Morning arrived gently in Modena. Sunlight slipped through the wide windows, reflecting softly on the clear glass panels that had been installed just the night before.
The new room stood on the eastern side of the compound, connected to a small garden that was usually quiet in the late afternoon. Unlike the cold, sterile medical room, this one felt warm, calming—its walls made entirely of glass from floor to ceiling.
But the glass was no ordinary glass. The side facing the garden was one-way; from inside, Gabriella could see the trees, the flowers swaying in the wind, and the fading evening sky. But from the outside, anyone passing by would only see their own reflection—as if the room were empty.
Meanwhile, the side facing the interior of the house was crafted differently upon Luca's request: from inside it appeared hazy, like a normal wall, but from the outside, he could see through clearly. He wanted Gabriella to feel free, but still remain under his protection.
The room still smelled of fresh paint—everything looked clean, warm, and peaceful. Not at all like the cold white room where Gabriella had spent her silent days.
Luca stood at the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back. He observed the final result with a calm yet calculating gaze.
The one-way glass stretched from floor to ceiling, separating the room from the small garden outside—a garden he had ordered to be decorated with lavender, the soft color often associated with serenity.
Outside, the breeze moved gently, brushing the petals of freshly blooming flowers. Sunlight touched the leaves, casting shimmering reflections like living shards of glass.
"It's exactly as you requested, Signore," Marco said from near the door. "The glass can only be seen through from the inside. From the garden, no one will know if someone is behind it."
Luca nodded without looking away. "Good."
He lifted a finger, touching the surface of the glass—cold to the touch, yet strangely calming.
"Make sure the garden is tended every day. No loud noises around this area."
"Yes, sir." Marco gave a short nod and left the room.
Luca remained alone, staring at the faint reflection of himself in the glass. In his mind, only one thought lingered: Maybe with this… she'll breathe a little easier.
A few hours later, Viola stood at the door of Gabriella's room. She knocked softly—the sound barely audible. As usual, there was no answer. But this time, Viola entered anyway, carrying a small tray with a cup of hot chocolate and a piece of soft bread.
"Good morning, Gabriella," she greeted gently, just like every day.
The girl sat in her usual corner, knees hugged tightly to her chest, her eyes empty. But this time, her head tilted slightly toward Viola. Not for long, only a few seconds, but to Viola, it was enough to make her heart tremble.
"I made your favorite hot chocolate again," she said softly, placing the cup on the table. "You know… today, I want to show you something. But only if you want to see it."
There was no reply, just a glance that drifted from Viola's hand to the door. Viola offered a small smile. She understood the look: Gabriella was afraid.
Slowly, Viola approached, keeping a safe distance.
"It's alright, Gabriella. The place I want to show you is beautiful. There's light, flowers… and the sky. Unlike this room."
She waited, but Gabriella remained silent.
Yet something in her eyes shifted—a faint curiosity beneath the layers of fear.
Viola extended her hand—not forcing, just waiting.
After several long seconds, Gabriella's trembling fingers reached out and touched her. The contact was fragile, feather-light, but it made Viola's eyes burn with tears.
"Good girl," she whispered with a smile. "Come, I'll be right beside you."
Gabriella's first step was unbearably heavy, as if every tile she crossed held the shadow of her past. But Viola walked patiently beside her, glancing occasionally at the girl who clung tightly to the edge of her sleeve.
As they passed the long corridor, the sunlight from the windows touched Gabriella's soft brown hair—its faint shimmer making Viola hold her breath.
God… she can still look this beautiful after everything she's been through.
The door to the new room opened slowly. Light immediately greeted them, warm and gentle.
Gabriella froze in the doorway, her body tensed. She stared at the glass wall, and beyond it, a small garden bathed in soft green and silvery lavender swayed in the breeze.
For the first time since that day, Gabriella truly lifted her face. Her eyes stared outward, her pupils trembling, and something inside her seemed to crack open—slowly.
Viola loosened her grip and stepped back gently.
"See? There's nothing here that can hurt you, Gabriella. Just the sky… and flowers. You can look at the world again without being afraid of it."
