Fate, much like the wheel of fourtune, turned the odds in one's favor or against it. It would depend on the right time to take a chance whether it would be for better or worse. The stakes are high, and time was something Marco no longer had in his favor.

The other Vices have thrown the ball and the wheel spun in their favor, landing on the right number. Each of them had their candidates prepared for the initiation for the following days, and the devil's advocate was more of a croupier who had the chips stacked and distributed to the players of the game.

“Master the rules of the game until you can play it better than they can.” Those were the words Marco's predecessor had told him once, back when he was a novice in the devilish world he had grown accustomed to when he was just an errant teenager seeking for thrills and pickpocketing hoodlums in the Venician suburbs. Back then, he didn't have a clue what he was getting himself into.

He simply sneaked into the back entrance of casinos to take out coins from slot machines and used them to buy a couple deck of cards to cheat on poker. Sorting cards to have aces, four of a kind, a full house, that type of stuff.
Harmless juvenile shenanigans teenagers do to goof off on the streets.

Back in the early 2000s when Yu-Gi-Oh! and Pokémon trading cards were trendy to play among kids and teens alike. Instead of playing along with the fad of collecting trading cards and puzzles to challenge an opponent and geek out like the rest of his peers, Marco was busy organizing his own deck of poker and dice while stealing a strip of gum from a convenience store on his way to the dingy casino.

Back then, Marco skipped classes during his second semester of high school because his deadbeat dad left the house and his mom had brought another deadbeat that would eventually become a nuisance of a stepdad.

Marco was better off mooching on the streets stealing spare change from slot machines and scamming gamblers than to put up with a drunkard to help spilt the rent at a two bedroom apartment. His mother worked day in and day out as a waitress while Marco had worked as a bust boy for a couple of measly euros for a short time before he was caught taking money out of the tip jar.

Marco was fed up with eating breadsticks with garlic butter for being the only thing that he could afford from working minimum wage at a run-of-the-mill pizzeria.

Marco opened the wrapper and took the strip of bubblegum into his mouth and chewed on his way to the casino. His predecessor met up with a subordinate from the mafia outside the casino, the mafioso was incognito, smoking a cigarette like any lowlife in the evening.

Marco's predecessor was a man with greying hair, a thick moustache and sideburns. The mafioso had a naturally gruff voice from years of consuming nicotine as the smoke he exhaled came out in wisps.

From what Marco could vaguely recall was that they were in a tight situation, the heir of the mafia presumably went missing and their men have been searching and pulling strings to find the missing lad. That was mostly the reason why Marco's predecessor came all the way from Rome and made a detour to Venice on such short notice. On the other hand, the alliance with the Italian mafia deemed beneficial for their cause back then.

Marco didn't care of who it was since he had his own problems to deal with, like making enough money to eat anything other than breadsticks and garlic bread. His determination for independence and making easy money was apparent as he sneaked into the casino despite that he was a minor.

He knew the tricks and plays that the gamblers use to keep themselves from losing too badly, but none of it mattered since there were no opponents to take care of. At least not yet, anyway.

The croupier shuffled the cards, then gave each player a card. Marco recognized the regulars of the establishment and knew each of their mannerisms and their body language.

There was a young man who looked familiar in the crowd of people surrounding him. He wore a black shirt that had an orange logo printed across it and black pants. He was tall, taller even than Marco with wide shoulders and muscular arms.

That guy was Pietro, a regular who would spend most of his paycheck on playing blackjack, poker or one of the slot machines. When he was in a really good mood, he would partake in playing the roulette. Marco would jokingly tease Pietro every once in a while to egg him into betting some more.

There where also a couple of tourists who came to the casino, one of them was a hot blonde with suntanned skin that took a liking to Pietro and the odds of pickpocketing him were higher.

As such, he went for it. Pietro was distracted flirting with the woman whilst Marco pickpocketed him while the two lovebirds were eyeing each other, inches away from making out. Marco walked casually as he sauntered his way to one of the many slot machines.

The covert mafioso and the then Vice of Greed, Malcolm Montague were discussing their alliance in a game of solitaire.

