Chapter 30
Chapter
Thirty
Vince
“Boss, I took Luna to the Chess Hall in New York City, only because Jersey doesn’t have anything like it. I propose we open a chess club of similar stature in AC. What I need is a financial backer.” I make my pitch.
“This would interest me why?” Romeo asks in a bored tone.
“Tax write-off for the nonprofit donation? Launder some cash? Remove a less than desirable real estate holding from your portfolio? Receive a fancy donor plaque with your name on it? Become a hero to underprivileged kids all over Jersey? Break one off in New York for acting like they’re better than us? Take your pick.”
Romeo shakes his head with an almost smile. “Always the hustler.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He makes a call on speakerphone, and a man promptly answers. “Mr. Parisi. ”
“I’m considering opening a non-profit chess center in Atlantic City, comparable to the Chess Hall in New York. Come up with the most advantageous tax plan for me.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll have something on your desk by the end of the week.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Er, tomorrow sir.”
Romeo ends the call, leaning back in his chair. “It’s funny you mention New York. The Commission’s a little too concerned with Jersey’s business.”
“Obsessed with the best.”
“So it would seem,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate. I’m not privy to family politics, and quite frankly, I’m happier that way.
I’m dismissed, but Romeo calls to me as I reach the door, “Vince, we don’t shit where we eat.”
“Meaning?” I ask, knowing damn well what he’s referring to.
“Don’t forget she’s your associate.”
“Zero odds of me forgetting, boss.”
I wish the odds were different, because I can’t balance the books on this one.
Luna
“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Vince warns on the return trip. “Punishment is still in order. I’ve decided you don’t get to come for seven days. If you touch yourself, it gets bumped to fourteen. You will see Nicky twice a week until she decides otherwise,” he continues. “You will buckle down with your studies for your high school equivalency exam scheduled for next week.”
I huff. “Glad you’ve still got my entire life planned out.”
“Somebody has to,” he and I say in unison.
Vince’s lips quirk, and he continues, “I won’t ever try to make you cheat in chess again.”
I examine his side profile. “What changed?”
“I’m not too proud to admit when I’ve made a mistake.” He glances over to me. “Sometimes I forget you’re in my world, but not of it. That’s not a bad thing, because when the time comes, you’ll be able to walk away with your head held high.”
Freedom . That’s the endgame, yet I don’t understand why knots have knitted themselves together in my stomach.
“Keep your conscience, Luna,” Vince continues. “Don’t ever let anyone try to take it away from you, including me,” he says with conviction. “We’ll find you a new coach, and you’re going to become a Grandmaster and break into the top fifty. Fuck that Russian prick.”
“I really believed I was being accepted into the professional chess world, but they figured out I wasn’t good enough. That’s the thought I had right before I cut myself,” I quietly admit.
“I can tell you that you’re good enough, but it doesn’t matter what I say; you’re the one who has to believe it. Here.” Vince taps his chest with his hand. “And here.” He taps his temple. “Every morning when you get up, I want you to look in the mirror and say out loud, ‘I’m good enough.’”
I eye him skeptically. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Is that how you became so confident?” I wonder.
“At eighteen, I was running a multi-million dollar empire. Rolling in that much dough has a way of bolstering your confidence. ”
“What happened?” It doesn’t appear he’s running that empire today.
“Don’t let your sob story be your life story,” he answers in a very Vince non-answer way.
My phone buzzes, and I fish it out of my purse.
Hey, Luna. It’s Bridget. I heard the news you didn’t get accepted into the Chess Hall. That’s total bullshit. In other bullshit news, Coach Petrov unceremoniously dropped me.
“Oh, wow,” I comment.
“What?”
“It’s Bridget. The chess player I was making friends with in the bathroom of the Chess Hall. Coach Petrov dumped her too.”
So much bullshit!
Agreed! You want to meet up for coffee tomorrow morning? This deserves an in-person bitch fest.
“Before you say no, I’d like to meet up with her in New York for coffee tomorrow morning.”
“Sure.”
“Really?” I say, surprised.
“I’ve got to handle business in New York anyway.”
I send a text before Vince changes his mind.
Absolutely! Where do you want to meet up?
Bridget sends me the coffee shop information, and I relay that to Vince.
“And what do I tell her if she asks who you are?” I wonder.
“I’m your manager.”
For some unknown reason, I’m not crazy about that response, but I nod.
“We’re not finished with this discussion about you cutting yourself,” Vince says, and I roll my eyes. “Nicky printed out a list of things to do when dealing with self-harm urges. I want you to pick one and commit to it. ”
I grab the printout, scanning the list. “Working out? No. Singing? No. Knitting? Fuck, no. These are dumb.”
“Then we’ll create a new one: you will tell me when you have the urge, and I’ll tie you to the bed and lick your pussy until you cry.”
“But Daddy, what if I have an urge before the seven days is up?” I smile, thinking I’ve caught him in a loophole.
He side-eyes me with amusement. “You’ll cry because I won’t let you come.”
“ Hrmph. ” I cross my arms.
We return home to find a Parisi Construction truck in the driveway. “What’s going on?”
“Luna-proofing the house,” Vince says.
Stepping inside, I see what he means: a burly man is carrying a door, followed by another man with a second door. I hurry down the hall to confirm: yep, those were the doors to my room and bathroom.
“You lost the right to privacy, along with access to sharp objects,” Vince informs me. “Knives. Razors. Scissors. You get the gist.”
“Ugh, you are so?—”
“Meticulous? Thoughtful? Assiduous?”
“ Annoying . How am I supposed to shave without a razor?”
“Supervised showers.”
I stomp to the fridge, grabbing a soda and slamming the door shut. Glancing out the window, I mutter, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
The workers have installed a privacy fence, but my attention stops on something else. Hurrying out through the sliding door, I run to check out the giant lawn chess set, squealing in delight.
“You like to study outside; I thought you might also like to practice chess outside,” Vince says from the door.
“I love it! ”
He smiles. “Good.”
“Are the workers gone?”
“Yeah, why?”
I pull my hoodie over my head, followed by my tank top and bra. Socks and shoes off, I shimmy out of my skirt, and last to drop are my panties. Standing nude with my toes wiggling in the grass, I move the white king’s pawn forward two spaces, walking to the other side of the board to consider which black piece to move in a game against myself.
Vince reaches me in world-record speed. “What the hell are you doing? Put your clothes on!”
“Why? I’m getting sun, now that the neighbor’s can’t see. Thank you, Daddy, for the fence.”
He’s going to punish me? Let’s see if he can survive this new chess trap.