Page 8 of On Ice
Luca
I seethe all night after my run-in with Evan. Part of my anger is because I was tempted to give him what he wanted. He was right. Waiting until the Ice Hawks get into the playoffs to start throwing games makes perfect sense. But I can’t have Evan telling me how things are going to be. That isn’t how I operate. You don’t let the horse ride you to victory.
The look on his face when I grabbed his throat still bothers me. I can’t understand why. I’ve done that same move on countless assholes, but I felt sick and uneasy after Evan left my office. I’m haunted by how surprised, but also hurt he looked, when I put my hands on him. It’s completely illogical to give a damn about his feelings. Not counting family, I don’t usually care about another human’s feelings.
But ashamed or not, I liked having my hands on him again. The memory of his skin beneath my fingers and his clean, citrusy cologne make my pulse speed up. I’m frustrated I can’t have more of him, even as I hate the little prick for being so goddamned stubborn.
If he’d just play ball and be nicer to me, we could have a lot of fun together. I’d love to get him back in bed. Instead, Evan is fighting me at every turn. I could make his life so good, if he’d just do what I tell him to do. It’s aggravating how hard he’s fighting me.
Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of obsessing over Evan right now because I have a quarterly meeting with some of the other syndicate bosses in Seabrooke. My driver Danny parks my Mercedes in front of the Italian restaurant where the meeting is set to take place, and Marco and I exit the vehicle.
Vittorio’s facade hasn’t changed since my grandfather’s time. It still has the same understated brick exterior, and the same cameras hidden in tasteful copper sconces. The security cameras catch every face that enters, every car that passes. In our world, you can never be too careful.
Marco walks half a step behind me as Paolo, the owner’s son, leads us through the main dining room. The regular customers, judges, politicians, old money families, pretend not to notice us. They’ve learned the art of selective blindness. It’s how they sleep at night while profiting from our protection.
The private dining room lies behind the wine cellar, through a heavy oak door that’s been reinforced with steel. A massive table of Italian marble dominates the space, its surface gleaming under vintage Murano glass chandeliers. The chairs, fourteen of them, are antiques from some Florentine villa, their red velvet recently reupholstered.
Three of the five syndicate heads I’m meeting this afternoon have already arrived. Vincent Russo lounges in what should be my chair at the head of the table, his first subtle fuck-you of the evening. I’ve given him control of the construction Industry where he skims off contracts, controls the unions, and uses construction projects for money laundering. He’s also in charge of waste management. That’s a cash-heavy business that provides opportunities for extortion and illegal dumping. At sixty, he’s the oldest among us, silver-haired and designer-suited, Miami tan proving he spends more time on his yacht than overseeing operations.
“Luca.” He rises slowly, making me wait while he buttons his Brioni jacket. “Sorry. I forgot and took your seat.”
“No worries.” He didn’t forget. He did it on purpose. That’s okay. It’s always good to remember that while these people are friendly to me, they’re not my friends. “So long as you move your ass out of my chair.”
He studies me, sucking on his teeth. “You look… tired.”
I am tired. But Vincent doesn’t need to know that. I smile and narrow my eyes. “The chair, Vincent?”
He chuckles like it’s all a game, but he moves and that’s what matters. Message sent, message received. We both know he’ll try something bigger some other time. He can’t help himself. I take my rightful seat and Marco stands behind me, arms crossed.
From halfway down the table, Dmitri Petrov watches my exchange with Vincent with cold amusement. His massive frame squeezed into Italian silk that barely contains his muscles, and this throat adorned with gold Orthodox crosses that match his many rings. He runs the ports for me, but also dabbles in high-end escort services through the club district. He wanted to move into human trafficking as well, but I wasn’t a fan of that idea. I’ll do a lot of things, but selling humans isn’t one of them. If he wants to do that shit, he’ll need to move to another part of the country. His attention needs to be on the ports.
Dmitri eyes Marco. “You should sit too, Marco. It’s probably going to be a long meeting. There’s a lot to discuss.”
“I’m good.” Marco says, not budging from his protective stance behind me. He can watch everyone from that spot. He’s not about to sit down and pretend there are no threats in the room.
Smirking, Dimitri says, “It’s almost like you don’t trust us, Marco. That’s not very nice.”
