"Wounds Still Wet"
Almost a month had passed since that blood-soaked night, yet the shadow of tragedy lingered in every corner of Luca's headquarters. The scent of antiseptic still clung to the air, faintly mixed with the smell of rain falling outside the window.
Luca stood before the window of his office, staring at the dim lights of Modena. One hand in his pocket, the other gripping a report Marco had just delivered. Under the glow of the desk lamp, his face looked like carved marble—cold, untouched, yet hiding something fractured beneath the quiet surface.
"It's time the world believes the Vega family is gone," Luca said softly without turning. His voice was flat, almost devoid of emotion.
Marco, standing a few steps behind him, nodded slowly.
"We've found a body outside the city, Signore. Unidentified, but damaged enough to be used. With the clothing and jewelry we planted, and with Doctor Dante's adjustments… the DNA test won't raise doubts."
Luca turned and stared at Marco long enough for the man to nearly lose his words.
"Make sure the police find it. No one must trace this back to us."
"It's been arranged, Signore. One of our contacts in the police will 'accidentally' report the discovery."
Luca stepped closer, placing a light tap on Marco's shoulder.
"Good. But remember, Marco… this isn't just to close the case. This is to protect that girl."
Marco lowered his head. "I understand."
Silence settled between them. Only the rain against the window filled the space between the two men.
Luca looked down again at the report in his hand, photographs of the murder scene, the blood left on the stone road, the Vega family's car now reduced to a charred frame.
Everything seemed to scream loss that could never be repaired. Luca tightened his grip on the papers.
"This world is cruel, Marco. But it is even crueler when it looks at a girl who has lost everything… and demands her to be strong."
"And that is why… you're making the world believe she died," Marco said quietly, as if grasping the weight behind the decision.
"Better for the world to bury her," Luca replied, voice rough with something he didn't want to name. "Than for them to come searching… and drag her back into hell."
Marco said nothing. There was something in Luca's tone, not just leadership, but the echo of a man speaking from his own past. Luca turned back to the window.
"Make sure every detail is flawless. Release the official statement to the media. No suspicions." He paused, then added, colder this time: "And make it look… like they died with her."
Marco stared at him for a moment, then nodded.
"I'll handle it tonight."
Luca moved to the liquor shelf, pouring a little whisky into a crystal glass, a routine with no intention of drinking it. He stared at the amber liquid as if looking at an old sin that refused to fade.
"How is Piccolina?" he finally asked, softly.
Marco glanced at the notes in his hand.
"Still under Doctor Dante and Miss Viola's care. She hasn't spoken since the last incident. Only sleeps and cries silently." Luca closed his eyes briefly, exhaling slowly.
"Keep protecting her. No one must know she's alive. If a single word leaks…"
"It won't, Signore," Marco cut in quickly. "I'll see to it."
Luca looked at him with an expression impossible to decipher, a mix of trust and caution, like a man who knew a single mistake could twist the fate of everyone he cared about.
"It's all we can do for her now," he murmured. "Keep this lie alive… so she can live inside it."
Outside, the rain fell harder. Lightning cracked across the Modena sky, illuminating Luca's reflection in the window.
As if the storm itself understood that tonight, someone had just buried the truth, to protect the final flicker of a fading hope.
"A Mourning World"
That morning, the city of Modena was wrapped in a thick blanket of fog. A place usually filled with movement felt strangely muted. On television screens, across newspaper pages, on every news portal, the Vega family's name returned to the public eye.
"Tragic Discovery on the Outskirts of the City: Vega Family Found Dead."
The headline appeared everywhere, accompanied by a photo of a burnt luxury car, half-covered by bushes and damp soil. Police guarded the scene, reporters fought for pictures, and the public mourned the loss of a family long known for their generosity and influence in the business world.
"The world does love a tragic story," Marco murmured, watching the broadcast from Luca's office. On the screen, a female reporter read the news with a somber tone.
"...the bodies are believed to belong to the well-known business couple, Antonio and Liana Vega, along with their daughter, Gabriella Vega, who had been previously reported missing. Police state that the remains are difficult to identify, but several personal items belonging to the family were found at the scene…"
Luca stood still, staring at the screen without reaction. His expression remained unreadable, but his finger tapped lightly against the wooden desk, a rhythm that always appeared when his mind was crowded.
"They'll believe it?" Marco asked cautiously.
"Yes," Luca replied curtly. "People want to believe. The world finds it easier to accept death than an unexplained disappearance."
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, in a dim bar in the industrial district. A group of tattooed men stared at the same news on a small wall-mounted screen.
Cigarette smoke thickened the air, blurring their grim expressions. One of them, with a faint scar cutting across his left cheek, stopped his beer mid-air. He glared at the report, then cursed under his breath.
"Vega? The ones we took out that night… that was them?" A man beside him grimaced with worry.
"Damn… you sure? Boss said it was just a small target, not big shots." The scarred man shot him a sharp look, jaw tightening.
"Don't mention the boss here. If that really was the Vega family… we're screwed."
They exchanged glances, and for a moment, even the blaring music of the bar seemed to vanish. None of them knew how deep the truth really ran.
They believed the girl was dead. But she was alive and eventually, the scar on that man's cheek would become the key to their downfall.
At the temporary funeral hall arranged by Vega's company, employees and colleagues arrived one after another to pay their final respects. A framed photograph of the family stood on a marble table, outlined in black, surrounded by white lilies.
