Nobela ni Victor Gold

The arena was a roar of twenty thousand people, but all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears. I was sitting in the front row, so close to the glass that I could see the scratches in the acrylic.I woke up this morning with a lot on my mind, hoping to have a day off but my dear father can't help but drag me down to watch a match that involves Nikolai.Beside me, my father was holding a glass of mineral water, his face a mask of calculated approval. Bianca was on my other side, wearing a Titans jersey over her designer dress. She looked like she wanted to disappear."Look at him, Alessandro," my father said, leaning over. "That’s power. That’s what we’re buying."I didn't need to be told where to look. Nikolai was a blur of white and blue on the ice. He was playing like a man possessed, his movements jagged and violent. Every time he passed our section, I felt his eyes snag on mine for a fraction of a second. It was enough to make my skin crawl.Nikolai was chasing a puck into

The Moretti estate was a sea of black ties and silk gowns, but to me, it felt like a graveyard. Every camera flash was a reminder that we were on display. We weren't a family tonight; we were a product launch.I stood by the grand staircase, a glass of scotch in my hand that I hadn’t touched. I was watching the performance of the century.Nikolai was across the room, and he was being "perfect." He had his arm draped heavily around Bianca’s waist, pulling her flush against his side. Every few minutes, he would lean down and whisper something into her ear, making her let out a startled, fragile laugh for the photographers.He was being too loud. He was being too charming. He was overacting so hard I wanted to vomit.He’s using her, I thought, my grip tightening on my glass. He’s using my sister to wash the taste of me out of his mouth."Look at them," my father said, appearing at my elbow. He sounded satisfied. "The press is eating it up. 'The Captain and the Contessa.' It’s a fairy tal

The cold in the arena was different from the cold in Italy. In Lake Como, the air was crisp and sweet. Here, at the Boston Titans’ facility, it smelled different.I stood on the edge of the rink, my hands shoved deep into the pockets of a wool coat that cost more than most people’s cars. Beside me, my father was a statue of perfection.What have I done?The question had been looping in my head since I woke up in that empty suite, no traces of that man, just me wrapped in sheets naked. I was a Moretti. I was a Harvard graduate. I was supposed to be the smartest man in any room, yet I had let a stranger break me apart in a basement club."Stop looking at the ice like you’re afraid of it, Alessandro," my father said, his voice barely a whisper. "The Volkov boy is coming out. This is the face of our future. Look impressed.""I’m here, aren't I?" I snapped back."You’re here in body. Your head is somewhere else. You've been twitchy since yesterday. Did you find a girl last night or just a

The air in the penthouse was thick with the scent of expensive lilies. I adjusted my tie for the tenth time, staring at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond the glass, Boston was filled with so much light. “Stop fidgeting, Alessandro. You look like you don’t want to be here."I didn't turn around. I knew that voice. It was cold and sharp.“Maybe I am, Father,” I said quietly.Dante Moretti stepped up beside me, his reflection joining mine. “It’s an engagement party. Smile. The cameras are watching, and those cameras represent three percent of our projected stock growth.”“Is that all she is to you? A percentage?” I turned to look at my sister, Bianca. She was standing across the room, draped in silk, laughing at something a senator was saying. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. It never did anymore.“She is a Moretti,” my father snapped. “She knows her duty. Unlike you, who seems to think this family is a buffet where you can pick and choose what you like.”“I’m doing