Page 31 of Lucky
“Get some rest,” he tells me, as he reminds me that things may only get worse tomorrow.
As he leaves, closing the door softly behind him, I sit alone in the quiet once more. But this time, the silence feels different—less like a weight and more like a challenge. Tomorrow, I’ll step back into the fire. And this time, I won’t let it consume me.
16
LUCKY
The city teeters on the edge of madness by the time Seattle arrives, chaos bleeding into every corner like ink spilled on fragile paper. The air is thick with tension, every conversation undercut by fear or fury. Just minutes ago, we received word of another attack, this time across town at a shipping yard. The targets: another family entrenched in the tangled alliances and rivalries that define our world.
Four dead—two from either side. Blood for blood. The news is grim, but it’s the implications that gnaw at me. The recent spate of violence, which began as fractures within the Vicci family, has spilled over. What was once contained is now spreading, a thin thread of discord cracking through the bloodlines, threatening to unravel the fragile peace in our city.
When Dante Accardi’s entourage arrives, it’s clear the stakes have escalated beyond even my worst fears. We had expected Dante, the big boss himself, and perhaps a couple of his trusted men. What we hadn’t expected was the show of force that now marches into our territory like an army walking toward the trenches.
The streets outside bristle with tension as his convoy rolls in. Black SUVs with tinted windows, their engines growling like predators, pull up in a tight formation. Men pour out like shadows, armed and alert, their presence a clear message. This isn’t just a meeting—it’s a show of power, a warning wrapped in iron and steel.
Inside, the air shifts the moment they step into the room. Dante enters first, his presence commanding without needing to say a word. He’s a man who wears authority like a second skin, every step deliberate, every glance calculated. Behind him, his top lieutenants file in, faces hardened, eyes scanning for threats. And then there’s the battalion—a dozen more men, heavily armed, their movements sharp and precise.
I try to mask my surprise, but the sheer scale of their arrival makes it difficult. This isn’t a negotiation team; it’s an army. Whatever is happening, Dante clearly thinks it’s serious enough to warrant bringing some heavy hitters into our city.
The only one in the room who seems unfazed is Scar. He stands off to the side, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Of course, Scar would have known. He’s the one who made the call to Seattle in the first place. Whatever was said during that conversation, it was enough to convince Dante to bring the full weight of his operation with him. And Scar, ever the calculating strategist, decided we’d find out the details in due time.
I can’t help but glance at my older brother, searching for any flicker of unease, but he remains a fortress. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitches in what might almost be a smirk. It’s as though he thrives on this chaos, the tension feeding him while it drains the rest of us.
“The Vicci family,” Dante’s voice breaks through the room, low and steady. His gaze lands on Scar, and the burden of responsibility placed on my brother feels like a weight settling in my chest. “I trust you understand the gravity of the situation.”
His words hang in the air, a challenge and an accusation all at once. Scar lifts his chin, refusing to let him see anything other than strength. “I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t.”
A murmur ripples through his men, but Dante silences it with a raised hand. He steps forward, closing the distance between us. Up close, his presence is even more overwhelming, like standing too close to a fire. He’s somehow more intimidating, more commanding, than the last time I saw him. “Then explain to me,” he says, his tone sharp, “whytheirfamily’s problems are spilling intomine.”
It’s not a question. It’s a demand.
Before Scar can answer, Brando steps in, his voice calm but firm. “It’s not just the Vicci family’s problem anymore, Dante. This is bigger than one bloodline. Someone’s stoking the flames, and if we don’t act now, it’ll burn us all.”
The room goes silent. Even Dante’s men seem to hold their breath, waiting for his reaction. Dante’s eyes narrow, his gaze flicking between Scar and Brando. For a moment, the weight of his scrutiny is unbearable. Then he nods, almost imperceptibly.
“Fine,” he says. “But understand this—if you don’t get your house in order, I will.”
The warning is clear, and it sends a chill through me. This isn’t just about the Vicci family anymore. It’s a race to stop the city bleeding out in its own mess.
“I missed you, man.”
The big man steps forward and slaps his hand on Scar’s back before they share a man-hug. The Jekyll - not his real name, by the way - is a hulking mass of man that fills the room like a bad omen. He’s the sort of man you want in your corner when you’regoing to war, the sort of man who is so damaged by his past that he’s capable of killing with his bare hands. He has ties to the cartels, an in with the Bolivians, and there’s not a man on the face of this earth more capable than he is.
The last time I saw him, he was helping us protect my sister-in-law Allegra while we supposedly languished in death. That’s a whole other story, but I can safely say the man is a monster. A friendly monster to us, but a monster, nonetheless. The Jekyll found his in with the Accardi family when he managed to save Caleph Rojas’ life a few times, and now the men who literally hated each other at one point are best friends. It’s a happy little family they’ve created for themselves, but they’re missing one.
“Where’s Attila?” I ask, trying to find the man in the many faces swimming through the room. We tried to get Seattle to stay in the compound where we’ve built our four homes, especially considering we have the room, but they opted instead to stay on two floors of the hotel we own. Which is where we are now. Attila and I hit it off last time we met, and he’s the standout for me amongst the men.
“Attila is finishing up some business in France and will fly in as soon as he can,” Caleph tells us. The arms dealer is looking better than he did the last time I saw him, if that’s even possible.
Dante’s glacial eyes are assessing as he looks around the room, taking in every man. The room has dwindled down to just a handful of us, the soldiers making use of the private dining room that’s been organised for their express benefit. I’m told his moody temperament comes from being away from his wife; he doesn’t like to travel unless she’s with him, but of course, he won’t carry her into a warzone. From what I hear, the man is obsessed with Kingsley Murray, who he married after he kidnapped her from her own father’s funeral.
“Just so you know,” Scar starts, smirking at Dante. “Allegra will kill me if you leave without having dinner with us. And I don’t much feel like leaving her so soon.”
Dante’s eyes are hard for a split second, before he breaks out into a warm smile.
“And I’m still waiting for you to bring Allegra to Seattle to meet the girls. King is going to have my hide if I don’t talk you into it.”
Dante, Attila, Caleph, and The Jekyll all live in the same high rise. Owned by them. Partners in crime; partners in real estate. Although I’ve heard Caleph doesn’t spend much time there, because he much rather prefers the sea and living on his superyacht.