A Gambling Man Novels & Stories

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.

The room was filled with tables with different activities, with players hunched over cards, dice or spinning wheels, their face was a mixture of intensity and hope. On a particular table, were a group of men playing cards while chattering. "I'll drop 200,000 dollars!" A man surrendered. "My phone!" The other said and man grinned loudly, people knows him as the Shark Lord, the best gambler in the house who wins almost everytime. "You're gonna lose your phone Fredo!" The shark lord added, a sly smirk on his lips. "Then let see!" Fredrick replied and the man shrugged facing his men who were behind him.

Plus, gambling with somebody else's money is always a smart bet. “You’re on.” A slight smile curves the corners of his lips. “You don't even want to know my parameters?” I give my head a shake. What could he possibly do? Impose a time limit that I'll blow out of the water? Given the way her body reacted to me earlier, I have no doubt that getting her into bed will be a breeze. As for Arson, I'm used to men like him. Men who think that they look good by throwing money around. People who don't realize how stupid they look when they throw money away. People looking to spice up their day and don’t mind losing. Fine. I’ll happily fleece him.

He scoffed, standing up too. “What do you mean?” I took a step back as I folded my arms over my chest. “One painting of yours can be worth more than two million, so if you help me out, your bank account won’t be affected,” he spoke like his words were the most logical thing to be said. “How the hell did you end up with two million dollars in debt?” I asked again. “I had a gambling issue, and I borrowed money from the wrong people.” My eyes widened for a moment. I never thought the man who looked so put together would be addicted to gambling.

He lowered the tip to Winston's arm and slowly wrote the name buried deep in his heart—a name both intimate and strangely unfamiliar—Damien Taylor. … In the early hours of the morning, an underground gambling den in the western suburbs was packed with people crowding around gambling tables. The air was thick with alcohol, cigarette smoke, and sweat, making it hard to breathe. A middle-aged man sat at one of the tables, eyes gleaming as he shouted, "Stay low! Stay low!" Suddenly, someone tapped his shoulder. "Who is it?" He turned back irritably, a cigarette dangling from his lips—only to see a neatly dressed man in a suit.

I finish for him with a sigh, “You needed the money.” “I needed the money,” he replies, sadly, “I’m sorry. I did a terrible thing. I’ve got gambling debts. They were going to kill me if I didn’t get them ten grand by tonight. I didn’t want to do it, but I also didn’t want to die. And here we are. I don’t expect you to believe me. I know I wouldn’t if I were you, but I am. My ex-wife was right, I have a problem.” I look at this man and surprisingly, I believe that he is sorry. I no longer want to beat him to a pulp. My husband, however, is unmoved by his statement.

There was something puzzling in that man's gait, enough to send my gaze to Chandler;s back just in case. I didn't know what was their conversation was, except the 'Unlimited' word. People here gamble but this place looks illegal. Never been in a Casino of course, yet the ambience is far from my imagination. "Sente-se," man brought us to a table with three other guys occupying the other space. One is an American looking guy; white skin, pointed bridge nose, freckles on his cheeks and big stature. The second guy has a mustache; he's wearing flower patterned polo. And the third one is a man with a thin face. His bone structure was symmetrical, cheek bones high and prominent. His nose was all Af

Unconsciously, she tugged on the corner of Kevin's tuxedo and looked at him. He sighed and spoke up indifferently. "There's not much to lose if I gamble! I have won enough and I'm not lacking in it either! Be fair if you want to gamble! Check thoroughly and the bet should be the same as well! If you don't have the skills, don't blame it on others! How despicable!" The man heard him and felt somewhat pleased. He raised his hand.

“Still licking your wounds from last night?” Jonah freezes. I raise an eyebrow. “Wounds?” The man grins, not noticing the tension. “Lost half a million at the tables. Man thought he could bluff the wrong crowd. You owe me a drink, by the way.” Jonah’s face drains of color. “Shut up, Carl.” But it’s too late. I lean back in my chair, watching him. “Half a million, Jonah?” “It’s not what it sounds like—” “It sounds like you’ve been gambling with money that doesn’t belong to you.”