LUCKY: A Dark Mafia Enemies to Lovers Romance, page 1
LUCKY
IRIS T CANNON
Copyright © 2024 by Iris T Cannon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 9798305707946
For Angela,
I hope I’ve done justice to your book boyfriend…
Iris xo
CONTENTS
Content Warnings
1. Lucky
2. Lucky
3. Jacklyn
4. Jacklyn
5. Lucky
6. Jacklyn
7. Lucky
8. Jacklyn
9. Lucky
10. Lucky
11. Jacklyn
12. Lucky
13. Marco
14. Lucky
15. Jacklyn
16. Lucky
17. Dante
18. Lucky
19. Jacklyn
20. Jacklyn
21. Jacklyn
22. Lucky
23. Lucky
24. Jacklyn
25. Lucky
26. Scar
27. Lucky
28. Jackie
29. Jacklyn
30. Lucky
31. Jacklyn
32. Jacklyn
33. Lucky
34. Jacklyn
35. The Enforcer
36. Jacklyn
37. Lucky
38. Jacklyn
39. Lucky
Also by Iris T Cannon
CONTENT WARNINGS
This book is a dark mafia romance which contains subject matter that may be distressing to some readers. Themes include arranged marriage, murder, violence, matricide, and some very smutty sex scenes. Please reconsider your decision to read this book if these themes bother you.
1
LUCKY
It was ultimately Mia’s decision to end Frank Falcone’s life. We couldn’t take that luxury from her when her sister’s life hung by a thread that only he had access to. Even as mercy skittered through our bloodstreams, despite everything that the man had done to our lives.
I sigh as I walk down the narrow corridor of the former shopping mall, my ears tuning in to the sound of Frank whimpering like the dog that he is.
Something in Brando’s eyes flickers as I step into the room. He’s leaning against a wall, arms crossed, watching Mia in all her glory as she gets creative with her methods of torture. Damn bastard; his eyes are dilated as he watches her, lust thrumming through his devilish veins.
“Aren’t you in the least bit worried about her?” I ask, as I take in the crazed look on Mia’s face. Today, she has her knitting needles out; I wince and look away as she drives one all the way through his thigh.
“Nope.” He lets the word pop as he says it, then turns to me with a grin. I’m sure the psychopath has met his match in Mia.
Brando seems to think this is the closure that Mia needs. He’s willing to give her anything she wants, anything she needs, although I can’t say I’m not concerned about her mental health. This weight is too much for anyone to carry, but he comes with her, day in and day out, standing by like a quiet sentinel as she wreaks her havoc on a tied up and helpless Frank Falcone.
Don’t get me wrong; I don’t feel sorry for the man. But that’s a lot of torture to deal with when you already have one foot in the grave. I would much rather just put a bullet in his head and be over with it. Obviously, Mia feels differently.
So far, the man hasn’t talked. I guess that’s why we’ve kept him alive so long. But he never tells us a thing about Maxine’s whereabouts. Which tells me he never will; if daily rituals where his body is mutilated aren’t enough incentive, nothing ever will be.
I sidle up to the wall beside Brando and mirror his stance, never taking my eyes off him. I’ll look anywhere but at Mia as she prolongs her madness against the man who killed her sister.
The wallflower had us all fooled. She has that sweet, angelic look—the kind good girls wear like a mask. But when she’s pissed? She’s a goddamn hurricane. A firestorm about to turn the earth to ash. I’m sure if we left her here, alone with her captive, she’d tear him apart. Rip him to pieces, chew him up, and spit him out like the worthless bug he is—because the world doesn’t give a damn about him, and she’s more than willing to rid the earth of his brand of garbage.
She smiles sweetly when she looks up and sees me, and it’s almost disarming the way her lips turn up knowingly. She skips lightly over to us, until she’s standing a few feet away. Crazy, I tell you.
“Anything?” she asks.
“I’m working on it.” I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, don’t want to tell her that there isn’t a single lead regarding Maxine. Truth of the matter is, we have no idea where her sister is; she could be halfway around the world by now, but for all our efforts, we haven’t been able to find anything. I’ve enlisted the help of my good friend Ryder, and Rafi has his own contacts working the circuit for any scrap of information we can get our hands on.
“You know,” she says, turning back to look at Frank with a distant look in her face. “The fun has sort of worn off my shiny new toy. I’m getting a little bored,” she sighs.
Not so shiny. Not so new. You’ve only been fucking with him for two weeks. You gouged his eye out with the heel of your shoe. You used a curling iron to brand your family name across his chest. You tied a bow around his testicles then pulled. Real tight.
I think all these things but I don’t say them. All I can remember from that last incident is Brando being furious that Mia had touched Frank down there.
To me, it looks like Mia has touched the edge of insanity, but the last time I mentioned this in front of Brando, he damn near hit me, so I think I’ll just let it be. Mason Ironside – her not uncle – isn’t much help either. He seems to think it’s healthy for Mia to let out her frustrations on the man who came back to the city with the express intention of destroying her family.
