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There were two sides of the city: the wealthy and the poor.
Chance was lucky enough to be born on the wealthy side. He was lucky enough to have his life filled with expensive parties and luxury lifestyle ever since he was born, his parents being the owners of a very successful casino. He was lucky to not be born in the poverty side, where rats ran the streets like kings and starvation and misery everywhere.
He was lucky, always was.
Chance had been warned many times by the workers of entering the streets of poverty. They were dangerous, human traffickers lingering in the darkness, gangs ready to use him as a ransom anytime of any day now. They scolded him whenever he was caught wondering where he shouldn’t be, always giving the same lecture Chance didn’t care about.
However, his parents’ casino, the same one that he was the successor to, was on one of the streets. ‘To gain more customers’, his father always responded when Chance asked–only a mere strategy. Chance has learned the ways of company since he was in diapers, thanks to his parents.
Yet, despite all the rules and warnings, Chance always wandered off, hoping for something dangerous along his way–the adrenaline rush of it! Some said that he was just too young to understand, but Chance enjoyed it, running away from mobs for laughs. That was just how he was.
But this time, it was for a different reason.
His footsteps were soft and quiet as he walked down the streets, turning left and right and going straight sometimes. See, his bunny, the black bunny that he got on his thirteenth birthday–or his last birthday, had gone missing. Again. Chance was playing with it in front of his parents’ casino (since Spade, the bunny, disliked the loud inside), then he was talking to one of his parents’ patrons. When he turned over, Spade was gone . Nada. Nowhere to be found.
So now Chance has to play hide-and-seek with his own bunny.
“Spade!” He called in a whisper tone, not wanting attention to himself. Good thing, he was in an alleyway with no one around. “Spade, come out!”
A rat with red eyes rushed past him. Not Spade. Chance bit the inside of his cheek.
As he adventured forward to the alleyway, the backstreets, Chance saw a old man laying down on the floor, with a rag that shouldn’t even be called a blanket on, shivering, freezing. He tried his best to ignore that sight–these streets were filled with them, haggard beggars and children just trying to survive after being unlucky. He has seen his parents’ patrons laugh at their faces, even beating them up on time. Something that he shouldn’t have seen.
Chance was just lucky. These people weren’t as lucky as him.
The sound of water droplets hitting the floor due to a leak came when Chance hit a crossway. He didn’t expect this–the backstreets and alleyways were better built it seems, despite the awful state.
But he didn’t need to choose left or right, since, in the corner of his eyes, he saw something small hopping down to the left. It had noticeable black fur, the same as Spade.
Chance smiled, wide and smug. His luck, as he grew older, became better and better. This game of hide-and-seek was about to end. Chance followed the bunny, ending up in a dead-end.
“There you are! Spade, I’ve been–”
He stopped mid-sentence. Oh, Spade was there, alright, actually happy and making small noises.
Making small noises while someone else held it.
In a few seconds, the guy was probably around Chance’s age. He was tall for his age, but this made it easier to see his lanky features–the bony arms holding Spade comfortably, bruises on his long, gaunt legs and arms, the sturdy straw-like frame and rags for clothing that were still too big for his skin and bones. It was clear that he was from this part of the city, unlike Chance. He simply wasn’t lucky enough.
His long disheveled black hair covered most of his face, needing a haircut, but Chance could see dirt and dried blood on his face. He and Chance were staring directly at each other, Spade making itself comfortable in the guy’s arms.
“Um, hey,” Chance spoke first, trying to sound casual. “That bunny’s mine.” He pointed out bluntly–too bluntly.
The guy didn’t reply straight up. He remained silent while still holding Spade in his arms, now rubbing its large and soft ears at his arms.
“What are you feeding this bunny?” The guy finally said, and Chance, nonetheless, was taken back by this. He had a deep, monotone voice–puberty must’ve reached him first, huh?
Chance blinked at the question, but the guy couldn’t see as he had his favorite pair of sunglasses on. “E-excuse me?” He was taken back by this. Spade was perfect for a rabbit! Perhaps just a little bigger than the others–still! “I feed him perfectly well!” Chance defensively said. “Three cups a day!”
The guy let out a breath, deep and too shallow to be called a laugh, or a chuckle. He lifted an eyebrow in amusement. “Really? Three cups a day?” He questioned, glancing back at the large bunny in his hand, petting its fur. How soft.
Chance nodded firmly. “It’s healthy for a bunny like his size, okay?” He reached out his hand, “Now, can I please have my bunny?”
