4. Jacklyn
4
JACKLYN
M arco and I get into a fight.
Arguing with Marco seems to be a regular occurrence in my life these days. He’s as stubborn as he is loyal, and the fact that he’s been watching over me since I was a teenager doesn’t help. His protective streak has only gotten worse over the years, and I’m convinced he thinks I’m still that same naive girl he was assigned to shadow when I was fifteen.
But things changed as I got older. Marco’s role shifted from just being my bodyguard to something more complicated, more personal. I caught him looking at me differently when I turned nineteen—his eyes lingering a little too long, his presence suddenly heavier. He’s always been there, always watching, and I’ve grown used to it. Too used to it, maybe. But just because he’s in love with me doesn’t mean I owe him anything.
It doesn’t mean I want him.
Jack used to hint that Marco was the perfect match for me. “He’ll protect you,” Jack said often, as though that was the qualifying factor for a husband. As though safety and protection could fill the gaps where passion, love, and freedom are supposed to live.
But I don’t want just safety. I want more. I want everything.
Tonight, I need to breathe. I need to feel the world outside of my house without the endless, suffocating shadow of protection that follows me everywhere. I need to remember what it feels like to exist without fear, even if it’s only for a few hours. And there’s only one place I can do that— Ignite .
Ignite - it’s not just any club; it’s a sanctuary. A place where the rules are simple but absolute: no violence, no vendettas, no bloodshed. It’s neutral ground, a sacred space where even enemies can coexist without fear of harm. If you walk through those doors, you’re under the Gatti family’s vow of protection. And despite whatever enmity flows between my family and the Gattis in the moment, I know I won’t have to worry about retribution in that safe place reserved on sacred ground.
Marco, of course, doesn’t want me to go.
“I advise against you leaving the house tonight,” he says, his voice low and firm, arms crossed like a brick wall, as though I can’t get through him.
“Watch me,” I shoot back, arms mirroring his, refusing to back down.
“This isn’t a game, Jacklyn. You’re not going anywhere without me.”
“I don’t need a chaperone, Marco. I need some air. You can’t dictate my every move.”
He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair, his frustration clear. “It’s not safe. You know that. There are men out there just waiting to take a shot at you. Jack would kill me if something happened to you.”
“I’m supposed to just stop living?” I interrupt him, my voice rising. “You don’t get to make these decisions for me, Marco.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he might explode. Instead, he turns away, muttering something under his breath about my recklessness.
He doesn’t get it. He never has. Marco thinks love is control, that protecting me means caging me. And while I know his feelings are genuine, they’re not enough. They never will be.
I smooth the fabric of my dress and fasten the clasp of my necklace, giving myself a final once over in the mirror as he walks out of the room. I know there’s no way he won’t drive me to the club, but that’s all good and well. He can wait in the car while I go inside.
When I arrive at Ignite, the music hits me first—a pulsing rhythm that vibrates through the floor and into my chest. The air is electric, charged with a kind of freedom I haven’t felt in months.
The crowd parts as I move through the room, my presence drawing attention despite my attempts to blend in. To everyone here, I’m the Vicci heiress, unseen and unheard, sitting quietly in the background as my brother runs our empire. People nod respectfully, some offering smiles, but I ignore them, heading straight for the bar. I need a drink, something to dull the bitter edge of Marco’s voice in my head and the tension coiling in my chest.
Ignite is everything I needed it to be tonight. A place to disappear, to let go, to pretend that the world outside doesn’t exist. For a while, I just sit at the bar, sipping my drink and watching the crowd. There’s laughter, dancing, a kind of joy that feels both foreign and bittersweet, the atmosphere electrifying as bodies sway to the beat of a different drum.
But even in this sanctuary, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. My eyes skate around the room, looking for the source of my discomfort as a rod of fire licks down my spine. My gaze roams through the crowd three times before I see him. The devil himself, and the last person I expect to see. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on me with a mix of curiosity and excitement is Lucky Gatti.
