Casino Luck

The casino was enormous and lit up with twinkling lights here and there. The three men, Don Alonso, Bianco, and Vladimir, were making their way to Alonso's administrator's office. There were several games situated at different corners for betters to choose from.

There were gaming machines such as slots machines and pachinko, usually played by a single player and did not require the involvement of casino employees to play. There were also table games like blackjack or crap, conducted by croupiers or dealers. Men and women were lost to a world of probability, drinking or smoking as they gambled into the night.

None of this was a significant concern for the owner, Don Alonso. He had only a bit of care for what happened on the surface, noticeable to the world at large, but rather his utmost care was for what happened underground. The casino was used to launder his illegal cash from arms dealing, drug dealing, or even pimping.

They arrived in his office, entered a room that looked like a living room. After making themselves comfortable, it was time to get to the business which had brought them here.

"Bianco, call in Rocco for me first," Alonso said, his voice icy.

"Alright, boss," Bianco responded, calling Rocco's phone. After two rings, he picks up. "Rocco the Don requests your presence immediately."

Rocco was burning in his seat, supervising and watching things heated up at one of the crap tables. As pit boss, his duty to the casino was to monitor all floored dealers and players in the pit. Also, in cases where severe gaming discrepancy arises, it was his job to sort things out.

"I'll be there soon," Rocco said on his phone shakily. How did the boss get to know about the situation? He thought.

"Be there in a minute," Bianco barked.

"Okay, sir," Rocco said, entrusting things to the surveillance camera.

Having arrived at the administrators' office, Rocco was shocked that the Don knew nothing of what was going on downstairs. The Don had only called for him to give him the terms and conditions of his promotion.

He immediately informed Don Alonso Marcovic about the situation that had gotten him stuck between a rock and a complex niche. The longest winning streak the casino had ever experienced was taking place now. Although the casino had a winning limit at the crap table, nobody had ever come this close to reaching it.

Gleb Sokolov was a man who had taken a self-exclusion from gambling for over five years. He had returned late last night to De Sina Casino and since then has been hot at the crap table.

"How hot?" He asked sternly.

"Gleb had won six million dollars after shooting straight wins at the crap table for five straight hours," Rocco answered back.

"Go on!" His voice, cold and emotionless.

"He was immediately offered an entirely complimentary service which included free room, foods, and beverages to leverage him to play more. The casino was betting on the chances that no one could remain lucky forever. However, Gleb had stayed in luck, and tonight, his earnings were getting close to twenty million dollars, and the winning limit was thirty million," He responded.

"Is that so?" He frowns.

"Yes, boss!" He proclaimed.

"Vladimir, handle things here for me!" Alonso said, getting up abruptly.

"Alright," Vladimir replied, sighing.

"Bianco! Rocco! Come with me," Alonso announced, leaving the table. Bianco and Rocco followed their boss as he marched out.

A few minutes later, Alonso watched intently as Gleb shot the dice to hit the back wall; it bounced and stopped at eleven.

"Yo-leven," announced the stickman.

Yo-leven was said as eleven so as not to be confused with seven. Five players had been allowed to watch him play because of their status. They offered a cheering sound as he got lucky once more.

Gleb played only one option at the crap table, which was the pass-line bet for the shooter to win. If he threw the dice and the come-out roll was either a seven or eleven, he won. If it was a two, three, or twelve, the bet loses. Then any other number establishes a point. If with a point established, that point is rolled again before a seven, the bet wins. If a fact is selected, a seven is rolled before the issue is rolled again.

"seven out," the bet loses.

"Gentleman," Alonso said, gently calling for Gleb's attention and smiling.

"Yes?" Gleb said, halting.

"You've taken enough of our money," Alonso said, broadening his smile. "Thank you for playing, and goodbye."

"But I still have ten more million to play for," Gleb said protestingly. He was currently at twenty million.

"Alright, that's true," Alonso declared. "Why play for ten when I can offer you double?"

"What's the catch?" Gleb demanded, sounding astonished.

"Surely a man like you with a golden hand can play street crap," Alonso said, trying to leverage the man. "Although, I will decide on the rules of the game."

Without thinking, the man responded, "What are your rules?"

"Don't do it, man," said one of the spectators.

"Yeah, walk away with your earnings," another advised.

"Okay, you must first pick an outcome you think you wouldn't roll if given five chances," Alonso stated confidently.

"One, one," Gleb rushed his response.

"Oh, snake eyes?"

"Yes!"

"If I give you five chances to roll the dice, you must not get snake eyes," Alonso said. "If you roll snake eyes before your five chances, you lose ten million. If you don't, I'll give you ten million. Therefore, you have ten trials to claim an extra twenty million dollars or lose it."

"And in the event of a tie?" Gleb said, looking thoughtful.

"Excellent question," Alonso said. "Then I'll give you another five rolls to either walk away with thirty million or ten million."

"It seems fair to me, so deal," Gleb said.

They moved away from the table to pick a spot in the casino with a bare floor. Gleb was given dice, and he inspected it, but it seemed fine to him. He threw the dice across the wall, and it bounced back and landed on the floor. He stared disbelievingly at the outcome, snake eyes.

