Silence.
Only the steady beep of the IV pump and the faint rise and fall of her chest proved that life hadn't completely left her. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air, cold metal seemed to seep into her bones. In the darkness of her fading consciousness, Gabriella heard a distant voice — someone calling her name, though she couldn't tell from where.
When her eyelids slowly fluttered open, a blinding white light stung her eyes, bringing tears unbidden. Her vision swam, the world shifting sluggishly, like a dream refusing to end. Footsteps approached — soft, yet sharp enough to make her chest tighten.
"Gabriella… can you hear me?" A woman's voice. Gentle. But to Gabriella, every sound felt like a threat.
She swallowed, wincing at the pain in her chest, and when a pair of hands reached toward her, she flinched violently.
"Don't! Don't touch me!" Her voice broke, her breathing ragged. Her body trembled uncontrollably, her eyes darting around the room — white walls, blankets, cables, and… a shadow behind the glass.
A tall man stood outside, unmoving, but even from behind the glass his stare felt sharp enough to pierce through her. She didn't know him, but her heartbeat spiked. Gunshots echoed in her mind. Car headlights. Her mother's scream.
"Mom! Dad!" she cried out, attempting to sit up — only for the searing pain in her chest to make her scream. Her hands clawed at the air, reaching for something that wasn't there.
A nurse inches closer. Gabriella screams louder.
"Go away! Help me!" Tears streamed down her cheeks, her breaths coming in desperate gasps.
Outside the glass, Luca watched in silence. His jaw tightened — not in anger, but in a guilt he couldn't explain. He wanted to enter, but he knew his presence alone might break her even further.
Inside the room, Dante glanced at her vitals rising dangerously.
"She's in severe panic," he muttered.
Then his eyes shifted to the woman who had just arrived — dark-haired, calm, grounded. Viola, the psychologist Dante had called that morning.
"Give me a moment," Viola whispered gently, stepping beside the bed. Her voice was soft, soothing, but Gabriella stared at her as if everyone in the room meant her harm.
"Gabriella…" Viola bent lower, aligning her gaze with the trembling girl. "You're safe here. No one will hurt you again."
Gabriella shook her head violently, pressing her hands to her ears.
"No… no, they're here… they're here!"
Her sobs tore through the room, her body shaking so hard the blanket slipped off the bed. Viola inhaled deeply, trying not to rush her. Trauma like this was a cliff — one wrong move, and the girl would fall deeper inside it.
"The Screams Within"
The scream shattered the quiet halls of the compound, echoing through the cold stone corridors. A shrill, broken sound — not simple panic, but the cry of someone torn between memory and terror.
Gabriella jolted awake, drenched in sweat. Her vision blurred, breath unsteady. The sterile white room warped around her — the overhead light flickering like flames, the walls stretching into tall, shadowed figures that resembled the men who took everything from her.
"NO! STAY BACK!" she screamed, pushing at thin air with trembling hands. The IV needle ripped free from her wrist, blood spotting the once-white sheets.
Viola, who had been keeping vigil in the corner, rushed forward. Her voice gentle but firm, like someone guiding a lost child through a storm.
"Gabriella, listen to me… you're safe. No one is going to hurt you, sweetheart. I'm right here with you."
But Gabriella heard none of it. Her gaze darted wildly, as if searching for her parents' faces in the walls.
"Dad… Mom… where are you?"
Her hands reached out, touched nothing, then clutched the sheets until her knuckles turned white.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she screamed again when a nurse attempted to approach. Viola lifted a hand quickly.
"Stop. No one touches her." Her voice remained calm, but her jaw was tight. She knew — the slightest physical contact could throw Gabriella back into that nightmare again.
Outside the glass wall, Luca stood frozen. One step from the door, yet unmoving. His eyes were sharp, fixated on the trembling girl beneath the harsh lights — small, fragile, like a creature thrown into a world far too cruel.
Marco stood behind him, uneasy.
