Married to the Mafia Hockey Star

JOYE POV I groaned, staring at the name on my laptop screen. "Why the f**k does everything keep leading back to him?" LUCA DEMARCO. His face stared back at me from yet another article. Same handsome face, charming smile, and same f*****g hockey superstar the whole country seemed to worship. I had spent three months digging into my brother's death, and somehow, every new lead brought me back to Luca DeMarco. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. I didn't anymore. The police had closed Nicholas's case weeks ago, calling his death an accident. But I knew my brother. Nothing about the last few weeks of his life made sense to me, especially the things I found after he died. Fifteen leads. I had followed fifteen f*****g leads on my own, and every single time, somewhere along the way, the DeMarco name appeared. Sometimes it was either Luca, one of his businesses, or even someone connected to his hockey team. But he was always there. I leaned back in my chair and stared at his picture again. What the hell did a famous hockey player have to do with my brother's death? Actually, calling Luca DeMarco just a hockey player was laughable. The public might believe that bullshit, but I had spent too many nights digging through s**t to believe that. The DeMarcos were mafia. And if even half of what I had uncovered about Luca was true, the smiling hockey star staring back at me wasn't just connected to them. He was running them. A notification suddenly appeared at the corner of my screen. VIOLIN TRAINING - 9:00 A.M. "Shit." I checked the time. 8:47. Jasmin would have the time of her life if I showed up late again. I slammed the laptop shut, shoved it into my backpack and grabbed my violin case. Luca DeMarco would have to wait. Unfortunately for me, not my violin lesson. ******************************** "Look who finally decided to show up... the school's favourite bitch." I had barely made it into the hallway when the familiar voice stopped me. Of course. Jasmin. Apparently, thirteen minutes was enough time for the universe to decide I hadn't suffered enough today. I kept walking toward the training hall. "Hey!" she called after me. "Didn't you hear me?" I heard her. I just didn't care. The sharp sound of her heels followed me down the hallway before she hurried forward and stepped directly into my path. I stopped. Jasmin folded her arms across her chest, a mocking smile stretching across her perfectly painted lips. "I've been talking to you." "I heard you, not deaf," I answered. Her brows pulled together. "Then why are you pretending you didn't hear me?" "Because listening to you usually gives me a headache." A few students nearby laughed. Jasmin's smile tightened. I love this. Maybe she had finally understood that I wasn't in the mood for her bullshit today. She stepped closer. "I heard your father was lying drunk outside a bar again last night." There it was; my amusement disappeared. "My family is none of your business." "Oh, but it is." She shrugged. "Everyone's talking about them. Honestly, your family has become the biggest entertainment on campus." Someone behind her snickered. I tightened my grip around my violin case. I could handle whatever she said about me, my clothes, my lack of money, and my scholarship. But my family? That was different. "Poor Joye." Jasmin placed a hand over her chest with fake sympathy. "One brother dies, your mother loses her mind, your father drinks himself half to death..." My jaw tightened. Mom had barely been able to function after Nicholas died. Some days, she couldn't even recognise me. Eventually, she ended up in rehab because grief had swallowed everything else. Dad chose a different way to destroy himself. Alcohol and drugs. Anything strong enough to make him forget he had buried his only son. And I was the one left standing in the middle of the mess, trying to hold together a family that didn't seem to want to be held together anymore. Jasmin tilted her head. "What a tragic little family." "Keep my family out of your filthy mouth." Her smile widened. "What if I don't?" She stepped closer. "Tell me something, Joye. Who's paying your tuition now?" I shoved her, hard. Jasmin stumbled backwards. The hallway fell silent; her eyes widened. "You actually pushed me." "You were standing too close to me." Her shock quickly turned into anger. "So that's how you want to play?" Before I could react, she snatched the violin case from my hand. "Jasmin." She lifted it. Every bit of anger inside me disappeared. "Don't." She smiled, then she threw it. The case crashed against the floor. "No!" I rushed toward it and dropped to my knees. My fingers fumbled with the locks before I finally got it open. The violin was still intact. Thank God. I ran my fingers over the wood, checking it twice. No cracks, nothing was broken. Behind me, Jasmin laughed. "You should be more careful with your things." I ignored her. She didn't understand; this wasn't simply a violin. Nicholas had bought it for me. It was the last birthday present he ever gave me. And unlike the police, unlike everyone else who seemed ready to close the door on Nicholas and move on with their lives, I wasn't ready to lose another piece of him. "Poor people don't..." "What exactly is going on here?" Our instructor's voice filled the air. Jasmin changed immediately. "Nothing, sir," she said sweetly. The instructor looked between us before pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't care who started it. We have a competition in three weeks." He pointed toward the practice room. "If both of you still have enough energy to cause a scene in my hallway, you have enough energy to practise." Nobody argued. Jasmin shot me one last poisonous glare before walking away. I closed my violin case carefully and stood. Three weeks. I couldn't afford to let Jasmin distract me. Winning that competition matters to me. But tonight, there was something else I needed to do. Because Luca DeMarco had a game. And for the first time since I started investigating him, I was going to see him in person. ************************* By the time training