31. Jacklyn
31
JACKLYN
R espect. There’s nothing quite like it. Especially when it’s earned.
My childhood wasn’t a traditional one. I wasn’t sent to public school to mingle with kids my age or to learn social etiquette in a classroom. Instead, I was homeschooled—my days an unrelenting schedule of tutors, training, and expectations. When my father wasn’t drilling me on the importance of strategy and discipline, my hours were filled with what he liked to call “practical education.” Equestrian training, judo, shooting, archery—the kind of extracurricular activities no school would dare put on a brochure.
For my father, preparation wasn’t optional. It was survival. And in his world—the world of power, blood, and shadows—being prepared wasn’t just smart; it was a necessity.
That training molded me into who I am today. It’s why, when I step onto the shooting range with the most important men who linger in the dark recesses of the underworld, I don’t falter. This will probably be my one and only opportunity ever to prove myself. To prove that I am not just Silvio Vicci’s daughter; to prove that I am worthy of being a leader. I may need some help, but there’s no-where else I’d rather be than walking my family into the future.
I’m surrounded by powerful men with faces chiseled from stone and eyes that have seen more death than most people could ever imagine. They’re the elite of the underworld, every one of them deadly in their own right. And they’re watching me.
The weight of their scrutiny is almost tangible, pressing against my skin as I load my weapon. The murmurs have already started—a mix of curiosity and skepticism. I hear it in their voices, the unspoken question hanging in the air; ‘why is she here and what is she doing?’
I don’t let it rattle me. My father’s voice rings in my head: ‘respect isn’t demanded—it’s earned’.
I take my position, my movements precise and deliberate. The target stands at the far end of the range, a silent challenge. My grip tightens on the pistol, my finger brushing the trigger as I exhale slowly. Focus. Breathe. Fire.
The world seems to have stopped in this moment just to bear witness to my fury.
The shots ring out, sharp and precise, shattering the air with each pull of the trigger. When I lower my weapon, the silence behind me is almost deafening. Gone is the laughter, the subtle dismissiveness that had lingered moments before.
Even though I know these men don’t discriminate based on gender—respect in their world is a currency anyone can earn—there’s still that harsh reality, that buried belief that women aren’t created equal to men. And that’s why I’m not going to lie; I’m proud of my handiwork as I study the target mangled by my bullets.
The murmurs start again, low and impressed this time. One of the men lets out a long, slow whistle.
“Well, damn,” someone mutters. “Kid’s got skills.”
I don’t smile, but there’s a flicker of satisfaction. I step back, reloading my weapon with the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times before. But even in this moment of triumph, I know there will always be someone who isn’t buying what I’m selling.
When I glance up, my eyes lock with Lucky’s. He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. There’s something in his gaze—there’s a hint of overwhelming pride, but he’s also undeniably amused. I take in his warm brown eyes, his loose brown waves as he rakes his hands through them, pushing the strands back casually; I don’t know how he manages to look so good without even trying.
“Surprised?” I ask him, scrunching my face in mock confusion. He’s no stranger to what I can do with a gun. I’m acutely aware of the silence surrounding us as everyone watches the interaction with rapt attention. It’s a strange situation I find myself in as I watch him push off the wall and saunter toward me, his every step deliberate, his presence impossible to ignore.
“You’re more dangerous than I gave you credit for,” he says, stopping just a few feet away. He leans in closer until his breath curls against the shell of my ear before he whispers, for my ears only, “and now you’ve proved it to every man here.”
“Is this your version of a compliment?” I counter, tilting my head closer to his as I slide my eyes his way.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he picks up a weapon and steps up to the target beside mine. Without a word, he raises the gun, his posture relaxed but controlled. He takes aim but he doesn’t look at the target. Instead, he keeps his eyes on me as he smirks and pulls the trigger.
The shots come quickly, rapid fire, each bullet landing with pinpoint accuracy. When he lowers the gun, his target looks almost identical to mine. I catch my breath; the man can shoot blind, and it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.
I arch a brow, trying to ignore the way my stomach flips. “Damn,” I mutter, echoing my appreciation. “You were made for me.”
Lucky turns to me, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You couldn’t handle me.”
“Oh, please,” I scoff, but I can’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “I could run circles around you.”
The banter continues, light and sharp, as the heads of the families watch on with amused expressions. They don’t interrupt; this isn’t just entertainment to them—it’s their way of measuring and weighing every nuance of the exchange between us. It’s how they test me to see how I fit amongst the other families. I think I’m holding my own, but only time will tell. Time will be the true indicator.
But for once, I don’t care. The tension, the unspoken challenge between Lucky and me—it’s electric. And as much as I hate to admit it, I like it.
When the session finally ends and the men begin to disperse, Lucky catches my arm, his grip firm but not unkind. “You did good out there,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost serious.
I glance at him, my heart still racing from the adrenaline. “I still can’t shoot anything like you, though,” I reply, my tone light but my eyes steady on his. For some reason, I never want him to stop talking, never want him to remove his eyes off me.
Lucky chuckles, shaking his head as he lets go. “You’re like chaos wrapped in order, and that makes no sense to me. I could teach you,” he offers.
“Perhaps.”
As he walks away, I find myself watching him, a strange mix of frustration and admiration swirling inside me. Whatever this is between us, it’s dangerous. And yet, I can’t seem to stay away.
