After ensuring Mills was stable, his sweat-slick brow glinting under the chandelier, Jeremy Blane shifted his gaze to Karan, aloof as ever at one end of the table, his all-black suit absorbing the light, the metallic briefcase at his side gleaming ominously. Mr. Gold sat to Karan's left, between Blane and Karan, his white fedora tilted, cane resting against his chair, the faint tobacco-citrus of his cologne lingering.
Blane's eyes then flicked to Vlad Dracul at the opposite end, his wine-red tie catching the light like spilled blood, Mills sitting between them, the green felt still scattered with ash from Mills' fallen cigar.
Vlad's face entertained a mocking smile, declaring that everyone and everything in his presence existed for his amusement, a grin that grated Blane to his core, the air thick with his spicy cologne and the crowd's buzzing perfumes. The mysterious ruler of the underworld, whose rare appearances forced unconditional bows, could shift the underworld's tide with his presence alone.
Blane's jaw tightened, the bourbon's oak burn lingering on his tongue. 'Why? How could someone my son's age rank above me in the status quo?!' It was his deepest inferiority complex, shared by many underworld titans, ignited by Vlad's youthful dominance. Now, another mirrored Vlad's arrogance—Karan, young, handsome, charismatic, looking down on him with chocolate-brown eyes sharp as obsidian. To Blane, Karan was as irritating as Vlad, if not more, the table's leather chairs creaking under the weight of his frustration.
Vlad, scenting the acrid odor of Blane's jealousy like a predator, couldn't resist. "Did you also witness something interesting, Mr. Blane?" he asked, his tone dripping amusement, amber eyes twinkling, the chandelier's crystals tinkling faintly.
"Thank you for your concern, Mr. Vlad, but no. I'm fine. Though, just like Mills, I'm wary of another dirty player at this table," Blane retorted, his voice barbed, rings clinking as he adjusted his cufflinks, the crowd's murmurs spiking.
Vlad's demeanor shifted, his playful smile vanishing, the air growing heavy, brandy's warmth turning icy. "What are you trying to say, Mr. Blane?" his voice carried a command that stilled the room, cards' glossy surfaces glinting motionless, the dealer's hands freezing mid-shuffle.
"Ah, nothing, nothing, Mr. Vlad. Everyone saw how someone used underhanded methods to win the last round. There's really nothing left to say," Blane pressed, his smirk venomous.
"Blane." The temperature seemed to plummet, Vlad's gaze grave, his amber eyes glinting like a predator's. "I think you're entertaining a misunderstanding." His voice thundered silently, the room frozen—champagne flutes stilled, perfumes hung heavy, the chandelier's light dimming in his shadow. "Be aware that it's my generosity that you sit here, thanks to the figures backing you."
Wooomm!
An intangible, crushing aura descended on Blane alone, his breath catching, "Keuk!" 'What is this?!' His chest tightened, the air thick as molasses, his gold rings digging into his palms as he gripped the table. Others watched unbothered, the crowd's whispers a distant hum, but Blane felt a vice squeezing his ribs, his vision blurring, sweat beading cold. "If not for their persistent requests for a chance at the 'Deal', I wouldn't entertain you, much less tolerate your badmouthing. So be careful what comes from that loose mouth of yours." Vlad's words fueled the pressure, a slow stream turning torrential, Blane's spine bending, teeth gritting, nearly bowing to the invisible weight.
"Your loss is the inevitable result of your own incompetence," Vlad snarled, his eyes glinting like a cold-blooded predator's, the table's felt cool under Blane's trembling hands.
Just then—
Tap!
A crisp echo cut the grave atmosphere as Mr. Gold tapped his cane, its gold head glinting, the sound sharp as a gunshot. "Haaahh!" Blane gasped, gulping air, his lungs burning, oxygen flooding back as the pressure vanished, his tie askew, the bourbon's taste sour on his tongue.
"Now, now, we're here to enjoy gambling. Why so serious? Tsk, tsk. It sure is nice to be youthful," Mr. Gold chided, his gravelly voice light, a smile creasing his lined face, the cane tapping rhythmically, easing the room's tension, the chandelier's light warming again.
Glancing at the dealer, nervous, his gloved hands trembling over the deck, Mr. Gold asked, "Ready to deal?"
"A-ah, yes!" the dealer stammered, his voice cracking.
Shuffle. The cards' ink scent sharp as he shuffled.
With a final riffle, the glossy cards fanning like a peacock's tail, the dealer placed the deck centrally and dealt one card face-down at a time, the crisp flip echoing, starting with Vlad on his left, moving clockwise—Vlad, Mills, Blane, Mr. Gold, Karan—until each had two hole cards, their edges cool and sharp under the players' fingers.
"No tricks, okay?" Vlad teased Karan, his smirk widening, canines glinting, the crowd tittering.
"…" And again, Karan ignored him, his silence only fueling Vlad's interest to tease him further.
"Please place your ante," the dealer announced, snapping focus to the game, his voice steadying.
One by one, players slid chips forward, their plastic clinking, the pot growing in clockwise order from the dealer's left. The total at the table's center gleamed—equivalent to a decade's earnings for an average American, mere spare change in this high-stakes game, the chips' glossy surfaces catching the chandelier's prisms.