"Signore… shall I call Dante?" Luca didn't respond. Only his clenched fist revealed the storm inside him.
Viola knelt lower, trying to catch Gabriella's terrified stare.
"Gabriella, listen to my voice. It's me, Viola. You're safe. No one here will hurt you."
But Gabriella heard only the thundering footsteps in her memory — the heavy silhouettes, the harsh voices carving into her mind like blades.
Suddenly, her body shook violently. She curled inward, pulling her knees to her chest, covering her ears.
"No… no… please don't…" Her voice cracked, nearly fading.
Viola swallowed, fighting the sting of tears.
She turned to the door, gesturing for Dante.
Dante entered quietly with two nurses, holding a small syringe filled with clear liquid.
"Give me a moment," Viola whispered. "I'll try once more." Dante waited silently, unmoving, the syringe steady in his hand.
Viola approached Gabriella gently, lowering her voice to a whisper — as if speaking to a ghost lost in the night.
"Gabriella, this isn't that place. There's no one here. No screaming. Just me… and quiet air. You can hear that, can't you?"
The girl stopped trembling for a moment, but her eyes stayed alert, still searching for danger.
"Where's Daddy…?" she whispered, the question fragile, almost like a prayer.
Viola swallowed, choosing her words carefully—words that might protect Gabriella's heart without breaking it further.
"They… are at peace now, Gabriella. They wanted you to survive."
But the word survive made Gabriella jolt. Her breathing turned frantic again, her hands flying to her face.
"NO! It's my fault… they died because of me!" she screamed until her voice scraped raw.
"Dante," Viola said quickly without looking back.
The doctor nodded and moved forward calmly. A nurse steadied Gabriella's shoulders while Dante injected the medication into the new IV line.
Gabriella struggled for a moment, her body tightening. Viola held her hand—gentle, but unwavering.
"Sshh… enough. You're safe now, Gabriella…" she murmured instinctively, echoing the soft tone Luca so often used without realizing it.
Outside, Luca watched everything unfold. For a fleeting moment, something shifted in his eyes—a mix of bitterness and relief. He turned away, his steps heavy as he walked from the glass. He didn't utter a single word.
Inside, Viola kept holding Gabriella's hand until the girl's pulse slowly calmed. Her eyelids began to lower, her breathing steadied. Tears still stained her cheeks, but her expression slowly softened.
Dante exhaled deeply and checked her pulse.
"The medication is working," he murmured.
Viola only nodded, her gaze fixed on Gabriella's face.
"There's no wound deeper than this," she whispered, almost too soft to hear.
The lights in the room were dimmed. Viola sat in the chair beside the bed, still holding Gabriella's hand as she slept in fragile silence, while outside, Luca remained in the dark hallway without turning back.
"Silence in Sleep"
A fragile calm settled over the room after the chaos. Only the steady rhythm of the heart monitor filled the air—
beep… beep… beep…
Gabriella slept with slow, faint breaths. Her face was pale, but far more peaceful than before. The remnants of tears still clung to her cheeks, and her fingers, once clenched tight, now relaxed—like someone finally surrendering to exhaustion that had been weighing her down far too long.
Viola sat quietly beside her. The dim lights cast a soft glow over her face, reflecting the ache she felt for the girl. She watched Gabriella for a long time, as if reading every invisible wound written beneath her skin.
"This child… she's not just hurt. She's shattered," Viola thought. She knew trauma like this couldn't be healed with medicine or comforting words. It was the kind of wound that required time, patience, and someone she could truly trust again.
Dante entered quietly, placing a clipboard on the table.
"Her sleep is calm," he said softly. "We need to monitor her blood pressure until morning."
Viola nodded without looking away.
"I'll stay here tonight," she said, gently caressing Gabriella's hand.
Dante watched her for a moment, then gave a small, knowing smile. "I knew you'd say that."
He turned to leave, but just before the door closed, he added, "Signore is still outside. He hasn't left."
Viola looked up. "Luca?" Dante nodded once before slipping out.