Marco knew each slot machine as if it were the back of his hand; which part of the machine to hit, which combination to apply, where to drag out the spare change and when to jam the machine to get gamblers to spend more cash.

Though there was one thing he was certain, there wasn't anyone in this casino who knew how to take out euros out of the sot machines more than Marco.

That was until he got a glimpse of a young man taking out the money from the back of the slot machine who wasn't an employee from the establishment. This young lad was swiping the cash from the slot machine.

His hair was long, and Marco couldn't see what color his eyes were, but he swore they looked green like moss on the leaves after a heavy rain. No doubt that this guy was one of the tourists who came to the casino.

That scum was stealing on his turf, and Marco furrowed his eyebrows darkly. As if he was gonna let a foreigner take the money the locals spent. The blonde tourist wasn't alone on this scheme, he had two more of his peers on the lookout when one of them saw Marco approach and knocked three times on the back of the slot machine to act natural.

He knew straight from the get-go that he had competition, but he didn't know he would be the one facing them for the position as Vice of Greed once he got discovered.

The one next to the blonde was a pierced-lipped brunette with a black polo shirt, a bowl cut and a tattoo of a snake slipping out of his sleeve while another one was an African European with corn rows, similar to a rapper sporting a colorful jacket and faded jeans.

The brunette whistled casually, feigning innocence while the dark one glared at the other two walking up to them with swagger. The blonde non-chalantly asked his friends to check the slot machines to play.

“Hey guys, whaddaya think about this one?” The blonde tourist asked them while the brunette made a so-so hand gesture while the other one shook hus head uninterested, Marco barely understood English as a teenager, despite the language barrier he knew they were faking while one of them tested the slot machine. The Afro-European snagged a glance at Marco, then made a feint, raking his corn rows to the side. The brunette pickpocketed Marco in a blink of an eye.

He felt something loose.

Then saw an euro coin between the brunette's slender fingers twirling to and fro before entering the coin slot. The blonde tourist pulled down the lever as the slot began to play as the game rolled, as each row slowed to a halt a match was found and won. Marco walked away irritably when the slot machine spewed coins.

Beginner's luck they say!

While this occured, Malcolm and the mysterious mafia man held their cards. The erstwhile Vice of Greed put down the Jack of Hearts card on the table while the man looked at his own hands, carefully selecting which card he would use then putting the 6 diamonds card on the table before Malcolm grabbed the two cards. The mafioso instinctively pocketed the gun from his waist when Malcolm put down another card, 3 aces. Marco didn't heed them no mind since he was more upset about the three swindlers that were snagging what he was supposed to grab. The night was still young, and he wasn't gonna let a bunch of tourist rob the spare change he needed for his next meal.

“Riccardo, you're getting sloppy. Try to beat me in a game of solitaire at least.” Malcolm chided while Ricardo eyed around his peripheral vision when he caught sight of Marco walking near the roulette as he grabbed a ball.

“Shut up,” Riccardo barked, then looked at the card and picked the 7 spades card and placed it on the table, “Here.”

The numbers of the cards matched and they had to put 3 cards face down and they went to pick the best card they had in their hands all the while Marco threw the white ball at the roulette, waiting for the ball to land on the number 6. As the roulette spun, the ball rotated to the edge while Malcolm pinched the card he chose, the ball spun precariously close to the wrong number. Riccardo drew the card he chose and both of them showed their card on the table. Malcolm's card was a clover, Riccardo's card was a diamond, a tie.

“Merda! (Shit!)” Marco cursed when the ball landed on the number 8. Malcolm and Riccardo had to put three more cards face down while Pietro guffawed with the suntanned blonde as she leaned in to kiss him.

Nothing seemed to go his way, his scumbag of a stepdad would take the money Marco's mother saved up to pay the rent and the bastard would waste it on alcohol, his mom was taking two shifts to bring enough money and barely acraping by with what she earned. Marco's night turned sour when he spotted those damned tourist stealing the money that he was supposed to take, and now his luck ran out when he chose to play on the damn roulette with the wrong number.

How would his luck get any worse?

