18. Lucky
18
LUCKY
T he weight of the vote hangs in the air long after the meeting has ended. I sit in the corner of the room, arms crossed, watching as the council slowly disperses. The decision has been made—Jacklyn Vicci would remain at the helm of her family—but every man that was in this room knows very well that a vote doesn’t end the danger posed to Jacklyn Vicci, regardless of what Dante “The Saint” Accardi decrees.
Scar stands at Dante’s side, his jaw tight, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk. He doesn’t speak, not yet, but I can tell something is brewing in his mind. Dante, meanwhile, has the look of a man who’s already moved three steps ahead of the game. I should’ve known then that I was next in his crosshairs.
“Lucky,” Dante says, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. He gestures for me to follow him into the adjacent room.
I don’t like the sense of foreboding that tickles at my senses, but I get up and follow him, with Scar’s heavy yet silent presence trailing behind. The three of us step into Scar’s office, a stark, meticulously organized space where every item has its place. Dante closes the door, turns to face me, and crosses his arms.
“You’re not going to like this,” he starts, which is always a great way to start a conversation.
“No kidding,” I shoot back, leaning against the desk. “You haven’t even started and already I’m about to run back out.”
Scar speaks up, his voice calm but firm. “The vote’s not enough. You know it. We know it. She’ll never have their vote and they’ll slit her throat the first chance they get.”
“Well, they can certainly try,” I tell them. “I’ve seen the way she handles a gun; I doubt her finger will flinch against the trigger if push came to shove.”
“If they get to her, she’s last in line to the Vicci bloodline. Her death could spark a power vacuum like we’ve never seen.”
I narrow my eyes. “And how exactly is this my problem?”
Dante doesn’t like to hide behind his words and gets straight to the point. “Marriage. If Jacklyn marries into the right family, she becomes untouchable. It solidifies her position and ensures no one can undermine her without consequences. And it stabilizes the region.”
The room goes deathly quiet as the weight of his words sink in. My fists clench at my sides as I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, I suddenly understand exactly where Dante’s head is at.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.
Dante’s expression doesn’t waver. “I’m not. This isn’t about you, Lucky. This is about the future of the families, the city, and preventing another bloody war we can’t afford.”
“Hell no.” The words tear out of me, rougher than I intended. My jaw tightens, and a sharp pulse rises in my temples as heat surges through my veins, the kind of anger that simmers just beneath the surface, ready to ignite. “Of course it’s not about me,” I snap. “It’s about you. Always has been. About keeping your precious balance intact. And you think the solution is to move me around like some pawn on a chessboard, place me wherever you see fit?”
Scar steps in, his voice a little softer. “It’s not just about the families, Lucky. Jacklyn’s in a vulnerable position. If we don’t do this, they’ll come for her. And when they do, no vote in the world will save her.”
I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. “And you think forcing her into a marriage is the answer? You think that’s what she wants? What I want? I don’t even know her!”
Dante’s gaze hardens. “Do you think I enjoy having to make decisions like this? But this is the obvious solution.”
“Solution?” I repeat, my voice rising. “Do you even hear yourself? It’s all good for you two – you’re married so you dodge this bullet. Now I’m the one who has to make that sacrifice? Why me?”
Scar steps closer, his tone measured. “Lucky, we’re not saying you don’t have a choice. But think about what’s at stake here. If it’s not you, we’ll have to find someone else. How can we trust anyone else to have her back the way you will? How can we trust handing over that sort of control to anyone else?”
That hits a nerve, even though I know they’re trying to guilt me into accepting this situation as it is. I shove off the desk, pace the length of the room, my thoughts a whirlwind. They aren’t wrong—not entirely. Jacklyn is in danger. The families won’t lift a finger to protect her unless it serves their interests. But marriage? The idea of tying myself to someone out of convenience makes my stomach churn. I may have slept with her and I may want to do it again, but marriage is a whole other ballgame. Marriage is a forever game. I can’t think past tomorrow, let alone forever.
“I’m not doing it,” I say finally, turning to face them. “If I marry someone, it’ll be because I want to, not because you two decide it’s politically convenient.”
Dante’s expression remains unreadable, but there is something behind his eyes—a quiet disappointment, maybe, or frustration. Scar sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I figured you’d say that,” Dante says after a long pause. “But think about this, Lucky. Think about what happens if you don’t step up. Jacklyn’s strong, but she can’t do this alone. And if something happens to her…”
His words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken possibilities.
“You’re asking me to sacrifice my life,” I say quietly.
“No,” Dante replies. “I’m asking you to consider what kind of life you’ll have if you let her fall. The chaos that will fall, the instability. But a union between the Gattis and the Viccis is one that no-one can challenge.”
Scar’s eyes meet mine, and I can see the internal struggle in them. It is the perfect power move—a way to lock down our place in the city and stabilize things. Marrying Jacklyn would mean the Gattis become untouchable. And so does she. But the thought of it… it doesn’t sit right with me. The idea of binding myself to her, to anyone, for the wrong reasons, feels wrong. People shouldn’t have to marry out of some perceived need for protection.
