Page 49 of Lucky

I follow him outside into the crisp air, the heavy weight of the meeting finally slipping away as we leave the tense atmosphere of the war room behind. The cold bites at my skin, the quiet hum of the still air a stark contrast to the chaos we’ve been planning to face.

Attila lights a cigarette, the orange glow illuminating his face as he takes a long drag, exhaling the smoke in slow, steady streams. “You know,” he says after a moment, his voice steady, “Whatever it is, you know you have the support of every man that was in that room.”

I don’t respond, not because I don’t appreciate it, but because I don’t know how to. His words hang heavy between us, settling in my chest like a weight I can’t shake off.

And then, out of nowhere, he speaks again. “Caleph told me about Dante’s suggestion that you marry the Vicci girl.”

Something tightens in my chest at the mention of her. I’m not sure why it bothers me, but it does. The way he refers to her as if she’s nothing more than a random girl. A piece on a chessboard.

“That’s not going to work out,” I mutter, even though it sounds like I’m trying to convince myself more than him.

"Why not?" Attila shrugs, the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The girl knows the game, looks good doing it, and from what I hear, she’s got a better aim than most of us. Hell, I’d bet she’s got more balls than half the men I’ve met." His eyes gleam with the kind of knowing that makes me feel like he's already heard the whole story—probably heard about how she took out two of her own men with ruthless precision.

For fuck’s sake, who marries a woman who has blood on her hands?

The question twists in my gut, but I keep my face stone-still.

I just shake my head, frustration leaking out before I can stop it. "You don’t get it," I mutter, more to myself than to him.

Attila doesn’t miss a beat. His eyes narrow, and he leans in just slightly, like he’s trying to peel away the layers of bullshit. "Get what?" he asks, his voice shifting into something sharper, like he’s already anticipating what I’m about to say. "Unless you’re telling me you’re not into women, I’m not seeing where the confusion lies here."

I don’t even think before the words spill out, the confession I didn’t want to make hanging in the air between us, thick with something I can’t shake. "I slept with her, okay?" The words come out clipped, harsh, like I’m trying to cut through the tension with a knife.

Attila goes still for a beat, his gaze momentarily blank before he leans back, raising an eyebrow like he’s heard something truly unexpected. The smirk fades, replaced by something closer to intrigue.

He shakes his head as if he’s trying to erase my words. A mix of disbelief and curiosity creeps into his voice. "And here I thought you were all about keeping your distance. ‘No strings, no complications.’ When?”

I can’t help the bitter laugh that slips from my mouth. It’s not funny, not at all, but it feels like the only way to swallow down the mess of emotions swirling inside. “Before all this. She came to the club.”

“She sought you out?”

“I don’t think so. It just happened.”

“And after that?” he asks, his curious gaze unmoving.

“Business as usual. A few days later, the attack happened at the club and we’ve been butting heads ever since.”

Attila’s expression shifts again, something like realization dawning on him, but it's not pity, just understanding. A slow, deliberate look sweeps over him. "You think you’ve fucked this up, don’t you?" he says quietly. "You think that because you slept with her, and everything that came after, there's no going back. That you’ve crossed some line you can’t uncross."

I don’t answer, but my jaw clenches tighter. He’s right, of course. It’s all tangled up in me now—Jacklyn Vicci and everything I never should’ve let happen.

Attila lets out a soft sigh, the weight of his words landing between us. "You know, it's funny," he says, "because the one thing you’re refusing to see is exactly what you need.A connection."

The words hit me like a punch, but they’re not the kind that knocks you down—they’re the kind that leave you standing there, breathless, wondering what the hell just happened.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, my voice rougher than I want it to be.

He chuckles, a low rumble of amusement. "You're not the only one with scars, Lucky. But I learned a long time ago that the only thing more dangerous than not knowing your enemy is not knowingyourself. You're afraid of the wrong thing, brother. Fear isn’t in the bloodshed or the power struggles. It’s in your own vulnerability."

I look at him, trying to process his words, but it’s like trying to focus on a moving target. “And what, you think Jacklyn’s the answer?” I scoff. "I don’t have time for that shit. Not with everything going to hell."

Attila's gaze softens, like he’s trying to dig into me without forcing the issue. “I think you’re missing something. We all have our weaknesses, Lucky. But maybe this—" He gestures vaguely between us, the world we’re caught up in, the mess of it all, "—maybe this is where you stop running."

The space between us feels suddenly too small, too heavy, as though the very air we breathe is pressing in on me. The tension in my chest is unbearable, but Attila's words keep echoing in my head, refusing to fade. I want to argue, but I can’t—because there’s a truth buried somewhere in his words that I don’t want to face. I’ve spent my whole life running from connections, pushing people away, convinced it’s easier this way. But now... Jacklyn is somewhere out there, a part of this world I can’t untangle, and I’m here, torn between the man I am and the one I could be.

Attila straightens, a knowing look in his eyes. “You’ve got your brothers,” he continues, his voice softer now. “And they’ll always have your back. But it’s no sort of life not having someone who knows all the different little pieces of you. The good. The bad. The broken pieces. Someone who chooses you anyway, despite your flaws. It’s grounding.”

I shove my hands into my pockets, biting back the knot in my throat as we walk in silence, the quiet stretching out before us. His words echo in my mind, a lingering hum that I can’t shake off. For the first time in a long while, I wonder if I’ve been wrong. If I’ve spent all this time convincing myself I don’t need anyone, only to miss what could have been.