39. Lucky
“ A handshake in our world is just another way to hide the blade you’re ready to plunge into someone’s back. Which is the reason I don’t shake hands with anyone.”
Salvatore Gatti
Dante’s certainty about Victor Moreno’s betrayal isn’t something he explains—it radiates from him, sharp and unrelenting, as Ryder flips through slide after damning slide. The grainy images of secret meetings tell the story better than words ever could each photo a dagger aimed at the Family’s trust.
Ryder’s presentation is swift and calculated; Dante doesn’t waste time. “Set a family meeting for tomorrow,” he declares, the finality in his tone sending ripples through the room.
I glance toward Jacklyn, who sits rigidly beside me, her arms crossed as her gaze locks onto the screen. The frown etched between her brows deepens with every passing second. Her brother Jack is safe—she made the call herself, her voice trembling only slightly as she asked after him. But the venom in her eyes now is for the man on the screen.
Her other brother.
She doesn’t know. And for now, she doesn’t need to. The truth is that Daniel Russo, her half-brother, tried to kill Jack and had her in his sights too. No good will come of telling her that her own brother wanted them dead. So, I keep it buried, weighing the cost of revelation against the fragile line she’s already walking.
Daniel remains a ghost, no trace of him despite the efforts of our best men. Among them is The Enforcer, whose skill is unmatched. But for now, even his focus has been pulled to the immediate storm brewing. Daniel Russo will have his reckoning, but only after the fires of this betrayal have been extinguished.
Dante moves quickly, as he always does when blood is in the water. He’s already on the phone, his orders precise and unwavering: every Gatti brother is to attend the meeting. The heads of the families are summoned. His lieutenants assemble without question.
By the time the families file into the hired theatre downtown, the tension is thick enough to choke on. Our estate—our sanctuary—is off-limits to something like this. This is not a gathering of allies; it’s a call to account, and Dante wants neutral ground.
The theatre’s amphitheater-style seating wraps in a crescent around the floor in front of a stage. Dante stands, his figure a dark silhouette against the dim light, ready to address the masses. The major heads take their seats at the front to his left, his lieutenants to his right. The smaller families, those who play quieter but essential roles in our world, fill the remaining chairs in front of him. Jacklyn sits among them, her head high and her expression unreadable. This is where Jack would have been if he were here. My gaze sweeps the room, looking for cracks—any flicker of recognition or guilt as she takes her place. Nothing. If anyone looks at her, it’s only with mild curiosity.
Outside, the best of our men secure the perimeter. Inside, armed shadows line the walls. No one breathes easy when Made Men gather like this; the stakes are too high, the risks too many.
Dante steps forward, his shoes striking the floor with sharp, deliberate clicks that echo through the silent hall. His movements are unhurried, but there’s a coiled energy in him, a storm barely restrained.
“I’ll cut to the chase,” he says, his voice carrying through the room like a whip. He removes his sidearm and places it on the table behind him with deliberate slowness, a subtle reminder of the power he wields.
“This city is rotting,” he begins, his tone low but laced with venom. “From the inside out.” His eyes sweep the crowd, lingering just long enough on each face to make everyone squirm.
He lays it out plainly: Jack Vicci’s shooting. The ambush on Jacklyn. The massacre that narrowly missed Brando’s wedding party. His words drip with fury, each sentence a hammer driving home his point.
“I don’t believe for one second that no one in this room knows who’s responsible. And let me be clear: whoever made these moves against my family— against us —will burn. I will watch them burn.”
The theatre trembles under the weight of his voice, and I can feel the ripple of unease rolling through the crowd. Dante isn’t just delivering a warning. He’s delivering a promise.
He paces, his steps measured, his expression unreadable save for the barely concealed rage simmering beneath. “This isn’t just about power or territory,” he continues, his voice rising like thunder. “This is about betrayal. And I will not tolerate betrayal.”
He pauses, letting his words sink in. The silence is deafening, the weight of his presence suffocating. Then, without another word, he turns and steps out of the room.
The tension he leaves behind is unbearable. No one dares to speak, each man too consumed with their own calculations, their own guilt or innocence.
