16. Lucky
16
LUCKY
T he city teeters on the edge of madness by the time Seattle arrives, chaos bleeding into every corner like ink spilled on fragile paper. The air is thick with tension, every conversation undercut by fear or fury. Just minutes ago, we received word of another attack, this time across town at a shipping yard. The targets: another family entrenched in the tangled alliances and rivalries that define our world.
Four dead—two from either side. Blood for blood. The news is grim, but it’s the implications that gnaw at me. The recent spate of violence, which began as fractures within the Vicci family, has spilled over. What was once contained is now spreading, a thin thread of discord cracking through the bloodlines, threatening to unravel the fragile peace in our city.
When Dante Accardi’s entourage arrives, it’s clear the stakes have escalated beyond even my worst fears. We had expected Dante, the big boss himself, and perhaps a couple of his trusted men. What we hadn’t expected was the show of force that now marches into our territory like an army walking toward the trenches.
The streets outside bristle with tension as his convoy rolls in. Black SUVs with tinted windows, their engines growling like predators, pull up in a tight formation. Men pour out like shadows, armed and alert, their presence a clear message. This isn’t just a meeting—it’s a show of power, a warning wrapped in iron and steel.
Inside, the air shifts the moment they step into the room. Dante enters first, his presence commanding without needing to say a word. He’s a man who wears authority like a second skin, every step deliberate, every glance calculated. Behind him, his top lieutenants file in, faces hardened, eyes scanning for threats. And then there’s the battalion—a dozen more men, heavily armed, their movements sharp and precise.
I try to mask my surprise, but the sheer scale of their arrival makes it difficult. This isn’t a negotiation team; it’s an army. Whatever is happening, Dante clearly thinks it’s serious enough to warrant bringing some heavy hitters into our city.
The only one in the room who seems unfazed is Scar. He stands off to the side, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Of course, Scar would have known. He’s the one who made the call to Seattle in the first place. Whatever was said during that conversation, it was enough to convince Dante to bring the full weight of his operation with him. And Scar, ever the calculating strategist, decided we’d find out the details in due time.
I can’t help but glance at my older brother, searching for any flicker of unease, but he remains a fortress. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitches in what might almost be a smirk. It’s as though he thrives on this chaos, the tension feeding him while it drains the rest of us.
“The Vicci family,” Dante’s voice breaks through the room, low and steady. His gaze lands on Scar, and the burden of responsibility placed on my brother feels like a weight settling in my chest. “I trust you understand the gravity of the situation.”
His words hang in the air, a challenge and an accusation all at once. Scar lifts his chin, refusing to let him see anything other than strength. “I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t.”
A murmur ripples through his men, but Dante silences it with a raised hand. He steps forward, closing the distance between us. Up close, his presence is even more overwhelming, like standing too close to a fire. He’s somehow more intimidating, more commanding, than the last time I saw him. “Then explain to me,” he says, his tone sharp, “why their family’s problems are spilling into mine .”
It’s not a question. It’s a demand.
Before Scar can answer, Brando steps in, his voice calm but firm. “It’s not just the Vicci family’s problem anymore, Dante. This is bigger than one bloodline. Someone’s stoking the flames, and if we don’t act now, it’ll burn us all.”
The room goes silent. Even Dante’s men seem to hold their breath, waiting for his reaction. Dante’s eyes narrow, his gaze flicking between Scar and Brando. For a moment, the weight of his scrutiny is unbearable. Then he nods, almost imperceptibly.
“Fine,” he says. “But understand this—if you don’t get your house in order, I will.”
The warning is clear, and it sends a chill through me. This isn’t just about the Vicci family anymore. It’s a race to stop the city bleeding out in its own mess.
“I missed you, man.”
The big man steps forward and slaps his hand on Scar’s back before they share a man-hug. The Jekyll - not his real name, by the way - is a hulking mass of man that fills the room like a bad omen. He’s the sort of man you want in your corner when you’re going to war, the sort of man who is so damaged by his past that he’s capable of killing with his bare hands. He has ties to the cartels, an in with the Bolivians, and there’s not a man on the face of this earth more capable than he is.
The last time I saw him, he was helping us protect my sister-in-law Allegra while we supposedly languished in death. That’s a whole other story, but I can safely say the man is a monster. A friendly monster to us, but a monster, nonetheless. The Jekyll found his in with the Accardi family when he managed to save Caleph Rojas’ life a few times, and now the men who literally hated each other at one point are best friends. It’s a happy little family they’ve created for themselves, but they’re missing one.
“Where’s Attila?” I ask, trying to find the man in the many faces swimming through the room. We tried to get Seattle to stay in the compound where we’ve built our four homes, especially considering we have the room, but they opted instead to stay on two floors of the hotel we own. Which is where we are now. Attila and I hit it off last time we met, and he’s the standout for me amongst the men.
“Attila is finishing up some business in France and will fly in as soon as he can,” Caleph tells us. The arms dealer is looking better than he did the last time I saw him, if that’s even possible.
Dante’s glacial eyes are assessing as he looks around the room, taking in every man. The room has dwindled down to just a handful of us, the soldiers making use of the private dining room that’s been organised for their express benefit. I’m told his moody temperament comes from being away from his wife; he doesn’t like to travel unless she’s with him, but of course, he won’t carry her into a warzone. From what I hear, the man is obsessed with Kingsley Murray, who he married after he kidnapped her from her own father’s funeral.
