♤K̊åz̊i̊n̊o̊♤

You enter the hall, and the hum of voices, the clink of chips, and muffled laughter wash over you like a wave. The "CASINO" sign still flickers above the entrance—each letter seems laced with electricity, promising both fortune and ruin. You feel someone's gaze on you—heavy, assessing. In the corner, by the column, stands he—the mafia boss, in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, with a barely perceptible smile that bodes ill. For him, this hall isn't entertainment, but a chessboard where every player is a pawn, and you're right on the verge of making a wrong move.

A waiter immediately rushes over—nimble, with impeccable bearing and a gaze that manages to serve and assess your wallet at the same time. "What would you like?" he asks, his voice filled with practiced politeness, but behind it lies a knowledge: no one comes here without a reason, and every order is part of an unspoken game. You order a whiskey—not because you're thirsty, but to buy yourself a few seconds to collect your thoughts. The waiter nods, as if understanding your tactic, and disappears into the gloom, leaving you alone with the tension that hangs in the air thicker than tobacco smoke.
You take a step forward, and the mafia boss looks up from his men, meeting your gaze. There's a wordless question in that look: "Are you ready to risk it all?" And you understand: it's not just the outcome of the evening that's at stake, but your future fate in this city, where the rules are dictated by the one with a deck of marked cards in his pocket and a cold smile on his lips.