Page 88 of On Ice

I won the bet about the suit. I knew I would, but Evan was definitely surprised when the tailored suit fit him perfectly. It accentuates his broad shoulders, narrow hips, and long muscular legs. The color is perfect on him too. The midnight blue fabric makes his eyes appear even greener than usual. There’s no denying he’s fucking hot. He’s got a lot of eyes on him today, and I’m proud to have him on my arm.

I grab two flutes of champagne from a waiter who passes by with a tray of bubbly. I hand one of the long stemmed glasses to Evan, and he accepts it happily. His hand trembles slightly as he takes a sip. I’m sure this is overwhelming for him. He’s used tocrowds of people, but this is a very different vibe from a crowd of hockey fans.

I hold out my flute to make a toast. He hesitates, but then clinks his glass against mine. “To having a good day together,” I say smoothly.

“Yeah. We could use one.” He sips more champagne.

I study his tense face. “We need to replace some of the bad memories with good.”

“You think that’s possible?” He meets my gaze, appearing dubious. “After all the shit we’ve been through, I’m not sure I do.”

Not easily discouraged, I say, “Think about the first night we met. We got along great that night.”

He frowns. “I guess the good memories were eclipsed by the fact you tried to have me murdered.”

I sigh. “Are you still holding a grudge about that?”

“Well, yeah, you’re the first person who ever tried to kill me.” He gives a grudging smile. “That kind of thing sticks with a guy.”

“But I took it back. Now I’m your protector, remember? Doesn’t that mean just as much?”

He lets out a tired breath. “I don’t know. Maybe. I guess I figure it could go the other way all too easily again.”

Before I can respond, Mario, the father of the bride appears in front of us.

“Luca,” Mario booms, “You made it.” Mario is a burly man of about fifty, his hair is still thick and black, and his custom tuxedo hugs his aging boxer’s frame. He clasps my shouldersbefore kissing both cheeks. “I’m so pleased you could attend. I know how busy you are.”

“I’d never miss Angela’s wedding.” I smile. “She looks beautiful. So much like her mother.”

Sadness shifts through Mario’s eyes. “Yes, she truly reminds me of Emilia. If only she could have been here. She’d have been so proud of how Angela has turned out.”

Evan says softly, “She’s probably here in spirit.”

Mario turns his gaze on Evan. “That’s right. I need to remember that.” His smile is wistful. “She’s watching over us still.” His gaze sharpens as he studies Evan. “You’re the hockey player, right?”

Evan tenses. “That’s right.”

Mario shakes a finger at Evan. “You cost me a lot of money, young man.” While Mario is smiling, there’s a hint of resentment in his voice.

Evan winces, but stays silent.

I place my hand at the small of Evan’s back, reassuring him that he’s safe with me beside him. “Evan regrets what he did that night.” Evan stiffens at my words and I pray he has the brains not to blurt out that he regrets nothing. “But you can’t turn back time, right?”

“No, unfortunately, you can’t,” murmurs Mario.

I lean toward Mario and lower my voice. “I want you to know that the money you lost on that game will be coming back to you. I’ve decided to cover the losses from that game for my most trusted allies. I count you among that small, but special group.”

Mario’s face lights up. “Is that right?”

I incline my head. “Keep this between us though. I don’t want everyone coming to me for a handout.”

“Of course.” Mario laughs loudly and makes a zipping motion near his lips. He looks much happier now. “I appreciate it, Luca.”

“My pleasure. You’ve been there for me in the past, many times.”

Mario shrugs. “Loyalty to the Barone Syndicate is easy. Your father was a good friend to me and my family, having your back is the least I can do.”

A thin, harassed looking woman with a clipboard appears at Mario’s elbow. Her hair is jet black and thinning at the top, her white scalp visible. “Mr. Spongilla, I’m so sorry to bother you. We’ve gone through all the lobster risotto arancini. Did you want us to make more, or should we just let the guests eat whatever other hors d’oeuvres are left? We still have dinner coming after all.”

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