He petted the bunny one last time before setting it on the dusty ground. Spade immediately hopped into Chance’s arms. He gave a little laugh as Spade got comfortable in his arms, smelling like dust and a hint of cigarettes, probably what the guy smelt like.
Speaking of him, he was still there, just standing as the two reunited. Now Chance could see his clothing better–still ragged and ill-fitting, all too big and ripped beyond saving. Yet he didn’t move, just watched.
Chance’s grip on Spade tightened a little, earning a squeak from his pet. Now that he thought of it, Chance hasn’t really seen any teenagers, like him, around these poverty streets. Just old men and women begging for money, no teenagers often, despite some disparaging comments about them by wealthy old patrons which he overheard.
Street rats. They called them. Children who were old enough to steal from stores and the wealthy. Smart and cunning, yet quiet and small, like rats.
This guy was probably one of them.
“Hey,” Chance spoke to the guy, earning a blank stare from him. “Thanks for finding Spade, I guess.”
He gave a small nod. “No problem,” he muttered, voice rough.
“Um, what’s your name?” Chance had absolutely no idea where he was heading with this. Not really sure what he was doing anymore. “Mine’s Chance.”
“Mafioso,” the guy answered quietly, not a man of words it seemed.
Chance couldn’t help but crack a smile at that, a teasing smile. “What kind of name is that? Mafioso?” He snickered, Spade purring in his arms, tired from playing hide-and-seek. “Part of a secret gang, huh?” Mafioso didn’t look like a Mafioso in his eyes.
“The same could be said about you,” Mafioso argued back, still in that cold voice of his. “Chance, super lucky guy, huh?”
“Hey,” he gave Mafioso a wink, but with his sunglasses still on, Mafioso couldn’t see it. “Lady Luck is always on my side, no matter what.” He laughed at his own childish words.
“Lady Luck? Sounds like a guy who’s full of himself,” Mafioso huffed out, shaking his head slowly. Before Chance could respond back in a snarky way, Mafioso was already getting ready to leave. He tried dusting himself off, bony fingers patting his body.
“Hey, where are you going?” Chance asked. “What? Couldn’t stand a little teasing?”
“I have better things to do than bicker with a fellow like you,” Mafioso dryly replied back, the two closer than ever now. And Chance could now see how his collarbone moved when speaking, visible if you saw close enough.
Chance could care less about what Mafioso was doing, but he continued on. It was fun teasing someone–the employees at his parents’ casino would only roll their eyes at the boy, even telling him to scurry out of there, play with his ‘toys’ or something. It felt nice talking to someone his age (?) again, bickering.
“Oh please, nothing is ever better than me,” he said confidently, rushing towards Mafioso’s side as he tried getting Chance off his tail. “So tell me, what’s the secret mission, huh? Steal from some rich guy? Or maybe stealing from a store?”
Mafioso sighed, clearly frustrated with Chance’s behavior–good. That just bought a grin on Chance’s face. “If you really want to you, rich boy ,” well, that was a new nickname. Chance made a mental note to remember that one. “Food,” Mafioso said blankly afterwards.
Chance blinked at that answer. Food? For him or what? Spade was now asleep in his hands, heavy in his hands too (maybe Chance should cut some food from Spade’s diet…..) “Food?” he repeated, taken back by this answer. “Huh?”
Mafioso glared at the boy, eyes sharp like a hawk. “Not everyone’s plate of food comes to them for free,” Chance ignored how that statement sounded like an insult. Mafioso continued, “But yes, I have to feed my boys somehow.”
“Anddddd who’s your boys? Ma-fi-o-so,” he dragged out every syllable of his name, and Mafioso looked as annoyed as ever, which Chance only smiled at–a professional poker face, his father had once called his smile.
“Just….people I take care of. I have mouths to feed, you know?” Mafioso explained, not willing to talk about it further. He’d learned better than spill all your information to a stranger, especially someone as obnoxious as him and from the rich-side of the city.
Chance hummed, petting Spade’s fur as they walked towards nowhere. Silence, something that Mafioso liked. “Y’know,” he spoke again, opening that big mouth of his. Mafioso rolled his eyes, but Chance didn’t see. “I can help with that.”
Mafioso turned his head slowly to the shorter boy. “Oh?” He glanced over the boy, fancy clothing and sunglasses over his eyes, not able to see his eyes. Also owns a pet bunny. He seemed like someone worth a ransom–enough to feed him and his boys for a month if they truly bargained–but Mafioso didn’t, interested in what he had in mind. Maybe this guy was different from the others….
