All That Was Forgotten

Chapter 3

I didn't realize I had stopped breathing until a hand tightened around mine.

"Isolda," Grandpa's voice was low, sharp as a knife's edge. "Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"

My pulse stumbled. He's more accurate than he thought.

I cleared my throat and forced myself to turn back to face him, slipping the mask back on before he could notice too much.

"Nothing," I said, forcing a faint smile. "It just feels a little bit too overwhelming, that's all."

He studied me for a long moment, his icy eyes unreadable beneath the glow of the chandelier. Then, with a curt nod, he adjust his grip on his cane and continued on forward.

"Compose yourself, Isolda," he murmured. "Everyone's watching. Don't embarrass the family."

"Yes, Grandfather," I whispered. My heels clicking softly against the marble, the moment we entered the ballroom.

The place is filled with grandeur. With a vast expanse of gold and crystal, filled with music and murmured greetings. Cameras flashed again, laughter rippling through the air, and I smiled like I was supposed to, as they greeted my Grandfather.

But I still couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me. Watching us.

Once Grandpa was surrounded by his associates, shaking hands and soaking in their praise and greetings, only then did I let my gaze drift back into the foyer. Back to the corner where I'd last seen him. But it's now empty.

No shadow. Not even a trace.

Just a ghost that had vanished into thin air, leaving behind the faint echo of a grin I couldn't forget. Like I knew him from somewhere. Even when I hadn't remembered meeting him in the past.

I lingered beside my grandfather long enough for him to be swept up in a conversation with one of the other dons. His attention, as always, shifted to business the moment someone mentioned territories and alliances. That was my cue.

"I'll go and grab a drink, Nonno," I said softly, touching his arm. "Do you want anything?"

He didn't even look at me. Just waved his hand. Permission granted.

I smiled inwardly, and slipped through the crowd. I smiled when someone greeted me, murmuring polite words I didn't mean. Then proceeded to head to the bar. My heels clicking softly against the marbled floor.

Barely an hour and already, this place feels suffocating. The press of silk gowns, tuxedos and the scent of money and power, thick in the air. I didn't want any of it. Despite how willing my Grandfather seemed to hand it all to me one day.

The bartender immediately straightened when he saw me. "Signorina Ricci?"

"Champagne," I said, my voice even though my pulse wasn't. "The best you've got."

He poured quickly, the bubbles rising in a delicate, golden stream. I took the glass, murmuring thanks, then turned away. Heading towards the far end of the ballroom, where the chatter faded, and the night air spilled in through the open glass doors.

The terrace overlooked the beautiful Sicilian coast, with its city lights flickering below like scattered diamonds. The sea shimmered underneath the moonlight. Dark, restless and alive.

Ever since I had woken up from the incident, I couldn't explain it, but there was something about seeing the ocean. It calmed me in ways I didn't understand. The scent of salt in the air, the feel of the wind, tangling through my hair, everything felt achingly familiar. Like something I had lost and didn't know I was missing.

I take a sip. The crisp taste of champagne did little to steady the tremor in my hands.

Out here, the music is softer. Like a haunting echo behind glass. The kind of quiet that tends to make one's thoughts louder.

I leaned against the doorway, eyes scanning the reflection in the window beside me. Searching. Hoping I had imagined it. But the strange pull in my chest had returned. That same tightening from before.

Like he was close. Watching.

"I'm sorry," a voice called from behind me. Deep, smooth and far too familiar. My chest tightened instantly, like my body remembered something my mind didn't.

I forced my body to turn, and there he is. Alexandre Barinov. Standing in the soft light, spilling from the ballroom. A cigar balanced between his fingers, and a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" he asked, his tone casual. But those green eyes, they tell another story.

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. "You couldn't possibly."

It was the truth. At least, it should've been. Despite my mission that was handed to me earlier, and everything my grandfather had told me, I've actually never met the man. No one did, not even my grandfather himself. He is one hard man to track.

But seeing him now, why did it feel like I had?

"Well," he said, a low chuckle escaping him, "you remind me of someone, that's all."

I nodded absentmindedly, like I couldn't give a damn, taking another sip out of my champagne for courage. I wasn't even sure why my pulse stuttered. But there was something in the way his gaze lingered, steady and unreadable, like he could see right through the layers I've built.

I forced a smile and stepped aside.

"Sorry," I murmured, keeping my tone polite. "Didn't mean to block your way to the terrace."

I turned to leave, but his voice caught me mid-step.

"Wait."

The word rolled off his tongue like a command, soft but impossible to ignore.

I froze, my breath hitching.

But when I glanced back, he was standing closer. Close enough that the faint scent of musk and cedar reached me.

He extended a hand, his lips curving into a knowing half-smile.

"Alaric Voss," he said, his fake name rolling off his tongue like it was his real one. "And you must be Isolda Ricci, granddaughter of the great Lorenzo Ricci."

The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. Like a secret he wasn't supposed to know, spoken with too much familiarity.

My lips parted. "You seem to know a lot about me, Mr.Voss."

"Knowing things," he murmured, taking a slow step closer, "is a part of my business." His voice was low, like velvet wrapped around steel. "But you...you're not quite what I expected."

I swallowed, my pulse thrumming in my throat. The music from the ballroom drifted through the terrace doors. Soft, slow and hauntingly romantic. A waltz.

His gaze followed the sound, then returned to me. His green eyes darker now, laced with something I couldn't name.

"Would you dance with me, Miss Ricci?"

I drew in a breath and shook my head. "I don't dance with strangers."

"Ah," he said, amusement curling at the edges of those beautiful lips, "but that's the thing about strangers." He leaned in just enough for his breath to graze my ear. Intoxicating. "They don't stay as strangers for long."

I stepped back before he could see the shivers he wrought down my spine. God, why do I feel like I know him?

"Good night, Mr. Voss," I said curtly, taking another sip of my champagne as I walked past him. "Do enjoy the party."

"Oh trust me," he said, his quiet chuckle following me. Low, dark and far too knowing. "I definitely will."