Page 80 of Forgotten Sacrifice
He makes a call on speakerphone, and a man promptly answers. “Mr. Parisi.”
“I’mconsideringopening a non-profit chess center in Atlantic City, comparable to the Chess Hall in New York. Come up with the most advantageous tax plan for me.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll have something on your desk by the end of the week.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Er, tomorrow sir.”
Romeo ends the call, leaning back in his chair. “It’s funny you mention New York. The Commission’s a little too concerned with Jersey’s business.”
“Obsessed with the best.”
“So it would seem,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate. I’m not privy to family politics, and quite frankly, I’m happier that way.
I’m dismissed, but Romeo calls to me as I reach the door, “Vince, we don’t shit where we eat.”
“Meaning?” I ask, knowing damn well what he’s referring to.
“Don’t forget she’s your associate.”
“Zero odds of me forgetting, boss.”
I wish the odds were different, because I can’t balance the books on this one.
Luna
“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Vince warns on the return trip. “Punishment is still in order. I’ve decided you don’t get to come for seven days. If you touch yourself, it gets bumped to fourteen. You will see Nicky twice a week until she decidesotherwise,” he continues. “You will buckle down with your studies for your high school equivalency exam scheduled for next week.”
I huff. “Glad you’ve still got my entire life planned out.”
“Somebody has to,” he and I say in unison.
Vince’s lips quirk, and he continues, “I won’t ever try to make you cheat in chess again.”
I examine his side profile. “What changed?”
“I’m not too proud to admit when I’ve made a mistake.” He glances over to me. “Sometimes I forget you’re in my world, but not of it. That’s not a bad thing, because when the time comes, you’ll be able to walk away with your head held high.”
Freedom. That’s the endgame, yet I don’t understand why knots have knitted themselves together in my stomach.
“Keep your conscience, Luna,” Vince continues. “Don’t ever let anyone try to take it away from you, including me,” he says with conviction. “We’ll find you a new coach, and you’re going to become a Grandmaster and break into the top fifty. Fuck that Russian prick.”
“I really believed I was being accepted into the professional chess world, but they figured out I wasn’t good enough. That’s the thought I had right before I cut myself,” I quietly admit.
“I can tell you that you’re good enough, but it doesn’t matter what I say; you’re the one who has tobelieveit. Here.” Vince taps his chest with his hand. “And here.” He taps his temple. “Every morning when you get up, I want you to look in the mirror and say out loud, ‘I’m good enough.’”
I eye him skeptically. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Is that how you became so confident?” I wonder.
“At eighteen, I was running a multi-million dollar empire. Rolling in that much dough has a way of bolstering your confidence.”
“What happened?” It doesn’t appear he’s running that empire today.
“Don’t let your sob story be your life story,” he answers in a very Vince non-answer way.
