Chapter Text
Chance slid between two of the slot machines near the back of the casino. Hopefully he wouldn’t be gone for too long– poker wasn’t going to win itself. They only needed to go outside for a moment to get some fresh air. Even though the casino was Chance’s favorite place in the world, sometimes it was even too much for him. Being consolidated in a building that smelled (and somehow felt) like cigar smoke, various alcohols, and cooked meat for four to six hours at a time did something to a person.
The back door of the casino was small and unassuming. Black, with the words Employee Entrance Only printed across the top in bold white writing. Chance pushed open the door. Employees. He owned the damn casino. Outside, Chance was met with a familiar, dark alleyway. A pipe right of the door dripped water slowly and sadly into a small puddle. Chance sighed, closing the door behind them. The smell of wet concrete and… well, some trash, was rather welcome at the moment. Fishing in his pocket, Chance pulled out their phone. 8:40 PM. Maybe he’d have time to text–
Whack. The sound of the door slamming again. Chance was no longer alone in the alley. They slowly lowered the phone from their face. He was currently facing away from the door. Who was there? Had someone followed him? Eden? Chance was about to turn and see, but suddenly there was a rustle of fabric. Something cold and circular pressed against the back of Chance’s neck. And hollow. Holy shit.
“Put the phone down,” an unfamiliar voice said. Chance immediately dropped their phone onto the concrete. Both a good and bad decision. Hopefully this was all a joke. Because Chance knew the barrel of a gun when they felt it. “Good. Now walk forwards until you’re right in front of the opposite wall. Then turn to face me.”
Shakily, Chance took a few steps forward, the gun still pressed against his neck. Once he was close enough to the wall for the stranger’s liking, they stopped prodding them with the gun to walk forward. So, slowly, hoping not to get their throat shredded, Chance turned around.
The man before him was a couple inches shorter than Chance. He had short, black hair that framed his face with dark curls. The same coarse hair formed a small beard. He was wearing a gray pinstripe suit with a blue tie that matched nicely with the blue bands around the cuffs of the suit’s sleeves. His shoes were combat boots with gray laces. He slowly smiled, the cigarette in the right side of his mouth tilting down.
“The owner of the casino himself.”
Chance took a deep breath, and allowed their classic smile to slip back onto his face, but more nervously than usual. “Listen. We can talk about this. Money? Do you want money? I have money–”
“No, no. I don’t need money. I need you.”
“What?” Chance asked, blinking.
“You see,” the mystery man said, nudging the gun a bit closer to Chance’s throat, “I’m affiliated with… some certain groups of people who visit your casino. And I don’t think it takes a genius to figure it out.”
Chance inhaled sharply, then whispered, “Mafia..”
The stranger’s grin widened again. “Like I said. Doesn’t take a genius. Anyways.”
The man seemed almost bored with the interaction, as if threatening someone at gunpoint wasn’t exhilarating. It could be mundane to him, Chance thought. If he wasn’t lying about the whole mafia thing. Which it didn’t seem like he would be. Threatening people with guns– and shooting them– would be a cakewalk for him.
“I do indeed belong to a family. A mafia family, that is. And it has come to my attention that you, mister casino owner, have become affiliated in some way with a particular head of a rival group mafia. One who I am not on very good terms with, say. You know the Sonnellino’s, no?”
Chance tried to wipe any reaction from their face. They were still at gunpoint, after all. The Sonnellinos. Mafioso. Fuck. Fuck.
“Yeah… Yeah, you could say that.”
The stranger sighed. “That was rhetorical. I can tell you know them. You seem to be acquaintances with their head, Don.”
“... Mhm.”
“Quiet, are we?” the man prodded Chance’s throat with the gun again, and their breath hitched. “There we are. Now tell me… what are you to him?” The man looked Chance up and down. “I want to know how big of a prize I’ve fetched. Friend?”
“None of your business.”
The man clicked his tongue. “Not a good thing to say to the man who has a gun on your throat. Talk, or I’ll blow your throat out.”
“You won’t. That will just get you killed.”
His finger hovered over the trigger, lightly messing with it, and, despite the demeanor of not caring he was trying to keep up, Chance breathed. Hard.
“Talk.”
“O- Okay- well, he’s not my friend.”
“Liar. I did say I’ll shoot you. You talk to him nearly every day. There’s no way you aren’t friends.”
Chance bit the inside of their cheek. “I’m not lying,” he said, louder than before. “I swear.”
The stranger stared at Chance for a couple of seconds, searching his eyes behind the sunglasses. They slowly lit up with a new realization.
“Oh. Oh.” In an instant, he was grinning again. “Well well well… this is better than I thought.” He chuckled. “A boyfriend, huh? Oh, that’s great. You’re more useful than you think, gambler.”
Chance tried not to betray the fact that he was right, that he'd hit the mark exactly, but he faltered slightly, and the man’s grin only widened.
“So I’m right, then. Good. Never knew he had someone, though I suppose that is something he’d want to keep secret, especially if you’re not married yet. And the fact that you’re a man, you know, reputation and things. Doesn’t matter if you’re a dirty little secret or not, you’re still useful to me. You’re bait.”
“Bait..?” Chance’s throat was dry at this point. He had a sinking feeling he knew what was coming. It was what Mafioso had warned him about a thousand times, and here it was, coming true right before their eyes, and there was nothing Chance could really do to stop it.
“Yes, bait, don’t be dumb,” the stranger said, rolling his eyes. “Trust me, you’ll fetch a pretty penny from Sonnellino. Especially now that I know you mean more than I initially thought. Truly, this will also probably earn me a broken nose, but I don’t care. Maybe you were right earlier, actually. I do want money. Just in a different way. Ransom.. hostages.. you get it.”
They did. “You don’t have to–”
“Oh, piss off. I’m not going to hurt you. Too much. Unless you’re allergic to chloroform.”
Chance didn’t have time to react to that lovely sentiment before the man’s unoccupied hand shot into his pocket, and the gun was removed. Chance tried. They shot forward, attempting to grab the man's wrist and stop what he was doing, possibly shove him back, but the stranger was faster. There was a rag shoved violently into Chance’s nose and mouth. Chance once again tried to fight against the stranger, who had tossed the gun to the side as he wrestled Chance to the wall, shoving on the rag harder than necessary. But things were quickly getting blurry. The chloroform filled their eyes and nose, causing Chance to gag, but it was lost to the rag being shoved against Chance’s face, rubbing it raw. Chance’s legs gave out only minutes later. How much fucking liquid was on it?
The world was getting darker, and Chance slumped to the side, his head whacking the concrete slowly but painfully, the remnants of the absolutely soaked rag dribbling from his face. He was now staring at the stranger's feet. They were nice boots. Really. The last thing Chance remembered was a voice– the man’s voice.
“Tell your little boyfriend that Giornos want to talk with him next time you see him, ey?”