Page 48 of Lucky
“Don’t waste your time, Daniel. You know I’ll never tell you. If that’s the reason you’re keeping me alive, you should kill me now, because I’ll die before I tell you a damn thing.”
He throws my head back with such force that the chair goes tumbling to the ground, with me in it. I land on my side, and already I feel the bloom of a bruise forming on my shoulder. Son of a bitch.
“Where is he?”
“None of your Goddamn business,” I hiss.
“The end of the road, Jackie. You’re at it. The final chapter in your story.” He leans closer, his fingers brushing against my cheek as he tilts my chin up, forcing me to look into his eyes. "You should have stayed out of this world, Jacklyn. Now, you’ll die in it."
25
LUCKY
Attila finally makes it in from France, just in time for another meeting. He walks through the door with the same quiet intensity he’s always had, taps me on my shoulder and I greet him like I’ve finally reconnected with a long lost friend. There’s something different about him; he’sevolved—tempered by time and circumstance, by the woman he married. Luna. His wife. She’s worked her magic on him in ways that are both subtle and undeniable.
His brown hair is longer than I remember, now brushing his shoulders in waves that speak of the French countryside he’s just come from. There’s an untamed wildness to it, but beneath that, a kind of purpose, like it no longer needs to be tamed, just managed. His face is sharper, his jaw more defined, the lines of his features carved deeper than before. Eyes that once held the recklessness of youth now hold something else—wisdom, a calmness that only comes with experience.
He looks at me with the faintest glimmer of amusement. But it’s not the familiar, mischievous gleam that used to accompany every conversation. It’s something more… settled. More secure.
And I realize it’s her. Luna has anchored him in a way I never thought possible.
I give him a nod, but my gaze lingers on him longer than it should. It’s strange, seeing him this way. I never expected Attila, of all people, to find balance in something as intangible as love. But here he is, a man who once thrived on chaos, now walking with the calm assurance of someone who knows where he stands, what he wants.
As I take my seat, my eyes scan the room, landing on the faces of the others gathered around the table. These men are legends. Giants in the underworld, their names whispered in hushed tones across the globe. They've spilled blood, carved out empires, and fought wars with no guarantees of survival. Each of them is a force in their own right, wielding power that commands respect.
But as I take in their expressions, something shifts. These men, I realize, are not just warriors. They're not only ruthless kings who’ve built empires on the backs of chaos. They are husbands. Partners. Fathers.
The weight of that realization hits me like a blow to the chest. And with it, the unsettling truth that these men—these titans—are not defined by the violence they’ve committed. They are tethered to something far stronger. The women in their lives. The ones who temper them, hold them steady when their worlds threaten to crack under the pressure. The women who’ve softened their edges, grounded them, and given them something to fight for beyond power or control.
I look at Attila again, this time seeing him through a different lens. His easy, almost carefree demeanor is a reflection of the peace Luna has brought him. The years of rage and chaos seem to have faded into a background hum, far less potent than the strength that comes from belonging. I shift my gaze to Dante’s empty seat. I think of how fiercely he fought for Kingsley, howshe became his anchor, the only thing that kept him from sinking into the abyss of his own mind. I think of Scar—hard as steel, a man who would never show his vulnerability to anyone. But I’ve seen the way he looks at Allegra. Soft. Protective. Like she’s the last thing standing between him and a collapse he can’t afford to acknowledge. And don’t get me started on the the way he is with his daughter Scarlett – all I can say is God help the man who one day decides that he wants to take his princess from him.
For years, I avoided relationships. I swore they would only lead to destruction, convinced that I was better off alone. That I didn’t need anyone. But now, surrounded by these men—these empires built on both power and love—I can’t help but wonder if I’ve been wrong.
Maybe wecanget it right.
As the conversation swirls around us—plans of action, logistics, moves to make on the chessboard of this city's underworld—Attila leans back in his chair, his fingers tapping absently on the table. His eyes are distant, thoughtful, but there's an ease about him that wasn’t there before. He catches my gaze and raises an eyebrow, the same teasing glint from years past still alive in his eyes.
“You miss me, brother?” he asks, his tone light but probing.
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, unwilling to show how much his presence is making me reflect on things I’d rather avoid.
“It’s always good having you guys around,” I say, trying to pass it off with a nonchalance I don’t quite feel.
He eyes me skeptically, a faint grin tugging at his lips, as if he knows I’m deflecting, avoiding something deeper. Something I’ve been avoiding for a long time.
My mind drifts back to the wreckage of my parents’ marriage. The ugliness of it. The endless fights. My father, a man of power,reduced to a shell of himself by a woman who destroyed him. A bloodthirsty woman hellbent of control and power. It was a blueprint I couldn’t escape, one I swore I’d never follow.
Relationships, I told myself, were lies. Deceit, manipulation. Control. I’d seen it all firsthand. And I promised myself I’d never be a victim to it. Not like him. Never like him.
But these men, thesebrothers—their relationships with their wives, their partners—they’re different. They aren’t built on lies. They aren’t about manipulation or control. They’re about commitment. Loyalty. They’re an exchange of trust I never let myself believe in.
The meeting ends, and the room begins to empty, but I linger in my seat. Attila stays behind, his posture shifting as he observes me. He walks over to my side, his expression unreadable.
“You’ve been quiet,” he notes, his arms crossed as he leans against the back of the chair. “What’s going on?”
I force a smile, but it feels tight and hollow. The words I want to say are stuck, lodged in my throat like a stone I can’t swallow.
He studies me for a moment, the kind of silence that stretches between us like a thread pulled taut. Then he nods toward the door. “Come on. Walk with me.”