THE KING'S LAST GAMBLE

The Name He Feared

Sal Vane sat in a chair in Dominic's basement, blood on his lip, a bruise forming around his eye. But he was smiling.

Dominic stood across from him, his arms crossed, his chest still burning from the flight. Dr. Haddad had given him pills, but they only dulled the pain. They didn't fix the problem.

"Comfortable?" Dominic asked.

"Could use a drink." Sal leaned back. "Scotch. Neat. I know you have a bottle somewhere."

"You're not getting anything from me except answers."

"Then ask your questions." Sal's smile widened. "I'll tell you what you want to know. That's the funny thing about being caught—you stop caring about secrets."

Dominic studied him. Sal was too calm. Men in his position usually begged, or threatened, or tried to negotiate. Sal was doing none of those things.

"You said you have someone inside my organization," Dominic said. "Who?"

"Where should I start?" Sal tilted his head. "Your sons? Your lieutenants? The men who've been with you for decades?"

"Give me a name."

"I'll give you a riddle instead. Your traitor is someone you've known longer than you've known your own children. Someone who has seen every mistake you've ever made. Someone who has been waiting for you to fall."

Dominic's jaw tightened. "That could be anyone."

"No. It could be very few people." Sal leaned forward. "Think about it, Dominic. Who has been with you since the beginning? Who has seen you at your weakest? Who has been forced to clean up your messes for thirty years?"

Dominic felt cold. He thought of Federico. His oldest friend. His most trusted advisor. The man who had been with him since before Adrian was born.

"You're lying," Dominic said.

"Am I?" Sal's smile didn't waver. "Federico has been in Florida for years. But he's been watching. Waiting. He knows everything about your empire. And when I approached him five years ago, he was more than willing to listen."

"Federico would never betray me."

"Federico has been betraying you for a decade. He's the one who told me about Marchetti's shipment. He's the one who told me about the warehouse in Chicago. He's the one who told me about the sniper."

Dominic's hands were shaking. He wanted to hit Sal. He wanted to kill him. But something held him back.

"If Federico is the traitor, why would he come back to New York? Why would he help me find you?"

"Because you asked him to." Sal shrugged. "And because if he refused, you would have suspected him. He's playing the long game. He'll help you now, gain your trust, and then destroy you when you least expect it."

Dominic didn't respond. His mind was racing. Federico had been with him for thirty years. Federico had saved his life more than once. Federico had been the only man Dominic trusted completely.

But trust was a weakness. And Dominic had learned that lesson the hard way.

---

He left Sal in the basement and walked upstairs to his study. Federico was waiting for him, sitting in a chair by the window, reading a newspaper.

"Any progress?" Federico asked.

Dominic studied him. His white hair. His tired eyes. The wrinkles that had deepened over the years.

"The traitor," Dominic said. "Who do you think it is?"

Federico set the newspaper down. "I don't know yet. But I'm close."

"Are you?"

Federico's expression didn't change. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Dominic walked to his desk and sat down. His chest ached. His heart was beating too fast.

"Sal says the traitor is someone close to me," Dominic said. "Someone who's been with me since the beginning."

Federico was silent for a moment. Then he said, "He's trying to turn you against your own people."

"Maybe. Or maybe he's telling the truth."

"Dominic—"

"Thirty years, Federico. You've been with me for thirty years. You've seen everything. You know everything. And you've been in Florida for the last five years, out of the day-to-day operations. Out of my sight."

Federico's face went pale. "You think it's me."

"I don't want to think it's you. But I can't ignore the possibility."

"After everything we've been through—"

"Everything we've been through is exactly why you're a suspect." Dominic's voice was quiet. "You know my weaknesses. You know my secrets. You know where the bodies are buried—literally."

Federico stood slowly. "If you don't trust me, Dominic, then I'll leave. But you need to know something first."

"What?"

"While you were in Chicago, I did some digging. I found evidence of who the traitor really is." Federico reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. "And it's not me."

He placed the phone on the desk. A photograph was on the screen—a man meeting with Sal Vane in a restaurant.

Dominic stared at the photo. His breath caught.

"Who is that?" he asked.

"Look closer."

Dominic looked. The man was older, his face partially hidden by a hat. But the posture, the way he held himself, was familiar.

"Vincent," he whispered.

"Vincent Rizzo." Federico nodded. "He's been meeting with Sal for months. He's the traitor."

Dominic's mind raced. Vincent had been with him for twenty-five years. Vincent had gone to Miami. Vincent had nearly died on the yacht.

But Vincent had also been the one who knew about the shipment. Vincent had been the one investigating Vespucci. Vincent had been the one who had access to everything.

"No," Dominic said. "It doesn't make sense. Vincent could have let me die in Chicago. He could have let Sal kill me. Instead, he helped me."

"Or he helped himself." Federico's voice was quiet. "Think about it. If you die, Vincent is in the perfect position to take over. He knows every operation. He has the loyalty of the soldiers. And he's been positioning himself for years."

Dominic stared at the photograph. His chest ached. His head was spinning.

"I need to think," he said.

"Of course." Federico stood. "But be careful, Dominic. If Vincent finds out you suspect him, he'll act. And you might not survive the next attack."

Federico walked to the door and paused.

"One more thing," he said. "The man Sal mentioned—Carlo Vespucci. The one Vincent was supposed to find? Vespucci is dead. His body was found this morning in a warehouse in Red Hook. Shot twice in the head."

Dominic looked up. "Vincent said he wound him in Miami."

"Then Vincent lied." Federico opened the door. "Think about that."

He left.

---

Dominic sat alone for a long time. The photograph was still on the phone, the image burned into his mind.

Vincent. The man who had been with him for twenty-five years. The man who had bled for him. The man who had gone to Miami and survived.

Or the man who had betrayed him.

His phone buzzed. A text from the unknown number:

One question, old man. Who benefits most from your death?

Dominic typed back: Sal already tried that.

The response came fast: I'm not Sal. I'm someone who wants to help you.

Who?

A pause. Then: Look at your sons. Look at your lieutenants. Look at everyone you trust. One of them is lying. And if you don't find the truth soon, you'll die not knowing who killed you.

Dominic set the phone down. His hands were shaking. His heart was racing.

He picked up the phone and called Luca.

"I need you to do something for me," Dominic said. "I need you to watch Vincent. Watch him carefully. And if he does anything suspicious, call me immediately."

Luca was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "You think Vincent is the traitor?"

"I don't know what to think. But I'm going to find out."

"And if he is?"

Dominic closed his eyes. "Then I'll deal with him."

He hung up and sat in the darkness. The city lights flickered in the distance. His chest ached. His heart was failing.

And somewhere in the shadows, the traitor was watching.