The drawing room was heavy with the scent of old wood and incense, a quiet hush that seemed to have settled there long before anyone had walked in. Clara Moretti sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, her fingers drumming lightly against its surface, a rhythm meant to anchor herself but failing in its purpose. The morning light fell in muted strips across her face, highlighting the fine lines of worry that had deepened in the last few years. Beside her, Isabella's posture was rigid, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She avoided looking at her mother directly, as though the sight of her grief might fracture the fragile calm they both clung to.
Across from them, Aunt Anna and Aunt Elena, sisters-in-law who had seen the Moretti household through decades of whispered secrets and quiet scheming, exchanged glances. Both women carried the weight of the family's reputation in their posture, in the careful way they arranged their skirts and folded their hands. Their expressions were pale, almost ghostly, but their eyes carried the memory of battles fought quietly behind closed doors—battles meant to protect what could not be spoken aloud.
Clara broke the silence first, her voice trembling just slightly.
"They say… the uploader is in custody. The one from the park video."
Anna's hand went to her mouth, fingers trembling. "And they say… he sits calm while the world falls apart around him." Her voice was low, reverent, almost a prayer.
"Calm," Clara repeated, tasting the word like bile. "As if… as if nothing touches him." Her eyes dropped to the floor. "It wasn't always like this. He was… he was a child. A boy who laughed too loudly, who begged me not to scold him… who helped Isabella with her homework and tried to sneak Mia sweets."
Isabella inhaled sharply. "I remember. Fifteen, maybe fourteen… before Father died… he would sit by the fire and tell us stories he made up. Not dark ones, not… this. Not horrors." Her voice faltered. She swallowed, looking away, the memory burning too bright to hold.
Elena spoke, her tone steadier, colder. "And now they say he leaves men to starve. That he can take entire blocks, entire streets… and make them crumble with fear, with hunger. Bodies found in ways no one should survive and no one can report."
Anna shivered. "They say even women… even children sometimes… vanish. And no one ever knows what became of them. The city whispers it. Every name, every corner… remembers him."
Clara's hand clenched the arm of her chair. "And yet… I remember the boy who asked me why the moon was so lonely." Her voice cracked. "How did he… how did he become this? How can a child who begged not to hurt insects grow into…" She couldn't finish the sentence. The word that should have filled the silence was too sharp, too monstrous.
Isabella's eyes glistened. "I've tried to understand. I've asked myself… when did he stop laughing? When did he stop speaking? When did he… stop being my brother?"
Anna leaned forward. "Do you remember, before the stories… the whispers… the ones we all feared would grow into truth? Before any of us could see it? How he moved through the house, polite, almost shy? The way he would watch us… and always, always, obeyed the rules of our mothers?"
Elena's lips pressed into a line. "That obedience, that discipline… it's what made the boy clever, the boy dangerous. They say he learned fear like a map. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen… every year another corner of the city bent under him, every step calculated."
Clara shuddered, her eyes moist. "And now… now he is untouchable. Everything he touches, everything he sees… becomes fear. A monster… and we… we… gave him our trust, our blood."
Isabella's hands tightened in her lap. "We confronted him. We tried. We tried to make him remember. But the world had already whispered to him… told him who he could be. The city… the rumors… they became his mirrors."
Anna's gaze softened slightly. "But not everyone is cruel. Enzo… Luca… they have their limits. They were tested. They were confronted by us. They were told, explicitly, what is forbidden. And they obeyed."
Elena nodded. "Yes. They only strike when the family is threatened. They protect us. Their cruelty… is reserved for those who attack first. That is their morality, their line."
Clara's lips trembled. "Even so… even with them, I am terrified. We hear about the uploader, and my stomach twists. And yet… I cannot believe the police will stop him. He does not obey their laws. He never has."
Isabella's voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you think… do you think the boy we loved… the innocent boy, has completely vanished?"
No one spoke for a long moment. Only the faint ticking of the clock filled the silence, punctuating their terror, their grief, and the gnawing horror that Vincenzo Moretti—the boy they once knew—was now a name that dripped fear into every corner of Portovelo.
