15. Jacklyn
15
JACKLYN
I don’t know why I thought that the mere essence of the Vicci blood running in my veins would be enough to buy the loyalty of the men who once worked for my brother, some even for my father before him.
But the betrayal that comes is swift and brutal. It sparks a chain of events and buries me deeper into the ground with the other families. It’s not just a few rogue soldiers acting on their own. The virus has spread. The betrayal is a coordinated effort—a collective decision by those closest to me, the men I’m supposed to trust with my life, and it started with that fuckwit Falcone, who infected my ranks like a damn gnawing virus.
The knowledge stings like a fresh wound. If he weren’t already dead, I’d take a gun to his head myself.
I’m no stranger to backstabbing or the fragility of loyalty. But even I hadn’t anticipated how quickly loyalties would shift. The problem is no longer just the traitors within my own family; it is the Cavallos, the Gattis, the vultures circling my empire, waiting for any sign of weakness so they can strike. Everyone wants a fucking piece of me.
But I’m not about to let that happen. Not now. Not ever.
My hand, clenched in a fist at my side, shakes with the weight of the decision I’m about to make. I’m not just fighting for control; I’m fighting for survival. And in my world, survival comes at a price. I know this all too well; my brother Jack is the perfect example of that.
I stand at the head of the long, polished table, my hands gripping the edge so tightly, my knuckles turn white. The room buzzes with tension, the air thick with the weight of unspoken accusations and barely concealed contempt. The dissidents—my former allies turned adversaries—occupy the chairs before me. Their faces are a mix of smug defiance and simmering resentment. They dare to defy me, even as they live under my own roof. If it weren’t for the sentimentality of the house my father built, I would’ve burnt the damn thing down with every traitor in it.
There are a handful of men I’ve called together to this meeting, mainly the ones who have been the most vocal in questioning my reign. Sergio and Marco stand, ever the loyal watchdogs, although I’ve warned them not to get involved unless it’s absolutely necessary. I need these men to understand that I’m not as flimsy as they think.
“I called this meeting,” I begin, my voice calm even as I struggle to maintain my composure. I’m in a room full of men, more than half of which are just waiting for me to fall flat on my face so they can tear each other apart over my throne. “I’m here to address your grievances and remind you of the stakes. Our goals are too important to be derailed by petty infighting.”
A man near the center of the table scoffs. “Petty? You mean questioning your unilateral decisions? This is not what we signed up for – a woman cannot lead this family!”
My jaw tightens. “Are you questioning my authority, Enzo? This is my family. The family my own father built with his blood. What gives you the right to tell me I can’t rule it?”
The room murmurs. Enzo leans back in his chair, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. He’s a short, round man with not much going for him, who remains on our payroll only out of some misguided pity Jack had not to remove anyone that had previously worked for our father.
“You want the leadership?” he spits at me, his voice venomous. “Honey, they’re going to tear you to pieces.”
“Enzo!” Marco bellows in warning, and I hold up my hand to stop him. We had agreed that he would not step in, no matter what. I called this meeting to clear the air, hear their grievances, and try to find some common ground with my men.
My nails dig into the table. My heart rattles in its cage. He’s only confirming everything I already know. Even my own men don’t have faith in me; they never did. I force myself to take a steadying breath, my practiced composure threatening to slip.
“This isn’t about me,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. “Your loyalty to the Vicci name shouldn’t be dependent on who’s sitting in this chair. The fact that you never gave me a chance to begin with is telling in itself. Your loyalty is to yourself. Each and every one of you!”
I point at each man in turn, my eyes meeting theirs, my gaze unwavering as I stare them down. I watched my father do it enough times to know that when I don that mask, I can be as formidable as he was. It may be short lived, but that look has a presence and a seat at this table.
Another voice pipes up from the far end of the table. “Maybe we’re starting to wonder if the fight is worth it under your rule.”
I swing my eyes toward the man. The tension snaps like a taut wire. I slam my palm on the table, the sharp crack silencing the room. “Enough!” I roar. “You think you can do better? You think you can lead this fractured, desperate group without losing pieces of yourself along the way? Go ahead. Take my place. But don’t you dare sit there and question my sacrifices.”
The man shrinks back into his chair. What most of them don’t realize is that while every man desires the opportunity to rule, not all are born leaders. My chest heaves, and for a moment, the room is silent. Then Enzo stands, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
“Maybe that’s exactly what we need—a change in leadership.”
