Page 3 of On Ice

“What do you think of him?” I ask. “The new owner. Is he legitimately into our team or do you think he’ll just sell us again in a few months?”

She hesitates. “I don’t think he has any intention of selling. I get the impression he’s a man who knows what he wants. He wouldn’t have purchased the team if he didn’t want to. He’s no pushover. Says he has big plans.”

“God. He’s gonna be a pain in the ass, isn’t he?” I groan, slipping into my white dress shirt. “This is bullshit. I don’t want to meet with a suit right now. I just want to get drunk and maybe get laid by some adoring fan.”

Sofia cracks a smile. “Sorry. I’d get you out of it if I thought I could. The sexy fanboys will just have to wait until next time.”

“You’resurethis meeting can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m sure.” She checks her phone when it buzzes. “Oh, I need to take this. Hurry up and don’t keep him waiting. I’ll be outside. I can escort you and make the introductions.” She leaves the locker room, phone plastered to her ear.

I finish dressing, trying to stuff down my irritation. Maybe I should be flattered that the new owner wants to meet me before anyone else. It’s a compliment, right? Still, despite trying to psyche myself up for the meet and greet, I’m bummed. I’m tired and in no mood to shmooze the new guy. Owners can be so needy. They want their ass kissed non-stop, and right now, I was hoping to just let loose and let some horny fan kissmyass.

Instead, I get to go pump up the ego of our new team owner.

Yay me?

I think about the way the guy watched me from the private box. His unwavering stare was unsettling, though I still can’t quite put my finger on why. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m standing on the edge of something, and that tomorrow, I’ll look back on this moment and realize everything has changed.

I let out an uneasy laugh. I’m acting like the Devil himself invited me for drinks. Maybe I should chill the fuck out and just go meet the guy. I’m stuck. I don’t have a choice. I’ll just suck it up and go.

With any luck, he’ll get bored of me fast, and I can still catch up with the guys later.

Chapter Two

(Pre-game)

Luca

“You spent two hundred million dollars onthisteam?” 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?”

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