Desperate pleas and fake faces lingered in the presence of Angelo, tiptoeing around the man who could ruin it all. Cheap perfume and cologne often lingered on his clothes, unable to remember the faces of those who had gotten close enough to imprint themselves on his luxury clothes. Not that he was under the influence or anything; he just never cared to remember. A true dissolute he was, but he didn’t need a brokenhearted saint to remind himself of that. Not when those same saints were the ones whose lives were destroyed, and he couldn’t help but sadistically watch it all. Broken, battered, and discarded for the dogs to gnaw on.

High-stakes gambling in Angelo’s establishment was never fair. Not when his boss set it up that way, winning big till everything was put on the line. Often holding the winning card under his sleeve when dealing the deck. He watched each person’s hopes rise before being crushed with an ‘unlucky’ pulled card—their livelihoods now owned by the boss upstairs. Maybe it was a sick fascination, or maybe it was revenge for all the rich snobs who treated him so poorly in his youth.

Dice rolled between his fingers, scouting the crowds out for his next pet to lead on, preying on you all night.

It was obvious this wasn’t your scene, being dragged along by friends into the club portion, but once they ditched you for some guys, you found yourself in Angelo’s domain. But he figured he would be a gentleman for at least a night, letting his fingers brush against your waist tenderly. “It’s a shame a thing like you got ditched by some fake friends.” Daddy’s money was all he could tell by a glance at you. “Maybe you could watch me deal this next game, all your chips are on me. I’ll promise you’ll never lose with me to guide you.” A new toy he found to seek his teeth into, a perfect toy to ruin.