chapter 39
Nic
When I was little, I thought my father was a superhero. Everywhere he went, people gazed at him in awe. He was strong, tall, and handsome. His mere presence commanded respect. He’d simply enter a room and a hush would fall over it in silent reverence. It wasn’t until I was older that I recognized the difference between fear and respect. And now Father sat at the kitchen table, casually drinking an iced tea, with his game face on. It was the same game face he’d had on when he’d first taught me to play chess when I was seven. I still remember the words he’d barked at me over and over again until I could barely see the board through teary eyes. “Protect your pieces. Watch your opponents carefully. You’re a Marcelli! Find your opponent’s weaknesses and crush them.”
I wasn’t t
