12. Lucky
12
LUCKY
“ I spilled 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 which she 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 exactly where 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, even the Jack 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 decides to 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.
I’d already updated my brothers on this latest development when the video hit my inbox. Even before they watched it, they’d all been skeptical. Afterward? Their reaction was the same—unanimous and dismissive. The video was doctored. That was the narrative they kept throwing around, as if denying its authenticity could erase what we’d just seen.
It was Brando’s idea to authenticate the executions. He suggested I take up Jacklyn Vicci’s offer, retrieve the bodies she mentioned, and confirm the truth for myself. He didn’t say it outright, but I could see the doubt in his eyes, the same doubt the rest of them shared: this was some kind of elaborate ploy, smoke and mirrors to make us believe she was the ruthless force she claimed to be. For whatever reason.
And so I did.
I drove out to the address she’d directed me to, the air heavy with the kind of stillness that only exists in places meant for quiet, violent work. The bodies were there, just as she’d promised—wrapped tightly, their fates undeniable even before I pulled back the plastic. The proof was cold, visceral, and absolute.
Jacklyn Vicci is a killer.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. I’m not sure I feel anything at all. It’s not like I’ve got any moral high ground here—I’ve got my own sins, my own body count. But knowing her body count? Knowing she has the will to see something like this through?
That’s different.
The rational part of me knows it should be terrifying. It is terrifying. But the other part—the darker, more primal part? That part can’t stop playing the video in my head, over and over again. The sharpness in her eyes, like the slightest hesitation would’ve been beneath her. She didn’t just own the moment—she commanded it.
I don’t know if it’s respect, admiration, or just my raging hard-on, but watching her wield that kind of power stirs something in me I can’t explain. There’s something intoxicating about a woman who knows exactly what she’s capable of and doesn’t flinch in the face of it.
I slept with her.
That fact hits differently now, like a punch to the gut and a jolt of adrenaline all at once. She’s lethal in ways I didn’t fully comprehend when I had my hands on her, when her body was pressed against mine and her name was a prayer on my lips. And now? Knowing what she’s capable of doesn’t make her any less desirable—it makes her more.
The thought unsettles me as much as it excites me.
There’s a dark allure in Jacklyn Vicci, one I can’t seem to shake, no matter how much sense I try to make of it. Maybe it’s the way she’s utterly in control of herself, the way she doesn’t flinch when the stakes are high. Or maybe it’s her audacity—her ability to look me, look anyone, in the eye and dare them to question her authority.
That kind of confidence, that kind of raw, unapologetic power—it’s a drug. And I’m already hooked.
She’s a killer.
My killer.
I don’t know what I’ll tell my brothers when I get back. Because the truth is, Jacklyn Vicci isn’t just a player in the looming war. She’s a goddamn queen, and now I know exactly how far she’ll go to protect her throne.
I should be afraid of her.
But instead, all I can think about is how much I want her again.
I pull my phone from my pocket and unlock it with the familiar swipe across the screen. My thumb hovers for a second over the call button. This isn’t the first time I’ve spoken with her, I remind myself—but it feels like it should be. There's something different in the air tonight. Something... heavier.
I pull up my log and press dial.
She answers on the third ring.
“Luciano,” she purrs, although there’s a demure lilt to her voice. “To what…do I owe this pleasure?”
“I’m outside your front gate,” I tell her.
The line crackles for a moment, and then her voice carries down the line. “Aha. Come to admire my handiwork?”
“I didn’t think you had it in you,” I tell her. My words are blunt, but they carry weight. There’s no shame in honesty between rivals, especially when we come from the same blood-soaked world.
“I’m sure you’ll come to realize how wrong you were about my capabilities.”
There’s an underlying threat in her words that makes me snicker internally. I don’t care how damn courageous she is with a gun; I’m better.
I lean back into the headrest, my eyes narrowing as I stare at her compound, studying every inch of the tall, forbidding gates that separate us. They look like they’ve been designed to keep people out, but I know better. A place like this isn’t built to keep people out—it’s built to keep people in. People like her.
“I may have underestimated you a little,” I say, finally admitting to the weight of my own uncertainty.
She’s quiet for a moment, but I can hear the surprise in her breath. “A little?” she repeats, almost as if the words taste strange in her mouth.
I take the opportunity to turn my attention back toward the house. It’s almost instinct now. My eyes lock onto a window on the second floor. The curtain is swaying ever so slightly, just enough to suggest movement, a presence.
My heart beats a little faster; she’s too far away to be seen, but I know she’s there. I feel the tension of her presence in the air. She’s standing there. Watching me. But I’m no longer just talking to her on the phone. I’m talking to her across this vast expanse of land and walls, across our rivalry, across the delicate, dangerous line that separates predator from prey.
“I hope, Luciano, that this act of goodwill on my behalf proves that I’m no threat to you.”
I don’t doubt it but there’s a hint, no matter how faint, of something in her voice that tells me she’s fearful. It’s not just a matter of not wanting to start a war with us. There’s more at play here, and I’m starting to think it has less to do with my family and more to do with the problems within her own internal organization.
Which is precisely where I need her to be. If Jacklyn is a victim of infighting within her own factions, I want nothing more than for the Vicci family to tear itself apart from the inside out, because if they’re busy killing one another, they’re too busy to be causing us unwanted problems when we have enough of our own.
I hang up without another word. My silence is all she needs. Not giving her the satisfaction of a response will keep her on her toes and ensure she’s careful not to let her family’s drama extend to us again.
I start the car and drive the short distance to Ryder’s Electronics and park my car outside the building. There’s a reason why I keep Ryder on our payroll. He’s the best at what he does, and if there’s something to find, he’ll find it. When he calls me, he doesn’t give me everything, but he gives me something. Which is a start.
I scroll down the file he sent me on my phone, which is not much of a file, if you ask me, because it takes me less than thirty seconds to read up on Jacklyn Viccis history.
She wasn’t lying, not be a long stretch. She’s one half of the Vicci twins. Twenty-three years old, which causes me to raise my eyebrows. I’m not sure how she came to be so ballsy in the span of only twenty-three years. Plus, she appears to have taken over operations from her brother only recently; she’s not seasoned enough, and yet, she’s a killer. A cold-blooded killer.
“That’s it?” I mutter, as I come to the end of the report. I scroll down to the picture of Jacklyn, what looks to be a passport photo. Her dark hair is parted down the middle, flowing past her shoulders in casual waves. Her smile is wide and innocent, her eyes so bright, they’re like shards of brown crystal. The photo looks like it was taken a few years ago, but she hasn’t changed much except for the smile. The smile is gone. In its place is a focused energy that speaks of caution and restrained control. I wonder how long she’s been seated at the helm of the family, and what role, if any, her brother now has.
My mind flicks to her twin brother – it’s an interesting development, but it would make sense. Jack and Jacklyn Vicci. The last I heard, Jack Vicci ruled the Vicci family. Mr Jack Vicci, who I know for a fact was heir apparent after his father’s death eighteen months ago.
And now, the question remains – where the fuck is the other Jack Vicci?