Chapter 5

Dante POV

"Please do not do this for me."

Her gasp was loud in the suffocating silence of the library aisle. The sweet scent of her vanilla perfume lingered heavily as she pulled back to look at me. Her dark eyes were entirely wide with pure terror.

I stared down into her panicked face, searching for any trace of the spoiled corporate heiress my father promised I would find. I found absolutely nothing but genuine fear. She was not a willing participant in whatever sick game Roman was playing.

She was a hostage, entirely trapped by a violent narcissist who used her as bait. The realization hit me squarely in the chest, completely altering my ruthless perspective of her. Vincenzo told me to break her heart to secure her family proxy.

I suddenly wanted to break every single bone in Roman's body instead. I stepped back, giving her the physical space she desperately needed to breathe. "I am not doing this for you," I lied smoothly to calm her erratic pulse.

"I am doing this because nobody threatens me in my own sport." I reached out and gently fixed the collar of her heavy coat. "Go home, lock your doors, and do not answer your phone tonight."

"They will hurt you, Dante," she whispered desperately, refusing to step away from me. "Marcus and Greg are absolute monsters on the ice when the coaches look away."

"I have dealt with far worse monsters in my own house," I replied coldly. "Go home right now, Sienna."

She opened her mouth to argue again, but the absolute finality in my eyes stopped her cold. She nodded slowly, turned around, and practically ran toward the library exit. I watched her disappear into the dark campus, my fists clenching tightly at my sides.

I stood in the aisle long after she vanished through the heavy wooden doors. The faint smell of her vanilla perfume remained trapped in the stale library air, fighting against the scent of old paper. She was terrified of the men waiting for me at the arena, but she still tried to warn me.

No one had ever tried to protect me without demanding a massive favor in return. In my world, loyalty was always purchased with company shares or violent threats. Sienna offered her warning entirely out of genuine compassion, risking her own safety to spare mine.

I reached into my dark jacket and pulled out my phone. The screen immediately lit up with three missed calls and a highly demanding text from Vincenzo. Access the server tonight or face the absolute ruin of your own inheritance.

My father expected me to spend this evening hacking into the university network to trace her family financial footprints. He expected blind obedience to our empire. I stared at the glowing message for a fraction of a second before turning the device entirely off.

Vincenzo could wait until tomorrow morning to play his corporate chess games. Tonight, I had an entirely different war to fight on the ice. I shoved the dead phone back into my pocket and walked out of the library.

The freezing midnight wind bit aggressively at my exposed neck as I crossed the empty campus. The massive silhouette of the university arena loomed ahead like a dark fortress. I knew exactly what was waiting for me inside those cold concrete walls.

I pushed open the heavy steel doors and walked directly into the dimly lit locker room. The entire building was completely dead silent. Roman clearly paid the night staff to abandon their posts for this unofficial hazing.

I sat heavily on the wooden bench and opened my duffel bag. The locker room smelled sharply of bleach and cold sweat. I pulled out my custom composite stick and my sharpest pair of carbon steel skates.

I intentionally left my heavy chest protector and reinforced shoulder pads completely buried at the bottom of the bag. I knew Marcus and Greg were instructed to inflict maximum physical damage tonight. They would aim directly for my unprotected ribs and exposed joints to permanently end my season.

If Roman wanted an unprotected fight, I would gladly give him the illusion of an easy target. I laced my skates tightly, feeling the familiar, comforting pressure around my ankles. My blood pumped steadily, laced with a dangerous surge of pure adrenaline.

I grabbed my stick and walked down the dark rubber tunnel toward the rink. The freezing air hit my face the exact second I stepped out of the tunnel. The massive ice sheet was illuminated by only a few pale security lights hanging high in the rafters.

I stepped over the boards and dropped onto the solid ice. My blades carved sharply into the smooth surface with a loud, satisfying hiss. I took a few slow laps around the perimeter, letting my muscles warm up in the freezing environment.

I was entirely alone for exactly three minutes. Then, the heavy doors on the opposite side of the arena crashed violently open. The loud noise echoed aggressively through the empty stands.

A group of massive players stepped out of the shadows and onto the ice. They wore unmarked black practice jerseys, entirely hiding their roster numbers and names. But I easily recognized the hulking frames of Marcus and Greg leading the pack.

Roman followed closely behind them, wearing an expensive designer coat instead of his hockey gear. He clearly had absolutely no intention of getting his own hands dirty tonight. He climbed into the home team bench, sitting right behind the thick plexiglass.

"You actually showed up," Marcus taunted loudly, his heavy voice booming across the empty rink. "I thought the rich transfer student would run back to his fancy dorm room and hide under his bed."

"I heard you needed a private lesson on how to hold a stick," I called back smoothly. I skated directly toward the center circle and stopped, leaning casually on the shaft of my stick. "I brought my own equipment just in case yours was broken."

Greg laughed, a harsh, ugly sound that bounced off the high ceiling. "You have a massive mouth for a guy with absolutely no backup. We are going to make you swallow those teeth tonight."

The unmarked players fanned out slowly, spreading across the ice to completely surround me. There were no coaches blowing whistles, no referees to call penalties, and absolutely no rules. They outnumbered me five to one, forming a tight perimeter to cut off any possible escape route.

Roman leaned forward against the glass, pointing a single finger directly at me. It was a silent, cowardly command to his loyal attack dogs. The players gripped their heavy sticks, their blades scraping ominously against the ice as they tightened the circle.

"Put him in a wheelchair," Roman shouted from the safety of the bench. "Break his legs and let him crawl out of my arena."

I did not flinch, and I did not look nervously over my shoulder. I kept my eyes locked entirely on the pathetic champion sitting safely behind the glass. I wanted Roman to see absolute sheer confidence on my face right before I dismantled his entire defense.

The tension on the ice snapped violently. The loud, aggressive scraping of heavy skates erupted from every single direction simultaneously. Three massive defenders charged me at full speed from behind, while Roman watched from the bench with a sick, victorious smile.