Chapter 3 The Shadow #2
I narrowed my eyes and focused on the two contestants, watching their reactions closely.
The moment Ciro revealed the answer, one of them erupted into ecstatic cheers, his face alight with disbelief and relief.
But the other contestant wasn’t celebrating.
The young man, barely more than a boy, stood rooted to the spot, his face ashen, his hands shaking at his sides.
There it is. The corner of my mouth twitched into a cruel smile.
Ciro, ever the showman, placed a hand over his heart and sighed theatrically.
“Ah, but I regret to inform you,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect, “that one contestant got it wrong.” His eyes gleamed with malevolent delight as he glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand.
“Will Davison, I’m afraid that not only have you failed, but you have failed spectacularly. ”
The young man’s knees buckled. The crowd erupted in a mix of laughter and boos, their bloodlust ignited at the prospect of what was to come.
My shadows shifted, almost quivering in anticipation.
I remained where I was, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed over my chest, hidden behind my cloak of darkness.
This was where the real entertainment began.
Ciro waved toward the far side of the stage.
The heavy iron doors creaked open, and from the darkness emerged a hulking figure draped in black robes, a hood pulled low over his face.
The executioner. He carried an axe so massive it looked like it could cleave a man in two with a single swing.
I had to admit, they had outdone themselves this year.
There was always something perversely fascinating about how they chose to execute the losers.
The young man, Will, staggered back, his eyes wide with terror. Just as the executioner took a step forward, raising that monstrous axe, a scream tore through the air.
“No! Please, no!” A woman burst through the crowd, shoving her way onto the stage with a frantic, desperate energy. She threw herself in front of the trembling boy, arms outstretched, her body shielding his. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.
I straightened, my eyes narrowing. Well, well, well.
Vivian. I’d met the woman once before, when Vincenzo, Celeste, and their entourage had come to broker their uneasy alliance with me.
Celeste had mentioned her name in passing—a tech expert, a strategist, a woman with more nerve than sense.
And now, here she was, trying to save this boy’s life. Idiot.
“Stop,” she screamed, her voice breaking with the sheer force of her plea. She was all fire and fury, her dark hair wild, her eyes blazing. “Take me instead. Please... kill me in his place.”
The executioner paused, his axe hovering mid-air.
The crowd fell silent, gazes flicking between the woman and Ciro, wondering if he would allow such a substitution.
My eyes were locked on her. Well, this was far more interesting than any entertainment this pathetic excuse of an event had provided so far.
“Vivian,” I murmured under my breath. Her name tasted foreign on my tongue, like a whisper of smoke.
She was even more striking under the bright lights of the stage.
The fire in her eyes and the sheer defiance that radiated from her only enhanced her beauty.
Most people, when faced with death, cowered.
But not her. She was a curious mix of courage and recklessness.
“Please. Let him go. I’ll take his place. The entrance fee came from my account. I’m the one you want.”
Ciro arched an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the turn of events. He glanced toward the crowd, gauging their reaction, feeding off their bloodlust. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, his voice a sickly sweet mockery of compassion. “Isn’t this quite the twist?”
The crowd roared its approval, and I could see the wheels turning in Ciro’s head. He was debating whether the spectacle of a willing sacrifice would be worth more than a simple execution.
As I watched Vivian on that stage, an unfamiliar feeling twisted in my gut—admiration, maybe, or perhaps something darker. There was a certain ruthlessness to her desperation, a willingness to do whatever it took to protect that boy. Interesting.
What was her angle? Why would she risk her life for him? Was it loyalty? Debt? Or something more personal?
I leaned forward slightly, my interest now fully captured. Vivian didn’t strike me as the foolishly self-sacrificing type. There had to be more to this. And if there was one thing I excelled at, it was uncovering the secrets that people tried so desperately to hide.
The boy she was so eager to save was white as a ghost, his entire body shivering with adrenaline. He said nothing, only stared at Vivian with his mouth agape.
Ciro turned back to the executioner, gesturing for him to lower his axe. The crowd groaned in disappointment, but Ciro merely waved them off. “Patience, patience. Let’s see where this goes.”
The executioner stepped back as Ciro pulled the microphone from its stand and approached Vivian. “Tell me, my dear,” he purred, “why should I spare his life in exchange for yours?”
Vivian’s chest heaved, but she didn’t flinch when Ciro shoved the microphone at her.
“If… If you didn’t kill me, I could be of use to you. I have skills. I know how to fix things, how to... make things work.” Her gaze darted toward Will, who was trembling behind her. “His death would only provide a fleeting moment of entertainment for your audience, but I... I could be useful.”
The crowd leaned forward, hungering for her next words, and so did I. Because beneath the fear and the desperation, I could see something else. Determination. Strategy. She was bargaining with her life, yes, but she was also playing a game. One I was determined to understand.
Ciro tilted his head, considering her offer. But all I could think was: This woman is far more interesting than I gave her credit for.
And I intended to find out why.