Chapter 56: THE HOUSE

Inside, the front area was deliberately luxurious. Low lighting, polished wood, deep leather booths, a long bar with expensive bottles lined up like trophies. Soft music. Well-dressed people laughing over drinks. It looked like any high-end lounge in the better part of the city.

Everyone knew that was just the mask. The real Ninth lived further back and further down.

“Why the hell are you here?” Jodi muttered under her breath as we moved through the crowd. “You fucking monkey.”

“Shut up. Take me to the table.”

She looked exactly like the kind of trouble she always was. A tiny black dress that barely covered the tops of her thighs, the neckline plunging so low it was a miracle her tits stayed in place. Cheap shiny heels, heavy makeup, hair done up like she’d been trying too hard. The dress clung to every curve and left almost nothing to the imagination. She had dressed to be looked at, and in a place like this that was a dangerous choice.

The minder stayed close as she led me past the main floor, through a discreet door near the back, and down a narrow staircase. The air changed immediately, warmer, thicker, carrying the mixed smell of smoke, sweat, and expensive cologne trying to cover cheaper things. Another short hallway, another door, and then we were in a small private room.

Round table. Blackjack. Four players.

Three of them were older men. The one I assumed was Jodi’s new boyfriend sat closest to us, mid-forties, thinning hair carefully combed, a nervous sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the cool air. His shirt was expensive but wrinkled, and the stack of chips in front of him was almost gone. He looked like a man who had already lost more than he could afford and was still somehow surprised by it.

The oldest of the group, a silver-haired man in a perfectly tailored suit with a heavy watch and the calm eyes of someone used to owning rooms, looked up and smiled when we entered. He clapped his hands once, slow and deliberate.

“Well now. A new player? Is this your savior, Jodi?”

I met his gaze without blinking. “I might be.” Then I pointed at the boyfriend. “You. Get up. I’ll play for you.”

The man blinked. “Wha…”

“Just get the fuck up.”

He hesitated only a second longer, then scraped his chair back and stood, looking equal parts relieved and humiliated.

I took his seat.

People had joked about my name for years. Chance. Like it was cute. What most of them never knew was that my father had been one of the worst gambling addicts the city had ever produced. Hence the name Chance. The kind of man who would bet the rent, the car, and anything else that wasn’t nailed down. His favorite song had actually been The Gambler. I wasn’t some television genius who could count an entire shoe without blinking… but I was good. Better than most of the men who thought they were dangerous at a table like this.

The dealer slid the first cards across the felt.

“Hey,” I said to the silver-haired man. “He owes you two grand, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Can you lend me a grand?”

The silver-haired man froze, then a few seconds later he chuckled. “Why not. I’m the fucking house here. Give him some chips.”

The dealer just did that.

“I’m guessing you know what would happen if you lose, kid?” He sneered.

I exhaled, trying to stay calm. “Yep.”

So…

Four older men sat at the table. The silver-haired one in the tailored suit was clearly in charge, calm eyes, heavy watch, the quiet authority of someone who never needed to raise his voice. To his right sat a heavier man with a thick gold chain and a permanent half-smile. Across from me was a thin, sharp-faced guy who kept his chips in obsessive little stacks. The fourth, a broad-shouldered man with a red face and expensive cufflinks, looked like he’d already had a few drinks upstairs.

First hand. “Alright…”

Ten and a six. Dealer showed a queen.

“New blood,” the man with the gold chain said, watching me. “You local, or just passing through to save the damsel?”

I hit. Five. Twenty-one.

Dealer flipped a seven. Seventeen.

I pulled the small pot in without answering.

The sharp-faced one gave a thin smile. “Silent type. Those are the ones who either leave rich or leave broke.”

Second hand.

Nine and a four. Dealer ace.

I hit a six for nineteen. Dealer had a ten under the ace and busted with a king.

Another small win.

The red-faced man chuckled. “Lucky start. Don’t get used to it. This table has a way of correcting attitudes.”

I stacked the chips neatly and said nothing.

Third hand.

I pushed a larger bet. The silver-haired man finally spoke, voice mild and almost friendly. “Her brother, right? I heard her talking. Your sister’s boyfriend had a rough night. You’re either very confident or very stupid for sitting down.”

I split a pair of eights. First hand made twenty. Second made nineteen. Dealer busted.