Clara shifted in her chair, the velvet cushions barely softening the weight of her thoughts. She drew in a slow, shaky breath, recalling the quiet mornings before tragedy fell over the household. "Do you remember," she asked, almost to herself, "before his father… before all that happened… how he would wake up before dawn, even on weekends, and quietly organize the study for us? He was careful… meticulous… almost painfully kind."
Isabella nodded, her gaze distant. "He would leave small notes for us. 'Don't worry, I've checked your lesson plans,' or 'I brought you fresh fruit.'" She laughed softly, a hollow sound, her hands gripping the arms of her chair. "It seems impossible that the boy who whispered 'I've got your back' could become…" Her voice faltered. She swallowed hard. "The stories we hear now."
Anna folded her hands in her lap. "It is the way of this family, isn't it? Power shapes people. Fear teaches them patience. Pain… hardens them beyond recognition." She paused, glancing at Elena. "He was… harmless once. Innocent. The city, the whispers… they made him into a different creature."
Elena nodded slowly. "It began small, I think. Fifteen… he was clever. He knew how to avoid punishment. He knew how to make people fear him without lifting a finger. It's what made him untouchable so quickly." Her voice dropped. "By sixteen, the stories started to twist… the first disappearances, the intimidation. By seventeen, the city bent to him. By eighteen… he was a shadow over everyone. And we… we knew nothing could stop him."
Clara's fingers trembled as she touched the polished wood of the table. "I tried to reach him once, after his father died… I begged him to speak to me, to explain why he ignored us, why his eyes became… hollow. Why he would look at Isabella or me and see nothing but… calculation." She looked down, voice breaking. "He said.. nothing. He… he refused."
Isabella's lips pressed tightly together. "We confronted him later. Both of us. After hearing what he had done… after the rumors became too monstrous to ignore… we demanded to know why. And he… he listened, and said that it is coincidence. With That cold look. That… expressionless silence. It's burned into me. I can still feel it."
Anna's hand hovered over the arm of her chair, as though she might reach out and steady Clara, but didn't. "And yet, he is still our son, our brother. The innocent boy has… vanished, yes, but the family name… the family's safety… relies on him. That is what makes this situation… unbearable."
Elena added quietly, "And still, Enzo and Luca… they have limits. They are cruel in their own ways, yes, but only when the family is threatened. That morality… that line… is what gives me some semblance of hope. They obey our instructions when it matters. They would never harm without cause. Not like him."
Clara's eyes filled with tears. "Even so, the uploader… what will happen? The police… they cannot touch him. They can't. Every report, every file… he bends them all to his will. And yet, my stomach twists at the thought. He might act again. He might…" She broke off, unable to continue.
Isabella's voice was barely audible. "It is… horrifying to think how a boy so innocent became this… but the city made him. The whispers, the fear, the legend… it taught him. Every year, another step further into darkness. Every corner of Portovelo remembers him."
Anna leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "And the past… we can remember him, the boy, and mourn the loss, but the present demands that we survive. That is why we speak of Enzo and Luca with care. They are not like him. They protect, they obey… they have been confronted by us before. They know what cannot be crossed."
Elena's voice softened, but remained firm. "We can only hope that in this chaos… no innocent will suffer. That the uploader… that the police station… they might survive the night. But deep down… we know the boy we loved is gone, replaced by the monster everyone fears."
Clara pressed her palms to her eyes. "I wish… I wish we could have done something sooner. That he could have stayed… that he could have remained the child we knew. But the city… the world… it demanded otherwise. And now… now we live with this fear every day."
Isabella nodded. "It is unbearable… to realize that our own flesh, our own blood… is capable of such horror. And yet… we must survive it. We must remember the line… Enzo and Luca's line… and cling to it, however fragile it may be."
Anna and Elena exchanged a glance, a silent understanding. They had lived through decades of Moretti family history. They had seen monsters emerge from innocence before. But this… this was something different. A boy had become a name that dripped terror into the streets of Portovelo. And the family… they could only wait.
The room fell into a heavy silence again. Sunlight shifted across the floorboards, catching on dust motes that floated lazily in the air, indifferent to the storm of fear and grief that had settled over the women. Outside, the city churned, whispers growing louder with each passing hour. And within the walls of the Moretti estate, the past and present collided in silent, trembling horror.