Chance shrugged. “Yeah, I know a place where you can get food,” he said casually, like it didn’t matter. “But I’m sure you know where you’re going so–”
“Just,” Mafioso was usually a patient guy. Others always said that, but not with him, no, this ‘Chance’ of a guy. “Just. Tell. Me.” He said under gritted teeth. Chance wanted him to admit help, but this was the closest he’d get.
Chance grinned, the biggest grin of satisfaction Mafioso has ever seen. “Then follow me,” this time, Chance winked, and Mafioso could see it, grumbling something underneath his breath.
Chance took the lead, and Mafioso followed.
“Of course,” Mafioso spoke as if it was a joke. “How didn’t I notice–Chance.”
The two stared at the bright casino, lights of every color pointing to it and sweet jazz music coming out from the casino. A sign of jackpot: 777, written on a bright billboard in the front. People came in and out–all sharing the same suits and dresses, from the rich, since those from the poor always lost their money nevertheless, always ending up less and less as they continued coming. An addiction.
“Chance, Chance, Chance,” he repeated the word, getting a taste of it. That name sounded familiar. “I didn’t I notice–you’re the son of–”
“Whoa, am I really that famous?” Chance cut Mafioso off, voice dripping with drama and sarcasm. “Please! No photographs!” He covered his face as if flashed by a camera; Mafioso grunted grumpily at that childish move. Those people from the rich would never understand.
Chance was the son, alright, but he was also the heir to this casino, the wealthiest of the whole city. Chance wasn’t just some guy that happened to be born in the wealth just by coincidence. He was lucky , not only born rich but born richest of any.
Mafioso thinned his lips. He didn’t need to think of that right now, just get what he was looking for. Food. Soldier was probably complaining about how long he was taking by now, maybe the others too.
“Right,” he finally said. The look of the casino in dusk, with all its flashy colors, was now forever printed in the back of Mafioso’s head. He’d been here before, for the same reason, but usually avoided this place, not wanting to repeat his past mistake. “So, where’s that food you promised?”
“I never promised you anything, dear Mafioso,” he rolled his eyes at that nickname. Does Chance have no shame? “But if you wish,” Chance continued, still holding the bunny, whose name was Spade that Mafioso had learned, in his arms. “Follow me.”
They wasted no time, skipping through the crowds of laughter and passing them, only to be led to a nearby alleyway. Chance seemed to know this route by heart–made sense, since this was his playground afterall. Mafioso only followed as they reached the back of the building, where the kitchen was.
The smell of cooked food immediately hit his nose. Pizza, hamburgers, and also the smell of expensive wine being poured. Sounds of food cooking on the stove was loud, smoke coming out from the chimney, hidden from the front and only in the back, which, on the outside, was a simple alleyway with scraps of food and rats cuddling in the corner.
Mafioso’s shoulders stiffened as Chance knocked on the metal door, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. He stayed back, and Chance gave him a reassuring smile, sticking out his tongue playfully. Mafioso rolled his eyes. How immature could he be?
The door opened quickly. The head chef, a man with a well-groomed mustache, looked out, lowering his head to meet Chance.
“Chance!” The chef sounded surprised. “Shouldn’t you be inside already?”
Chance only gave a wacky smile, something that he liked to do–a poker face, Mafioso observed. “Hey there, Jimmy!” Chance greeted, giving a quick wave. “Mind doing me a favor?”
Head Chef Jimmy looked skeptical, his mustache twitching as if it was alive. “I dunno, Chance. The last time you asked me for a favor, I was almost fired.” He rubbed the back of his sweaty neck.
“Well, you weren’t, right! I saved you!” Jimmy only arched his brows as Chance continued on, not giving him time to interject. “Right! So, um, I need help for a friend,” he explained quickly, so quickly that Jimmy looked confused. “Can I have your best pizza? Yeah, the best in the bag. Thanks, Jimmy!”
Jimmy blinked in bewilderment. Chance did just sign him up for something, but he obliged, shutting the door before reopening immediately, a box of freshly cooked pizza in his hands.
“Just–Just don’t tell your mother about this, okay?” Jimmy handed the box to Chance, who gladly accepted it, almost ripping it out of his hands. Mafioso’s view was blocked, but if he narrowed his eyes enough, there was something else–something on-top of that pizza box. “I don’t want to be on the chopping block….”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me–well, seeya, Jimmy!”