When Dante returns, his movements are slow, deliberate, his gaze cutting through the room like a blade. He lets the silence stretch, his eyes burning into each and every one of us. Then he speaks again, his words drowning out the murmurs that threaten to rise above him.
“I’ve been good to this city,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less commanding. “But some of you have forgotten what that means. So, I’ll remind you. Changes are coming. And what I decide here today will be law.”
The murmurs are hushed amidst an otherwise silent theatre, but there’s no missing the shift in the room, especially at the table where the family heads sit. Dante moves closer to the table, until he is barely a few feet away, within easy reach of each leader. He looks each one in the eye, taking his time, making a show of it, before he reaches for his gun off the side table and holds it up, looking at the instrument lovingly, before he takes a step closer, cocking the hammer as he does so.
“Someone in this room betrayed me. Betrayed this family and everything it stands for.”
Fear, rampant and acrid, permeates the air.
“This is the first and only warning to anyone even considering disloyalty; if you cannot abide by my rules, then you’d better get the fuck out of my city.”
He points the gun at Scar, and my breath catches, although my brother sits with a confident, detached air about him.
Dante’s hand moves, until the gun faces Rudy Cavallo, whose ever-present smirk speaks volumes.
Maxim Donelli, who doesn’t bat an eyelid.
Don Marone, whose dark eyes rival Dante’s.
Victor Moreno, who despite his best efforts, flinches imperceptibly, his eyes clouded with a rancid fear.
Dante pulls the trigger, shooting Victor Moreno in the head at close range. The man slumps forward, his mouth agape as though he’d been about to say something.
The Jekyll steps up to Dante, hands him a wet towel, and the Don wipes his face, his hands, of the blood splatter, even as he still regards the dead man with some distaste.
He turns, his gaze meeting Scar’s, flicking toward Don Marone, and the two men rise, coming to stand on either side of Dante. Father and Son-in-law. Once enemies, now two men who’ve come together with a common purpose.
“Now that we’ve taken out the garbage,” Dante begins, turning to face the smaller families once again, “Don Marone has decided to step down as head of the Marone family. His legacy will now fall to the Gatti family, led by Scar Gatti.”
Scar gives a small nod of acknowledgement, but his face is otherwise impassive, before he and Don Marone take their seats again. My eyes sweep across the room; it’s an unexpected development for the families, and this time, a deathly silence falls upon the gathered members in the absence of anything to add.
Dante starts to rattle off the names of the new families, siting all the changes that will take effect immediately. The Cavallo family, led by Rudy Cavallo, would be the second family. The Donelli family, under Maxim Donelli, would be third in line.
“Lucky Gatti and Jacklyn Vicci will head out the fourth family.”
Eyes turn to Jacklyn. Eyes glide in my direction. My gaze meets hers for a moment, and I see the fire in her eyes. She doesn’t just belong here—she’s destined to rule. People wonder what they have to do to be crowned a ruling family. When in the end, all it comes down to is power. Our combined power puts us right up there with the best. I ignore all the looks, because ultimately, Jacklyn... the woman I can’t stop thinking about, will become more than just a partner. She’ll become a queen, and I, her king.
“In place of Moreno, who couldn’t rule to save his life, as demonstrated,” Dante directs a look of disgust at the dead man’s body, “I’m appointing Mason Ironside and Kanyan De Scarzi as heads of the fifth family.”
Murmurs rise. Heads turn. Confusion reigns. It’s a controversial move, appointing an unknown as head of one of the five families. But it’s a good one. What we really need right now is stability. Loyalty. Protection. And who better to offer that than The Enforcer himself.
The body remained where it fell, slumped over the table, a macabre punctuation to Dante’s decree. No one dared move it. The blood pooling beneath Victor Moreno’s head glistened under the dim theatre lights, a silent yet visceral reminder of what betrayal earned. The metallic scent hung in the air, clinging to our clothes, our skin, as we filed out in tense silence.
Outside, the cool night air does little to cleanse the weight of the price paid in the name of change. Jacklyn walks beside me, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her teeth worry at her bottom lip, gnawing at it until it looks raw under the streetlights. She hasn’t stopped since the meeting ended.