I shake my head, my gut screaming at me. “I’m not marrying anyone,” I say firmly. “Not her. Not anyone.”
Without another word, I turn and leave, slamming the door behind me.
As I walk away, their words echo in my mind. I hate that they make sense. I hate that they are right. But most of all, I hate the idea of Jacklyn being used as a pawn in this deadly game—just like they’re trying to use me.
Our mother really did a number on us. Long before she turned her sights on us, she destroyed our father. It’s almost poetic—the first woman in my life, the one who carried me in her womb for nine months, the one whose face I opened my eyes to, became the very one who tried to close them forever.
She tried to kill us—her own sons.
After fourteen years in exile, she returned to reclaim her place as the head of a family that had long since stopped wanting her. When that didn’t play out the way she had planned, she conspired with the cartels to finish us off. To wipe out the Gatti bloodline she had birthed into this world.
Which mother does that?
Which mother buys headstones for her sons while they’re still alive?
Benita Gatti, that’s who.
Even now, her name leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. If I could go back, I’d strip her of it—tear it from her evil soul just as she tried to tear us apart. But it’s too late for that. Her flesh and bones are scattered across the rubble of what used to be our childhood home. After Scar plunged a knife into her heart, we set the house ablaze with her inside it. She was so steeped in evil, I doubt even the devil himself would’ve taken her. So, we razed the ruins to the ground and rebuilt—four towering homes in the compound that now stands as the Gatti estate.
It’s ironic, really, that she lies buried beneath our feet. One final “fuck you” to the woman who tried to destroy her own flesh and blood.
When I think of marriage, I think of my parents. I think of how my father suffered in silence, heartbroken not only by the loss of his wife’s loyalty but by the death of his sister—a hit orchestrated by the very woman he shared a bed with. Their marriage wasn’t a partnership; it was a battleground. Pain. Fury. Ruin. When I think of marriage, all I see is misery.
I swore I’d never let that kind of destruction into my life. I’d rather live alone than endure what my father did. I’d rather die childless than risk having children who’d suffer the way we did. Maybe it’s that marriage—their marriage—that broke me. That twisted something inside my head. It’s why I’ve spent my entire life avoiding relationships. From childhood through high school, from college into adulthood, the idea of love—of anything serious—has been a nonstarter. A non-issue. I run from the slightest whiff of attachment. I’ve avoided it at all costs, and for the most part, I’ve been happier that way.
The room is quiet now, everyone else having filed out one by one. It’s just me and Scar. He’s sitting across from me, his large hands clasped in front of him on the table. His dark eyes fix on me, sharp and knowing, cutting through all the walls I’ve spent years building. Scar doesn’t speak right away; he’s always been the kind to let silence work in his favor. And right now, it’s doing a damn good job of making me uncomfortable.
“You’re thinking about her again,” Scar finally says, his voice calm but firm, like a hammer against tempered steel.
I bristle instinctively, leaning back in my chair. “Who?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Lucky. You know who.”
My jaw tightens. I hate how easily he can read me, how he can see through the cracks I try so hard to seal. “She’s dead,” I say flatly. “End of story.”
Scar doesn’t flinch. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze unrelenting. “The story doesn’t end just because she’s dead. You know that as well as I do. She’s still in here.” He taps the side of his head. “And in here.” He presses a hand to his chest.
I look away, my fingers drumming against the edge of the table, even though I know he’s right. My mind screams at me; deflect, deflect, deflect. I know that she’s still in my head, confusing the fuck out of me. And she’s still in my heart, the way that a deep wound festers, killing everything good that stands in its way.
“She’s not in my head. Or my heart. She’s in the goddamn dirt where she belongs.”
“You sure about that?” Scar’s voice is quieter now, but it’s no less sharp. “Because from where I’m sitting, she’s still running the show. All this avoiding, all this pushing people away—you think that’s just you? That’s her, Lucky. She’s still got her claws in you.”
His words hit their mark, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. I want to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, but the words won’t come. Because deep down, I know he’s right.
Scar leans back, watching me carefully. “You don’t have to let her win, you know. You don’t have to live like this forever.”
I swallow hard, my throat dry. “And what’s the alternative? Risking another Benita?”
Scar shakes his head, his expression softening just enough to be disarming. “Not everyone’s her, Lucky. Hell, most people aren’t. You’ve got a shot at something better. Don’t let her take that from you.”
The room feels stifling, the weight of his words pressing down on me. I don’t respond. I can’t. Instead, I push back from the table and stand, my movements abrupt, my chair scraping against the tiles
“You’re saying this because you think me marrying Jacklyn Vicci would be a good move,” I say, my voice tight.
“Regardless of what I think about that. Be it her or anyone else, it’s time for you to open yourself to the possibility of finally living, Lucky.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell him, as I head for the door.
Scar doesn’t try to stop me. He just nods, his gaze heavy on my back as I leave the room. But his words follow me, echoing in the corners of my mind.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ve been living in her shadow for too long, holding on to the memory of a past that will only drag me down. Maybe it is time to finally step out into the light.