“What do you want to do, baby?” Brando asks, as she steps into him. His hands find her waist, and he holds her there, his possessive hold bruising as his nails dig into her sides.
“End him,” she whispers.
I roll my eyes. It’s about fucking time. Man’s not going to talk and he’s seriously getting on my last nerve the way he whines and snivels with each new punishment she inflicts upon him. I also need Brando’s help with something else that’s been brewing; the time and energy he’s spent holed up in this condemned building waiting for Frank Falcone to spill his guts is time he’s spent away from other pressing matters which need attention.
“He’s your bridge, Mia.” Brando reminds her that in the absence of any solid lead, Frank is the only hope we have of finding Maxine, but she just shakes her head, looking at him sadly. As though she’s coming down from a sugar rush; she was spritely just a moment ago, but now she just looks defeated.
“He’s not going to tell us where she is,” she points out, looking back at Frank as he writhes against his makeshift concrete bed. His groans are low, pitiful. “He’s going to drag it out to his last breath, and still he won’t tell us where she is. He’ll stick it to me with one last fuck you before he exhales one last time.”
I watch their interaction with interest as Brando considers her words carefully. His eyes say so much more than his tongue ever could. He adores her, reveres her. I know all about their childhood, the way they parted then and the way they found each other again now. It’s mesmerizing to think that so much time could pass, that they could walk in different directions, yet still end up in the same place again. The place they were always meant to be.
I lean against my car, tapping my fingers rhythmically on the door. The cool night air presses in, but it does nothing to settle the storm inside me. I’ve been sitting here for what feels like hours, staring out into the darkness, but my mind refuses to quiet. My thoughts replay over and over the image of Sophia Andrade collapsing to the ground, her blood mixing with the rain like some kind of final, sickening punctuation to the nightmare she’d been living.
Close.
I was so close to saving her. I had her in my sights, had a chance to pull her out of the hell Frank had sentenced her to. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Sophia didn’t deserve to die. She didn’t deserve to be caught in the mess that bastard Frank Falcone had made of her life. She wasn’t some junkie looking to get high, some lost soul in search of oblivion. No, Sophia had been poisoned, tortured, all because of him. A final fuck you to Mia. I can almost hear her voice, a ghost in my head, cursing him, wanting nothing more than to end him with her own hands. If she could have tortured him forever, I have no doubt she would have.
The darkness presses in on me like an avalanche, seeping into every corner of my thoughts. Sophia didn’t choose this. Her death was no accident—it was murder, and I don’t have a shred of mercy for her killer. If Frank was still breathing, I’d put a bullet in his skull myself. No hesitation. No second thoughts.
That honor went to Mia, who stained her hands with his blood after she all but gave up on the notion that he would somehow spill his long-held secrets. Instead, she pressed the gun to his skull, her face blank as she stared down at his pleading eyes and pulled the trigger.
My phone buzz
Ryder. A tech genius, hacker, and the kind of friend who could find answers where others saw only dead ends. He's been instrumental in helping us anytime we need intel on anything and anyone anytime we need it. My heart races with anticipation; this could be the break we’ve been waiting for.
I swipe to answer. “Ryder. You got something for me?”
“Yeah, man, how soon can you get here?” Ryder’s voice is tight, the usual laid-back tone replaced by something more urgent.
“I’m on my way. What’ve you got?” I’m already shifting into gear, the engine roaring to life beneath me. My pulse quickens. Whatever it is, it sounds big.
“I’ve found tapped into a live feed. It…could be something.” Ryder’s voice grows serious, all business now. “Get here, Lucky. This could be it.”
I don’t waste a second. I slam my foot on the gas, the tires screeching as I tear out of the clearing. Dirt and debris fly behind me, the headlights cutting through the shadows as I race toward Ryder’s place. My mind churns with possibilities as I wonder if this is the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for.
As I speed through the streets, the city blurs by, the neon lights flickering like ghosts of the life I once thought was mine. It’s all noise, all meaningless, until we get answers. Until I bring Mia’s sister home. She and my brother Brando have been going from strength to strength since that whole fiasco with Frank Falcone, but the sadness in Mia’s eyes is undeniable.
I pull up to the building Ryder calls his “cave” just a few minutes later—an unassuming, nondescript apartment complex that looks like it’s barely holding itself together. The paint on the walls is chipped, the bricks weathered by time. Above the door, a small sign reads ‘Ryder’s Electronics’, but I know better. This place is a front for Ryder’s real work—a tangle of servers, hacking tools, and covert operations spread out over multiple floors.
Ryder is already waiting by the door when I arrive, his face lit by the dim hallway lights. He waves me in, his expression a mix of concern and urgency. Something’s off. Whatever he’s found, it’s important.
“Come on,” he says, leading me into the heart of his operation. His workspace is a chaotic labyrinth of cables, screens, and half-empty coffee cups. The faint hum of servers fills the room, and I immediately catch the scent of stale pizza and cigarette smoke. It’s a mess, but it’s Ryder’s mess—and in a strange way, it works.
