gambling
"Sir, we play European-style poker here," the waiter unusually explained the rules, drawing gasps from many in the room.
A novice entering a casino will be devoured, leaving not even a bone fragment.
Milo understood, thought for a moment, sat down, and picked up the cards he had been dealt: "How much is this worth?"
The waiter smiled and said, "One hundred thousand dollars."
"Ah," Milo responded with a long sigh, somewhat wistfully, as if money had become something else entirely.
Steven, unusually patient and reeking of alcohol, lazily said, "If you lose this, I won't send you any more."
Milo stroked his chips and chose the inside bet for the first round, placing his bets on several numbers.
The roulette wheel spun rapidly, and the ball bounced wildly around the edge, but repeatedly avoided the numbers he had bet on.
With his chips worth 100,000 dwindling, the situation became extremely unfavorable for him, and some subtle whispers and jeers began to rise from his surroundings.
At the end of the first round, he had lost two-thirds of his chips.
"Want to play again?" Steven stretched his limbs.
"Keep driving." Milo wasn't trembling.
This statement attracted even more onlookers.
Here, winning and losing are just for entertainment and enjoyment. Few people expect to get rich quick, but the opportunity to experience the pain of a novice's crushing defeat is highly sought after, because fun is the most precious thing.
In the second round, Milo placed one chip each on the red and black sides as an outer bet, and then placed one chip on each of the four adjacent numbers near the south side of the roulette wheel as an inner bet, using up all his hole cards.
This move is undoubtedly insane. No one would use all their cards in the very first hand; is this confidence or just madness?
The onlookers were ready to enjoy the pained expression on the handsome young man's face.
Everyone's eyes were drawn to the rapidly spinning wheel, as if by a magnet.
However, this time, the ball landed precisely in the area where Milo had bet multiple times. His chips piled up like a small mountain, increasing tenfold from his initial amount.
Laughter erupted from the crowd, and some people were deeply impressed by the courage of a novice.
Milo was somewhat relieved. The random spins in the first few rounds had made him notice that the ball seemed to be tilting towards one side of the roulette wheel, which allowed him to place bets that covered a certain range while maintaining relatively high odds.
After several rounds, Milo was on a winning streak, and a small stack of chips had piled up in front of him. Steven, on the other hand, had significantly fewer chips, but he showed no sign of sadness at losing money.
In the crucial final round, Steven suddenly raised his hand and pushed all the remaining chips into the betting area, his eyes fixed on Milo's face with a mocking look: "Raise, dare you?"
This sudden, huge bet made Milo's heart tighten.
The waiter suddenly rang the bell in his hand.
These words caused an uproar, and excited laughter ignited the entire floor. Even Steven raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress his surprise.
"What do you mean?" Milo looked around, puzzled.
The waiter explained, "That gentleman volunteered to cover the jackpot for the owner, offering you a 'life-or-death' bet. If you bet everything you have and win, he'll give you double the reward, which is 6 million; if you lose, you'll owe us the jackpot, which is 2 million."
Milo looked in the direction the waiter was pointing, and Blaise was watching him quietly.
This lunatic... Milo wants to kill someone.
Blaise probably wanted to force him off the table.
"Looks like you're in high demand." Steven pulled out a black gold cigarette, put it in his mouth, tilted his head to light it, and squinted his eyes contentedly. "But whether you play or not is up to you. Here, if you don't want to, no one can force you to sit at the table."
Milo glanced around at everyone present, who seemed to be watching and waiting for his reaction.
“Play,” Milo said.
Steven exhaled a puff of smoke and raised the corners of his lips: "If you lose, how will you compensate me?"
A chorus of jeers erupted from the crowd.
“Yes, how will we compensate if we lose?” Milo looked up, his half-closed eyes like a shooting star about to fall, his pupils exceptionally bright, making Steven feel dazed.
This moment, just like that moment before. Someone had sat opposite him, but with an air of naivety. So clever, yet so lazy in the gambling tricks he taught. He casually offered a couple of tips, but they weren't useful, so he gave up. He simply assumed the other person's good intentions were wasted. A fool like that will one day be sold out and still count the money. But that naive fool was perfectly content: "With an expert like you around, who would dare sell me out at the gambling table?"
That fool probably never imagined that the person who sold him out had been lurking right beside him all along.
