Morning light slipped through the thin curtains, falling softly across the marble floor and brushing the ends of Gabriella's hair that draped over her shoulders. The air inside the room was still cold, but the sunlight carried a gentle warmth, one she rarely felt on the days before.
Gabriella's eyelids fluttered slowly, as if reluctant to leave the dream that was holding her. She opened her eyes, her vision blurry for a moment, until it caught something different in the corner of the room.
A piano.
A small, dark brown piano stood gracefully not far from her, reflecting the sunlight pouring from the garden side. Gabriella stared at it for a long moment, unmoving. Her heartbeat quickened slightly—she didn't know whether from surprise or something else, something she couldn't name.
Her hand moved slowly as she pulled off the blanket and stood up without a sound. She walked closer, her steps light, almost hesitant. Her fingers touched the smooth wooden surface. Cold. Yet somehow, warmth seeped into her chest—warmth from a memory she couldn't quite grasp.
She closed her eyes. In that brief darkness, she heard faint echoes of notes, the same piano, played softly somewhere between dreams and reality. A melody that had lived only in the shadows of her sleep.
Viola, who had just entered with a cup of warm chocolate, froze at the doorway. She was stunned by the sight, Gabriella standing before the piano with her eyes closed, fingers hovering over the white keys.
"Gabriella…" she called gently, almost whispering so she wouldn't startle her.
The girl opened her eyes and looked at Viola. She didn't speak, but there was something there—a small, fragile light, like an ember starting to glow again.
Viola smiled softly, set the cup on the table, and sat down on the chair near the window.
"It's beautiful, isn't it? Luca arranged it for you," she said lightly.
Gabriella lowered her gaze to the piano again. She didn't respond, only sat on the small bench prepared for her. Her fingers hovered above the keys, not pressing them yet—while her shoulders rose and fell gently, as if she were listening to something inside her mind.
The silence wasn't tense—just peaceful.
Outside, behind the one-way glass facing the garden, Luca stood quietly. His eyes never left Gabriella. He knew she wasn't ready to look at the face of any man, but this morning… just seeing her small figure in front of the piano eased something in his chest.
Marco stood not far behind him, whispering,
"She seems to like it, Signore."
Luca didn't answer. He simply watched, his breath heavy yet steady.
"Let her find her own music," he said at last. "We don't need to rush."
Inside the room, Viola watched as Gabriella pressed a single key—a soft note drifting through the air, faint yet real. The first sound to echo through the space that had once been filled with fear.
Viola covered her mouth, holding back her emotion.
Luca, outside the glass, lowered his head slightly.
That first note might not have been perfect, but to him… it was a sign the girl was beginning to live again.
Night slowly crept over the compound. The garden lights had dimmed, leaving only a soft golden glow reflecting off the glass walls of Gabriella's room. Inside, silence wrapped the space—only the ticking of a clock and the faint whisper of air from the vents could be heard.
Gabriella wasn't asleep yet. She sat in the chair in front of the piano, still wearing the gray sweater Viola had given her that afternoon. Her eyes stared at her reflection in the glass—dim, blurry, like a shadow not entirely real.
On the small table beside her, the sketch papers scattered—one of them showing the faint silhouette of a man in a dark suit, standing with his back to the light. A silhouette that had appeared more and more often in her dreams.
Her hand reached toward the piano keys again. Her fingers hovered midair, hesitant. Then, with a deep breath, she played a single note.
The soft sound rose and dissolved quickly. Gabriella bowed her head, listening to it like a child hearing a secret from an inanimate object. She pressed another key, then two—then three. The notes were soft, uneven, but there was something gentle and full of feeling behind the irregularity.
Those notes slowly formed a short melody, like someone trying to speak after being silent for far too long.
In the next room, Luca still sat in his office. The stack of documents before him no longer held his attention when he heard a faint sound coming from the small speaker on his desk.
He stopped writing, lifted his head. And went still, the sound came from the glass room—the piano.
The notes were so soft, like someone trying to speak with a trembling voice. Luca knew that sound. The gentle vibration of uncertainty, the rawness of emotion. He stood, walking down the long corridor toward Gabriella's room.
From behind the one-way glass, he watched. The soft light inside the room illuminated Gabriella's face, revealing a calm expression he hadn't seen since the day he found her.
Each key she pressed sounded like a fragment of the past returning to life. No words, no tears. Only simple, honest melody.
Luca stared for a long moment. Something warm flowed through his chest, something he thought had died long ago with the blood on his hands.