Gabriella took a few hesitant steps until she stood right before the glass. Her fingers reached out, touching the surface. The coldness made her shiver slightly, but she didn't pull back this time.
She kept looking outside, seeing her own reflection blend softly with the garden's light.
Tears slid down Viola's cheeks before she realized it. She covered her mouth to hold back a small sob.
This… this is a huge step, Gabriella. You did it.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Viola whispered shakily.
Gabriella didn't answer. But her eyes glimmered.
And she nodded—just barely—yet enough to make Viola almost cry aloud.
In the upper monitoring room, Luca stood before the large screen. He watched everything—every movement, every tiny step Gabriella made. When the girl lifted her hand to the glass as if reaching for the light, he exhaled slowly.
"Look at her," Dante murmured beside him. "She's starting to face the world again."
Luca did not respond. His gaze remained fixed on the screen. The light from the garden reflected on Gabriella's hair, making her seem like a delicate silhouette slowly finding direction.
A few seconds later, Luca spoke softly, almost like a whisper:
"Keep looking out there, piccola luce.
The world behind that glass… might become your home someday."
He knew it might take a long time before she could step outside and stand under the same sky as him.
But today, for the first time, Luca saw a flicker of life in the eyes that once held only fear.
And for a man like Luca Moretti, who had lived too long in the shadows, that flicker meant more than anything.
Behind the Glass
That afternoon, the sky over Modena glowed gold. The slanted sunlight filtered through the large glass wall on the side of the room, falling softly across the pale marble floor. Inside the room that had now become Gabriella's living space, the scent of warm chocolate and jasmine blended gently in the air.
Viola sat on a chair near the window, letting a soft melody play from her phone—calming music, almost like a faint whisper drifting through the quiet of time.
Gabriella sat on the floor, leaning against the one-way glass wall facing the small garden. Her right hand held a pencil, a white sheet of paper resting on her lap.
There was no definite direction in the lines she drew, yet something lived within them, a mixture of emptiness and blurred memories.
On the other side of the glass, Luca stood still. His black suit contrasted with the soft lavender sky behind him. He didn't move, didn't speak, simply watched the girl in silence.
From here, he could see every small detail, the slight tilt of Gabriella's head when she was thinking, the gentle movements of her fingers as she sketched, even the quiet way she breathed as if afraid the world would shatter if she made too much noise.
Viola glanced at the glass, aware Luca was there. She offered a faint smile before turning back to Gabriella.
"Gaby, how about drawing the garden out there? The roses are blooming, they're so beautiful, aren't they?"
Gabriella looked outside. Through the reflection of her own faint silhouette, she could see the soft pink hidden among green leaves. Her gaze lingered for a while before her hand began to move again.
This time, the lines were no longer random, but forming a shape—blurred, yet meaningful.
Luca unconsciously held his breath. He recognized that figure. The same silhouette he had seen on Gabriella's desk a week ago.
A silhouette with broad shoulders, a head slightly bowed, and a gaze that seemed to always watch from afar.
"She's still drawing him…" Luca whispered to himself.
Behind him, Marco stood quietly, keeping a respectful distance. "Maybe it's her way of remembering something, Signore."
Luca didn't respond. His eyes stayed on the girl.
There was a strange heaviness in his chest, somewhere between relief that Gabriella was opening up, and fear… because behind those lines. The one she was drawing might be him.
Inside the room, Viola knelt beside Gabriella.
"That's beautiful…" she whispered softly, careful not to disturb the fragile peace. She knew that for Gabriella, drawing was the truest form of communication. No words needed, no voice required—only lines that spoke for her.
Gabriella paused, staring at her sketch. Her gaze lingered on the silhouette, then her small hand slowly rose and touched the glass in front of her.
From the outside, Luca saw it. He froze.
That tiny hand pressed against the glass, right where he was standing. Only a thin sheet of glass separated them, the bright world inside and the shadowed world outside.
His heart felt heavy, yet warm. He lifted his hand slowly, placing it against the same spot on his side of the glass. No touch. No words. But something between them connected in a silence so deep even time seemed to stop.
Viola saw the scene and lowered her gaze. She knew Gabriella had no idea someone stood behind the glass. Yet the girl's instinct sensed something, some presence she recognized without ever seeing.
