Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Alexei
Vadim Petrov, former legendary captain of the Chicago Rebels, pushed a glass of OJ my way, then went back to the eggs. I took a look around his kitchen, which connected to a large great room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Michigan.
“No Isobel today?”
“She is at the office reviewing new prospects.”
“Rebels or Athenas?”
“Both. My wife keeps her fingers in a lot of pies.”
Isobel Chase-Petrov, Vadim’s wife of many years, was a co-owner of the Chicago Rebels and the Athenas—the last one, she molded from clay and ice to become a powerhouse in the women’s game.
I didn’t know her well, but over the years I had become close to Vadim.
I considered him a mentor, but more than that.
He had saved my father’s life.
You might think hockey players are wealthy—and they are—but Vadim Petrov’s wealth was in a different league, mostly inherited from his father, one of the old school Russian oligarchs.
Vadim had invested his fortune well: restaurants, sports franchises, vineyards, even a racehorse.
With his sister, Mia, he also donated a substantial portion to charitable causes.
His family’s connection to the old regime had helped me when I needed it.
My journalist father had been convicted of extremism in Russia because he dared to lead an anti-corruption crusade through the newspaper where he worked.
I had been trying my best to get his case appealed, and even though I’d followed all their rules, nothing was happening.
Until Vadim intervened. It wasn’t resolved immediately—the wheels of injustice turn more slowly than the wheels of their opposite—but after a year of back-channel discussion and hefty bribery, my father was released from the death trap prison where he had been incarcerated.
Then he was smuggled out of the country. I owed it all to the man before me.
“I saw your picture on a magazine cover at the airport.”
Vadim used to model more—the joke was that hockey was his side hustle—but now he just did the odd gig when it pleased him.
“Why should these youngsters get all the sponsorships?”
“Because they need the money and you already have enough?”
He scoffed. “It is not about money. My wife likes to see me fulfilling my potential.”
“As a supermodel?”
“You said super. Not I.” He grinned that pirate’s smile. “I donate my fees to good causes. If a product needs a certain look or cachet, of course they will come to the best.”
The man was vain, but he was also satisfied. He had built a good life with his wife. No kids, but he doted on his nieces and nephews.
He dropped some scrambled eggs, studded with tomatoes, feta, and thyme, onto my plate. I buttered a slice of toast, and we ate while chatting about the upcoming season and the team’s current dynamic. Once done, he took a good look at me.
“How is Sasha?” Vadim was one of the people in whom I had confided about my father’s medical condition.
“He thinks the FSB are watching him. The doctors have said such paranoid delusions are to be expected, but it worries me.”
He nodded. “You would worry about him anyway. But thankfully you have the resources to care for him. It would not be good for him in Russia.”
“Yes, I know. I will always be grateful, Vadim.”
He waved it off. “What use are connections if you do not use them? And I know you worry about him now and how his mental sharpness has deteriorated. But think of what you have given him—twelve good years in a free country. Safety, security, and seeing you happy.”
This was true. He would have died in that prison, though if he understood what was happening to him now, he might have preferred it. Losing his mind in pieces was not what he would have wished for his final years.
“So you have a nurse with him during the day?” At my nod, he leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter. “And how do you spend your time?”
“Gym, running.” Scheming.
I had a date with Lauren tonight, though she wouldn’t call it that. She could resist, but the lure of Arkady Volkov was too bright. I should have been annoyed that I had to bribe her with a future superstar to spend time with me, but we had to use the tools at our disposal.
“You need to practice with us.” Vadim hit the ice a couple of times a week with his old teammates, Remy DuPre and Bren St. James. It would be good to skate with legends, if only to take my mind off everything for a moment.
Especially off her.
“Perhaps.”
“They start at six a.m., Alexei.” That was Isobel, who had just walked into the kitchen. She kissed her husband warmly, then leaned in to buss my cheek. “Good to see you.”
“And you. Have you mapped out the team rosters for next year?”
“Next five years.” She winked at me. “World domination happening right now.”
“A privilege to witness it, my Bella.” Vadim pulled his wife close and nuzzled her nose. “Alexei is bored and I am just about to convince him to join us on the rink. Do not scare him off with talk of early risings.”
“I’d rather you kept your early risings to the bedroom, Vad.” She grinned at me. “Sorry, too much?”
“Not at all. It is good to see the mighty Petrov whipped by a woman, even if that woman is his wife.”
Her green eyes lit up. “I just had an amazing idea. We’re down a couple of mentors for the Rebels youth hockey camp. Want to help out? You’d be doing me a favor.”
“Would I be skating with you?”
“No, my old bones don’t work so well on the ice anymore. But some of your teammates will be out there—Hatch and Conor Kershaw.”
“Conor? He’s not a Rebel.”
She rolled her eyes. “Try telling him that. He might play for Detroit, but I’m going to have to bring him onto the roster, if only to justify how much he eats from the players’ lounge.
We’re short of volunteers because Theo retired from doing it to spend more time with his family and Jason’s busy nesting. ”
“Might take your mind off things,” Vadim offered.
Isobel looked curious but she didn’t pry.
I sighed as if it was a great imposition. “How much time do you need?”
“Two weeks.” Isobel hugged me, already assured of her victory. “If only my husband wasn’t here, I would give you a big old smooch.”
“You have a thing for Russians, I see.”
“Only the ones who do my bidding. Okay, I have to run—starts a week from Monday. I’ll text you the details.” And then she was gone.
“Is she usually so … forceful?”
“My Bella has always known what she wants. Nothing gets in her way.” He tilted his head. “This will be good for you.”