He snorts. “You’re talking right now.”
True. But only because I already see the end of this game. Three moves, maybe four. Elio leans forward again, elbows on his knees, studying the board harder this time.
“When Salvatore gets back from his trip, we’re going to have to discuss what we’ll do about the Russians.”
“I already have a plan to take care of things.”
“Which is?” he questions.
“I’ll share it once I need to.”
He rolls his eyes. “You might need to revise your plans because I have news. The Russians are about to find themselves in a bit of a pickle. Mayor Beaumont is pushing for the FBI to open up their RICO case against the Bratva. And guess which prosecutor he’s planning on putting in charge of it.”
My hand stills. Just for a second. Small enough that my brother doesn’t notice.
“Lindsay Beaumont,” I answer quietly, my mind racing as images of her flash through my mind.
Memories of her deep blue eyes, her tits, the way my cock slammed into her, the sounds she made. I grit my teeth, trying to concentrate again, trying to leave behind thoughts of that night. I move a piece, not the one I intended. But it’s too late to take it back.
“Got it in one. I think the dear mayor is trying to draw his daughter’s attention away from us. Which is smart, to be honest.”
“He’s going to put her in charge of going after the Russians. I wouldn’t call that smart.”
“If she’s going after the Volkovs, she won’t be coming after us. That’s good, isn’t it?”
I don’t reply, thinking it over. “She’d be stupid to go after the Russians. They possess a particularly special type of brutality and their code of ethics does not expand to not hurting defenseless women like ours does.”
Elio shrugs. “Who cares? She’s a thorn in our side, now she can be one in theirs. And if she gets hurt in the process, it’s a win-win for us.”
That has me clenching my jaw. The ruthlessness in his voice, while admirable, causes a cold ripple to go through me.
No one hurts her, I think.
It’s an asinine thought. One night with her and suddenly I want to rip apart whoever dares to lay a hand on her supple skin. As my brother said, she is a thorn in our side and I should want her gone.
And I do. I just don’t want her hurt.
“I’ll keep an eye on Lindsay Beaumont,” I tell Elio, ending the conversation.
The game continues and then Elio lets out a quiet disbelieving laugh.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he says, staring at the chessboard. “You just gave me your queen,fratello.”
I look down and he’s right. The position is wrong, sloppy. Elio leans back, studying me.
“What the hell, Matteo? You never make mistakes like that.”
My jaw clenches. I’d been distracted. All the talk of Lindsay Beaumont had thrown me off my game.
“Just keep playing, Eli,” I state.
His fingers close around the queen, lifting it off the board with deliberate care. It’s a small victory. But it’s the first real one he’s ever had over me.
He shifts forward, more alert and focused. I wait patiently as he slides the rook across the board eagerly, and then I capture one of his pawns with my bishop. We’re both quiet. The atmosphere is tense. My little brother thinks he’s going to beat me.
It’s cute. Temporary lapse aside, Elio knows me well enough to know that I don’t lose. Ever.
I move my knight. Check.
