CHAPTER 1 DOMINICS COUP BEGINS #3
Evelyn felt the shift like a pressure change. This was the edge. "Not yet," she said. "But we will. Give us forty-eight hours."
Vincent studied her, then Dario, then Dominic. His exhale was barely audible. "Thirty-six. And you bring me proof, not guesses." He lifted a hand before Dominic could protest. "Not a discussion, Dom."
Dominic's nod was stiff. "Understood."
Salvatore pushed to his feet, his shadow blotting out the window light. "I'll have my guys ready. You find something, you call. No hero shit."
Dario's smile was thin. "Wouldn't dream of it."
The dismissal was clear. Evelyn turned for the door, but Vincent's voice stopped her. "Crane."
She looked back.
"Don't make me regret this," he said.
The hallway was colder when they stepped out. Dominic was already on his phone, barking orders. Dario checked his watch again. "We start with the docks," he said. "Paul's got a foreman there who gambles."
Evelyn nodded. The foreman's name wasn't in any file. That was new.
Dominic waited until Evelyn's footsteps faded down the hall before turning to Salvatore. "You're with me on this." It wasn't a question. The old enforcer's knuckles whitened around his whiskey glass, but he didn't contradict him.
Paul Rizzo leaned against the bookshelf, polishing a switchblade with deliberate strokes. "Dario's got eyes everywhere," he said without looking up. "Including right here." The blade snapped shut with a metallic click.
Vincent watched them all from the leather chair behind his desk, fingers steepled. Dominic could feel the weight of that gaze measuring his next move. "You want to take a shot at Vitale," Vincent said. "Fine. But you bring me proof he's compromised, not merely ambition in a cheap suit."
Dominic forced his shoulders to relax. "He's moving Crane like a queen across his personal chessboard. You really think that ends well for us?"
Salvatore exhaled through his nose. "He's kept the peace fifteen years."
"And how many favors has he called in?" Dominic pressed. "How many markers still floating around that we don't track?"
Paul tossed the switchblade onto Vincent's desk. It skidded to a stop beside a stack of ledgers. "Three shipments last month went light," he said. "Dario's crew handled the manifests."
Vincent didn't touch the knife. "That's circumstantial."
Dominic pulled a black ledger from his inner pocket. The spine cracked when he opened it to a page marked with red tape. "Cross-referenced with Greco's dock reports. Vitale's skimming at least twenty percent off the top."
Salvatore snatched the book, scanning the columns. His jaw worked silently before he passed it to Vincent.
Paul smirked. "Told you the numbers didn't walk away by themselves."
Vincent turned a page. The clock on the wall ticked six times before he spoke. "Who else knows?"
"Anthony," Dominic said. "He's ready to move when you give the word."
Vincent's thumb tapped against the ledger's edge. "And if I don't?"
Dominic met his gaze straight on. "Then I'll handle it myself."
The silence stretched. Salvatore shifted his weight, hand drifting toward his hip holster.
Vincent closed the ledger with a snap. "You get one week. Bring me Dario's head or your own." He tossed the book back. "And Dominic? Burn that fucking ledger when you're done."
Paul pushed off the shelf, grinning. "Guess we're in business."
Dominic pocketed the evidence. The leather creaked as Vincent stood, his shadow falling across them all. "One more thing," he said. "Evelyn Crane stays out of it."
Salvatore frowned. "She's already neck-deep."
Vincent adjusted his cufflinks. "Then you'd better drain the pool."
Dominic nodded once and turned for the door. Behind him, Paul murmured something about warehouse layouts. The pieces were in motion now. Dario would see the knife coming—but not from which hand.
Dominic pushed open the office door, the hinges groaning like a warning. The hallway was empty, but the air smelled of Evelyn’s perfume—jasmine and something sharper, gunpowder maybe. He didn’t look back.
Paul caught up halfway to the stairwell, matching his stride. "Vincent’s playing both sides," he muttered. "Gives you a week, then tells Sal to keep Crane clean? That’s a noose with two ropes."
Dominic thumbed the ledger in his pocket. "Vincent’s covering his ass. If we win, he claims he sanctioned it. If we lose, he feeds Dario our corpses and walks away."
Paul snorted. "Classic." He palmed a cigarette from behind his ear but didn’t light it. "Anthony’s got six guys loyal enough to storm Dario’s place, but the old man’s got that Sicilian bastard, Moretti, on door duty. You seen that fucker throw a knife?"
"Once." Dominic remembered the way Moretti’s blade had pinned a rat to the wall in Dario’s kitchen, tail still twitching. "We don’t go through the front."
At the bottom of the stairs, Salvatore waited by the exit, arms crossed. His coat bulged at the hip. "Vincent’s making calls," he said. "If Dario hears about this meeting before we move—"
"He won’t." Dominic pulled out his lighter, flicked it open. The flame reflected in Salvatore’s pupils. "Unless one of you talks."
Paul grinned. "Aw, Dom. You think I’d miss the fun?"
Salvatore didn’t smile. "Crane’s got a meet with Dario tomorrow. Private. Just them and Moretti."
Dominic’s pulse kicked. "Where?"
"Lombardi’s. Back room."
Paul whistled low. "Shit. That’s either a real bad time to hit him or the best."
Dominic snapped the lighter shut. "Get Anthony. Tell him we’re changing the plan."
Salvatore hesitated. "Vincent said—"
"Vincent isn’t holding the knife." Dominic stepped past him, pushing into the alley’s damp chill. Over his shoulder, he added, "And neither is Dario."