Page 51 of My Pucking Crush

Luca

I ’m wound tight with Richmond in the house for Game One of the second round of playoffs. I keep it together, walking shoulder to shoulder with Bronwin on our way to GM Reid’s suite.

The practice facility doubles as the official headquarters, and management keeps luxury offices there. Reid’s message to meet with him already has me rattled. But I nearly collapse to the floor when I step inside and see Ivan Belova standing there.

“Luca.” Aaron Reid stands up. “Come in.”

I close the door and remind myself where I am. This is not some dusty backroom in Chicago where one of Ivan’s goons can take a shot at me and get away with it. This is a professional goddamn arena with cameras and other security guards crawling all over the place. Not to mention Stamford’s Finest who send extra cops to playoff games.

I’m also still within Ivan’s deadline to go home. I’ve done nothing wrong.

We stare at each other through his intro with Bronwin. Even if we didn’t already despise each other, Ivan was caught red-handed by my security team attacking Max. Reid just didn’t want to press charges or get the league involved.

Hockey politics.

“I’d rather beat them on the ice. Not trust some already shady-as-fuck team with slick lawyers to weasel their way around the evidence and then we’ve hung our dicks out to dry looking like crybabies over a few cuts and bruises. ”

But a severe head injury put Max in the hospital. Reid never reported that to the league, keeping the team captain off the official injury list. I guess we’re all a little shady.

After the introductions, Reid gets to me. “Luca, this is Ivan Belova, the new owner for Richmond.”

Clearing my throat, I nod in his direction. “Sir.”

“And this is my assistant.” He steps out of the way. “Samara Korolev .”

My legs go weak, but I study every inch of my sister.

“Samara, how are you enjoying working for Mr. Belova?” I ask, my stomach in knots.

“It’s great.” She shifts from side to side. Not a hair out of place or a bruise on face. “My sister got me the job.”

Heart pounding, I mutter with a tilted head, “And how is your sister?”

Ivan’s shocked glance bounces between us. He knows Fina is dead.

“Great. She’s in Miami.”

I breathe in relief, despite the fucked-up reunion. My trust and assumptions that Ivan wouldn’t hurt her are holding true. For now. Plus, he always thought of Samara as his little sister, too.

“Glad that’s cleared up.” GM Reid motions for all of us to sit. “Our lawyers reached out to Richmond’s general counsel with the alleged wire payment details to Max’s attacker. Ivan is here to personally give a report on the incident.”

“Why didn’t we have this meeting weeks ago at our last game?” Bronwin folds his arms.

“We had nothing to report,” Ivan answers smugly.

“And now?” I turn his way, smiling, looking forward to what he comes up with to get out of what he did.

“We hired an investigator to do an internal audit,” Ivan says, his accent thicker than usual to throw people off. “A rogue element in the coaching staff hired the perpetrators who attacked Mr. Ryan. We handed him over to the Richmond authorities and have notified the league.”

Rogue element is code in the bratva for a ghost who doesn’t really exist. Poor Reid. He’s a decent man who plays by the rules, and thinks others do, too. Thinks owners like Ian Flacco, whose family has owned the Crushers since the expansion made the team pro, have the same love of sport.

Reid’s just the general manager. He doesn’t see the rot taking hold of this league and others with greedy owners. Ivan Belova is a ruthless bratva boss who kills people in Chicago.

I smile, though. Ivan’s passive-aggressive audit report is meant to relax our security. I’m not buying it for a minute, but I know Ivan needed to face Reid now that something is really at stake.

“Thank you for your report,” Reid says, sliding a glance my way.

“My pleasure.” Ivan straightens his tie and steers my sister to the door.

Outside, when no one’s around, I mutter, “Touch a hair on my sister’s head and you’re dead.”

“I’ll slit his throat before you,” Samara talks back.

“Just like old times.” Ivan laughs. “Don’t you miss this, Daniil?”

For a split second I consider the question. How simple my life would be to just go home. But nothing feels like home if it’s without Max.

“Good luck tonight, Mr. Belova,” I say with a salute as I walk away.

You’re gonna need it when my boyfriend hits the ice tonight.