Contrary to the first two floors, the third and fourth floor spoke bespoke luxury, elegance and refinement, a quiet atmosphere, save for the soft clinking of chips and the occasional murmur of conversation, the air cooler and scented with polished wood and leather, the carpet thicker, muffling footsteps to a whisper.

Beyond the door that were guarded by men whose sharp suits couldn't disguise their readiness for violence, a world that few ever saw. Here, the bets were not counted in chips but in deeds, secrets, and sometimes, souls, the walls absorbing whispers like sponges, the dim lighting casting long shadows that danced with every flicker.

The patrons here were different; their eyes held stories of empires built and crumbled, of power wielded with a whisper, their colognes a symphony of wealth, their jewelry clinking softly with each gesture.

The deeper one ventures, the more exclusive the tables become. And, at the heart of the fourth floor of the casino was the private tables where only the elite dared to tread, the felt green as money, the chairs leather-bound and supple, the air heavy with the scent of aged brandy and anticipation.

And tonight, all eyes converged on a single poker table on the fourth floor. Men in black suits encircled it, their expressions inscrutable, their stances rigid as statues, the room's ambient light reflecting off their polished shoes.

A crisp sound echoed muffledly as the dealer shuffled the deck of cards in his skillful hands, performing various complex tricks with the cards, the cards fanning out like a peacock's tail, their glossy surfaces whispering against each other.

"Is this for real? Mr. Gold has personally joined a table?" a bystander murmured, the crowd's whispers rustling like leaves.

"But who is that gentleman who entered the room with him?" another asked, glasses clinking as they sipped drinks.

"Whoever he may be, but he is definitely a big shot for him to share a table with Mr. Gold," someone replied, the scent of cigar smoke curling around them.

"Well, if that's how it is then the others might as well be some important figure," a woman noted, her necklace tinkling.

"But oh my lord in heavens… Just how can someone be so handsome?" a lady swooned, fanning herself.

Just like on the lower floor, the crowd began to stir under the influence of Mr. Gold and Vlad's majestic presence. Murmurs lingered and gazes wandered, the air buzzing with curiosity, the soft jazz in the background underscoring the tension.

"To think that Mr. Vlad would come here and grace us with his presence personally, I guess it has already become such a big deal in the underworld." Said a chubby man. Dressed in a graceful black suit, each of his fingers boasted a gold ring adorned with different kinds of expensive gems, the gems catching the light like twinkling stars, his cologne heavy with musk.

"Well, it is a big deal. After all, even you wouldn't have been sitting here if it was some small matter." Replied another man, dressed in an olive green suit, his face creased with deep wrinkles, speaking of his experience and wisdom he earned during his life's journey, his voice gravelly, his cigar ash tapping into a crystal ashtray.

"Hahaha, I don't think we all need to be so on edge with each other." Said Mr. Gold. It is his men in black who surrounded the table with no room for even a fly to pass through, their presence a wall of muscle and menace, the scent of their starched shirts mixing with gun oil.

"We all know the reason why we are gathered here tonight. Do we not?" Mr. Gold continued, his cane resting against the table, its gold head cool to the touch.

"You silly oldman, I clearly remember you pulling out about this deal when we all were fighting over who will get it. So, why are you sitting here with us?" Asked the man in olive green suit, his wrinkles deepening with suspicion.

"Hahaha, don't be so wary to this oldman. I am just here to keep you all company." Mr. Gold answered jollily, his laughter warm but edged with steel.

The dealer tapped the deck to the table lightly, hinting that he was ready to serve the table, the felt absorbing the sound softly.

"Now now, until the broker arrives, why don't we have a friendly match between us?" Vlad offered, his voice smooth, the cards in the dealer's hands shuffling with a rhythmic snap.

"Hahaha, this oldman is okay with anything you say, Mr. Vlad," Mr. Gold agreed, his eyes twinkling under the chandelier's glow.

"I don't mind either," the chubby man said, his rings clinking as he leaned forward.

"Tch! You silly old thing, just watch how I crush you miserably," the olive-suited man grumbled, his cigar puffing smoke.

"What about the ante?" the chubby man asked, chips stacking with a plastic click.