He drew in a long startled breath and rolled again, and he was lucky this time. He had four more chances to either lose entirely or win back his loss. He remained lucky until the final shooting of the dice, which brought out a snake's eyes.

"Wait, wait, wait," he said to Alonso, who was turning to leave. "All or nothing!"

Alonso turned slowly to the man. "You're bluffing," he said impatiently.

"I have a property worth forty million dollars to stake in an all or nothing bet."

"Where? How?"

"My private jet Sokolov 7X," Gleb said proudly. "Sokolov is my surname, and it's Russian for Falcon, Falcon 7X is a popular jet, and I own one of them. It's a little above forty million dollars, but I could stake it for that price."

Alonso's eyes widened. He knew the jet was worth it and listening to the man's heartbeat. It did seem like he was telling the truth about owning the plane. He decided to offer him a chance and see what Gleb was up to. Gleb lost the bet rolling the dice in his last attempt not to get snake eyes.

"I shall take you to my private hanger in the morning," Gleb muttered in astonishment. "I'm guessing I'll be spending the night here, right?"

"Certainly," Alonso said.

A few minutes later, Gleb went into his complimentary room. He was laughing and sobbing at the same time. He brought out the small bottle of cinad acid and poured some into his drink. Life, he smiled, was not worth living after he had lost everyone dear to him.

His father had been killed when he was only a boy by a known killer, Calisto Beaumont, in Switzerland. He had tried gambling and lost everything his father managed to leave him. Five years ago, he met his girlfriend that later turned to his wife, and she helped him build a life in the world of trading cryptocurrency. She made him take a self-exclusion from gambling for five years. They relocated to Russia last year in hopes of building a life here.

Then about a week ago, his newly wedded wife had been run over by a car that had cost her life and that of the baby she had been carrying. It was a targeted hit and run. He had finished writing a note and addressed it to Don Alonso De Sina Marcovic, asking him to avenge his wife and unborn child.

In the letter, he had also left the contact details for the man in charge of handing over the Falcon 7X jet to the Don. He sent it through the pit boss. After which, he drank his wine and suffered silently, in painful agony dying alone but knowing he would get his vengeance from the grave.

The truth was that he had wanted to put a hundred million dollars in revenge money on the heads of those responsible for the killing. He could not believe his luck when the Don himself had offered him a game. Although he had known Don's intervention meant he was not getting out alive with the money if he won, he had never planned on leaving anyway.

Having lost the money, he had won at the Casino. He thought of a somewhat better alternative to still make it a hundred million by gambling away the jet and making it seem the Don had won the revenge money from him.

"Boss, you seemed so sure that he'd lose the bet; why?" Bianco asked as they went back to the administrators' office to meet with Vladimir.

"I was only offering him a chance to walk out of here alive," Alonso quipped. You know there was no way he'd have been allowed to walk away with thirty million."

"Yeah, and now we got ourselves a new jet! It was a good call, though. Bianco pushed open the door and held it for his boss.

"We got ourselves a jet. It must be one hell of a lucky day for us," Vladimir said, smiling.

He had seen it all through the screen in the office that broadcast what went on downstairs.

"Indeed, my luck had shined tonight," Alonso said but was not sounding very satisfied.

"It must be the moon goddess rewarding you for all the passes you've given this period," Bianco said jokingly.

"It could-" Alonso muttered but was cut short by a knock.

Rocco Mancini entered, holding a note that he placed on the table for the Don. He explained who it was from and disappeared. Alonso opened it while his friends eyed him curiously with expectancy.

"Vladimir, have we got someone within the crew with excellent computer skills who can run a background check on people?"

"Yes, why?" Vladimir said, sounding awed.

Alonso glared daggers but not. "Have him look into this Gleb guy, his family, and what they do for a living. Bianco, send for our guest immediately."

Bianco got up to go and inform the guest about Alonso's invitation. However, when he arrived at the guest room, he knocked several times without hearing a response. He pressed his ear hard to listen for movement or any sound, but there seemed to be none.

"Alright, Gleb, I'm coming in," Bianco announced. "I hope you're not naked!" Bianco opened the door and stared in horror at the lifeless body sprawled on the floor with foam coming out of the mouth of Gleb.

Shit! He bolted right back into the administrator's office to inform the Don, and Alonso heaved a weary sigh. He slipped the note to Vladimir, and Bianco took turns reading it. He swore through his teeth.

"How did he know that we're a Mafiosi?" Bianco asked, still seething.

"I wish I had the chance to ask him," Alonso said.

"We have to grant his wish," Vladimir said. "We have to do it in the way and manner he requested. Such hate, such bitterness, and such helplessness."

Alonso wondered why men did the craziest things for love. He poured himself some wine and sipped slowly, thinking about many things at the same time.

He felt a bit guilty when he had read the portion of Gleb's letter that stated he knew he was not going to walk out alive. He vowed silently that he would never attempt to kill a man who was riding on the wings of luck.