Viva Las Vegas

[Vercetti21]

 

 

WARNING: Contains strong language, violence and gore, sexual situations, drug abuse, and slightly pornographic material.

 

*It is suggested that you collapse the forum menu before reading each chapter.

 

Story Overview

 

"Viva Las Vegas" is the story of a Vegas God, Michael Sterling, who loses everything and how he must resort to crime and violence to quench his greed for power and restore his life as he once knew it.

 

Michael finds that when his luck suddenly runs short, his life begins to spiral downwards in a world in which he must fight for his own survival.

 

With the mafia now out to claim the streets and with a price on his head, Michael is forced to go into hiding and give up his entire identity in order to save what's left of his empire in Las Vegas.

 

Combined with his unexpected violent nature, powerful allies, and clever charm he must win the streets back in a fight for power between the mafia and himself. Place your bets!

 

Characters

 

*Click name for picture

Michael Sterling

Michael is the flashy, self-absorbed owner of The Royal, the most popular casino in Vegas. Charming, cocky, and (as he soon discovers) violent, Michael will do anything to save his Vegas empire from crumbling.

 

Leon Jones

A cocaine addict simply known as "Mr. Jones", Leon is the head of security for The Royal and a close friend of Michael's. However, his true alliances lie with the Vegas Cosa Nostra.

 

Vincent Mariano

Vincent is the head of the Vegas Cosa Nostra. Although he is not afraid to take risks and gets angered easily, his main motivation is to lead the Cosa Nostra back into power and take back the streets from Michael Sterling.

 

Benny Vitale

Benny is the arrogant underboss of Vincent Mariano. He is the main "hands-on" guy for the Cosa Nostra because of his cruel, demanding attitude. Although he is loyal to Vincent, he wants power more than anything.

 

"Aces"

Although not much is known about Aces, including his real name, he is an extremely good poker player, hired by the Vegas Cosa Nostra to beat Michael Sterling in a high-stakes match. He is believed to be a member of another criminal organization in New York.

 

Claire Sterling

Claire is Michael Sterling's hot-tempered, flamboyant wife, and is angry with Michael because of their failing marriage.

 

Jack Sterling

Jack is Michael's long-lost brother, who lives in poverty but likes to party. He is a recovering cocaine addict, and is envious of Michael's fortune.

 

Lana Scott

Lana is Jack's seductive girlfriend and fellow partier. Although she is not as involved with drugs as Jack, she makes money as a stripper and is wild about having a good time.

 

Samson Wells

An infamous Vegas drug dealer, Samson operates his business through most of the underground nightclubs. He is the man who provides cocaine to both Jack Sterling and Leon Jones.

 

Table of Contents

 

1: Casino Tyrant

2: Downfall

3: Boiling Points

4: The Royal Demise

5: An Empire Collapsed

6: Unfinished Business

7: Ambition

8: Night on the Town

9: The Beginning of the End

10: Connections

11: Suicidal Assault

12: Aftermath of the Bloodbath

13: The Last Stand

 

*Here is a chapter recap, for those who haven't been following along and want to jump straight in to the story.

Chapter Recap

Edited March 13, 2008 by Vercetti21

[Pending]

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Edited July 28, 2017 by Pending

[Vercetti21]

Haha, you didn't have to quote it but I appreciate that. And what are the chances that I was reviewing your story at the same time you were mine?

[Pending]

-

Edited July 28, 2017 by Pending

[Chickstick]

Read this yesterday but somehow forgot to post!

 

It's a good read so far, with an interesting story- I like stuff like this. How long is it going to be?

[Vercetti21]

Probably less than 10 chapters. That being said, I am also going to go with Cubanwhip's philosophy on chapter lengths as he did in "Wanted" - long, detailed and interesting chapters rather than short and to-the-point chapters.

 

Also, the prologue is more of a story overview. The actual story itself is going to be written a bit different than the prologue, just wait and see.

Edited November 24, 2007 by Vercetti21

[Chickstick]

 

long, detailed and interesting chapters rather than short and to-the-point chapters.

Good to hear that. I'll admit I tend to write too short chapters at times...

 

Anyway, I'll definetly be following this as long as it runs.

[Vercetti21]

Thanks for the support. Anyone else following along, or have any ideas, questions, or comments on the story?

[Sinful]

That's some nice work. I believe I could follow it up later.

 

P.S.: It's a Prologue.

[Vercetti21]

Wow, nice catch on the misspelling. I think I had that originally, but this damn Mozilla Firefox spell check told me I was wrong!

 

@thread: Chapter 1 is coming along nicely. Should be up in the next few days.

[Vercetti21]

Chapter 1: Casino Tyrant

 

Vincent Mariano puffed on a massive cigar as he glared at the young man across from him, who had just entered his office.

 

“What’s your name kid?” Vincent managed to breathe as he exhaled an excess amount of smoke.

 

“The name’s Aces,” the man vaguely smiled as he answered in a Brooklyn accent, “but I don’t appreciate being called ‘kid’ or ‘sport’ or any sh*t like that.”

 

“You got a real name?”

 

The man named ‘Aces’ gazed at Vincent as if he were stupid. “You expect me to give my name to the mafia? F*ck that, I don’t work that way.”

 

Vincent chuckled slightly. “Alright Aces, what can I do for you?”

 

“I flew in from New York when I heard about your offer. I have a reputation for playing poker, and if I win I can guarantee at least 100 grand in your pocket. But I get to keep the rest of my winnings.”

 

Vincent took a long drag from his cigar and stared Aces in the eye. “I guess that’s where you get the name, huh?”

 

“Mr. Sterling is talented at what he does,” Vincent lectured to the newcomer, “do not underestimate him. Now, it is true, we did ask for services, but until now you’re the first person who has come to us about this. I don’t want to hear an ‘if I can win’. Lots of people bet on what goes on in that casino, including me. I don’t want to be the guy that loses money.”

 

“Trust me,” Aces assured him, “you won’t be. I’m sure Mr. Sterling is good at poker, but I’m not like those cheap gamblers who happen to be lucky one night. I have skills, and experience. I can win, Mr. Mariano. You’re money is safe on me.”

 

Vincent nodded as he listened, and took another hit of his sweet cigar. If Aces was a man of his word, the Cosa Nostra could make a good profit, and it would open up the possibility of taking back the streets. Ever since Mr. Sterling’s casino had been established, the place had been the center of power for Vegas, both illegal and legit. Mr. Sterling owned the streets, but if someone could beat him at his own game, if they could make him lose everything he had, the Cosa Nostra could come back into power.

 

Another voice beckoned from the corner of the room. It was Benny Vitale, Vincent’s right-hand man. “I don’t know Vince, I’m skeptical. We’re trusting a lot of money on a guy we don’t know, who’s giving us a lot of lip. I wouldn’t do it.”

 

Aces turned around in his seat, a bit annoyed by Benny’s advice. “Who the f*ck is this guy?”

 

“Allow me to introduce my assistant, Mr. Vitale.”

 

Aces frowned and reflected a solemn glare. “Look, you’re betting money on me, and I’m winning money for you. The way I see it, it’s a win-win situation. You can take it or leave it, but either way I’m going to that casino tonight.”

 

Vince cleared his throat as he prepared for another lecture. “Mr. Sterling never loses. The people in this town know that, and that’s why no one bets against him. But when everyone’s betting for him, no one’s got nothing to lose. Therefore no one's got nothing to win. You see how that works?”

 

“That’s why you should bet for me. I’m an outsider; no one knows I’m going to win but you. We’ll take everyone by surprise when they know you’re betting for me. After I win, you collect your dough, and I’ll collect mine. Hell, I’ll tell you what, we’ll split it fifty-fifty. Then the city’s yours for the taking, I’ll be on a plane back to New York, and we’re both rich.”

 

Vincent took another puff of his cigar and leaned back into his chair. After several minutes of silence, he finally spoke.

