13. Marco
13
MARCO
I was born to love Jacklyn Vicci. The very blood that pulses through my veins does so for her satisfaction. She is my world—untouchable, unknowable, yet wholly mine. Loving her should be a gift, but for me, it’s a curse wrapped in barbed wire. I don’t know how to love her without trying to control her, without wrapping her in chains disguised as protection. She doesn’t want what I want. She doesn’t see what I see. For her, our union is an inconvenience. For me, it’s inevitable.
It was all I could do to prevent her from attending tonight’s operation. We have a meet with a local arms dealer from the Cavallo family, and I don’t want Jacklyn anywhere near the roguish Emilio Cavallo; I know he’s probably just her type, and the last thing we need right now is her falling into bed with the wrong person again. I say wrong person, because I just barely saved her last time when a member of the Russian Bratva decided to tie her up and leave her chained to a bed while he went about his business getting high and crazy. Well that’s a story for another time, but what’s most important is that the world - our world - doesn’t know that Jacklyn has taken over the family business after her brother was incapacitated. We’ve decided to keep the matter under wraps until absolutely necessary. That’s why I was so pissed off that she met with Lucky Gatti and showed her hand. That, and the fact that he’s another man that’s just her type .
Truth is, I think I’m her type too, but I’ve been cursed with the label of older brother and protector. I was her bodyguard for a while when she was a teenager, then I fit the mold of irritating older brother, and she can’t seem to look past that. She seems to think it would be incestuous for us to have a relationship, but I beg to differ. She’s everything I ever wanted and needed, and I will keep trying until my dying breath. One day, she will understand that we were always meant for one another.
Jacklyn’s safety is my main priority. We’ve been on high alert ever since Lucky Gatti messaged Jacklyn and threatened her. Because that’s precisely what his words were – a threat. Fucker thinks he can threaten my girl and get away with it – I’ll bury him myself if I have to in order to ensure her safety. Lucky’s a dead man walking. Whether it’s by my hand or Jackie’s orders, he won’t get a chance to make good on his threat.
I enter the warehouse where we’ll be meeting with Emilio Cavallo, accompanied by a dozen of my own men. It reeks of oil and decay, the air thick with dust that clings to my throat and nostrils. The old building, once a thriving hub of industry, now stands as a hollowed-out shell, its rusting skeleton barely holding itself together. A place of forgotten promises and shattered deals, the kind of place where loyalty goes to die. I stand in the far corner, leaning against a crumbling pillar, my sharp eyes scanning the room. Despite the warehouse's decay, it is the perfect meet spot, the perfect place to do trade without the inconvenience of prying eyes. It’s isolated, unmonitored, and most importantly, untraceable.
My soldiers are scattered around, their faces tense and unreadable as we wait for the drop. The Cavallo representatives aren’t late—yet—but every second they aren’t here makes my jaw clench a little tighter. I don’t like sitting exposed like this, even with half a dozen of our men stationed in the shadows, their hands on the grips of their guns.
The distant rumble of an approaching engine finally breaks the oppressive silence. I signal to the men positioned near the warehouse doors, and they move with practiced efficiency, ready to let the visitors in. The convoy arrives in a predictable formation—two SUVs flanking a sleek, black sedan. When the vehicles come to a stop, I straighten to my full height and wait.
Emilio Cavallo, the youngest and the most dangerous of the Cavallo brothers, steps out of the Mercedes. His tailored suit and loose, wavy hair give him the appearance of a businessman, but I know better. Emilio has made his name by burying competition, sometimes literally.
“Marco,” Emilio greets me with a flash of his too-white teeth as he approaches. His men hang back by the vehicles, their eyes scanning the room like hawks.
“Emilio.” I extend my arm to shake his hand.
“Heard you were upgrading,” Emilio laughs, his lips twisted in a lop-sided smirk. I’m sure he’s what the ladies would consider handsome, but there’s no denying the thread of malice coursing through him. “You going to war?” He motions for his men to start unloading crates from their vehicles. “That’s good for business. And for us.”
I give him a tight nod. “Jack believes in being prepared. And we like to keep our friends happy.”
“Let’s hope this deal keeps everyone happy,” Emilio quips, gesturing to the crates now being opened for inspection.
