Page 64 of Lucky

I snort, shaking my head as I turn and head up the steps. “Thanks for the advice, Dr. Phil. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Lucky’s laughter follows me as I push open the door, the sound unexpectedly warm. For all his cocky bravado, there’s something about him—something solid and steady and warm. Something I might even trust, if only I let myself believe.

32

JACKLYN

“There you are!” Allegra’s voice cuts through the hum of the room, her energy a sudden burst that makes everyone around us take a breath. She locks eyes with me, and I feel it—the shift, the pull. Without waiting, she slides an arm around my waist, pulling me closer as though this is where I belong. She tips her head to the side, leaning against me just enough to make it feel like an unspoken gesture of reassurance.

"I thought I'd find you here," she says with a teasing smile, her voice light with the kind of warmth only Allegra can convey. She glances around the room for a split second, as if confirming the scene, before turning back to me, her attention fully focussed on me.

Then she leans in, her head tilting gently against my shoulder, the movement instinctive, like she’s done it a thousand times. The world falls away, the noise of the room dimming as I focus on the sensation of her closeness. Her cheek brushes against my arm, and I can feel the heat of her touch seep through the fabric of my shirt, soft but firm. She doesn’t need to say anything to make me feel it—this quiet, unexpected comfort.

Her presence wraps around me, and for a moment, I let myself sink into it. Allegra has a way of making everything else seem less urgent, less heavy. She gives off this energy—this rare, unforced warmth—that makes everything feel lighter, even in the thick of tension.

When she pulls back slightly, I catch the glint in her eyes, something almost maternal in the way she looks up at me. It’s the kind of gaze that sees the weight I carry, the things I don’t speak aloud, and yet, she doesn’t press for answers. She just offers her presence, quiet and steady, like a refuge from everything else.

Then, as only Allegra can, she shifts gears, her mood flipping effortlessly. With a grin, she gestures to the woman beside her. "This is Mia," she says, drawing the woman closer.

Mia Andrade is a contrast. Her delicate features are at odds with the strength she holds in her stance. She’s not the kind of person who draws attention with noise or gestures, but there’s something in the way she carries herself that demands it. Her eyes are steady, sharp, like she’s always assessing. She doesn’t immediately offer the warmth Allegra does; instead, she holds her ground, scanning the room as if already reading the dynamics.

"Jacklyn," Mia says, her voice quiet but deliberate, as her hand extends toward me. There’s no rush, no eagerness, just a calm composure that makes me take a second look. She’s sizing me up, and though her smile is polite, there’s something else beneath it—something almost calculating, as if she’s trying to figure out what kind of person I am, what side of me she’s seeing.

I return the handshake, my eyes narrowing slightly, trying to gauge her. There’s a quiet intensity in her gaze—hard to pin down, but it’s there, lurking beneath the surface. I’m not sure if I should respect it, or if I should be wary.

Allegra, however, doesn’t seem to notice the tension. She’s already back in her own rhythm, her energy bouncing between us like it’s a natural flow. "Mia and Brando are getting married next weekend," she announces, her voice bright, filling the space between us. "You’ll be at the wedding, won’t you, Jacklyn? It's just a small, intimate family affair."

Before I can protest, Allegra shoots me a look—a look that tells me it’s no use arguing. There’s no fighting it when Allegra gets an idea in her head. A brief, awkward silence follows, and I watch as Mia’s gaze drifts across the room, landing on her fiancé. Brando catches her eye at the same moment, and for a moment, there’s this quiet, unspoken understanding between them.

“Soulmates,” Allegra whispers, leaning toward me as if sharing a secret. “It’s like they feel each other’s eyes from across the room. It’s so bizarre.”

“I heard that,” Mia mutters with a half-smile, her eyes narrowing at Allegra but softening with affection.

Allegra chuckles but waves them off, turning back to me. “Anyway, Scar doesn’t want anyone leaving the estate to do any shopping. So, I’ve got my stylist coming tomorrow with a few dresses for the wedding. I still don’t have one, and I’m sure you’ll need one too. Any color preference?”

I haven’t even opened my mouth to argue against a dress before she shoots me a sharp look and I clamp my mouth shut. I glance over at Mia, who’s now silently observing, her eyes still flicking between me and the others in the room. She looks, but she doesn’t speak—there’s something knowing in the way she watches.

Allegra excuses herself to feed baby Scarlett and I watch as Mia’s gaze shifts over to Brando again, and the moment lingers between them, subtle but undeniable.

"She’s a lot of energy for a woman with a six-month-old," I say, raising an eyebrow, confused by Allegra’s sudden rush to leave us alone.

Mia laughs softly, shaking her head. “Her heart’s in the right place,” she says, her eyes locking with mine. There’s a note of something—amusement, maybe sympathy—in her tone. "But I think she kind of orchestrated this whole thing knowing we'd end up alone for a few minutes."

I raise an eyebrow, unsure what she means by that. But Mia doesn’t hesitate to explain.

“Allegra told me you were kidnapped. She thinks we have some things in common,” she says, her words blunt, no pretenses.

My stomach tightens. "You were kidnapped too?" The question leaves my mouth before I can stop it.

Mia nods, her gaze distant for a moment, as though she’s weighing how much to reveal. “It’s a different kind of trauma,” she says softly. “The pain, the fear—it never really goes away. Parts of it do, but..." She trails off, her thoughts taking her elsewhere. "I lost my sisters in the process, so in a way, I’m still not whole. But this family," she adds, her voice softening, "the love they’ve shown me... has helped me heal. Day by day, it gets easier to live with what happened.”

I absorb her words, the heaviness in her voice settling between us. There’s a quiet strength in Mia, a kind of resilience that mirrors my own in some way. She doesn’t need to explain it all for me to understand. We’re both walking through the aftermath of things that broke us—and, in our own ways, we’re learning how to heal.

The silence between us grows comfortable, almost understanding, as Mia waits for me to speak, to share. I don’t have the words, not yet, but I nod—acknowledging what she’s offered, silently recognizing the bond between us. Even withoutsaying it, I know that, in some way, we’re both survivors in this unforgiving world.

Dante Accardi moveswith the fluidity of a man who is both predator and king. His every step exudes confidence, his movements as deliberate as a master chess player making his next move. Even without looking, I can feel the change in the atmosphere, as though the space has suddenly become smaller, more intense as he comes to stand beside me. There’s no mistaking it: Dante Accardi is a king among kings, a force unto himself.

He doesn’t speak immediately, but I feel his gaze on me, like a quiet, unyielding force. I don’t turn around, not yet. There’s something in the air tonight—something that demands resolution.

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