Chapter 13 Nicole #2
To me, this has become a microcosm of the greater game between us. Gaetano holds all the advantages, at least on the surface, but I’ll find a way to win.
I smooth my hair down with my palm. “What was your greatest betrayal?”
He rests his bound hands over his stomach, taking his time. For a second, I think he’s about to do something to manipulate the game—even though the enchanted chains should prevent him. “My greatest betrayal was against the woman for whom I collect souls. We were close, and I acted behind her back.”
“Close? As in lovers?” I ask.
A shadow falls over his features. “Yes. As in lovers.”
I lean forward again, excitement and tension swirling inside me. I might be close to uncovering how to break free from our contract. “What do you mean, you collect souls for her?”
“I already allowed you an extra question.” Chains clink as he draws the next card: the same mirror with the question mark. “What did you feel when your father was mean to you? What brought on the tears?”
I’m disappointed my turn ended so fast, but I expected this question, so I don’t hesitate. “Anger. I was furious. Completely enraged.”
“I thought it was fear,” Gaetano says.
The suggestion straightens my spine. “Fear? No. It was rage at having to endure that kind of treatment.”
He presses his lips together, unimpressed. “Then why not leave your home?”
I don’t owe him an answer—it’s not his turn. But I grip the arms of my chair and say, “Haven’t you figured that out? If I leave, I lose my father’s connections. Connections I’ll need when I start building my empire.”
Something inside me flares white-hot.
Gaetano remains as still as a statue, only a faint flicker in his expression betraying any reaction. “You’re not going to build your own empire working under someone else’s.”
I try to force a dismissive smile, but I’m not sure I succeed. “I’m taking advantage of someone else’s while I can.”
“If you say so.”
I refuse to give him the satisfaction of showing how deeply his words affect me. Maintaining eye contact, I reach for the next card and flip it. A clock. Ornate, old, with long black hands and skulls in place of numbers. Above it: Il Tempo Perduto.
Gaetano tilts his head, the chain on his wrists clinking softly. “How unfortunate. That card means you lose your turn.”
I press my palm flat against the table, nails digging into the wood. “What?!”
“Don’t torment yourself.” He settles back into his chair. “The ‘Lost Time’ is actually one of the more favorable cards one might draw…”
“You rigged them.” I jab a finger in his direction.
He raises his chained hands in front of his face in a theatrical display of innocence. “I did not.”
I cross my legs and adjust the hem of my robe. “As if you couldn’t weave a spell without me noticing.”
“I could, but if I did, I’d forfeit the game. And I never lose.”
“Neither do I.”
His lips curve into a slow, self-assured smile that sends an unwelcome flutter through my stomach.
Damn it, Gaetano is handsome. It’s infuriating to find one’s adversary attractive.
I know, because I’m usually the one exploiting my appearance to gain the upper hand.
Not that I would ever allow the Black Joker—or any man, for that matter—to affect me in such a way.
“Well, then…shall we proceed?” He reaches out and draws another card. I hope he pulls the Black Joker. But no such luck. The image is a face split in two: one side feminine and vibrant; the other, a skull. It reads: La Menzogna e la Verità.
“The Lie and the Truth,” he says, glancing at me over the top of the card. “I must now tell you one lie and one truth about myself. If you guess correctly which is which, you earn the right to ask me a question. But if you’re wrong… I get to ask mine.”
He places the card on the table and taps it with his fingertips. A glint of amusement shines in his obsidian eyes. “Well then, Baroness, are you ready?”
I cross my arms over my chest and lean back into the chair’s curve. “Go ahead. Lie to me.”
“With pleasure.” He smiles. “First: I have never been in love.”
His expression doesn’t flinch.
He drums his fingers against the edge of the table. “Second: If I had a choice right now, I wouldn’t be the Black Joker.”
The air between us hums with unseen electricity.
My gaze roams over his features, searching for the tiniest crack in that unshakable composure.
If it’s true that he’s never been in love…
then there’s no humanity in him. But there is emotion—I feel it with every fiber of my being.
It’s impossible to believe he’s never loved.
He admitted he gathers souls for the sake of a woman who was once his lover.
His confession about being bound against his will to the castle makes me think that, under different circumstances, he might never have been the Black Joker at all. No sane creature would choose to spend their days tormenting mortals and harvesting souls.