Respect may be earned, but some battles are far more personal. And with Lucky, I’m beginning to realize, this is just the beginning.
The others have opted to take the AVs back to the main house, but Lucky suggests we walk. He claims it’s because the air might clear our heads after everything that has happened recently, and I tend to agree, though I suspect he just wants to grill me without an audience.
The dirt path crunches under our boots as we walk side by side, silence stretching between us like a taut wire. The mid-morning air is cool, scented faintly with the wild jasmine that grows along the edge of the estate, but it does little to ease the tension hanging between us.
Lucky’s voice finally slices through the quiet, low and deliberate. “So, tell me about Daniel Russo.”
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, keeping my expression carefully neutral. “What do you want to know?” My tone is casual, but there’s a tightness in my chest.
“Everything. Anything. Whatever you can tell me,” he replies, his words weighted with meaning.
I bite the corner of my lip, looking out into the distance as if the answer might be somewhere in the horizon. Russo. Just hearing his name stirs a dark fury in my chest. The man has been a thorn in my side, an ever-present reminder of the chaos threatening to tear my family apart. If I get my hands on him, I’ll wring his wiry neck and shove his tongue so far up his ass that he’ll gag on it. That honor should be mine and mine alone. He’s earned it, and Marco’s blood cries for it.
I meet his gaze briefly, then turn back to the road ahead. “Because you want to find him and put a stop to all this madness?”
Lucky watches me, his pace slowing slightly. “Something like that.” His tone is deceptively light, but his eyes are anything but.
I nod once, the set of my jaw firm. I don’t miss the way his gaze flicks to the bruises on my face—the ones Russo left me with. His jaw works, the anger in his expression barely contained. Lucky Gatti, ever the protector. I don’t need it, but I can’t pretend it doesn’t feel... comforting to know there’s still someone in the world who gives a damn.
“You know,” Lucky starts, his voice casual, a dangerous edge to it. “You talk a big game, Jackie, but I get the feeling you’re not as tough as you seem.”
I stop walking and turn to face him, one brow arched. “Is that so?”
He steps closer, his hands shoved into his pockets, his smirk infuriatingly confident. “Yeah. I mean, you’re tough—I’ll give you that. But you’ve got this habit of diving headfirst into the deep end without checking for sharks.”
“And you’re just dying to save me from myself, aren’t you?” I snap, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Not really,” he shrugs, his smirk widening. “I just like watching the chaos. It’s entertaining.”
I roll my eyes and start walking again, but Lucky falls into step beside me. “You know,” I say after a moment, my tone thoughtful, “for someone who prides himself on being so detached, you sure seem invested in my business.”
“Call it morbid curiosity,” he quips.
“Morbid is right,” I mutter under my breath, earning a low chuckle from him.
“You going to tell me about this asshole that used your face as his own personal punching bag?”
I sigh and relent. I can use all the help I’m offered; especially when it comes to finding Daniel. I’ve promised Don Accardi that I’ll follow orders and won’t go off on my own manhunt, and I’ll abide by that. I’ve proved myself beyond doubt today; there’s no reason why I can’t use the information I’ve got on that piranha Russo to my benefit.
“Promise me something first.”
Lucky quirks his eyebrows and angles his head, as if to tell me that this is not a negotiation. He says nothing but nods once, asking me silently to continue.
“When you find the asshole, I want a crack at him.”
He grins, his smile viciously wide as he tells me he believes in closure, and who is he to stand in my way if that’s what I need to sleep better at night. I almost choke on my own snort before I shake my head and start to walk again as I tell him everything I know about Daniel Russo, which isn’t much, to be honest. The usual background; how long he’s worked my father, the ambitions that led him down this road, what we can expect when we finally find him.
“I don’t know where you can find him,” I tell Lucky. “But I can assure you that he’s as slippery as a snake.”
We walk in silence for a while longer, until the main house comes into view, its lights glowing warmly against the night sky.
As we near the steps, Lucky stops abruptly, his hand catching my arm. I turn to him, surprised.
He looks at me, his expression serious for once. “Are you okay?” he asks. “I mean, really okay? Or are you just putting up a front for the Don’s benefit?” I blink, thrown off by his sudden questions which have done nothing but put me on the spot. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” His voice is low as he shoots me a wistful look. Something stirs deep inside me, until my stomach is in knots and I have trouble just trying to catch my breath. I know he’s thinking about what happened between us weeks ago at his club, the same way I am. It’s the silent elephant sitting between us.
For a moment, I don’t know what to say. His words catch me off guard, slipping past the armor I’ve spent years building. But then I remember who I am—who I have to be—and I shake my head.
“I’m not pretending anything,” I stammer.
“No?” He angles his head, gauging my insincerity. “It’s not a measure of weakness for you to lean into others, Jacklyn.”
“No leaning here,” I laugh, though the bravado in my voice seems false even to my own ears.
He watches me for a long moment, his gaze searching. Then he nods, stepping back. “Suit yourself, Jackie girl. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when the weight gets too heavy.”
I snort, shaking my head as I turn and head up the steps. “Thanks for the advice, Dr. Phil. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
Lucky’s laughter follows me as I push open the door, the sound unexpectedly warm. For all his cocky bravado, there’s something about him—something solid and steady and warm. Something I might even trust, if only I let myself believe.