Chapter 19 Leanna
LEANNA
My father’s house is full tonight. Men and women from Miami, San Antonio, New York, Russia—everywhere the family does business—are in town for the Commission meeting.
The men crowd into the living room, each with a beer or a glass of whiskey, watching the Reapers open a three-game series on the West Coast.
Most of the wives are out back on the patio, wine in hand, keeping half an eye on the kids as their laughter rolls across the lawn.
On the surface, it appears to be a typical family gathering. Polite. Domestic. Almost ordinary.
But under the easy smiles and small talk, I can feel the current running through everything. Every laugh is measured, every cheer weighed. Deals are being tested, alliances drawn, and nothing here is as simple as it looks.
“Hey, Don,” some guy calls out. “Who’s the winner tonight? I’ve got my app open.”
My dad chuckles. “That’s up to the hockey gods.”
The guy groans, clearly disappointed the game isn’t rigged. From my spot at the kitchen island, textbooks spread in front of me, I half-watch while pretending to study for my finance final tomorrow. Every so often, a cheer or groan from the living room pulls my eyes up.
“Even if they win tonight, they’re out of playoff contention,” my dad says, like it’s no big deal. “Which was part of the design.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” someone else says. “Invest in a team and let it crap out. I’d want wins stacked on wins.”
Dad just shrugs. “It’s a strategy. Make a fortune on the betting side, then bring in real coaches and players. Surprise everyone, flip the odds, and make even more.”
He grins widely, and the room erupts in laughter.
I still don’t fully get it. Well, no, I do. I understand the money part. Everything with him is always about money.
I understand the betting. If the team wins a few games and appears to be doing well, people bet big. Then, when they tank, my dad and his select insiders reap the financial benefits. They can even shake down the losers who have lost a substantial amount of money and can’t pay up.
Logistically, I get it.
But deep down? I side with the guy who said he couldn’t imagine owning a team just to watch it fail. I’d want the wins. Championships. Pride. I’m not even that competitive by nature, but I couldn’t imagine deliberately sabotaging a team I actually cared about.
Funny thing is, I never asked Nik where he plays hockey. For all I know, he could be skating for this very team.
Wouldn’t that be something? The guy I’ve been… whatevering with these past few months, playing for the team my father owns.
The thought makes me grin.
A voice interrupts my thoughts. “What’s making you smile, if you don’t mind my asking?”
I look up and see a handsome, boyish face, framed by a halo of light-brown, almost blonde curls. A dimple in one cheek. Blue eyes. Tan skin.
“I’m Luca,” he says, grinning, holding out a hand for me to shake.
Luca. I scour my memories. Do I know a Luca?
Oh. He’s one of the five father-approved matches in my little dossier of boys.
“Hi Luca,” I say, shaking his hand. He has a firm handshake and soft hands.
Do I like soft hands? I don’t know.
“You’reLeanna, yes?” he asks. “Your dad thought I should come over and introduce myself.”
“I’ll bet he did,” I mutter.
“Do you mind if I have a seat?” he asks, gesturing to the empty bar stool next to me.
“Not at all,” I say. “I’m not good company, though; I’ll warn you now. I have a final tomorrow, so I’m trying to cram.”
“Oh?” he asks. “In what subject?”
“Finance,” I say.
He brightens. “Well, lucky for you, I work in finance. I’ll happily quiz you, if you’d like?”
I push my mouth to one side, considering. “Okay, Luca. That would be great.”
He grins and takes my study notes from me. After reading off about twenty questions, he says, “You’re going to ace this.”
I cross my fingers and hold them up for him to see. “So you work in finance. Where?”
“Goldman,” he says. “I’m in from New York.”
“Ah,” I say. “You have a day job on Wall Street, but you’re important enough to warrant a trip to the Commission meeting?”
He blushes. “Uh, no, not really. I fix books for my dad. He’s the important one.”
I see his eyes flick to the man who groaned about the game not being rigged.
“So why are you here then?” I already know the answer; I just want to see if he’ll be honest with me.
“Well, to meet you, if I’m being honest.”
“And why did you want to meet me? I’m nobody important.”
He meets my gaze. “No, just the next Don. Not important at all.”
I make a noise of dissent and roll my eyes. “That’s a long way off. Right now I’m just an average college kid, trying to make it to graduation.”
“Well, my father and your father wanted us to meet. So…”
“So here you are,” I say.
“Here I am,” he confirms. He clears his throat. “So, uh, you graduate soon?”
“Yep. In about ten days, actually. Which is so crazy to me.”
Luca gives me that dazzling, dimple-cheeked smile. “I remember that feeling. Like, I’d made all these friends, and it felt like I’d been on campus forever. It was my home, and then I was graduating and supposed to leave it all behind. It was kind of jarring, actually.”
I consider this man for a moment. He seems earnest. I like the honesty in his answer. So far, so good. Not that I’m going to marry anyone anytime soon. But this guy is not horrible so far.
“Your major is business?” he asks after a little bit of an awkward silence.
“Yes. I did the Business Administration track, but specialized in finance.”
“Why finance?”
“Why finance for you?” I ask, turning the question back on him.
He shoves a hand through his curls and grins kind of sheepishly. “I thought it was the best major for making a ton of money.”
I laugh.
“Yeah,” he says. “A super deep reason to choose a career path, I know.”
“And is it? Making you lots of money?”
Another grin. “I mean, I’m doing well. I’ve only been in it for a few years, and New York is not a cheap place to live.”
That just sounds so…normal. “Doesn’t your family live there?”
“They do,” he says. “But I didn’t want to ask them to bankroll my life. I’m on the payroll, of course, for my second job. But I pay my own way.”