Marco laughs. “I’d trust a hyena with my lunch before I’d trust you guys with my life.”
Vincent and Dimitri chuckle.
The third person at the table is Jimmy Chen, newest to our circle. His tech expertise launders money through a maze of cryptocurrency and digital fronts. He’s younger than the rest of us, wearing a casual black turtleneck and black jeans. He looks more like a cat burglar than a mafia boss. Still, he’s a valuable asset. Last month alone, he moved fifty million through NFT art sales that didn’t exist. The feds are still trying to figure out how.
Paolo returns with some wine, a 1997 Brunello di Montalcino. As he begins pouring, the door opens and Maria Calabrese enters. She strolls into the room like she’s the queen, wearing a red dress that shows off her voluptuous curves. She took over the Calabrese family’s gambling operations when her husband had an unfortunate accident. None of us can prove she arranged it, which is why she’s still breathing. Her dark eyes find mine immediately.
“Hello, Luca,” she purrs, taking her seat. “You’re looking delicious. Nobody wears a suit like you do.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
She lifts one perfectly manicured brow. “Aren’t you going to tell me how delicious I look too?” She looks down at her mostly exposed breasts. “I was hoping you’d like my dress. I put it on thinking of you, Luca.”
I laugh. “You already know you’re gorgeous, Maria. You don’t need me to tell you that.” I’m not kissing her ass. Never have. Never will. I’d much prefer Evan was sitting there shirtless instead of her.
She smiles slyly. “A girl still likes to hear compliments.”
“Oh, well.” I smirk, taking a sip of my wine. The mouthfeel is silky, with notes of dried cherries, blackberries, and plums. My father would have loved this wine. Sometimes, I wish he were still here and in charge. Then I could relax a little and just really enjoy the delightful wine I’ve been served, instead of being on edge in case someone tries to assassinate me during my meal.
Maria pushes her full, ruby-red bottom lip out in a pout when I don’t give her what she wants, but then perks up. “I heard through the grapevine that you bought a hockey team. I didn’t know you were into sports.”
“I’m not.” I smile, figuring she doesn’t need to know personal details about me. “I’m into making money though. They’re going to be a gold-mine.”
Jimmy looks up from his phone. “Rumor has it Chicago is a sure thing tomorrow night?”
“Absolutely. It’s all set. I have a lot of money on them winning.” I push away memories of Evan’s defiance. It doesn’t matter that he fought me, I won. He’s going to do as I say. He got the message that I’m not fucking around. He won’t let Noah die.
“Good to know.” Vincent laughs. “I’ll be sure to place some large bets.”
“Ooh, me too.” Maria’s eyes flash with excitement. “I’d love to support your new venture, Luca.”
The door opens one final time. Tommy O’Mally strides in with his usual gangster swagger. His family controls distribution through the Irish neighborhoods, moving everything from drugs to stolen goods. His face is flushed from drink already, but his eyes are sharp. He’s smarter than he pretends to be, which makes him dangerous.
“Starting without me?” He drops into a chair and lifts his empty wine glass. “Don’t forget me, Paolo.”
“Never,” Paolo says smoothly, moving to fill his glass.
Tommy eyes Maria, his gaze lingering on her full breasts. “You’re looking radiant today, love.”
She smiles. “Now that’s how a real gentleman treats a lady, see, Luca?”
“When did I ever say I was a gentleman?” I laugh.
“Luca isn’t into beautiful women, remember?” Vincent pipes up. “He’s more likely to compliment Tommy than you, Maria.” He shoots me a challenging look.
It’s no secret I’m gay. It was one of the things my father disapproved of about me, but he didn’t let anyone disrespect me, regardless. Still, that doesn’t stop people from trying to yank my chain from time to time. I’m not ashamed of being gay, so I don’t give a fuck whether they approve or disapprove, but it’s important they don’t actually mock me.
“Tommy’s not my type,” I say. “I prefer a more athletic build.” Thoughts of Evan’s sinewy, muscular body fill my mind, but I push them away. Now is not the time.
Tommy scowls, lifting his arm and doing a bicep curl. “Hey, I work out.”
I shrug. “You forget, I own a hockey team now. There’s a lot of really nice eye candy. Regular guys who hit the gym occasionally can’t compete with the body of a real athlete.”