When Gabriella stopped and gazed down at the piano for a long moment, he whispered—knowing she couldn't hear him:
"Keep playing, piccola anima… let your music speak."
Gabriella looked at her reflection in the glass again, and somehow—for a moment—she felt she wasn't alone.
Morning came gently to Modena.
The first glow of sunlight streamed through the large window facing the garden, spreading warm light across the room where Gabriella stayed. Dew still clung to the rose leaves Viola had planted a week ago, casting soft shadows across the white marble floor.
When Viola opened the door, carrying the warm chocolate, she paused at the threshold—her eyes immediately catching something different.
The glass curtain that was usually always closed… was now slightly open. Not completely, just a small gap, but enough for the light to slip inside.
Viola's steps halted for a few seconds. Warmth spread through her chest, and a small smile appeared on her lips without her realizing it.
"Buongiorno, Gabriella…" she greeted softly, careful not to startle the girl.
Gabriella was sitting near the piano, her hair falling loosely and covering part of her face. She didn't turn around, but her shoulders moved slightly, as if she had heard. Viola walked closer, placing a cup of hot chocolate on the table, right beside the growing stack of sketch papers.
Among those sketches, there was one that made Viola freeze for a long moment. The silhouette that had once been vague was now clearer — its shoulders broad, its head slightly bowed, with strong facial lines.
That face… resembled Luca. Viola stared at it for a long time. A strange tremor ran through her chest, somewhere between awe and fear, between wonder and confusion.
Her hand trembled as she touched the edge of the paper. "Gabriella…" she called softly, almost in a whisper.
The girl still didn't answer, but her fingers held the pencil in her right hand — not just resting, but drawing the final line on the paper, as if asserting that the figure was real.
"It's beautiful," Viola finally said, holding back the tears rising in her eyes. "Is he… the person you remember from your dreams?"
Gabriella paused. The pencil slipped from her hand and fell to the floor, its sound sharp and clear in the silence of the room.
She stared at the drawing for a long time, then shifted her gaze toward the glass — the place where Luca usually stood.
Her expression was blank but sharp, as if something inside her had begun to recognize the presence of someone behind the shadows.
Viola followed Gabriella's gaze but saw no one. Only the reflection of the garden and the morning light shining through the one-way glass.
A soft smile appeared on Gabriella's lips. Brief, faint — but enough to make Viola cover her mouth with her hand, overwhelmed. It was her first smile since the tragedy.
In another room, Luca — who had just arrived, stood behind the glass, silently watching the scene. For the first time, he felt the crushing weight on his chest lift just a little.
And under his breath, a quiet murmur escaped, barely audible:
"Ben tornata… Gabriella." Welcome back… Gabriella.
Echoes in the Headlines
A month had passed since the disappearance of the Vega family.
The massive search operation conducted by the Bologna police had yielded nothing. No vehicle, no witnesses.
No CCTV footage showing any trace of their whereabouts.
It was as if the entire family had been swallowed whole by the darkness of the night. Today, the official announcement finally appeared on national media.
"After one month without new evidence," the news anchor's voice sounded calm yet cold, "Bologna police have decided to suspend the investigation regarding the disappearance of the Vega family. The case will remain closed until new clues emerge."
Within hours, the name Vega was back everywhere—on TV screens and across the internet.
Photographs of Anthony Vega and his wife filled the front pages of news portals; a young Gabriella, smiling softly in an old portrait, appeared on the covers of morning newspapers.
The public sympathized. They believed the family had fallen victim to a tragedy beyond explanation.
But amid the uproar of headlines and public speculation, one man simply stood in a dimly lit room, staring blankly.
Luca Moretti watched the television in his office.
His gaze was sharp yet heavy. Gabriella's face appeared on the screen, the same face he last saw drenched in blood, lying in his arms that night.
Now, the world believed she was gone. And only he, Marco, Viola, and Dante knew the truth.
"Vega case officially suspended," Marco said quietly, standing a few steps behind. "They've given up, Signore."
Luca didn't respond. He simply raised the volume, listening as the anchor read out the chronology of the Vega family's disappearance, including the police statement suggesting they were likely victims of a violent crime.
Each sentence was like a knife reopening an old wound.
"The media will keep digging into this," Marco added. "The Vegas were influential. Someone will try to look deeper."
Luca muted the television.
"Erase every record related to Gabriella," he said flatly.
"It's done. Dante and Viola have already hidden every document connected to her."
"If only I'd arrived five minutes earlier…" he murmured.
Marco lowered his gaze. There were no words that could ease that weight.
