Page 62 of Lucky
That training molded me into who I am today. It’s why, when I step onto the shooting range with the most important men who linger in the dark recesses of the underworld, I don’t falter. This will probably be my one and only opportunity ever to prove myself. To prove that I am not just Silvio Vicci’s daughter; to prove that I am worthy of being a leader. I may need some help,but there’s no-where else I’d rather be than walking my family into the future.
I’m surrounded by powerful men with faces chiseled from stone and eyes that have seen more death than most people could ever imagine. They’re the elite of the underworld, every one of them deadly in their own right. And they’re watching me.
The weight of their scrutiny is almost tangible, pressing against my skin as I load my weapon. The murmurs have already started—a mix of curiosity and skepticism. I hear it in their voices, the unspoken question hanging in the air;‘why is she here and what is she doing?’
I don’t let it rattle me. My father’s voice rings in my head:‘respect isn’t demanded—it’s earned’.
I take my position, my movements precise and deliberate. The target stands at the far end of the range, a silent challenge. My grip tightens on the pistol, my finger brushing the trigger as I exhale slowly. Focus. Breathe. Fire.
The world seems to have stopped in this moment just to bear witness to my fury.
The shots ring out, sharp and precise, shattering the air with each pull of the trigger. When I lower my weapon, the silence behind me is almost deafening. Gone is the laughter, the subtle dismissiveness that had lingered moments before.
Even though I know these men don’t discriminate based on gender—respect in their world is a currency anyone can earn—there’s still that harsh reality, that buried belief that women aren’t created equal to men. And that’s why I’m not going to lie; I’m proud of my handiwork as I study the target mangled by my bullets.
The murmurs start again, low and impressed this time. One of the men lets out a long, slow whistle.
“Well, damn,” someone mutters. “Kid’s got skills.”
I don’t smile, but there’s a flicker of satisfaction. I step back, reloading my weapon with the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times before. But even in this moment of triumph, I know there will always be someone who isn’t buying what I’m selling.
When I glance up, my eyes lock with Lucky’s. He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. There’s something in his gaze—there’s a hint of overwhelming pride, but he’s also undeniably amused. I take in his warm brown eyes, his loose brown waves as he rakes his hands through them, pushing the strands back casually; I don’t know how he manages to look so good without even trying.
“Surprised?” I ask him, scrunching my face in mock confusion. He’s no stranger to what I can do with a gun. I’m acutely aware of the silence surrounding us as everyone watches the interaction with rapt attention. It’s a strange situation I find myself in as I watch him push off the wall and saunter toward me, his every step deliberate, his presence impossible to ignore.
“You’re more dangerous than I gave you credit for,” he says, stopping just a few feet away. He leans in closer until his breath curls against the shell of my ear before he whispers, for my ears only, “and now you’ve proved it to every man here.”
“Is this your version of a compliment?” I counter, tilting my head closer to his as I slide my eyes his way.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he picks up a weapon and steps up to the target beside mine. Without a word, he raises the gun, his posture relaxed but controlled. He takes aim but he doesn’t look at the target. Instead, he keeps his eyes on me as he smirks and pulls the trigger.
The shots come quickly, rapid fire, each bullet landing with pinpoint accuracy. When he lowers the gun, his target looks almost identical to mine. I catch my breath; the man can shoot blind, and it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.
I arch a brow, trying to ignore the way my stomach flips. “Damn,” I mutter, echoing my appreciation. “You were made for me.”
Lucky turns to me, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You couldn’t handle me.”
“Oh, please,” I scoff, but I can’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “I could run circles around you.”
The banter continues, light and sharp, as the heads of the families watch on with amused expressions. They don’t interrupt; this isn’t just entertainment to them—it’s their way of measuring and weighing every nuance of the exchange between us. It’s how they test me to see how I fit amongst the other families. I think I’m holding my own, but only time will tell. Time will be the true indicator.
But for once, I don’t care. The tension, the unspoken challenge between Lucky and me—it’s electric. And as much as I hate to admit it, I like it.
When the session finally ends and the men begin to disperse, Lucky catches my arm, his grip firm but not unkind. “You did good out there,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost serious.
I glance at him, my heart still racing from the adrenaline. “I still can’t shoot anything like you, though,” I reply, my tone light but my eyes steady on his. For some reason, I never want him to stop talking, never want him to remove his eyes off me.
Lucky chuckles, shaking his head as he lets go. “You’re like chaos wrapped in order, and that makes no sense to me. I could teach you,” he offers.
“Perhaps.”
As he walks away, I find myself watching him, a strange mix of frustration and admiration swirling inside me. Whatever this is between us, it’s dangerous. And yet, I can’t seem to stay away.
Respect may be earned, but some battles are far more personal. And with Lucky, I’m beginning to realize, this is just the beginning.
The others have optedto take the AVs back to the main house, but Lucky suggests we walk. He claims it’s because the air might clear our heads after everything that has happened recently, and I tend to agree, though I suspect he just wants to grill me without an audience.
The dirt path crunches under our boots as we walk side by side, silence stretching between us like a taut wire. The mid-morning air is cool, scented faintly with the wild jasmine that grows along the edge of the estate, but it does little to ease the tension hanging between us.