I take a long sip of my drink, the amber liquid burning its way down, leaving a warmth that doesn’t quite reach the chill spreading in my chest. I glance over at him, a subtle tilt of my head, a silent acknowledgment of his presence. It's enough for him to notice—enough to make his lips curve into that practiced smile. The kind that never quite reaches his eyes, but is charming enough to make the ladies swoon.
His gaze holds mine, unwavering. The intensity of it feels like a weight, pressing into me, coaxing a reaction that I’m not ready to give. His dark eyes glimmer in the dim, throbbing lights of the club, and even in the haze of neon and shadow, I can feel the calculated nature of his attention. The muscles in his jaw tighten as if he's savoring the moment, letting the silence stretch, thick and awkward between us.
I shift in my seat, trying to ignore the way his stare makes the back of my neck prickle. The bass from the speakers thunders through the floor, reverberating in my ribs, but it’s not enough to drown out the heat that starts to crawl under my skin.
The silence lingers, suffocating, thick with unspoken tension. My eyes flicker to the dance floor, the crowd thrumming with life, the bass of the music pulsing through the floorboards. And yet, it’s like the air around me has stilled, as if the club, the flashing lights, and the pounding beats are all nothing more than a distant murmur.
I sip my drink, slow and deliberate, keeping my gaze forward, but I can feel his stare. It’s like a weight, crawling over my skin.
I sigh, setting my glass down as he crosses the room to sit on a stool beside me. “Fancy seeing you here.” His lips turn up in a mischievous grin.
“I could say the same thing for you,” I point out.
“I own the place.” He shrugs, as though his words are explanation enough.
The one thing I didn’t count on is running into him here tonight. And I would’ve stayed right away if I’d known that he owns the damn place. I thought for sure, it’s one of their assets and they have people running it for them; never expected that I’d actually run into him.
He’s a perfectly beautiful mess in a white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, the top two buttons undone casually. There’s the faint shadow of a tattoo creeping up the side of his neck, and script stamped on his inner forearm. His black slacks hug him in all the right places; his hair, too, looks like he’s spent a substantial amount of time trying to tame the wild flyaway strands. It’s a look far removed from him in a power suit when we met earlier in the day, but there’s something undeniably sexy about the way everything about him comes together so casually yet so perfectly.
“What brings you to Ignite tonight, Jacklyn?” he asks, from beneath half-lidded eyes.
I smile at the way my name rolls over his tongue like molten lava. By now, he knows who I am, what my name is, but not much more. It’s only a matter of time before he starts asking the hard questions.
“I wanted to unwind somewhere without the possibility of getting shot.”
“Well then, you’ve come to the right place,” he says, indicating to the barkeeper. The young man slides our way and sets down two fresh glasses, filling them with our choice of drink.
The air between us crackles with something unspoken as I ask, “You here every night?”
Lucky doesn’t hesitate. “Depends,” he says, his voice low, almost teasing. “You planning on coming here every night?”
The way his lips quirk up at the corners pulls a faint dimple into his cheek, and something about it makes me feel like I'm walking a line. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing in the room that matters. His gaze holds steady, and for a split second, I think I see something more—like maybe he’s been watching me for longer than I’ve noticed. His eyes are warm, dark brown, and they have a way of pulling you in, making you forget everything except the way they make you feel exposed and wanted, all at once.
“I don’t know…” I drag my finger around the rim of my glass, then flick my eyes up at him, just enough to catch that glint of amusement in his eyes. “Is the company here any good?”
A long, almost suffocating silence falls between us, and for a moment, the noise of the club fades away, leaving just the two of us in our own little bubble. The music, the chatter, even the pounding bass—everything blurs as I watch him, the curve of his lips, the play of light across his jawline, the way his thumb taps rhythmically against his drink. He’s not in a hurry to answer, and something in that stretches the tension tighter, like a rope pulled too thin.
