Page 25 of Lucky

She’s quiet for a moment, but I can hear the surprise in her breath. “A little?” she repeats, almost as if the words taste strange in her mouth.

I take the opportunity to turn my attention back toward the house. It’s almost instinct now. My eyes lock onto a window on the second floor. The curtain is swaying ever so slightly, just enough to suggest movement, a presence.

My heart beats a little faster; she’s too far away to be seen, but I know she’s there. I feel the tension of her presence in the air. She’s standing there. Watching me. But I’m no longer just talking to her on the phone. I’m talking to her across this vast expanse of land and walls, across our rivalry, across the delicate, dangerous line that separates predator from prey.

“I hope, Luciano, that this act of goodwill on my behalf proves that I’m no threat to you.”

I don’t doubt it but there’s a hint, no matter how faint, of something in her voice that tells me she’s fearful. It’s not just a matter of not wanting to start a war with us. There’s more at play here, and I’m starting to think it has less to do with my family and more to do with the problems within her own internal organization.

Which is precisely where I need her to be. If Jacklyn is a victim of infighting within her own factions, I want nothing more than for the Vicci family to tear itself apart from the inside out, because if they’re busy killing one another, they’re too busyto be causing us unwanted problems when we have enough of our own.

I hang up without another word. My silence is all she needs. Not giving her the satisfaction of a response will keep her on her toes and ensure she’s careful not to let her family’s drama extend to us again.

I start the car and drive the short distance to Ryder’s Electronics and park my car outside the building.There’s a reason why I keep Ryder on our payroll. He’s the best at what he does, and if there’s something to find, he’ll find it. When he calls me, he doesn’t give me everything, but he gives mesomething.Which is a start.

I scroll down the file he sent me on my phone, which is not much of a file, if you ask me, because it takes me less than thirty seconds to read up on Jacklyn Viccis history.

She wasn’t lying, not be a long stretch. She’s one half of the Vicci twins. Twenty-three years old, which causes me to raise my eyebrows. I’m not sure how she came to be so ballsy in the span of only twenty-three years. Plus, she appears to have taken over operations from her brother only recently; she’s not seasoned enough, and yet, she’s a killer. A cold-blooded killer.

“That’s it?” I mutter, as I come to the end of the report. I scroll down to the picture of Jacklyn, what looks to be a passport photo. Her dark hair is parted down the middle, flowing past her shoulders in casual waves. Her smile is wide and innocent, her eyes so bright, they’re like shards of brown crystal. The photo looks like it was taken a few years ago, but she hasn’t changed much except for the smile. The smile is gone. In its place is a focused energy that speaks of caution and restrained control. I wonder how long she’s been seated at the helm of the family, and what role, if any, her brother now has.

My mind flicks to her twin brother – it’s an interesting development, but it would make sense. Jack and Jacklyn Vicci.The last I heard, Jack Vicci ruled the Vicci family.MrJack Vicci, who I know for a fact was heir apparent after his father’s death eighteen months ago.

And now, the question remains – where the fuck is theotherJack Vicci?

13

MARCO

Iwas born to love Jacklyn Vicci. The very blood that pulses through my veins does so for her satisfaction. She is my world—untouchable, unknowable, yet wholly mine. Loving her should be a gift, but for me, it’s a curse wrapped in barbed wire. I don’t know how to love her without trying to control her, without wrapping her in chains disguised as protection. She doesn’t want what I want. She doesn’t see what I see. For her, our union is an inconvenience. For me, it’s inevitable.

It was all I could do to prevent her from attending tonight’s operation. We have a meet with a local arms dealer from the Cavallo family, and I don’t want Jacklyn anywhere near the roguish Emilio Cavallo; I know he’s probably just her type, and the last thing we need right now is her falling into bed with the wrong person again. I say wrong person, because I just barely saved her last time when a member of the Russian Bratva decided to tie her up and leave her chained to a bed while he went about his business getting high and crazy. Well that’s a story for another time, but what’s most important is that the world - our world - doesn’t know that Jacklyn has taken over the family business after her brother was incapacitated.We’ve decided to keep the matter under wraps until absolutely necessary. That’s why I was so pissed off that she met with Lucky Gatti and showed her hand. That, and the fact that he’s another man that’sjust her type.

Truth is, I think I’m her type too, but I’ve been cursed with the label of older brother and protector. I was her bodyguard for a while when she was a teenager, then I fit the mold of irritating older brother, and she can’t seem to look past that. She seems to think it would be incestuous for us to have a relationship, but I beg to differ. She’s everything I ever wanted and needed, and I will keep trying until my dying breath. One day, she will understand that we were always meant for one another.

Jacklyn’s safety is my main priority. We’ve been on high alert ever since Lucky Gatti messaged Jacklyn and threatened her. Because that’s precisely what his words were – a threat. Fucker thinks he can threaten my girl and get away with it – I’ll bury him myself if I have to in order to ensure her safety. Lucky’s a dead man walking. Whether it’s by my hand or Jackie’s orders, he won’t get a chance to make good on his threat.

I enter the warehouse where we’ll be meeting with Emilio Cavallo, accompanied by a dozen of my own men. It reeks of oil and decay, the air thick with dust that clings to my throat and nostrils. The old building, once a thriving hub of industry, now stands as a hollowed-out shell, its rusting skeleton barely holding itself together. A place of forgotten promises and shattered deals, the kind of place where loyalty goes to die. I stand in the far corner, leaning against a crumbling pillar, my sharp eyes scanning the room. Despite the warehouse's decay, it is the perfect meet spot, the perfect place to do trade without the inconvenience of prying eyes. It’s isolated, unmonitored, and most importantly, untraceable.

My soldiers are scattered around, their faces tense and unreadable as we wait for the drop. The Cavallo representativesaren’t late—yet—but every second they aren’t here makes my jaw clench a little tighter. I don’t like sitting exposed like this, even with half a dozen of our men stationed in the shadows, their hands on the grips of their guns.

The distant rumble of an approaching engine finally breaks the oppressive silence. I signal to the men positioned near the warehouse doors, and they move with practiced efficiency, ready to let the visitors in. The convoy arrives in a predictable formation—two SUVs flanking a sleek, black sedan. When the vehicles come to a stop, I straighten to my full height and wait.

Emilio Cavallo, the youngest and the most dangerous of the Cavallo brothers, steps out of the Mercedes. His tailored suit and loose, wavy hair give him the appearance of a businessman, but I know better. Emilio has made his name by burying competition, sometimes literally.

“Marco,” Emilio greets me with a flash of his too-white teeth as he approaches. His men hang back by the vehicles, their eyes scanning the room like hawks.

“Emilio.” I extend my arm to shake his hand.

“Heard you were upgrading,” Emilio laughs, his lips twisted in a lop-sided smirk. I’m sure he’s what the ladies would consider handsome, but there’s no denying the thread of malice coursing through him. “You going to war?” He motions for his men to start unloading crates from their vehicles. “That’s good for business. And for us.”

I give him a tight nod. “Jack believes in being prepared. And we like to keep our friends happy.”

“Let’s hope this deal keeps everyone happy,” Emilio quips, gesturing to the crates now being opened for inspection.

I move to the nearest one, flip the lid, and examine the contents. Rifles, Kalashnikovs, M16s, grenades, ammunition—it’s everything we’ve negotiated for. I nod to Vito, who moves to count the crates and double-check the inventory.

Emilio’s jaw tightens, his tone edged with irritation as he says, “You’ll find everything’s in order.” His eyes narrow, daring us to challenge his claim, the slight offense lingering in the air like smoke. “The Cavallos don’t short their partners.”