I move to the nearest one, flip the lid, and examine the contents. Rifles, Kalashnikovs, M16s, grenades, ammunition—it’s everything we’ve negotiated for. I nod to Vito, who moves to count the crates and double-check the inventory.
Emilio’s jaw tightens, his tone edged with irritation as he says, “You’ll find everything’s in order.” His eyes narrow, daring us to challenge his claim, the slight offense lingering in the air like smoke. “The Cavallos don’t short their partners.”
Before I can respond, a screech of tires slices through the air. The sound sets every man in the room on edge. Guns are drawn. My heart pounds as I glare toward the source of the noise.
“What the hell is that?” Vito mutters, already pulling his weapon.
The warehouse doors burst open, metal screaming against metal, as an SUV barrels into the room. It’s chaos in an instant. Men spill out of the vehicle, armed to the teeth, shouting commands and moving with precision. My gut tightens as I recognize the leader of the group.
“Daniel,” I growl, stepping forward even as Emilio swears under his breath.
Daniel Russo. The name feels like bile in my throat. One of the most vocal of the Vicci dissidents, he strides into the warehouse with the smug confidence of a man who knows he has the upper hand. His crew fans out, weapons raised.
“Motherfucker!” Emilio hisses.
“Didn’t think you’d start the party without us, Marco,” Daniel says, his voice mocking me.
“This clown one of yours?” Emilio spits. He’s fuming, and an angry Emilio Cavallo is not someone you want to have on your speed dial.
“This is none of your business, Daniel,” I snap. “You’re defying orders by being here.” I step between Daniel and the crates. “Jack isn’t going to be happy about this.”
Daniel smirks. “Jack doesn’t speak for all of us anymore.”
He doesn’t say what everyone in the Vicci camp is already thinking; that after Jacklyn executed two of our own, faith in her leadership has all but vanished. Daniel’s breach of this deal feels like the final nail in the Vicci coffin—the clear sign that we’re all aboard a sinking ship that’s going no-where.
Before I can respond, the first shot rings out.
The world explodes into chaos.
The Cavallo guards fire back immediately, their precision honed by years of dealing in blood and violence. The warehouse becomes a war zone, bullets ricocheting off steel beams, crates splintering under the assault.
I duck behind a stack of crates, my heart pounding. I fire at one of Daniel’s men who’s taken cover behind a forklift. The man crumples, and I curse under my breath, realising that our own men organized a full-blown ambush. This, now, will also put us on the Cavallo family’s radar. My mind races. The Cavallos will see this as a betrayal, and if they walk away, the Vicci family will lose not just the arms but another crucial ally.
“Marco!” Vito shouts from across the room. “We’re outnumbered!”
“Hold them off!” I yell, firing again.
I can see the Cavallos retreating as the firefight rages on, their faith in the deal shattered. Emilio shoots me a look before ducking into his car, and I know exactly what he’s trying to tell me. This is on you.
As the Cavallo vehicles peel out of the warehouse, Daniel’s men surge forward. My loyalists, overwhelmed by the sheer number of men attacking us, fall back.
Daniel grabs one of the crates, laughing as he barks orders to his men. “Load ’em up! Tonight, we take what we’re owed!”
The sight sends a surge of fury through me. This isn’t just disobedience—it’s treason.
I lunge forward, tackling Daniel to the ground. We grapple, fists flying. My knuckles connect with his jaw, a satisfying crunch, but he recovers quickly, slamming his head into mine. Pain explodes across my skull, and I stagger back.
“You’re done, Marco,” Daniel sneers, blood trickling down his lip. “Jack’s reign is over, and so is yours. The minute I put a bullet in your head, I’m out of here and I’m off to finish what remains of the Vicci line. This city needs new blood.”
“Fuck you, Daniel! You don’t have what it takes to be a leader,” I hiss.
“You don’t think I’d do a better job than your little whore?”
I lunge at him, but his men grab me, dragging me to my knees. A gun presses against my temple, cold and unyielding.
“Finish him,” Daniel orders, turning his back on me as if I’m already dead.
But then the sound of sirens pierces the night.
“Cops!” someone shouts.
Daniel’s men scramble, grabbing what they can and retreating into their vehicles. Within moments, the warehouse is empty, save for the bodies and the blood.