ended, darkness had already settled outside. My shoulders ached, my fingers were sore, and I should have gone straight home. Instead, I headed toward the hockey arena. Chris had been asking me to attend one of Luca's games with him for weeks. Usually, I found an excuse. Tonight, I hadn't. Especially after what I had found this morning. My phone buzzed. CHRIS: Where are you??? The first period starts soon. I smiled. ME: Coming. Calm down. His reply came almost immediately. CHRIS: CALM DOWN??? LUCA DEMARCO IS PLAYING. I rolled my eyes and slipped my phone back into my pocket. If Chris knew what I suspected about his precious Luca DeMarco, he would probably tell me I had finally lost my mind. Because instead of staying as far away from a suspected mafia boss as humanly possible, I was walking straight toward him. "Joye!" I spotted Chris waving near the arena entrance. He was wearing a black hockey jersey with DEMARCO printed across the back. I almost laughed. "There you are." He pulled me into a quick hug before kissing my cheek. "You're late." "Training," I said immediately. "Excuses." I looked at his jersey. "You know, your obsession is starting to become embarrassing." "This isn't obsession. This is loyalty." "To a man who doesn't know you exist." Chris placed a hand over his chest. "One day Luca DeMarco will know my name." My smile faded for half a second. For Chris's sake, I hoped that day never came. He didn't notice. "Come on. I got us good seats." He grabbed my wrist and pulled me through the crowd. The moment we entered the arena, noise hit me from every direction. DeMarco jerseys were everywhere: posters and signs. People were chanting his name before he had even stepped onto the ice. I slowly looked around; all these people loved him. Children wore his number. Teenage girls held signs asking him to marry them. And not one of them seemed to know who he really was. Then again, neither did I. That was why I was here: the arena lights dimmed, the crowd erupted. Chris jumped to his feet. "He's coming!" Players skated onto the ice one after another; Luca appeared. The reaction was instant. "Luca! Luca! Luca!" Chris joined them, but I didn't. I couldn't take my eyes off Luca. I had seen hundreds of pictures of him. Interviews, match clips, magazine covers, charity events. But seeing him in person was different. He was taller than I had expected, broad-shouldered beneath his dark jersey, more handsome than those pictures. He skated onto the ice without waving to the screaming crowd. His expression barely changed. For someone receiving enough attention to make most people lose their minds, Luca looked almost bored by it. The puck dropped, and the first period began. And I finally understood one thing. His hockey career wasn't fake. He was good. He moved fast; he seemed to know where the puck would go before everyone else did. A defender closed in on him. Luca shifted direction at the last second, slipping past him before sending the puck toward a teammate. Seconds later, it came back to him; he shot. Goal. The arena exploded. Chris nearly destroyed my eardrum. "I told you!" I barely heard him. Luca's teammates surrounded him. For the first time that night, Luca smiled. It was almost perfect, and that bothered me. Because this was the same man whose name kept appearing in places filled with dead men, dirty money and dubious businesses. Yet here he was, smiling for cameras. Playing hockey. Making thousands of people scream his name. How the hell had he managed to fool everyone? More importantly. What had Nicholas discovered about him? The question stayed in my head for the rest of the period. When the buzzer finally sounded, the players headed off the ice. "End of the first period!" the announcer called. Chris dropped back into his seat, still grinning. "Tell me that wasn't amazing." "It was good." "Good?" He stared at me like I had insulted his entireeeeeee family. "That was art." I laughed. "I need the restroom." "Fine. But hurry. Second period starts soon." I shook my head and headed toward the restroom.. After doing my business, I washed my hands and checked my phone. Nothing new.. I slipped it back into my pocket and headed for the exit. Then I heard something from the men's restroom next door. A muffled voice, I would've ignored it. Until another voice said something that made me stop. "Nicholas..." My feet froze. For a second, I thought I had imagined it. Then it came again. "I already told you, I don't know what Nicholas Richmond gave them." The noise of the arena disappeared. Nicholas Richmond? My brother. I turned toward the men's restroom. My first thought was to get Chris, my second was to record whatever was happening.. I pulled out my phone and opened the recorder. Then I moved closer, I knew this was stupid. But I had spent three months searching for answers while everyone else told me to let Nicholas Richmond go. And now, someone had just mentioned my dead brother's full name. There was no f*****g way I was walking away. I pushed the door open, and stopped. A man stood with his back to me. Black hockey jersey, broad shoulders. And one name printed across his back. DEMARCO. My eyes dropped to his hand, a bloody knife rested between his fingers and. Another man stood nearby with a gun pointed at someone kneeling on the floor. The kneeling man was shaking. Blood covered his hand. Then I saw the severed finger lying on the tiles. My stomach turned. For three months, I had searched for proof that Luca DeMarco wasn't the man the world believed him to be. Now the proof was standing right in front of me. Luca slowly turned, our eyes met. There was no charming smile now. At that moment, I realised I had made one very stupid mistake. I had spent so much time trying to find him that I never stopped to wonder what would happen if he found me first. I stepped backwards. Run. Luca's gaze dropped briefly to the phone in my hand, stupidly for me, the flash was on, and was pointing directly at me. Shit. I turned. "Get her." Then, in a voice so cold it sent chills down my spine, he spoke. The man beside him immediately turned and charged toward me. I ran.