Chapter 22 Nicole
Nicole
I wake up with strands of hair plastered to my forehead, and the blankets tossed onto the floor. Sitting up, I run my fingers through my hair.
Gaetano didn’t come last night. I should be relieved, but his absence lingers like the silence before an avalanche. And yet, he still found a way in, through my dreams. I saw him standing by the bed, touching me with a tenderness that felt far too intimate…
If this keeps up, I’m going to lose my mind.
Am I becoming Angelina? The girl haunted by ghosts?
I rush to the mirror, hoping that witcher’s mark on my forehead has faded. It’s very much present—a tattoo burned into my skin. I lift my fist and scrub at the scarlet letter with my palm until the skin around the brand glows just as red. Damn it!
My head jerks toward the door when someone knocks. I dart to the nightstand and grab my cap, yanking it on, my pulse doubling.
“Come in!” I call out, hand pressed against the cap’s visor.
My father’s broad frame fills the doorway. He scans the messy bed, the closed curtains, my pajamas, and my cap, all in one glance. Then, without waiting for permission, he shuts the door behind him. “I want to talk, Nicole.”
I let out a sigh. “Of course, Dad.”
His lips press into a thin, displeased line. “Deliberov’s death was a move I didn’t see coming. And one that’s messing with my plans.”
I’m not surprised he refers to someone’s death as a “move.” Will he discuss my death in the same way?
My gut churns. I picture him in front of the media: ‘Taking my daughter’s soul? An unforeseen move by the Black Joker.’ The image makes me want to laugh and cry all at once.
No, I scold myself, you’re his only child. Of course, he’ll care.
I focus back on him and ask, “Why? Did they pause the project?”
He lowers himself onto the edge of my bed, legs spread wide.
Even sitting, his presence fills the entire room.
“On the contrary. The project’s moving forward with Daniel Deliberov at the helm now.
That little punk is trying to play hardball.
Acting all untouchable, thinking he can twist my arm forever. ”
I frown, feigning sympathy. I couldn’t care less about his latest deal.
“Daniel forgets one crucial difference,” my father continues.
“It’s one thing to be the golden boy of a tycoon.
It’s another to lead an empire. Especially an empire that doesn’t deal in fashion, art, or some fluffy foundation nonsense.
We’re talking infrastructure. Massive investments.
Arab money. Russian money. The kind of people who need to see stability in you.
And stability, sweetheart, still looks best in a suit, with a well-mannered wife, and a couple of kids smiling on a yacht. ”
Now he has my full attention.
He adjusts his gold watch. “Of course, young Daniel’s no fool. He caught on fast that instead of locking horns with me, we’d be better off helping each other. Daniel agrees he’ll hold more weight in society if he has a beautiful wife at his side…”
The air rushes out of my lungs in a quick burst. “No, Dad! He was disgusting to me at the ball. That man doesn’t want a wife. And he definitely doesn’t want me.”
“You’ll get a chance to see for yourselves during dinner in two nights.”
“I don’t want to have dinner with him!”
He waves a hand. “Consider it helping me with business.”
I fold my arms across my chest, shaking my head. “Why don’t you just tell the Deliberovs and their project to go to hell? You’ve got plenty of others. You’re well-known and respected—”
“It’s not that simple, Nicole,” he interrupts, his voice lower now.
He glances away for a second, as if searching for words.
“Yes, I’ve got dozens of projects behind me.
Hundreds, if you count the deals that never hit the headlines.
But lately…things aren’t as solid as they appear from the outside. ”
He runs a hand through his hair and stands, pacing. “One partner pulled out. Another shifted his business to Greece. The financing for the Serbia route? Up in the air. The damn bureaucrats at the Construction Commission are interfering too much. And now Deliberov is dead.”
My skin prickles. My father… has financial problems? “You had coffee with the head of the Commission the other day”
“That bastard wasn’t satisfied with the stake I gave him in one of my projects. He wants more. I’ve got him under control, but I don’t know for how long.”
He stops in front of me, locking eyes. “Nobody else is aware of this, Nicole. Not the journalists, not the competitors. If word gets out that I’m in a weak position, they’ll tear me apart.
And you’re here, in my house. My only daughter.
And instead of asking how you can help, you’re telling me you ‘don’t want dinner. ’”
His voice tightens not with anger, but with strain.
It’s a tone I’m not used to hearing from him.
