Page 15 of Lucky
I nod to one of my bouncers, silently asking him to check the men's identification. He does so, removing their wallets andplacing their ID cards on the desk. Idiots, if you ask me; who walks into an underworld club looking for trouble with their IDs in tow?
"Moreno. Vicci. Vicci. Calli," my bouncer reads off the names, then looks up in agreement with me and everyone else in the room. This was retaliation for some of the Vicci deaths during the gunfight with Frank Falcone. He had infiltrated the Maltese and the Viccis and persuaded some of their men to defect, a few of who died during the final showdown with Falcone. It's not our problem, but the Vicci family is still stewing in the scent of their own defeat. Still looking to start a war on our territory. My anger rises until it consumes me.
"Does your boss know you're here?" I ask, my voice becoming colder. "Did she send you?"
The man who spoke before lifts his eyes to meet mine, contempt radiating through him, but he doesn’t respond. I narrow my eyes at him; his silence is as good as an acknowledgement that Jacklyn Vicci knows exactly what’s happening in my club at this very moment. I see red. Red hot murderous rage. A few days ago, Jacklyn Vicci came into my club and seduced me. And today, some of her men came in and started a bar fight, the likes of which we’ve never seen in my establishment. The timing seems oddly off, if you ask me, and I have to wonder if her visit wasn’t research she was doing in preparation for this attack.
"You crossed a line. My line. And that cannot go unpunished. You brought this upon yourselves," I state calmly. "But let's be clear - you thought you could come into my establishment?Myestablishment!" I roar. "And there wouldn't be consequences?"
The tension in the room is palpable now, like a live wire humming and ready to snap. They know what's coming, they just don't know when or how.
I pull out my phone and unlock it.
I dial the number I've recently added to my contacts, a number I will now commit to memory. I wait for it to connect and don't even give her a chance to speak.
"The truce is over."
8
JACKLYN
Istare at the glowing screen of my phone, expecting it to ring again, but it doesn’t. My fingers tremble and my heart drops as every word he uttered replays in my mind like a shot of ice-cold adrenaline.
My breath catches in my throat. The words aren’t just a threat—they are a declaration of war. It’s not just a vague warning; it’s a statement of intent. The kind of statement that could shatter everything my family has worked for.
Luciano Gatti has declared war on my family.
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles go white. I push the device aside, but the words linger in my mind like a siren’s wail.The truce is over.
My mind races as I consider the fragile peace I have worked so hard to build. I have been careful. So careful. I’ve played by the rules. I’d even slept with the man. And enjoyed it. What more did I have to do to prove myself?
It feels like everything is unraveling. The call came through just moments ago, but already, I can feel my mental health decaying as my mind races with the implications of a war with the Gattis. My men have been gunning for a war, they’ve sensedthe tension, the shift in the air, and they’re already on edge. They can feel the cracks in our crumbling empire. And if I don’t do something about it soon, all hell will break loose.
I hear the muffled sound of arguing voices coming from the hallway, followed by the sharp, clipped tones of my men. My stomach twists. It’s not just a quiet stir. This is a full-blown eruption, the kind that heralds the fall of empires. The kind that spells anarchy.
I stand up, my chair scraping against the floor as I move toward the door. I was raised amongst men, amongst eagles, and I know the sound beyond my door all too well. The angry buzz of testosterone, the low growl of men about to snap. My men are restless—furious. Not just at the world around us, but at me. At my decisions. My leadership. There is no way they will be able to fight a war when they are so fractured.
Jack.
I close my eyes for a brief moment, feeling the weight of what I have to do. Jack has always been my rock, the steady hand in our chaotic world. But even his presence can’t protect us from the storm I’ve created. It’s time for me to protect him. And to do that, I need to leave him. I can accept whatever future is in the cards for me, even death. But the thought of my brother, my best friend, living out the remainder of his days without me, without the companionship and guidance of a sister looking after him, creates a deep ache inside me.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door, stepping out into the hallway. It’s like walking into the eye of a storm. The men are gathered in clusters, voices raised, anger simmering in the air.
“What the hell’s going on here?” My voice cuts through the noise like a blade. It is the calm before the storm that I know is heading my way.
Immediately, the voices drop, but the tension is still there, thick as fog.
One of my lieutenants, a burly man named Sergio, pushes Marco’s hand off him and turns to me, his face a mix of frustration and concern. “Boss, there was a fight at one of the Gatti clubs, and we?—”
He takes one look at me and stops talking. I must look the way my insides feel – like they’ve drained of all color, all purpose, all relevance in this world. A fight at the Gatti club. The Gattis are notoriously fierce when it comes to trespassing on their territory. I don’t have to guess at what happened. I don’t have to guess where.
“Which club?”
“Ignite.”
I close my eyes, heave in a deep breath and let it out before my eyes flutter open again, ablaze with murderous fire. Of course, it had to be the club I was at just a few days ago. Of course, the fight had to coincide neatly with my visit. And of course, no surprise, Lucky Gatti would be thinking, right about now, that I orchestrated the whole thing to stab him in the back and take my shot at him. That’s the only thing that would make sense, despite any arguments I could present. My own men have shot me down in front of the Gattis.
“Who was it?” I ask, looking at Marco, who obviously tried to prevent the news reaching me. I don’t know what he hoped to accomplish by keeping me in the dark, but I can only imagine that he thought he’d handle the situation himself.