Chapter 3 – The House Always Wins 

The Regency wasn't just a casino—it was a kingdom built on desperation. A monument to the kind of men who thought luck was real, who believed, deep down, that the next hand, the next roll, the next spin would turn it all around.

It never did.

The house always won.

The soft chime of slot machines mixed with the low hum of whispered deals, the scent of top-shelf whiskey and burning cigars barely masking the stink of sweat and bad decisions. Dice rattled against green felt, the soft clink of whiskey glasses mixing with the quiet hum of lives being ruined in real time.

Dom Ricci walked through the private entrance, past the velvet ropes, past the stone-faced security guards who nodded without a word. He didn't need to flash credentials. He was the credentials.

Vinnie Costa walked beside him, sharp-eyed, his gaze lingering on the high rollers gathered around the tables. He wasn't just watching the gamblers—he was watching Dom, the way he commanded a room without trying. The way power bent toward him like a rigged wheel.

In the VIP lounge, the world outside faded. Here, in the hush of leather booths and dim lighting, the real gambling happened—not with cards or dice, but with influence, secrets, and the kind of favors that changed lives.

And tonight, one man's life was already changing.

The Power Play

Senator Orsini sat in a corner booth, his silk shirt darkened with sweat despite the perfectly calibrated air conditioning. He was a man who had spent his life making deals—but tonight, he wasn't the one with leverage.

Dom slid into the seat across from him, setting his whiskey glass down with a deliberate clink. Vinnie took a seat beside him, silent, watching.

"You're jumpy, Senator," Dom said, studying him like a man considering whether to make a bet. "Bad luck at the tables?"

Orsini forced a chuckle, but it sounded thin, like a man trying to convince himself he was still in control. "We got a problem, Dom."

Dom tilted his head, lazily swirling his drink. "We?" he echoed. "Didn't realize I ran for office."

Orsini exhaled sharply. "The Feds are sniffing around. Corruption probe. They're looking at campaign donors, backchannel deals—things that lead here." He swallowed hard. "That lead to you."

Dom took a slow sip of his drink. "Then I guess you got work to do, Senator."

Orsini leaned in, lowering his voice. "I need this to go away."

Dom drummed his fingers against the table, letting the silence stretch. This was the moment—when a man realized he wasn't negotiating. He was begging.

Finally, Dom spoke.

"There's a judge in the Southern District," he said. "Loves horses. Big gambler. Lotta debts."

Orsini blinked, processing.

"You make the right call," Dom continued, "and he'll lose the paperwork. The Feds get distracted. You go back to your nice office and pretend none of this ever happened."

Orsini's relief was visible. "I—I can do that."

Dom leaned in slightly, his voice low, controlled. "No, Senator. You will do that. And next time you come to me?" He let the words hang, his gaze locking onto Orsini's. "Don't make me remind you who put you in that chair."

Orsini swallowed hard and nodded.

Vinnie smirked, watching the exchange.

Taking notes.

A Student Studying His Master

Back in the main lounge, Dom and Vinnie stood by the bar, overlooking the casino floor.

"You see how easy that was?" Dom said, sipping his drink. "He thinks he's in control, but the second he feels pressure? He folds. Men like him always do."

Vinnie exhaled, his eyes scanning the room. He wasn't looking at the gamblers. He was looking at the game behind the game.

"You ever wonder if one day you'll be the one sweating through your shirt?"

Dom chuckled, taking another sip. "I don't gamble, kid. I own the house."

Vinnie took a slow drink of his own whiskey. "Even the house can lose, Dom." His voice was smooth, thoughtful. "You run enough games, someone always finds a way to beat the odds."

Dom gave him a sideways glance, but before he could respond, something caught his eye.

The Watcher in the Shadows

Detective Ray Calderone sat at the far end of the bar, half-hidden in the neon glow, a cigarette burning between his fingers.

He wasn't drinking much.

He was watching.

From his seat, he saw the way Dom moved through the casino, the way men like Orsini leaned in close, desperate for reassurance.

And he saw Vinnie.

The way Vinnie hovered, soaking it all in.

The line between criminals and politicians had never been thinner.

Calderone took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke.

He could take Dom down. He should take Dom down.

But watching the senator practically grovel, Calderone had to ask himself—was Dom really the worst thing in this city?

Or was he just the only honest one?

He flicked the ash from his cigarette, watching as Vinnie stepped closer to Dom, murmuring something with a smirk.

That one, Calderone thought.

That's the one to watch.

The Shift in Power

As Dom and Vinnie stood at the bar, Rizzo, one of Dom's lieutenants, approached. His voice was low, urgent.

"Word is someone's been asking questions," Rizzo murmured. "Someone inside."

Dom waved it off. "There's always rumors, Rizzo. Half this city would sell their own mother if the price was right."

But Vinnie didn't let it go.

He leaned in slightly, voice smooth. "Smart men clean house before the mess even starts."

Dom smirked. "You worried about something, Vin?"

Vinnie smiled, too easy. "Not yet."

Dom shook his head, amused. He'd known Vinnie for years.

Vinnie was his.

He always had been.

Hadn't he?

Vinnie turned to Rizzo, voice low, controlled. "Find out who's been talking," he said. "And don't tell Dom until we're sure."

Rizzo hesitated. "You sure that's your call to make?"

Vinnie gave him a slow, easy grin. "You want Dom hearing about a rat before you got proof? Or you wanna make sure you're right first?"

Rizzo nodded. "I'll handle it."

Vinnie patted him on the shoulder. His grip was just a little too firm.

For the first time, Vinnie wasn't just following orders.

He was giving them.

The House Always Wins

Later that night, Dom sat alone in the VIP lounge, nursing a final drink.

The casino hummed outside, the endless churn of winners and losers, men throwing down everything they had in the hope that, just once, the odds would be in their favor.

Orsini had folded.

Calderone was watching.

And Vinnie… Vinnie was learning.

Dom smirked, swirling the last of his whiskey.

"The house always wins, Senator," he had told Orsini earlier.

He just better hope he was still sitting at the table when the bets were called.

Because someone else was already stacking the deck against him.