"No one saw this coming…" whispered one young director, holding back tears.
"Mr. Antonio just signed a major project last month. And Gabriella… that girl always brought pastries for us every weekend."
A woman who had served as the family's long-time secretary covered her face with a handkerchief.
"They were too kind to die like this."
Elsewhere, Luca reviewed the funeral photos Marco had sent him. He knew every tear shed was for a lie he had crafted.
But within that lie lay Gabriella's safety, hidden among prayers and mourning flowers, the world would no longer search for her. Luca lit a cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke into the air.
"The world mourns," he said softly. "And for the first time… I feel relieved by a death that isn't real."
Marco observed him with an expression difficult to decipher.
"They believe it, Signore. Everyone believes it."
"Good," Luca said at last, crushing the cigarette in the ashtray. "Let them bury the past. Because as of today… Gabriella Vega never existed."
"The Funeral They Created"
The sky over Modena that evening was a muted gray. Heavy clouds gathered above the Vega family cemetery, as if they too bore the weight of the sorrow hanging in the air. The damp wind carried the scent of wet earth and lilies that filled every corner of the grounds.
Dozens of mourners stood in silence, some in black suits, some holding dark umbrellas. In the middle of them, three black coffins lay neatly arranged.
Their carvings were simple yet dignified, adorned with white ribbons bearing the names of a family that now existed only in memory: Antonio Vega, Liana Vega, and Gabriella Vega.
From afar, inside a black car parked on the hillside, Viola sat in the front seat while Luca stood beside another car, his long black coat brushing against the rain.
He never approached the ceremony. He only watched from a distance—silent, cold, like a shadow that wished to remain unseen.
Inside the car, Gabriella sat quietly in the back seat. Her eyes were empty, her hands trembling as they held the thin blanket on her lap. Viola watched her with aching sympathy.
"Sweetheart…" Viola whispered gently. "You don't have to look. We can go home if you want."
But Gabriella only stared forward, her eyes following the rows of black umbrellas and the open soil. There were no tears on her face. Only a heavy stillness, like someone who had cried so long that no water remained to fall.
"That's where they are," she murmured, her voice hoarse and barely audible. Viola turned her head, her heart clenching.
"Yes. But believe me, they're always with you, Gabriella."
Silence filled the space between them. A cold gust slid across the car window, making Gabriella's hair flutter softly. She clutched the blanket tighter.
"I didn't get to say goodbye," she whispered again. "I didn't get to hug them… to tell them I loved them."
Viola looked at her, forcing a trembling smile.
"They knew, Piccolina… they always knew." That word—Piccolina—made Gabriella snap her gaze toward her.
"Why did you call me that?" Viola froze, realizing her mistake. She lowered her gaze quickly, trying to hide her expression.
"I… I'm sorry. Signore sometimes calls you that." Gabriella fell silent, her eyes drifted back to the funeral.
"Does he come here often?" she asked softly.
"No," Viola replied honestly. "He only… watches from afar."
Outside, Luca stood in the rain that had begun to fall. He carried no umbrella. The water soaked his hair and coat, but he didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the coffins being lowered into the ground—two real, one fabricated.
But for the world, all three were real.
And for Luca, this lie was the only truth that could protect the girl.
Marco approached from the right, giving a small gesture that everything had gone smoothly. Luca nodded once, silently. His gaze shifted back toward the distant car, the place where Gabriella sat watching her own "death."
Inside the car, Viola watched the girl who remained motionless, wordless.
"I know this is hard. But your life isn't over, sweetheart." Gabriella closed her eyes slowly.
"My life ended that night, Miss Viola. I just… haven't been buried with them yet."
The words knocked the air from Viola's lungs. She reached out, wanting to hold the girl's hand, but Gabriella had already lowered her head, clutching her blanket instead.
From outside, Luca watched the scene for a long time. In the silence, he whispered, words meant only for the rain and the wind.
"Sleep, Piccolina. Let the world believe you're gone… so you can live again."
Then he turned and walked away through the rain and soft earth. Not a single mourner realized that the man was the architect behind Gabriella Vega's "death."
No one knew the girl they were grieving still breathed, hidden behind the veil of a world shaped by deception.
Back in the car, Gabriella opened her eyes again. In the reflection of the glass, she caught a faint glimpse of a man in a black coat walking away with heavy steps.
She didn't know who he was. But somehow her heart whispered softly, as if recognizing a promise from a distant dream.
"Don't be afraid… I will always protect you."
The sentence echoed in her mind, cutting through the stillness as the rain continued to fall without pause.
Night returned over Modena. The wind carried the damp scent of the garden, slipping through the crack of a window facing the outside. Luca still stood in the same spot he had occupied since the afternoon, his eyes fixed on the soft glow from Gabriella's room.
The girl now slept on the sofa, a blanket over her small frame, a pencil still in her hand. On the table. The drawing of a man's silhouette by the lake remained unfinished, as if she had been too tired to complete her memory.
Luca watched her quietly, his breaths slow. Something in his chest stirred, neither pity nor regret. Only the realization that the girl, with her wounds and her silence, was slowly becoming a part of a life he never planned.
He lowered his head slightly and whispered,
"Rest well, Gabriella. The world out there… leave it to me."
He turned and walked away, leaving the room soaked in gentle mist. The warm light from Gabriella's room glowed softly behind the glass, the only light still burning in the dark fortress of La Famiglia Nera that night.