There's a party tonight.
One celebrating Grandpa's birthday, right on New Year's Eve, no less.
Which meant everyone would be there. Not only the important members of our Famiglia, but along with the business partners and representatives from the other syndicates. As a show of peace. Well at least, only on the surface.
It was going to be a spectacle. With so many powerful guests attending, security was at an all-time high. Grandpa certainly spared no expense. But since he was too paranoid to host it at our family's estate, he decided to do it at one of the luxury hotels we owned overlooking the Sicilian coast in Palermo.
Neutral ground, he called it. A symbol of peace, for a single night.
I rode in silence beside him. The hum of the car filling the space between us. That was how he had always liked it. Really quiet. He never really cared for music, after all. Always preferring a comforting silence.
"How are you feeling, Isolda?" he asked, his gravelly voice breaking through the quiet.
I wanted to tell him that I was angry. Still frustrated, that the last three years of my life were nothing but a void.
If only my brain had just functioned the way I forced it to, then we might've known who did this to me. Who caused me such severe trauma, that my mind was protecting itself, keeping me from remembering. Possibly ever.
It's been three years, after all. Three long, fucking empty years.
I just turned to him as he stared out the wind, watching the reflection of passing lights slicing across his sharp profile.
"Well enough, Nonno," I admitted, my voice steadier than I felt. "Though a little bit nervous."
He waved a dismissive hand, a sharp scoff cutting through the hum of the car.
"Nonsense," he said, turning his cold blue eyes I hadn't inherited toward me. "You've done this plenty of times in the past. You're the one who'll inherit all this once I'm gone. You shouldn't be nervous, because they're all beneath you, capisci?"
His gaze pinned me to my seat, the weight of his expectations pressing on me like a hand pressing tight around my throat, tight.
"Yes, Nonno," I murmured.
Displeasure flickered across his face, sharp and unmistakable.
"You've changed," he said, his voice soft but edged with steel. "You've grown weaker since you've lost your memories." He paused, his jaw tightening. "You're Italian by blood, best you remember that. No matter what that—" his lip curled with contempt "—no matter what your bitch mother tried to make you believe."
He looked away again, as if the very memory of her disgusted him. I swallowed the tightness in my chest, the word Nonno suddenly tasting like ash on my tongue. I looked away.
For a moment, I just stared out the window, watching the lights blurring past. My pulse thudded somewhere behind my ribs. Slow, heavy and restrained. It always felt like this around him, ever since I had woken up in that very hospital room. Like every breath of mine needed permission.
That creeping feeling returned again, but I shoved it down. The same way I always did.
He's my Nonno. The only family I had left in this world. He was the one who raised me ever since my parents passed in an explosion, along with all my aunts and uncles, my cousins. Ever since then, we only ever had each other.
He was the one who had paid for my therapies, my rehabilitation, making sure I got better. He sat by my hospital bed when no one else did. Evil men just simply didn't do that, right?
I clenched my hands in my lap, forcing my voice to stay calm when I speak.
"I'll make you proud tonight, Nonno," I murmured, my voice cutting through the tense silence between us.
Only then did he smile. Thin, cold and full of pride. "Good."
And just like that, the ache in my chest finally quieted again.
Though it didn't last long.
The moment the car rolled into a stop, warmth and noise rushed in from the outside, despite the bulletproof windows. Cameras flashed in a blinding frenzy, as we pulled up to the entrance of the venue.
Red carpet stretched up the marble steps, leading to the grand hotel that looked more like an old ducal palace than a place for tourists. Its stone walls gleaming underneath the golden light, the windows glowing like watchful eyes.
Grandpa truly didn't spare a single expense. Tonight was his spectacle. The night where he'd announce me as the heir to the Famiglia, making things official. The first appearance I'd be making ever since I disappeared.
One of his men hurried to open his door, and Grandpa stepped out slowly. His cane striking the pavement with authority, while his other hand lifted in a measured wave toward the cameras. The very picture of power and control, despite his age.
I rounded the car to join him, my heels clicking against the stone amidst the flashes of the cameras. The red of my dress catching their light, silk whispering around my legs and white gloves, gleaming against the glitter of jewels that had belonged to our family for generations.
Grandpa offered me his hand, and I took it.
Though I should've been the one guiding him instead. His steps had gone slower over the years, but I knew his pride wouldn't let him show weakness. Especially not in front of all these flashing cameras, journalists and photographers shouting our names.
I matched his pace, one careful step up at a time, making sure he didn't stumble. All while the shutters behind us clicked and flared like gunfire. Our names shouted into the night.
To the public, we are untouchable. Descendants of old Italian nobility, owners of a business empire. But behind all this facade, we are something else entirely. We are the most feared family in the underworld. Generations of power, violence and blood hidden beneath tailored suits and polite smiles.
Grandpa only released my hand, once we reached the top of the stairs. His gaze cutting to mine, sharp and wordless, like a silent command to me, to remind us who we are. Then he turned toward the crowd to raise his hand in a regal wave.
I follow his lead, my lips curving into a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.
The doors then opened with a soft creak.
The sound of string instruments spilling through the foyer. Elegant, poised and carefully curated like everything else about our lives. The place shimmering under the golden chandeliers, filled with guests loitering outside the glittering ballroom ahead. Laughter drifted beneath clinking glasses, perfume and cigar smoke weaving through the air like ghosts of the past.
I stay close to my grandfather as we entered, feeling the weight of eyes turning toward us. From our allies, to our rivals, politicians, celebrities, vultures.
I let my gloved hand brush the side of my red dress, steadying myself as I offered them all the kind smile I've worn in the past, in these events. Even when I didn't remember them.
Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught the corner of my eyes. Somewhere in the corner.
I turned my head, curious.
A tall man stood half in shadow.
The golden light catching the sharp cut of his jaw, the crisp line of his black suit. His stance was relaxed, but there was tension in the air around him. Like it's trying to draw me to him.
When he lifted his gaze, and those familiar dark green eyes found mine, the noise of the room suddenly dulled into a distant echo.
He smiled, slow and deliberate. Like he had been waiting years for this moment. All his life.
My body went still.
That grin. God, I've seen it before. Not in dreams, but somewhere real. Like a...like a memory. Something I couldn't reach.
The air thinned, my vision tightening at the edges as a sharp pulse slammed behind my eyes. Do I know him? Why is he here? Why did he look like a ghost wearing a stranger's face?
Alex, something whispered in my ear. Out of the place where my memories used to live.
The name thundered through my chest, ringing like an alarm I couldn't shut off. A truth I wasn't ready to face. And suddenly, I wasn't sure whether the familiarity I'm feeling was recognition, or a warning to stay away.