CHAPTER 113: SHADOWS ON THE BOARD

–Caine–

Deanne had just stepped out of the bath when I waved the box of condoms at her.

"Nope." She shook her head without hesitation.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked, tilting it in my hand.

"I don’t know. Go out and hook up?" She smirked, grabbed a pillow, and smacked me with it. "Go away."

I didn’t even bother dodging. Just rolled lazily to the other side of the bed.

"I’m going to watch a movie," she said, walking out. I followed.

The living room was dark. My brows furrowed—this wasn’t right. We always left the lights on.

That’s when it happened.

A shadow moved behind Deanne, fast and precise. She was yanked off her feet before she could react, crashing to the floor. My body moved before my mind could even process—closing the distance, assessing angles, counting threats.

Knives flashed. Multiple.

Two came at me head-on while another circled right. I shifted weight to my rear foot, ducked under the first blade, and slammed an elbow into the attacker’s ribs before twisting away from the second strike. My breath stayed even, my movements economical—dodging, deflecting, striking where I could.

"Deanne!" I shouted. No response.

There were five of them. Highly trained. They moved like shadows—coordinated, silent, predatory. The kind of operators you don’t find on the street. Government-trained, maybe even black-ops.

Deanne stirred slightly, but her head lolled—whatever they’d used to knock her out wasn’t subtle.

I kept fighting, but numbers and angles worked against me. A blow came from behind—hard—white-hot pain searing through my skull. My stance faltered. A hand clamped over my mouth, the sharp chemical sting of chloroform filling my nose. I held my breath, twisting violently, but another strike to my spine made my legs go numb. My last sight before the darkness took me was Deanne being carried out.

When I came to, my lungs dragged in air in a ragged gasp.

"Caine!" Damien’s voice cut through the fog, Laura’s pale face above me. I forced myself upright, ignoring the dead weight in my limbs.

"They took Deanne," I growled, my voice low, sharp. "We’re not safe here anymore."

I went straight to her room, scanning, searching. She had to have left something—some way to track her. My mind focused through the haze.

An anklet. She always wore one. Not jewelry—too consistent for that. Baggy pants would hide it, and if my guess was right, it wasn’t just decoration. A wearable tracker, small enough to disappear against skin and fabric.

I checked her tablet, but my thoughts kept slipping. Damien handed me a bottle of water—I cracked it open and chugged, forcing my brain to stabilize.

"Call Livana," I ordered.

"I already did," Laura said.

I didn’t even remember her speaking. Maybe I’d been too focused.

"This isn’t you," Damien said quietly.

"If they kill Deanne right away—"

"They wouldn’t have taken her if they meant to kill her," Damien cut in.

That steadied me. Slightly.

My phone rang—right next to Deanne’s. I answered instantly.

"The pawns detected them. Damon’s Shadows are tracking. Get ready." Livana’s voice was firm, commanding. Normally, I don’t take orders from anyone. But this was Deanne.

"Laura!" Logan’s voice barked from outside. "Pack up, now!"

I headed to my room, stripped into black, and strapped my knives. Out in the hall, Logan was directing people.

"Don’t take too much," he warned.

Laura’s eyes were red, wet with tears.

"But—" Her lips wobbled like a child getting scolded.

"Don’t worry, love. I’ll have someone pick it up," Damien told her softly and glared at Logan.

I tightened my grip on my blades. I wasn’t just going to rescue Deanne. I was going to find out exactly why they took her. And then... someone was going to regret it.

–Livana–

I know exactly why they took Deanne.

And in three hours, the Pawn’s will took Deanne back to me safe and unscathed.

She carries classified truths—a vault with no key but her own will. They might try to shatter that vault, to extract the location of the thing my mother created. The thing that, if released, would not simply burn cities but set the entire world’s borders aflame. A single device capable of turning political chess into all-out global war.

We arrived at the penthouse to find Laura crying—spilling emotion like an untrained soldier dropping her weapon. Perhaps it was the hormones, perhaps fear. Either way, she had to be moved off the battlefield.

The pieces were already in motion. Guards positioned like bishops on a chessboard—sliding across diagonals, covering more ground than the enemy could anticipate. The elders were packing, Alyssa and Mom Amiliee already preparing for departure. Every vulnerable piece had to be removed before the real game began.

"But the wedding?" Laura asked, voice quivering.

"We’ll be there before it starts," I said evenly, as if discussing weather, not war.

"Liva..." Her voice cracked.

"Stop crying." My tone was steel wrapped in silk. She stifled the rest of her sobs. "Leave. Now."

