The days were long, the nights, even longer.  Raw_Kitten was a Dice addict.  In fact the truth was Raw_Kitten was a addicted to gambling of all kinds unable to resist no matter the risks.  This is not the story of his demise....

Raw_Kitten who will be referred to as RW from now on had already lost it all several times but recently had just staked his business, house, and all his wealth in a card game.  We will skim over the specifics because that is a tale for another day.  Holding two aces and two kings it was an almost certain win, the opposition seemed weak and desperate the raise to all in and more was called and then the cards were revealed.  Ironically it was a full house that took RW's house and possession and placed them into new ownership which of course left RW in extreme poverty, homeless, and broke on the mean streets of Las Vegas.

A new start we required, RK dug up his emergency stash box which contained a measly $100, this was sued to travel to Detroit, as far away from the gambling scene as possible...  Now the story begins.

RW was hungry and the streets were alive at night rendering it almost impossible to sleep in the cold harsh outdoors.  Enough was enough it was time to raise some capital and find a dice scene, despite the losses we have spoken about RK was actually a hardcore dicer' with a strange instinct when it came to the game, his problem was just not being able to walk away so he knew deep down if he could conquer this issue the wealth would be waiting just around the corner.

If I can just find a fucking bum to roll over for a few thousand dollars, I'll be back at the top in no time.  Detroit is a good a place as any but who, where and how?

Three cold sleepless nights had passed and RW was growing rapidly restless of the whole situation, becoming desperate he decided now is the time to strike!

A figure had just emerged from the local tavern, half drunk and the other half drunker, this was the perfect target, a man clearly wealthy but slipping and sliding intoxicated and mumbling to himself about the nights profits.

RW grabbed half of a brick that he had shared his alley way with and ran up on the unsuspecting figure.

Smash!  take that you fucking drunk, what was once yours is now mine.

Fully expecting the man he had just cracked over the head with a brick half to go straight to the floor, surely this was an easy take, but no.

The mark didn't even seem to flinch the brick flew to the floor with a thud and the man just slowly rotated to face RK.

Was that your best strike?  This is Detroit you smelly homeless alley rat, round here we can take a hit.  The man exclaimed.

RW stood frozen, speechless for a second as the man's hand reached for the gun tucked in his waist.

But due to a crazy coincidence the man recognized RK, they had played a card game a few years earlier together and RK had taken hundreds of thousands from everyone at the table on that occasion and had left a mark on the memory of this seeming brick proof individual.  The man said to RW...

Wait, it's you.  I should pop a bullet through your fucking face there is no doubt about it but I just don't understand, why are you, you of all people, out here trying to rob me?!?  Youv'e got five seconds to tell me then I'll put you to sleep right now in the middle of this road.

I lost it all.  Was the simple response RK gave and his eyes moved to stare at his own feet and he accepted this was the end.

But there was no click, there was no bang, there was no pain, instead there was the unmistakable sound of paper money hitting a surface, a sound RK knew and craved.

The man spoke fast with an unapologetic tone.  I don't know if it's the cocaine or the alcohol but you've just met the lesser known empathetic side of me.  Take that bundle of doe and go turn it in to a life,  come see me at my HQ in the morning when ive sobered up and pray to fucking god i haven't changed my mind, you work for me now and I take a cut of everything you make, and don't fucking forget you degenerate alley rat you owe me for this start up cash and no amount of illicit substances in my system will ever be able to save you from my wrath again.

The man finally introduced himself as none other than Fredo_Trapani, and gave the details of his HQs whereabouts an almost unheard of move in the cruel streets of crime they found themselves in.

RK to this day isn't really one hundred percent certain why Fredo_Trapani acted the way but of course was eternally grateful and so it came to be the RK swore to himself that he would do exactly what Fredo_Trapani had ordered and took the money with the aim to amass a fortune and to pay the due tribute and debt to Fredo_Trapani.

