Days at the Moretti family's safe house passed in a gentle rhythm, almost as if time itself slowed down within its walls. Autumn had begun to creep in, carrying the crisp scent of fallen leaves scattered across the backyard.
In the warm, simple therapy room, Gabriella sat in a cushioned chair facing the window, wrapped in the cream-colored sweater Viola had picked out for her that morning.
It had been nearly three weeks since the girl first showed small responses to the world around her.
She still didn't speak—not a single word had crossed her lips—but her eyes were no longer entirely empty.
There was a faint spark now, a fragile glimmer just beginning to pierce through the fog of darkness clouding her mind.
Viola entered the room carrying a tray with two cups of hot chocolate and her phone in her other hand.
"Good morning, Gabriella," she greeted softly.
"It's quite chilly today, isn't it? I made warm chocolate for you, just like yesterday."
Gabriella turned slowly. She didn't answer, but her gaze followed Viola's hand as she set the cup on the small table.
Viola offered a gentle smile. "May I sit here with you?"
The girl didn't react—yet she didn't refuse either.
That alone was enough for Viola. She sat in the chair beside her, looked out the window for a moment, then unlocked her phone. Softly, a stream of piano notes filled the room—slow, soothing melodies layered with a calming violin harmony.
The healing music drifted gently, touching every corner of the room with peaceful vibrations. Viola closed her eyes, savoring the quiet moment as she sipped her chocolate. But only seconds later, she sensed something—a faint shift behind her.
Gabriella.
The girl had risen from her chair, her movements slow but deliberate. She stopped right behind Viola, eyes fixed on the phone screen where sound waves rose and fell in tandem with the melody.
Viola turned carefully, not wanting to startle her.
What she saw made her chest warm.
Gabriella stood with an expression difficult to define, not fear, not awkwardness, but the look of someone trying to understand something familiar yet buried deep within her memory.
"Do you like the music?" Viola asked softly, her voice gentle as a whisper.
Gabriella didn't reply, but her eyes never left the screen.
Her fingers twitched slightly, as if wanting to touch the moving waves, though they halted in midair.
Heart thudding, Viola lowered the volume just a little, making the melody even more tender.
"This piece is called River Flows in You," she said softly. "It's often used to soothe the heart. You know… sometimes music speaks better than words."
Gabriella remained silent, yet her gaze moved with the rhythm of the waves on the screen.
Then, without being prompted, she closed her eyes.
Her shoulders relaxed; her breathing grew steadier.
Viola watched her for a long moment—afraid to break the fragile magic unfolding before her eyes.
For the first time, Gabriella didn't look tense.
There was no fear in her expression.
Only a fragile, newfound calmness.
Minutes passed in silence. Only the music and the ticking clock on the wall filled the room.
When the song ended, Gabriella slowly opened her eyes.
She looked at Viola—directly into her eyes.
Viola held her breath. "Did you… like the song?"
This time, Gabriella did not merely sit in silence. She nodded—faintly, almost imperceptibly, but real.
Viola covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes immediately welling up.
"Oh God…" she whispered, voice trembling. "That's… the first time you've answered me."
Gabriella returned to her chair and looked out the window. But something had changed. She no longer hugged her knees like she once did.
Her posture was more open, her gaze more alive.
Viola stared at her, letting the tears fall freely.
She knew this wasn't just a small improvement—this was a miracle.
In the surveillance room, Dante, who happened to be monitoring the feed, exhaled deeply.
"She's coming back," Dante murmured. Behind him, Luca said nothing. His eyes stayed fixed on the screen—on the girl who now looked more alive than she had in weeks.
"A small step, but a meaningful one," Dante added.
Luca remained silent, his hands curling slightly at his sides. He knew the girl's wounds would not heal overnight.
But seeing even this tiny shift—seeing Gabriella stand, approach the music, approach human connection—lifted something heavy inside him.
"Continue," he finally said, his voice low but firm.
"Let Viola handle her in her own way. No pressure. Let her find her own rhythm."
Dante glanced at him. "You… really care about her."
Luca gave no reply. He looked at the screen once more before turning to leave. But just as he stepped out, his lips moved in a near-whisper:
"Music… is the only language that might reach her soul."
Later that afternoon
Evening approached. Viola gently ended the day's session, turned off the music, and collected the cups from the table. Gabriella sat calmly at the edge of her bed.
"I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart," Viola said before stepping out.
When the door clicked shut, Gabriella glanced toward the phone Viola had used earlier.
