While Azzurra endured the seizure of her talisman in Richmond, the sun rose over a radically transformed reality in Messina. Belinda and Nonna Anna had awakened in the villa's garden, still stained with ash and the scent of olive wood smoke in their hair. The sea was calm—a shade of blue so unnatural it seemed to have forgotten the fury of the previous night.
Elia found them there, sitting on the stone steps, and for the first time in months, his face was not etched with the lines of worry. "Belinda, Anna... you must come to the construction site. You won't believe your eyes."
When they arrived at Sant'Alessio, the scene was nearly surreal. The workers, who just the day before were talking about quitting for fear of the curse, were all at their posts, working in a reverent silence. The section of the pier that had collapsed had not only been cleared of debris; the remaining foundations seemed to have solidified overnight. But the most incredible thing was the footprints.
Upon the surface of the fresh concrete, poured only hours before the sabotage, tracks had appeared. Not the prints of work boots, but light ones, as if someone had danced upon the pier while the material was still plastic. They were the prints of bare feet—small and graceful.
"It was a miracle, Signora Belinda," exclaimed the foreman, a gruff man who rarely indulged in superstition. "This morning, we also found this."
He handed Belinda an object found among the rocks, at the exact spot where the pier had given way. It was a fragment of pink ribbon, soiled with mud but unmistakable: a satin ribbon identical to those on Azzurra's pointe shoes.
Belinda gripped the ribbon in her fist, feeling a shiver run down her spine. She looked at Anna, who nodded in silence. The bridge had been cast. Azzurra's strength had crossed the continent to materialize there, where Samuele's blood had once soaked the sand.
However, the "miracle" brought new complications. The local press, tipped off by someone unknown, began to speculate. The fund's enemies, led by a coalition of businessmen tied to the old Messinese political guard, used the event to fuel suspicion. "Occult Practices at the Lighthouse Construction Site," the online headlines shouted. The bureaucracy, already sluggish, turned hostile. A regional inspector arrived in the afternoon, demanding a suspension of work for "anomalous findings."
"They want to stop us just when we have Samuele's protection," Elia growled, slamming his fists onto the office table.
"Let them try, Elia," Belinda replied with a calmness that caught him off guard. "The pier is no longer just concrete. It is a symbol. And symbols are not torn down with stamps and signatures."
Anna, meanwhile, took charge of the "Canteen of Courage." She had gathered the women of the village—those who had lost husbands or sons during the hurricane—and set them to cooking for the volunteers. The villa had become a permanent center of gravity. But just as solidarity grew, Belinda received a phone call from London. It wasn't Azzurra; it was Erica.
Her sister-in-law's voice was tense, almost metallic. "Belinda, we need to talk about your daughter's future. What happened tonight at the school is unacceptable. Azzurra is unstable, and I believe the blame lies with you and these constant suggestions of yours. I have decided to limit her contact with you for a while. She needs discipline, not Sicilian ghosts."
"Erica, you don't understand," Belinda replied, trying to remain calm. "My daughter just saved the livelihoods of hundreds of people. She has a strength that you will never be able to fence in within your Richmond parks."
"That strength will destroy her if we don't control it," Erica shot back before hanging up.
Belinda looked out the window. The pier gleamed under the afternoon sun, more solid than it had ever been. She knew that Azzurra was in danger—not physical, but spiritual. The "silk" was trying to suffocate the "mud." But watching Nonna Anna distribute warm bread to the workers, Belinda realized the game was far from over.
"Anna," Belinda said, turning around. "We must send another message to Azzurra. But this time, it won't be through letters or the phone. We must use the Lighthouse."