"Let's go, 25,000 tonight, William! We'll be able to buy you some milk."
Milk had another meaning in the Flamingo family. For Caesars, it was just a façade meant to show the crowd that he was a good father, but for William, it was pure hell. His father would leave him locked inside a car, summer or winter, leaving barely a crack in the window for air—just like one would for a dog. While William suffocated in the heat or shivered in the cold, Caesars enjoyed the company of a few women of pleasure. That was why Palma, tragically beautiful, had left him.
"Sir, you've won a lot tonight. Would you like to join the VIProom?"
The dealer, dressed in a red shirt and a black bow tie, wore small round glasses. His hair was slicked neatly to the side. He looked harmless, but his smile was repulsive, like that of a demon watching its prey.
"Let's go home, Dad… I'm scared."
Caesars, who had been joyful just moments before, suddenly lost his smile. His eyes went hollow, and he leaned down to whisper in William's ear.
"Oh, little one… Keep bringing me bad luck, and you'll make your mommy very unhappy."
William was only four years old, but he already understood the weight of those words. From that moment on, luck took control of his future. It hung above his head like the sword of Damocles. The dealer broke the silence:
"So, sir, have you made your decision? You know that..."
He didn't have time to finish. Caesars interrupted him:
"YES! YES! YES! Tonight, I join the hunt. Riches and power are mine! I've always dreamed of this moment!"
The dealer pulled out a metal card that unlocked the elevator at the end of the hallway.
"Here's your card, sir. Good luck. Take your kid with you he might come in handy."
But drunk with alcohol and euphoria, Caesars didn't hear his last words. William, however, heard them perfectly. For him, the sword no longer hung by a rope, but by a simple silk thread.
Caesars took his son by the hand and headed to the elevator. Inside, there was only one button -9. He pressed it, holding William tightly. When they arrived, a long, dimly lit corridor stretched out before them. The wallpaper was peeling, and the place reeked of abandonment.
Another dealer appeared. But this one was different tall, muscular, with massive shoulders that made him hunch forward.
"Good evening, sir. Welcome to the VIP room. Follow me; I'll take you to table 34."
For the two newcomers, the contrast was shocking they had expected luxury, not decay. But Caesars didn't care. He had only one thought money. He embodied lustand greed all at once.
At the table, the giant opened the door and explained he would be Caesars' personal assistant. If Caesars needed money or drinks, all he had to do was signal him.
Around the table sat five people. Caesars recognized two:
Enzo Fruchini, king of Venice's underworld.
Ricardo Cuxxi, heir of the famous Guxxi fashion dynasty.
"Enzo, looks like we've got a new player," Ricardo said, shuffling his cards.
Enzo, much older, puffed on his cigar. His sagging skin hung from his cheeks, his thinning hair fell across his forehead. One of his glassy eyes bore the trace of an old injury. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and noticed the child.
"Well, look at that… a fine little betting chip. I'd wager everything for him."
Another man turned Daniel, the richest at the table, president of a multinational company. At thirty-five, he represented the economy of an entire country. But he was also infamous for his many sexual assault scandals… none ever proven.
"Let's have a look at that pretty little face…" he murmured, eyeing William.
The fourth player remained silent. He wore a mask and a hat impossible to identify.
The fifth was a woman, Bella, known publicly for her charitable donations. She said nothing, but smiled at Caesars.
Unlike the corridor, the room resembled Versailles sparkling chandeliers, gilded mirrors, luxurious carpets.
"Don't be shy, take a seat. Tonight, we're nothing but players. Here, we leave our social status behind."
The blackjack game began. At first, everything seemed fine, but very quickly Caesars started losing. William, standing in a corner, watched his father's downfall unfold.
Enzo signaled his dealer, who leaned in and whispered to Caesars:
"Sir, you're burning through everything. It's critical… but you're in luck. Here, in the VIP room, anything can become a chip." He cast a long glance toward William.
Caesars stood up and walked over to his son.
"Listen carefully, boy. If I bet you, it's like going all in. They'll have to put everything on the table. Which means we could become rich! You'll understand when you're older."
William tried to answer.
SLAP!
Caesars had just struck him across the face.
"How dare you talk back to me? I gave you life! For that alone, you should be grateful forever!"
"Oh, don't make me cry… I came here to gamble, not to watch family drama. If you've got no more money, the door is wide enough for a bull to pass through." Enzo sneered.
"Forgive me, gentlemen… I had to discipline my insolent son."
"How touching… We should write a book about you, Mr. Caesars," Bella added with a venomous smile.
Caesars returned to his seat and declared:
"I bet my son !!"
No one seemed shocked. In reality, this was the true beginning of the game.
Thirty minutes later, Caesars held his head in his hands. Not only had he lost a fortune, but he had also lost his child.
"You manipulated me! You think I'll just sit here and do nothing? I'll call the police and the News !"
Caesars' dealer appeared behind him, grabbed his head, and smashed it violently against the table, breaking both his nose and the wood beneath it.
"Sir, forgive me, but no violence is tolerated in the VIP lounge."
The colossus then seized Caesars' bloody thumb, pulled out a document, and forced him to press it against the page.
"Here are the adoption papers, Mr. Enzo. I'll take care of the trash."