Page 92 of Broken Honor

Enzo shifts the little tray table closer and starts setting up the pieces. His movements are careful but not stiff. His fingers handle the carved wood with a surprising gentleness.

I stay quiet. My body is still aching, but something about the steady clink of each piece as it touches the board calms me.

He glances up. “You black or white?”

“Black,” I whisper.

He nods, switches the board, then makes the first move.

“I warn you,” he says, eyes flicking to mine with a teasing light, “I’m competitive. So don’t cry when I beat you.”

I shake my head. “I won’t.”

“Good,” he says, then adds in a mock-stern voice, “Because crying girls make me nervous.”

The corner of my mouth twitches again. He seems to take it as a win.

We play.

At first, I don’t think much—I just move instinctively. It’s been so long since I’ve played, but my fingers remember more than my head does.

He plays casually, not lazy but not sharp either. Like someone who knows enough to enjoy the game, not obsess over it. He hums once, tilting his head at the board.

“I don’t know if you’re good,” he says after a few moves, “or just trying to lull me into a false sense of security.”

I look down at my hands. They’re trembling less than before. “Not good.”

He clicks his tongue. “Could’ve fooled me. That bishop move? Nasty.”

He moves his knight. I counter. He hums again, glancing sideways at me.

The game continues. He groans dramatically when I take his rook.

I press my lips together, hiding the smallest laugh.

We’re only halfway through the game when the knock comes.

Enzo straightens just slightly, his hand pausing mid-move. “It’s alright,” he says quietly.

The door opens and Vieri steps inside.

His eyes sweep over the room once, pausing on me longer than they do on his brother. His mouth is tight.

Enzo closes the board in a fluid motion and stands. “I’ll come check on you later,” he says, keeping his tone warm. He doesn’t look at Vieri when he walks past him.

Vieri doesn’t look at him either.

The door clicks shut.

Vieri doesn’t move and I can feel my shoulders stiffen. My fingers tighten around the blanket. He watches me.

“You’re awake,” he says finally.

“Yes,” I answer softly. My throat feels tight. “Thank you.”

His brows twitch at that. “You don’t need to thank me.” His gaze drifts down to my hands. “How’s your body?” he asks. The words sound clumsy on his tongue, like they’re foreign to him.

I hesitate, fingers curling into the fabric. “I’m… better.”

---