THE KING'S LAST GAMBLE

The Price of Silence

The bullet came from the east.

Dominic heard the crack of the rifle a split second before the window exploded. Glass sprayed across the study, and he dropped to the floor, his chest slamming against the hardwood, his breath leaving him in a violent rush.

"Stay down!"

Marco's voice came from the hallway. The bodyguard burst through the door, gun drawn, eyes scanning the shattered window.

Another shot. This one hit the wall above Dominic's desk, sending plaster raining down.

Dominic crawled toward the desk, his heart hammering against his ribs. Pain lanced through his left arm, sharp and sudden. He looked down. A shard of glass had cut through his sleeve, and blood was soaking into the fabric.

"South side," Marco shouted into his radio. "Sniper on the south side. Move!"

Dominic reached the desk and pulled himself up, ignoring the pain. His hands found the drawer, and he pulled out the loaded revolver he kept there. He had not fired a weapon in years. But his hands remembered.

"Stay here," Marco said, moving toward the window.

"Like hell."

Dominic followed him, staying low, his back against the wall. The window was a jagged hole now, cold air pouring in, carrying the distant wail of sirens.

"Can you see him?" Dominic asked.

Marco peered through the broken glass. "Rooftop across the street. He's moving."

"Then move faster."

Marco didn't hesitate. He climbed through the window, his boots crunching on broken glass, and disappeared into the night.

Dominic stayed where he was, his back against the wall, his revolver raised. The sirens were getting louder. The neighbors would have called the police. That was a problem.

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Cleanup," he said when the voice answered. "South side of the estate. Police are on the way. I need you to intercept."

"How long?"

"Five minutes. Maybe less."

"We'll handle it."

Dominic hung up and looked at the shattered window. Someone had tried to kill him. Someone who knew exactly where he would be, exactly when he would be there.

Someone inside his own house.

---

Marco returned twenty minutes later, his face pale, his breathing heavy.

"He got away," Marco said. "Left the rifle behind. No fingerprints, no serial numbers. Professional."

Dominic sat in a chair now, his arm bandaged by one of the housemaids. The cut was shallow, but it still throbbed.

"The police?"

"Handled. They think it was a gas explosion in the neighborhood. Your men are good."

Dominic nodded slowly. His chest still ached, but the pain was different now. This was not his heart. This was something else. Something colder.

"Who knew I would be in the study tonight?"

Marco hesitated. "Only a few people. Your sons. Vincent. The senior captains."

"Which means the shooter had help from someone close."

"Boss—"

"I know." Dominic stood, ignoring the protest from the housemaid. "I know what it means."

He walked to the window, stepping carefully around the broken glass. The city stretched out before him, dark and indifferent. Somewhere out there, an enemy was celebrating a near-miss.

But Dominic was not dead. And he intended to make sure the next attempt would not be so lucky.

---

The next morning, Dominic summoned all three candidates to the estate.

They arrived separately—Adrian first, dressed in a sharp suit, his expression tight with barely controlled anger. Luca came second, quiet and watchful, his eyes flicking to the broken window as soon as he entered the room. Vincent arrived last, his face carefully neutral.

"I assume you've all heard what happened," Dominic said.

"Someone tried to kill you," Adrian said. "In your own house."

"Yes."

"And you're still here?"

"I'm still here." Dominic looked at each of them in turn. "What I want to know is which one of you arranged it."

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

Adrian spoke first. "You think one of us tried to kill you?"

"I think someone inside this family tried to kill me. And the three of you are the only ones who knew I would be in the study last night."

"I was in Manhattan," Adrian said. "I have witnesses."

"Witnesses can be bought."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm always serious." Dominic's voice was flat. "Luca. Where were you?"

"At home." Luca's voice was calm. "Alone. No witnesses."

"That's convenient."

"It's the truth."

Dominic turned to Vincent. "And you?"

Vincent met his eyes without flinching. "I was at the warehouse. Reviewing security footage from Marchetti's murder. I have men who can confirm."

"Men who answer to you."

"Men who are loyal to the family."

"Everyone claims loyalty." Dominic walked to the broken window and stared out at the city. "Someone in this room knows who fired that shot. Someone in this room helped them. And someone in this room is going to tell me the truth."

"And if we don't?" Adrian asked.

Dominic turned back to face them. His eyes were cold.

"Then I'll find out on my own. And when I do, the consequences will be severe."

He walked past them and out of the room, leaving the three candidates standing in silence.

---

Adrian caught up with him in the hallway.

"Father."

Dominic stopped but didn't turn around. "What?"

"You can't seriously believe I had anything to do with this."

"I believe what I see. And what I see is a son who wants my throne so badly he can taste it."

Adrian's jaw tightened. "I want your throne because I've earned it. I've spent my entire life preparing for it. I've killed for this family. I've bled for this family. And you treat me like a suspect."

"You are a suspect."

"Then so is Luca. So is Vincent. Why am I the only one you're accusing?"

Dominic turned around slowly. His eyes met Adrian's, and for a moment, something passed between them—a memory, perhaps, of a time when things were simpler.

"Because you're the one who met with Sal Vane's people last week."

Adrian's face went pale.

"You think I didn't know?" Dominic's voice was quiet. "You think I don't have people watching you? You met with a representative of the Vane organization. You didn't tell me. You didn't ask permission. You went behind my back and negotiated with an enemy."

"I was trying to protect the family."

"You were trying to protect yourself."

"That's not true."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

Adrian opened his mouth, then closed it. He had no answer.

Dominic stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "If I find out you had anything to do with the attack on my life, I will not hesitate. You are my son. But this family comes before blood. It always has. And it always will."

He walked away, leaving Adrian standing alone in the hallway.

---

That night, Dominic sat in his study—a different room now, with reinforced windows and a guard posted outside the door—and reviewed the files on his desk.

Three files. Three suspects.

Adrian. Luca. Vincent.

One of them had tried to kill him. One of them was working with Sal Vane. And one of them would inherit everything—if there was anything left to inherit.

His phone buzzed. A text from the unknown number:

You survived. Impressive. But the next attempt won't fail.

Dominic typed back:

Who are you?

A pause. Then:

A ghost. A memory. The consequence of your sins.

Dominic stared at the message. His hands were steady, but his heart was racing.

The ghost of his past had returned. And it wanted revenge.

The next test would come soon. And this time, someone would not survive.