 

“You can win?”

 

Aces nodded in sincerity.

 

Vincent slapped the surface of his desk. “Alright then, it’s a deal.”

 

Aces smiled ignorantly as the two men shook hands.

 

Benny, who seemed to be a bit disappointed, rejected a handshake from Aces. Instead, he looked into his eyes and mumbled in a deep voice. “Before you can win against Sterling, you gotta win the casino. He makes his appearance at 11, so you got a few hours. You should get going.”

 

Aces nodded and left the room.

 

Vincent stood from his chair, finishing off what was left of his cigar. Noticing his sinister smirk, Benny wondered what Vincent was thinking.

 

“What is it?” Benny asked.

 

“I want you to put all of our money on Sterling tonight.”

 

“You don’t think Aces will win?”

 

“I don’t trust anyone who gives me lip.”

 

“But what if he does win? Boss… we’ll be out of business.”

 

Vincent shook his head in amusement. “If he wins, kill him, and we’ll take the winnings for ourselves.”

 

“And if he loses?”

 

Vincent stood silent for a moment.

 

“We’ll kill him for lying to us.”

 

 

--------------------

 

“Mr. Sterling, it’s almost 11:00.”

 

Michael Sterling sat at his desk inhaling a cigarette, deep in thought. What he pondered about so often, no one really knew. But he found that he had to constantly be awaken back into reality.

 

Michael looked up from his desk at Mr. Jones, the head of security for the casino. “Do we have a candidate?” Michael asked, smiling.

 

“We think so. At table nine, sir.”

 

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Michael responded as he gestured for Mr. Jones to leave the room. It was obvious he did not want to be bothered.

 

Michael stood from his chair and faced the fully-transparent wall behind his desk. A massive window stretched across it entirely, from ceiling to floor, allowing Michael to enjoy a view of the bright lights of Las Vegas from thirteen stories up.

 

The night was young for Michael. He was nocturnal, as was the rest of the city. He found that Vegas was a place like no other in that during the day, the city seemed to be non-existent, almost dead. But at night, the city came to life with personality, flashy lights, and expensive casinos lining along the Strip, including his own.

 

“The Royal” was Michael’s place, and it was arguably the most popular of all the nightlife hotspots. He ruled the city with style, and enjoyed doing so.

 

He took a long, final drag from his cigarette as he looked out upon his exuberant empire from his throne, and in one motion, smothered the cigarette in a small ashtray on the corner of his desk.

 

Michael took a deep breath before leaving the room. He headed towards the elevators down the empty corridor and approached Mr. Jones, who had been waiting for him outside.

 

Mr. Jones was a short and somewhat chubby man. His skin wrinkled around his depressed face and heavily above his collar towards the top of his bulky jawbone, and his short grey hair receded back towards the middle of his skull. He looked to be about in his sixties, but in actuality, he was 46. It was the price he paid for surreptitiously being a coke addict, though his dreadful appearance made it clear that it wasn’t much of a secret.

 

Mr. Jones aggressively sniffed the air as Michael approached him. “New cologne?” he asked in his raspy voice.

 

“Glad to see someone noticed,” Michael commented as he tapped the “down” button next to the elevator.

 

“Think you’re going to win tonight?” Mr. Jones teased as he gently chuckled and patted Michael’s shoulder.

 

Michael only responded with a sarcastic smile, and raised a new question. “Who’s the chump this time?”

 

The two men entered the fancy elevator at the moment the doors opened. Michael tapped the “basement” button and the doors slowly sealed.

 

“Some kid who thinks he’s hot sh*t. Not only does he think he owns the place, but it looks like he’s been trying to pimp all your women.”

 

Michael didn’t seem to show any concern, as usual. He didn’t think it would be a problem, as “Mr. Sterling’s women” referred to all of the ladies in the casino. A girl’s status didn’t matter: single, married, engaged; once she stepped foot inside the place, she was considered to be a possession of Michael’s, at least in the staff’s eyes.

 

When the elevator doors opened, Michael and Mr. Jones set foot into another abandoned hallway and walked down the corridor towards the end. As they had taken a private elevator, they were in the security area of the casino, so it was quiet and empty.

 

They entered a small room flooded with security monitors, along with the workers who tended to them. The room was usually a hustle and bustle of commotion; security personnel scurrying from monitor to monitor, scanning the guests for any suspicious activity. But when Mr. Sterling entered the room, the workers always tried their best to remain professional.

 

“There.” Mr. Jones pointed to a well-dressed, Caucasian man who looked to be about in his mid 20’s on one of the monitors. “That’s him.”

 

The man stood at the end of a table, which was hosting a game of Roulette. A crowd had formed around him as his outgoing aura made it obvious he was winning. Two attractive, young women, a blonde and a brunette, stood on each side of him, cheering him on and running their frisky hands all over him as he continued to play the game well.

 

“He’s been owning table nine the whole night,” Mr. Jones distressed, “looks like he’s the one.”

 

After Michael studied the man for a moment, he leaned away from the monitor and spoke quietly. “Go ahead and notify him to meet me in the V.I.P. room. I’ll make my entrance after I know he’s there.”

 

“Yes sir,” Mr. Jones acknowledged.

 

Mr. Jones called one of the security guards over his headpiece and informed them of the situation. Moments later, Michael watched on the security monitor as several of his men approached the busy table and interrupted the game.

 

Several of the security personnel spoke to the young man at once. Although the security cameras provided no sound, Michael knew what they were talking about. It was a personal invitation.

 

It was just another routine night for Michael Sterling. From the time the casino opened at 6 P.M., Michael would usually stay hidden away in his office, tending to his own business until 11:00. That’s when Michael made his entrance every night, greeting guests, joining in games, and the occasional photograph with a celebrity presence.

 

While Michael remained hidden in his office, security cameras quietly observed the exciting activity which took place on the main floor. Before Mr. Sterling made his appearance at 11, the casino staff would select the luckiest guest of the night. That guest, should he choose to accept the offer extended to him, would be putting all of his winning of the night at stake in a game of Head’s-up Texas Hold ‘em against the casino tyrant himself. It was a double or nothing game: if the guest won, he would leave the casino with twice the amount he had gained, but if he lost, he left the casino empty-handed.

 

Few of these lucky guests actually left the casino with their pockets’ full. These guests were the ones who turned down Mr. Sterling’s challenge. But the price to pay for their winnings was social banishment. Although they may have chosen the wiser path, they certainly did not choose the most popular. These guests were teased, humiliated, and disgraced as cowards.

 

While most people accepted the invitation, no guest had ever beat Michael at his own game. Mr. Sterling was simply too good at Hold ‘em. It came naturally to him, and, combined with his unexplainable luck, made him an impossible opponent. In fact, his success in Heads-up Hold ‘em originally bought him his reputation, as well as his fortune.

 

The idea in itself was simply brilliant, and not only did it keep Sterling’s casino popular, but it allowed it to thrive. Crowds poured into the casino every night, hoping to be the lucky guest who might be Mr. Sterling’s match. Each night, whichever guest was making the casino lose the most money was challenged to beat Mr. Sterling, and, each night, Mr. Sterling would win the money back himself.

 

This was the reason “The Royal" was the most successful, popular, and energetic nightlife attraction in all of Vegas. This was the reason Mr. Sterling was admired as a God among men.

 

“Sir,” Mr. Jones interrupted Michael, who was again entranced in his own world, “the man accepted the challenge. He will be ready to play at your word. Aren’t you going to make your appearance now?”

 

Michael’s wandering mind confusingly shivered back into the security room. “On second thought,” he began, “I’m beginning to feel a bit nauseous. Tell our special friend to meet me in the V.I.P. room right away. I don’t much feel like greeting guests tonight.”

 

Michael silenced himself and strangely left the room without any sort of goodbye.

 

“What’s gotten into him?” one of the security officers inquired.

