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.
MyNik.
20
NIK
I sink backinto the stiff airport chair, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the early morning crowd shuffling past.
Dom scrolls through his phone beside me, quiet for once.
My phone buzzes. Lars. I answer.
“Sir.”
“Nik,moy syn,” Lars says, his tone calm but firm, the weight of authority in every word. “I saw you wrap up the West Coast games. Great job. The Reapers performed well.”
“Spasibo, sir. We handled it,” I say, shrugging. “Sweep was clean. Not sure it’ll be enough for playoffs, though.”
“Da.Playoffs don’t matter. What matters is control. Discipline. That is what I expect. That is what I want from my son.”
There’s the faintest shift in his tone, almost soft. “Volya and I are at the hotel. All in order here. Is security for Misha good? Everything under control?”
“There should be no issues at the hotel, sir.”
“Good. Very good.” He pauses, then adds, more measured: “Listen, Nik. Keep your eyes on Misha. She is strong, but… this world is not kind. You understand.”
“I understand.”
“I trust you,moy syn. No one else I would trust to… handle things more appropriately.”
I swallow, feeling the weight of his words and the implicit threat beneath them. “Understood, sir. Everything is planned. The Commission, the security, the locations… I’ve got it handled.”
