The night felt endless. The flickering streetlights seemed like the only witnesses.
The air had turned cold, as if the entire city had stopped breathing. To Gabriella, time moved painfully slow. She could still see her mother looking at her—eyes filled with tears and fear, but also an unspoken love.
"My dear… whatever happens, don't stop hoping," she whispered.
Gabriella bit her lip. She wanted to run to her, to throw her arms around her mother, but her body wouldn't move.
Amid the screams and frantic footsteps, a single simple thought crossed her mind—I want to go home. I just want to go home.
But the home she knew no longer existed.
Rain began to fall, washing over the empty streets now littered with dust, shattered glass, and blood.
Bologna, usually a city of lights and laughter, seemed to be holding its breath that night.
Under the dim glow of the trembling streetlights lay the still body of a young girl, sprawled among puddles and broken glass.
Gabriella Vega, the only daughter of a respected family—once a pampered girl who started her mornings with smiles and soft music drifting from her rose-scented balcony.
Now she lay in the middle of the road, clothes torn, body bruised and bleeding, staring blankly at a sky that cried with her.
Around her, silence reigned.
Thin smoke rose from the half-burned hood of her father's car, the stinging smell of gasoline mingling with blood and metal.
A few meters away lay the two people who had once been her source of love—her mother and father—lifeless.
Everything had happened so fast, too fast for her mind to comprehend.
A faint siren echoed from somewhere far away, but real help never came.
The city had chosen to shut its eyes.
The rain grew heavier, as if trying to wash away the remnants of the tragedy, but Gabriella knew: no water could cleanse the sin she carried tonight—the sin of surviving.
Her eyelids fluttered. Through the blur of tears and blood, the world spun. Every breath felt like a blade cutting into her chest, yet she refused to give in. Not now.
Her father's voice echoed gently in her mind—firm yet tender, just like when he taught her to ride a bicycle:
"Gabriella, don't be afraid to fall. Wounds will make you stronger."
Those words became the only thing keeping her alive.
Her fingers trembled as they touched the cold ground. She tried to push herself up, but her body refused. Only her head moved slightly—just enough to glance at her mother's peaceful face. The woman's final smile still lingered on her lips.
Gabriella bit her lip hard, holding back the sob building in her chest. A hoarse sound finally escaped her—a cry that sounded more like a whispered prayer.
"Mom… Dad… I promise, I won't die tonight."
The sky answered with a distant crack of thunder. In the flash of lightning, Gabriella saw the silhouettes of the men riding away at the corner, their motorcycles growling like beasts satisfied with their kill.
In that brief moment, every sound of their laughter, every footstep that had taken her family away—she carved them into her heart, a place no one could reach.
Her chest tightened, not from injury, but from something else—a small, flickering flame burning deep inside.
Anger.
Pain.
Vengeance.
Three emotions twisting into one, forming something she had never felt before.
So this is what it feels like to lose everything…
She closed her eyes for a moment.
Behind them danced memories: lavish birthday parties, her father's smile in the garden, her mother's laughter at the table—all swallowed by the same darkness that now held her in its grip.
The warmth of her world had frozen.
Gabriella knew that when she opened her eyes again, the girl named Gabriella Vega would no longer be the same.
A distant car passed on the main road, then silence returned. She was alone.
The rain hit her mercilessly, making her shiver, but she kept staring at the sky—searching for something, anything, that would give her a reason to keep living.
And she found it.
Not in the sky, but within herself.
"I will avenge everything," she whispered, barely audible through the rain.
"I swear on their names… I will not die before the world feels my pain. God, give me the chance to live."
With that plea to the heavens, her eyes slowly closed.
*****
The roar of an engine sliced through the night, echoing between concrete walls and the dark sky of Bologna. The streets, usually glowing with lights, were now lit only by the headlights of a black car gliding forward—silent except for the smooth growl of its engine and the soft notes of Beethoven's piano drifting through the cabin.
Für Elise. Moonlight Sonata.
Classical pieces that somehow felt ironic in a world soaked with blood and sin.
Several cars flanked it—one in front, two behind. Not for show… but for survival.
He didn't look like an ordinary man. Handsome? Of course. He could capture anyone's gaze.