The night of the massacre would never leave their memories. And Luca had been the only one to witness how Gabriella had nearly lost her final breath in the middle of fire and blood.
Luca closed his eyes, forcing his mind to settle.
"She will live under a new name," he said at last. "Starting today, Gabriella Vega no longer exists. What remains is a girl who will choose her own name… someday."
Marco nodded silently and left the room.
When the door closed, Luca walked to the large window. Rain fell again, coating the glass and blurring his reflection. He raised a hand, touching the cold surface as though he could reach back through time.
"Forgive me, Anthony…" he whispered. "I could only save one life."
In a room across the small garden, Gabriella sat by the window, staring at the same rain-soaked sky.
Her hand held a pencil, sketching aimlessly across paper.
The lines were messy, but slowly they formed a figure—a man with gentle eyes and wounds hidden within them.
Viola entered quietly, carrying a cup of warm chocolate.
"I knew you weren't asleep," she said softly. "You're drawing again, hmm?"
Gabriella looked down at her sketch.
"I don't know why… but this face keeps appearing," she whispered.
"Whose face?" Viola asked.
Gabriella shook her head.
"I'm not sure. But… it feels like someone who once protected me."
Viola fell silent. A faint smile touched her lips, though her eyes glimmered.
"If that's what it feels like… maybe he really did."
Gabriella lowered her gaze again, staring at her unfinished drawing. Outside, the rain grew heavier.
And without knowing it, on the other side of the same garden, Luca stood behind his own window—watching hers in silence.
He knew she wasn't healed. But at least… she was alive.
"Sleep, piccolina," he whispered, barely audible. "The world doesn't need to know you still breathe."
The rain bore silent witness to two souls bound by the same bloody night—one because he lost everything, the other because she was saved.
And from that day on, there was no longer a Gabriella Vega for the world.
Only a girl without a name… and a man determined to keep that lie alive.
"When the World Stops Searching"
It had been a month since the name Vega last appeared on television. For just as long, Modena felt swallowed by an eerie quiet—as if the entire city mourned someone without knowing who.
In his wide, cold office, Luca sat before a television broadcasting the morning news. The anchor looked solemn, his tone flat yet carrying a sense of loss.
"After one month without results, the Bologna Police Department has officially closed the case concerning the disappearance of the Vega family. No new evidence has been found regarding the whereabouts of Antonio Vega, Liana Vega, or their daughter, Gabriella Vega.
Authorities believe it is highly likely that the family died during the violent attack that occurred that night."
The words flowed like a cold blade cutting without blood.
Luca showed no emotion. His fingers only tapped the table—light, rhythmic, almost soundless.
Marco stood near the door, head bowed respectfully.
"News outlets across Italy have broadcast the statement, Signore. Everyone believes they're gone."
Luca switched the television off with a single click.
The dark screen reflected his face—a man with sharp features yet eyes holding something deeper than authority and power.
"Good," he said quietly. "From today on, the world stops searching for Gabriella Vega."
He stood and walked toward the large window overlooking the back garden of the compound. Sunlight filtered through the glass—warm, but not enough to thaw the cold in his chest.
"Marco," he said without turning, "destroy every medical record, file, and document related to the Vega family. Not a single trace must remain."
"It's been done, Signore. Dante hid all digital archives as well. No one will know who she really is."
Luca fell silent, gazing into the distance.
Through the one-way glass on the opposite side of the garden, he saw a small figure sitting on a wicker chair—a blanket over her legs, a cup of chocolate on a table beside her.
Gabriella.
She looked at the sky, eyes empty but no longer as hollow as before.
"She's drinking on her own," Luca murmured, almost to himself. Marco followed his gaze and nodded.
"Yes, Signore. Viola says it's a significant improvement. Sometimes she looks outside… as if she remembers something."
Luca drew a deep breath. "She must not remember."
A heavy silence settled again. Only the ticking clock filled the space between them.
Marco knew when to stay silent.
"The world may have stopped searching for her," Luca said softly, "but those who hunt her haven't. As long as I'm breathing…" He looked toward the glass again.
"…no one will ever touch her."
Marco responded just as quietly, "Capisco, Signore."
Luca nodded once and walked to the drinks cabinet. He poured a little whisky into a crystal glass but didn't drink it. The golden liquid trembled in his hand, catching the soft evening light.
Outside, Gabriella slowly looked toward the same garden—unaware that beyond the one-way glass, someone watched over her every day, every hour, every breath.
To the world, Gabriella Vega was dead.
But to Luca Moretti, the girl was just beginning to live again—within a life built on lies, loneliness, and the protection he crafted with his own hands.