as he was and three times as wide. It wasn’t hard to spot bodyguards, no matter how hard they were trying to blend in. I wondered if there were more of them around. Not that it mattered. I had brought more than enough muscle myself. Two could play at this game. Or ten, as the case was.

The atmosphere in the casino was pushed into a frenzy by that insane prize, and the chips piled higher and higher as everyone went red-eyed with greed. At that moment, the door was pushed open again, and a man with a black eyepatch over his left eye walked in. It was Domenico Carbone, Julian's sworn enemy. "Don Vitale, you're in a generous mood tonight, using your own woman as a prize." Domenico's leering gaze stayed locked on me.

Father started handling business as we watched the performance. He sat at a velvet draped table in the center of the VIP section, his presence drawing every nervous eye in the room. I stood at his right, my legs aching, but my mind still stuck in that dark cell where Dante laid broken, wondering how I could help him. A man was brought forward, he was a regular who had gambled away money that didn't belong to him. He was shaking, his sweat mixing with the cheap cologne of the club.