Page 23 of Lucky

Another thing he doesn’t need to point out to me.

“It’s business,” I remind him. “My men needed to be reminded who’s in charge and that I won’t tolerate betrayal.”

“They didn’t betray you directly.”

“When they attack someone for their own foolish reasons-an act which could result in a turf war I don’t want, then that’s betrayal. No-one remembers that Michael Caluzzo pulled the trigger, but they’ll always remember that it was a Vicci hit. One I didn’t sanction, by the way. I don’t want my family name on the Gatti radar, Marco. That’s non-negotiable.”

He shifts, stands to his full height and squares his shoulders, his jaw ticking back and forth. He watches me for the longest time before he speaks again.

“You seem to be mighty intent on making an impression on the Gattis.”

His words drip with accusation. Marco’s not a stupid man; I know he understands the dangers of picking a fight with the Gattis. But for some reason I can’t quite grasp, perhaps hislingering jealousy over me, he can’t seem to understand why I’m so hesitant to provoke the most powerful family in the city.

“And for some reason, you seem intent on going to war with them. We will never win a war against the Gattis, Marco. Even you can see that. I may be ambitious, but I’m not suicidal.”

12

LUCKY

“Ispilled their blood so you wouldn’t have to. You just need to decide if you’re ready to collect it.”

I stare at the words for a moment, my thumb hovering over the screen. It’s a simple text, but the weight behind it is anything but. The message is clear. Jacklyn Vicci has made her move, and now the question is whether I’ll pick up the pieces or let it all unravel.

I watch the little bubble on my screen as she types again—pauses—then types again. She must settle on deleting, because no message comes through after that first one.

But then, a notification pops up.

An attachment.

I click on it and hope to God it’s not a virus that erases the contents of my phone, because it hasn’t been backed up in a few days.

The reel starts playing. No sound. Just the grainy footage.

It’s short—maybe only a couple of minutes long—but it feels like an eternity as I watch Jacklyn enter the frame. She’s dressed in black, in heels, her figure sharp against the dull lighting of the chamber, moving with that same quiet authority with whichshe greeted me when we met. She looks hot and sexy and so damn fuckable, even though I’m flipping mad at her after what happened at the club. After one of our men getting shot. Her men really need to be put on a leash or face the consequences of my wrath.

She walks slowly toward two men in the video, her expression unreadable, her eyes cold as she surveys them. They stand before her, heads bowed, their bodies rigid with fear.

I can tell by the way they move that they know what’s coming before she even speaks. The way they shift their weight, each of them trying to find the words that might save them but knowing deep down that there’s no salvation for them. They’re already dead. The only question is how long it’ll take for the inevitable to happen.

Jacklyn stops in front of them. The camera angle shifts slightly, focusing on her face for a moment. Her eyes are hard, globes of cold ice. She doesn’t speak—she doesn’t need to. Her presence alone is enough. She’s the embodiment of control, of power, and for the men who failed her, it’s the last thing they’ll see.

Without a word, she pulls the gun from the holster at her side and tips it to one of the men’s heads. I scoff; rookie mistake 101, because you don’t threaten something you won’t see through to the end. Empty threats don’t work in our world. There’s no way she’ll pull that trigger, I tell myself.

The first shot is swift. The man barely has time to flinch before his body drops to the floor. His blood blooms across the cold floor like a dark red stain on a blank canvas. The second man stands frozen for a split second, his eyes wide, too slow to react.

Jacklyn doesn’t hesitate. The second shot echoes through the silence, the thud of his body hitting the floor almost inaudible next to the deafening finality of the moment.

And then, just like that, it’s over.

The reel cuts off, leaving me with nothing but the lingering image of Jacklyn Vicci standing over the bodies of her two men. Her expression? Impassive. She doesn’t look like a woman who’s just taken two lives—she looks like a woman who’s done exactly what needed to be done, leaving no doubt in my mind that Jacklyn is exactly who she said she is, and she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.

The bodies are exactlywhere she said they’d be. Dumped outside the soaring gate that leads into her compound. Her headquarters, what doubles as her home and her office, is a structure of mammoth proportions that could house possibly fifty or so people.

Soldiers dot the perimeter, all armed to the gills. It’s not an unusual sight in our world—everyone’s packing heat in one way or another—but there’s something about the scale of their preparedness that doesn’t sit right with me. The way they move, the way they stand so rigid and expectant, tells me this isn’t just a guard detail; it’s a show of force. Overkill, in my estimation. And that’s the first indication that fear runs rampant in the Vicci camp. It’s the kind of fear that breeds paranoia, and paranoia makes people dangerous.

I watch from my place across the road as my men remove the bodies. Not really our thing, but I had to satisfy myself that this was the real deal and not some elaborately staged ploy by Jacklyn to throw us off her trail. For all I know, eventheJack Vicci could be a ploy; a woman parading as “Jack Vicci”, safe in the knowledge that she can’t be harmed because she’s a woman. Little does she know, regardless of her gender, if she decidesto conduct her business in our playground, she will get burned. There’s not a damn force on this earth that will prevent me from putting her down if she becomes a threat to my family. Not a damn thing.

Yet something is gnawing at me—the coldness in her eyes, the way she executed those men without a second thought. It’s the same ruthlessness her father wielded in his prime, and maybe, in a lot of ways, it’s even more dangerous because she’s learned how to make it look effortless.

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