Steven's fingers trembled slightly, ash fell from his cigarette, and when he looked at Milo again, there was a strange sense of disgust in his eyes.
Everyone says being a stand-in is a despicable and laughable thing, but only after being in their shoes did he understand the truth. The more he felt the pure and flawless white moonlight was, the more he felt the imitator was exceptionally clumsy.
"Why don't you just give yourself to me as compensation?" Steven laughed contemptuously. "Anyway, someone like you is a prostitute."
Milo replied calmly, "Then you'll lose out. Someone like me isn't worth much. My heart is worth 100,000, my kidneys 70,000, my liver 30,000, and my corneas should be worth 30,000 too. Even if you skinned me alive, I probably still wouldn't be able to scrape together 2 million to pay you back."
Steven's smile froze on his lips. For a moment, he couldn't tell if Milo was joking or making a veiled attack. But he knew one thing: this man wasn't afraid of him. Having navigated the treacherous waters of love for many years, Steven sensed a hint of deliberate seduction in this man.
Steven said seriously, "A bet is a bet. There's no question of whether it's worth it or not; it's just a matter of whether you dare to do it."
“A bet is a bet…that’s certainly true.” Milo nodded. “Then please begin.”
Blaise stood to the side, arms crossed, his expression stern, but his gaze remained fixed on the gambling table.
Seeing Milo hesitate, he subtly moved his fingers, making several cryptic gestures to Milo, indicating the direction in which he should place his bet.
Milo caught a glimpse of Blaise's movement, but looked away and instead gazed at the other end of the roulette wheel.
Steven kept a close eye on Milo's every move. Having spent many years in the casino, he had long understood the subtle psychology of gambling addicts, and he noticed every slight change in Milo's movements.
He could win, but deliberately wanted to lose. Was he really going to use himself to pay off the 2 million? Clearly, this little cloned sheep had ulterior motives.
Just as Milo was about to place his bet, Steven suddenly laughed and said, "Forget it, I concede this round." With that, he took back his bet chips.
Milo was stunned, not expecting Steven to pull this stunt. Those around him gasped in surprise; clearly, no one had anticipated this "life-or-death" match would end this way.
Steven stood up and extended his hand to Milo: "There aren't many people in this casino who dare to play like this with me. I'm actually starting to like you now."
Milo stood up and shook Steven's hand in return.
Steven patted Milo on the shoulder, leaned down to say a few words to the people around him, and then turned back to Milo and said, "I have to go now, you guys have fun."
Milo wanted to say something more, but Steven had already walked away.
Milo was stunned for a moment before he remembered that Blaze, who had been following him, had disappeared at some point.
On the vast villa platform, the eyes that had been watching over him were no longer there.
The waiter closed the table, and Milo left. He picked up a glass of champagne, hesitated for a long time, and finally took the opportunity to walk up to the waiter who had opened the table for him, and asked softly, "What are you playing over there?"
The waiter turned his head and saw an excited Ruan Jiaming yelling about his bad luck. He replied, "It's Texas Hold'em. Sir, would you like to play a game there?"
Milo smiled noncommittally. He looked around the room and asked curiously, "Besides these, are there any other investment options?"
The waiter paused for a moment, then smiled and shook his head: "Sir, we only play games here, there's no investment involved."
Milo's gaze fell on Ruan Jiaming: "Aren't there any others who make money like him?"
The waiter smiled at Milo but remained silent.
Milo rephrased the question: "Does he come often?"
The waiter replied, "We've been having a promotion lately, so some regular customers come here often."
Milo nodded and said, "So, you don't accept new guests?"
The waiter seemed to be thinking about something, then asked, "Sir, are you looking to buy or sell?"
"What do you think I want?" Milo smiled. "Buying, of course."
The waiter didn't push or pull anymore. He pulled out a slip from under the heavily marked drinks menu, handed it to Milo, and said, "Sir, you can take a look. These are all the latest arrivals."
Milo calmly took it and glanced at the contents.
The names of flowers and grasses were clearly metonyms that he couldn't understand, but the prices listed after them all started in units of tens of thousands.
"You're very attentive and have a great temper." Milo pretended to carefully scan the order slip, not forgetting to smile at the waiter. "If I buy it, could I put it on your tab and give you an extra commission?"
