A Gambling Man 소설 & 이야기

“Sir, please… Give me one month to pay!” The man’s voice cracked as he knelt before Alejandro, pleading. Around them, Alejandro’s men only shook their heads. They had seen the man before—this was the same gambler who had been begging for extensions for months, piling up debt at Alejandro’s casino. Now he had reached the limit. Payment was due, and Alejandro would not let him slip away. Alejandro stood still, drawing slowly on his cigarette, cold eyes drilling into the man’s soul.

he said to the burly man covered in tattoos, standing by the curtain, reciting a string of codes. Once he finished, we were ushered in, and I quickly realized that the part of the clubhouse we had just left was nothing compared to the chaos of the gambling den behind the curtain. The noise was overwhelming—shouts of triumph mingled with cries of despair, creating a raucous symphony that made my stomach turn. How could gambling bring them so much joy? “Lana, let’s go. Manager Sam is probably waiting for us,” Bernardo said reluctantly, his gaze fixed on the chaotic scene of men throwing dice.

At this moment, a plump middle-aged man was sent to be the banker. “This is one of my Eight Great Gamblers, a usually unbeatable man when it comes to gambling… “But tonight’s going to be different. Harvey quietly waited without saying a word. On the screen, the dealer started dealing the cards. Both sides were calmly looking at their hands without saying a word. The only peculiar thing was that Mateo would snap his fingers every time he revealed his hand to show his excitement. The people from the casino palace said this was a common habit here for many people.

Men were chattering in a dark room with only flickers of colorful lights, ladies stood behind each opponent, encouraging them with a gentle massage on the shoulder as they concentrated on the cards, gambling. “You shouldn’t have risked your pounds for this,” one of the opponents stated. He had a stick of marijuana in his mouth. “You shouldn’t look down on your opponent, that might be your end,” the other man said, shuffling his cards. “Whoa! Who else is watching?!” he exclaimed as he flung the cards on the table. He just won.

the girl asked. The woman leaned in, her breath fogging the surface of my prison. "Because he knows he’s still winning," she whispered. She tapped the glass. Behind her, the museum doors opened. A man in a three-piece suit walked in. He had silver eyes. He looked thirty. He looked forty. He looked like the future. He walked up to the glass. "Wake up, Dad," he said. "We have a new contract." He held up a gold coin. "And I’ve already paid your gambling debt."

“My name is Camile. And know that I’ve got pepper spray and a pocketknife in my bag!” I crush her fingers in panic. Now this man is going to shoot us in the face. But, surprisingly, he lets out an ironic chuckle. “And who will the madams be betting on today?” Who? So there are people? They bet on people? I have no idea what this little shit is talking about, but I can’t act dumb. Bets. That’s what goes on here. A casino maybe. Illegal gambling? Fuck. This place must be full of criminals. That’s it. I doubt he asks this kind of cocky question to regulars who frequent this place.

I said, studying the face and trying to imagine interacting with this man. Sloane pulled up the next photo—a younger man, maybe early forties, with olive skin and calculating eyes. "Marcus DeAngelo. Italian-American, runs most of the high-stakes gambling operations on the East Coast. You've invested in several of his ventures. He's smooth, charming, will try to feel you out through conversation. Don't give him anything. Keep your cards close."

He is a man, a mafia man. I slowly walked over to the car. He didn’t look too pleased with my actions, but hey, what the fuck did I care? He was just a big bulky gangster man, a mafia man. I took my bag off my shoulder, slipping in, placing it on the floor of the car. He slid in, closing the door. “Belt.” “Yes sir.” I said sarcastically. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you Kacey.” “Really I thought it did.” I said, strapping in. He did the same and the car pulled away. “So what business do you want to talk with me about?”