The cards hit the table like the closing of a casket—silent, inevitable. The man in the pinstripe suit doesn’t flinch as he lays them down. A king and a ten, black as sin, sealing the fate of the room. The others don’t speak, don’t move. Not yet.
Whiskey lingers in the air, mixing with the thick scent of sweat and cigar smoke. The stakes were always high, but tonight, they’re something more. The chips, the cash, the pride—it was never just about the money. The wrong man was supposed to lose. But he didn’t.
A click breaks the silence, more final than any card ever played. A revolver, steady in a gloved hand, points across the felt. Someone made a bet they couldn’t afford.
And now, the real game begins.
This piece is for those who know that in the end, luck runs out—but debts always get paid.
