Mickey had always considered himself a successful man.

  After all, he was a powerful figure who had risen from the lowest level, a mere outcast, to become the leader of a gang.

  During this bloody and turbulent process, he fully demonstrated his burning ambition and cunning mind. And most importantly, this cleverness soon caught the attention of “higher” figures, real “big names.”

  Thus, it didn't take long before he earned the favor of a great nobleman and was appointed to manage the “Golden Night” casino in an important city like Flaren.

  It’s worth noting that the Golden Night was a gigantic casino! The kind worth billions! Although, according to the laws of the kingdom of Astralis, gambling was strictly prohibited, the protection of the said noble allowed this sinful establishment, practically without competition and catering to the entire city of Flaren, to operate almost “shamelessly” on a not-so-prominent street called “Green Finger.”

  One must admit that, when it came to managing casinos, Mickey, now over forty, was a true master.

  He knew very well who could or could not be provoked in the casino, who could be driven to bankruptcy with addictive bets, and who, after being led into addiction, needed a phone call to their parents, like a stubborn child being taken back home...

  In short, managing the Golden Night in Flaren, a city where nobles, wealthy merchants, and even commoners frequented casinos, was an art, and after years of experience and maturity, that strong and firm middle-aged man now sitting in his office had become a true “big boss.”

  “Being the boss, actually, isn’t that hard, right? Women, wine, wealth, power... even the ‘gifts’ that the gambling addicts bring me, I have it all. Leaving aside the fact that it’s not very... presentable, I really am a successful man.”

  Putting aside the electronic report with the terrifying financial movements of the Golden Night, Mickey finally wrapped up the day and entered his “relaxation” time.

  To be honest, sometimes he really thought his job as a “gang leader” wasn’t much different from that of an ordinary employee, following orders from a superior, working from nine to five, with overtime... If there was any fun in those boring days, even with so much power in hand...

  “Gift, pour me a glass of wine.”

  Calling out in a curious and relaxed voice, less than half a minute later, a delicate-looking little girl, dressed in a tiny maid uniform, seemed to be only eight or nine years old. With trembling hands, she brought a large glass of red wine, clumsily coming out from a compartment in Mickey’s office.

  It was obvious, this little maid was the “gift” Mickey mentioned.

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  Yes, a real “gift,” because this girl had been given as payment for a debt by a wealthy merchant ruined by gambling addiction.

  Once the daughter of the merchant, now she was just Mickey’s little maid. And her current job was to serve high-quality wine to the “gang boss” who seemed more like an ordinary worker from nine to five.

  But... the serving technique...

  “P-please... Mr. Mickey, try it.”

  The little trembling hands lifted the glass, and the waves of wine barely stabilized with so much shaking.

  “Hold the glass firmly, only then does the color of the wine look nice... By the way, why are you still so afraid of me, little gift? It's true that your parents handed you over as if you were a toy, but in these two weeks, I haven’t done anything bad to you, right?”

  Turning the glass of wine in one go, Mickey looked at the girl, who was actually quite cute, with an expression that surprisingly had no trace of malice.

  Over forty, Mickey had had many women, but he had neither a wife nor children. In front of the “gift,” that “old gangster,” cruel in the eyes of others, was even showing gentleness.

  The “gift’s” job was indeed just this, to wear a maid uniform and prepare wine.

  Nothing more.

  Of course, for a little girl who had been handed over as a “gift” by her own mother, even though her “master” wasn’t a bad person, her heart was still full of fear and insecurity...

  “Mr. Mickey... I know my parents did something horrible, and you have helped me a lot... I... I’m not afraid anymore, but... but I have something to tell you.”

  Looking at the delicate wine glass on the table, the girl's face today seemed even more shy and hesitant.

  “Hmm? What’s wrong? Are you bored in the office? Don’t worry, I don’t need a maid who doesn’t even know how to prepare wine. Soon, you’ll go to a more fun place, where you’ll play house with other children.”

  Kneeling down patiently to be at the girl’s height, Mickey thought the “gift” was missing home or feeling lonely.

  In fact, he had plans to give her a new identity soon and find her a good, honest family to adopt her. That would probably be one of the few good deeds the “gang boss” would do in his entire life.

  Although, even from the standpoint of “kindness,” such an action could never compensate for the sins of a lifetime of villainy... still, impulsively, it wouldn’t be so bad.

  “…”

  “So... When I went to get the wine from the pantry, I smelled a strong scent of blood, very strong... Just like that night when my mother killed my father, as clear as that day. Even here, I can still smell a little. I thought I should tell you...”

  “Smell of blood? How could there be a smell of blood here?”

  Looking at the girl in front of him with eyes full of sincerity and concern, Mickey was stunned for a moment.

  His office was two floors below the Golden Night.

  Besides the private elevator, there was no direct connection to the main hall. And there were many security guards in the lobby of the first floor.

  Not to mention the more than forty “ex-special forces” henchmen positioned at the top of the building. Even if something happened, the smell of blood reaching here seemed like an exaggeration, right?

  But... looking at the face of the “gift,” with her shy but anxious expression...

  Mickey’s gaze quickly sharpened.

  He was now an old “gang boss,” his sense of smell not as sharp as that of a child.

  That’s why, until now, he hadn’t noticed any smell of blood in his office.

  But one couldn’t forget that Mickey was a “old gangster” born on the streets. And he had never abandoned the instinct of “staying alert to any sign of danger.”

  That’s why, even if it was just because of the well-intentioned warning from a child, he immediately drew his electromagnetic pistol from his waist and said seriously to the “gift”:

  “Hide behind the desk now. No matter what happens, don’t leave there. Understood?”