Chapter 38
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
Luna
“Luna, breakfast,” Vince calls.
I enter the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and spoon, along with the bland and now expired cereal.
“ Piccola , I’m sorry,” he says softly.
Ignoring both the man and the delicious smells filling the kitchen, I open the fridge and grab the milk, closing it with my hip.
“What do you want me to do here, Luna? I can’t go back and change it,” Vince implores.
I silently pour the milk, topping it with cereal.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Feeding myself.”
“You pour the milk in the bowl before you pour in the cereal?” he says incredulously. “So much I have to teach you.”
“You’ve taught me all I need to know about your world. My coach suspects Wesley Morrell is cheating, but because you made me cheat, my hands are tied. If I bring it up and there’s an inquiry, I could go down with him.”
“You never cheated,” Vince argues.
“You think anyone would believe that? I was wearing a cheating device; under the rules, that’s enough!”
He rubs the back of his neck. “What can I do to fix this?”
I lift my chin. “Let me go.”
Vince shakes his head. “You know I can’t do that.”
I grab my bowl and spoon, storming to my doorless room.
“How long will the silent treatment last?” Vince asks as we pull out of the garage.
I answer by putting on my headphones and staring out the window.
We arrive at the library, where my coaching sessions are being held until Madhouse Chess Club opens. “I have some business to take care of this morning. I’ll be back later this afternoon.” Vince holds open my car door open for me.
“Whatever.”
He smiles. “Got a word.”
I brush past him, entering the library. Waiting until he pulls off, I exit and meet up with my Uber driver.
It’s not long before I’m strolling the boardwalk. Stopping at a vendor setting up for the day, I buy a bag of cotton candy. “Getting an early start,” the vendor jokes.
“Breakfast of champions,” I agree.
I plop down on the nearest bench, pinching off a wad of cotton candy from the bag and bringing the pink fluff to my mouth. The sugar dissolves on my tongue as I scroll through chess blogs on my phone.
In the game of kings, a new queen is crowned .
The article highlights my career and yesterday’s “stunning” upset of Grandmaster Morrell, with a picture of me in my statement T-shirt.
I read through the comments, really wishing I hadn’t.
What a bitch.
Who wouldn’t be distracted by those tits?
She’s a DEI Grandmaster.
“Fucking trolls.”
I finish off my bag of cotton candy, examining my mental chess board. I’m a Grandmaster. One step closer to breaking into the top fifty players in the world. One step closer to becoming the number one player in the world. So why am I not more excited?
My mind goes to blaming Vince, but I shut down that line of thinking. He isn’t the problem here; I am. I’ve completely lost sight of my endgame with Vince, and for that, I have no one to blame but myself.
We’re not friends. God knows we shouldn’t be lovers. What does that make us, then?
I’m not sure about us, but I know what it makes me. A silly little girl who spread her legs for the man who Stockholm syndromed her; the man who could ruin everything for her.
Vince
I take a seat at my brother’s bar. A few minutes pass, but Aldo doesn’t make an appearance. “Guess I’ll help myself,” I call loudly as I walk around the bar and pour myself a cup of coffee. Taking a sip, I cough. “Damn.”
Nursing the horrible coffee, I contemplate how this is my life. Week after week, hustling blue collar boomers in a game they can’t win. And now hustling Luna in a game she could win, had I not gotten my dirty hands all over her and jeopardized her odds.
I settle up with my clients: all but the one who ghosted me. His mistake, because now I’ve got to play the role of enforcer, and I’m already in a shit mood.
The clock ticks by, and I’m starting to get concerned about my brother. Sticking my head in the back, I call to the cook, “You seen Aldo?”
“He’s with a friend.” He jerks his head to the utility closet.
“Enzo?” I thought Aldo broke things off with the soldier; my brother was tired of having to sneak around. Aldo’s openly bisexual, but Enzo’s still hush hush about his sexuality.
“No. Some new girl.”
Since my brother likes to be all up in my business, I decide to return the favor. I hang around until the door opens, and out struts Aldo with Bridget—her hair wild, her lips swollen.
“No wonder I couldn’t get any bar service,” I comment loudly, and their heads snap to me.
“Ladies first, that’s Al’s Sports Bar’s motto,” my brother says, and the girl’s cheeks turn bright red. “Talk to you later.” He grabs Bridget and kisses her.
“Um, yeah,” she says, her face flaming as she nods to me before hurrying out.
“Gotta love those chess stars, huh, big brother?”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Sure you will.” He smiles knowingly.
“I’ve got some business to handle, but I’ll be back.”
“Be careful,” my brother says, all joking gone .
I nod. “Have me ready to go two salads with extra ranch and two club sandwiches with fries.”
“Since when do you like ranch?” Aldo raises an eyebrow.
“Don’t start with me.”
I make the drive across town to an oil and lube shop, parking next to the bettor who ghosted me all those weeks back. Odds are he thinks I’ve forgotten about him; I’m here to remind him I haven’t.
My phone buzzes, and I grab it. “Coach D’Agostino.”
“Where’s Luna?” he asks.
“What do you mean?” I ask, panic bubbling in my chest. “I dropped her off at the library a little before nine.”
“She’s not here.”
“Call you back.” I hang up, calling my brother. “Do you have your girlfriend’s number?”
“Slow down there, big brother. Who said anything about a girlfriend?”
“This is serious,” I snap. “Luna’s missing. Do you have Bridget’s number?”
“Yes.”
“Ask her if she knows where Luna is.”
“Call you right back.”
I grab my baseball bat, stepping out of my vehicle. Hopping on the hood of my bettor’s car, I swing for the fences, over and over, connecting with the windshield with a satisfying crunch . A nice hole forming, I switch my grip. Holding the barrel, I slam the handle through the hole, busting it up until there’s no longer a windshield.
I hop down and take swings at the side mirrors, crushing them to bits.
“Hey!” My bettor runs out, only to turn right back around and hustle inside.
Getting to work on the driver’s side window, my phone buzzes, and I grab it from my pocket. “Bridget hasn’t talked to her. She called Luna, but it went to voicemail. ”
“I’ll call you later.”
I hang up and call Fabio. “Luna’s gone,” I say in a rush.
“What do you mean gone?”
What do I mean gone? Away. Absent. Departed. Fucking gone! Taking a deep breath, I explain, “I mean I dropped her off at chess practice, and she must’ve doubled back and is trying to run from me.”
“Send me her picture and the address where you last saw her. I’m putting all of our men and every police contact we have on this. When we find Luna, either you put the fear of God in her, or I will,” my boss warns.
My nostrils flare. “Not a problem.”