 

“Did you not hear him?” Mr. Jones defended, “He’s sick. He’ll be fine when he’s doing his thing out there. You just watch the tables, and leave him to me.”

 

Mr. Jones began to dial a number on his cell phone as he exited the main security office.

 

 

--------------------

 

Vincent Mariano cushioned himself quietly in his leather chair. He sat in darkness as he listened to Benny, who sat across from him enthralled in curiosity as he spoke to Mr. Jones on the other end of the line.

 

Vincent listened to Benny’s constant chat-and-pause, somewhat annoyed at the prolonged conversation. This was a process Vincent and Benny had to go through every night.

 

“Yes… okay… alright… table nine? Okay… yeah, I’ll talk to him about it.” Finally, Benny hung up the phone.

 

“What the f*ck was that?” Vincent calmly growled before taking a quick hit of another cigar, “Were you planning your whole f*cking year out?”

 

Benny ignored the tease and spoke in his low-pitched, ‘I don’t give a f*ck’ voice. “Looks like Sterling’s got an opponent.”

 

“Is it our guy?”

 

“From the way Jones described him, it sounds like Aces. Young, cocky attitude…”

 

Vincent nodded as he stared at the glimmering Vegas lights outside the window.

 

“Jones says our money’s safe on Sterling, as usual,” Benny added.

 

Vincent took another puff from his cigar and as he exhaled, the smoke which floated to the ceiling mesmerized him.

 

“I can’t believe Aces even got the chance to go against Sterling. Maybe he wasn’t f*cking around,” Benny speculated.

 

“Alright,” Vincent finally decided, “go ahead and put our money on Sterling.”

 

“Yes sir,” Benny nodded as he stood to leave the office. His hand gently touched the door knob, and he turned to look at Vincent again.

 

“Are you sure about this?”

 

Vincent waved him off. “No one ever beats Sterling. Just do it.”

 

“I’ll let you know what happens.”

 

 

--------------------

 

Michael sat across from his opponent who called himself ‘Aces’ in the V.I.P. room; their cool appearance while staring at the two cards in their hands making each other nervous.

 

Michael’s sweat drenched his twitching forehead. The game had not lasted more that an hour and he was already down to his final chips. How was it possible? Normally he could eliminate his opponent within a matter of minutes, but tonight he had ran short on his luck for the first time in his life. Furthermore, Aces was an expert at the game; something Mr. Sterling had not expected.

 

He managed to hide his loss of hope. “3,000,” Michael raised as he tossed in three blue chips.

 

The man hesitated and shook his head as he shoved all of his chips into the center pot. “All in.”

 

Michael’s heart pounded in his chest; he could hear every beat. He wanted to take a moment to think about it, but he felt rushed. Something overcame him, besides nervousness. It was as if he wasn’t in control of his body.

 

Against his own will, Michael called the bet and placed what was left of his small amount of chips into the center pot.

 

“Alright boys,” the dealer announced, “let’s see your cards. Flip ‘em.”

 

Michael folded over two Jacks which, matched with a third Jack which had been revealed on the turn and the pair of eights on the table, gave him a full house. “An excellent hand,” the dealer noted.

 

The small crowd around the table sat in suspense as all eyes focused on Michael’s opponent, who was again smiling ignorantly.

 

“Sir?” the dealer waved.

 

Aces didn’t hesitate to completely devastate his opponent. He flipped over a nine and a ten, which, matched with the seven, eight, and Jack, gave him a straight. Not only that, but all five cards were clubs.

 

“Straight flush!” the dealer exclaimed.

 

The crowd gasped in amazement and stood silently as Aces claimed his chips.

 

“That’s the game,” the dealer smiled, “well played, gentlemen.”

 

In some ways, people were relieved. For the first time in Vegas history, they saw that the casino tyrant was not invincible. It was possible to defeat him, and it had been done on that very night by a tourist, a nobody. But on the other hand, everyone was outraged. The casino was the main nightlife hotspot, and Mr. Sterling’s now vulnerable position left him open to be put out of business, something nobody wanted.

 

Aces chugged the rest of his martini and winked at his defeated opponent. Not only had he become a millionaire and defeated a man viewed as a poker God, but he had done it in less than an hour.

 

It was no longer another routine night for Michael Sterling. Things would soon change for him, his casino, and eventually all of Vegas. Not only had he lost a lot of money, but his reputation was everything, and without it, the streets were open to be claimed by the mobsters and drug dealers.

 

It was not that he cared about the city’s potential plunge into darkness, but his loss of authority haunted him. Michael’s constant thirst for power, fame, and fortune had no end, and he knew deep down that he would not be able to accept it. Not without a fight.

Edited December 9, 2007 by Vercetti21

[silviodante]

Great chapter Vercetti. I'm liking your writing style and characters. Can't wait to read what happens next.

[VCHolmes]

I like it very much! Can't wait to read more.

[Pending]

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Edited July 28, 2017 by Pending

[Chickstick]

That was excellent. Keep it coming, Vercetti21.

[Vercetti21]

Chapter 2: Downfall

 

“Aces is here to see you, Vince.”

 

Vincent Mariano waved his hand and nodded his head, signaling to let him in.

 

Benny Vitale entered the office behind Aces and shut the door.

 

Aces stood upright, briefcase in hand. He smiled, laid the briefcase on the desk before Vincent and sat in the chair across from it.

 

“What’s this?” Vincent asked. He leaned forward in his chair with interest, eyes gazing upon the mysterious briefcase.

 

“This,” Aces announced, “is your half of the winnings.”

 

Vincent stood dumbfounded for a moment, unlatched both sides of the case, and opened it. He examined its contents; stacks of 100 dollar bills meticulously organized in rows. He smiled ominously before closing it and glancing up at Aces, who appeared to be overly proud at his accomplishment.

 

“Congratulations. And the rest of it?” Vincent questioned as he raised one of his bushy eyebrows.

 

“It’s in a safe place. What does it matter to you anyways? That’s my money.”

 

Aces was suddenly interrupted by the clicking of a gun from behind him. He felt the cold barrel of a Desert Eagle against the back of his head, hammer pulled back and ready to explode.

 

“Because if we don’t get it, Mr. Vitale here will blow your brains out.”

 

Aces began to tremble with fear as his normal ‘tough guy’ voice transformed into a panicky quiver.

 

“Now, I’d hate to have a bloody mess right here in my office,” Vincent continued, “so why don’t you just tell us where the money is?”

 

Benny grabbed a chunk of Aces’ hair and leaned in to aggressively whisper in his ear. “Come on Vince,” Benny squeezed as he tightened the force of the gun against Aces’ head, “let me just ice him, right here.”

 

“F*ck you!” Aces spat, “F*ck the both of you. After what I did for you, this is how you f*cking repay me? F*ck you! You owe me half of what you won from the bet.”

 

“Hey, wise guy,” Benny addressed him, “we didn’t bet on you. We never got our money. So we’re taking yours.”

 

Vincent coughed slightly, stood from his chair, and leaned forward over his desk. “You see kid, if we bet on Sterling to win, but knew we were going to get paid by you in the case that you won; either way, we’d be making a profit. And that’s just how it worked out. So, you can either give us the rest of the money,” Vincent clicked open his silver lighter and lit up another giant cigar, “or be killed, have your family killed, and then, we’ll take the rest of the money.”

 

Vincent walked forward and sat on the edge of the desk, making eye contact as he spoke. “You see kid, you made a mistake. You know what that was? You trusted us.”

 

Vincent sat silent for a moment. After a quick puff of his cigar he began to laugh sinisterly and slowly repeated himself. “You trusted us. You f*cking trusted us.”

 

“You guys don’t know who you’re dealing with,” Aces threatened.

 

“Oh? It looks like you were the one who underestimated us.”

 

“I have friends,” Aces corrected him, “powerful friends. They know where I am and what I’m up to. They’ll come looking for me when I don’t make it back to Brooklyn, and all fingers point to you.”

