Page 57 of Lucky

“Don’t move. Stay exactly where you are. I’m coming for you.”

And for the first time in days, I let out a breath. A tiny spark of hope ignites in my chest as I feel like I might just survive this.

I sitin the corner booth of the diner, my back pressed against the wall, my eyes darting to the windows every few seconds. The older man who picked me up on the side of the road and brought me here—David, as he introduced himself—sits across from mewith a steaming mug of coffee. He’s been kind, offering me a blanket from his car and a quiet reassurance I’m too strung out to absorb fully. He has watery, pale blue eyes that speak of years of wisdom and peer at me as though he doesn’t quite understand where I materialized from.

The waitress, a middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense air, brings me water and a plate of toast without asking. I nibble on the corner of the bread, trying to keep my hands from trembling, but the jittery adrenaline hasn’t left my system.

“Don’t worry, kid,” David says, breaking the silence. “Whoever you’re running from won’t find you here.”

I nod, clutching the warm ceramic mug in my hands, the heat grounding me.

The bell above the diner’s entrance jingles, and my heart leaps into my throat. Two men enter—burly, wearing dark jackets—and I immediately tense. Their eyes scan the room, and for a split second, I’m certain they’re here for me. But they move to the counter, talking in low voices to the waitress.

“They’re regulars,” David says, his voice low, and immediately my anxiety dissipates.

I force a nod. The minutes stretch into eternity. I keep my gaze on the windows, watching for headlights, for any sign of Lucky. And then, I see it—a pair of beams cutting through the night, the low rumble of an engine growing louder. The sound of more vehicles as they come to a screeching halt outside the diner.

The truck screeches to a stop outside, and the diner’s door bursts open. Lucky strides in, his face shadowed beneath a baseball cap, his dark hair brushing his collar. He looks different when he’s not in a suit—leaner, sharper—but his eyes, those cold, calculating eyes, haven’t changed as they skirt across the room looking for me.

Behind him, three men follow, their presence suffocating the small space. They’re armed, though they keep their weapons discreetly out of sight. When Lucky’s gaze finds mine, his expression softens in an instant.

“Jacklyn,” he says, crossing the room in three long strides. He stops short of touching me, his eyes scanning my face, taking in the dirt, the bruises, the exhaustion. “You look like hell.”

“I feel like it too,” I mutter, my voice shaky. Finally feeling safe, I let out the sigh I’d been holding in and watch as Lucky’s men stand by the door and keep their eyes trained outside the diner.

David rises slowly, his kindly eyes finding mine as a small smile spreads across his face. “Looks like you’re in good hands,” he tells me, dipping his chin in Lucky’s direction. “Tab’s taken care of.”

“Thank you,” I say, meaning it. I give him a weak smile as I continue. “I’m truly grateful.”

Once David is gone, the tension in the room thickens. Lucky’s men fan out, one by the door, another at the counter, and the third scanning the parking lot through the window. Lucky crouches in front of me, his voice low.

“What happened, Jacklyn?”

I shake my head, pressing my palms against my eyes. “It’s... it’s too much. He’s going to kill me, Lucky. He won’t stop.”

I watch as his expression morphs form concerned to angry in a second. He stands abruptly, pulling out his phone and barking orders into it. I catch fragments as he asks more men to secure the perimeter and bring the car up to the door, before he hangs up and gestures to me.

“Let’s go.”

I stagger to my feet, my legs weak beneath me, and he steadies me with a hand on my elbow.

The night outside is colder than before, the air biting against my skin. A black SUV idles by the front door, its engine humming softly. Lucky opens the door and practically lifts me into the backseat.

As the SUV peels out of the lot, Lucky glances back at me, his jaw tight. “You’re safe now. If Daniel Russo wants you, he’ll have to go through me first.”

A heavy sigh escapes my lips, but the weight in my chest doesn’t lift. Because as we speed through the darkness, all I can think about is all the men I’ve lost and the family I’ve lost control of.

I’mglad I’m alive. I am. It’s only by some sheer miracle that I managed to escape my captors and chanced upon a stranger who was willing to help me get to safety. And now I’m here with the Gatti family, and a slew of others – Seattle is here; all the major players have come out in a show of force, and they’re ready to rip into Daniel Russo on my behalf. I’ve never been more grateful in my life, even if the weight of a thousand burdens still resides in my heart and my mind.

I may be grateful to be alive, but I’m in mourning for those that had to die trying to save me. And that grief is all consuming; it rips through me like a meteor, until it manifests and turns into something more fearful.

Fury.

I wrap my arms around myself, but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t shield me from the onslaught of emotions that are tearing me apart. Lucky hovers nearby, his eyes locked on me with a mix of relief and worry. His usually calm, calculating demeanor iscracked, and I know he’s holding himself back, trying not to push me too hard, too fast.

My voice is trembling but firm when I finally manage to start talking. Lucky nods, signaling to the others in the room to give us space. The majority leave, but Scar Gatti and Dante Accardi stay behind, reserving their places against a back wall as they watch Lucky and I quietly. I feel their presence like a protective barrier around us, the gatekeepers who will undoubtedly keep any further violence away from me.

Lucky sits across from me, his hands resting on his knees. “Take your time,” he says. His voice is soft, but I can hear the steel beneath it—the promise that whoever did this to me will pay.