I swallow hard. There’s an unbearable weight that’s been pressing down on me for so long—the anxiety that never stops buzzing at the back of my mind. I’ve been wound so tight that it feels like everything is about to snap, and all I want is to feel something different, something that makes me forget. Forget the weight of my life, the tightness in my chest, the creeping fear that follows me like a shadow.
And, damn it, it’s been so long since I’ve felt a man’s touch.
I don’t know why I’m letting myself consider this. My common sense is still half awake, screaming that this is a bad idea . That I don’t do this. That I’ve spent far too many years keeping things clean, professional, and uncomplicated. Marco’s outside, waiting. I could just get up, walk away, and pretend tonight never happened. I’d drive home, make it all go away, bury it like everything else.
But as his deep, dark voice slides through the air, I know I won’t.
“Why don’t you come back to my office,” Lucky says, his words slow, deliberate, “and I’ll show you just how good the company is.”
The smoothness of his voice lingers like velvet, and a shiver runs down my spine. He’s not asking, not really. It’s more like a command wrapped in the softest invitation, a promise of something that’s dangerously close but just out of reach. His gaze sharpens as he leans in a fraction closer, his breath warm against my ear, and I can’t help but inhale it, like he’s intoxicating in a way I can’t quite name.
For a second, I imagine walking away, but the thought is fleeting. Instead, I lean in a little, my lips almost grazing his, and I offer him a smile that’s half challenge, half invitation. "And if I don’t?"
His lips curve even more, and I catch a flash of something—something darker—pass through his eyes. "Well, then you’ll never know just how good my company is." He says it like it’s already a done deal, like the choice is in my hands but only for the moment, and it’s already slipping away.
I feel it too—the gravity of the moment pulling me closer to him, like we’re caught in a storm, both of us riding it out, waiting to see who breaks first. He’s dangerous in that way—too smooth, too confident. But it’s not just his looks that have me hooked. It’s the way he makes me feel like I’m the only one in the room, like I’ve stepped into his orbit and now there’s no escape.
I glance down at my drink, then back up to meet his gaze, my fingers curling around the glass as if it could somehow anchor me. The heat in his eyes is unmistakable, a flicker of something primal beneath the surface, but there’s still that calm exterior, that control. It’s the kind of control that makes you want to test it.
“You seem so sure that you could hold my attention for more than five seconds,” I murmur, letting the words slide between us like silk, my voice lower now, more deliberate, as my eyes drop to his lips, silently tracing the shape of his mouth.
His smile deepens, and for a moment, I swear I see the flash of a challenge in his eyes, like he's sizing me up, figuring out just how far he can push. The corners of his lips twitch, like he's enjoying this back-and-forth game.
“Five seconds. Five hours. Five days. You’ll lose all sense of time the moment you step into that office,” he says, leaning in slightly, his breath ghosting over my skin, sending another jolt through my body. "But I’ll let you decide, Jacklyn. I’ve got all night."
I swallow hard. He’s dark and dangerous —there’s no denying it. But the air between us is so thick with want, so charged with tension that I can't remember the last time I felt this alive. My pulse quickens, and I can feel the heat spreading in my chest, down to my fingertips, to the pit of my stomach. I know I should walk away. I know I should be smarter than this.
But something in his voice, something in the way he looks at me, keeps me right where I am. And, for once, I don’t want to fight it.
I take a deep breath, letting the weight of the decision hang in the air, before finally leaning in closer, the words coming out before I can stop them.
“Impress me.”
Lucky’s smile is a slow, dangerous thing, and I can already feel the shift in the room, the pull between us settling into something deeper, darker. He rises from his seat, his movements smooth and sure. I follow suit, my legs a little shaky but steady enough to stand on my own.
As he leads me towards the back of the club, I can’t help but feel like I’ve just stepped into a game I don’t know how to win. But right now, that’s the most thrilling part.