Chapter 10: Russian Roulette

  "Fuck you, dwarf!"

  Anatoly spat the words out in Russian, his tone dripping with contempt, offering no room for compromise.

  Ross was furious. "Fuck the white pig!"

  A loud uproar followed. This was like throwing fuel on a fire.

  "Fuck your bloody mother, dwarf!" Anatoly retorted.

  The noise from the crowd watching the scene escated, and Luke shifted his shoulders a bit, cracked his neck, and deliberately bumped Ross, masking his screams with a cough. He slowly moved back to his seat at the table.

  “How do you want to bet?” Luke asked, staring at Anatoly.

  Even without Ross's provocation, Luke couldn’t take it anymore. He was itching to fire back.

  Luke figured, since this Russian guy was asking for it, he might as well help him along tonight. He’d come here to stir up trouble anyway, so why not make it a bit bigger?

  From the start, he was prepared for a situation that wouldn’t end peacefully tonight. After all, they were in Hell’s Kitchen, and trouble was practically guaranteed.

  Anatoly seemed to take pleasure in provoking Luke. He lit a thick cigar and held it in one hand while his other arm was draped around the slender waist of a blonde sitting next to him. He raised his chin and said in a condescending tone, “I’m tired of pying dice. How about we py bckjack?”

  Luke shook his head firmly. “No.”

  “What? You can’t do it?” Anatoly mocked. “You come to a casino, but you don’t know how to py bckjack? Fine. Then tell me, what can you py, dwarf? I’m not gonna lose to you.”

  Anatoly flicked the ash from his cigarette, raised his eyebrows, and added, “Anything but dice. I’m sick of that game.”

  It sounded like a casual remark, but deep down, Anatoly was clearly shaken by Luke’s luck at the gambling table. He’d had enough of pying dice with him.

  None of the gamblers who had been watching earlier left. They were all there to see what would happen next.

  Someone in the crowd suggested, “How about pying roulette? Don’t forget, this is the Roulette Casino.” That suggestion caught on immediately, and the crowd reacted.

  “Roulette?”

  Luke and Anatoly exchanged a gnce.

  “I have no objection,” Anatoly said with a smile, spreading his hands to show off his tattoos.

  Luke frowned slightly, thinking for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Let’s py roulette.”

  Roulette was a cssic casino game around the world.

  The roulette wheel had 37 betting spots. It would rotate clockwise, and the dealer, acting as the banker, would shoot a ball onto the wheel. The number where the ball nded would be the winning number.

  Pyers could pce bets on various numbers. There were many types of bets: single, double, red, bck, big, small, and others—each with different odds.

  The rules of roulette were more complicated than Sic Bo, but the game ultimately relied on luck.

  Luke was confident he could win, though. He had nothing but confidence that night, and he knew luck was on his side.

  “You seem pretty confident?” Anatoly said, eyeing Luke.

  “Not bad,” Luke replied, his voice low and hoarse, thanks to his voice changer. “I think everyone here tonight knows I’ve won quite a bit.”

  The gamblers around him cheered loudly: “God of Gamblers! God of Gamblers!”

  Both Luke and Anatoly agreed to py roulette, and the crowd became even more excited. Some of the onlookers even encouraged the casino to open a bet on who would win—Luke or Anatoly.

  Anatoly sneered, staring at Luke. “You know what roulette’s called? Russian roulette. Why do you think you can beat me?” He spoke with a thick Russian accent, and his background was no secret. It was well known that he was a member of the notorious Russian mafia in Hell's Kitchen.

  Luke couldn’t be bothered to respond. He thought to himself, “Why? Just by luck, I’ll beat you, and you’ll be kneeling down singing ‘Conquer’.”

  Soon, a group of casino staff turned the table in front of them into a roulette setup, complete with a standard Russian roulette wheel.

  The casino repced the original dealer with a new one, specifically for the two of them.

  In situations like this, where both parties were reluctant to accept the results and insisted on gambling, casinos were experienced in handling it. But tonight was different—Luke’s previous Sic Bo performance was too impressive, so the new dealer seemed unusual.

  Luke noticed that the dealer had thick calluses on some parts of his fingers. He could tell this guy wasn’t a typical casino dealer. The slight bulge under the dealer’s clothes at his waist confirmed it too.

  The dealer smiled and cimed he had a certification from a legitimate casino in Las Vegas and assured both pyers that his skills were top-notch.

  “I bet your shooting skills are top-notch too,” Luke thought to himself.

  With a crowd of excited gamblers around, the betting began.

  After seeing the Russian roulette wheel up close, Luke became even more confident. He realized it wasn’t like how movies portrayed it, where dealers could secretly manipute the game.

  It was nearly impossible to direct a small ball to nd in such a small space, especially without superpowers. The design of the roulette wheel made it practically impossible to manipute the ball’s nding spot accurately.

  Luke was completely at ease. This game was pure luck, and he knew he was in control tonight.

  Casinos, of course, weren’t foolish. They knew roulette made money for them. Most casino games favored the house, just like Sic Bo—where certain numbers or bets were stacked in the dealer’s favor. The odds were never great for pyers.

  Still, that didn’t matter to Luke tonight. His luck had already been extraordinary, and he had no doubt that he was going to win.

  The outcome of the game was almost a foregone conclusion.

  In the first round, Luke bet on an odd number. Anatoly immediately bet on an even number.

  When the ball finally stopped, it nded on 17—an odd number.

  Luke’s streak continued, and the gamblers around him erupted in cheers, chanting “God of Gamblers!” This only fueled the excitement, drawing more onlookers.

  Anatoly just grunted and said coldly, “Come again!”

  He didn’t believe it—he couldn’t. He refused to believe someone could have such good luck. He thought luck had to change sooner or ter, and tonight, it would be his turn to win.

  But the result crushed Anatoly’s hopes.

  In the second round, Luke once again bet on an odd number. Anatoly bet on an even number.

  Once again, the ball nded on an odd number—31.

  Anatoly smmed his fist on the table in frustration. “Again!” he barked.

  Luke remained calm, his smile behind the mask barely perceptible. Everything was under control. Unfortunately, no one saw it.

  In the third round, Anatoly bet first, picking an odd number.

  Luke took his time, silently choosing his own bet on an even number.

  The dealer spun the wheel, and the ball shot across it at an almost imperceptible speed.

  The room held its breath, everyone watching intently.

  Finally, the ball nded on 2—a big, even number.

  Anatoly nearly exploded in rage. His face turned as bck as the soles of his shoes, and his expression twisted in fury. The crowd cheered, clearly favoring Luke.

  The blonde next to Anatoly tried to comfort him, but he spped her away without a second thought.

  “Come again!” Anatoly growled, staring at Luke with a crazy, wolfish grin.

  Luke silently pced his next bet, the smile on his face fading. Beneath the Iron Man mask, his thoughts drifted to the 163 electric shock grenades he had brought tonight. “Yeah, that should be enough.”

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