But behind his sharp jaw and calm eyes burned a fire no one could match. His fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel, his head swaying to the rhythm of the music.
Luca—thirty years old, already feared as the head of his clan.
After losing his wife and son to betrayal, he did not drown himself in grief.
Instead, he built an empire on the foundation of vengeance.
Yet that night, even a shadow king had no idea fate was preparing something for him.
Suddenly, the car in front slammed to a stop. Tires screeched.
Instinctively, Luca hit the brakes hard, his body jolting forward.
A second of silence… then fast footsteps approached from the escort car.
"Signore, there's something on the road," one of his men reported, voice heavy and firm.
"There are bodies lying out there."
Luca stared at him, expression unreadable.
"Check," he ordered, short and ice-cold.
The car door opened, and the cold night air brushed against his face. Luca stepped out—his black suit fluttering in the wind, his stride steady, like a shadow crossing realms without a sound.
The headlights illuminated the asphalt, and there…
A scene struck his conscience with a force he couldn't describe.
Time froze.
The metallic scent of fresh blood filled the air.
His body tensed as his eyes traced three figures on the ground: two adults, lifeless—gunshot wounds in their foreheads like cursed marks. Between them, a young girl, blood covering her small frame, barely breathing.
Her skin pale, her graduation dress torn at the chest, her long hair messy and stuck to her colorless cheeks.
Yet in the faint, trembling breaths… there was still life.
"Damn it…" Luca muttered under his breath. He crouched down, his large hand gently tapping the girl's cheek.
Breathing. Still there. Weak, but there.
"Who dared to do this in my territory?"
His voice was flat, yet burning with barely contained fury.
He scanned the scene—tire marks from motorcycles, spent bullets, the lingering smell of gasoline and gunpowder.
This wasn't an accident.
This was an execution.
Luca rose, voice sharp.
"Get her in the car. Now."
Two of his men rushed forward.
Meanwhile, Luca looked again at the two bodies on the ground.
In the stillness, his eyes softened—just for a heartbeat.
"I don't know who you are," he murmured, "but I promise… this girl won't die here with you."
His men hurried back. Luca moved quickly to the car, slammed the back door shut, and looked at the girl now lying across his lap.
She seemed so small in the arms of a man shaped by the underworld.
"Stay with me, piccola anima," he whispered, almost like a prayer slipping out unintentionally.
"Whoever did this to you… I'll tear them out by the roots."
Marco, his assistant in the front seat, stepped on the gas.
Three cars moved as one, racing through Bologna's cold night toward Modena.
The car sped on, city lights stretching into streaks against the windows, and in the back seat, Luca held Gabriella close to keep her warm.
Blood stained his black suit, but he didn't care.
He kept his eyes on her face, as if afraid to miss her final breath.
For a moment, he simply looked at her. Her messy hair, her cheeks streaked with dried blood—and beneath the wounds… something that reminded him of the past.
That face.
That quiet, brave acceptance in her expression.
Sophia…?
The thought made his chest tighten. A name he had buried long ago. A name that only surfaced in nightmares and vengeance.
"Kill me…"
A weak voice escaped, barely a whisper.
Gabriella stirred in his lap, her lips trembling.
"Kill me…"
Luca froze. He leaned closer, seeing her half-open eyes under the dim cabin light.
"Don't say that," he murmured, voice low—almost a whispered prayer.
"I won't let you die."
His hand moved instinctively, brushing her cheek, as if he could wipe away every bit of pain from her cold skin.
"Stay with me, piccola anima perduta… lost little soul," he whispered.
But the girl no longer heard him — her eyes drifted shut again, sinking into a quiet, dark abyss.
Luca held her small hand, cold and weak, and for the first time in a very long while, something pressed against his chest — not anger, but the fear of losing someone he didn't even know yet.
"Marco, how far?" Luca asked, urgency sharpening his voice.
"Ten more minutes, Signore," his assistant replied quickly.
"Faster," Luca said softly, yet with a blade-edge tone. "She's losing too much blood."
Marco glanced at the rearview mirror, meeting Luca's eyes. He understood — whoever this girl was, Luca would not let her die.
The car shot through the night like a bullet, carrying two souls who had met in the middle of devastation.
Before long, they arrived at the headquarters of La Famiglia Nera — an organization Luca had built years ago after the deaths of his wife and son.