 

“Then why don’t you just give us the rest of the money and spare yourself? Then you can go give your boys a message for us. Tell ‘em to get f*cked, huh?”

 

Benny and Vincent laughed hysterically while Aces sat in fear, scared for his life and desperate for help. He knew he had no choice. There was no guarantee they would let him live if he gave them the money, but his chances were slim to none if he didn’t.

 

“It’s in my account. Under my name.”

 

Vincent and Benny stared at the man, confused and somewhat speechless. “What’s that?”

 

“The money; it’s in my account. I can get it for you if you let me live.”

 

“Well get it for us,” Vincent commanded impatiently.

 

Aces sat quietly and looked down at his pocket. “I have to use my phone to transfer the money.”

 

Vincent puffed his cigar again and nodded. “Alright.”

 

 

--------------------

 

Michael Sterling chugged another shot of Southern Comfort. While sitting alone at the bar, he had managed to consume 5 ounces of 100-proof alcohol in 10 minutes, and he wasn’t feeling the least bit buzzed. Not yet at least.

 

Mr. Jones approached him from behind and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ve been looking for you all over. I should’ve known you’d be at the bar. What the hell happened out there?”

 

Michael stared at the empty glass, fiddling with it in his fingers and spinning it around hypnotically. “I don’t know. I lost.”

 

Mr. Jones suddenly noticed Michael’s tired, depressed eyes, and the perspiration that had formed around them.

 

“God damn, you look terrible. It’s just a game; you can’t beat yourself up over it. People lose sometimes.”

 

“Well I don’t!” Michael snapped. “It’s not just a game; it’s my reputation at stake. I own this town, man.” (It was at this point that Mr. Jones began to assume that the alcohol’s effects were beginning to consume Michael, as it was the first time he had ever referred to anyone as ‘man’.) “People don’t like to see their leader fail. Besides, I just lost about half of my money to some tourist I don’t even know.”

 

“It’s one game,” Mr. Jones reassured him, “you’ll win the money back next time.”

 

“You don’t get it, do you? There won’t be a next time. People only came to see me play poker because I won all the time. Now I can’t say that I’m undefeated. It takes the whole point out of it.”

 

Mr. Jones sat on the barstool next to Michael, staring at his young, depressed friend with feelings of sorrow. He watched the bartender pour another ounce of liquor into Michael’s glass, and gestured to the bartender that Michael didn’t need any more after that. Michael didn’t seem to notice the signal as he yanked the glass up and allowed the rough liquid to pour down his throat. It was obvious that Michael was getting drunk, and fast.

 

“Look,” Mr. Jones offered as he glanced around the surrounding main floor, “The casino’s about to close. Why don’t we get you a chick for the night? You’re still Mr. Sterling, the guy everyone wants to be, and the guy whose pants’ every girl wants to be in.”

 

Michael set the glass down aggressively, almost slapping it onto the table as if he were offended. He looked at Mr. Jones with two dull, unaware eyes. “What?”

 

He glared down at his glass again with feelings of guilt. “I have a wife, man. Look at what I’m doing. I cheat on her every night with a different girl. Have you ever thought about that?”

 

“Hey, just in case you forgot,” Mr. Jones reminded him, “Claire isn’t much of a wife. You guys are fighting all the time. I can’t say I blame you. I’d be pissed if my women wouldn’t f*ck me anymore either.”

 

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Michael continued, this time with a slightly slurred voice. “You win a game of poker, some chick you don’t even think is 18 yet comes up to you whispering something dirty in your ear, and the next thing you know you’re doing the sideways corkscrew and all kinds of crazy sh*t. I don’t think much of it anymore. It’s become a routine. F*ck it.”

 

Mr. Jones chuckled and slapped Michael on the back. “You really don’t know how lucky you are, do you?”

 

Michael ignored him. His vision was beginning to blur and his thoughts were becoming unclear as he continued to speak about anything and everything. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was saying to Mr. Jones, but he knew he should be careful not to say the wrong thing. He decided that the best thing to do would be to walk away.

 

“I’m going to go smoke a cigarette,” Michael finally announced as he struggled to stand from his barstool. He melodramatically swayed around as he attempted to control himself.

 

“Alright,” Mr. Jones acknowledged. Normally he would have escorted Michael, but he had just began to sip down the screwdriver he had ordered and did not want to abandon it.

 

When Michael began to walk away, Mr. Jones called his attention. “Hey, Mikey.”

 

Michael turned around and raised his eyebrows at Mr. Jones.

 

“If you’re going home tonight, you shouldn’t drive, you know? Let me know when you’re ready to leave, and I’ll get your limo ready.”

 

Michael nodded and smiled idiotically. “Thanks man,” he laughed as he waved his drunken finger, “you’re a true friend.”

 

Mr. Jones’ faint cackle could be heard as Michael carelessly hobbled away.

 

 

--------------------

 

The tension had lowered in Vincent Mariano’s office. Being as Aces was surprisingly willing to cooperate, there was no trouble in transferring the money over to Vincent’s account via phone.

 

“Good boy,” Benny laughed as Aces hung up the phone. Benny loosened his grip on the Desert Eagle and allowed it to hang at his side.

 

“The money’s in the account?” Vincent questioned.

 

“Yeah,” Aces answered, “all funds have been transferred.”

 

Vincent took a long, thoughtful drag of his cigar and, not knowing where to lead the awkward moment to, stood from his desk and outstretched his hand again to Aces. “Well Aces, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

 

Aces gave Vincent an insulting look and aggressively shook his hand. But Vincent didn’t loosen his grip. The discourteous handshake between the two men was more of a strength contest rather than a sign of respect.

 

“Mr. Vitale, will you please escort our friend here to the door?”

 

“Thanks,” Aces stopped him, “but I can find it myself.”

 

“No no no, I insist.”

 

Benny slightly raised the gun in the air as he urged Aces to stand. “The boss insists that I escort you. Come on, let’s go.”

 

“Have a nice life,” Vincent sarcastically spoke as Aces exited the office, followed by Benny. On the way out, Benny caught sight of the glimmer in Vincent’s eye, a gesture they both knew.

 

Vincent retreated back to his leather chair and slouched down into it, cigar in mouth. He propped his feet up onto the desk and enjoyed the silence of being alone. But he knew the silence would soon be interrupted.

 

He began to count down in his head:

 

“5… 4… 3... 2…”

 

“BANG! BANG!”

 

The Desert Eagle’s powerful gunshots could be heard on the other side of the wall.

 

Vincent smiled as he fumed a cloud of smoke from his nose and mouth and began to count the cash in the briefcase.

 

Soon thereafter, Benny came back into the office alone. His childish smirk contradicted his messy shirt, which was stained with fresh blood. And no one ever heard from the guy named ‘Aces’ again.

 

 

--------------------

 

It was a cold evening for Vegas as Michael stood outside on his 13 story balcony. He wrapped his coat around himself and enjoyed the warmness of his cigarette each time he raised it to his lips.

 

Suck in, inhale, breathe out. A continual process he had become familiar with.

 

Michael’s eyes shifted from the vivid, flickering lights all around him down below towards the street. He outstretched his hand, grabbing at the moving vehicles speeding along in the midnight traffic. Everything was blurry, and, although Michael had feelings of depression and sympathy towards himself, he felt as though he were in an equilibrium of thoughts. He felt that alcohol gave him enlightening effects, and ever since he could remember, he had been a ‘philosophical drunk’.

 

The cars, speeding along…

 

Michael wondered what it would be like to leap outwards, diving into the polluted air and letting the wind control his downfall. There would be no panic. Only serenity. And soon, everything would be over.

 

Suck in, inhale, breathe out.

 

Michael was suddenly interrupted by the noise of his office door closing behind him, inside the room. He stifled what was left of the cigarette and stepped through the open sliding doors, into the office surrounded by open windows.

