Page 2 of On Ice

(Pre-game)

Luca

“You spent two hundred million dollars on this team?” Marco, my second-in-command, sounds equal parts exasperated and disbelieving.

“That was a steal,” I say nonchalantly. “In 2021, the Pittsburgh Penguins sold for nine hundred million.”

He raises his brows. “Uh, yeah. That’s because that was the fucking Pittsburgh Penguins. You paid two hundred million for a hockey team that’s not even a sure thing to get into the playoffs.”

“You worry too much.” I adjust my cufflinks, platinum with the Barone family crest, and watch the teams warm up on the ice below. “Mark my words, they’ll be in the playoffs this year.”

“Oh, really? You have a magic wand I don’t know about?” Marco cackles. “These guys don’t have the odds in their favor, boss. You must know that.”

“Since when do I care about shit like that?” I sneer, still staring out the window at the teams below. “The Barone syndicate controls the odds when it suits us.”

The private box provides an excellent view, but it’s in dire need of renovations. To me, it has a sort of Brady Bunch vibe. The walls are paneled with faux wood veneer, the kind that peels at the edges. The carpet is an unfortunate shade of burnt orange that clashes with the navy-and-gold Ice Hawks logo stitched haphazardly into the faded cushions of the mismatched seating. A dated mini-fridge rumbles aggressively in the background, and the entire room seems drenched in stale tobacco scent. I’m going to update it as soon as I’m settled in. No way am I letting this homage to the ‘70s taint my carefully crafted image.

“Still, this team isn’t worth your time or money. Not according to everything I’ve heard.”

“They barely missed the playoffs last season. The Seabrooke Ice Hawks have great potential,” I say gruffly.

“Potential to lose us money.” Marco snorts and moves to stand beside me, his reflection appearing in the glass. We make an interesting contrast; him with his dark unruly hair and battle-scarred face, and me with my two hundred dollar sleek haircut and tailored Armani suit. Twenty years of friendship means he can speak freely, even if others would never dare question my decisions. “You know what else has potential? That shipping company in Vancouver. The one that would have given us a direct supply line to Asia.”

“Already working on acquiring that through shell companies.” The players are doing shooting drills now. Number 11 — Riley, the captain — catches my attention with a perfect top-shelf shot. There’s an elegance to his movements that speaks of natural talent honed by years of discipline.

“The real estate development in Miami? Why aren’t we moving on that?”

“Too much heat from the feds right now. You know that as well as I do.” Riley sets up another shot, this time a quick wrister that the goalie barely sees before it’s past him. His form is impeccable. My dick throbs just watching Riley play. He’s so confident on the ice, it’s a fucking turn on.

Marco sighs. “The casino deal in Atlantic City? The tech startup working on untraceable payment systems? That chain of restaurants perfect for laundering? All of those would have been better investments than sinking money into a mismanaged hockey team in a market this small.”

I finally turn from the glass to face my oldest friend and most trusted advisor. “Are you finished?”

“Probably not.” He walks away and drops into one of the leather chairs. “But I’ll take a break from busting your balls. Want to tell me the real reason you bought this team? Because it’s not about the gambling operation. We both know there are easier ways to fix games.”

Below us, the teams clear the ice as the arena staff make final preparations. The stands are filling up, excitement building in the air. I’ve always loved this moment before a game, though I’ve rarely allowed myself to indulge in going to an actual game. My father had very specific ideas about appropriate pastimes for his heir. It didn’t include sports. Not unless you consider breaking guy’s kneecaps a sport.

“Do you remember that winter when we were twelve?” I move to the antiquated bar area to refresh our drinks. “When that pond behind my grandfather’s Villa froze over?”

Marco’s expression softens slightly. “Of course I remember. You convinced me to steal your cousin Anthony’s hockey gear so we could try playing. As I recall, he caught me and I had to bribe him.”

I chuckle. “Yep. But it was worth it.”

“Sure, until your father also caught us out on the ice.” He winces. “He was pissed.”

“He got over it.” I hand Marco his drink and settle into the chair opposite him. “But not before I had to listen to an hour-long lecture about wasting time on children’s games when I should be learning the business.”

“The business is pretty much all he ever thought about.”

“That’s true. And now it’s basically all I ever think about.” I stand, feeling agitated, and move to the window again to look out at the players below. I can’t seem to stop watching Riley play. He’s so damn skilled, it’s almost unnatural how good he is.

“Too bad he didn’t let you play hockey. You had an almost decent shot.” Marco’s mouth quirks. “For a spoiled rich kid.”

I give him a dirty look. “Fuck you.” It’s an old joke between us. “I really was good and you know it.”

“You were. You were way better than me. But at least he let you golf. I love golf so it was a win for me.” Marco smirks and then sips his scotch.

