GTA V : The golden

Ethan stepped outta the club, leaving behind the flashing lights and booming music. He wasn't in a hurry, just wanted to clear his head. He reached into his black jacket and pulled out his phone. The screen lit up with a message from Lester:

> "Your cut's been wired. Check your account."

> "Good job last time. Some people need more than just cash, but if you're looking for more high-paying gigs, hit me up, Ethan James."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, then opened his bank app. The new balance popped up – half a million bucks added to his account, bringing the total to almost 600 grand. Lester was always on time, but seeing the money with his own eyes felt different.

> "Damn, that's the biggest chunk of change I've ever seen in my account at once... Not like I'm greedy or anything, but who'd say no to this kind of dough?"

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and strolled down the street. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of exhaust fumes and expensive cologne from the night owls passing by.

Across the street, a huge building caught his eye. The glass facade reflected the city lights, and a bright sign read:

> "The Diamond Casino & Resort"

He paused, checking out the building – the sharp angles, the lights bouncing off the windows, and the fancy cars lined up at the entrance. Some dudes in black suits stood guard, eyeing everyone who walked in. Ethan wasn't a gambler, but he figured he could take a peek.

He crossed the street and walked through the revolving doors. The first thing he noticed was the massive lobby, decked out with huge crystal chandeliers that shimmered on the white marble floor. The walls were painted a creamy ivory with gold trim, and dark wood tables were scattered around the room.

The music was smooth, but it didn't drown out the chatter, the women's laughter, the clinking of coins in the slot machines, or the sound of cards being slapped on the tables.

> "This place is designed to suck money outta your pockets any way it can."

He wandered through the room, checking out the scene. The guys here were a mixed bag – some in fancy suits and ties, others in open shirts and expensive pants. The women were a mix of class and sexiness – sparkly gowns, bare shoulders, jewels glittering under the chandeliers, and high heels clicking on the floor.

He passed a blackjack table where a gray-haired dude was slamming his fist on the table, muttering:

> "Damn it... I was so close!"

The dealer just chuckled and said in a monotone voice:

> "Better luck next time, sir."

Ethan kept walking until he reached a corner of the room where a bunch of people were crowded around a giant wheel spinning under bright lights. An electronic board above it showed the prizes: fancy clothes, free casino chips, cash, and finally...

> "The Grand Prize: Grotti Itali RSX"

The car was displayed on a raised platform next to the wheel – red, shiny, and with a sleek design that screamed speed. Ethan smiled to himself as he watched the crowd around the wheel.

> "So, that's what gets them going?"

He joined the crowd as a middle-aged dude in a silky blue shirt spun the wheel. It landed on "5000 free chips," and he sighed in disappointment:

> "Damn, I was so close to the car!"

A young guy with slicked-back hair and a gray jacket chuckled and patted him on the shoulder:

> "At least you didn't get a cheesy casino t-shirt."

Some people laughed, and the wheel operator called out:

> "Next!"

Ethan found himself at the front of the line. It was his turn. A dark-skinned dude in expensive clothes smiled at him:

> "Good luck, man. Maybe tonight's your night."

Ethan glanced at the wheel, grabbed the handle, and gave it a good spin.

It started spinning fast, the lights flashing, the prizes whizzing by. Some people watched, some were excited, some didn't care.

> "He just spun it like that? Is he a newbie?" someone said from behind him.

Ethan didn't care. He wasn't trying to win the car, just wanted to try his luck.

The wheel slowed down... clothes, chips, cash...

It stopped.

> "_"

There was a moment of silence, then the announcer's voice boomed:

> "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner for tonight's grand prize – a Grotti Itali RSX!"

A wave of applause and cheers erupted, some people whistling in amazement or envy.

The guy in the gray jacket slapped Ethan on the back, laughing:

> "Dude, I can't believe it! You won!"

The dark-skinned dude shook his head in disbelief:

> "That's some crazy luck."

Ethan didn't change his expression much, but he felt a rush of adrenaline. He wasn't expecting this, but now...

> "Guess I'm adding a new car to my collection, even though I only have one," he thought to himself.

People kept congratulating him as the operator walked over with a clipboard:

> "Congratulations, sir. Please come with me to fill out the paperwork."

Ethan took one last look at the shiny car, then followed the operator, wondering:

> "Is this just a coincidence... or is luck on my side tonight?"

