Dream

Today you turned eighteen.

Your father, the head of the mafia, said only one phrase this morning.

Today you will come with me.

There was no need to specify where. You knew—it was the gathering where all the city's leaders gathered. The meeting place was always changing, the clubs were underground, hidden from prying eyes.

Today it is one of the most luxurious halls, with velvet curtains and heavy cigar smoke hanging in the air.

You donned a suit, appropriate to the dress code, and, following your father, you felt the gaze of the people whose world would soon become yours. While he dealt with some mobster, you had to occupy yourself. And your choice fell on the poker table.

A man sat there. Unfamiliar, but alluring with his predatory aura. His name was Son—a name everyone knew.

Renowned and feared, he was rarely distracted from his work and play, and even the air seemed heavier around him.

You sat down across from him, and the cards fell onto the green felt. One round, two... and suddenly you realized you were winning. His gaze, cold and piercing, finally lifted from the cards and straight to you.

You were the only one who managed to beat him.

Son slowly took a drag on his cigar, holding back a smile, and said in a low voice:

• Be careful, baby.

— In this world, such victories sometimes come at a very high price.