Minutes passed. The melody from Viola's phone shifted into a soft piano piece, Moonlight Sonata.
Luca almost smiled, just barely. Ironically, it was the same music he had listened to on the night he found Gabriella covered in blood on the street. Now, the melody returned, gentler, softer… alive.
"Thank you, Viola," he murmured, though she couldn't hear him.
Inside, Viola stood and glanced at the glass, catching the faint silhouette of Luca. She knew he wouldn't enter, not yet. But the look on his face told her there was another wound behind his cold exterior. A wound that belonged to Luca alone.
Gabriella looked at the glass again, as if she heard something. Her eyes shifted, no longer as empty as before. There was a flicker. Small, faint, but real.
Maybe warmth had passed through the glass. Maybe it was just the reflection of twilight. But for Luca, it was enough.
As night began to fall, Viola gently tapped Gabriella's shoulder. "Come on, it's late. Time to rest."
Gabriella looked up, then hugged her drawing tightly before standing. She went to the bed and lay down, holding the picture against her chest.
From outside the glass, Luca remained still.
"Sleep well, piccola anima…" he whispered. "You've fought enough for today."
As the lights inside the room dimmed, only one thing remained—two shadows separated by glass, yet bound by something neither of them could name.
Night slowly settled over Modena, wrapping La Famiglia Nera's headquarters in a silence even the wind hesitated to disturb. In the small eastern garden, warm yellow lights illuminated the damp leaves and the transparent glass of the room where Gabriella now slept.
Inside, the girl had fallen asleep in her chair—a blanket tucked up to her shoulders. The soft glow of the lamp made her face look more serene than usual, though her lips would occasionally move as if whispering someone's name in a dream.
Outside the glass, Luca stood with his arms folded. He stared at the girl for a long time, until Marco appeared behind him carrying something draped beneath a black cloth.
"Everything is ready, Signore," Marco said quietly. "Just as you requested."
Luca turned slightly. Beneath the cloth, the polished wooden edge of a small classic piano peeked through—dark brown, gentle in tone, made not for grand halls but for quiet rooms like this.
"Do it slowly," Luca instructed.
They waited a moment, making sure Gabriella was still asleep, before opening the door as silently as possible. Viola and Dante, still standing watch in the corridor, held their breath.
Marco entered first, lifting the back of the piano while two others supported the front. The tiny wheels beneath it barely made a sound. Luca followed last, his steps quiet, eyes never leaving Gabriella.
They placed the piano on the right side of the room, facing the glass that looked out to the garden. The very spot where Gabriella usually sat.
Luca rested his hand on the polished wood, brushing it as though touching something precious.
"Make sure she never knows who bought it," he said softly, nearly a murmur lost to the quiet room.
Marco nodded. "I'll tell Viola. The piano will look like a donation from a hospital or an arts foundation, just as you wanted."
Luca offered only a faint nod, then stepped closer. He gazed at Gabriella's sleeping face—her eyelids trembling slightly, as if still fighting a battle inside her dreams.
"This girl…" he said quietly, almost to himself. "She's still searching for her way back to life."
Viola, standing at the doorway, looked at her too. Something in Luca's tone held both sorrow and hope.
"Maybe music will guide her, Signore. She always looks at the piano whenever she hears a melody from my phone."
Luca turned to look at the instrument again. "Then let the music wake her, not anyone's voice."
He walked out of the room without looking back, but just before leaving completely, he paused in front of the glass. In the faint reflection, he could still see Gabriella's face—small, fragile, yet somehow… calming.
When the door closed softly behind him, Viola gazed at the piano with misted eyes. She touched its smooth surface, then looked at the sleeping girl.
"One day, you'll play again, Gabriella," she whispered. "And when that day comes, I want to see you smile."
Outside, Luca stood under Modena's cloudy night sky. The cool wind carried the scent of rain and jasmine from the garden. He gazed toward the glass from afar—from the side where no one inside could see him.
And for the first time, a man who had spent his life in shadows found himself watching a small point of light behind the darkness.
A light that slowly, unknowingly—began to warm a part of him long frozen.