“Just so you know,” Scar starts, smirking at Dante. “Allegra will kill me if you leave without having dinner with us. And I don’t much feel like leaving her so soon.”
Dante’s eyes are hard for a split second, before he breaks out into a warm smile.
“And I’m still waiting for you to bring Allegra to Seattle to meet the girls. King is going to have my hide if I don’t talk you into it.”
Dante, Attila, Caleph, and The Jekyll all live in the same high rise. Owned by them. Partners in crime; partners in real estate. Although I’ve heard Caleph doesn’t spend much time there, because he much rather prefers the sea and living on his superyacht.
“We’ll do dinner,” Scar says. “You can meet Scarlett and you can talk Allegra into leaving the city.”
Dante gives a short nod before he turns to Caleph, who moves forward until he’s standing beside his long time friend.
“Tell us about this Vicci problem,” Caleph says, swinging his brown eyes my way. “I hear you’re the one who had the run in with her?”
“I don’t think she’s the problem,” I start. “I think it’s the fact that her family is falling apart and she has infidels running circles around her.”
“Dissension?”
I nod, keeping my tone measured. “She’s ruthless, but the men are salivating over leadership.”
Dante leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled thoughtfully. “Who appointed her?”
To this, I shrug, my expression neutral. The truth is, I don’t know how it happened. I can only recount what I’ve pieced together from the whispers and reports. “Apparently, there was a shooting a few months ago, and Jack Vicci was the target. He survived but was gravely injured. He’s confined to a wheelchair now, effectively sidelined. His sister, Jacklyn, stepped up to take over, but apparently, she hasn’t been well-received. Her vision doesn’t align with that of her men.
Dante’s gaze sharpens at my words, and I don’t miss the look that passes between him and Caleph. It’s subtle but telling—a shared understanding or concern that neither bothers to articulate.
“You mean, the men don’t want to take orders from a woman,” he clarifies the meaning hidden in my words. He works his jaw, obviously incensed by this.
Standing against the wall, The Jekyll shifts his weight, peeling himself from the shadows to join the conversation more directly. He steps up beside Dante and Caleph, a silent but deliberate act of unity.
He’s the same as I remember—bald, with an intimidating presence that seems to fill the room. I recall the last time I saw him; he had joked about letting his hair grow out. Clearly, that plan didn’t last.
“Very ballsy of her,” The Jekyll remarks, his voice low but cutting. His eyes narrow with calculated judgment. “Especially since she doesn’t have the backing of a strong male presence. They’ll tear her to pieces before they let her lead.”
I keep my face impassive. “I can’t speak to that,” I reply evenly, “but I did watch her execute two of her own men. If that helps paint the picture.”
Their reaction is immediate and unguarded. Dante’s eyebrows rise slightly—a rare display of surprise—and even Caleph tilts his head as if considering something. The Jekyll mutters a low whistle, crossing his arms as he exchanges a glance with Dante.
“Well,” The Jekyll says with a faint smirk. “She’s got guts. I’ll give her that.”
“She’s dangerous,” Dante counters sharply. “Reckless, maybe even desperate. That kind of volatility can’t be ignored.” He turns his gaze back to me, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Set up a meeting. We need to meet with her as soon as possible.”
“I don’t know that that’s going to happen,” I admit cautiously. Jacklyn Vicci isn’t exactly welcoming outsiders these days, especially ones who might question her authority.
Dante’s voice hardens, a quiet force that carries more weight than any shout. “Make it happen.”
Before I can respond, Caleph clears his throat, stepping forward. “Some of the families have reached out,” he says, his voice calm but insistent. “They’re worried this situation with the Viccis is going to affect them all—financially, politically, and otherwise. We need to set up a meeting with them as well. Hear their grievances before this gets further out of hand.”
I nod, already anticipating this turn. The grumblings from the families have been growing louder in recent weeks, and it is one of the reasons we’d called Seattle in the first place. Decisions like removing a leader or intervening in family affairs aren’t taken lightly, and they certainly aren’t made in isolation. Even though our operation is arguably the strongest of the five major players in the city, there are rules—unwritten but ironclad—that govern everything we do. And one of those rules is accountability to Seattle.
Dante nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “We’ll need their input, but let’s not forget why we’re here. The Vicci family is spiraling. If Jacklyn Vicci can’t take control of the wheel, someone else will have to. But first, we see where she stands.”
“Agreed,” Caleph says. “But she’s already on the brink of chaos. This city won’t survive a power vacuum if she fails.”
The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of the situation settling heavily over us all. This isn’t just about Jacklyn Vicci anymore. Her struggles are the tip of the iceberg. The cracks in her leadership threaten to destabilize not only her family but the delicate balance of power across the city. And if Seattle has to step in, it won’t be pretty.
I glance at Dante, his face an inscrutable mask, and then at The Jekyll, who looks like he’s already strategizing five steps ahead. As for Caleph, his calm demeanor hides the ruthless precision that I know lies beneath.
“Understood,” I say finally. “I’ll make the calls.”
Dante’s gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before he nods. “Good. Let’s not waste time. This needs to be handled before it spirals any further. If Jacklyn Vicci can’t prove herself in that meeting, we’ll have to decide what comes next.”
I don’t need him to elaborate. What comes next is blood.