CHESS PIECE

ROBERTO

Bianca had been in her room for ten minutes now. Her coffee and toast sat untouched on the kitchen counter, completely cold.

Ping.

I glanced at my phone. A confirmation text.

My team was in place.

Trusted men positioned around her house, hidden in plain sight—some disguised as lawnmowers, gardeners, even handymen. All of them watching from the shadows. They wouldn’t interfere unless something went wrong.

But they were ready.

I had to meet Vanessa before she did something even more unpredictable. I could’ve ignored her. Should’ve. But when someone like Vanessa is off her meds and circling your orbit again, silence is the dumbest move you can make. The only thing more dangerous than a woman like her… is a woman like her who thinks you’ve stopped caring.

And right now?

I cared. Because whatever she was planning—it wasn’t random. She’d already made a move on Bianca.

That made it personal.

⸻

I arrived at the café ten minutes early and spotted her before she saw me.

She sat by the window, fingers delicately wrapped around a porcelain cup, sipping cappuccino like she hadn’t just tried to burn a building down. Her hair was sleek, twisted into a perfect knot. Red lips and a silk blouse, like she hadn’t spent the last few months spiraling.

It was all an illusion.

She looked up, that familiar, twisted smile curling at her lips—the one she used to wear right before she lost control.

“Robbie,” she purred, rising like she expected a hug.

I didn’t move. Just slid into the chair across from her.

“Vanessa,” I said coldly.

She sat back down, unbothered by the tension. “Still pretending like you didn’t miss me?”

“Still pretending you’re taking your meds?”

There it was. The flicker in her eyes. The twitch at the corner of her mouth.

She took another sip. “You were always good at dodging accountability.”

“And you were always good at rewriting history,” I said flatly. “Why’d you come back?”

Her eyes held mine, cold and sharp. “I didn’t like the idea of you playing house with some pretty little Italian girl with ambition and a temper. That’s not who you are, Rob. You hate complicated women.”

“You mean women who stand up to you?”

“I mean women who’ll never understand you like I do.” She leaned in. “Do you think she’ll love you when she finds out everything? When she knows what you’ve done? She’s playing the damsel in distress just to keep you hooked. Can’t you see it?”

My jaw tightened.

“You tried to hit her.”

She didn’t even flinch. “She was in my way.”

“You set the electric box on fire. You could’ve killed someone.”

“I needed an audience,” she said, completely unfazed. “I knew you’d come check out the alarm.”

“You need a straightjacket,” I muttered.

I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “Try to touch her again, and I’ll bury you in a hole so deep your own ghosts won’t find you.”

She smiled sweetly. “So protective.”

I stood up. “This was a mistake.”

She grabbed my wrist, nails digging into my skin.

“You started this,” she hissed. “Don’t forget who you called in the middle of the night when you thought you were dying inside. Needed someone to take the edge off. Don’t pretend that didn’t happen.”

I yanked my hand free. “It was five minutes, Vanessa. You spun it into a fantasy.”

“And you turned her into an obsession,” she snapped. “I won’t let her ruin you.”

“She didn’t ruin me,” I said, backing away. “You, on the other hand, are on the brink of doing just that.”

She laughed. Loud. Too loud for a café. Her smile stretched wide—too wide. But her eyes were cracked glass.

“What happened to you?” she asked, her voice rising.

People started to stare. I sat back down to stop the scene from escalating.

“Vanessa, we broke up three years ago. You ended it. We were never right for each other. In the two years since, we’ve hooked up a handful of times—casually. We were seeing other people. You didn’t lose your mind over any of that. Why now?”

She stared at me, pupils blown wide. “Because you never looked at them the way you look at her.”

I blinked.

“That’s the difference, Rob. I could live with being your mess. I could even live with being your secret. But I will not be replaced.”

She reached into her bag.

I tensed.

But all she pulled out was a folded photo. She placed it on the table between us.

Bianca. Standing at her office window, staring out.

“Where did you get this?” I asked, voice tight.

Vanessa smiled. “I took it myself.”

I froze.

“You’re not the only one watching her, Robbie. I’ve been closer than you think.”

My heart stuttered.

“I know what kind of perfume she sprays on her neck. Where she puts her phone when she’s not looking.”

My blood turned cold.

“I don’t need cameras, Robbie,” she whispered. “I pay attention.”

Vanessa tilted her head, eyes gleaming with that unnerving calm only she could wear.

“She likes raspberry jam on her toast, doesn’t she?”

My fingers stopped halfway to the edge of the table.

“She only butters one side. Leaves the crusts.”

I didn’t answer.

“She walks barefoot around the house when she’s thinking, and always talks to herself while she’s cooking. Like she’s auditioning for a damn commercial.”

My jaw clenched.

Vanessa smiled. Slow. Deliberate.

“I don’t need your little spy cameras, Robbie. I don’t need tech. I watch. I listen. You think you’re the only one who sees her?”

She leaned in, voice dropping into something cold. Lethal.

“I know where she hides her spare key. I know the sound she makes when she’s startled. I know she sleeps on her side, curled up like she’s protecting herself from something that isn’t there anymore.”

I didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

She stood and walked away, leaving the photo behind like a signature.

I stared down at Bianca’s frozen image realizing she wasn’t just being watched.

She was being hunted.