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. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
My pulse stumbled. It had certainly felt that way.
But I cleared my throat and forced myself to turn back to face him, slipping the mask back on before he could see too much.
"Nothing," I said, forcing a faint smile. "It just feels a little bit too overwhelming, that's all. I've been cooped up in the mansion for too long."
He studied me for a long moment, his icy eyes unreadable beneath the glow of the chandelier. Then, with a curt nod, he adjusted his grip on his cane and continued on forward.
"Well, you better compose yourself," he murmured. "Everyone's watching. We can't afford any mistakes tonight. Don't embarrass the family."
"Yes, Nonno," I whispered. My heels clicking softly against the marble, the moment we entered the ballroom.
The place is filled with nothing but grandeur. Every inch of the ballroom decorated with a vast expanse of gold and crystal, the air surrounded with music and murmured greetings. Cameras flashed again, laughter rippling through the air.
I smiled like I was supposed to, standing next to my grandfather as guests greeted him at nearly our every step. Eager for his attention.
The sensation wouldn't leave me. The sharp, prickling awareness of eyes on my back. Watching me. Watching us. It crawled up my spine in a way that felt anything but pleasant.
I glanced over my shoulder, back toward the foyer. The exact corner where I'd last seen him.
But it was empty.
A hollow tug of disappointment slipped through my chest before I could stop it. Ridiculous, and yet undeniable.
I turned back to the ballroom just as Grandpa was quickly swallowed by his associates. They all shook hands, as he soaked in their praises and greetings. All piling around him, eager for just even a sliver of his attention.
But all I could think about was the pair of eyes that were no longer there. The way it unsettled me more than their stares ever did. Like a ghost that haunted me, had vanished into thin air.
I linger 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 expanding their territories and potential alliances.
I take that as my cue.
"Nonno," I said softly, touching his arm. "I'll go ahead and grab a drink. Do you want anything?"
He didn't even look at me. He just waved his hand, letting me move away. Permission granted.
So I murmured some polite words to the small crowd that I didn't mean, and slipped away. Heading towards the bar. My heels clicking softly against the marbled floor, despite the orchestra, playing away a beautifully haunting waltz.
Barely an hour and already, this place feels suffocating. From the press of silk gowns, tuxedos, the scent of money and power, thick in the air. I can't help but wonder if this is what the rest of my life would be like.
"Signorina Ricci?" the bartender called, then straightened when he actually caught my attention.
"Right, sorry," I said, clearing my throat. "Just champagne, please. The best you've got."
He nodded, grabbing a glass and pouring quickly. The bubbles rising in a delicate, golden stream. I take the glass he handed, murmuring thanks, then turned away. Heading towards the far end of the ballroom, where it's darker, the chatter fading and the night air spilling through the open glass doors.
The terrace overlooked the beautiful Sicilian coast. Its city lights flickering below like scattered diamonds. The sea shimmering underneath the moonlight. Dark, restless and alive.
Ever since I had woken up from the incident, I couldn't explain it. But there was just something about looking at the ocean, that calmed me in ways I didn't understand. From the scent of salt in the air, whispering on my skin, to the feel of the wind, brushing through my hair like a gentle caress. Like they were things I had lost, but didn't know I was missing.
I take a sip, even when 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 slipped outside and pushed the door open, grateful to find the terrace empty. Not that I expected anyone else to wander out here. The night is still young, the party's inside, and no one is drunk enough to escape the celebration, yet.
I lean against the marble railing. The coldness seeping through my skin, sending shivers down my spine, just as the breeze blows by, while I let my gaze falling over the dark ocean.
The boats resting along the shore. Some glowing with life, laughter spilling over their decks, couples tangled in kisses, friends raising glasses, bodies swaying to songs that would've been beautiful memories come morning.
So effortlessly alive.
I can't help but close my eyes for a moment, imagining what that would've feel like. To live a life like that. Without worries. To be free.
And then it hit me. The familiar tug in my chest, tightening just the way it had before.
That quiet, aching pull that whispered 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.
Standing in the soft light, spilling from the ballroom. A cigar balanced between his fingers, and a knowing, familiar smirk tugging at the corner of those lips.
"Do I know you from somewhere?" he asked, his voice smooth, almost careless. But his eyes, those impossibly green eyes, said something else entirely.
"No," I answered a little too fast, fingers tightening around the railing. "You couldn't possibly."
Still...something in me whispered that I had.
"Strange," he murmured, a low chuckle slipping past his lips. "You remind me of someone."
"Someone good, I hope?" I said before I could stop myself, surprised by how easily the flirtation rose on my tongue.
His smile softened, edges turning almost bittersweet. "The best," he said, his voice roughened. He drew in a slow breath from his cigar, smoke curling between us as he stepped closer, shrinking the space I've been clinging to.
"Do you need anything?" I asked, retreating a step, suddenly aware of how bold I was being, and how dangerous it would be, if any of Grandpa's men had saw us like this. Alone. Too close.
His laugh was quiet and deep. The kind that curled low in my stomach. "You have no idea..."
The sound wrapped around me, intimate as a touch.
"You're his granddaughter, are you?" he asked, taking another slow drag before releasing the smoke into the cool night air.
I didn't need to say the name. We both knew who he meant.
"The one and only," I said, lifting my champagne and letting a small sip calm the jitter in my hands. I kept my gaze fixed on the dark waters, pretending it steadied me more than it did. "And you are?"
I wasn't even sure why my pulse stumbled, why the air suddenly felt thinner. Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered, like he was pulling away all the defenses I've built over the years.
"Alaric Voss," he said finally, extending his hand. A half-smile pulled at his mouth. Too knowing, too confident, like he had knew things about me he had no right to.
I slipped my hand into his, giving it a polite shake. The name rolled uneasily through my mind, familiar in a way that didn't make sense. Like it had belonged to someone else entirely.
"May I ask how you knew my grandfather?"
He looked like he could be a celebrity. A musician, perhaps. Or an actor, known for his action films. He certainly had the looks and the built for it. With those piercing green eyes, the sharp jaw and the hair sleek and pulled back, that reminded me of an old actor from a famous spy film.
"We did business together," he said, sliding one hand into his pocket before releasing yet another slow breath of smoke into the night. "A long time ago."
"I see," I managed, taking another swallow of my champagne, hoping it would quiet the pulse hammering at my throat.
Music drifted through the terrace doors, from the ballroom. Soft, yet loud enough to cling to the air. Slow, and hauntingly romantic. A waltz.
His gaze flicked toward the sound, then back to me. Darker now. Weighted with something I couldn't quite place.
"Would you like to dance with me, Miss Ricci?"