CHAPTER THREE -- ECHO OF MEMORY

Rafael Moretti had not slept properly in two years, one month, and sixteen days. 

Not since finding Alina floating in their bath, her engagement ring placed mockingly on the counter beside damning evidence of her betrayal. Evidence he'd never fully believed despite its apparent clarity. 

Tonight would be no different. He stood at the window of his penthouse, Milan's skyline glittering before him, untouched whiskey in hand. The same whiskey Natalia De Luca had been drinking at the party.

What were the odds? The same rare vintage, the same way of holding the glass, tilted slightly, as if–. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the unsettling sense of familiarity. There was something about her that had hooked into him, tugging at memories best left buried. Memories of another woman who had looked at him with eyes that saw too much.

"Still awake?" Isabella's voice interrupted his thoughts. She stood in the doorway of his bedroom, wrapped in a silk robe that matched her red dress from earlier. Once, he might have found her beautiful. Now he felt only emptiness when he looked at her.

"Go back to sleep, Isabella." His tone was flat, devoid of warmth.She approached anyway, sliding her arms around him from behind. He stiffened but didn't push her away. This dance had become familiar in the years since Alina's death–Isabella reaching, Rafael allowing but never returning her affection. A partnership born of convenience and shared history, not love.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Her breath was warm against his neck, but it left him cold.For a moment, he wasn't sure which her Isabella meant. 

Alina, forever preserved in his memory? Or Natalia, with her knowing eyes and enigmatic smile?

"The De Luca woman," Isabella clarified, her fingers tightening on his chest. "I saw how she looked at you."

Rafael moved away from her touch, placing his glass on the desk. "She's a potential business ally. Lorenzo De Luca controls the shipping routes we need."

"Is that all?" Isabella's voice held a dangerous edge. He turned to face her. Years of working together had taught him to read the subtle shifts in her expression,the tightness around her mouth that signaled jealousy, the narrowed eyes that warned of her temper. Sometimes he wondered why he kept her so close when her presence gave him no pleasure. 

But Isabella knew too much, had been with him through too many difficult decisions. And perhaps, in some twisted way, her presence was a penance for Alina.

"What else would it be?" he asked coldly."I don't know." She studied him, eyes narrowed. "But something about her bothers me."

"Your paranoia bothers me," he replied, turning back to the window. "Go back to bed."

After she left, Rafael unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a small velvet box. Inside lay Alina's engagement ring, the diamond catching the city lights. Around his neck, on a platinum chain hidden beneath his shirts, hung its twin,the ring he was to have worn as her husband. He'd found her ring beside her body, a cruel statement from whoever had helped her betray him. For despite the evidence pointing to her collusion with Antonio Greco,the ambitious rival who'd been trying to worm his way into Rafael's organization for years, Rafael never believed she'd drowned herself. 

Someone had held her under. Someone had taken her from him. Grief washed through him, familiar but no less painful for its familiarity. Two years since he'd found her, pale and still in their bathtub. Two years of emptiness, of going through the motions, of building his empire with hands that felt nothing.

His phone buzzed with an incoming message. An unknown number.Your shipping problem with the Barcelona route. I have a solution. Breakfast, 9 AM, Café Milano.

Rafael stared at the text. How had Natalia De Luca known about the Barcelona situation? The issue had only arisen yesterday, a problem with customs that threatened to cost him millions.He should ignore it. She was a De Luca, rivals to his organization despite recent peaceful coexistence. 

Instead, he found himself typing: I'll be there.

Placing the phone down, he returned to the window, unsettled by his own impulsive response. Something about Natalia tugged at him, a sense of familiarity he couldn't place. 

Like déjà vu, or a half-remembered dream.Matteo had briefed him on her background after the party. Matteo De Santis, his right hand and most trusted lieutenant since childhood, who had stood by him through war and peace with rival families, through Alina's death and its aftermath.

 According to Matteo's sources, Natalia De Luca, 28, was the only daughter of the late Giuseppe De Luca, the family patriarch whose conglomerate controlled key shipping lanes across the Mediterranean. Nearly killed in an ambush two years ago, she'd been recovering in Switzerland at a private facility. Her return to Milan coincided with her taking greater control of the family business alongside her brother Lorenzo.It was all very neat, very documented. Too neat, perhaps.

Matteo had raised an eyebrow at Rafael's unusual interest in her background. "She's beautiful, certainly," he'd commented. "But why the fascination?"

Rafael hadn't answered. Couldn't explain the pull he felt toward a woman he'd just met. Couldn't articulate how speaking with her had been the first time in two years he'd felt something pierce the numbness that had enveloped him since Alina's death. Rafael closed his eyes, seeing again the way she'd looked at him across the party. As if she knew him. As if she could see through the walls he'd built since Alina's death.

"Who are you, Natalia De Luca?" he whispered to the empty room.The only answer was the phantom sensation of drowning that had haunted him since the night Alina died. As if part of him had gone under with her and never resurfaced.He touched the ring hanging beneath his shirt, feeling its outline through the fabric. Tomorrow, he would meet Natalia for breakfast and discover what game she was playing. But tonight, as always, belonged to ghosts.