Cardverse: Aces High

Just Keep Raising

Lovino did a double-take of his surroundings. This was definitely not where he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be meeting up with Feliciano, Kiku, and Ludwig at a quaint coffee shop on the quiet side of town. He should have suspected something when his environment became too quiet.

Not that I care about hanging out with my stupid brother and his stupid potato-bastard boyfriend and his weird Japanese friend. I don't care. At all.

Even someone as stubborn as Lovino could admit to himself that he really did care. Not necessarily because his plans with the other three were incredibly important, but rather his own fear.

His mafioso days were long gone. Even the thought of those money-hungry, cold-blooded, criminals made a bitter taste fill Lovino's mouth. He shouldn't have been acting like such a coward in this sort of situation.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I have no idea where I am.

Another gust of wind bit at Lovino's face, making the tips of his ears turn red from the cold. He shoved his hands deeper inside his pockets, clenching both fists tightly.

His phone had lost reception about half an hour ago. Lovino decided to swallow his pride and ask for help or directions or whatever could get him out of this pinch. He had money, too. Lots of it. Being the older brother of one of Italy's most popular artists really did pay off sometimes.

It wasn't like Lovino was mooching off of Feliciano for glory. He could take care of himself just fine if he wanted to. Working as a manager in his family's restaurant brought in more money than what was necessary. Despite all of this, Feliciano's generosity and adamance led Lovino to stay with his younger brother in an enormous mansion. The only complaint he really had was that brick-faced kraut that Feliciano always insisted on having over.

Lovino stared at the brick building in front of him. It wasn't big by any means but somehow managed to radiate an imposing aura.

Royal Flush Casino, eh? Bet those shit-head owners think they're being so smart naming the place after a poker hand.

A Royal Flush was unarguably the most coveted hand one could obtain in poker, stacking up jaw-dropping odds of about 649,739: 1. Lovino had never been lucky enough to find himself in possession of one, though. Oh well. He could only hope.

Mingling with the intimating quality of the Casino was something else. Something that was almost inviting Lovino to just take a step closer.

And he actually did. Soon enough, one step turned into two. Two steps turned into three.

Lovino curled his hand around the door's cold metal handle. He gave it a squeeze, still not entirely sure what he should do. While for an ordinary person, it wouldn't hurt to take a look inside a casino, Lovino wasn't exactly an ordinary person in that regard.

He was addicted. Not to drugs. Not to alcohol.

Gambling. Something about the rush of risking it all for victory and feeling that intoxicating thrill—it was impossible to resist.

Every time Lovino entered a casino, he would never exit with the same amount of money. He liked to think that his pockets would be guaranteed to fill after every match, although there certainly were those occasions where he lost.

Nobody really knew about this hobby of his. Nobody alive, anyway. Lovino knew exactly who he inherited his addiction from.

His grandfather, who had since passed away.

He felt a lump form in his throat. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes at the thought of his late grandfather. People were quick to assume that Julius Vargas' favorite was Feliciano. They never knew about those evenings the older man would spend indulging in entertaining games with his other grandson. Roulette, poker, blackjack, baccarat—anything that involved risk and strategy.