Just like that, Jimmy slammed shut the metal door, and Mafioso winced quietly at the harsh sound. Chance giggled to himself, turning back to Mafioso.
“Here’s your pizza!” Chance cheerfully handed the box of pizza to Mafioso, who skeptically accepted–unsure of his sudden cheerfulness. “Anddddddddd,” he dragged on, holding on the thing that was on top of the pizza box, another cardboard box. “I may or may not get us a treat.”
Mafioso could only smell the pizza now, wrinkling his nose. “What?”
They sat down on the dirty ground before Chance would tell him what was the ‘treat’ and what was inside that box. Chance seemed not bothered getting his clothes dirtied, something that Mafioso was slightly surprised about. Others would’ve not even talked to him anyway, yelling at him to go away or throwing trinkets at Mafioso, so Chance was already different from the others he'd met before.
“Okay, I know it isn’t something big or fancy, but,” he stopped mid-sentence, opening the small box and revealing what was inside.
A piece of brownie. A piece of chocolate brownie resided in the small box. Mafioso could only look surprised and confused at that. Chance had got himself a piece of brownie? As a treat?
Chance picked up the brownie with his bare hands, covered Spade’s black fur after holding the bunny for too long. He pulled the piece of brownie, ripping it into two smaller parts and handing one part to Mafioso, who only stared at the sweet.
Chance gestured to the sweet. “What? You don’t like brownies?” He assumed, still waiting for Mafioso to take his piece. “Oh, c'mon man! You could’ve told me that before Jimmy gave it to me!”
“I never said I disliked brownies,” Mafioso corrected, “just–”
“Not expecting it?” Chance finished, and Mafioso scowled. It was annoying how Chance knew what he was going to say, always. “Oh believe me, I’ve heard that before,” he chuckled, “I’m just full of surprises–now, take this piece of brownie before I eat it all by myself!”
Mafioso grabbed the piece, already crumbling as he grabbed hold of it. Chance then immediately started to eat his piece, already biting half-way. Mafioso could only wonder how someone could be that hungry, but he hasn’t gotten a brownie, or a snack, since…..it’d been too long. Mafioso didn’t even know when. He was just too busy doing jobs and making sure the boys got fed, eating last himself, so a brownie wasn’t a snack–just a goodie that he couldn’t afford most of the time.
“You’re going to eat your brownie or what?” Chance asked, mouth stuffed with his piece, eating it in one go. Mafioso scoffed at that, but his lips twitched, wanting to smile, to laugh, at that ridiculous move, yet Mafioso didn’t let him.
“I’m just savoring it, unlike you,” he stated snidely, finally taking a bite of his piece rather than bantering with Chance.
It was soft. Well-done, even. It was a mixture of fudgy and cakey, gooey yet light like a cake. The taste lingered in his mouth even after it was digested, smacking his lips softly–so that Chance wouldn’t be able to make fun of him for doing that, being excited over a small piece of brownie.
“So,” Chance licked his lips after he was finished with the brownie, stretching his arms out, “why do they call you Mafioso?”
Mafioso blinked at the question, still eating his brownie. “Pardon?”
“You heard me,” Chance repeated, cracking his fingers–meaty and soft unlike Mafioso’s, boney and rough. A sign of difference between the two. “Your name can’t just be Mafioso–who names their kids that? Is it a nickname? Are you just that badass?”
“Aren’t you full of questions,” Mafioso observed, finally finished eating his brownie. “Tell, am I really just that ‘badass’?”
Chance chuckled. “Maybe, you seem like a guy who could beat someone up.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong about that, but Mafioso now felt obliged to answer his question, after Chance did give him a piece of brownie, something that no one has ever done. “But no,” Mafioso answered, “it’s not my real name, but I have no clue what my real name is anyway.”
“What do you mean by that? Did your mother not name you or something?”
“My mother’s dead, Chance.” Mafioso said flatly. Or she’d be better off dead wherever that lady was.
Chance gave an apologetic look and an awkward laugh. “That’s…..nice?” Mafioso shot him a dirty look, and Chance pretended none of that ever happened. “So, Mafioso is just a nickname?”
Mafioso shrugged. He never really gave much thought to his name before. It was just there. “I suppose,” he merely said, rolling his shoulders.
“Eh, you must’ve done something to gain that name, right?” Chance continued on, more curious than a cat. “I mean, Mafioso, that name just sounds like something from a cartoon villain.”
