Page 3 of Lucky

The burly man turns away from her, and my determination solidifies. We’re not losing this girl. Not this time.

I turn to Ryder, fire in my eyes. “Let’s get to work. We’re not losing this girl, too.”

The hunt for Maxine Andrade is on. And this time, we won’t stop until we’ve found her.

2

LUCKY

The past few weeks have felt like a never-ending game of putting out fires. Every time I think I’ve dealt with one issue, another pops up, more urgent, more dangerous than the last. Falcone. The Maltese. And the Viccis. It’s all been a mess left behind by the chaos Falcone unleashed. Fixing it? That’s on me. It’s been an exhausting balancing act, juggling each fire without letting it spread into full-blown war.

The biggest priority on my plate right now? Maxine Andrade. She’s been missing for months, and every lead I chase down just seems to lead nowhere. But that’s not the only fire I’m trying to put out. There’s been an undercurrent of tension in the Vicci camp—a simmering unrest that could easily spill over into open conflict. If it does, it’ll ignite another war - one that’s been brewing on the back burner for a while as the Viccis kick up a stink over the Scarfone-Luciani war.

I thought that maybe a well-placed call from Seattle might put a lid on it. A little diplomacy, a little pressure, and the problem would resolve itself. But Seattle’s being as tight-lipped as a vault, and it’s clear the new Vicci Don is keeping his cards close to his chest. No one knows much about him. In fact, noone seems to know anything about him. So now, the situation’s escalated. Seattle wants to meet face-to-face, and when that happens, we can expect to be cleaning up a great big mess.

I can’t afford to let it escalate any further. My hands are already full of too many goddamn fires.

For weeks, I’ve been trying to pin down a meeting with Jack Vicci, the new head of the Vicci family. He’s an enigma. And everyone I’ve talked to about him has either clammed up or changed the subject. The man’s a ghost. Even Ryder, our tech genius who’s managed to dig up the dirtiest secrets about our rivals, can’t find anything on Vicci.

It’s the secrecy that makes him dangerous.

Now, with Seattle’s intervention, the flames have been stoked. It’s time to finally sit down with this man—face-to-face—and figure out what the hell is going on in his head.

So, I’m here as a courtesy, waiting in what used to serve as an industrial storage facility, of all places. A dump of a building, far from any place worth noticing.

There’s something deliberate about the choice of location. They’re sending a message without saying a word. I’m supposed to feel like an intruder. Like I’m on their turf. But I don’t care. Once this meeting’s over, the Vicci problem will be behind us. Jack Vicci needs to put a leash on his dogs before things go sideways. And that’s what I’m here to make sure happens.

I lean against the desk, arms crossed, staring out across the bare bones of a building which should be condemned. The space is empty, save for the dust motes that swirl in the faint light from the single bulb overhead. I’ve been waiting here for what feels like hours, the quiet only interrupted by the occasional creak of the building. It’s a waiting game now. And I’m getting damn tired of it.

“You sure he’s going to show?”

Jayson Caluna stands a short distance away, his eyes scouring the dim inside of the unit, as though expecting someone to jump out of the shadows at any moment. I inherited him from Frank Falcone, who poached him from the Maltese. Well, not really poached because the Maltese head, Javier Merchado, decided to plant his cousin Jayson with Falcone when the man was recruiting his army. Jayson was the asset we used when trying to save Mia from Falcone, and he remains an asset. With Merchado’s blessing, and as part of the peace treaty between our family and the Maltese after they turned on us and supported Falcone, we now employ Jayson.

He has proven his loyalty in ways most people can’t ever comprehend. When he commits to something—or someone—he’s all in, one hundred percent, no half-measures. It’s one of the things I admire most about him. There’s a quiet resilience in the way he carries himself, something that makes him seem wiser than his years, even though he’s only a couple of years older than me.

But it’s not just his actions; it’s the way he’s wired. Jayson has this uncanny ability to tune into other people’s emotions, to pick up on things the rest of us might completely miss. It’s like he’s got a radar for unspoken feelings, hidden pain, and those little shifts in the air that most wouldn’t even notice.

Which is why I once called him a bleeding heart. He turned to me with that mischievous glint in his eye, the kind that says he’s about to make you laugh whether you want to or not. With a cheeky grin, he said, “Great, we’re more alike than you think.”

Needless to say, I’ve never used that term to describe him again. Not because he was offended—he wasn’t. But because he was right. There’s more to him than meets the eye, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a little bit of that bleeding heart in me too. Not that I’ll ever admit that.

“He’ll show,” I reassure him.

A few more minutes pass before we hear the low, barely perceptible groan of a door creaking open. It’s followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps, deliberate, measured, the sharp tap of heels striking the concrete floor. The sound is low at first, but it grows louder, more distinct with each step. Someone’s coming.

I don’t flinch. I’ve been in this situation enough times to know better. But there’s something about this moment that has the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. The tension in the air thickens, and I straighten up, my hand subtly moving closer to the concealed gun at my side.

It’s just a meeting. But it feels like so much more than that.

A thin slice of light cuts through the room, illuminating the concrete floor. Dust dances in the light, swirling around like tiny specters in the stillness. Jayson stands rigidly beside me, his eyes turned toward the sound. I swear, he’s like a sniffer dog when it comes to protecting me.

Then we see it.

The silhouette standing in the doorway is unmistakable, though I don’t quite believe what I’m seeing at first. A woman.

Not Jack Vicci.

He sent a woman?

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