After finishing the paperwork, Ethan walked out of the casino, across the fancy lobby, and towards the exit. The night air was cooler now, but it felt good. The red and blue lights from the buildings around him reflected on the wet pavement, and the sounds of the city continued their usual symphony – rumbling engines, bits of laughter, and distant music.

Outside, in the parking lot, his new car was parked by the curb, gleaming under the streetlights. A Grotti Itali RSX – a red masterpiece, its sleek lines reflecting the lights like it was alive. The windows were tinted, the black rims had a sharp, sporty design, and the small spoiler hinted at the power hiding under the hood.

Ethan stopped in front of it for a moment, then ran his hand over the smooth surface. He wasn't a car fanatic, but he appreciated the design. He opened the door and slid inside, where the leather seats and high-tech dashboard greeted him. The smell of new leather was strong, and the control buttons and racing-style steering wheel added a touch of luxury mixed with power.

But before he could start the engine, a cheerful voice called out:

> "Hey man, how much you want for it?"

Ethan looked up and saw a guy standing next to the car. He was tall, with short black hair, wearing a dark leather jacket over a yellow shirt. He had a shiny silver watch on his wrist, and his eyes had a mix of interest and challenge.

Ethan replied calmly:

> "It's not for sale."

The guy chuckled and shook his head like he'd heard that before:

> "Come on, everything's got a price, my friend."

Ethan didn't say anything. He just turned the key, and the engine roared to life, making the guy raise his eyebrows in admiration. But he wasn't ready to give up yet.

> "I'm serious, I want to buy it. How much?"

Ethan stared at him through the open window:

> "I told you, it's not for sale."

The guy's expression changed a bit, and his smile turned into something harder. He put his hand on the roof of the car and leaned in, saying in a low voice:

> "You don't know me, do you?"

Ethan didn't reply, but he didn't look away either. The guy continued, his voice lower but sharper:

> "I'm with the Vagos... and when I want something, I usually get it."

The name Vagos rang a bell – one of the most dangerous gangs in the city, known for everything from drugs to robberies and violence. But Ethan didn't seem impressed. He just leaned back in his seat and said casually:

> "Well, looks like this is the first time you're not getting what you want."

The guy's eyebrows furrowed, and there was a clear tension in his face, but he tried to stay cool. He was quiet for a moment, then gave a half-smile:

> "You're cockier than I thought..."

Before walking away, he pulled out a small knife from his pocket and, with a quick flick, scratched the side of the car, leaving a long line from the door to the rear wheel.

Time seemed to freeze. The sound of metal on paint was sharp enough to make some passersby turn their heads. Then, the guy looked at Ethan, smirked, and muttered:

> "Enjoy your new car, champ."

But before he could leave, two casino security guards in black suits showed up, walking quickly towards him. One of them said sternly:

> "Step away from the car, now."

**The guy laughed and raised his hands

The guy laughed and threw his hands up in the air, like he was surrendering, but he wasn't worried at all. One of the guards added:

> "If you don't leave right now, we're calling the cops."

The guy looked at Ethan one last time, his smirk still there, then turned around and walked away slowly. He got into a classic Voodoo car and sped off, flipping Ethan the bird before he disappeared.

Ethan didn't move from his seat. He just watched the guy drive away, his face like stone. After a moment, he slowly turned his head and looked at the long scratch on the side of his car.

He sighed quietly and muttered under his breath:

> "Gotta leave your mark, huh?"

Then he grabbed the steering wheel, hit the gas, and the car roared to life, leaving the casino, the guy, and the new scratch on his fancy car behind him.

In a neighborhood on the south side, where old houses mixed with abandoned warehouses, the classic Voodoo pulled up to the curb.

Ramiro stepped out. He was in his late twenties, wearing an open shirt and a gold chain that sparkled under the streetlights. He walked into an old garage that he and his buddies used as their hangout. There was some laughter and the sound of bottles clinking together.

Inside, three guys were sitting around a beat-up table, with playing cards and some open beers in front of them.

> "You're late, man. Where you been?" Marco asked. He was a big dude with dark skin and tattoos all over his arms.

Ramiro sighed and sat down on a rusty chair:

> "I had some business to take care of... you know, some old scores to settle."

> "Don't tell me you went to that damn chop shop again?" Felix said. He was a skinny, blond guy, smoking a cigarette.

Ramiro smirked and pulled out his lighter, lighting his cigarette slowly:

> "The chop shop? Nah, but I drove by there. Met some dude who needed a lesson."

Marco raised an eyebrow:

> "Don't tell me you got him into trouble?"