 

A young, tall brunette stood at his doorway, staring up at him with sexy blue eyes.

 

“Who are you? Who let you in?” Michael questioned with his slurred, shaky voice.

 

“Your security guy let me in. He said it would be alright to see you.” Her voice was low and calm, which sent a relaxing chill down Michael’s spine.

 

“Damn it, Jones…” Michael cursed under his breath. Although he didn’t want any ‘visitors’ tonight, Michael couldn’t resist the temptation he felt when staring at this broad-chested girl.

 

He observed her with his drunken eyes.

 

Her skin, well-toned and tan. Her breasts, revealing themselves above her black, low-cut dress, which ended less than halfway down her muscled thighs, exposing her long, seductive legs and high-heels. She stared up at him as if saying, “Aren’t you going to f*ck me already?” So damn attractive. Michael just couldn’t resist the growing urge in his pants.

 

She stepped forward towards him slowly, reaching over his shoulders and pulling off his sports coat, allowing it to drift to the floor.

 

He smelled her heavenly scent, which hovered all above and around her.

 

“In fact,” she whispered as she began to rub his crotch, “he said you’ve had a rough night, and you need some company.”

 

Michael nodded as his mind went blank with sensations unknown to him.

 

She raised her arms and slowly unbuttoned his open-collared shirt, all the way from top to bottom, and aggressively ripped it open to reveal his muscular, well-toned chest. She moaned softly as she ran her hand along his pecks and abs, all the way back down to his crotch. His arms slid out of the sleeves and his shirt fell to the floor with his jacket.

 

“I can see that you’re drunk. Don’t worry about it, baby,” she spoke softly, “I’ll take good care of you.”

 

Michael’s mouth drooled as his jaw hung open. He was entranced and mesmerized in ecstasy.

 

The mysterious girl shoved Michael onto the surface of the desk and quickly began to strip. She positioned herself between his open legs and pulled her dress all the way down to her knees, stepping out of it slowly and leaning in to plant a glossy kiss upon Michael’s neck. She bit at it and sucked, kissing and caressing all the way down his tingling body.

 

“My money,” Michael stopped her, “I lost my money. I’m not good at poker anymore…” He didn’t know what he was saying.

 

She pushed him back onto the table and climbed on top of him, straddling him with her long, bare legs. Literally forcing off her bra, she tossed it across the room, her now round, fully-exposed breasts jiggling while doing so.

 

She moaned again, pulling herself over him again and shoving her tongue down his throat as they exchanged saliva and drunken breath.

 

"F*ck me," she whispered softly, "oh, f*ck me..."

 

The night went on, alone in Michael’s office. As the clothes decreased, the pleasure flared. And Michael just went with it, absorbed in the moment and trapped in hypnosis.

Edited December 9, 2007 by Vercetti21

[silviodante]

Yet again Vercetti, great job at writing and I can't wait to see who Aces friends are and what will happen to Sterling next.

On a side note, are all your chapters this long? Don't take any offence because it isn't a bad thing if they are.

[Vercetti21]

Thanks, and yeah, they're going to be. I've decided I like the longer chapters better because I feel less restricted in what I write, and can tell the story better. I like where I'm going with this, and today so many ideas came to me for chapter 3. I'm actually writing it now, as we speak. I'm going to try to push and get it out hopefully by Wednesday or Thursday.

 

I hope the long chapters aren't frustrating or anything to the reader. That's why I've written in break-off points, to shift between perspectives of the story. You can use these as "checkpoints", you know.

Edited December 10, 2007 by Vercetti21

[saltinespike]

Wow! I read the quoted prologue and about half of the first chapter, and I must say, it is very intriguing! The plot is pretty interesting, but the writing is what really stands out. All I have to say is congratulations on this masterpiece in the making!

[Oxidizer]

saltinespike directed me onto this one, and I'm glad he did!

 

I like your writing talent and skills. The story's simplistic in the way that it's easy to get into and is engaging once you start reading - as is the plot.

 

I'll definitely be following this!

[Pending]

-

Edited July 28, 2017 by Pending

[Vercetti21]

Thanks for the support, everyone, and I'm glad I'm attracting new fans haha.

 

Anyways, I'm about midway through chapter 3, so it'll be up this sometime this week for sure. It's, without a doubt, my best chapter yet. Also giving you all a heads up, things are going to start heating up real soon! Plot twists, tons more action (which I'll admit I have been lacking), and other good stuff. Stay tuned!

 

EDIT: Just added a new title picture thing, and the character list, along with links to pictures. You'll all probably recognize these celebrities, but it should help visualize the characters a little better.

Edited December 15, 2007 by Vercetti21

[Vercetti21]

Chapter 3: Boiling Points

 

“What the f*ck do you mean my money’s not there?!” Vincent roared into the phone.

 

Benny listened to Vincent’s conversation with the bank teller, curious as always.

 

After several swear words, listening, and more swear words, Vincent finally hung up the phone and slammed it onto the desk.

 

“Calm down,” Benny stopped him, “what happened?”

 

Vincent tightened his fist and sighed with frustration. “Aces is lucky to already be dead,” he growled, “or the things I would do to him…”

 

Benny’s eyes bulged out. “You mean, the money didn’t transfer into your account last night?”

 

“Technically since the check from his winnings hadn’t cleared yet, he was transferring money he didn’t have.”

 

“You think it was a mistake?”

 

“F*ck no,” Vincent moaned, “Aces f*cked us over. He knew we wouldn’t have access to the money, and now that he’s dead we don’t have access to his account.”

 

“So the money’s just gone?”

 

Vincent patted his hand on the closed briefcase, which contained his half of the winnings. “Besides this,” he noted.

 

The room was silent for a moment. Tempers had been flared and restrained.

 

“What do you think we should do?” Benny asked out of the stillness.

 

Vincent shook his head and allowed it to fall into his hands. “I don’t know, Benny, I don’t know.”

 

--------------------

 

Michael was craving a cigarette from the moment he awoke, lying naked and alone on his office floor.

 

Dried saliva had crusted around his mouth, and his entire face felt numb. He had a massive headache and his stomach felt as if it were about to turn inside out. A hangover.

 

A wind current blew into the office from the doors which opened to the balcony, breezing around the room and causing Michael to feel a chill of warm air.

 

He slowly stood to his feet and looked around the room. His desk was several feet away from where it normally was, and the drawers had been partially thrust open. All of Michael’s papers and the junk on top of it had been scattered into a messy commotion, and several of the papers were crumpled together. One of them even had an imprint of someone’s butt on it. Another one was stained with someone’s body fluid.

 

On the adjacent wall, a painting had been tipped on its side and now hung from one nail. The floor was scattered with Michael’s clothes.

 

Michael glanced at his silver Rolex watch. “12:37,” he repeated aloud.

 

The previous night was just a blur in Michael’s mind. He didn’t remember the face or name of the woman he had been with, but from the condition of the office, it was obvious about what had happened.

 

Michael reached down to pick up his pants and quickly noticed the pink thong on the floor, hidden beneath them. Who ever it was that was there obviously couldn’t find, or forgot about it.

 

He grabbed his box of Camel cigarettes, but was disappointed to find it empty.

 

Frustrated, Michael walked around the room, gathering his clothes and slowly getting dressed. He stashed several of the crumpled papers, along with the pink thong, in one of the desk drawers, which he moved back into its correct spot.

 

Glancing around the room, he was pleased to have made it less noticeable and, after locking the door, left the room into the empty hallway.

 

Michael was dreading going home. Claire would be infuriated that he hadn’t come home the previous night. As Michael entered the private elevator, he suddenly remembered what had made the night so horrible. He gulped in regret at the thought as the memory slowly came back to him. He had lost at a game of Hold ‘em for the first time in history. Even worse, he had lost over half of the casino’s profits, which happened to be his own money. Claire would not be happy about that, either.