Handsome men are always dangerous, let alone handsome men who know how to sweet-talk.
"Thank you, sir." The waiter subconsciously smiled, unable to pretend to ignore the ambiguity in Milo's words. "It's just a pity that that area is no longer my responsibility."
Milo raised an eyebrow, his peripheral vision falling on the far left of the three townhouses.
One is engaged in refined business discussions, another indulges in debauchery and gambling, and what is the remaining one up to?
Milo suddenly felt a heavy breath beside him. He turned his head and saw Blaise, who had returned, standing beside him like a ghost.
This man couldn't speak, only listen with difficulty, so he harbored exceptionally deep thoughts. When arguing with him, Milo usually had to speak first.
"I barely managed to win that round, so are you really going to give me 6 million?"
Blaise turned his head slightly to the side and bowed his head a little.
"You're not lying to me?"
Blaise extended a long, slender index finger and placed it on Milo's forehead, pushing him a step away. Then, he opened his phone, typed a message, and held the phone to Milo's ear.
A cold, robotic voice rang out: "6 million for one night."
Milo lost his voice.
The robotic voice added, "Your rent debt to me has been settled."
Blaze put his phone away, glanced at Milo's face, which had turned pale and then red, and raised the corners of his lips in a smile. But he clearly realized his expression and quickly withdrew it.
That sharp and indifferent face, with just a slight smile, was incredibly alluring, like a whirlpool in the deep sea.
Their eyes met, but Milo pretended not to see and quickly looked away.
"You want to get close to Steven?" the mechanical voice rang out again, breaking the delicate atmosphere that had just been there.
Milo looked up at Blaise: "Would you get angry if I told you the truth?"
Blaise remained silent.
Milo whispered, "I really can't understand your sign language. I don't dare to bet with him."
Blaze glanced down at Milo, then looked away.
Milo didn't know whether he believed it or not.
A waiter in a tuxedo came over and greeted him politely: "Sir, our boss would like you to go play across the street."
Milo paused slightly.
Across the street... is that mysterious third villa.
As they walked, Blaze followed Milo at a leisurely pace. They entered the first floor of the right-hand villa, pushed open a door, and Milo discovered that it was an underground shooting room decorated in a cold, industrial style.
The walls are covered with soundproofing material, LED spotlights illuminate the interior brightly, dark brown non-slip floor tiles are paired with custom gun display cabinets, and five standard target lanes are equipped with electronic targets.
There was no air conditioning inside, and the temperature was high. Blaze took off his coat, stood in front of the display case, selected two items, and handed one of them to Milo.
Milo looked around but didn't see anyone else besides them, and Steven was nowhere to be seen either.
Let him play with guns with a madman?
"I don't know how to use it," Milo declined.
Blaise, however, forced him to accept the order and put noise-canceling headphones on him.
Milo's movements with the gun were clumsy and awkward.
Blaze tapped the wall with the butt of his rifle, the clanging sound alerting Milo that he was giving a lesson. Blaze's gun-holding posture was very skillful; during a rapid reload, his fingers deftly moved the magazine catch, and the new magazine was instantly in place. He then swiftly raised his gun and accurately hit the moving target. The whole sequence of movements was fluid and seamless.
Then, Blaise slightly turned his hand away and forcefully pushed Milo onto the court.
Above the shooting range hangs a huge one-way soundproof glass panel. Looking up from below, all you can see is a clear expanse, but from the second floor, you can see everything happening inside the shooting range clearly through this glass.
Behind the glass stood two men with strikingly different personalities. One was impeccably dressed in a suit, with a serious expression, while the other exuded a relaxed and carefree air.
Miles looked down: "Who told you to bring him here?"
Steven laughed: "If you were really keeping someone as a treasure hidden away, why would you bring them out? I just find this strange. Why would you keep someone like this as a pet? Or are you trying to annoy someone?"
Miles looked displeased: "You'd better not interfere in my affairs."
Steven replied, "I don't have the time to manage that. I'm just afraid you're raising a wild creature with untrimmed claws without even realizing it."
Miles didn't reply, but Steven laughed. It seems this owner doesn't completely trust his pet either.
Down in the shooting range, Milo gritted his teeth and tried, but his first shot went completely wide. During shooting, he couldn't even maintain basic shooting stability; all his bullets missed the bullseye, and his shooting rhythm was chaotic.