She slowly reached out, tracing the air as if mimicking the waves of music.
And then she whispered—so softly it barely existed in the quiet room:
"River…"
Just one word.
But it was enough to shake the entire world of the people protecting her—
because the tiny microphone on the CCTV in the corner had captured it.
Silhouette in Sleep
That night, the Modena air felt gentle. The sky, usually gray, now showed faint stars behind thin clouds. From her bedroom window, Gabriella stared outside with an empty gaze, the light from the street casting her silhouette against the glass.
She had just finished the hot chocolate Viola gave her. The sweet scent of cocoa still lingered in the air. The soft music from Viola's phone still echoed in her mind—piano notes that seemed to touch something deep inside her.
Slowly, she rose from the edge of the bed and walked to the small table by the window. On it lay the sketchbook and pencil Viola had left earlier that afternoon. Gabriella stared at them for a long moment, as if weighing something. Then, without thinking further, she pulled the chair and sat down.
Her hand moved gently across the paper. Faint lines began to appear. At first chaotic—messy like her previous drawings—but this time, there was direction. There was shape.
That face. That silhouette, the shadow that always appeared in her sleep. A figure who never spoke clearly, yet always appeared in the midst of her dark dreams. A presence that whispered softly in her ear when fear consumed her—"sleep… you're safe here."
Line by line, Gabriella began to give form to that shadow. Strong shoulders. A defined jaw. Hair that fell slightly over the forehead. But she stopped before drawing the eyes—as if afraid that looking directly at them would make the silhouette vanish.
She looked at her sketch several times, adding small details to the face. Under the warm glow of the desk lamp, the drawing looked alive—almost like someone truly standing before her.
Then, Gabriella gently set the pencil down. She stared at the drawing for a long moment, then touched the surface of the paper with her fingertips.
"Who are you…" she whispered so softly it was almost inaudible. Her voice trembled—like someone longing for a person she didn't know.
Soon, sleepiness began to pull her in. Gabriella returned to her bed, taking the sketchbook with her and placing it on her chest. She lay down and hugged it tightly, as if afraid the figure inside the drawing would disappear if she let go.
The soft sound of rain began tapping against the window. In the control room, Dante—who was on duty—watched the CCTV screen. Gabriella had fallen asleep with a faint smile on her face. She rarely smiled, but tonight there was a fragile peace he had never seen before.
Dante stared at the screen for a moment, then whispered,
"It seems she's starting to find her own way."
Meanwhile, downstairs in the family room, Luca sat in front of the piano, playing the same melody he had played earlier that evening.
The notes were soft, almost like whispers drifting through the air toward the girl's room. He didn't know that upstairs, Gabriella slept while holding a sketch of him—his silhouette unconsciously recognized through that very melody.
The music floated through the night, calming the entire house.
Morning arrived gently. Sunlight slipped through the thin curtains, touching Gabriella's still-sleeping face. Viola entered the room quietly, carrying a small tray with hot chocolate and soft bread.
"Good morning, sweetheart…" she greeted in a low voice, careful not to startle the girl.
But her steps halted when she noticed something on the table. The sketchbook lay open atop the wooden surface, the pencil still beside it. Viola approached, and her eyes widened.
The drawing… The silhouette that once looked blurry was now clearer. She could see the defined jawline, the strong features, and the dark hair falling over the forehead. Though only a monochrome shadow, the figure radiated a familiar presence.
Viola stared at the drawing for a long moment, then turned toward Gabriella, who was still sleeping while hugging her pillow.
The girl's face was peaceful—no longer restless like the nights before.
Suddenly, tears slipped down Viola's cheeks before she could stop them. She pressed her fingers to her lips, stifling a small sob.
"Gabriella…" she whispered. "You drew someone. You're starting to remember."
She knew she shouldn't assume anything too soon. But that silhouette… it looked so much like the man she saw every day on the surveillance screens.
Luca Moretti.
Viola looked at the drawing again, covering her mouth to hold back another sob. She knew that, in the silence and fear that had held Gabriella captive all this time, the only voice able to reach her had been the sound of the piano that man played.
Only him. Without realizing it, his presence had entered Gabriella's memory—not as a threat, but as a protector.
Viola hurriedly wiped her tears before Gabriella woke up. She didn't want the girl to see her crying. She looked at the drawing one more time, then whispered with a trembling voice,
"She's beginning to recognize the one who's been watching over her…"
Luca in Silence
The late-afternoon light filtered through the slats of the observation-room window, casting soft silhouettes across the white walls of the bedroom.
