Thread: Bright Young Thing ::: {Prince of Smut & Ariamella}

RE Bright Young Thing Prince Ariamella IMG150x112 Lucca Carbone Lefty loved using stories to deliver a message. It was almost an Italian cultural tradition, beyond just the mafia. Stories let him make his point without a direct accusation, and often played to the worst fears and insecurities of a guilty party. Even nicer, they often avoided a long string of denials and cut right to the crux of the question... are you guilty of something? Many a stubborn man had been reduced to tears when Lefty told a story about killing his beloved pet dog because it wouldn't stop eating the chickens in their coop. And by now, Lefty had lots of tales to choose from, a repertoire for any occasion, and a long list of pets, relatives, business associates and Italian folktales to provide color. There was no Uncle Sal, although Lefty's relatives had been olive farmers. Of course, any Sicilian had an olive farmer in their family tree. But the story still rung true, because Lefty didn't believe in luck. If he did, he wouldn't be in the casino business and he certainly wouldn't be a gangster. No, Lefty believe in odds. Odds could be stacked in your favor and that's how Lefty preferred to operate his business and his life. Casinos were great because gamblers gave you their money, playing against odds stacked in the house's favor and praying for luck. Anyone who was more than occasionally lucky had messed with the odds in Lefty's view. Or they were people who seized opportunity and called it luck afterwards, like the greedy olive corporation manager in his apocryphal story. But which was she? The rouge on her face didn't hide how pale her skin had become as Lefty had finished his warning story. And he saw her stiffen, straightening like a school girl that just got caught passing a note by the teacher. She was hiding something, that was for sure. But he had to give her some respect, as that confidence seemed to come back inexplicably and she started to reply like she was holding all the cards and Lefty was hoping for a bad beat. Then she started with the dice and Lefty almost thought she'd lost her mind. Maybe this doll had a screw loose, or two, in her head. Something about the confident manner with which she spoke still captivated Lefty, or maybe it was just that she was so damn easy on his eyes. Perhaps it was curiosity to see what possible explanation she could give him using dice for tipping off the police about his clubs. Whatever the reason, he kept himself from interrupting her and decided to see where she was going. Silent listening had often enabled Lefty to give a man enough rope to hang themselves. The first throw seemed like a parlor trick. After all, she had a one in six chance of getting it right, just like Lefty might. The second throw made his smile fade and his eyes snapped to her with sudden alarm, studying her for any sign that might betray how she possibly could fake this. A hundred ideas spun though his mind. Was she a magician, palming dice and replacing them with her own? Using magnets and a weighted ball at the roulette table? Could this broad have cheated in ways his experienced crew couldn't spot? In some way that Lefty himself couldn't detect when she was three feet in front of him? It didn't add up and he was trying to process the message she was trying to send to him with her demonstration. Was she admitting she could cheat with dice? Or trying to imply something else... something unbelievable to a practical man like Lefty. And how did any of this relate to the police busts? Ruby, my dear, he said at last, smile returning to his face. I run a casino, not a stage act that is looking for magicians. What, exactly, are you implying?