Page 85 of My Pucking Crush

I look at him and understand immediately that he isn’t talking about the game. The mafia rarely stops when they want someone out of the picture. They won’t kill Max, that’s too extreme.

But the question makes me stop and think. It’s not my job to make Belova stop.

Or is it?

Why does he want his team to win so badly? Other than the obvious drive of every owner—for the bragging rights of owning a champion team. But there’s more going on behind the scenes with Belova than I dare to speculate. I have to keep my distance.

Belova invaded my world. It’s a hazard of being on the run. No matter how safe you are one day, you have to pull up the roots and keep running.

Once I’m embedded with House Domenico, I can stop. Belova won’t start a war with five Italian Mafia families with direct ties to the Byrnes—theIrish Mobof Boston.

Not over me.

I think about how to answer Max’s question,when does it stop?

“Depends,” I say. “They tried to get to you once. And they failed.”

“They put me in the hospital. I hardly call that a failure.”

“They wanted you injured for the rest of the season. You didn’t even miss one game the first time.” I glance at Max, trying to make some lemonade from these venomous lemons. “Some predators take a lucky shot. Miss. And give up.”

“It’s not just me. They can hurt one of my guys next.” Max paces, pointing to the television. “This game showed them who can step up when I don’t play.”

“When I get to the stadium tomorrow, I’ll hold a meeting with Bronwin about hiring an investigator to prove the attacks were premeditated so they can go to the league. Sanction Belova, force him to sell the team. Take his poison somewhere else.” It’s all I can offer.

“I never thought it would come to this. You said this sport is violent. But this was goddamn unprovoked.” He pokes his face. “Is unsportsmanlike.”

“I want to argue, but a sport that stops a game to let two players brutalize each other until their blood coats the ice is anything but sportsmanlike.”

Max looks ready to give me a matching shiner, but Willis shoots and misses, drawing his attention. The game ends with a 6-1 slaughter. Richmond goes nuts celebrating on the ice. They made it to the playoffs by getting Max kicked out of the game.

Regions play their best teams in the first round. A thought has ice shooting down my spine.

In three weeks for the second round, we may very well play Richmond again and be right back here.

FORTY-ONE

Luca

Before we retire into Max’s bedroom, his hair wet and slicked back from a shower, he says, low and controlled, “I’m so fucking jealous of you.”

“Me? Why?”

“You live unapologetically.”

“I was forced to marry a woman and have a baby with her.”

“You were in the mob.”

“Bratva, I correct him. Russian mafia is bratva. Mob is generally the Irish.”

Max finally cracks a smile. “Noted. But now you live how you want.”

“I use a club. I’m not as out as you think. I work for a hockey team and can’t lose my job because they think I’m ogling the players.” I sit down on the bed. “I was only ogling one.”

“Me?” He smiles.

“Da,” I answer in Russian. “For years. I took this job because of you. I love hockey. I applied to several teams after I broke from Belova.”

---