Page 139 of Forgotten Sacrifice

“I have to go to the restroom. You need anything?” Coach asks.

I shake my head. “I’m good.”

Reaching in my backpack for my headphones, I look up when someone bumps into me.

“Sorry about that,” Wesley says, holding hands with Aspen. They both glance at my uncovered wrist; I no longer hide my scars. “There’s a razor blade hidden in the ladies room behind the first stall. In case you’re stressed about our matchup,” Wesley tells me quietly.

He and Aspen laugh, walking off.

That’s it. I’m destroying him.

I’ve made it to the final round with Wesley. Not having Vince to calculate the odds for my opening move, I search through my mental rooms for the best option. An idea pops in my head. Like the first time I played Wesley, this strategy is either genius or insane.

My coach is probably having a heart attack because we didn’t discuss this, but I move my pawn to 1.e4.

What we did discuss, though, was Coach shoving his way in front of Aspen, blocking Wesley’s view. There’s a commotion, and both Coach and Aspen are escorted out by security for the disruption.

Now that the playing field’s been leveled, I hit the clock, locking in my move.

Let the Wayward Queen attack begin.

Vince

“That tablecloth needs adjusting.” Valentina snaps her fingers, marching around my restaurant in sky-high heels, with the front of the house staff trailing behind her. “Did we not learn our lesson from the soft opening?” That lesson where a man tripped on the tablecloth and threatened to sue, and I had to threaten him out back with my baseball bat.

Valentina approaches me. “Everything appears in order. Do you need anything else?”

I lace my fingers together and beg, “Stay and run the front of the house full time.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “This was fun, but I have my first non-family event to plan. I’m really excited!”

“Did boss approve that?” Sam asks, appearing out of nowhere.

“Vince, your restaurant already needs fumigating.” Valentina crosses her arms, glaring at him.

“Sam.” I give the underboss a double cheek kiss.

“Why does my brother insist I need a babysitter?” Valentina huffs. “And why couldn’t you have stayed in the car?”

Sam looks bored, picking his nails with a knife. “I could have.”

“Chef, do you have a second?” My sous chef sticks his head out of the kitchen.

“Valentina, I can’t thank you enough for your help.”

“Of course.” She throws her arms around me in a hug.

“Sam.” I nod my head. He gives me a look I can’t interpret as I excuse myself.

“Chef, you wanted a time reminder,” my sous chef tells me.

“Thanks.”

I pull up the World Championship live-stream on my phone. It’s the final, with Luna against Brit Boy.

“Armageddon, ladies and gentlemen, between the number one player in the world, Wesley Morrell, and the number two player, Luna Barone. The coin toss has gone to Barone, who will play white and receive an extra minute. That means Morrell will play black with the draw odds.”

“Give ‘em hell,” I whisper to Luna for good luck, touching myCurniciellohanging in the window.