I draw in a deep breath. “The lie is that you’ve never loved anyone.”
He stays silent for a moment. Then, slowly, his smile broadens, and his fingers form a steeple in front of his lips. “You’re wrong.”
My stomach tightens. “So…?”
“It’s my turn to ask.” His tone drops lower, becoming almost intimate. “Tell me, Nicole…why, out of an entire club full of men, did you choose to flirt with the one your friend had her eye on?”
His previous answer still churns in my mind, struggling to take root. He really is a master of words. I wrinkle my nose at his question. “What? Are you talking about Branimir?”
“He’s the guy your friend liked at your birthday party, right?”
I restrain myself from asking how he knows.
He’s probably been circling us like an invisible stalker, waiting to catch hold of some sordid little secret.
Because that’s what the Black Joker does, doesn’t he?
Just a second ago, he had fooled me into thinking there was anything human about him.
But his last answer helped me wake up. He clearly revels in every bit of his role.
“It wasn’t planned,” I say. “I didn’t go out with him because of Boyana. I ran into him outside the club, and he struck up a conversation.”
“A curious coincidence. Was it the first time that’s happened to you?”
“Being approached by a man? Hardly.”
A memory flashes through my mind—Georgi Ganev, Boyana’s great love, who kept texting me behind her back. One evening, out of pure boredom, I responded.
“Some might think you do it just to prove you’re better than her,” Gaetano says.
I force a smile, but irritation flares through my chest that he would even suggest such a thing. “There’s no need for proof. I am better than her.”
He presses his lips together. “Of course, Nicole. Now draw a card.”
Beneath my ribs, serpents slither through me, pushing me to argue with him. I’m not sure what I’m trying to convince him of. Maybe I just want to wipe that smug expression off his face—the one implying he’s not fooled by my facade.
I flip a new card. La Tentazione. I don’t recognize the word, but my cheeks flush.
The illustration speaks for itself: a nude female figure, shown from the front, surrounded by tendrils of black smoke.
Her breasts are full, with rosy nipples, and a dark triangle shadows the space between her thighs.
She’s seated on her buttocks, propped up on her palms, head thrown back so her face disappears into the outline.
Her legs are slightly parted—just enough to offer an invitation.
“My favorite card,” Gaetano says.
Tension forces me to swallow as the fire in his gaze intensifies. “What’s the condition?”
“You have five minutes to tempt me. Make me want you, and you’ll earn the right to ask your question. Fail, and I’ll be the one asking.”
A shiver ripples down my spine. “To tempt you? But how—?”
A ticking noise reaches my ears. A second later, a clock appears in the air between us, gently swaying back and forth. Its long hand begins to count down, while the shorter one remains fixed at the top. Instead of numbers, its face is surrounded by black symbols pulsing with an eerie glow.
The room’s temperature rises, or perhaps that’s just me. Gaetano rests his bound hands on the table. His expression remains composed, with a hint of curiosity and anticipation. He seems sure I don’t have the nerve to do what’s required.
“The clock is ticking, Baroness,” he says. “Five minutes. If the symbols glow red when time drains away, you may consider it a victory.”
The shiver across my skin becomes an electric jolt, like a current. Fuck. What am I supposed to do? My heart is pounding, my throat is dry, but I force myself not to let it show. Gaetano wants me to hesitate.
I exhale slowly and sink into my chair. “Are there…any limitations? On what I’m allowed to use?” I ask, letting my hand trail along the armrest.
I wait for his reaction. No movement or change in expression—save for the faintest narrowing of his pupils.
“None,” he says.
I cross one leg over the other. The fabric of the robe slips over my thigh, revealing a smooth stretch of skin. Nothing vulgar. Nothing overt. But just enough to catch his eye.
Leaning forward, with the clock’s ticking above me, I let my fingers drift along the edge of the table.
I reach for his bound wrists, but instead of touching him, I start to idly play with the golden chain.
I trace the metal, slow and unhurried, letting my fingers brush the skin of his forearm in passing.
His pupils dilate, just barely. It’s something.
“You know…” I murmur. “I wonder…Have any of your harvests ever made you lose control?”
“I’m always the one in control,” he says. “And you have two and a half minutes left.”