Page 67 of Lucky

Brando just shrugs. “Not quite the reaction I was looking for, but being older means I get to dispense unsolicited advice. You’re welcome.”

I swallow hard, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. For the first time all night, I feel like I’m standing at a crossroads, a path that diverges in two directions, neither of which seem easy. And all I can think about is Jacklyn—her eyes, her smile, the way she stands there like she owns the space around her, the way she somehow commands my attention even when she isn’t trying.

“Just don’t wait too long, little brother,” he says, his voice quiet but steady. “Life has a way of closing doors just as quickly as it opens them. Tick tock.”

And for the first time in a long time, I find myself questioning whether I’ve been standing still for too long.

34

JACKLYN

I’m wearing blue. It was the one thing that Allegra wouldn’t compromise on. She made me ditch my usual black, said I had to wear a color and wasn’t even open to negotiations on the matter. Usually, I’m my own person on my wardrobe, but I just didn’t have the bandwidth to argue with her, so I settled on blue. A minor sacrifice, considering the only other dress that fit me was lilac. No way was I wearing a dress that reminded me of a pink tutu.

The fabric clings to me like a second skin, simple in its elegance but heavier than I care to admit. It isn’t the weight of the satin or the beads that presses down on me, but what it represents: change, inevitability. The kind that seeps into every corner of my life, reshaping everything it touches, even me.

I inhale deeply, but the air smells wrong—too sterile, too clean for a place housing so many blood-soaked hands. There’s no scent of cigar smoke, no hint of whiskey on the breath of the men seated in the pews, no sharp edge of danger humming beneath the surface. It feels too clean for people who reside in our world.

The flowers, white lilies and roses, decorate the chapel in perfectly symmetrical rows, like they were placed with military precision. There’s nothing in this room that’s left to chance. Even the air feels choreographed.

I glance down at my hands, clasped tightly in front of me. They tremble slightly, the tremors barely perceptible, but I feel them—like the beating of a heart that refuses to stop even when it’s been broken a thousand times over. I want to pull away, to rip off the fabric and let myself breathe, but I don’t. I just sit there, frozen in this moment.

The sound of heels clicking against the stone floor breaks through my thoughts, sharp and steady. Mia’s walk down the aisle is nothing short of a triumph—a vision in white. Her smile is bright, her joy unmistakable, and as she reaches Brando at the altar, I can’t help but envy her. She’s about to begin somethingreal. Something pure, untainted. A love story of her own. I wish I could say the same for myself.

I always thought that love would be a choice. I thought the power, the wealth, the responsibility would come second to the connection I would share with a man. But that was before I understood how fragile my empire really is. Before I saw how quickly everything could crumble.

The Vicci empire is my burden. I wasn’t given the choice to walk away from it. I wasn’t given the luxury of stepping into something normal. Not when my father died. Not when Jack was shot. Not when everything changed. I made my choice, or rather, the choice was made for me. And now, I have to live with it.Ownit.

I look up just as Brando and Mia exchange their vows, and for a moment, the world blurs. I’m not even sure I heard the priest’s words. All I can hear is the dull thrum of my heartbeat in my ears, the sharp taste of metal at the back of my throat.

"Do you take Brando to be your lawfully wedded husband?" the priest asks, and Mia answers with a breathless “I do,” her eyes shining with something I can’t name.

“I do,” I mutter under my breath, repeating the words in my mind, though I know they aren’t for me. They belong to Mia and Brando, to a future they’re about to carve out for themselves, one of love and loyalty.

But my “I do” is for something else.

For Lucky. For the future. For this moment, when my world will shift again.

I glance over at him, standing just a few feet away at the front of the chapel. His figure is outlined by the soft light filtering through the stained-glass windows, the hues of blue and gold casting an almost ethereal glow around him. His expression is unreadable, but I see the tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes flicker with something dark and heavy. He’s just as trapped as I am, but neither of us will admit it.

I take a slow, steadying breath and force myself to look away, my gaze drifting toward the sea of faces in the pews. Dante’s presence is felt like a shadow across the room, his influence heavy in the air. His quiet influence is like a current running beneath everything, steering us, pulling us toward this inevitable union. His expectations are clear, and he’s given me no choice but to walk this path.

I can feel Marco’s absence like a physical ache, his death a wound I’ll never be able to fully heal from. He was my protector, my family, my... everything. But in his death, I’ve had to learn to become someone else. The weight of my family is mine now, and I know Marco would want me to carry it. To keep it intact, no matter the cost.

As the priest continues to speak, his words become a blur, and I feel something strange settle in my chest. Not anxiety. Not fear. But a strange, hollow sense of inevitability. Everything hasled to this moment. Every choice, every deal, every death, has funneled into this one irrevocable act.

I’m about to bind myself to this man—Lucky Gatti. The man who’s as much a part of this world as I am, even if we both pretend we aren’t. The man I’m supposed to trust, even though trust has no place in this world. The man I’ll marry not because I want to, but because I have no other choice. He is my salvation.

The vows come. The priest’s words tumble out in a steady stream, each one heavy with finality. My throat tightens, and I force myself to focus. Focus on the couple standing at the altar. Focus on the future that’s already been written for me.

The sky isa muted shade of purple as Brando and Mia step out onto the steps of the chapel. The first few notes of the wedding march echo from inside, signaling the end of the ceremony—and the beginning of something darker.

Mia's arm is tucked firmly into Brando's, her wedding gown a billowy cloud of French lace and lace, her smile bright and full of expectation. Brando’s jaw is clenched, his smile tight as his eyes scan the surroundings.

They walk down the stairs, the sound of clinking heels on the stone steps followed by the shuffle of well-dressed guests as they step out from the church. A quiet tension hums in the air. The Gatti family is surrounded by their closest allies, and the only thing that seems out of place is the too-perfect silence that lingers, as if the world itself is holding its breath in anticipation of what’s to come next.

Brando’s eyes flick left to right, his trained instincts picking up on every shift in the crowd. The tension in his shoulders isbarely perceptible, but Mia, her head tilted toward him, notices it immediately.

It all happens so quickly.