Page 11 of Niccolo (Mafia Kings #7)

Sofia

M y father taught me to play chess. He was a Professor of Game Theory at the University of Turin, which is where I grew up.

‘Professor’ was his official job. He was actually a chess grandmaster, but being a professor was what paid the bills.

When I was six years old, my father would invite graduate students over to our apartment, where they would drink wine and play chess.

I didn’t find out why the graduate students were always males until I was much older.

While my father and his students played, I would sit by the board and watch them move the pieces around. I never said a word.

My father’s students would tease me and ask, Wouldn’t you rather go play with your dolls?

“I don’t have any dolls,” I would inform them, then go back to watching the chess match.

This continued for months – me watching and never saying anything.

Then one day a graduate student named Pietro made an egregious blunder with his knight. He must have had a bit too much wine because he was normally a very good player.

“Why did you move there?” I asked in exasperation.

Pietro raised one eyebrow as he looked at me. “Because I’m attacking his queen. You know which one the queen is?”

“Duh,” I said. “But now Papa can checkmate you in four moves.”

Pietro burst out laughing –

But Papa stared at me.

“What?” Pietro asked Papa, still thinking it was all quite funny.

“She’s right,” Papa said.

Pietro stopped laughing, and his face went blank with shock.

“Show me, Sofia,” Papa said. “I’ll turn the board around so you can play my pieces, and I’ll play Pietro’s. Pietro, give her your seat.”

Pietro looked highly offended as he surrendered his chair and I climbed up into it.

Four moves later, I checkmated my father.

Pietro wasn’t laughing anymore.

Of course, I didn’t think I won because I was any good at chess – just that Pietro had bumbled into an idiotic position.

“Let’s you and I play,” my father told me as he reset the pieces. “From the beginning.”

I played a game with him – and was dejected when he won in 45 moves.

“Again,” he told me, then called out to my mother in the other room. “Maria, come in here – you have to see this!”

“I’m busy,” she shouted back.

“Maria, seriously – get in here!”

My mother walked in with an annoyed look on her face. She hated chess. “What?”

“Watch.”

I played my father a second time. He won in 52 moves.

I was upset – but my mother looked almost as shocked as Pietro.

“Again,” Papa commanded.

We played a third time, and I lost once more – although it took 60 moves this time.

“I guess I’m not very good,” I murmured.

“‘Not very good’?” my father repeated in amazement, then boomed, “‘Not very GOOD’? Sofia, you just performed better than every student who’s ever come over here. You played better than several tournament opponents I’ve faced recently – and they had been playing chess for decades.”

“So… I’m okay?” I asked timidly.

“You are better than ‘okay’ – you are a prodigy!”

I didn’t know what a prodigy was. I just assumed it was somebody who knew how to play chess.

“But you need to learn how to think strategically.” There was a glint in my father’s eye as he said, “And I will be the one to teach you.”

That was how it all began.