 

He exited the elevator which had descended into the V.I.P. parking garage, where his black Bentley Arnage was waiting.

 

He entered the sleek, luxurious car and ignited the engine, putting the car into gear and speeding out of the garage.

 

“First things first,” he said to himself, “I have to buy more cigarettes.”

 

--------------------

 

Leon Jones was the middle man that everyone depended on. He was the mediator between the Las Vegas Cosa Nostra and its clients, and also happened to be the head of security for The Royal.

 

Although he was close friends with Michael Sterling, his main alliance lied with the Cosa Nostra. Whenever he was asked who he worked for or what he did, he always replied, “Head security for The Royal.” But deep down, secretly, his duties had always belonged to the mafia, even before Sterling’s casino was established.

 

Mr. Jones’ job was simple: to be the eyes and ears of the Cosa Nostra for everything that happened in The Royal. He was the one who always informed and advised Vincent about the ‘funny business’ that went down, and always mediated between deals.

 

He was also the one who had to inform Vincent Mariano of the unexpected outcome of the previous night’s match between Mr. Sterling and Aces.

 

Leon dialed Vincent’s number, but the voice on the other end of the line was that of Benny Vitale’s.

 

“Jones, what do you want?”

 

“It’s about the match last night. I suppose you heard. It’s all over the news.”

 

Leon overheard Vincent’s voice in the background on the other end of the line. “Benny, is that Jones? Let me talk to that lying mother f*cker.”

 

“Here’s Vince,” Benny casually introduced, and moments later Vincent’s voice came snarling over the phone.

 

“You f*cking rat. You said my money would be safe on Sterling last night!”

 

“Calm the f*ck down,” Jones threatened. “I didn’t expect that nobody to win. No one did.”

 

“That was our guy,” Vincent informed him, “and he cheated me out of the winnings. I lost the rest of the money to my bet against him. I’m f*cking pissed.”

 

“Wait, you know the guy?”

 

“We knew him. He’s taken care of now.”

 

Leon laughed slightly, but quickly regained composure when he realized that Vincent was still not happy.

 

“I need you to meet me down here at headquarters,” Vincent added.

 

Leon nodded. “I’ll head that way soon.”

 

The call ended quickly.

 

The Cosa Nostra ‘headquarters’ was an abandoned warehouse just south of the Strip. Although the mafia had cleaned up the place inside, the exterior still appeared to be ancient and rusty.

 

But that was what they had to live with on what little funds they had. Ever since Mr. Sterling’s casino had been built, the Cosa Nostra had been overpowered. Their clients had shifted over to The Royal, along with their client’s money. This was the reason Vincent despised the Royal, and despised Michael Sterling even more.

 

But the Cosa Nostra never made a move to get rid of Sterling. Instead, they gambled on everything that went on in The Royal. Their whole source of income depended on the casino, and they knew that if Sterling were to be eliminated, they would have to fight for the streets against other gangs and groups like them. That’s why they chose to depend on The Royal as a source of profit. Not only was it a safer alternative, but it guaranteed them money.

 

But after the damage that had been done in the match between Sterling and Aces, nobody was happy. Sterling was going out of business, and fast. But he was the final dependable source of money, and without the ability to gamble on him, the mafia would have to take it from him themselves.

 

--------------------

 

A box of cigarettes was suddenly thrust onto the convenience store counter. “$4.77,” announced the cashier.

 

Michael opened his wallet to retrieve his cash, but was surprised to find it empty.

 

His eyes bulged out and his body went stiff. “What the f*ck?” he cursed aloud.

 

Michael’s wallet was never empty. He always carried at least two G’s on him at all times. He never made the mistake of leaving his wallet vacant.

 

He suddenly remembered the face of the girl he slept with the previous night. “That bitch,” he whispered, “I should have expected that.” She must have taken the cash that morning when she left, while he was still asleep.

 

Michael had to pay for the cigarettes with his debit card. He always hated having to buy things with it when they were so cheap.

 

Michael stepped outside and lit one of the cigarettes up, taking a sweet, long drag of the nicotine substance. “Oh well,” he sighed, “what’s two thousand dollars, anyway?” The cigarette relieved his stress, and by the time he was in his car speeding out of the parking lot, he had forgotten all about the incident.

 

--------------------

 

At 1:00 P.M., Leon Jones addressed Vincent Mariano in the downstairs lounge of what the Cosa Nostra called ‘headquarters’.

 

“I lost a lot of money last night, Jones,” Vincent sighed, “I’m not happy.”

 

“How do you suppose you’ll get it back?” Jones questioned.

 

Vincent lit up a Cuban cigar, offering his lighter for Jones to do the same. Jones held up his hand and refused.

 

“I was hoping you could tell me that,” Vincent puffed.

 

Jones leaned back in his seat and stared up at the ceiling. “Look, I talked to Michael last night,” he began.

 

“That f*cking c*nt who made me lose my money!?”

 

Jones ignored the sudden outrage. “He doesn’t have any plans to continue playing a match every night, now that he’s been defeated.”

 

“Which means we have no way of gambling on the outcome. No way of making money?”

 

Jones nodded.

 

Vincent cursed under his breath as he fumed a cloud of smoke from his snarling nostrils, as if he were a raging bull ready to attack.

 

“Well then,” Vincent sighed, “what good is Michael Sterling anymore if we can’t make any money on him? His casino will only stand in our way.”

 

“Look, Michael is my friend-”

 

“I don’t give a f*ck whose friend he is!” Vincent interrupted. “And don’t you forget who your real friends are, Jones.”

 

Jones stared down at his chestnut-brown loafers and frowned.

 

“We’re going to take care of Sterling,” Vincent planned, “tonight. We’ll take what money we can, and we’ll finish the casino. All you got to do is keep watch.”

 

Jones was silent, already feeling guilty that he was going to have to betray his good friend. In the past, he had been able to maintain a relationship with both Michael and the Cosa Nostra, but now that the two were both colliding in conflict, Jones was being forced to choose sides. And he had no choice but to choose the mafia.

 

“What would be a good time to make a move?” Vincent asked, just as Benny Vitale entered the room.

 

“Well, that depends,” Jones answered, “what do you plan to do?”

 

Benny sat down next to Jones and answered for Vincent. “We’re going to shoot up the place,” he laughed, “that’ll put Sterling out of business for sure.”

 

Vincent grinned with a sinister chuckle. “But we’re not just going to put him out of business,” he added, “I want Sterling dead. I want what’s left of his money.”

 

Jones gasped as he stared at the two men with two suspicious eyes. Noticing that they were serious, he glared down at the ground again.

 

“I’ll make sure Sterling is downstairs by 11:00 tonight. Then, I’ll give you the call.”

 

“Then it’s settled,” Vincent stood from his seat, “11:00. We’ll make a move on the casino and take what we can.”

 

--------------------

 

Michael pulled into the garage of his three-story, suburban mansion. He turned the key and pocketed it, stepping out of the car and making his way inside. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, scared to face his wife.

 

Claire Sterling came rushing from the kitchen into the adjacent den where Michael stood, speechless.

 

She crossed her arms as she glared at Michael with an accusing face. “You didn’t come home last night.”

 

“I know, Claire, I-”

 

“Don’t say it. You got drunk again?”

 

Michael disappointedly nodded.

 

“Okay,” Claire steadily spoke in her ominous, low-toned voice, “where were you?”

 

“At the casino. I passed out.”

 

“Oh, you poor baby,” Claire mocked as she stepped towards Michael, “well what the f*ck do you think I was doing?”

 

Michael turned his head as to not make eye contact with her. “I don’t know.”

 

“I was sitting here at the house, by myself for the fourth time this week!” Her voice had raised in volume greatly; almost shouting now. “I never see you anymore, Michael! You’re always at the casino, getting drunk, staying out with your friends. Have you forgotten about me!?”