The suntanned blonde bumped to him and fell down like a primadonna, snagging a 5 euro bill midswing, which he stole from Pietro out of all people. Marco's eyes widened in disbelief. Pietro helped her up when Marco saw the bill peeking out of her cleavage.

“Stai bene, señorina? (Are you alright, miss?)” Pietro asked her sweetly, the blonde nodded and grinned before Pietro glared at Marco, “Cosa c'è di sbagliato in te?! (What is wrong with you?!)” An rgument broke out then and there while Malcolm and Riccardo put three more cards face down just as three young men had went up to check on Malcolm after they won a chuck load of cash, the African European eyed the mafiosos hand out of curiosity to see what kind of cards he had in his hand when he saw the magazine of the firearm jutting out of Riccardo's trousers.

Irate, Marco went in and pushed Pietro out of the way and swiped the 5 euro bill from the tourist's suntanned cleavage which earned him a punch to the face by Pietro. The brunette who was watching nudged the blonde boy to look at the fight. As th turned over his shoulder to look, it was the same guy who was looking at the trio suspiciously earlier.

They went to gang up on Marco while the African European had watch the game of solitaire unfold, Malcolm revealed the King of Diamonds card while Riccardo smirked and put down the Diamond card. Malcolm's eyebrows climbed while Riccardo grabbed the cards from the table.

“I win.” Riccardo stood from his seat as he pulled out the gun with a sadistic smile on his face, “Now pay up.”

Malcolm stood nonchalant from the table, hands raised while Riccardo pointed the gun and sauntered his way towards the Vice of Greed. The African European lad approached the armed man and made the foolish mistake of swiping the gun from behind him and got elbowed square in the jaw and got shot.

At the sound of the gunshot everyone scattered like roaches from the light; except for Malcolm, Marco, and the dark skinned youth.

“Carl!” The brunette was bold enough to come towards the African European, but the guy was bleeding out on the floor.

“Someone call an ambulance!” The brunette squalled, another tourist lifted his flip phone to dial and called immediately got shot and died. Dropping the phone, Marco looked at the flip phone.

“Who's next?” The man questioned coldly, eyeing everyone that tried to make a move. Malcolm lowered his hands and put them in his pocket as he pulled out his own pistol.

“Calm down, Riccardo.” Riccardo pointed at Malcolm, “I know you're tense from the tight situation you're in, but don't be too hasty. I'll pay for the damages.”

“Bullshit! You and your little posse are thieves, scammers, you know nothing about paying.” Riccardo spoke while the dark skinned lad continued bleeding out. Marco looked at the flip phone and crawled quietly to reach it.

“How much?” Malcolm asked him. The armed man bit back laughter from this. The Vice of Greed, charitable? That's ludicrous.

“Don't make me laugh. No amount of money in the world won't compensate years of manipulation and extorsion from the mafia.” Riccardo stated with resentment before every machine from the casino and the cash register to drop euros on the floor like a fountain while Marco grabbed the flip phone in a nick of time.

“Nove uno uno, qual è la tua emergenza? (Nine one one, wbat's your emergency?)” The operator queried upon picking the call.

“Manda rinforzi, c'è un uomo armato che ci indica. (Send back up, there's an armed man pointing at us.)” Marco whispered over the phone as as the armed man was focused on Malcolm.

“Dove sei ora? (Where are you now?)” The operator asked for the current location to send reinforcements and Marco responded before gun shots were heard.

Malcolm was the one who shot the man in cold blood, before he eyed everyone around him, including Marco. He pointed the gun at Marco and gestured him to come forward.

“Don't waste your time, bambino. 9-1-1 won't save you at a time like this.” Malcolm told him, Marco was apperhensive in approaching him and gulped, beads of sweat coating his forehead.

The blonde and the tattoed brunette helped the African European known as Carl up while they brought him to a car. The suntanned girl left Pietro to join them as Marco came face to face with his predecessor, the man snatched the flip phone from him, dropped it and stepped on it.

“You saw nothing, you heard nothing, you know nothing. If you want to survive, learn the rules of this deadly game. Master the rules of the game until you can play it better than they can.” Malcolm said those words before he left with his candidates. From that night, Marco wasn't the same ever since.