Page 88 of Nemesis

“Pay attention to the board,” he responds, gesturing to the checkered squares spreading between us.

“I am paying attention.” I hold up the polished wooden piece resting in my loose grip. “See? I’ve got your horsey.”

“Knight,” he sighs, rubbing his temple in exasperation. “They’re called knights, love. We’ve been over this.”

“Whatever,” I toss the black horse into the air and catch it by the head. “Doesn’t matter what you call it. I have it, and you have nothing,” I respond with a cheeky smile.

Today marks our fourth chess lesson, and I have a feeling it might be the day I finally win one of these things. I’m still not sure why Dad wanted to teach me chess, of all things, considering all of the badass activities we could be bonding over together. I mean, the man runs a criminal empire, for Christ’s sake. I was hoping he could teach me something more fun, like getaway-car driving or how to build a pipe bomb.

Come on. I wouldn’t actually do it—I’m just curious.

He leans forward, picking up one of those teeny-tiny pieces and pushing it forward into a new square. Boring move. Maybe he yearns for a senior-living facility. We all want what we don’t have, right?

“Octavia.”

“What?”

“It’s your move,” he responds with an amused smile.

Gah. I pick up my tower-guy and knock out one of his bigger pieces with a destructive flourish, collecting it for my graveyard. When I finally look back up, one of his eyebrows is raised.

“What?” I gasp, recognizing the expression. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”

That annoying smirk returns to his lips when he moves his candlestick-thing into a pathway I didn’t anticipate, capturing my shiny king. His calloused, tattooed fingers pluck my piece from its square with unnecessary delicacy as he says, “Checkmate.”

“Mother of⁠—”

“You weren’t paying attention, love,” he admonishes softly, setting the piece down.

“Yes, I most certainly was.” I’m tired of losing this dumb game. “You know what? Vasiliy and I are going to watch a chess documentary tonight, and we’ll hold a rematch this time tomorrow. Prepare to cry.”

He grins, sitting back into his seat and folding his arms. “You can spend all night watching videos, and you still won’t win tomorrow. Want to know why?”

“Fine,” I hiss, folding my arms to mirror him. “Why can’t I win?”

His fingers drum patiently against his desk. “You never play the long game.”

I just knew it was going to be some vague load of philosophical crap. “I play to win.”

“And yet, you never do. You’re always so concerned with the large pieces that you never assess the systematic threat. You think you don’t have time to look at the bigger picture, but if you did, you would’ve seen me coming from ten different directions.”

“I see.” I wave a hand. “Chess is like life. You’re just trying to push a corny metaphor on me. You know where the long game goes, because you spent twenty years looking for me, hm?”

He chuckles. “You sound so much like your mother, sometimes.”

I freeze on the spot. We haven’t spoken about her since that day at the safehouse, but part of me is hungry for more details. Anything to color in the rough sketch sitting in my mind.

“How so?”

He gazes towards his office window. The sunset tints the pale drapes with a soft blend of orange, making the severe space feel cozier than usual. “She had the same endearing impatience. Everything spiked her curiosity, and no door was truly locked. On her first night in this house, she snuck into every single room. She had drawn out a complete map of the compound before the sun even rose.”

“Did you confront her about it?”

His head shakes, eyes focusing somewhere far away. “Not until a year later. I didn’t want to scare her off. Thought she would jump ship…” He trails off, eyes darting back to me. “Well, I suppose I was right about that part.”

“I still don’t understand,” I mutter. “It seems like she took off without a plan. I mean, I’m grateful she didn’t let my grandfather murder me that day, don’t get me wrong, but…” My head shakes.

I pluck one of the chess pieces into my hand, desperate for something to fiddle with.