A few seconds passed before Viola stood and took one last look at Gabriella. Then, with quiet steps, she walked out.
The hallway was silent. Luca stood at the far end, leaning against the wall, staring at the glass, which now reflected only blurry light. The way he stood made it clear—he had been there for a long time, yet he didn't know how to step inside.
"Signore," Viola greeted softly, stopping several steps away. Luca turned slightly, just enough to reveal the depth and darkness in his eyes.
"How is she?" His voice was flat, but beneath that tone lay something else—a tension caught between regret and iron control.
"Physically, she's recovering," Viola answered. "But her mind… is far more wounded. Any loud noise, even the footsteps of a grown man, can trigger her panic. It will take a long time before she can look at anyone without fear."
Luca was quiet. His gaze returned to the glass where Gabriella lay still behind the curtain.
"How long?" he finally asked. Viola breathed in slowly.
"There's no set time. Trauma doesn't follow a clock, Signore. But as long as she feels safe… I believe she'll find her own way back." The word safe made Luca's jaw tighten.
"Safe," he repeated quietly. "In a world like this, that word barely means anything."
Viola held his gaze for a long moment. In the silence, she saw something beneath Luca's coldness—not just power, but a burden. A wound that might be as deep as Gabriella's.
"Sometimes," Viola said gently, "the coldest people are the ones most afraid of losing someone again."
Luca didn't reply. He turned slightly away, as if he didn't want her to read him any further. But the tension in his hands loosened.
"Make sure she's never alone," he said at last. "Whatever she needs, you come to me. And I don't want any man entering her room without your permission." Viola nodded.
"Understood, Signore." She hesitated, then added,
"She'll need someone to trust. Even if only from a distance." Luca looked at the glass one more time.
"Distance is enough," he murmured. "Sometimes distance is the only way to keep someone alive." Viola didn't argue. She bowed her head slightly, then slipped back into the room.
Luca remained where he was, letting the quiet hallway swallow his thoughts.
Light from Gabriella's room spilled through the glass, falling softly across his face. For a moment, he closed his eyes and listened to the steady heartbeat from the monitor.
Beep… beep… beep…
The sound was steady, soothing, and for reasons he couldn't name—painfully familiar. It reminded him of something he once protected, and failed to save.
When he opened his eyes, his expression had returned to its usual stillness. Cold. unreadable.
He turned and walked away, letting the door at the end of the hall close slowly behind him.
And that night, only the monitor's rhythm and Gabriella's soft breathing remained—two fragile signs that life, no matter how broken, still refused to surrender.
The compound hallway fell silent again.
Luca's footsteps faded into the dark, leaving only the quiet heartbeat monitor behind.
Outside, rain began to fall once more—light, steady, carrying the scent of metal and embers that had not yet died out.
Miles away, in the heart of Parma, another world pulsed wildly. Music thundered against concrete walls, neon lights flickered like a feverish heartbeat, and amid smoke and drunken laughter, men in red danced atop their sins.
A night that marked rebirth for one soul…
was a night of celebration for those who reveled in death.
Hell's Celebration
The night in Parma never truly slept, but beneath the city's surface, something else was rising—wild, feverish, and hungry for blood.
Red neon lights flickered like an erratic heartbeat, illuminating old brick walls scarred with graffiti and bullet holes. Music pounded through the air, heavy bass mixing with drunken shouts and laughter, swirling with cigarette smoke, alcohol, and the metallic scent of drying blood.
In the center of the large room, a group of men in leather jackets marked with a devil's head threw their heads back in laughter, raising their glasses high.
"To the loudest night in Modena!" one of them shouted, spilling vodka onto the floor.
Cheers erupted, followed by the crack of blank bullets fired into the air. Strobe lights danced over faces that were half drunk, half insane.
The music cut abruptly when someone dragged a lifeless body into the middle of the room—an informant who failed to deliver a message in time. Blood streaked across the tiles, forming red trails under the pulsing lights.
