Page 43 of Love Is A Draw
“Then pay him a visit,” Greg said evenly, his calm contrasting with the storm spreading across Victor’s expression.
Victor didn’t nod. Not yet. But his silence carried weight. His breathing slowed, calculated. And then, sharp and sure, he turned on his heel. “I will.” The purpose in his low voice was unmistakable. “And if he has what I think he has—he’ll give it back.”
Victor turned toward the fire, jaw clenched. “If List has the notebooks, he’ll study them. Recreate the positions. Use them to win.”
Greg cut in sharply. “Or publish them under his name.”
“Or worse,” Victor murmured. “Destroy them once he’s gotten what he needs.”
He didn’t say it aloud, but they both knew what was at stake. This wasn’t about revenge. It was about protecting everything Dmitry had built—and everyone he’d loved.
CHAPTER 19
Gaslight gleamed softly gold over the polished tables, catching every tense shoulder and furrowed brow. Victor stood by the fireplace, hands clasped behind him, trying to swallow the gnawing unease beneath his collar.
Rachel Pearler moved through the room with practiced grace. “We’re honored to host not just the tournament, but some of the greatest minds of Europe—men and women.”
Applause rippled politely, then List’s voice slithered through the air with clipped politeness. “It’s generous, but not necessary to include Jewish players. Or women, for that matter.”
A hush fell as if the room shifted underfoot.
Sofia von List rose, placing a hand to her firm belly with a predatory smile. “Progress indeed.”
Greg Stone’s laugh echoed. “In chess, merit is all that matters.”
The tension faded—tense relief crackling like cooling embers.
Gail sat before Sofia’s board, quiet and calculating. The chandelier haloed her curls. Her fingers fell gracefully onto the velvet pouch, pale with Slavic design. She chose her pieces. Every gesture betrayed nothing but confidence.
Victor watched her. A nod passed between them, private and electric.
The game began.
Gail opened with precision, the Tarkov sequence Dmitry had taught her. Sofia followed—move–for–move—replicating a private line fromDmitry’s second notebook, one that had never been shared.
Victor stiffened.
Gail’s jaw tightened. Only the soft scrape of sliding wood broke the quiet.
On move twenty-three, Sofia sacrificed her rook. Ice spread through Victor’s veins. That sequence was Dmitry’s secret. A leaf from the notebook, struck from memory.
He looked across the room at Gail. Her hand shook above the queen. Her eyes darted to the board—and then she shut them, blinking back shock.
His breath caught.She remembers him. She remembers that night.
Fave mumbled under his breath. “They’re playing better than usual.”
Their eyes met—a spark of kinship, of understanding.It’s Jews against List.
Victor approached him quietly. “Only a Tarkov can beat that.”
The room fell silent again, pointed ears twitching.
List rose, dark smile in place. “The beauty of chess? You don’t need the man—only his mind.” He sipped his brandy, gaze fixed on Gail. “We went to great lengths to prevent that mind from ever entering England.”
Victor’s heart hammered.
Gail’s face drained of color. Her lips trembled. She glanced toward Rachel, then she stared at Victor.