After one round, Milo looked at Blaze beside him in a sorry state, took off his headphones, and pleaded, "I really don't know how."
Milo extended his trembling hand, which was already bright red. The scar on his wrist, extending to the veins, meant he was three times weaker than the average person. He had reached his limit by now.
Blaze lowered his eyes and stepped closer, as if to show pity, but the next second he suddenly fired a shot at Milo's feet.
The sudden gunshot was particularly jarring in the open space. Milo was so frightened that his face turned ashen, and he stumbled backward and fell to the ground.
Blaze stared intently into Milo's eyes, trying to find a trace of pretense. However, Milo's eyes held only undisguised, unmasked fear.
Upon seeing this, Miles on the second floor immediately showed a look of dissatisfaction.
Steven chuckled, "Hmm, you're quite timid."
Inside the shooting range, Blaze took advantage of Milo's lingering shock, quickly approached him, grabbed Milo's wrist holding the gun, and twisted it forcefully.
Milo winced in pain and instinctively tried to break free, only to find that he was no match for Blaise's strength.
With a gun pressed against his chin, Milo's breathing became rapid, and large beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, sliding down his cheeks.
Cunning and despicable, yet still just a helpless lamb with no chance to fight back.
Blaze then took Milo's arm and stopped forcing him to play.
Seeing this, Steven on the second floor shrugged and sighed, "Alright, undercover cops aren't that weak. You can keep them around for fun."
"You've got so much free time," Miles said, looking away. "Someone wants to kill you, can't you tell?"
Steven raised his lips and pointed to his ear: "Can't you see that? Am I stupid? But, if he failed once, do you think he'll have a second chance? Even you can't kill me so easily. You should know that I'm not the only one behind the Thornton family."
Miles said coldly, "I have no interest in things that cause more trouble than benefits."
“Hmm, that’s not very honest of you to say.” Steven chuckled. “I remember you were the one who reminded me to send him a copy of the invitation, right? In other words, it was your arrangement that they met today. You went through all this trouble, but the return isn’t that obvious. I think you’re quite interested in making a losing deal.”
Miles turned to Steven: "Are you done?"
“That’s all.” Steven waved his hand, lowering his voice. “Now that we’ve received word from the south, no matter how much we want to kill them, we need to work together. I don’t want to get caught up in the police and the inspectors.”
Miles turned and left: "If you had just kept quiet, they wouldn't have bothered you."
“I have to let people know that if you want to devour the lotus in one bite, you have to be prepared to have your mouth full of blood.” Steven put down his wine glass and changed the subject. “I heard you’re going to the south. I should go and see. It’s been too long since I’ve been to Bethlehem. I’m really missing it. It’ll be good to get some fresh air at sea.”
Miles frowned slightly.
Steven hummed a tune: "Let's go, Uncle, hurry up and go pick them up, or the mad dog might pounce on your precious baby."
Milos was pulled up by Blaze's arm, his clothes soaked with sweat. A sharp scraping sound came from outside the shooting range. Milos glanced over and saw several people in white coats pushing an aluminum metal cart as tall as a person through the corridor.
Blaise surrendered the gun, put it back on the wall, and pushed him out the door.
The group quickly disappeared, leaving behind a lingering, strong smell of disinfectant in the air.
Milo couldn't help but turn his head to look at the end of the corridor. Just as his heart was racing, two figures suddenly appeared and blocked his view.
Steven, still smiling, asked, "What are you looking at? So curious. Is there something you've got your eye on here?"
“I didn’t see anything,” Milo replied.
Miles slowly appeared behind Steven: "How was your shopping?"
Milo nodded: "It's quite lively."
Miles said calmly, "It's getting late. I'll have Harold take you home."
Milo replied, "Then I'll leave it to you, Mr. Dale."
Upon hearing this, Miles frowned slightly but remained silent.
Blaise stood by the door, coldly observing everything.
Steven was quicker, stepping forward to grab Milo's shoulder and raising an eyebrow with a smile: "See you next time, I'll definitely have a good game with you."
Milo forced a smile: "Mr. Thornton, I don't have that much luck to gamble with you."
Steven laughed, "What's the point of always gambling? It's better to play something else." He looked at Milo meaningfully, "Anyway, we'll definitely meet again someday."
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