I laugh. “Well, so long as you’re happy that’s all that matters.”

“Exactly.” He grins. “Because of who you are, we can walk onto any course in the country without even needing a tee time.”

“Golf is fine,” I murmur. “But hockey is more exciting.”

Marco frowns. “So, what is this? Some childhood fantasy or something? You buy a hockey team and feel young again?”

“I’m not trying to feel young. I just enjoy hockey.” I shrug. “I’ve kept up with hockey news and hoped to get close to the game again one day.”

“Really?” Marco laughs gruffly. “How come I’ve never seen you watch hockey?”

“I watch it when I’m alone.”

Marco lifts his dark brows. “That’s your dirty little secret? Most guys just hide their porn consumption. You hide hockey?”

“I had to, remember? I didn’t want Father chewing me out. But now I can do what I want because he’s gone, and I’m in charge.” I try to keep the resentment out of my voice. I’d loved my father dearly, but he’d been a hard man to please. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t still a lot of bitterness lingering inside me. He went to his grave a year ago, and to this day, I have no idea if he was ever proud of me.

“You didn’t have to hide it from me,” Marco says, looking almost hurt.

I sigh. “It’s not like it consumed my life. I just enjoyed it, so I watched sometimes.”

“Still,” he mutters, “you could have told me .”

I give Marco a lot of leeway, but I don’t want to be in a submissive position with him. Yeah, he’s my friend, but he’s also my second in command and I need him to remember that sometimes. So I force myself to scowl at him. “What’s with you? Are you on your period or something? I liked watching hockey, so I watched hockey.”

Pink tints his cheeks. “Fine.”

An awkward silence falls.

I drink my scotch, the ice clinking against the glass in the silent room. Clearing my throat, I say, “The real reason I bought the team is to make money. It wasn’t about my love of hockey. It’s first and foremost a business decision.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, but then says, “I’m sure it will make money. Everything you touch makes money.”

“That’s right. I have good instincts.” The arena lights dim, and the crowd’s energy shifts from buzzing anticipation to focused excitement.

“It doesn’t worry you at all that the team has been losing a lot lately?”

“The team isn’t the problem. They’re good players. They’ve been almost winning games, despite shitty management.”

“Almost isn’t good enough though, is it?” He frowns.

“No. Of course not.” The home team skates out to thunderous applause, and I find myself tracking number 11 again. Evan Riley, twenty-six, captain for three years. His stats are impressive, but numbers on paper are nothing compared to seeing him play in person.

“I just really hope you can make this hockey team profitable. I don’t want the men thinking you’ve lost your edge.”

“This gambling operation will be a winner,” I say, pulling my gaze from number 11 and forcing myself to focus on business. “We’ll start small, point spreads, over/unders. Build up a pattern of wins and losses that looks natural. Once we have control of enough officials, we can expand to more specific prop bets.”

“It’s all fine and dandy to have the officials in your pocket.” He studies me. “But do you think the team will cooperate? Without them, it won’t work.”

“They’ll cooperate.” My smile is strained. “They won’t have a choice.”

“I guess.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

I try to ignore how much his doubt eats at me. I finish off my scotch and then say, “Besides, I don’t have to have the whole team in my pocket. I just need one really important player.”

“Okay.” He nods. “Which one?”

“The captain,” I say curtly. “I need Evan Riley to do what I tell him to do.”

“And you think he’ll obey you?”

I ignore the little shiver of lust those words send through me. “I’m sure he’ll do what I tell him to do. All it should take are a few strategic threats and some generous bonuses. Human nature is mind-numbingly predictable.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Humans can be such a disappointment sometimes.” Marco gestures at my empty glass. “Another?”

I nod, glad we seem to be back on stable ground with each other. “Be happy they are. We wouldn’t be rich if people weren’t mostly sheep.” I watch as Riley takes his position for the opening face-off. There’s an intensity to him, a focused power that reminds me of a wolf sizing up its prey. Once more my dick gets hard. When he wins the draw clean, I lean forward slightly.

“You know what would be more profitable than game-fixing?” Marco hands me a fresh scotch. “Those cryptocurrency exchanges we discussed. Clean money, harder to trace, less risk of someone talking. Or that chain of urgent care clinics, perfect for distributing our pharmaceutical interests. The construction company that would give us control of union contracts.”

My second in command is like a dog with a bone.

“I get it,” I say sharply. “You think there are other things that we could do that would be easier.” The Bay City center throws a dirty hit on one of the Ice Hawks’ rookies. Riley immediately confronts him, radiating controlled aggression.

“Yeah, I do.” Marco no longer seems cowed by our earlier run-in. He’s back to his usual cocky self. “There are a ton of better business decisions than buying a hockey team because little Luca wasn’t allowed to play growing up.”

