All That Was Forgotten

Chapter 5

The air cooled as I stepped toward the far corner, my blood thrumming with a mix of fear and curiosity. Though the latter triumphed everything. When I reached the marble pillar, looming tall and slicing the ballroom's golden glow in half, I slid to the other side only to find it empty. Nothing but silence.

For a moment I wondered if I'd imagined him entirely. If I had spun a ghost out of my nerve. Maybe I did.

I made a move to walk away when something crunched softly beneath my heel. I looked down, only to find a cigar. The same one I've seen him smoke. Still warm, its ember barely dead. Like someone had purposely dropped it mere seconds ago.

I crouched low, my fingers brushing the polished floor as I picked it up. The faint scent of smoke still clung to the filter. Rich. Expensive. A signature. Even more exclusive. Unlike the one, half of these men smoked in this room. Unmistakably his.

My pulse quickened. And when I rose again, there he was.

Right across the room, where it was half-obscured by a cluster of marble arches. Leaning against the doorway leading out of the ballroom, like he had all the time in the world. Watching me with that same dark, knowing smile that felt like he was whispering a secret down my throat.

Our eyes locked.

And his smile widened. Not friendly, not polite. The possessive kind.

Something in my chest ached with familiarity. Like I've seen this look before. Perhaps from someone else, definitely not from him.

He tipped his chin toward the empty corridor behind him, the gesture subtle but unmistakable. Like a dare. My brows knit together, my heels rooted to the polished floor.

A part of me leaned forward instinctively, drawn by something I couldn't name. Something that felt disturbingly natural, as if my body remembered him even when my mind didn't. But the other part of me screamed at me to turn back. Return to the ballroom, back to the world I knew.

Any second now, they'd call my grandfather on stage. He'd make his announcement and declare me his heir.

This was too dangerous. I didn't know this man. Yet, somehow I felt I did, somewhere deep in the marrow of my bones.

But then he turned away from me, with slow, deliberate steps. Perfectly confident that his prey would come.

He slipped deeper into the corridor's shadow, disappearing as if the darkness belonged to him. My breath caught. Despite every warning in my head, my feet were already shifting toward his direction.

I reached the end of the corridor, my steps echoing softly against the marble. But it was empty. Just silence, thick and humming. I turned back to the party, hesitating, but I was too far gone. There was something about the darkness, about him, that pulled me in. Like a magnet.

My pulse thrummed in my throat as I stepped forward, drawn toward the narrow archway on the left. A small door stood slightly ajar, leading out to the terraced garden behind. Moonlight spilling through the crack, slicing the darkness into a silvery path.

I should've turned back. I really should.

Instead, I pushed the door open.

Cool night air rushed in, brushing against my exposed skin. The garden was quiet, except for the faint rustle of hedges swaying in the breeze. Tall, manicured walls of green rose on either side of the stone path, creating corridors and pockets of shadow.

I took a step forward into the garden. It was dark, and the shadows were too still. But I couldn't help it. My feet kept moving, taking another step. Then another. Every trained instinct of mine sharpened, my nerves coiled tight like wire.

One more step.

I drew breath, barely, before an arm snapped around my waist and yanked me hard. Back into the wall of hedges. My back slamming into a solid chest, knocking the air right out of me.

A hand pressed firmly over my neck, squeezing my jaw tight enough to keep me from moving. The other pressed firmly against my hip, anchoring me in place. I tried to squirm out of his hold. The scent of cigar smoke and something musky, like an aftershave, filling my lungs.

It was wickedly familiar. I shouldn't have recognized it, but somehow I did. Familiar in a way that made my stomach drop.

But I was too distracted to figure out why, when I felt something hard growing behind my back. Large and prominent. Painfully familiar. Far too familiar for a man I've never met.

I froze. Not in fear. But in a terrifying jolt of recognition, my mind couldn't place.

"Brave of you to come out here," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. His voice was low, dangerous, like velvet wrapped around a blade. "Tell me, Princess, do I know you? Or are you truly this sweet and innocent, that you'd follow a stranger into the dark?"

A shiver shot down my spine. My pulse hammering against his palm, where he held my jaw.

I stayed silent. Defiant.

"Speak," he challenged, the sharpness of his voice cutting through the air. "It's not like I'm holding you that tight."

"Maybe I'm here to kill you."

His laugh was low, dangerous. A sound that slid over my skin like smoke, tightening everywhere his fingers had already claimed.

"You?" he murmured, his lips brushing the angle of my jaw. "The granddaughter of the great Lorenzo Ricci? No. Not in this dress..." Then I felt his head dipped, his nose pressing against my bare neck, inhaling. "...and certainly not in those heels."

Heat slithered up my spine. Anger, and something I didn't dare name.

But before he could exhale another taunt, I jabbed my elbow hard against his ribs. Sharp.

He grunted, his grip faltering just enough.

I spun, breath ragged, my fingers sliding beneath the slit of my red dress. The soft glide of silk parted around my thigh as I unbuckled the holster strapped against my skin.

His eyes widened. Not in fear, but in hunger.

I lifted the small gun to his jaw, pressing the cold barrel underneath his jaw.

"Who are you?" I bit out, my breath ghosting against his lips.

He smirked. Slow, wicked, reverent.

"Now that," he said, his voice dropping into a sinful rasp, "looks a lot more like you."

"Shut up," I bit out.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. My pulse thundering in my ears.

The gun trembled. Even when I would've never trembled before. Not out of fear, but from the way his dark green eyes devoured me like I was something he'd been starving for.

It was subtle, at first. A tilt of his chin, then a step too fluid to register as a threat. I barely had time to steady my grip, before his hand shot out, his fingers closing around my wrist with elegant precision. Then he twisted. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make my body obey.

The gun slid from my grasp, stolen in a single breath. The cold metal that had been pressed to his jaw, was now grazing mine.

"Careful, Princess," he murmured. "Better learn how to keep your weapon."

I swallowed hard, glaring at him even as the adrenaline skittered through my blood. "Give it back."

He stepped closer, the hedge brushing my back, the heat of him caging me in effortlessly.

"No," he said simply, almost playfully, raising my gun. "I'm going to keep this. As a souvenir, perhaps."

Then the pressure vanished. He pulled away with a predator's ease, retreating into the shadows as silently as he'd emerged. The darkness swallowing him whole.

I blinked. The night suddenly too quiet.

He took my gun and disappeared. He f*****g left me.

This man I was meant to kill, already knew exactly how to dismantle me.

Fuck.