"How about fifty?" Vlad suggested, the number hanging heavy in the air.

"Sounds good to me," Mr. Gold nodded.

Everyone placed their chips to the center of the table, placing the ante of fifty thousand dollars each, the chips stacking with a satisfying clatter, their colors vivid under the lights.

Receiving the huge ante of two hundred thousand on the table, the dealer nodded and started dealing the cards one by one to each individual clockwise, the cards sliding across the felt with a soft hiss.

After dealing two cards to everyone, he revealed the 'Flop'—the ten of hearts, jack of hearts and nine of spades, the cards flipping with a crisp snap, the red hearts gleaming like blood under the lights.

"Oohh, a good start." Exclaimed the man in the black suit, "Raise." He raised the stakes by ten thousand, his ringed fingers pushing chips forward with a rattle.

Beside him, confirming his cards, with a gentle smile, Mr. Gold made a "Call," matching the previous stake, his cane tapping lightly in approval.

Vlad silently followed behind Mr Gold with "Call," observing the situation, his amber eyes sharp as he assessed the table, the scent of his cologne subtle amid the cigar smoke.

And the man in olive green suit, sitting beside Vlad, "Check," his wrinkles deepening as he folded his arms.

With the first round coming to end, the dealer 'burned' the first card from the deck and revealed the 'Turn'—four cards now lay on the table: the ten of hearts, jack of hearts, nine of spades, and king of hearts, the king's face staring up mockingly.

The man sitting beside Mr. Gold assessed his own hand: a queen of clubs and an ace of diamonds, 'A straight is within reach.' "Raise." Before raising the stakes confidently by fourteen thousand, the chips sliding with a plastic slide.

The man in olive suit wondered, 'How strong a hand does he hold to consistently raise his bets?' His cigar ash dropping with a soft pat.

Mr. Gold "Check," his voice steady.

"Raise." And Vlad finally made his bet, raising the stakes by a whopping twenty thousand, the table falling silent for a beat, the air thick with tension.

'A raise of twenty thousand?' the two men creased their brows with a hint of subtle suprise, looking at Vlad and his ambitious bet, 'Is he bluffing or…? Well, let's see how long you can maintain that confidence of yours.' The player in olive suit "Check," holding a king of diamonds and a king of spades, his fingers drumming the table.

The dealer collected all the bets in place with the help of a poker chip stick, the chips scraping together with a satisfying crunch, and revealed the final card—the 'River'—an eight of clubs. Five cards now lay exposed, the river card flipping with a dramatic slap.

"Check," The man beside Vlad held back his urge to raise again, testing the waters, his breath shallow.

"Fold." Mr Gold withdrew, his cane tapping once in concession.

The two men sitting beside Mr Gold and Vlad locked eyes, 'Does he got a hand better than mine?' silently questioning each other's hands, sweat beading on brows under the warm lights.

"Hmph," the man in olive suit huffed as he looked at the cards displayed on the table.

Looking at his confident smirk, the other one raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

Then Vlad dropped the bombshell: "All in."

"W-what?!!" Both men almost got up from their seats, their mouths barely holding onto their baffled shouts as they heard the bold bet made by Vlad. Their eyes about to pop out of their sockets.

"M-mr. Vlad, you do realize that one misstep could cost you everything, right?" Said the man in black suit, his rings clinking nervously.

"Y-yes! And don't forget that we'll still have a match to play for the deal." Followed the man in olive suit, his wrinkles deepening in alarm.

"Hahaha, don't worry, I have a lot to spare." Vlad replied coolly with a smirk.

His unyielding confidence baffled them once again.

'Wait! It can't be!' Looking at the cards on the table, both the remaining players thought, 'He isn't going for a Royal Flush… is he...?' They glanced at their remaining chips, weighing the risk. Unlike Vlad, they had a limited supply of funds that they could utilise, the chips' colors dull under the tension.

With resolve, they made their final decisions.

"Fold," The man in olive suit withdrew, his chair scraping back with a groan.

"Fold," followed the guy in the black suit, his hands trembling slightly.

"Huh?"

"Why do they both give up so suddenly?"

"They probably got scared."

"Well, looking at the confident look and bold bet played by that other party, they might have thought that it's not worth to continue."