Fast forward one week and the pair were sitting together in that same very bar that outside they had met in these, let's just say an unorthodox way, Fredo_Trapani had never disclosed their first interaction with anyone and had just introduced RK as a new recruit and good earner.  RK had for obvious reasons never divulged said information either and in the week that had just passed not only paid back the money but on top of that had passed Fredo_Trapani more money than the rest of the crew had made from their conventional methods.  RK was back and dicing harder than a bull fucks on viagra.

Fredo_Trapani's strange act of kindness and the possibilities he had envisioned in RK had paid off, paid off for them both but could RK stay on top of his game this time, only the future would tell.  For now RK had settled as part of the Ligambi Crime Family: Trapani Crew and started to fall in love with the HQs other inhabitants.  This was the first time RK had felt like he belonged and was determined to show this crew that he was a loyal, profitable, respectful member and deserved his new ranks amongst them.

Every night that followed the same interaction occurred between RK and Fredo_Trapani before they sat down and enjoyed each other's company.  Fredo_Trapani would say.  You lost it all yet?  With a half cocked grin on his face and RK would reply with the same statement.  Well Boss, you know how it is, you live by the dice, you die by the dice, but I ain't fucking dead yet.

RK continued to roll the dice, to flip the cards, and to pull the lever on the slots, and more importantly continued to make enough to please Fredo_Trapani and provided himself a more than adequate exsistence in his new home of Detroit.

To be continued.....

-Raw-Kitten-

Quick disclaimer

(RP story with mistakes, I accidentally put RW instead of RK several times, please try to see around this error and appreciate it was my 1st ever RP story, I proof read it and still managed to fuck it up but if we look around that dumb ass mistake, it is what it is.  Hope you enjoy reading it.)

Katerina listens to Raw_Kitten's story, a slow nod accompanying each line. She picks up her "Checkmate" glass, twirling the ice. The Pink Pony Club might be all about glam and good times, but she knows the raw edges of the world better than most. Raw_Kitten's story hits close to home, not for the gambling, but for the inherent obsession with the game itself.

"Alright, Raw_Kitten. Katerina here. I heard your story, and man, that's a hell of a ride you've been on. Lost it all, hit rock bottom, then managed to spin it back around... in Detroit, of all places. That takes a special kind of grit, I'll give you that."

"That 'can't walk away' feeling, that pull of the action? I get it. Not with dice in my hand, maybe, but I've seen it. Folks get hooked on the chase as much as the win, whether it's money, power, or just that rush when you beat the odds. It's a sickness, yeah, but it's also what makes some of us... well, us."

"Even in my old spot, The Rook & Bishop, back in Chicago, where it was mostly board games—chess, backgammon, even some high-stakes dominoes—you'd see that same look in people's eyes. The stakes might not have been a quarter-mil on a roll, but you watch a couple of guys locked in a chess match, or someone staring down a backgammon board with everything on the line? The tension's the same. The obsession's the same. That drive to win, to see the other guy break, to feel like you're one step ahead... it's a hell of a drug, no matter the game."

"And Fredo_Trapani pulling you in like that? Smart move on his part. He saw the fire, saw the earner. The streets always find a way to repurpose talent, even when it's been through the wringer and then some. A man who can make money out of thin air, even after losing it all, that's a man worth having around."

"Sounds like you're still dancing with the dice, still playing the hand you're dealt. Just remember, Raw_Kitten, the biggest gamble ain't always the next roll or the next card. Sometimes, it's knowing when the game's really over, for good or bad. Or, knowing when to change tables. Stay sharp out there. The house usually wins... eventually. Unless you're the one building the house, of course."

Carlo Gambino leaned back in a worn leather chair, a deck of cards in one hand and a glass of rye in the other, as the steady hum of rain tapped against the windowpanes of Trapani HQ. The dice had long since cooled on the table—empty now, save for cigarette ash and a scattering of poker chips. He'd heard the whispers about Raw_Kitten. Most guys who come back from the gutter tend to stink of desperation. This one? He reeked of something rarer... resolve.

