Lars lets out a low hum, almost satisfied. “Good. The Campisis… they are persistent, as always. Be careful. Do not make mistakes. But I trust you to manage. You always do.”
“I won’t, sir.”
“Excellent. That is what I want to hear. Nik, it will be good to see you when you return. Chicago has been quiet, Volya and I can’t wait to see you.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
“Safe flight. And remember, Nik…” There’s a brief pause, his voice carrying more warmth than he usually allows. “…be careful. Always.”
“I will, sir.”
“Chest’ i vernost’,” He says.
“Chest’ i vernost’.”
The line clicks dead. I set the phone aside and let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
Dominic leans over, smirking. “Even over the phone, he makes you feel like you’re walking a tightrope, huh?”
I shrug, sliding my phone back into my pocket. “He’s just… protective. Careful. And he expects results. Always.”
Dominic shakes his head. “Classic mafia dad.”
“Exactly,” I mutter, eyes fixed on the blinking gate sign. “Classic mafia dad.”
O’Hare isa ghost town when Dom and I step off the red-eye from LAX. It’s barely five a.m.; the sky is still black. I managed to get just enough sleep on the plane to survive the first day of the Commission meetings.
Lars and Misha are already checked into the hotel, with extra security on them. Dom will be prowling around once we get there, keeping an eye on things. It makes me feel better having him at my back.
“Well, it was fun winning on a fair playing field,” Dom says as we tromp through the eerily empty airport.
“Not enough to get us into the playoffs,” I say.
“I realize that. I’m being a Glass Half Full Guy.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, Glass Half Full Guy—what’s your hot take? You think our silent owner’s gonna keep letting us piss off the oddsmakers by not tanking when we’re told?”
“What’s he gonna do? Come out and tell people we’re not good at getting fucked in the ass for the sake of his oddsmakers?”
I lift a shoulder. “I’m not interested in being fucked in the ass at all.”
Dominic chuckles. “Well, don’t knock it until you try it.”
“Fucking sick bastard,” I mutter, though I can’t help grinning. Dom does shit like this all the time, makes random comments that seem out of left field or meant to shock people. He has a wicked dark sense of humor, and sometimes it’s enough to get me out of my own head.
“I do like giving Campisi a middle finger out there,” I say. “I’m not taking a dive just to line his pockets. I play to win.”
“Same,” Dom says. “I am a little worried about Coach Harris, though. I don’t think he signed up to coach for a rigged team.”
“He is scared,” I confirm. “If he refuses to comply, his family is at risk. If he walks away, the Campisi family will either kill him or, at best, ensure he doesn’t coach in the league again.”
“Perhaps we can provide some discreet security,” Dominic suggests.
“Perhaps,” I agree. “For his family. They are innocent in this.”
“That would be a very nice thing, if you chose to do it.” There is a wry humor in Dom’s tone.
With heavy side-eye, I say, “I am many things, andniceis not one of them.”