"He said the cops would show up," one man laughed darkly. "But we got there first. Hahaha!"
A boot slammed into the dead man's head, and laughter erupted again.
At the far end of the bar, a man in a deep red leather jacket sat quietly, observing with a thin smile. His eyes caught the light like embers that refused to die. He was the mastermind behind last night's chaos—the one who ordered the rain of bullets on the streets of Modena, letting the Vega family's blood soak into the asphalt.
Tonight, for him, was nothing but one small step in a much bigger game.
"Modena is in an uproar now," he said calmly, his voice low but loud enough for those nearby to hear. "The big clan has lost face. And that little girl… if she's still alive, she'll be trouble for them."
Harsh laughter answered him. Someone lit a cigar, smoke fogging the air.
"A little girl?" one of the younger members scoffed. "If she's alive, let me be the one to find her. I'll—" A gun pressed under his chin before he could finish.
The man in the red jacket didn't have to say a word; his cold eyes were enough to freeze the room.
"You talk too much." Click. The trigger snapped, no bullet came out, but the young man flinched violently.
"Too much noise wakes the wrong devils," he said flatly. "Remember, tonight we celebrate—not draw attention."
Glasses clinked again.
The DJ turned the music back up—bass vibrating like the heartbeat of a beast, shaking the walls. Dancers climbed onto tables, moving among broken bottles and bloodstains that no one bothered to clean.
Someone lit a torch in the center of the room, spinning it with drunken laughter as cheers erupted.
Red Evil danced atop their own sins, deep beneath the city that had no idea what they had destroyed.
On the wall, a black flag with a devil's head was doused in alcohol and slowly set on fire—an initiation ritual every time they succeeded in a major mission.
Flames licked the air, casting eerie light on blood-hungry faces.
"To chaos," said the man in the red jacket, lifting his glass. "And to a world that will kneel before the name Red Evil."
"To Red Evil!" they roared, their voices swallowing the music, swallowing reason.
But behind the laughter and broken glass, a shadow lingered.
In a narrow hallway behind the underground bar, a young member stood stiff, staring at his phone. A new message had just come in—a cryptic map of territories, symbols marking the domain of a clan much bigger than theirs.
He bit his lip, half terrified, half thrilled.
Red Evil thought they ruled the night, but the game had only just begun. And in Modena, someone had already started moving in the dark, searching for the blood they spilled.
Laughter boomed again, echoing down the corridor.
Another bottle shattered. The music shook the room.
Night in Parma continued like a demon's feast—hot, loud, and dripping with sin.
Far away, a young girl had just woken from darkness—and inside her chest, the fear that once paralyzed her was beginning to twist into something else.
Something sharper. Something dangerous.
While the underground bar drowned in noise, Modena fell into silence.
La Famiglia Nera's headquarters was quiet. Only the footsteps of guards echoed through steel-lined corridors.
In the medical room, dim lights washed softly over Gabriella's face.
Her eyelids didn't move, her breathing steady—but occasionally her body trembled, as if nightmares still clung to her, pulling her between consciousness and the void.
Her small fingers tightened around the blanket's edge, lips moving in faint, soundless whispers.
Dante, watching by her bedside, glanced at the steady heartbeat monitor. He exhaled in relief, jotting something onto his clipboard.
"At least tonight she sleeps peacefully," he murmured, though he knew—that peace was fragile.
A thin thread before the nightmares returned.
Behind the glass, Luca stood alone. His face was shrouded in shadow, only his eyes reflecting the white light from the room.
He watched the girl for a long, silent time, as if trying to decipher something hidden beneath her false calm.
Rain began to fall outside, tapping softly against the large window of the headquarters. Each drop sounded like a countdown toward something greater.
Outside, Modena's sky grew heavy with storm clouds.
Under Parma, Red Evil's fire still burned wild.
Two different worlds, two souls, unaware they were walking toward the same fate—
a fate ready to spill far more blood than they ever imagined.