The Gambling System

Chapter 8: Let's eat

Noir handed Peter a set of fresh clothes. His old ones were shredded beyond repair, and he was surprised she even bothered to save them. Once he was dressed, she motioned for him to follow her.

Peter couldn’t believe his eyes as they stepped outside. Parked in front of them was the most expensive car he had ever seen in his life. Sleek, black, and polished to perfection, it looked like it belonged in a luxury magazine.

“Get in,” Noir said, sliding gracefully into the driver’s seat.

Peter hesitated for only a moment before climbing into the passenger side. His jaw dropped as he sank into the leather seat, the interior more comfortable than anything he had ever touched. The car hummed to life, gliding smoothly onto the road like it was floating.

He couldn’t help himself. “Where are we going?” he asked.

Noir smirked, keeping her eyes on the road. “You’ll see.”

As they drove, Peter gazed out the window at the passing city lights, his curiosity growing with each turn. When they pulled into a port and he caught sight of their destination, his jaw hit the floor.

“Welcome to Madonna,” Noir said with a knowing smile.

Before him was a colossal cruise ship, its gleaming white hull illuminated by hundreds of golden lights that reflected off the water’s surface. The ship was a modern marvel, towering over the docks like a floating palace. Multiple decks sprawled outward, lined with glass railings and shimmering lights. Peter could see luxury restaurants, pools, and even a small garden nestled on the upper levels. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen.

“This… this can’t be real,” Peter stammered, unable to tear his eyes away from the massive ship.

“It’s real, alright,” Noir said, stepping out of the car. “Come on, let’s eat.”

…

They sat on the ship’s top balcony, overlooking the sea as it sparkled under the moonlight. The breeze was cool and carried the faint scent of salt. Peter dug into his meal like a man starved, barely noticing Noir sipping her mocha with quiet elegance.

Halfway through a bite, he paused, realizing something. “So,” he said, swallowing, “aren’t you at least going to tell me your name?”

Noir looked up, tilting her head slightly as if trying to remember. “Call me Noir,” she said with a playful smile. “Noir Quinn.”

Peter blinked. What an odd name, he thought.

“Okay, Mrs. Quinn,” he said, leaning back. “Why am I here? What do you want with me?”

“Who said I was married?” she teased, dodging his question.

Peter sighed. He could see right through her evasion, but looking at her, he couldn’t help but wonder how she wasn’t married. Every eligible bachelor must be blind or broken, he thought to himself.

“Fine. Miss Quinn, then,” he corrected. “But seriously, what’s this about? Why are you helping me? And how the hell do you have ten million euros to toss around like pocket change?”

Noir set her mocha down and gave him a mischievous smirk. “If you want answers, you’ll have to address me as I’d like to be addressed.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. How can someone so elegant be so childish? Still, he wasn’t about to waste time arguing.

“Noir,” he said slowly, emphasizing her name, “I have to get back to my mother soon. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Her smirk widened. That’s the face she had been waiting for— his game face.

“So that’s what drives your gambling spirit” she said.

“What?” Peter asked lost and confused.

“I saw your bet earlier. Roulette. All on black.” She leaned forward slightly. “That was bold, Peter. Reckless, but bold. You’ve got a natural talent.”

Peter shook his head. “That wasn’t talent. That was just luck.”

“And what is luck, exactly?” Noir countered. “Do you think I won our coin toss with luck?”

Peter froze as Noir pulled the coin from her coat and held it out to him. She turned it in her fingers, showing him both sides.

Both sides were tails.

“You cheated?” Peter blurted, shocked at how easily he’d been fooled.

“No,” she said calmly. “I created my own luck. Just like you did.”

Peter stared at her, trying to process what she meant. Created my own luck?

Peter thought back to his roulette bet. To the crowd, it looked like blind luck, but in his mind, it was strategy—math, probability, and risk management disguised as a gamble. He’d known the odds of landing on black in a single spin were roughly 48.65%. Not great, but not terrible either. With two spins, those odds improved to about 73.64%. If he’d made it to a third spin, the chances of landing on black would have been 81.03%. It wasn’t guaranteed, but the odds had been in his favor. He’d leaned on those numbers, taken the risk, and it had paid off.

Peter swallowed hard, his thoughts interrupted. “You were watching me,” he said slowly.

“Of course,” Noir replied. “I’ve been watching you for a while, Peter Donovan.”

He stiffened. “Why?”

“Wrong question.”

“Pardon?”

Noir leaned back, crossing her legs elegantly. “What is someone with your potential doing living as a pizza delivery boy, struggling to scrape together enough money to save his mother?”

Peter felt a spark of anger flare in his chest, but it fizzled out just as quickly. She was right—he was a pathetic delivery boy who couldn’t even pay for his mother’s medical bill.

His shoulders slumped as he bowed his head, his hands trembling slightly.

Noir’s voice softened, almost gentle. “The question you should be asking is how I can help you change that.”

Peter’s head shot up, his eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

“This world,” Noir said, gesturing around them, “is ruled by gambling. Politics, the stock market, sports, elections—they’re all just different scales of betting. Some bet with votes, others with investments. Even love is a gamble, Peter. Everything comes down to risks, odds, and stakes.”

Peter listened, captivated. Her words made sense, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Noir leaned forward, her eyes locking onto his. “But most people don’t know how to gamble. They play recklessly, blindly. They lose everything because they don’t understand the game. But you, Peter… you have the potential to play on a different level.”

Peter clenched his fists. He didn’t care about politics or ruling the world. His stakes were simple—his mother. That was all that mattered.

He rose to his feet, bowing his head so fast it hit the table so hard “I accept you offer he said firmly. “Teach me how to gamble.”

“What!?” Noir blinked, taken aback.

There was an awkward silence, Peter was certain he understood what she was trying to telling him before she even said it. He was sure he came to him become she was in search of a gambling apprentice.

“I…. I thought that’s …. I thought you were offering to teach me how to gamble” Peter stuttered, he had been more embarrassed in his entire life.

“Peter I am a professional gambit… not the street kind of gambling were in ”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Peter continued. “Just show me how to do what you do.”

Noir studied him for a long moment before letting out a quiet laugh. “Peter, I don’t think you understand. Gambling at my level isn’t like playing roulette or blackjack. The risks, the dangers, the sacrifices—they’re far greater than you realize.”

“If I don’t learn the right way, I’ll lose even more,” Peter countered, his voice steady.

Noir was quiet for a few second,

She sighed, leaning back. “I’m sorry Pete, I can’t take you on as my apprentice. It’s too dangerous for both of us.”

Peter’s face fell.

“But,” Noir said, her tone softening, “I have another suggestion.”

Peter looked up. “What is it?”

“How would you like to attend a G.U.?”

Peter frowned. “What’s that?”

“The first step to becoming a true professional.” Noir said with a smile

Peter froze, her words sinking in.

“Peter how would you like to study at the Gambling University”