I almost laugh because he can be such an asshole sometimes. But I squash my smile and shoot him a warning glance. But there’s no real heat in it. I don’t want to fight with him. “Just suck it up, Marco. The team is a solid investment and it’s already a done deal.”

“Fine. I guess on the plus side, if this gig tanks, I can rub it in your face for the rest of your life.” Marco returns to his seat, resting his feet on the glass coffee table.

“I’m sure you’d take great pleasure in that.” On the ice, Riley executes a perfect give-and-go that leads to the game’s first goal. The crowd erupts, and I feel myself smiling with something similar to pride. I hide my smile from Marco though. He has enough ammunition to pick on me as it is. I don’t want him catching on I might have a little thing for the captain of the team I just bought.

Marco exhales. “I do enjoy ragging on you, but a part of me is also proud of you for buying this team.”

Surprised, I glance at him. “Excuse me? Two seconds ago you were telling me what a bad idea it was.”

“It probably is a bad idea but, well, you really wanted it and so you did it. I’m glad for you. Mostly you just trod the path your father traveled first. This is something new. It’s good that you’re doing something you want. I think it’s hard for you to see how much you’ve accomplished because everything is so mixed up with your dad’s legacy.”

“I know I’ve done stuff. “

“Yeah, but I worry you still think it’s because your dad started it first. But you know, your dad failed at things too. He was wrong about a lot of things.”

“Of course. He was just a man after all.” I’m trying to brush it off, but Marco has a point. I do sometimes find it difficult to see where I’ve excelled because everything I do is tied to Father’s legacy.

“You’ve doubled our territory and modernized our operations in the year since he died. But I think you don’t take credit for that enough.” Marco finishes his scotch. “I still suspect this team will be more work than it’s worth, but I’m proud of you for doing something that is all your own. Even if it crashes and burns.” He smirks.

“Asshole.” I shake my head and go back to watching the players below. Marco joins me again and we let the conversation die for a while as we watch the game.

The next ninety minutes of hockey are some of the best I’ve watched. Riley’s leadership shows in every shift, the way he directs traffic on the ice, how he protects his teammates, his ability to read plays before they develop. When he scores the game-winning goal late in the third, it’s a thing of beauty.

“Holy shit. They actually won?” Marco laughs gruffly beside me. “I didn’t think they had it in them.”

“I keep telling you the problem isn’t the team. It was the management,” I murmur. As the teams file off the ice, Riley glances up at the owner’s box. Can he see me clearly, or does the glass obscure his view? I kind of hope he can see me. “Now that I’m in charge, things are going to be different.”

“Sure, only you want them to lose so you can make money on bets. Don’t forget you don’t actually want to help them win .”

“They have to win more than they lose to keep everyone guessing. It’s just that I’ll decide when they win and when they lose from now on.”

“ If you can get the captain to agree to throw games when told to.”

I turn to face him. “I’ll know more about him after I have dinner with him tonight. I need to get a read on the guy.”

Marco stills. “You’re having dinner with him tonight?”

“Yeah.” I hide my excitement, but it’s not easy. I’m giddy at the idea of being close to Evan Riley. I want to look into his eyes and see what kind of man he really is.

“Alone?”

I meet Marco’s wary gaze. “Yeah. You have the rest of the night off, starting now.”

He narrows his eyes. “Shouldn’t I be there to keep things professional?”

“Who says I want it to be strictly professional?” I can’t help laughing at the worried look he shoots me. “What? Why do you look so concerned?”

“Boss, you know that mixing business with pleasure could blow up your whole plan, right? It can get really messy, especially in our line of work.”

“I need to get to know the guy.” I shrug. “And I can do that better without you babysitting me.”

“Just how well do you plan on getting to know him?”

“Is that any of your business?”

He rubs his stubbled jaw, looking flustered. “Is he even gay?”

I smile. “Rumor has it he’s bisexual.”

Marco groans. “Come on, man. Don’t think with your dick. That could cause all sorts of problems.”

“Your concern is duly noted, but I think I can handle one hockey player.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Despite his obvious disapproval, Marco’s already heading for the door. “Try to remember he’s an asset before you do anything stupid.”

“Your lack of faith wounds me.”

“Your dick making decisions could wound our profit margins.” He pauses at the door. “If I were you, and I wanted to hit that ass tonight, I wouldn’t be too honest with him, boss. Don’t let him in on what you have planned.”

I shrug. “I haven’t made up my mind how to play it yet.”

He purses his lips. “Okay, yeah. Tell him exactly what you’ve got planned. That way, he won’t sleep with you, and maybe this deal can actually work. No way the guy I just watched play his heart out on that ice is giving up his ass to a mobster who wants him to throw games.”

“We’ll see about that,” I murmur.