 

Michael sighed. He did not want to deal with Claire right now. He was too hung-over, and frankly didn’t care. Usually he was not this submissive to her, but today he felt as if nothing mattered anymore.

 

“And what’s this I’m hearing on the news!?” Claire nagged. “You lost the match last night? That was our money, Michael. My money. And you lost it to some- some tourist!?”

 

“Look,” Michael attempted to stop her, “I’m not any happier about it than you are. Let’s just sit down and forget about it; there’s nothing I can do now.”

 

“No!” she yelled. “I’m not going to keep putting this off. You never talk to me anymore. You never tell me things! Whenever you come home, you’re too tired. Then you spend the day, lazing around doing nothing but watching television, until you have to leave to go to the casino again. I’m sick of it, Michael. You never spend time with me anymore!”

 

Michael gently pushed her back. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this right now, Claire. Don’t test me.”

 

Claire suddenly halted herself and her eyes gazed upon Michael’s neck. When Michael noticed this, several thoughts raced through his mind. “What? What is it?”

 

Claire responded by slapping him across the face with her open palm.

 

“You son of a bitch!” she cursed, “You son of a bitch!”

 

Her finger rested on the fresh hickey on his neck, something Michael hadn’t remembered receiving from the night before.

 

“Claire, I can explain-”

 

“You son of a bitch!” She threw her fists at him in several aggressive hits, her eyes tearing and her face red with anger. “Get out of my house, you monster! Get out of my house!”

 

Michael caught her flailing arms and retaliated with a bitch slap across her mouth. She fell backwards onto the wooden floor, bleeding.

 

The room was silent. Claire stared up at him, surprised and hurt. She was angry, but now realized that she could do nothing about it.

 

Michael observed his clenched fist with a shocked expression. Where did that come from? Never in his life had he hit a woman, especially Claire. But he felt something dark inside of him for the first time in his life, as if he wanted to jump on top of her and beat her to death. He wanted to unleash his newfound anger on the one who had caused it.

 

Claire’s bloody teeth clenched together, catching the falling tears which streamed across her boiling face. “Get. Out. Of. My. House.”

 

Ashamed, and without saying a word, Michael left the room and stepped back out into the garage, where he entered his fancy car and pulled out of the driveway. As he clenched the steering wheel with all of his might, he knew from that day on that he would never go back.

Edited December 14, 2007 by Vercetti21

[Chickstick]

Finally got round to reading it, and what else can I say than it was worth the wait! I'm really enjoying this- the plot, the characters, the description- everything. This really is very good, Vercetti- be sure to keep posting this!

[saltinespike]

Alright, I'm really enjoying the story. It's a bit slow moving at times, and drenched with too much description at times, but it's very intriguing. The major problem I'm spotting is your description of Vegas. As you may or may not know, I live in Vegas.

 

Flashy lights and all that: good.

 

Security room: good.

 

VIP Parking Lot: bad; don't get too crazy with the VIP stuff. I know you wnat to express how rich and flashy the man is, but you're moving further away from realistic.

 

Casino Hours: bad; casinos here are open 24/7, even though most of the hustle and bustle goes on at night. How do you think all the old people gamble?

 

VIP Room: bad; what was described to me sounded like a business office, but not that grand. Sounded like the head honcho of people working in cubicles? That's how I see it. The other thing is that the room would not be located on the thirteenth floor (unless you have some hidden reason). VIP rooms are normally the highest room, which is quite up there. The Palms, a fairly new casino, has around 30 floors, which is average for it's type. One more thing on this note, you wouldn't really be looking over the skyline on the thirteenth floor (you would on the 30th!).

 

Just a few thoughts for you.

[Vercetti21]

Wow, thank you for that, saltine. I have never been to Vegas so you can imagine how blind I was to all of that. I appreciate the help.

 

EDIT: I think you're mistaking the VIP room for Sterling's office. The VIP room is where the private poker matches happen in the story, and I never said it was on the 13th floor or described it at all for that matter. Sterling's office, however, is on the top floor. This is just his personal area, really.

Edited December 19, 2007 by Vercetti21

[Vercetti21]

Chapter 4: The Royal Demise

 

Benny Vitale was leading the attack on Sterling’s casino, while Vincent stayed behind at headquarters. Benny was always the ‘hands-on’ guy, Vincent’s right hand man. He did all the dirty work, and as a result was rougher around the edges and more of a strong but arrogant brute than anything.

 

The Cosa Nostra’s vehicles were parked in a vacant lot only two blocks away from The Royal, where they waited for the call.

 

In the front seat of one of the many black Mercedes-Benzes the mafia had caravanned in, Benny loaded a full clip into his automatic rifle, looking to the back seat at one of the other Mafiosi.

 

“When’s it going to happen?” the Mafioso complained.

 

“It’ll happen when we get the call,” Benny growled, “be patient and don’t go running your f*cking mouth.”

 

 

--------------------

 

Leon Jones aggressively snorted another line of coke, as he did in any situation when he was stressed, and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror.

 

His eyes were bloodshot; his face wrinkled. Something was wrong with him but he wasn’t exactly sure what it was.

 

As the climactic euphoria quickly began to engulf his paralyzed body, Leon’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body began to shake. His face went numb; he quickly felt relaxed, and allowed his mind to take him into an unknown world.

 

Thoughts and feelings rushed to his head and compacted themselves with the blood that pressurized it. It was almost 11:00. He had been putting it off the entire night, but knew now that he had to inform Michael Sterling to make his appearance, so that the Cosa Nostra could storm the casino with their guns and destroy everything he knew.

 

Leon folded the zipper bag filled with the rest of the white, blissful powder into a small mint case, which he had on him at all times. He tucked the case away into his suit jacket pocket and stared at himself in the mirror one last time.

 

Straightening his tie and fixing his collar, Jones wheezed slightly and exited the casino bathroom. It was almost time for the massacre to begin.

 

 

--------------------

 

Michael Sterling was once again confined to his casino office on the thirteenth floor. The silence was ecstatic, as he was tired of the screaming and fighting which had occurred earlier that day.

 

From his dry mouth rested a recently-lit cigarette, the orange glow on the tip magnifying itself each time he inhaled. He watched the smoke dance and twirl around in the air above him as he breathed out.

 

There was a knock at the door.

 

“Mr. Sterling?”

 

“Who is it?” Michael asked, leaning up in his seat.

 

“It’s Jones. It’s almost 11, sir.”

 

“I told you, I’m not playing poker anymore. There’s no point to it.”

 

“Well you have to make an appearance, at least.”

 

Michael took a quick drag of his cigarette, stood from his seat, and opened the door for Leon to enter.

 

“Says who?” Michael inquired in a suspicious tone. He could tell Jones was nervous about something, as he appeared to be overly energetic yet somehow relaxed. It was as if he was trying to hide something, but Michael could not tell if he was succeeding or not.

 

“Look,” Jones began as he invited himself into Michael’s office, “I know you feel discouraged about your loss last night. But you have an image to maintain, and as your friend I can’t allow you to just let that go.”

 

“Since when are we friends? You work for me; you don’t tell me what to do.”

 

Michael stared into Jones’ disappointed eyes, surprised at the outbreak.

 

“Sorry,” Michael quickly apologized, “it’s just – I’m stressed about everything. Claire’s pissed off at me, and not to mention everything else that’s going on.”

 

“I know how you feel,” Jones sympathized, “but you can’t let it get to your head. Things have a way of working themselves out.”

 

Michael pondered a moment, and nodded.

 

“You’re probably right,” he grinned as he patted his shoulder, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

 

Michael left Jones alone in the office, feeling surprisingly encouraged by his friend’s brief advice.

 

Jones sighed and shook his head. Could it have been any easier to persuade the friend who he would soon betray? Everything was set up now. All he had to do was make the call.

 

 

--------------------

 

Benny Vitale answered the ringing phone. “Yeah?” he snorted.

 

“Benny, it’s Vince. I just got the call from Jones. Everything’s a go.”

