Billionaire's Seduction: BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE (Alpha Billionaire Romance Collection) (BBW Pregnancy Marriage of Convenience) Read Online Free Page B
what you live with.
I’m a sports betting kind of guy. Cards, dice, this is for suckers who don’t realize the odds are always stacked against them, and fool themselves into believing they can develop full proof systems to buck the numbers. But there’s too much of a chance of losing your shirt when you play the tables, and the tables are usually nothing but penny ante stuff. The real money is betting book, plus you can actually develop a system. And the system works, as long as you don’t bet Chicago teams. The system works like gang busters if you don’t bet Chicago teams.
But I’m your usual Windy City sucker. I love my home teams, and no matter their line-ups or records, I stick behind them to the bitter end. Don’t get me wrong, I bet other teams, too. Like I said, I have a system. But I always seem to bet the biggest and with the most ridiculous point spreads when it comes to the Bulls, Bears, Cubs, and White Sox, and over the years, it’s gotten me into a bit of trouble.
I’ve been betting book with my but Sal since high school. He’s always been a stand up guy, and he’s great about running you a line of credit when your chips are down. Over the years, I’ve had my ups and downs, and Sal has always stuck it out with me because despite my losers, I have a way of picking the winners right when I need it most. Sal’s a hell of a bookie and a great friend on top of that.
But over the past few years, I’ve really been sucking eggs. I mean, I was only paying out one game out of every ten, and all those kind of numbers were only covering my vig, and barely covering it at that. But Sal being Sal, he just sucked it up with a smile, a slap on the back, and a better luck next time champ. Well, at least until six months ago when I dropped a hard dime on a Bears game. Ten grand ain’t nothing to scoff at, and most bookies aren’t going to let that kind of debt slide, including Sal.
After the loss, the big guy sat me down, poured me three fingers of Maker’s Mark over ice and said:
“Kid, I’m going to sell your debt, I can’t afford to float ya no more.”
I bet you didn’t realize bookies did that I kind of thing, but they do it all the time, particularly bookmakers like Sal. See, sports betting ain’t exactly illegal. In fact, I’m pretty sure the internet would up and disappear if you took down all the sports betting sites and porn. But old school guys like Sal, he’s not interested in moving his business online, and he’s sure as hell not interested in paying the state big, big bucks or pay taxes to make his operation legit. His whole operation is run out of his bar with a wink and smile, and the only taxes he pays are to the local gomba’s who’ll smash in his head if he doesn’t pay “tribute” to the bosses.
When it comes to selling off debt, most bookies will just sell you to other bookies. Guys who have enough capital that if their patrons drop five or ten grand they can shoulder the debt and collect the interest on the vig. But with gamblers like me, who’ve accumulated debt that’s in the tens of thousands (It might be a little closer to a hundred grand for all I know, I stopped keeping track of it years ago. I know, I’m a schmuck.), even the big money bookies wouldn’t touch me with a hundred foot pole. In fact, the only guys willing to take on my kind of debt were the guys Sal had to pay “tribute” to every month.
Sal sold me to Anthony Vecchio Jr., Chicago’s last great Italian American gangster. Okay, great’s a bit of a stretch, because he’s pretty small time, but he’s still not the kind of guy you want to owe money to.
Chances are you’ve never heard of Vecchio, but you’ve probably heard of his dad, Anthony Vecchio Sr. The guy was an absolute legend. Like most Italian gangsters, Vecchio Senior started his life off in Scilly. He was the son of a baker and sometime heroin dealer. Well, the old school Italian gangsters weren’t into anybody selling drugs, even
I’m a sports betting kind of guy. Cards, dice, this is for suckers who don’t realize the odds are always stacked against them, and fool themselves into believing they can develop full proof systems to buck the numbers. But there’s too much of a chance of losing your shirt when you play the tables, and the tables are usually nothing but penny ante stuff. The real money is betting book, plus you can actually develop a system. And the system works, as long as you don’t bet Chicago teams. The system works like gang busters if you don’t bet Chicago teams.
But I’m your usual Windy City sucker. I love my home teams, and no matter their line-ups or records, I stick behind them to the bitter end. Don’t get me wrong, I bet other teams, too. Like I said, I have a system. But I always seem to bet the biggest and with the most ridiculous point spreads when it comes to the Bulls, Bears, Cubs, and White Sox, and over the years, it’s gotten me into a bit of trouble.
I’ve been betting book with my but Sal since high school. He’s always been a stand up guy, and he’s great about running you a line of credit when your chips are down. Over the years, I’ve had my ups and downs, and Sal has always stuck it out with me because despite my losers, I have a way of picking the winners right when I need it most. Sal’s a hell of a bookie and a great friend on top of that.
But over the past few years, I’ve really been sucking eggs. I mean, I was only paying out one game out of every ten, and all those kind of numbers were only covering my vig, and barely covering it at that. But Sal being Sal, he just sucked it up with a smile, a slap on the back, and a better luck next time champ. Well, at least until six months ago when I dropped a hard dime on a Bears game. Ten grand ain’t nothing to scoff at, and most bookies aren’t going to let that kind of debt slide, including Sal.
After the loss, the big guy sat me down, poured me three fingers of Maker’s Mark over ice and said:
“Kid, I’m going to sell your debt, I can’t afford to float ya no more.”
I bet you didn’t realize bookies did that I kind of thing, but they do it all the time, particularly bookmakers like Sal. See, sports betting ain’t exactly illegal. In fact, I’m pretty sure the internet would up and disappear if you took down all the sports betting sites and porn. But old school guys like Sal, he’s not interested in moving his business online, and he’s sure as hell not interested in paying the state big, big bucks or pay taxes to make his operation legit. His whole operation is run out of his bar with a wink and smile, and the only taxes he pays are to the local gomba’s who’ll smash in his head if he doesn’t pay “tribute” to the bosses.
When it comes to selling off debt, most bookies will just sell you to other bookies. Guys who have enough capital that if their patrons drop five or ten grand they can shoulder the debt and collect the interest on the vig. But with gamblers like me, who’ve accumulated debt that’s in the tens of thousands (It might be a little closer to a hundred grand for all I know, I stopped keeping track of it years ago. I know, I’m a schmuck.), even the big money bookies wouldn’t touch me with a hundred foot pole. In fact, the only guys willing to take on my kind of debt were the guys Sal had to pay “tribute” to every month.
Sal sold me to Anthony Vecchio Jr., Chicago’s last great Italian American gangster. Okay, great’s a bit of a stretch, because he’s pretty small time, but he’s still not the kind of guy you want to owe money to.
Chances are you’ve never heard of Vecchio, but you’ve probably heard of his dad, Anthony Vecchio Sr. The guy was an absolute legend. Like most Italian gangsters, Vecchio Senior started his life off in Scilly. He was the son of a baker and sometime heroin dealer. Well, the old school Italian gangsters weren’t into anybody selling drugs, even
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