I handed Choco’s leash to Jane. "Jane, go," I commanded, not breaking stride in my thoughts.

Jane obeyed without hesitation.

"What are you planning?" Damon asked, studying me like a man trying to read a sealed dossier.

"I’m going to take back my friend and dismantle whoever thought this was a smart move." My fingers reached for my phone. Sophia and the others would be needed, even tipsy from our late dinner. Tyrona’s involvement seemed unlikely, but I left the door open for doubt. A general never dismisses a threat until she’s stripped of all possibility.

My chin rested on my knuckles as I sifted through the possible plays. The device was bait enough to target me directly—so why Deanne? Perhaps she was the lure to draw me into the open. Perhaps they thought she’d break easier. They miscalculated.

"Caine," I called.

"Hmm?"

"Go and pick up Deanne. Bring warm coats."

"Pick up?" He sounded thrown by my certainty.

"Yes," I nodded, settling into the couch like a queen certain of checkmate before the opponent had even moved a pawn. "Husband, could you brew me tea?"

"Sure, babe," Damon said, disappearing into the kitchen.

And so, I waited. Composed. Motionless. The patience of a sniper in a nest, watching the field through a scope. The series Wednesday played on Netflix, my focus split between the dark humor on screen and the clock in my head counting down her return.

Footsteps at the door. Caine’s stride—measured, deliberate. Deanne’s—steady enough to reassure me she was intact.

Caine’s arm was draped protectively around her. When she shed the coat he’d brought, blood marked her shirt—an enemy’s calling card, perhaps, or just the cost of resistance.

"So, how was the trip?" I asked lightly, masking the fact that every muscle in me was cataloguing her condition.

"It was quite fun," Deanne replied, infuriatingly casual. "I’m going to take another bath. Where’s everyone?"

"I had them evacuated," I said. "Bathe and join us. I’m enjoying Wednesday Addams

—her voice has the same sharp edges I appreciate. So... how was your little kidnapping adventure with assassins?"

"It was fun," she repeated, like this was a vacation gone mildly wrong. "Now, I’m starving. Is Chef Wally here?"

"No. Laura needs him more." I kept my gaze trained on the television, still holding my performance as the blind hostess, even though I could feel the air shift between them.

"Oh, dang." She sighed.

"I’ll cook something for you," Caine offered.

"Oh, that’s sweet." Her smirk came through in the sound of a kiss.

"Gross," Damon muttered.

"Why?" I asked without turning toward him.

"They’re kissing."

"Oh." I let out a quiet giggle as he leaned into me.

If I had to guess, Deanne was the one who initiated it. Still, my mind was already off them—hovering over the bigger question: who had the gall to send elite operators after her? Whoever it was, they’d just moved their queen into striking range, and they didn’t even know it.

"I think we have frozen ramen," Damon said, rising.

"Let Caine do it. I doubt you’ll get it right."

"It’s just frozen ramen. Ready to eat, just reheat."

"I know, love." I patted his arm, keeping him beside me. "Let’s just enjoy the show."

*****

My mind was still fixed on the question—why Deanne had been taken, and who had orchestrated it. The Bishops had yet to send their reports.

My Bishops—my most trusted pieces on the board—guard the critical lines, the places that cannot fall. The Pawns? They stand at the front, irreplaceable in their own way, their steady formation keeping our walls from collapsing. Every role is deliberate. Every move, calculated.

But my train of thought shifted when the rich, savory scent of ramen drifted toward me. Damon grinned, the warmth in his smile almost as distracting as the aroma, and patted me lightly.

"Wow, nice bowls. Do you want to sit on the carpet?" he asked.

"Hmm, maybe when the ramen cools down a bit."

"I’m going to slurp mine before it cools," Deanne said, her voice carrying a casualness that belied the day she’d had. I caught her movement in my peripheral vision as she settled on the carpet, ramen balanced over the coffee table. "Then, I’ll tell you what I found out."

"Sure. Fill your stomach first."

I could wait. Information was more useful when the informant wasn’t running on an empty stomach.

When she finished, my husband helped me ease down onto the carpet beside her, placing chopsticks and a soup spoon in my hands.

"Now," Deanne began, "they are indeed after it. That device—whatever your mom made."

"Hmm, interesting." My lips curved into a slow smirk. "The truth? I had it destroyed."

Deanne’s sharp inhale was almost a gasp. "Woah... you’re serious?"

"They could come after me even in death," I replied smoothly, "but they’ll never have it." The smirk deepened as my chopsticks fumbled to catch the noodles.

"Let me feed you, baby," Damon murmured beside me.