Interesting. He has a normal day job. He pays his own way. Maintains a certain level of independence from the family, somehow.
“Now you,” he says. “Why finance?”
“I mean, my dad definitely encouraged it. However, I have an aptitude for numbers, and I enjoy the idea of taking risks. I enjoy building strategies and scenarios, and deciding where to take a calculated risk, a big risk, or no risk at all. It’s interesting to me.”
“That’s a way better answer than mine,” Luca says. “And it all makes sense, since you’ll be running an international organization someday.”
I shrug, staying noncommittal to that. “I’m not really that interested in running the Campisi organization. I’d rather have a nice day job like yours.”
Luca makes a face. “I figured you and your siblings would be clawing at each other for the opportunity, and you’re just like, meh.”
“Well, I can’t say my brothers aren’t clawing for it,” I say. “But they’re morons, for the most part, so I think choosing me was just a process of elimination.”
“Well, I have a Columbia MBA, so I’m sure I could step in for you if the role is too big.”
This sets me off. I sit up straighter in my chair. “What does that mean? A woman can’t run a multinational organization? A woman can’t handle a big job?”
He puts his hands up in surrender, looking horrified. “No, I mean, you just said you weren’t interested…”
“I said I wasn’t interested, not that I couldn’t do it. I have faith in my own intelligence. And how presumptuous, by the way, to assume you’ll be anywhere near me if and when I do take on the role.”
Luca tries leveling me with that smile of his. This time, it comes off as insincere, and my face-melting glare causes that smile to fall away in seconds.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that it’s a big job and it would be hard on its own, but then add in raising a family—”
“Oh my God,” I interrupt. “Shut up. Right now. Seriously, just shut up.”
He talks right over me. “—And your brother was saying how upset you were just seeing a dead body, so this might be too much for you. Women can be emotional. They’re better suited for duties in the home, and—”
I shoot out of my seat like I’ve been fired from a cannon. I shove my books, papers, and computer into my backpack. I’m so mad I’m literally shaking.
“Hey, don’t go,” Luca says.
“I have to get back to campus,” I say. “And I don’t want to punch you in the face in front of all these people. Bye, Luke.”
“It’s Luca,” he says.
My middle finger is the last interaction I plan to ever have with him.
I wander over to where my dad sits and lean in from behind the couch, whispering in his ear. “Luca is a hell no. Over my dead body would I marry that misogynistic asshole.”
He chuckles. “Okay then. Want me to have him killed?”
I smack him on the arm. “I’m leaving. I have an exam tomorrow.”
“You don’t want to see how the game turns out?”
“There’s a thing called Google, Dad. I can look up the score.”
“You don’t care if they win or lose?” he asks.
“Why should I? I heard you say they won’t be playoff-eligible either way, and I’m not betting, so what does it matter to me? But you tell me; are they going to win or lose?”
He tilts his head, watching the action unfold on the television.
“Hard to tell. It’s not a rigged game, but the coach doesn’t seem to have a good grasp of these players.
They’re all rough and tumble. And the Barkov heir is a stubborn bastard who won’t lie down when he’s told.
He just does whatever the hell he wants out there. ”
My head snaps to the screen, suddenly paying attention. “The Barkov heir? On your team?”
“Two Barkovs, actually. They’re the best players on the team. Oh, the irony.”
“How does that happen? Do they know you own the team?”
“They’re not supposed to. I’m a silent owner, but things have a way of getting out, so I’d be shocked if they didn’t know.
So far, they have kept hockey separate from their family business.
I like having them close so I can keep an eye on them, but they do need to learn their place. It’d be a shame to lose them.”
I can’t figure out whether he means learning their place on the team or in the hierarchy of Chicago’s crime families.
Probably both.
My attention flicks to the screen again, where the two wingers play off of each other, the left wing snapping a bullet pass at the right wing.
It’s so fast, so controlled, that the defenders can’t keep up with it.
The right winger speeds behind the opposing team’s net, slipping the puck right behind the goalie’s back, straight into the net.
“Wow,” I say.
“Haven’t you been paying attention at all?” my brother Ezra says from wherever he is in this room full of goons. “Those two practically share a brain. They’re the reason anyone gives a shit about the Reapers right now.”
He seems to realize the implication of his words, because his eyes dart nervously to my father. My father is the reason these amazing athletes are stuck on a team that’s clearly not performing to its true potential.
To my dad’s credit, he just laughs. “And the other half is because they make lots of money with sure bets.”
Everyone laughs because that’s what they all do – they laugh at my dad’s jokes and they placate his ego. It’s exhausting to be around these men. The thought of dealing with them, of sitting in my dad’s seat, is overwhelming.
I take a deep breath and watch the celebrations on screen. A close-up of the two wingers high-fiving and heading to the bench for a water break. A headshot of the goal-scorer.
“So that’s…” I start.
“Nikolai Ivanov,” my dad says. “Adopted son of Lars Barkov. Heir to the Barkov family and leader of Barkov’s U.S. operations. Captain of the Chicago Reapers and star goal-scorer. Ruthless bastard who likes inflicting pain on people. Overall, a pain in my ass.”
I stare at the photo, then at the helmeted player as he nods at something another player says as the second string takes the post-goal face-off.
Nikolai Ivanov. Nikolai. Nik.
It’s the lips.
I know those lips.
My mind places that mask over this player’s face. I’m not sure, but I…
My hand goes to cover my mouth, lest I let out a sound to alert my father.
Is it possible?
I really do say goodbye, then grab my bag, and agree to let my dad’s driver take me back to campus. The whole ride, I can’t stop thinking about it.
I think the Barkov heir is Nik.
My Nik.