Mafioso’s eyes narrowed, sharply meeting Chance’s eyes despite it being hidden underneath those sunglasses that he never took off. “There’s a reason why my name sounds like a ‘cartoon villain’, Chance. I do things for a living–things that nobody would want their hands to be dirty on.” It was better if Chance didn’t know what those jobs were. After all, they weren’t jobs a normal boy like him would do, but a boy that needed to survive would be. A boy that was unlucky in the world.
“Spooky,” Chance made a popping sound, almost like he didn’t care. “I’m surprised you even do these jobs. How old are you, fourteen, fifteen–”
“I’m thirteen,” Mafioso blankly admitted. Usually he wouldn’t have told anyone about his age–nobody knew except for Boss, his boys, and, now, Chance–but Chance hopefully knew how to keep his mouth shut, or else….
“The same age as me?” Chance looked baffled, even the sunglasses couldn’t hide the confused look. “H-how? You just look–”
“Older?” Mafioso finished, lips pressed thinly together. The two, even if they met just now, enjoyed interrupting each other’s sentences and finishing them, like they knew each other forever ago. “Yeah, I get that a lot. My height helps with that” He got it from Contractee and Caporegime when they first met, them being older than Mafioso. Sometimes, he still got baffled looks from the two. Soldier and Consigliere being the same age as Mafioso, yet Mafioso was the leader–that was written ever since they met.
Chance laughed. “Speaking of heights, sometimes my height changes, y’know,” he commented, earning a blank expression from Mafioso, so he continued on. “For real! One time I woke up even taller than you, and the same day? That’s when I found a rare item in the trash can, a fedora, fancy ain’t it?”
“Now you’re just talking nonsense,” Mafioso quickly responded, grumbling under his breath.
“Hey! I’m serious! I’ll show you. Tomorrow, I promise.”
That earned a deep chuckle from Mafioso, the first ever since the two met in that alleyway. “Who said we will see each other again?” He let out a breath that sounded like a laugh. This was just Mafioso being lucky for once. The next time–if there’s a next time–it wouldn’t be like this.
Chance frowned. “Oh, don’t be like that,” he punched Mafioso in the arm, but it didn’t hurt, not like it was supposed to. Mafioso just found it assuming, someone like Chance with him, someone that was poor and unlucky in the world with the definition of luck. And that action was sort of cute anyways. “I’ll see you, just you wait,” Chance promised, leaning back. “Then maybe you’ll introduce me to your boys then.”
Contracte would definitely like Chance and Soldier too, Mafioso thought, but he wasn’t too sure about Caporegime and Consigliere, however. Wait–what was he even thinking about?
Mafioso scoffed, “Nah, you’re just weird.”
Chance took offense, puffing out his cheeks in anger. “What do you mean by that? How am I weird?”
“Your name is Chance–”
“And your name is Mafioso.”
“You have an overweight bunny for a pet–”
“Spade is not overweight! He’s a healthy bunny! And, also, you were the one petting him before I came!”
“Your height changes everyday–”
“Okay, okay,” Chance interrupted one last time, and Mafioso grinned in victory. “Okay, maybe I am weird, but the same could be said about you, Ma-fi-o-so.”
Mafioso scoffed at the pronunciation of his name and was about to bite back before looking up at the sky. It was already getting dark, now dusk, and the sun was setting already. The boys were probably wondering where Mafioso was, maybe even searching for him throughout the streets like madmen (this happened once, and it was not the smartest decision on their part). His grip on the pizza box became tighter, and he stood up, earning an unreadable look from Chance.
“I better get going,” Mafioso explained, “it’s getting dark, and the boys–they need to eat, probably.”
Chance frowned, pouting like he was seven again. “Can’t you just stay? For even a minute longer?”
Somehow, Mafioso wanted to say yes. That he could stay, and the boys could probably take care of themselves fine. But he couldn’t. He had mouths to feed, and Chance was nothing but someone he just met a few hours ago.
Right?
Chance sighed in defeat. “Fine, fine, you’re no fun,” he complained to himself, Mafioso watching this. “But just remember, I’ll show you that my height changes everyday, and that I’m definitely taller than you.”
Mafioso scoffed, a hint of playfulness in his voice. “I like to see you try, lucky boy.” He walked off, muffled protests becoming quieter and quieter from Chance as he walked off.
That was, indeed, their first meeting and, however, not their last meeting.
Luck always has a chance, it seemed.