"A-ah! Yes, of course."

The dealer burned another card from the deck, its thud soft, and dealt the turn: Joker of hearts, its wild grin vivid, the ink scent sharp, the crowd gasping.

"Raise," Vlad announced, pushing a fortune, chips clattering like thunder, initiating a betting frenzy that challenged the resolve of everyone present at the table.

"Call," Blane matched instantly, his rings glinting, his confidence unshaken,

"Call," Mr. Gold echoed, his chips sliding smoothly.

"Raise," Karan challenged, voice steady, 

The bets were placed, and the dealer commenced the final round, burned another card and dealt the river: 6 of diamonds, its red gleam stark, the felt cool under the players' fingers, faces alight with anticipation—except Karan's, a stoic poker face, his watch ticking in the silence.

"Let's make this intriguing," Vlad suggested, snapping his fingers, the sound sharp. A guard in black approached, his shoes polished to a mirror, carrying two briefcases, their latches gleaming.

The cases opened and revealed crisp dollar bills stacked high, their paper scent fresh, evoking dumbfounded gasps from the crowd. Vlad pushed his remaining chips and the briefcases forward, "Raise."

The room erupted in disbelief once again.

"What the?!"

"Oh My God!"

"Oye! Oye! Now this is too much!"

"Hey! Quick! Come here! Someone fell on the ground!" commotion ensued.

The amount Vlad bet took everyone's breath away.

Vlad's hand struck the table, the felt quivering, "Does anyone object?" His question aimed at Blane, whose grudge burned from the last round.

Blane smirked mockingly, "Problem? Not at all. As you said before, when you have the means to raise the stakes, one should raise them as high as possible." He stripped his luxury watch, gold bracelets, chain, and rings, their metal clinking, adding cash and chips, the pot a glittering fortress, "Raise."

The spectacle left everyone awestruck.

"Is this really happening?!"

"Now, This has really turned into a fanatical gamble."

"You can't say that for sure, can you?"

"Call," Mr. Gold said coolly, matching the bet with his chips alone, his cane steady.

All eyes now turned to Karan, the final player, the crowd's gazes heavy, their breaths held, perfumes choking the air. Karan pushed his remaining chips and placed the metallic briefcase, its weight thudding softly.

Cold vapors hissed from the gaps, a blue glow escaping, revealing a syringe, its blackish-red liquid swirling, visible through a small, transparent section on the metallic barrel, pulsing faintly—like a heartbeat in a corpse. The air tinged with a metallic, chemical tang.

"Wow..."

"What the hell is that?"

"Was all of this ruckus for that single syringe?"

"Just what kind of substance is trapped inside it?"

"Is that single syringe really worth all that fortune?"

"The underworld is going to be in a huge upheaval, it seems."

A wave of awe and confusion descended over the crowd, whispers swirling like smoke, speculating the substance and its origins. The syringe's glow casting eerie shadows.

"Raise," Karan declared, locking eyes with Vlad, sealing the round, the table's tension a live wire.

"Please reveal your cards," the dealer requested, the cards' edges sharp in the light.

Jeremy Blane took the lead, throwing his cards haughtily: king of spades, king of hearts, their crowns bold.

"That's a formidable hand. What do you think, will he win this round?"

"It's too early to tell. There are still two more hands that are yet to be revealed."

"Hahahaha, Thank you for the bounty," he laughed confidently, reaching for the pot, his rings glinting under the warm glow of the chandelier.

"Wait." Before Blane's fingers could graze the winnings, Mr. Gold's cane blocked him, its wood cool, stopping his hand mid-air.

Annoyance etched on his face, Blane growled, "What do you think you're doing, Gold?"

Mr. Gold, unfazed, laid his cards: ace of spades, 2 of hearts. He swapped his 2 for the flop's ace of clubs, forming two aces, "You tell me what I'm doing, Mr. Blane," he mocked, his aged smile sharp, the cane tapping.

"…" Blane could only stare dumbfoundedly, disbelief choking him, the aces mocking his kings.

"Hm, interesting," Vlad mused, requesting the ace of spades. Using the Joker of hearts as wild, he revealed his hand, forming two pair—aces of clubs and Jokers of hearts—the crowd murmuring,

"The winner is decided, huh?"

"This time he was not just bluffing; he's got a strong hand and luck on his side."

"Wait, everyone. There is still one more person who has yet to reveal his cards."

All the eyes turned to Karan once again, the final player yet to show his hands. "Don't disappoint me after all that talk and your cold responses," Vlad taunted. He was really savoring the moment.

Karan, wordless, reached to the centre of the table and removed Mr. Gold's 2 of hearts and completed his combination, placing his cards: 7 and 8 of diamonds.

With the flop (4, 5 of diamonds), turn (Joker), and river (6 of diamonds), he formed a straight flush: 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 of diamonds, the red suits blazing.

The room erupted.

"Oh my holy father!"

"Bro just turned the game on its head with those simple cards!"

"Ridiculous!"

"Man! How can someone be this lucky?!"

"Wait!" A speculative murmur rose from the crowd. "If Mills hadn't folded earlier, could this have been a draw?"

"Now that you mention it.."

"I bet he'd be crying in regret over his rash and hasty decision if he comes to know about this."

There was actually already someone present on the table who was on the verge of crying tears of blood. It was Blane, in Mills' stead, seething in agony, his kings lying on the side—crushed, the laughter stinging like salt.

Amid all the tears, laughter, shock, and denial, Karan calmly collected the pot, the chips clinking like a fortune's song, instructing the dealer to transfer winnings to his account, tipping a third generously, the dealer's eyes wide, his gloves trembling.

Vlad rose from his seat quietly, his smile sly, and strode towards the room's exit, his silk suit whispering, the exit's huge mahogany doors closing behind his back, Karan's eyes tracking him.

Just then, Mr. Gold also got up from his seat, his cane tapping, and slipped a note from his coat, its paper crisp, "He'll be awaiting your presence," he said, following Vlad, his fedora's brim casting a shadow.

Karan opened the note: 'The Rooftop,' written in it. He crushed it, the paper crumpling in his hand, and gazed at the mahogany door from where Vlad departed, a smile stretching across his face.

'I truly had a fun game tonight,' both Karan and Vlad reflected, the night's thrill pulsing in their veins.

The night hung young—and hungry.