Page 63 of Lucky
Lucky’s voice finally slices through the quiet, low and deliberate. “So, tell me about Daniel Russo.”
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, keeping my expression carefully neutral. “What do you want to know?” My tone is casual, but there’s a tightness in my chest.
“Everything. Anything. Whatever you can tell me,” he replies, his words weighted with meaning.
I bite the corner of my lip, looking out into the distance as if the answer might be somewhere in the horizon. Russo. Just hearing his name stirs a dark fury in my chest. The man has been a thorn in my side, an ever-present reminder of the chaos threatening to tear my family apart. If I get my hands on him, I’ll wring his wiry neck and shove his tongue so far up his ass that he’ll gag on it. That honor should be mine and mine alone. He’s earned it, and Marco’s blood cries for it.
I meet his gaze briefly, then turn back to the road ahead. “Because you want to find him and put a stop to all this madness?”
Lucky watches me, his pace slowing slightly. “Something like that.” His tone is deceptively light, but his eyes are anything but.
I nod once, the set of my jaw firm. I don’t miss the way his gaze flicks to the bruises on my face—the ones Russo left me with. His jaw works, the anger in his expression barely contained. Lucky Gatti, ever the protector. I don’t need it, but I can’t pretend it doesn’t feel... comforting to know there’s still someone in the world who gives a damn.
“You know,” Lucky starts, his voice casual, a dangerous edge to it. “You talk a big game, Jackie, but I get the feeling you’re not as tough as you seem.”
I stop walking and turn to face him, one brow arched. “Is that so?”
He steps closer, his hands shoved into his pockets, his smirk infuriatingly confident. “Yeah. I mean, you’re tough—I’ll give you that. But you’ve got this habit of diving headfirst into the deep end without checking for sharks.”
“And you’re just dying to save me from myself, aren’t you?” I snap, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Not really,” he shrugs, his smirk widening. “I just like watching the chaos. It’s entertaining.”
I roll my eyes and start walking again, but Lucky falls into step beside me. “You know,” I say after a moment, my tone thoughtful, “for someone who prides himself on being so detached, you sure seem invested in my business.”
“Call it morbid curiosity,” he quips.
“Morbid is right,” I mutter under my breath, earning a low chuckle from him.
“You going to tell me about this asshole that used your face as his own personal punching bag?”
I sigh and relent. I can use all the help I’m offered; especially when it comes to finding Daniel. I’ve promised Don Accardi that I’ll follow orders and won’t go off on my own manhunt, and I’ll abide by that. I’ve proved myself beyond doubt today; there’s no reason why I can’t use the information I’ve got on that piranha Russo to my benefit.
“Promise me something first.”
Lucky quirks his eyebrows and angles his head, as if to tell me that this is not a negotiation. He says nothing but nods once, asking me silently to continue.
“When you find the asshole, I want a crack at him.”
He grins, his smile viciously wide as he tells me he believes in closure, and who is he to stand in my way if that’s what I need to sleep better at night. I almost choke on my own snort before I shake my head and start to walk again as I tell him everything I know about Daniel Russo, which isn’t much, to be honest. The usual background; how long he’s worked my father, the ambitions that led him down this road, what we can expect when we finally find him.
“I don’t know where you can find him,” I tell Lucky. “But I can assure you that he’s as slippery as a snake.”
We walk in silence for a while longer, until the main house comes into view, its lights glowing warmly against the night sky.
As we near the steps, Lucky stops abruptly, his hand catching my arm. I turn to him, surprised.
He looks at me, his expression serious for once. “Are you okay?” he asks. “I mean,reallyokay? Or are you just putting up a front for the Don’s benefit?” I blink, thrown off by his sudden questions which have done nothing but put me on the spot. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” His voice is low as he shoots me a wistful look. Something stirs deep inside me, until my stomach is in knots and I have trouble just trying to catch my breath. I know he’s thinking about what happened between us weeks agoat his club, the same way I am. It’s the silent elephant sitting between us.
For a moment, I don’t know what to say. His words catch me off guard, slipping past the armor I’ve spent years building. But then I remember who I am—who I have to be—and I shake my head.
“I’m not pretending anything,” I stammer.
“No?” He angles his head, gauging my insincerity. “It’s not a measure of weakness for you to lean into others, Jacklyn.”
“No leaning here,” I laugh, though the bravado in my voice seems false even to my own ears.
He watches me for a long moment, his gaze searching. Then he nods, stepping back. “Suit yourself, Jackie girl. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when the weight gets too heavy.”