The neon lights of Della Rossa shimmered off wet asphalt, fractured like shards of broken glass. Rain-slick streets reflected the golden glow of restaurants, the red and blue flashes of distant traffic, and the occasional glint of headlights along the seaside. The air smelled faintly of salt, gasoline, and roasted garlic from nearby trattorias.
Inside La Della Rossa Kitchen, a rooftop restaurant perched above Old Town, Vinny Romano, a bald man with scar on his head in white t-shirt, lather boots and silver chain sat with his family. The gentle hum of conversation mingled with the clink of silverware and soft jazz from a live pianist. The table was laden with aromatic dishes—risotto al tartufo, creamy and earthy, releasing steam that curled in the candlelight, and osso buco, tender meat falling from the bone in a rich, savory sauce. Vinny savored a bite of risotto, the truffle perfume filling his senses, a brief escape from the city's tension.
The young waitress, auburn hair pinned loosely, in white clothes approached, balancing a tray with poise.
"Anything else I can get for you tonight, sir?" she asked, smiling at Vinny.
"Just another glass of that Barolo, dear Selena" Vinny replied observing name plate, his voice calm but sharp. "And make sure it's the one from '16, not '18."
She laughed lightly, a musical sound cutting through the low jazz. "I'll make sure your taste isn't disappointed, sir. You have excellent taste."
Vinny glanced at her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Careful, I might start expecting this kind of attention every night."
She blushed, stepping back gracefully. "I'll try to manage, sir."
Vinny's family was elegant and composed: His father George Romano, broad-shouldered, in a charcoal suit, fingers drumming lightly on the table. His mother Martha Romano, tall and graceful in midnight blue dress, eyes soft but alert. His sister Jenna Romano, petite, twirling a gold pendant nervously between her fingers.
After dessert, Vinny's father suggested a walk. The family descended into the city streets, cobblestones wet and reflecting neon like spilled paint. Street lamps cast long shadows across puddles, distorting faces and movements.
Children ran past, chasing a stray soccer ball, squealing as they darted through the night. A street performer played a haunting violin, the notes curling through the drizzle. Vendors offered roasted chestnuts, the sweet, nutty aroma mingling with the salty air. Vinny paused for a moment, buying a small cone of chestnuts, feeling warmth spread through his hands and a strange comfort in the simplicity of it.
"They smell amazing," Vinny said softly, turning to his sister. "Try one Jenna."
She hesitated, then took one, her eyes lighting up. "It's… perfect."
A stray dog padded near them, sniffing at a puddle, then trotted off into the shadows. The city seemed alive, breathing, watching.
And then came chaos...
From a narrow alley, two masked men wearing black jeans and black jacket whispered to each other, glancing nervously at the street.
"Move fast. The kid's father is with him," one hissed, the voice low and tense.
"Relax," the other said, checking a gun. "We stick to plan. Quick in, quick out."
Gunfire shattered the calm. Screams pierced the drizzle, echoing against brick walls. Vinny's mother collapsed, crimson blooming across her gown. His sister screamed, clutching their father as he crumpled. Vinny reacted instinctively, shoving his sister behind a cart, but a sharp pain tore through his side—he had been hit.
The masked men fled, running past vendors, scattering roasted chestnuts into the puddles. A street performer ducked behind his violin case, his haunting melody replaced by gasps of shock. Children screamed and ran, slipping in the wet streets, as if the city itself had been punched awake.
Vinny, vision blurred and blood warm on his fingers, whispered through gritted teeth: "Dad... Jenna... Mother..."
Through the chaos, small details hit him sharply: a cracked streetlight flickering above, a stray cat slinking between puddles, a woman clutching her shopping bag, frozen in terror. The city, usually so alive and vibrant, now seemed dark, mysterious, and indifferent, a silent witness to the carnage.
The ambulance arrived, its wail cutting through the night. Paramedics lifted him onto a stretcher, the antiseptic smell sharp in his nose. Rain dripped from the roof, pooling into puddles that reflected neon lights like tears. The masked men had vanished into the shadows.
The night changed from laughter to screams, from music of violin to siren of ambulance. Vinny unconscious was taken to hospital with the dead bodies of his family.