But he still hadn't finished his revenge; his clan's power was not yet enough to crush the one responsible for their deaths.
Luca climbed out, carrying Gabriella himself. Her body was so light, it felt as though he held nothing but a shadow. Doctors were already waiting, stretcher prepared, the air thick with urgent commands.
"Treat her. Now," Luca ordered.
"Yes, Signore," replied one of the doctors — Dante.
They immediately brought Gabriella into the medical room. Luca followed their swift footsteps, his sharp eyes tracking every movement like a wolf guarding its cub.
Harsh white neon lights washed over the girl's pale skin. Syringes, scissors, bandages — all moved in rapid rhythm. Under that light, the wounds across her body looked like a map of suffering.
But Luca heard nothing except the pounding of his own heartbeat.
"She's too young to die like this," he murmured, mostly to himself.
He lowered his head, his left hand curling into a fist.
That night, under the glow of the medical room, something inside Luca Moretti shifted.
Not love — not yet — but something even more dangerous: the instinct to protect.
Luca returned to the main hall to wait for his men's reports, accompanied by Marco.
He paced back and forth, glancing toward the entrance every few seconds, unable to hide his impatience.
He needed answers — who were the dead couple lying on the road?
Who dared commit such violence in his territory?
"Marco, investigate how many gangs are operating in our area," Luca ordered, his voice icy.
"Understood, Tuan." Marco left immediately to begin.
Meanwhile, Luca returned to the corridor outside the medical room where Gabriella was fighting for her life.
He paced again, tension radiating from him — his mind filled with one thing only: the girl behind those doors.
Flashback — Luca's Past
Luca's past was rarely spoken of. Whenever someone dared bring it up, conversations died and the air turned heavy. He wasn't always the king of shadows. Once, he had simply been Luca Moretti — a brilliant law student with a gentle heart.
He met Sophia in Florence during spring. She was painting along the banks of the Arno, sunlight threading through her blonde hair. That was the moment Luca felt something pull him in — a quiet fascination that quickly became love.
Their love ran so deep that Luca and Sophia married young. Two years later, Sophia gave birth to their son, Matteo. His tiny fists were clenched as if he already knew the world could be cruel.
Luca worked hard to build an honest life — defending justice in the courtroom by day and holding his family close under peaceful starlight by night.
But happiness never lasts long for men destined for war.
Sophia's father was no ordinary man — he was Don Vittorio Conti, head of one of Italy's oldest criminal dynasties. When Vittorio died, a single glass of wine turned into poison, and chaos erupted within the family.
The elders wanted Luca gone. "Too clean," they whispered. "Too weak."
But Sophia had inherited half of her father's empire — and countless old rules with it.
Unable to control the clan while she lived, they struck first.
The rival faction led by Cesare Negrini — the same man who smiled at Luca and Sophia's wedding — burned their villa while Sophia and Matteo slept inside.
That night, flames crawled like serpents up the marble walls. Sophia fought with the fury of a cornered lioness, facing five armed men alone… but there were too many of them.
Luca had been out of town working on a case when he received the call. He rushed back to Florence, but he was too late.
All he found was blood on the doorstep… and Sophia's pendant lying half-melted near the ashes that still glowed red beneath the rain.
Tears fell. He held the pendant, screaming until dawn broke — unable to believe what he saw.
After that night, Luca vanished. No one knew where he had gone.
But when he returned, he was no longer the same man.
His eyes were different, his face harsher, and his soul carved from steel — stripped of mercy, stripped of forgiveness.
From nothing, from exile, he gathered the forgotten:
Ex-soldiers discarded as fools or cowards, women who survived betrayal, thieves who were tired of being pawns.
He forged them into something new.
La Famiglia Nera — a clan not born of tradition, but of rebirth and vengeance.
A revolution.
And it had only one rule:
No more innocent blood.
Three years passed. Quietly, city after city fell under his silent war.
Every step led back to one man:
Cesare Negrini.
And then, tonight… Gabriella appeared — covered in blood but still breathing.
As if fate had dragged her into his path through fire, just like Sophia — gentle, yet unbreakable.
Some say love dies with loss.
But perhaps…
Perhaps it simply waits — beside the pain — until someone comes and sparks the embers back to life.