The dealer burned the top card, placing it face-down with a soft thud, then dealt the flop: ace of clubs, 4 of diamonds, 5 of diamonds, face-up in the center, their colors vivid against the green felt.
"Hmm."
"Quite the random draw."
"This round's going to be interesting. I can feel it."
"Can't wait for the bets."
As the players mulled over the cards laid out by the dealer, murmurs swirled, the crowd leaning in, their silk dresses rustling, colognes blending with brandy's warmth.
"Please start betting." The dealer requested politely. The table was ready for another round of chaos.
"Raise," Vlad declared, sliding a stack of chips, their clatter sharp, the pot swelling.
"He raised again!"
"What hand did he get this time?"
"Heh! He isbuffing again."
'Idiot', Blane sneered inwardly, 'The same trick won't work on me twice,' glancing at his hole cards: king of spades, king of hearts, their edges cool in his grip.
"C-call..." It was Mills who timidly matched Vlad's aggressive bet.
"Raise," Blane announced, his voice vicious, eyes burning with intent, 'I'll show you what happens when you get cocky, you fucker!'
Vlad ignored the ugly glare, his focus on Karan, the air crackling with anticipation.
"Call," Mr. Gold followed, his chips sliding smoothly.
Bets circled until Karan, toying with a betting chip, its plastic cool between his fingers, spoke, all eyes on him, the room's attention a suffocating weight. "There's a quote about poker I find amusing: 'Poker is a lot like sex: Everyone thinks they're the best, but most don't have a clue what they're doing.'" He flipped the chip high, catching it mid-air with a snap, his gaze locking on Mills, who avoided his eyes, gulping audibly, sweat beading, the vision's blood-soaked wail echoing in his mind.
Karan's hand hovered over the table, slowly opening, "You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, and know when to run." His palm was empty, a fierce glint in his eyes, the air growing heavy, Mills' breath ragged, the nightmare replaying—blood rivers, his own hollow-eyed figure.
As Mills was about to be devoured by his thoughts, Click! Karan snapped his finger and brought him back to reality, a betting chip appearing between them like magic, the crowd gasping. "What do you think, Mr. Mills?"
"Hey, what are you trying to do?" Blane barked, his voice grave, "Mills, say something. Show that fucker his place—" But before he could continue further, "F-fold." Mills stammered, folding prematurely, his cards face-down, his olive suit rumpled, hands trembling.
"Huh?"
"Is he being for real?"
"Giving up already?"
"It's not even his turn yet!"
"Oye, Mills, what are you doing? Taking a fool's talk seriously? Aren't you embarrassed?" Blane roared, his rings clinking, fury reddening his face. He found it hard to believe that someone as iron-willed as Mills would give in so easily.
"T-trust me, Blane… Leave this place. My gut's screaming… this night, it's not for us…" Mills rose, chair scraping, his footsteps heavy, the crowd parting, their whispers sharp as knives.
"Huh? Where is he going?"
"Is he really leaving like that?"
"Is that really the same Robert Mills?"
"Oye! At least show us your hands!" Someone amidst the crowd called out to Mills, demanding for him to reveal his cards.
"Yes, yes! Show us your cards!" The crowd echoing.
Mills, cornered, awkwardly placed his cards: 2 and 3 of diamonds, a weak hand, the crowd erupting in chuckles, their pearls clicking, champagne spilling.
"Pftt!"
"My man lost the battle before it even began."
"Now it all makes sense why he is trying to run away with his tail tucked between his legs!"
Laughter echoed, the crowd's sophisticated masks slipping, their ugly sides bared—power's fall united them to drag Mills down, his image shattered, the air thick with mockery's sting.
With nothing more left, Mills fled, leaving Blane isolated, the table's tension coiling tighter. And Blane found it all very strange. Yes, nothing was ordinary to begin with. The unspoken ruler of underworld, the whole hype for this 'deal', and now this young man who seemed to command the whole table with his presence alone. It was all nonsense!
'Why is everyone—?!' Blane's temper flared, the laughter grating, his bourbon glass sweating in his grip.
Amidst the cacophony of the haughty and ridiculous laughter,
Tap—!
Karan placed his chip on the felt, the crisp sound cutting through, silencing the room, all eyes snapping back to the unfinished game.
Karan pushed a quarter of his chips forward, their clatter deafening, the ante staggering—enough to sustain generations. "Raise."
"Pfft—!" Onlookers choked, spitting drinks, "Oi!"
"Whoooh!"
"What the?!"
"Insane bet!"
"DADDY!!!"
"Now that's one insane bet"
"Bro got some crazy balls."
The room buzzed, the chandelier's light fracturing across the pot's mountain.
Blane glared at Karan, madness in his eyes, 'You amateurs dare mock me with roadside philosophy? I'll show you real poker.' "You think luck got me here?" he snarled inwardly, his chips ready, a maddening determination visible on his face.
Karan, unbothered, locked eyes with Vlad, a subtle crimson gleam visible only to him, his voice a low rumble, "Now, show me more, Vlad Dracul," a challenge beyond the cards, the air humming with menace.
Vlad reveled in the thrill of the game, his excitement growing, his smirk baring elongated canines, "As you wish."