“You think I’m asking you to marry for money?
We have money. And this is bigger than that.
I’m offering you a place in something much older—and far more powerful—than money.
The Deliberovs don’t just have wealth, Nicole.
They have history. Ties. The kind of connections that outlive governments.
I don’t even know if he will agree, damn it!
He said he’d decide after dinner. Arrogant little bastard.
But if he does agree…” He leans in closer.
“If this marriage doesn’t work out, we’ll find a way out.
If it does, we’re not just rich anymore.
We’ll be part of a family with real power.
We’ll be…untouchable. No more scheming, backroom deals, manipulations.
A single word, and scumbags like that ass-kissing parasite from the Construction Commission are gone.
My chest burns. He’s dangling what I’ve always wanted in front of me. Being untouchable. Instead of leaping at the opportunity, I shrink back. The truth is, I don’t want their power, not at the expense of a husband who views me as nothing more than a bargaining chip.
He places a hand on my shoulder. The warmth of his palm on my bare skin startles me. I can’t remember the last time he touched me with such gentleness. “Well, sweetheart? Are you going to help me?”
* * *
I can’t pull my thoughts together. My father is having financial problems. I could solve them by impressing a man who, in our single encounter, regarded me with nothing but arrogant disdain. ‘Now that he understands the situation, he’ll be different,’ my father claims.
And Dad has no idea that in less than two weeks, I might not even exist.
If I stay cooped up in this room for one more second, I’m going to lose it.
By the time evening rolls around, I pull on leggings and a sports bra, thread my ponytail through the hole of the cap, and head out for a run, Three Days Grace blaring in my ears with Get Out Alive. I sprint down the eco-trail that winds close to our house, pushing until my chest burns.
The green trees provide relief from the brutal summer heat, but the cap stifles my scalp like a damn furnace. I want to rip it off and toss it into the bushes. Let someone ask me what the mark on my forehead means! I’ll take it as a green light to unload everything that’s tearing me up inside.
Like a Storm is already blasting Love the Way You Hate Me, when goosebumps rise. My senses sharpen—eyes straining, skin prickling. I dig my heels into the dirt and yank out the earbuds. The air sparkles with invisible electricity.
“Gaetano…?” My voice echoes off the tree trunks.
He’s here. I couldn’t mistake the feeling his presence stirs in me, not anymore. Maybe he’s not that close yet, his scent isn’t potent enough, but my body already reacts to his proximity.
The moment I edge forward, the ground in front of me cracks open. Thin branches shoot upward and twist around each other. Thick, shiny black leaves sprout between them, blocking every open space. Dark thorns entangle themselves in the foliage.
I gasp and jump sideways, crashing into another cluster of rising branches. They arc toward each other, weaving into a net.
A fresh wave of limbs springs up before me, connecting into the same trembling network that confines me on three sides.
I rush backward to the only opening left. I’ve barely turned when the hedges on both sides shoot forward at staggering speed, stretching into living walls to create a narrow corridor around me.
I sprint down the narrow passage, pushing as fast as I can toward the exit ahead.
The walls close in with me, trying to catch up, but my legs are faster.
Almost quick enough. Just as I’m within reach of escape, the corridor twists.
Both hedges bend at a ninety-degree angle, following a hidden blueprint.
I don’t hesitate as I take the new route.
A few meters in, I slam into a solid wall of branches. Dead end.
I pivot and try another way. More corridors. Another split.
I pause, scanning the walls in every direction. Black leaves shake like trapped wings. The branches twist together like snakes. They’re tall enough to block every line of sight, but high above, the familiar sky remains.
My temples throb. It’s a labyrinth.
“Do you enjoy fairy tales, Baroness?”
The deep timbre of Gaetano’s voice sends a shiver through me. I turn around. The empty corridor stretches out before me. I scan the hedges but see nothing.
“I asked you a question, Nicole…” This time it comes from farther down the path.
“Fairy tales?” I echo, my steps cautious.
“Stories that teach us lessons… the magical way.”
Something red flickers at the edge of my vision. I glance down, frowning. A crimson cloak drapes over my workout clothes, secured by a soft leather cord at the front. I reach for my hair, expecting my cap. My fingers touch a massive hood instead. I tug it forward, and scarlet floods my view.
He’s talking about fairy tales…
“Little Red Riding Hood?” I mutter under my breath.