I move before I have a chance to think. In a flash, I’m across the room, my hand gripping Enzo by the collar. I shove his head against the table with a force that knocks the breath from his lungs. “You think you can tear me down and walk away unscathed?” I snarl, my face inches from his. From the corner of my eye, I see Sergio and Marco hold back a couple of the other men.
“Jacklyn, stop!” someone shouts, but the words barely register as the edges of my vision blur, my fury taking on a life of its own.
Enzo struggles against my grip, his defiance giving way to genuine fear. “You’re proving my point,” he gasps. “You’re nothing but?—”
My fist connects with his jaw before he can finish. The room erupts into chaos. Shouts fill the air as people scramble to pull me back as I pummel my fist into his face over and over again, even as blood sprays from his nose across my own face. It takes three of them to pry me away, my body still trembling with rage.
As Enzo slumps to the floor, wiping blood from his lip, the reality of what I’ve done begins to sink in. The room’s atmosphere shifts irreversibly. Where there had been dissent, there was now fear—and disgust. Which is precisely where I want them.
I straighten, brushing my hair from my face with a firm hand. “My house, my family. Anyone that doesn’t want to abide by my rules can pack their bag and get the fuck out now.”
The meeting disperses in uneasy silence, but the repercussions are immediate. Within the hour, whispers of my outburst spread like wildfire. Allies hesitate to meet my gaze, their uncertainty lingering like a bitter taste in the air. The dissidents’ ranks swell with newfound confidence, their murmurs growing louder, their defiance sharper. My grip on the group—the fragile unity I had fought so hard to maintain—continues to slip through my fingers.
I retreat to my office, slamming the door behind me with more force than I intend. The sound echoes, a cruel reminder of the silence that has followed me since the meeting ended. I pace the room, the events replaying in my mind in an endless loop. Each time, I come to the same inescapable conclusion; I had failed. My anger, my inability to control it, has cost me more than I care to admit—or more than I am willing to admit.
I collapse into the leather chair behind my desk, letting my head fall into my hands. The silence grows heavier, pressing down on me. A glass of whiskey sits untouched on the desk, its amber liquid catching the dim light of the desk lamp. I don’t reach for it.
A knock at the door breaks through my thoughts, sharp and purposeful. For a moment, I consider ignoring it, but the sound comes again, insistent. “Come in,” I call, my voice hoarse.
The door opens, and Sergio steps inside. His face is lined with an expression I can’t quite place—concern, disappointment, and something darker, like resignation. He shuts the door behind him with a soft click and stands there for a moment, his hands clasped in front of him.
“Enzo’s gone, Jacklyn,” he says softly, his voice careful. “Along with five others.”
The words hit me like a sledgehammer, but I barely flinch. Somehow, I can’t find it in myself to care. The truth is, I’ve been bracing for this since the meeting ended. Enzo has been teetering on the edge for weeks, his loyalty worn thin by my choices—or, perhaps, by my failures. This was inevitable.
“And you?” I ask, my voice colder than I intend. “Will you leave me too?”
Sergio doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes drift to the glass of whiskey on the desk. His gaze lingers there for a moment before he looks back at me, his expression hardening. “You’ve had enough, don’t you think?” he says, his tone sharper now.
I bristle at the remark, a flash of indignation rising in my chest. Sergio thinks I drink like a man. What he fails to understand is that this is what happens when you spend your entire life surrounded by them. My father, my brother, my extended Vicci family—all of them, pressing their wills and their expectations onto me, molding me into something hard and unyielding. My mother was gone before I could even form a memory of her. She didn’t get to teach me softness, or grace, or how to temper the anger that had become my constant companion.
Sergio steps closer, his hands resting on the edge of the desk. His dark eyes bore into mine, unflinching. “You made a mistake, Jacklyn. A bad one. But you don’t get to sit here and wallow in it. You’re the leader. That means you get up, you face the consequences, and you fix it.”
“And how do you suggest I do that?” I shoot back, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “My men have lost faith in me.”
“How do you expect them to have faith in you, Jacklyn. When you seem to have lost faith in yourself?”
I shake my head, leaning back in the chair. “This is so much harder than I thought it would be. It came so naturally to Jack, to my father.”
“They had their own demons too, Jacklyn.”
His words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable. I don’t respond, but I don’t dismiss them either. When I look up, Sergio is watching me, his expression softening just slightly.
“Get some rest,” he tells me, as he reminds me that things may only get worse tomorrow.
As he leaves, closing the door softly behind him, I sit alone in the quiet once more. But this time, the silence feels different—less like a weight and more like a challenge. Tomorrow, I’ll step back into the fire. And this time, I won’t let it consume me.