I collapse against a crate, blood dripping from a gash on my temple. A sigh of relief escapes me; I was so close to death that I almost have to pinch myself to believe I’m still here. Around me, the warehouse is eerily quiet, the stench of blood and gunpowder heavy in the air.
Vito limps over, his face pale. “They got most of it,” he says grimly.
“And the Cavallos?”
“Gone,” he replies. “They’ll never deal with us again after this.”
I nod, my hands trembling as I holster my gun. Daniel’s actions have done more damage than any rival family ever could. Jack needs to know. This wasn’t just an attack on the deal—this was an attack on the Vicci family itself. Daniel Russo literally just screwed us well into the next century.
And if Daniels’s bold enough to stage an uprising against the Vicci family, he won’t stop until Jack’s empire burns.
I may have misjudged Emilio Cavallo. He wouldn’t stick around to save us during the ambush, but he does the next best thing. He calls a cousin of his who’s on his payroll, who also happens to be a police officer. So in fact, he did save us in a way by sending his cousin in with his siren wailing.
But I can’t say the man’s not flipping mad. One of his own men was shot, and he’s out for blood. Namely, Daniel Russo’s, but he’s also not happy that the leak about the deal came from our side; there’ll be a price to pay for that. We’ve copped the loss of the arms that were stolen, the same arms that were meant to fight off the Gattis, and Cavallo now refuses to work with us. We’re down the stash of weapons and several million in crypto, and I really don’t know how much more of a beating the Vicci family can take.
To my surprise, Jacklyn takes the news standing. Not just standing—unyielding, as though the words I’ve just spoken to her are no more than a stiff breeze battering against a stone wall. Her chin tilts upward, her gaze fixed and unflinching, the amber fire in her eyes burning brighter than ever. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t falter. Instead, she speaks, her voice steady and sharp as tempered steel.
"If they want to tear me to pieces," she says, her tone carrying a mixture of defiance and unshakable determination, "I’ll hand them the knife."
The words hang in the air between us, heavy with intent. It’s not just bravado—there’s something in her resolve, a strength I hadn’t expected, not after everything she’s been through. Just days ago, she was a storm of grief and desperation, unraveling as she watched Jack board that plane. She’d clung to him like he was her anchor, her only steadying force in a world that threatened to rip her apart.
But something shifted after that. Maybe it was Jack’s absence that forced her to find her own footing. Maybe it was the realization that no one was coming to save her. Whatever it was, within two hours of that plane disappearing into the clouds, Jacklyn Vicci was no longer the shattered woman I’d seen at the hangar.
Now, as she stands before me, taking in the grim reality of the situation—the whispers of betrayal, the escalating threats, the cracks forming in the Vicci family’s foundations—it’s clear that the woman who cried over sending her brother away is gone, and in her place stands a formidable woman willing to sacrifice herself to save her family.
“You understand what this means,” I say carefully, testing her resolve. “They’re not just coming for you, Jacklyn. They’ll use everything they can against you. Friends, allies, even innocents if it means breaking you.”
Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t waver. “Then I won’t give them the satisfaction of surrender.”
Her composure is unnerving, even for me. I’ve seen men crumble under less pressure. But there’s something about Jacklyn now, something fierce and unrelenting, like she’s found a deeper part of herself. She doesn’t just accept the fight ahead—she welcomes it.
“I’m not Jack,” she says suddenly, her voice soft but edged with steel. “I won’t be loved, Marco. Not the way he was. I know that. I know what they’ll say about me, what they’ll try to do. But I’m not here to be loved. I’m here to run an empire. They don’t respect me now, so I’ll just work doubly hard to earn it.”
The words are a punch to the gut. Not because they’re surprising, but because they’re true. Jacklyn Vicci isn’t Jack Vicci. She’ll never be the larger-than-life figure that people adored and feared in equal measure until bullets ripped through him, rendering him helpless. But she doesn’t have to be.
She turns her back to me, walking toward the window. Outside, the city stretches endlessly, its glittering lights hiding the shadows beneath.
“When Jack gets back,” she says, her voice quieter now, “I want him to find this family intact. I want him to find me intact. And if I have to burn a few bridges while I’m at it, then so be it.”
Her words hang in the room, leaving no doubt in my mind; Jacklyn Vicci isn’t preparing for war. She’s ready for it.