Playbook Breakaway

On the ice, they call me “East.” I’m fast, sharp, and just cocky enough to make it work. Off the ice? I’m elbows-deep in takeout and doing everything I can to avoid grown-up responsibilities. So, when Luka—our team’s left winger—asks the single guys for a favour and we end up drawing straws, I don’t blink. Until I pull the short one... and find out I’ve just agreed to marry his little sister. I figured she’d be a stuck-up Russian ballerina with the opposite calorie intake goals, the personality of cold toast, and maybe even a convenient language barrier to save us both from awkward small talk. One quickie divorce and a green card later, we'd both be free again. Easy, right? Then Katerina Popovich steps off a private jet in sky-high heels, wrapped in a fur coat that probably costs more than all my hockey gear combined, with two bodyguards trailing her like shadows. And that's when I realised that I didn’t just agree to marry a Russian ballerina—I agreed to marry a mob princess trying to dodge an arranged marriage her father orchestrated with another crime family. But the real threat isn’t her mobster father. It’s Luka—my teammate and the guy giving me murder-eyes at practice like he’s calculating how many bones he can break before it messes with our playoff chances. Because the only thing more dangerous than marrying a mafia princess… is catching real feelings for my best friend’s little sister.

On the ice, they call me “East.” I’m fast, sharp, and just cocky enough to make it work. Off the ice? I’m elbows-deep in takeout and doing everything I can to avoid grown-up responsibilities. So, when Luka—our team’s left winger—asks the single guys for a favour and we end up drawing straws, I don’t blink. Until I pull the short one... and find out I’ve just agreed to marry his little sister. I figured she’d be a stuck-up Russian ballerina with the opposite calorie intake goals, the personality of cold toast, and maybe even a convenient language barrier to save us both from awkward small talk. One quickie divorce and a green card later, we'd both be free again. Easy, right? Then Katerina Popovich steps off a private jet in sky-high heels, wrapped in a fur coat that probably costs more than all my hockey gear combined, with two bodyguards trailing her like shadows. And that's when I realised that I didn’t just agree to marry a Russian ballerina—I agreed to marry a mob princess trying to dodge an arranged marriage her father orchestrated with another crime family. But the real threat isn’t her mobster father. It’s Luka—my teammate and the guy giving me murder-eyes at practice like he’s calculating how many bones he can break before it messes with our playoff chances. Because the only thing more dangerous than marrying a mafia princess… is catching real feelings for my best friend’s little sister.