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This was tiresome. Nico felt as though the man was denying what was right in front of his face. Struggling for his legendary patience, he said, “We have already eliminated them. We confirmed that the coaches, auxiliary staff, and some players were all home that night.”

“It still might not be a player. Maybe someone stole one of the equipment bags⁠—”

“Verreault!” Nico slapped his palm against the armrest angrily. “You are trying to avoid the truth. Is this what you do as the team’s captain, make excuses and lie for your team?”

“No, of course not,” Verreault said sharply. “But you are leaping to fucking conclusions about one of my teammates.” He sat up straighter, his eyes snapping, and Nico was glad to see some backbone—even if it was misguided.

“We know it was a teammate. The bouncer said several of them were there that night.”

“Okay, fine. But it sounds like you’re close to discovering who. Why do you need me?”

“Because I am impatient. I want you to question them and find out who is responsible. You will impress upon each player the importance of coming forward, that the guilty person should take this seriously. Because I am a man to take seriously, capisce?”

Verreault’s throat worked as he swallowed. He stared at his feet for a long moment. “Did he . . . I mean, was she . . . ?”

Nico lifted one eyebrow at the other man’s floundering. “Can you not even say it?”

“Was she sexually assaulted?”

“The answer is none of your fucking business and it doesn’t matter. What happened is a slight against my family and I will make him pay for it.”

Verreault held up his palms as if pleading with Nico. “Listen, we don’t tolerate things like this on my team. As captain, I’ll speak to the guys and handle this⁠—”

“You will not handle this.” A muscle in Nico’s jaw ticked. “You will provide me with a name and I will handle this. You cannot cover this up or stop me.”

“I’m not condoning it or trying to cover it up. But this is my responsibility.”

“No, it isn’t. This is a family matter and the family will handle any retribution.”

Verreault’s head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowing as if putting the pieces of a puzzle together. “The gun, and the way you say retribution and family, makes me think you mean that with a capital F.”

“Is this a stereotype because I am Italian?”

“Are you in the mafia?”

A question Nico would never answer, though he was impressed Verreault had the balls to ask it directly to Nico’s face. Not many did. “We are getting off-track. You know these men. You hear the way they talk in the locker room. Find out who went to the club that night and give me names. I will question them.”

Verreault folded his arms defensively. “Jesus, I can’t believe this.”

Nico believed it. One of those fucking players had put drugs in Sofia’s drink, then led her outside while she was stumbling, too weak to stop him. When they reached his car, she noticed a hockey bag with the Reign logo on it in the back—before she bent over and puked on the sidewalk. This had drawn the attention of two girls nearby, who came over to see if they could help.

At that point, the player got spooked and hurried to his car and drove off, leaving Sofia behind with the two strangers. No one thought to get his license plate because no one suspected anything more than a date gone bad. The girls read the address on Sofia’s license and drove her home to Nico’s house, where his men immediately called for him to come home. There had been no doubt in his mind what happened because Nico had seen the effects of roofies before. Sofia had been drugged with a high dose of a depressant, probably GHB.

Nico was going to kill the man responsible.

Verreault leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his gaze locked on the carpet beneath his feet. “Aren’t there cameras in the club? Or what about the police?”

Nico let that last suggestion go; it was too ridiculous. “The camera outside only showed his back, not his face, before the two of them went out of range. The camera at the bar shows her getting a drink, but we can’t see anyone spike it. And there are too many men fitting his description to find him in the crowd.” Though Nico had a team of computer experts trying to do exactly that.

He suspected Verreault could help him get an answer faster.

Nico pushed to his feet. Time to go. His guards were no doubt growing restless, wondering why this was taking so long. He picked up the pistol and slipped it into the holster he wore under his suit jacket. “You have practice tomorrow?” Nico knew the answer, but he wanted to see if Verreault would tell the truth.

“Yes. In the morning.”

“Va bene. I will return tomorrow evening for answers.” That settled, Nico started for the door.

“I don’t know if I can get information that quickly.” Verreault rose as well, folding his arms across his well-developed chest, a position that drew attention to the muscles in his arms. Nico shouldn’t have noticed, but they were very nice arms. The hockey captain said, “Why don’t you let me contact you when I find out something?”