A Gambling Man Mga Nobela at Kwento

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?”

In the end, he could not withstand the pressure and decided to tell them everything. "Ms. Moore instructed me to do it." 'Ms. Moore? Does he mean Molly?' Stella squatted down to the man's level and used a slipper to tilt his chin upward. "What exactly did she instruct you to do? And be transparent." The male stripper stammered and took a long time to explain the situation. Finally, he revealed that he had a gambling addiction and owned a significant amount of debt. He had also fallen out of favor with a wealthy woman who had been supporting him. Struggling to pay off his gambling debts, he was willing to jump at any chance that offered a way out.

Joshua said The fat mans face darkened at that and he proceed to yell angrily “So what if you’re rich? Do you even have the guts to gamble it all way? If you plan to place a mere ten thousand per bet, them forget it! You’ll only make a fool out of yourself!” the fat man was not going to back down. He was used to placing a huge amount of bets anyway. “How much are you playing for?” Joshua asked indifferently “You can’t afford to play my game!” the fat man laughed at him and he directed his gaze at the gambling table. He place a bet of a three million dollars on the three fold zone.

The sound of whirring cards, laughing of men in disgusted manner, swinging strobing lights over every table and a faint sobbing of unfortunate people who lost everything in the game was enough to depict the hell and heaven for people who chose to try their luck in the gambling house. However, Min-ho’s eyes were in search of something else. He found a table were the game was about to start and approached the men sitting there. After some time, the game started and in a few rounds, Min-ho won the game and a good amount of money. With the handful of money won in the game, he proceeded towards Kwan and said with a blank expression, “Master, I won’t work here anymore. Thank you so much for your k

replied the man as he took out the money to give to the merchant. After telling a merchant, he left the place without a word. Letting a drinking merchant who was there frown in surprise. He eyes stared at the strange man who had just ordered him warm americano. Then his gaze fell on the drink he was carrying. "Strange people," said the gentlemen. He looked up again, staring at the man who was now invisible to his pair of eyes. "He left very quickly." . . . Stev sighed softly. The man then glanced at a woman beside him.

"You could give it to the bartender. Whoever lost it will most likely ask at the bar anyway-I would." "You're right,Thanks!"He smiled. "What the hell is going on here then?" Liam's agitated voice came from behind me, immediately sending shivers up my spine."Were you just hitting on my Girl?" Oh God Please, Don't so this!! "What??"The man looked between the both of us. Liam looked even more frustrated now."Are you being serious?" "You heard me."Liam stepped closer to the man,hoping to intimidate him. "Do you really think that it's okay to hit on someone else's Girl?"

Thirty days. One month. A single, heartbeat-stopping wager. Benjamin Parker was the sun. A golden-haired scholarship recruit with flour on his hands and a heart that he wore—vulnerable and beating—on his sleeve. He spent weeks chasing the school’s "Ice Prince," offering handmade tarts and a smile that could melt the coldest winter. He thought his persistence finally paid off when Jonathan Hayes—the obsidian-eyed, terrifyingly beautiful heir to a tech empire—pinned him against the school gates and claimed him in front of everyone. But the "Golden Romance" was a lie from the very first kiss. Jonathan didn't choose Benjamin because of his heart; he chose him because he was a convenient t

The room erupted in laughter, and countless pairs of eyes turned to me, waiting for a show. One classmate I knew somewhat well leaned in and whispered, "Lucas, don't be rash. Shane learned his dice skills from Hillary herself, and she's placed in international competitions. Playing against him is basically suicide." Naturally, I hadn't forgotten that fact. My wife, Hillary Sheffer, could make dice dance like magic in her hands. So, the several million dollars she'd just lost to Shane had to have been somewhat deliberate. Frowning, Hillary walked over and reached for my arm. "Why are you even gambling? You don't know anything about this. Get up. We're going home."

All I could do was watch Josh bolt from the room without a backward glance. Two minutes later, I was dumped into the raucous VIP lounge. A crowd of men and women swarmed around. Someone called out, "Hey, isn't that Ms. Emerson's favorite crescent-shaped birthmark?" The crowd burst into laughter. "Looks like we've got another gambler who tried to beat Ms. Emerson." "Typical. Win, and you could own the place. Lose, and you're out." "Poor guy; he bet it all and lost. Now he's off to start over in a new country."