As RK passed by the lounge en route to the back, Carlo tapped the rim of his glass against the armrest, calling him in with a quiet grin.

"RK, c’mere a minute."

The tone wasn’t commanding, more like a familiar whistle from a street-corner pal who knew your sins but didn’t care so long as you paid up on time.

He motioned to the seat across from him.

“Word is, you hit rock bottom so hard the pavement cracked. Then you bounced.” Carlo’s green eyes sparkled with that signature mix of mischief and menace. “Now that? That’s a rare thing in this business. Most don’t even get back up, never mind show up handin’ the boss more coin than half the crew.”

He flicked a card across the table, a Queen of Hearts, then raised his eyes meaningfully.

“I know that twitch in the fingers, the itch in the soul. Dice, cards, wheels, same devil, different mask. But you? You ain't just lucky. You're dangerous. The kind that can either build an empire or blow it sky high.”

He took a sip, pausing, measuring his words.

“You got somethin’, RK. That ‘pull-a-rabbit-outta-a-burnin’-hat’ kinda talent. I see why Fredo gave you a shot… hell, I'da done the same. But here’s my bit of street gospel: Don’t let the dice roll you. You’re part of somethin’ now. This family? We don’t chase odds, we make ‘em. You ever feel that itch risin’ up too high?”

Carlo leaned in just a bit, voice quiet but sharp.

“Come find me first. I know ways to bet that don’t end with your teeth in a gutter. Ain’t just about winnin’, it’s about knowin’ when to stack the deck.”

Then he leaned back, that playful grin resurfacing as he reached for the cards again.

“Now get goin’. You’re hot right now, ride that wave. But keep one foot in the real, ya hear? 'Cause next time someone throws a brick, I’d rather hear you were the one holdin’ it, not wearin’ it.”

Carlo gave a slow nod of approval as RK turned to go, adding one last remark like a whisper in the dark:

“Welcome home, paisan. Now let’s see how high you climb.”

It was clear now, they all knew what they had to do, keep winning, keep earning, keep paying it up the chain.

The Trapani Crew was about to hit the big time, all they had to do was keep it up, stay consistent but not get too greedy.

RK listened closely to those around him, and took on board all their advice, but no matter what the dice called.

This time however, RK wouldn't risk it all in one roll, this time he had loyalties to uphold, fellow crew members, associates, and above all the higher ups were enjoying the steady income that The Trapani Crew produced, if this were to abruptly end there would obviously be trouble, so for now this is where the story ends.....   or does it?

-Raw_Kitten-

Katerina reads the news, a grim look on her face. The gossip here is not of retirement, but of a final, desperate bet. Her fingers drum a slow beat on her desk. The house always exacts a price, and sometimes the house does not just win—it consumes.

"So, Raw_Kitten. I heard the gossip on the breeze, nice and clear this time. Sounds like your luck finally caught up to you on that last roll, then? That habit of playing the odds... it always does you in."

"You were a wild card, Raw_Kitten. Constantly looking for that next high, that never-to-be-attained win. And occasionally, you'd get it, against all odds. But in this game, the odds always change. And when you're in debt to the wrong people, there is only one move left to make: fade away. And with you, 'retirement'."

"This isn't 'hanging up the gloves.' This is cutting the line, burning the bridge. When you run up debts like that, to men like that, there's no 'retirement.' There's just... gone. You won't be returning. Not ever."

"It's a harsh departure, but it's one you paid for with each card flipped over and each roll of the dice. The streets don't forget a debt, especially not one paid in absence. So, wherever you are, Raw_Kitten, whatever corner of the world you wandered into, stay hidden. Stay quiet. Because the silence you found now? That's your only victory left standing."

"Because this life, it sticks to you. And steals a piece of you sometimes when you're running. The smoke, the shadows, the high stakes, it seeps into who you are even when you're on the run. So just remain gone, Raw_Kitten, it's the only game that matters anymore."