The pot grew properly this time.

Gold-chain leaned forward. “You counting, kid? You’ve got that look. Eyes moving too much.”

“Just playing the cards,” I said.

Sharp-face smirked. “Everyone says that right before the shoe turns on them.”

It did.

Fourth, fifth, and sixth hands went cold. Clean decisions that still lost because the tens refused to show when I needed them. My stack shrank. Not dead, but enough that Jodi’s boyfriend started shifting nervously behind me again.

Red-face laughed under his breath. “There it is. Reality arrives.”

“How much did he actually lose?” I asked no one in particular, eyes on the next deal.

The silver-haired man answered. “Enough that your sister looked very nervous when she brought you down. Enough that walking out without paying would have been… complicated.”

I nodded once and pushed another bet forward.

Seventh hand.

The count had finally drifted in my favor. Not dramatically, but enough to trust a bigger wager.

Ace and an eight. Soft nineteen against a dealer six. I stayed. Dealer hit into a bust.

Chips came back.

Gold-chain raised an eyebrow. “Interesting timing on that bet.”

“Felt right,” I said.

Eighth hand.

I left most of the chips in. Two tens. Dealer five. I stayed. Dealer busted again.

Sharp-face’s obsessive little stacks stopped moving for a moment. “You’re not just lucky.”

“Maybe.” I answered.

Ninth hand.

The silver-haired man increased his own bet for the first time in a while, a quiet test. I matched it.

King and a seven against a nine. I stayed. Dealer made seventeen. I won.

He gave a small, almost approving nod and reloaded his chips from a private case like the amount was irrelevant.

Red-face shook his head. “Kid’s got ice in him. I’ll give him that.”

Tenth hand.

The count was strong. I sized the bet to what I needed, no more, no less.

Eight and a seven. Dealer five. I hit a five for twenty. Dealer went ten, then nine, and busted.

Silence settled over the table for a second.

I leaned back and looked straight at the silver-haired man. “This enough to cover his debt? And the grand I lent from you?”

The other three watched him. Jodi had gone completely still near the wall. The boyfriend behind me seemed to stop breathing.

The old man studied the chips, then my face, then the chips again. He took his time on purpose.

Finally he gave a single, slow nod. “Nah. But, hey, screw it. It’s covered.”

I stood. The chair scraped lightly.

“Come on,” I said to Jodi without looking at her. “Let’s go.”

I had already started to stand when the silver-haired man reached out and caught my wrist, stopping me.

“Wait, kid. What’s your name?”

I looked down at him. “Chance.”

He let go, then let out a short, genuine chuckle. “Chance? And we’re supposed to win against a guy named Chance? The game was rigged from the start.”

The other two men at the table laughed. Even the red-faced one watching from the side joined in. None of them looked particularly bothered about the money. There was no real house edge here, just private games for people who could afford to lose. This guy had probably floated the original thousand on a whim. To him it was pocket change and a way to pass the evening.

“I’m Mark,” he said, still smiling. “I like you, kid.”

I gave a short nod. “Thanks.”

Then I turned away.

Jodi and her boyfriend followed me out of the small room, back up the narrow staircase, and through the disguised luxury of the main floor. The music and laughter upstairs felt louder after the quiet tension of the game. The minder who had escorted Jodi earlier stayed a few steps behind until we reached the front door, then peeled off without a word. The bouncer barely glanced at us as we stepped out into the cold.

Snow was falling properly now, soft and steady under the streetlights.

The second the door shut behind us, I turned on Jodi and pointed a finger at her chest.

“I’m not saving your fucking ass one more time, Jodi. You hear me? Those guys in there are connected. Actual fucking mafia.”

“Yo, man, chill.” The boyfriend stepped half a pace forward, hands raised. “She’s, like, my girlfriend. I got this.”

I looked at him for a second, then shoved him hard in the shoulder. He stumbled back a step.

“Ah, fuck you.” I shook my head and lifted a finger toward them “I’m out. You two can go fuck yourselves, you fucking braindead goddamn fucking retards!”

I didn’t wait for a reply. The cold air bit at my face as I headed down the sidewalk toward the bus stop, hands shoved in my pockets, the residual adrenaline from the table still sitting sharp under my skin.

Behind me I could hear Jodi start to say something, but the snow and distance swallowed it.

I kept walking… what a day.

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