"My daughter is the most beautiful!" he proudly proclaimed, a beaming smile spreading across his giddy, bearded face.
He lifted the cup of beer beside him, gulped down half of it, and set the glass against the poker table with a gentle bang.
"More beautiful than any other…"
He was in a good mood. He was winning.
"Just like her mother!" he continued, oblivious to the frowns tightening on the faces of the men he was playing against.
His colleague, who stood behind him to celebrate, wore a worried expression.
But not Luca.
Before him, stacks of chips were piled high, and he could already imagine cashing in his winnings. There was only one more round left after the one they were playing, and even if he lost, it would hardly matter. He had already won heavily—especially against the old man seated to his left, flanked by two massive bodyguards.
Luca took another long swallow from his cup until it was nearly empty. He gestured to the others to keep playing, speaking as though the world belonged to him.
"As pretty as a flower! Sometimes I think she's a flower, he… he—" He hiccupped a laugh. "She just graduated and… I can't bear the thought of her bringing home any man who would steal her!"
He wasn't drunk yet, but he was certainly on his way there. His eyes stayed fixed on the cards in his hands, studying them vigorously, paying attention to nothing else.
Had he looked up, he might have noticed the older man beside him signaling discreetly to one of his bodyguards, whispering into his ear. The bodyguard in turn signaled to a waiter serving drinks. The waiter's eyes widened in alarm, but he nodded quickly.
Moments later, the same waiter reappeared at Luca's side, offering him a glass.
"No! I've had enough!" Luca said sharply. "I'm not much of a drinker."
"This is just sweet wine, sir. Non-alcoholic," she assured, smiling.
The words were agreeable enough. Luca nodded and accepted the glass.
That round of poker ended in his favor, and with the final round approaching, he felt freer to celebrate—and to drink.
Again, he raised the wine to his lips, unaware of the sharp, violent glare the older man cast toward the dealer.
The dealer trembled under that look, lowering his head as though he had glimpsed the devil himself. His hands shook as he began to deal, moving so quickly none of the players noticed the trickery.
Luca felt a sudden drowsiness, but he shook it off and took another sip of wine, focusing once more on his cards. He told himself he would fold if they weren't good enough.
Only when he turned them over, he found to his delight that they were excellent.
"How about a small wager? A small bet," the old man beside him suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse and low. All heads at the table turned toward him in surprise.
Most had already folded after seeing their unlucky hands, muttering curses beneath their breath.
"I'll bet a million dollars and my Rolls-Royce La Rose Noire," the old man declared.
Luca blinked in confusion, but his colleague gasped aloud.
"That car is worth more than thirty million dollars!" he blurted, even as Luca's eyes widened in disbelief.
"If you win this round, it's yours," the old man continued, leaning on the gold cane planted between his knees. His back was slightly hunched, his tone unhurried.
Luca's palms grew slick with sweat. His throat was parched, and without thinking, he drained the rest of the wine in one swallow, his heart hammering at the thought of such a prize.
"If not," the old man added, his voice tightening, "I want all your shares in the construction company."
For a moment Luca froze, still trying to understand how this stranger knew he held shares in the company. Before he could dwell on it, a heavy pat landed on his shoulder.
Hard. Too hard.
The jolt made his head spin even more.
"You already have a straight flush!" his friend whispered harshly. "The odds of him getting a royal flush are one in six hundred ninety-seven thousand. You've got this!"
And it would have been true—if the dealer hadn't kept darting nervous glances at the old man, sweat soaking through his shirt.
"This is a chance of a lifetime," his friend urged.
That was all it took.
"Fine!" Luca agreed, his voice thick, shocked again when a contract was brought forward immediately. His muddled brain barely protested as he scrawled his signature across the page.
The final game moved fast, cards flying.
By the time it came to reveal hands, the crowd had thickened around the table. Luca's pulse thundered in his ears as he turned his cards over. His friend behind him nearly burst with pride, grinning wide.
But Luca himself barely had time to process the victory he anticipated. His head was pounding, muddy.
The old man laid down his hand.
A royal flush.
Gasps filled the air. Awe. Shock.
Luca's friend paled behind him, but Luca didn't even have time to taste defeat. The world swam violently, his head spinning until his face slammed against the table. He collapsed in a faint.
Most believed it was from shock. One of the old man's guards moved forward at once, scooping Luca's limp body from the chair.
The old man rose to his feet, his immaculate suit gleaming under the casino lights. Though he was past his mid-fifties, the wrinkles across his face only emphasized the authority—and immense wealth—he carried.
"I'll find him a place to rest," he announced smoothly, striding away as his guards closed in around him.
Luca's friend tried to follow, desperate not to abandon him, only to be struck in the chest by a bodyguard's palm. The blow sent him sprawling to the ground.
"Don't follow," the bodyguard warned coldly, flashing the gun at his waist.
The protest died on the man's lips. He scrambled back, trembling, wondering in terror what Luca had dragged himself into.
Luca himself didn't know until he woke in a starkly lit room, his skull splitting with a blinding headache.
Across from the bed, seated calmly, was the old man—bodyguards standing like statues around him. A contract, familiar yet hazy in Luca's memory, lay on the table between them.
To the side, a guard wheeled forward a silver trolley.
"It's all here… Don Tiberio," one of the men murmured for Luca's benefit.
Luca's hands shook uncontrollably. His eyes widened at the sight of the sharp instruments gleaming on the trolley. His fear mounted with every passing second.
"I—I know. I lost! I remember it!" Luca stammered. "You can have all my shares!"
Slowly, reality dawned on him: he had stumbled across a man with whom one never crossed paths lightly.
"Yes," Tiberio said evenly, his tone quiet, almost bored. "I already have them. But you see… I don't feel satisfied."
His eyes narrowed, a spark of recollection in them.
"I remember you mentioning a daughter. The prettiest in the world, you claimed."
Luca's heart plummeted. Shame and terror tangled inside him.
'Give his daughter to this old pervert? he would rather die!'
"Lies… I lied… I was just—"
"Cut off his manhood," Tiberio interrupted abruptly.
The order was short. Final.
Luca could stomach the thought of a finger being taken. He could endure a missing hand, perhaps. But this—
"Per favore!" he begged, as the bodyguard seized him, dragging him from the bed. In the man's grip gleamed a scalpel, his eyes devoid of emotion.
"If I allow you to father more children, you will spread more lies," Tiberio said, his face as blank and unfeeling as stone.
Stripped of his strength, Luca's panic reached its breaking point. He thrashed, desperate.
"Father—"
"Father-in-law—!" he screamed suddenly, choking on tears.
"Father-in-law!" he howled again, the words breaking out of him, desperate to be heard—aware now of the irreversible gravity of what he had said, and unable to undo it.