Maria giggles. “He’s not wrong, boys.”
Everyone laughs and the moment passes.
Since everyone has wine, Paolo begins the food service. It’s a choreographed dance of dishes meant to last for hours. First comes an amuse-bouche of citrus-cured hamachi drizzled with Calabrian chili oil. Next, the antipasti arrives with aged prosciutto so thin it’s translucent. Buffalo mozzarella flown in from Naples and rich, golden olive oil pressed from ancient groves in Sicily, each bite a reminder of old-world power and the deep roots of tradition.
Vincent swirls his wine in his glass. “Dmitri, I heard you had a little trouble with your old customs inspector, Martinez. The one Shaffer replaced.”
Dmitri’s massive shoulders tense slightly. Martinez’s sudden retirement, and subsequent disappearance, has been the subject of much speculation. “New man understands how I want things done better. Martinez was too easily flustered. There have been no more problems with shipments.”
“Is that so?” Tommy taunts. “That’s not what I heard. According to my sources two containers got held up last week.”
“Yeah, but nothing sense.” Dmitri’s knuckles whiten around his fork. “The problem has been handled .”
“I certainly hopes so.” Vincent dabs his lips with a crisp linen napkin. “The ports are too important to let just anyone be in charge.” Vincent has been drooling to get his hands on the ports.
Maria’s smile is pure poison. “Amen to that.”
There’s a sheen of perspiration on Dmitri’s forehead. “I can assure you all, there will be no further issues with the ports.” He glances at me, his expression uneasy. “I swear on my life.”
I purse my lips, studying him. I believe him when he says he’s handled the problem. We both know that if I don’t give him my blessing, the others might make a move on him. They’d all love to get a piece of the port action. But if I give Dmitri my blessing, they’ll back off. I let a few moments tick by, holding Dmitri’s frazzled gaze. I like to keep them off balance. It makes them less dangerous. Eventually, I nod. “I trust you, Dmitri. Just keep your eye on the new guy.”
“Of course,” he rasps, mopping at his sweaty forehead with his napkin. “Things are back to normal and they’ll stay that way, Luca. I promise.”
The other’s settle back in their chairs as the pasta course arrives. It’s tortellini in brood. According to the menu, it takes three days to prepare. The clear broth captures the light from the chandeliers, golden and perfect. Paolo appears with new wine, and the ceremony of decanting gives me time to study the room. Vincent and Maria exchanging glances. Tommy’s barely concealed glee at Dmitri’s discomfort. Jimmy’s fingers moving subtly on his phone beneath the table. Is the little shit recording the meeting? I’ll be sure to have Marco check his phone before he leaves.
The dinner conversation skips around from SEC anonymous tips about certain cryptocurrency irregularities, to bribes given to key players at City Hall. There’s plenty of cursing and taunting as they all jockey to win my favor. I never feed them too much praise. It’s better to keep them on edge. They’re all power hungry hellions and keeping them in line can be exhausting.
Finally, the main course arrives, brasato al Barolo that melts off the bone, risotto Milanese golden with saffron that costs more per ounce than cocaine. Dessert is cannoli filled with ricotta, and I have two servings. I always over eat when I come to Vittorio’s. There’s no finer Italian food in the city.
By the time we leave, we’re all groaning from being too full and our cheeks are flushed from the wine. Despite Vincent sitting in my chair at the start of the meeting, he’s kissing the ring on his way out. Jimmy’s phone is glued to his ear as he barks orders to someone on his team about hacking a bank’s security system, Dimitri assures me the ports are under control for the hundredth time, and Maria kisses my cheek, and then climbs into Tommy’s limo. I’ll have to keep an eye on those two. If they’re sleeping together, it could spell trouble.
“That was less painful than usual,” Marco says as we settle into the back of the Mercedes. “I think Paolo was doing his best to get us drunk.”
I laugh. “We’re probably the only group he serves who are less trouble when we’re inebriated, and more trouble sober.”
He closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the leather seat. “By the way, Jimmy’s phone was clean. He didn’t record the meeting.”
“Good.”
He opens one eye. “Did you notice Tommy and Maria left together?”
