THE KING'S LAST GAMBLE

The Silent Informant

Dominic left the estate before dawn, slipping through the back gate in a car that belonged to no one on any official record. The driver was a man named Silvio, a ghost who had worked for the family for thirty years and whose name appeared in no database. Silvio didn't ask questions. He simply drove.

The city was still half-asleep, the streets empty except for garbage trucks and delivery vans. Dominic watched the buildings slide past, his mind working through the problem from every angle.

Someone had tried to kill him. Someone inside the family had helped. And the only person who could tell him the truth was a woman he had not spoken to in eight years.

The car stopped outside a brownstone in Queens. The neighborhood was quiet, working-class, the kind of place where people minded their own business and didn't ask questions about visitors who arrived before sunrise.

Dominic got out and walked to the door. He pressed the buzzer once.

A long pause. Then a woman's voice, rough with sleep: "Who is it?"

"An old friend."

Another pause. The door opened.

Elena Ricci stood in the doorway, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, a robe pulled tight around her waist. She was fifty-one years old but looked ten years younger, the result of good genes and a life that had not been as hard as it could have been.

She stared at Dominic for a long moment. Then she stepped aside.

"Come in before someone sees you."

---

Her apartment was small but elegant, filled with books and art and the scent of coffee that she immediately began brewing. Dominic sat at her kitchen table, his hands wrapped around a mug, and waited.

"You look terrible," Elena said, sitting across from him. "When did you last sleep?"

"I don't remember."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have." Dominic took a sip of coffee. "I need information."

Elena's expression didn't change. "You always need information. That's the only reason you ever come to me."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" She leaned back in her chair. "Eight years, Dominic. Eight years since you last walked through that door. And now here you are, before sunrise, looking like death, asking for help."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Be honest." Her voice was sharp. "What do you want?"

Dominic set the mug down. "Sal Vane."

Elena's face went still.

"I know he's alive," Dominic continued. "I've known for years. But I need to know what he's been doing. Who he's been talking to. Where he's been hiding."

"And you think I know?"

"You're the best information broker in the city. If anyone knows, it's you."

Elena was silent for a long moment. Then she stood and walked to the window, her back to him.

"You're right," she said quietly. "I know where Sal Vane is."

Dominic's heart skipped. "Where?"

"Not so fast." Elena turned to face him. "Information has a price, Dominic. You taught me that."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to answer a question first." She walked back to the table and sat down. "Why now? Why are you looking for Sal after all these years?"

Dominic hesitated. Then he said, "Someone tried to kill me last night."

Elena's eyes widened. "Who?"

"I don't know. But the shooter knew exactly where I would be. Someone inside the family helped him." He paused. "And I think Sal Vane is behind it."

Elena studied him for a long moment. Then she said, "Sal Vane has been building an army for the last decade. He's been patient. Careful. He's been waiting for the right moment to strike."

"And?"

"And he's found someone inside your organization to help him." Elena's voice was quiet. "Someone close to you. Someone who knows everything."

"Who?"

"I don't have a name. But I know it's one of three people." She met his eyes. "Your sons. Or Vincent."

Dominic felt the words like a physical blow. He had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed was different.

"Which one?"

"I don't know. But I can find out." Elena stood. "For a price."

"What price?"

She walked to a cabinet and pulled out a folder. She placed it on the table in front of him.

"Inside that folder is everything I know about Sal Vane's operations. His bases. His lieutenants. His weaknesses. It's yours—if you promise me one thing."

"What?"

"When this is over, you leave this life behind. You retire. You disappear. And you never contact me again."

Dominic stared at her. "Why?"

"Because I'm tired, Dominic. I'm tired of looking over my shoulder. I'm tired of waiting for the day when someone decides I know too much." She sat back down. "I want out. And helping you is the only way I know how to get there."

Dominic was silent for a long moment. Then he picked up the folder.

"Deal."

---

He read the folder in the car on the way back to the estate. Silvio drove in silence, his eyes fixed on the road.

The information was devastating. Sal Vane had been busy. He had established operations in Miami, Atlanta, and Chicago. He had connections in law enforcement, in politics, in the banking industry. He had been preparing for this war for years.

And he had someone inside the Moretti organization feeding him information.

Dominic closed the folder and stared out the window. The sun was rising now, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. It should have been beautiful. Instead, it felt like a warning.

His phone buzzed. A text from the unknown number:

You visited Elena this morning. Did she tell you what you wanted to hear?

Dominic's blood ran cold. Someone was watching him. Someone knew his every move.

He typed back: What do you want?

The response came immediately:

I want you to suffer. I want you to watch everything you built crumble. And I want you to know that it's your own fault.

Dominic stared at the message. Then he typed:

Sal.

A pause. Then:

Hello, old friend. It's been a long time.