 

“Got it,” Jones acknowledged before quickly hanging up.

 

“This is it, boys,” he smiled as he switched the safety of the gun to the ‘off’ position and leaned up in his seat.

 

The four Mafiosi exited the vehicle, followed by the several others who had caravanned along to participate in the attack.

 

“Get your guns ready,” Benny commanded them, “we’re going to head through this back alley and make our way around through the front doors. Shoot everything in sight, but your main focus is Sterling. Got it?”

 

Several of the gangsters nodded and grunted. They had seen this kind of work before; it was nothing special.

 

“Alright then, let’s go.”

 

 

--------------------

 

Michael heard the distant gunfire not long after he had entered the main floor, standing near the slot machines. Guests scrambled around in chaos, running in all different directions and trying to stay low.

 

All Michael could do was watch as he stood with fear. The only thing left in his life that he had to rely on was the casino, and now he would watch it get shattered into a bloody mess. It couldn’t be prevented. It was no longer in his power.

 

Michael caught sight of the men on the other end of the casino as they entered the main room with their automatic weapons, blazing everything in sight. Innocent people fell dead, their blood scattered all over the floor. And the mob of men just continued to fire upon Michael’s masterpiece.

 

He didn’t care anymore. Everything else in his life was lost, and now the casino was going down with it. He had nothing else to lose but his life, which he wouldn’t have minded losing at all by this point.

 

Michael watched one of the guests, a short and helpless woman, fall to her knees to surrender to the powerful firing squad. Without mercy, the main mobster leading the attack placed the barrel of his weapon against her head and fired. Her brains shattered into fragments and her lifeless body fell limp as she fell face-forward onto the floor.

 

Michael could not stand to watch the massacre any longer. He knew he couldn’t do anything, but he couldn’t just stand there either. He needed a weapon. He needed to fight these intruders. But there was nothing he could do.

 

Jones quickly sprinted across the chaotic room and ran to Michael’s side.

 

“Jones!” Michael had to yell over the gunfire as he took cover behind a slot machine, “Where’s security? Get them in here!”

 

“They’re all dead!” Jones screamed.

 

“We’ve got to get out of here!”

 

Seeing the madness of it all, Jones regretted seeing his friend so helpless. What had he done to deserve this attack on his life? Why did Jones have to betray him?

 

Jones quickly grabbed his 8mm and tossed it into Michael’s lap. Michael stared at his friend with a questioning look.

 

“Just take it and get out of here!” Jones shouted.

 

The gunfire was getting louder and closer as the mob of armed men approached them.

 

“What about you?!” Michael screamed in response.

 

Jones reached into his back pocket to reveal another hidden 8mm. “I’ll be fine, just go!”

 

Jones reached over and nudged his friend out from behind cover. Michael wanted to stay and help Jones defend the casino, but now that the gunmen saw him out of cover he had no choice but to run.

 

Unfortunately for Jones, the Mafiosi also recognized him. “Jones! Sterling’s getting away! Shoot him!”

 

Michael dove behind a Roulette table just as an army of bullets chased him across the floor. What did that gunman say? Did he know Jones? Did Jones know about the attack?

 

Michael quickly dashed across the room again with the back doors in sight. All he had to do was make it through those doors and run through a private corridor before he reached the parking garage. That was his escape.

 

Holding the 8mm tightly, he leaned over his shoulder and fired two shots at the pursuing Mafiosi, downing one of them and wounding another. They were no longer shooting anything and everything. Now, they were only after Michael. This was more than just an attack on his property, this was an assassination attempt. But who had set it up? Who wanted him dead?

 

Michael crouched behind a Blackjack table. He was getting closer to the back doors. He quickly caught his breath and again ran full speed, dodging bullets all the way. Glancing back, Michael watched the army of gunmen casually walk past Jones as if he were invisible. Why didn’t they care that he was there? Something was going on. They were acting as if the gunmen and Jones were friends.

 

Shotgun rounds from one of the gunman’s weapons shattered holes in Michael’s cover. He again darted for the back of the room, watching the doors get closer at each movement.

 

“Get him! Kill Sterling!”

 

Then Michael felt the bullet wedge into the back of his shoulder, replacing the blood which normally occupied it. Losing his balance, he fell to the ground in pain. But he could not just lay there and get killed. He was so close to the exit. He had to move.

 

Michael propped himself over onto his back and squeezed off four oncoming gunmen with his 8mm. He didn’t have many rounds left before the clip would be empty. He just had to move.

 

Michael struggled to force himself onto his feet, but stayed low as he rushed through the main floor, taking cover at every chance he got. The gunmen continued to pursue him, firing their weapons all the way.

 

Michael reached into his jacket pocket and snatched the master keycard, which opened any door to the casino. He readied it before he dove out from cover again and dashed over to the doors.

 

He felt another bullet pierce the skin from his back, but merely groaned and shrugged it off. He slid the card, unlocking the door. The gunmen approached him from behind, but Michael hurriedly shoved his way through the door and closed it behind him. There was no way they could get in now. The only other person besides him who had a keycard was – Mr. Jones.

 

Michael took a deep breath and sprinted down the abandoned corridor. The parking garage would be to his left, where his Bentley was waiting for him. When he approached the doors to the garage, he heard the gunmen behind him, making their way down the hall. Now, Michael knew they must have been working with Jones. Michael didn’t understand why, but how else would they have been able to access the private hallway?

 

Michael scurried across the empty garage towards his car. He reached for the door handle and forced his way in, locking the doors and shoving the key into the ignition.

 

The Bentley quickly sprang to life as the engine roared with power. Michael peeled out of his parking space and floored it all the way across the lot, noticing the group of disappointed gunmen in his rearview mirror.

 

Michael struggled to catch his breath as he curved the car around the corner and drove towards the exit, just at the end of the tunnel. He had survived the attack. It was all over now.

 

 

--------------------

 

Benny Vitale angrily shoved his automatic weapon onto the concrete. In the distance, they watched Sterling’s Bentley speeding out of the parking garage.

 

“He got away!” Benny snarled as he eyed his fellow gunmen.

 

“What should we do now?” one of them asked, inspecting his smoking firearm.

 

Benny gasped for air. The chase had made him weary. “Now,” he breathed, “Vince is not going to be happy. He asked for us to take care of Sterling, and now that Sterling’s gone, one of us is going to have to pay the price.”

 

The Mafiosi glanced around at each other, disappointed at their failed but violent encounter.

 

“We should get back to headquarters before the cops arrive,” one of the gunmen advised.

 

Benny stood upright and shook his head. “No. Get the cars ready. I’m not going to let him get away.”

 

[saltinespike]

Fair chapter, but all the questions was a big turnoff. They were confusing to follow and there were too many. Not only that, but I'm not sure I understand why Sterling was catching onto everything so fast. He would be running off of adrenaline, and only have one thought in mind: escape. I doubt any human being not used to getting barraged by bullets would try to solve why the situation was happening while it was happening. If it was me, I would save the questions for his drive (the next chapter), as he would be a bit more relaxed and focused.

 

Other than the questions, it was freakin' awesome! Excellent description used proportionally; perfect! I liked how you made the scene fast-paced, but still described it beautifully. Brilliant!

[Vercetti21]

Thank you for the constructive criticism and support, saltinespike. I guess you're right on the questions thing, I just didn't want to have to do any kind of "flashback" in the next chapter, I like to keep things chronological. And I wanted to address the fact that Sterling now knows Jones betrayed him.

 

So, is anyone else following along anymore? Seems like the thread is kinda... dead of its fans. I enjoy writing this, but I'm considering discontinuing it. Are the chapters too long? I'm not sure where everyone went or what I should do...

[Oblivionz]

No, definitely keep writing it. I've been reading it, and I find it to be very good, even if the last chapter was sort of confusing, it kept me reading it, so it isn't too much to handle at all. Definitely keep it up, though.