Page 45 of Lucky
“We were just meant to get the Vicci girl. No one was meant to die. These were men I’ve worked with for years; I didn’t sign up for a killing spree.”
“So, what happened?”
The old man shifts in his chair, moves his eyes away from the TV to watch his son with calculated interest.
“As soon as the convoy stopped, Russo jumped out and started shooting, turning the place into a warzone. I figured the least I could do is get her out before she became another casualty. Obviously, he wanted her alive for a reason.”
“What’s that reason?” I ask him.
He doesn’t speak for a moment, eyes darting toward the street, calculating his options. He turns back to me and shrugs. “I thought he had a vision, man. Sold us some shit about the ship sinking without a male heir, and a few of us, fools that we are, played ‘follow the leader’.
“Where is Jacklyn Vicci?”
He shrugs again, and I have an overwhelming desire to shoot him in the shoulder to prevent him doing it again.
“Where is she?” There’s no mistaking the angry lilt in my voice, but he just continues to stare at me blankly. I lift my gun and point it at his head, my gaze unwavering. I will shoot the dumb fucker if I have to, and I’ll gladly do it in front of his father. The old man doesn’t even twitch. I think I may just be doing him a favor.
“This can go one of two ways, Morty. Either way you’re a dead man.” I pride myself on not lying to people when they’re looking down the barrel of my gun. “I can make your death easy, or I can make it as painful as gravity allows. Now, you choose.”
The seconds stretch long between us, like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap. Morty’s jaw clenches, and for a brief moment, I think he might stand his ground.
“I’m not asking again,” I continue, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Where is Daniel Russo?”
The tension snaps.
“Last I heard, he was at the Vicci house,” he mutters, barely above a whisper.
I freeze. “The Vicci house?” I repeat, disbelief seeping into my voice. “Why would he go there?”
“Jack Vicci,” he says, finally. “He’s looking for Jack Vicci.”
“Why?” I ask, shooting him a look of confusion.
Monty shakes his head, and I realize the shrugs have been replaced by these slow, deliberate motions. He meets my gaze for a long moment, and I see the flicker of fear in his eyes. He knows exactly what I’m capable of. He knows better than to push me. He shuts his eyes slowly, then opens them again, exhaling a deep sigh of relief, as though letting go of a heavy burden.
"I don’t know, man." His voice drops lower, the words dragging like he’s unwilling to speak them, but feels the need to anyway. "Ever since Silvio Vicci passed, Russo’s developed a real obsession with the Vicci twins."
The door slams behind me,and before I even have a chance to settle, Scar’s voice cuts through the air like a blade.
“You shouldn’t have gone off on your own.”
His words land like a punch, the sharp edge of his anger clear in every syllable. I can feel the heat of his gaze from across the room. He’s pacing, his heavy footsteps punctuating his words as he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark strands in frustration. The tension in the air is thick—thicker than the fog I left behind when I walked out of the house earlier.
I brace myself against the wall, arms folded nonchalantly, trying to mask the irritation that’s bubbling up inside me. “I had to do something.” I snap, my voice rough from the hours of adrenaline and frustration that have built up since I left.
Scar stops pacing, turning to face me, his eyes narrowing. “Is there something else going on here? Something I need to know?” When I don’t answer, he continues raging at me. “What the hell were you thinking, going to Morty Lewis’s place alone? You know better than that.”
I bite my tongue, clenching my fists at my sides. I want to defend myself—tell him I didn’t have time to wait for backup, that Russo was spiraling and we needed to stop him, that Morty was the only lead we had—all the things he already knew himself, but I can see in Scar’s face that he’s not interested in excuses. For the most part, he lets me run the business my way, lets me make my own decisions, but even I have to admit it was stupid of me to go off all half crazy to shake Morty Lewis down for information he didn’t even have. We’re still no closer to knowing where Russo is.
He starts pacing again, back and forth, his anger rising with every step. “I get it, Lucky. You’re restless. But we’ve been down this road before. You think you’re invincible, that you can handle everything yourself. But that’s not how this works. You don’t walk into someone else’s den of snakes without backup, not when we’re dealing with someone like Russo.” Scar’s face hardens, his eyes darkening. "How differently this could have turned out had he still been at the compound! I could have lost you today. I could have lost a few good men!” I can hear the thread of control tightening in his voice.
I drop my gaze, not wanting to see the rage building in his features. I know he’s right; maybe my best laid plans aren’t always well thought out.
We were too late when we got to the compound. Jayson and a few others had joined me on a walk through; Russo had torn the place to shreds.
Scar stops pacing abruptly, the muscles in his jaw tightening. He stares at me, his eyes burning with a fury that sends a shiver down my spine. "Russo..." He breathes the name like it’s something toxic. "Is becoming a problem. A big one."
I nod, already feeling the weight of it in my gut. "It’s more than that. Russo’s making a statement. A brutal one. He didn’t stop at looting the vaults or taking weapons—he destroyed everything he could get his hands on in that house; he gutted the place. Which means this is personal for him.”