On the monitor, Gabriella sat on the floor, her back against the wall. Her body was still fragile, but no longer trembling with fear like before. Now, her small fingers held a pencil, sketching something on a crumpled sheet of paper in her lap.
Luca stood before the screen without a word.
His black shirt was no longer neatly buttoned; the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his gaze was empty yet sharp. He wasn't looking at the picture forming on Gabriella's paper—he was watching the movement of her hands.
Hands that once didn't dare to move at all.
Now, every stroke felt like a small step out of the darkness. Viola sat in the chair beside him, watching the same screen.
"She started drawing again today," she said softly. "This morning, she even looked at me longer than usual."
Her voice trembled just a little. "I know it sounds small, but… for someone like her, it's a miracle."
Luca didn't answer. His eyes remained fixed on the screen, as if seeing through time.
"How long has she been drawing?"
"About twenty minutes," Viola replied. "At first it was random, but then… it looked like she was starting to form something."
Dante, standing a little behind them, crossed his arms. "You still play it every night, don't you? That song."
Luca turned his head slowly, his gaze sharp but not dismissive.
"Yes. Moon River. It calms her."
"Not just calms her, Luca," Viola added. "She remembers. The music opens something inside her. Maybe something from before."
Luca looked at the screen again—watched Gabriella sketching a faint figure. A human silhouette.
Still blurry, but he knew that shape. He knew it too well.
Broad shoulders, the straight lines of a man's frame, and a shadowed face that seemed to watch her silently.
That silhouette was him. Consciously or not, the girl was drawing him.
Silence settled over the room like a heavy blanket. Only the low hum of the air conditioning lingered. Viola looked at Luca, noticing the subtle shift on his face—still cold, but cracked.
For a fleeting second, a shadow from the past crossed his eyes. Luca closed his own for a moment. And suddenly it all returned—
A night in Bologna, blood on the street, heavy rain, and a young girl whispering kill me. That voice—weak, but piercing—cut through every wall of steel he had ever built in himself.
He remembered how Gabriella's limp body fell into his arms. How her breath was barely there, yet her fingers still reached for the air, as if refusing to die.
He remembered the first time she looked at him—eyes full of terror, but also…
…something else. Something he had once seen in Sophia's eyes.
"Don't say things like that," he had whispered back then, holding his own breath so it wouldn't shatter.
The sound of the engine, the smell of blood, the flashing lights reflected in the windshield—everything still lingered like a nightmare that refused to leave.
Since that night, Luca hadn't been able to sleep without seeing Gabriella's face. Not out of love, nor pity.
But because in the girl's eyes, he had seen himself—
A soul that had lost everything, yet still fought to live. Now, on the screen, Gabriella slowly put her pencil down. She stared at her drawing with an empty expression, then lifted the paper, studying it longer.
The paper trembled slightly in her hand, but did not fall. Then, slowly, she smiled—just barely. A fragile, almost invisible curve.
Viola covered her mouth, tears falling before she noticed. "Look… she's smiling…"
Luca remained still. But behind his calm stare, something trembled. A feeling he had not allowed himself to feel for a long time—warm, yet painful.
"Keep watching her," he said at last. "If she starts drawing again, don't stop her." His voice was low but steady.
Viola nodded, wiping her eyes. "You know, Luca… sometimes I think she draws because she knows someone is always watching her."
Luca looked at her for a moment, but said nothing.
Night fell.
In another room of the compound, Luca sat at the piano.
Only a single candle lit the space. His cold fingers hovered over the white keys.
Soft notes began to fill the room—not Moon River this time, but River Flows in You by Yiruma.
Gentle, quiet, like the sound of an unspoken heart.
Meanwhile, in the bedroom just a few meters away, Gabriella stirred from half-sleep. She recognized the melody.
The same sound that appeared in her dreams,
The voice that whispered, telling her not to be afraid.
She rose slowly, walked to the door, and pressed her ear against it. Her eyes closed, and for the first time… her face looked peaceful.
From the piano room, Luca paused for a moment, glancing at the small CCTV camera in the corner.
He saw Gabriella standing at the door, her head resting against it, eyes closed. He hadn't known she could hear him from that far. But he kept playing.
The final note he pressed gently—like a touch.
"Sleep, piccola anima," he whispered softly.
"You've fought enough for today."