The car ride is quieter than usual, the hum of the engine the only sound between us. Her restless energy fills the space like static, her fingers drumming against the armrest until she finally breaks the tense silence.
“How do you think they took it?” she asks, her voice soft but strained. Her gaze is fixed on the side mirror, as if expecting the shadows to follow us.
I glance at her briefly, noting the way her shoulders hunch, tension coiled in every muscle. She’s worried—about the families, about her brother Jack, about the fallout that comes with power shifts like these.
I slow the car, pulling over to the shoulder of the empty road. The sun illuminates the brush on the side of the highway, casting long, jagged shadows. I shift into park and turn to face her, my voice low but firm.
“Come here.”
She hesitates, her dark eyes searching mine, before unbuckling her seatbelt and climbing into my lap. She settles there, her legs draped over mine, her face inches from mine. I can feel the subtle tremor in her hands as they rest against my chest.
I tuck a strand of her long, tangled hair behind her ear and let my hand glide through the rest of it, the silky texture grounding me as much as it seems to calm her. Her lips are red and swollen from the constant biting, and I cup her face gently, forcing her gaze to meet mine.
“I think it’s time to bring Jack home,” I say, my words deliberate.
Her breath hitches, and I watch the emotions flicker across her face—relief, disbelief, hope—all colliding at once.
“Really?” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I nod, my thumb brushing against her cheek. “I think it’s safe now.”
Dante’s final words from the theatre echo in my mind, ringing as clearly as they had when he delivered them. His tone had been low, almost calm, but it carried the weight of a thousand threats.
“Cross me again,” he’d said, his eyes like dark flames as they scanned the room, “and I will not just burn this city to the ground. I will salt the earth.”
The theatre had been silent then, every man present understanding that Dante wasn’t speaking in metaphor. He meant it—every word. And as we’d left, no one had dared to question his authority.
Jacklyn exhaled, her body relaxing slightly against mine. “Do you really think they’ll fall in line after tonight?” she asks, her voice still tinged with uncertainty. I know she’s still worried about Daniel Russo being off grid; so far, we haven’t been able to find him. But we will eventually, and his death wouldn’t be peaceful.
I let my fingers trail down her back, soothing and steadying. “They’d be fools not to.” I pause, choosing my next words carefully. “Dante made an example of Moreno, but he also made a promise. This city belongs to him, to us, and no one will challenge that without paying a price. And that is too steep a price.”
Her eyes search mine, the tension in her jaw softening just enough to show that she believes me—or at least wants to.
“We’ll bring Jack back,” I say again, my voice firm. “And when he’s home, we’ll make sure he stays safe. No one will touch him—or you—again.”
Her fingers tighten slightly against my chest, her lips parting as if to speak, but instead, she leans forward, resting her forehead against mine.
I press my lips to her temple, her warmth grounding me in the fleeting calm. The weight of the past weeks hangs in the air like the last embers of a dying fire—still dangerous, but no longer consuming.
The city outside feels different now. It isn’t safe, not by a long shot, but it’s quieter. Dante’s message had cut through the chaos, leaving an uneasy lull in its wake. We both know it’s temporary. Peace in our world is always temporary.
She pulls back slightly, her gaze meeting mine, the faintest glimmer of hope softening the storm in her eyes. “Do you think it’s over?”
I hesitate, not wanting to lie. “For now,” I say, my voice steady, though the words feel fragile.
Her fingers trace the edge of my jaw, grounding me. “Then let’s make the most of now .”
Her words settle deep in my chest, a simple declaration wrapped in quiet determination. For the first time in weeks, it feels like we’ve reclaimed something—something fragile but ours.
As I shift the car into drive, the sun dips lower, painting the city in hues of gold and shadow. Whatever’s waiting for us tomorrow, it’ll have to wait. Today, we have this.
And for now, that’s enough.
Thank you for reading Lucky, the 3rd book in the Gatti Brothers mafia empire. If you enjoyed the book, it would mean the world to me if you could leave me a quick review.