Ramiro laughed:

> "Don't worry, Marco. He wasn't worth the effort."

Felix took a sip of his beer and looked out the broken window of the garage:

> "Speaking of trouble... who's that?"

They all looked out at the street. A stylish woman was walking by, her high heels clicking on the sidewalk. She was walking fast.

Ramiro watched her, then stood up slowly and took a deep breath.

> "Hold on, don't tell me you're gonna—" Felix started, but Marco cut him off, shaking his head:**

> "Let him be. He never learns."

Ramiro didn't say anything. He just followed the woman silently.

A stylish woman, wearing a tight red dress, her dark hair flowing over her shoulders like a dark wave. She was walking alone, her high heels clicking on the sidewalk.

> "Tonight just got better," Ramiro muttered to himself before he decided to make his move.

He threw his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his shoe, then walked towards her confidently.

> "Good evening, miss... I was looking for something beautiful tonight, and it looks like I found it."

The woman turned around slowly, looked at him with cold eyes, and then kept walking.

Ramiro didn't give up. He walked beside her, smirking:

> "Oh, the silent treatment? I like it. It makes things more interesting."

The woman sighed, but she didn't stop walking.

> "Give me a chance, just one minute. One minute, and if you're not convinced, I'll disappear."

The woman finally stopped and turned to him. She looked him up and down, then said in a quiet, dry voice:

> "I don't date guys who drink beer on the corner, or guys who think cheap pickup lines will make me fall for them."

Ramiro smiled, but it looked like he'd been slapped in the face.

> "Damn... that's a new one," he muttered, biting his lower lip.

> "Rejection isn't new to you, is it?" the woman added before turning around and walking away, confident that she'd shut him down.

But for Ramiro... this time it was different.

He was tired of being rejected, by the dude earlier, and now this woman.

He watched her walk into a store, her face like ice.

A while later, the woman came out of the store, carrying a bag. She walked down the quiet street, thinking to herself,

> "What did little Sam like again?" she said, looking at the toys she'd just bought.

She felt something weird, looked behind her, but the street was empty. She walked faster, her heels clicking on the sidewalk.

She stopped at the entrance to an alley, glanced behind her, but still didn't see anyone. The air in this part of the city was colder, and the smell of dampness filled the air. She wasn't scared, just cautious, like she was used to walking alone in places like this.

A few steps behind her, Ramiro was moving slowly, his anger building up with every step. His right hand was playing with his belt buckle, his eyes fixed on her. He knew these streets, and he was confident he could finish this quickly – just a little luck, a little muscle...

But before he could get any closer, he felt a strong force pulling him to the right, into a dark side alley. He didn't have time to figure out what was happening, he just realized that he wasn't following her anymore. Now, he was facing someone else.

A strong arm wrapped around his neck, a heavy arm pressed against his throat, and a hard hand tightened around his neck. It wasn't a quick choke, it was tight and calculated, like someone knew exactly what they were doing.

Ramiro started to struggle, his hands trying to grab the arm crushing him, but he wasn't strong enough to break free. He looked up and saw a shadow above him. He saw – just for a split second – two sharp blue eyes, shining in the darkness like a knife in the moonlight.

He tried to scream, but no sound came out. There wasn't enough air. Ramiro tried to hit the man with his elbow, but the blow didn't faze him. He didn't move, just tightened his grip on Ramiro's neck. Ramiro felt dizzy, starting to lose consciousness, but he didn't give up.

With all his remaining strength, he tried to push the man away, but his grip was too strong. Ramiro felt the air leaving his lungs, his heart stopping. At that moment, Ramiro realized that it was over. He didn't have a chance to escape or fight back. He gave up, closed his eyes, waiting for death.

But death didn't come. Ramiro felt something strange happening. He felt his pants sliding down, revealing his underwear. He didn't understand what was happening, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to die in peace.

But the man didn't kill him. He lifted Ramiro off the ground and carried him in his arms. Ramiro was completely unconscious, he didn't feel anything.

The man carried him to a car parked near the alley. He put Ramiro in the back seat and closed the door. Then he got into the front seat and started the engine.

The car sped off, leaving the dark alley behind. There was no one in the street to witness what happened. There was no one to stop the man from doing what he was doing.

Ramiro was lying in the back seat, completely unconscious. His pants were pulled down, revealing his underwear. The man looked at him in the rearview mirror, a smirk on his face.

> "I'm gonna get to know you better, Ramiro," he thought to himself.