“Show me,” I say, my voice clipped, betraying the edge of urgency gnawing at me. This could be the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for. I can feel the weight of it pressing on me, the need to find Maxine—Mia’s sister—before it’s too late. She’s already lost one sister, and I’ll be damned if I let her lose another.
Ryder sits down in front of his main computer, his fingers flying across the keys as he pulls up a live video feed. The screen flickers for a moment before it stabilizes, revealing a dimly lit room. Shadows stretch across the walls, and the atmosphere is thick with a sense of foreboding. My gut tightens, and I lean forward instinctively, my eyes scanning every corner of the feed.
“It’s a black-market auction,” Ryder explains, his voice tinged with an underlying urgency. “I hacked into their system to see what they were selling. Look.”
He pauses, his gaze narrowing. The camera zooms in on a girl in the center of the room, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. Her hair is a tangled mess, matted to her face as though she’s been through hell. She’s wearing a torn dress, her hands bound in front of her, trembling slightly. My heart stops in my chest. My worst fear is staring me in the face.
“Maxine,” I whisper, barely able to believe my eyes.
Ryder looks at me, his expression grim. “It’s her, Lucky.”
I don’t know whether to feel relief or dread. Maxine is alive—she’s alive—but how much longer will she stay that way? The auction is already underway, and time is running out. They won’t keep her in this location forever. The screen flickers, the numbers scrolling by as bids come in, and the mood in the room turns darker still. There’s a palpable sense of urgency in the air.
“Where is she?” My voice cracks as I ask the question that has been gnawing at me since I first laid eyes on the screen. This is it. I’m going to bring her home.
Ryder shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “No location. I’m working on it.”
“Work harder, Ryder. We don’t have time for this,” I snap. I’m on the edge now, my patience running thin. I can’t lose another sister, not after everything Mia’s already been through. I can’t do that to her.
Ryder glances at me, frustration flickering across his face. “I’m working on it. Just give me a second to trace the feed back to its source. But we don’t have much time—they’ll move her once the auction ends.”
“How long?” I demand.
“Forty-eight hours,” he says, his voice a little tight. “Maybe less.”
“Get me a location, Ryder. A name. Anything,” I urge, my heart pounding in my chest.
Ryder’s fingers fly across the keyboard, but my mind is already racing ahead. Forty-eight hours. That’s all we have to find Maxine and get her out before she disappears again. We can’t let this slip through our fingers.
Then, just as the weight of despair starts to settle over me, the screen flickers again. A large, burly figure steps into view. He’s dressed in dark clothing, a mask covering his face, and an aura of menace radiates from him as he approaches the girl. My hands clench into fists, the urge to leap through the screen and crush the man’s throat almost overwhelming.
“Who the hell is that?” I demand, my voice rough with rage.
Ryder squints at the screen, but his confusion mirrors mine. “I don’t know, man.”
The camera zooms in on the girl’s face. The terror in her eyes is unmistakable—Maxine is scared, but she’s not broken. She’s still fighting. And that’s a spark of hope in the middle of all this darkness.
The burly man turns away from her, and my determination solidifies. We’re not losing this girl. Not this time.
I turn to Ryder, fire in my eyes. “Let’s get to work. We’re not losing this girl, too.”
The hunt for Maxine Andrade is on. And this time, we won’t stop until we’ve found her.
2
LUCKY
The past few weeks have felt like a never-ending game of putting out fires. Every time I think I’ve dealt with one issue, another pops up, more urgent, more dangerous than the last. Falcone. The Maltese. And the Viccis. It’s all been a mess left behind by the chaos Falcone unleashed. Fixing it? That’s on me. It’s been an exhausting balancing act, juggling each fire without letting it spread into full-blown war.
The biggest priority on my plate right now? Maxine Andrade. She’s been missing for months, and every lead I chase down just seems to lead nowhere. But that’s not the only fire I’m trying to put out. There’s been an undercurrent of tension in the Vicci camp—a simmering unrest that could easily spill over into open conflict. If it does, it’ll ignite another war - one that’s been brewing on the back burner for a while as the Viccis kick up a stink over the Scarfone-Luciani war.
I thought that maybe a well-placed call from Seattle might put a lid on it. A little diplomacy, a little pressure, and the problem would resolve itself. But Seattle’s being as tight-lipped as a vault, and it’s clear the new Vicci Don is keeping his cards close to his chest. No one knows much about him. In fact, no one seems to know anything about him. So now, the situation’s escalated. Seattle wants to meet face-to-face, and when that happens, we can expect to be cleaning up a great big mess.
I can’t afford to let it escalate any further. My hands are already full of too many goddamn fires.
For weeks, I’ve been trying to pin down a meeting with Jack Vicci, the new head of the Vicci family. He’s an enigma. And everyone I’ve talked to about him has either clammed up or changed the subject. The man’s a ghost. Even Ryder, our tech genius who’s managed to dig up the dirtiest secrets about our rivals, can’t find anything on Vicci.
