Page 30 of Lucky
“Enzo!” Marco bellows in warning, and I hold up my hand to stop him. We had agreed that he would not step in, no matter what. I called this meeting to clear the air, hear their grievances, and try to find some common ground with my men.
My nails dig into the table. My heart rattles in its cage. He’s only confirming everything I already know. Even my own men don’t have faith in me; they never did. I force myself to take a steadying breath, my practiced composure threatening to slip.
“This isn’t about me,”I say, my voice low and dangerous. “Your loyalty to the Vicci name shouldn’t be dependent on who’s sitting in this chair. The fact that you never gave me a chance to begin with is telling in itself. Your loyalty is to yourself. Each and every one of you!”
I point at each man in turn, my eyes meeting theirs, my gaze unwavering as I stare them down. I watched my father do it enough times to know that when I don that mask, I can be as formidable as he was. It may be short lived, but that look has a presence and a seat at this table.
Another voice pipes up from the far end of the table. “Maybe we’re starting to wonder if the fight is worth it under your rule.”
I swing my eyes toward the man. The tension snaps like a taut wire. I slam my palm on the table, the sharp crack silencing the room. “Enough!” I roar. “You think you can do better? You think you can lead this fractured, desperate group without losingpieces of yourself along the way? Go ahead. Take my place. But don’t you dare sit there and question my sacrifices.”
The man shrinks back into his chair. What most of them don’t realize is that while every man desires the opportunity to rule, not all are born leaders. My chest heaves, and for a moment, the room is silent. Then Enzo stands, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
“Maybe that’s exactly what we need—a change in leadership.”
I move before I have a chance to think. In a flash, I’m across the room, my hand gripping Enzo by the collar. I shove his head against the table with a force that knocks the breath from his lungs. “You think you can tear me down and walk away unscathed?” I snarl, my face inches from his. From the corner of my eye, I see Sergio and Marco hold back a couple of the other men.
“Jacklyn, stop!” someone shouts, but the words barely register as the edges of my vision blur, my fury taking on a life of its own.
Enzo struggles against my grip, his defiance giving way to genuine fear. “You’re proving my point,” he gasps. “You’re nothing but?—”
My fist connects with his jaw before he can finish. The room erupts into chaos. Shouts fill the air as people scramble to pull me back as I pummel my fist into his face over and over again, even as blood sprays from his nose across my own face. It takes three of them to pry me away, my body still trembling with rage.
As Enzo slumps to the floor, wiping blood from his lip, the reality of what I’ve done begins to sink in. The room’s atmosphere shifts irreversibly. Where there had been dissent, there was now fear—and disgust. Which is precisely where I want them.
I straighten, brushing my hair from my face with a firm hand. “My house, my family. Anyone that doesn’t want to abide by my rules can pack their bag and get the fuck out now.”
The meeting dispersesin uneasy silence, but the repercussions are immediate. Within the hour, whispers of my outburst spread like wildfire. Allies hesitate to meet my gaze, their uncertainty lingering like a bitter taste in the air. The dissidents’ ranks swell with newfound confidence, their murmurs growing louder, their defiance sharper. My grip on the group—the fragile unity I had fought so hard to maintain—continues to slip through my fingers.
I retreat to my office, slamming the door behind me with more force than I intend. The sound echoes, a cruel reminder of the silence that has followed me since the meeting ended. I pace the room, the events replaying in my mind in an endless loop. Each time, I come to the same inescapable conclusion; I had failed. My anger, my inability to control it, has cost me more than I care to admit—or more than I am willing to admit.
I collapse into the leather chair behind my desk, letting my head fall into my hands. The silence grows heavier, pressing down on me. A glass of whiskey sits untouched on the desk, its amber liquid catching the dim light of the desk lamp. I don’t reach for it.
A knock at the door breaks through my thoughts, sharp and purposeful. For a moment, I consider ignoring it, but the sound comes again, insistent. “Come in,” I call, my voice hoarse.
The door opens, and Sergio steps inside. His face is lined with an expression I can’t quite place—concern, disappointment, and something darker, like resignation. Heshuts the door behind him with a soft click and stands there for a moment, his hands clasped in front of him.
“Enzo’s gone, Jacklyn,” he says softly, his voice careful. “Along with five others.”
The words hit me like a sledgehammer, but I barely flinch. Somehow, I can’t find it in myself to care. The truth is, I’ve been bracing for this since the meeting ended. Enzo has been teetering on the edge for weeks, his loyalty worn thin by my choices—or, perhaps, by my failures. This was inevitable.
“And you?” I ask, my voice colder than I intend. “Will you leave me too?”
Sergio doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes drift to the glass of whiskey on the desk. His gaze lingers there for a moment before he looks back at me, his expression hardening. “You’ve had enough, don’t you think?” he says, his tone sharper now.
I bristle at the remark, a flash of indignation rising in my chest. Sergio thinks I drink like a man. What he fails to understand is that this is what happens when you spend your entire life surrounded by them. My father, my brother, my extended Vicci family—all of them, pressing their wills and their expectations onto me, molding me into something hard and unyielding. My mother was gone before I could even form a memory of her. She didn’t get to teach me softness, or grace, or how to temper the anger that had become my constant companion.
Sergio steps closer, his hands resting on the edge of the desk. His dark eyes bore into mine, unflinching. “You made a mistake, Jacklyn. A bad one. But you don’t get to sit here and wallow in it. You’re the leader. That means you get up, you face the consequences, and you fix it.”
“And how do you suggest I do that?” I shoot back, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “My men have lost faith in me.”
“How do you expect them to have faith in you, Jacklyn. When you seem to have lost faith in yourself?”
I shake my head, leaning back in the chair. “This is so much harder than I thought it would be. It came so naturally to Jack, to my father.”
“They had their own demons too, Jacklyn.”
His words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable. I don’t respond, but I don’t dismiss them either. When I look up, Sergio is watching me, his expression softening just slightly.