“I did.” I stare out the window at the businesses flying by. This part of town’s a mashup of old and newly renovated. There are the historic brick buildings right next to shiny glass towers. The faux cobblestone streets and old-school streetlights give it this cool, vintage vibe, but then you’ve got trendy cafes and modern shops popping up everywhere. It’s like the past and the future are squaring off on every corner. “He’s nuts to get involved with her. We all know she murdered her husband.”
“Maybe he likes the challenge.”
I frown. “Of not dying?”
He shrugs a little smirk on his lips. “She’s hot. Probably a bobcat in the sack.”
“Yeah, I’m sure her husband thought the same thing right before she offed him.” Not that I’m in a position to judge. Lord knows I’d love to take Evan to bed again, even though he looks like he’d happily murder me. “Lust makes us do crazy things,” I murmur.
As if reading my mind, Marco lifts his head and asks, “Do you think Evan will do as he’s told tonight?”
My body tenses at his question. “Yes.” Truth be told, I’m still a little worried. Evan seemed cowed when he left my office yesterday, but he’s a prideful guy. It’s obvious playing against his teammates is unthinkable to him. That makes him unpredictable. Mostly though, I think he’ll do as I say.
He’d better.
“He made some good points though.” Marco fiddles with his tie. “If the Ice Hawks were able to beat Chicago and get into the playoffs, the betting angle would only be more lucrative for us.”
My stomach churns because I don’t disagree. “I know, but he can’t be the one telling me what to do.” My voice is harsher than intended because I’m frustrated. “I’m in charge, not him.”
He holds up his hands. “I know. I know. I’m just saying he had a point.”
“It’s a moot point. They probably wouldn’t win against Chicago anyway. The odds aren’t in their favor.” I shift away from Marco, hoping he’ll get the hint and drop the subject of Evan.
He doesn’t.
“Sure. But just imagine how much money you’d make if they did win. If the Ice Hawks somehow pulled off a victory and you put bet on them instead of against them, you’d make a killing.”
I give him a pointed look. “Speaking of killing, how about you kill the subject of tonight’s game?”
He grunts. “Sure, boss. Whatever you say.”
We pull into the parking lot of the Ice Hawks Arena and just as I exit the car, Evan drives into the lot. He doesn’t see me and Marco as he climbs from his truck. He hoists his bulky hockey bag onto his shoulder, and heads toward the arena. His head is down and he looks deep in thought. My gaze runs over his lanky frame, and my pulse picks up in spite of myself.
Marco catches me watching Evan, and my face warms. “What?” I ask curtly.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“Don’t read into shit, Marco.” My gaze is cold.
Pressing his lips tight, Marco doesn’t respond. He closes the door after me, and we walk toward the arena in silence. We’re about ten feet behind Evan, and despite my efforts not to fixate on him, I can’t keep my eyes off him.
There’s a man hovering near the side of the big building. The guy doesn’t look like much at first glance, but the way his gaze is fixed on Evan gets under my skin. He’s lean, probably just shy of six feet, with sandy blond hair that’s messily styled in a way that looks accidental but probably isn’t.
He calls out to Evan, who stops walking. The other man strides toward him, and when they meet, they hug. Something unpleasant slithers through me as I watch them. Evan looks genuinely happy to see him. They stand close, leaning in, a familiarity between them that makes my gut ache.
When Evan drapes an arm around the guy’s shoulders and leads him into the building, I have to swallow the unhappy rumble rising in my throat. Who the fuck is that guy to Evan?
I must not be hiding my displeasure well because Marco says, “You want me to find out who that guy is?”
While I’m embarrassed Marco can see I’m jealous, I really do want to know who that person is. The intimacy between them makes my blood boil. Still, to save my pride, I should tell Marco not to bother. But the memory of the way Evan smiled and hugged that guy eats at me.
“Yeah,” I rasp. “Find out who he is. In fact, find out more about Evan’s background too. I don’t know enough about him.”
“Sure.” He hesitates. “You mean like personal stuff about who he dated or what?”
I shrug. “Whatever you can find. It’s better to have too much information rather than too little.”
“Okay, I’ll look into Evan and that guy.” Marco’s voice is emotionless. He knows I’m irrationally attached to Evan, but he’s not saying anything. I’m sure he’s surprised and confused by my interest in the team captain, but he won’t say anything unless he thinks it might hurt me somehow.
Meanwhile, I’ll keep praying my attraction to Evan magically evaporates.