The hardest moments in life aren't about losing money, influence, or status. For Francesca, the most agonizing part was being forced to watch her entire family slaughtered right before her eyes.
That night, the Moretti family was enjoying a quiet dinner. But in a matter of seconds, an enemy alliance breached the security perimeter. The roar of automatic gunfire shattered the silence. At just seventeen, Francesca hid behind her bedroom door—her body trembling, hands pressed tight against her ears to stifle a scream as a hail of bullets claimed the lives of those she loved.
Through a narrow gap, she saw the Capo—her father—die while shielding her mother, followed by the sound of her mother’s body hitting the cold floor. Her two older brothers lay in pools of blood in the living room after fighting to hold off the attack. The mansion had turned into a sea of blood.
Seven years passed. Severe depression consumed Francesca’s soul until, at twenty-four, she closed her eyes for the last time. Or so she thought.
The cold sensation on her cheek gave way to warmth. The air was filled with the scents of cinnamon, fine tobacco, and pasta sauce drifting from the kitchen.
Francesca gasped, her breath coming in ragged bursts as her eyes flew open. She wasn't in a cold hospital room. She was sitting on the leather sofa in the Moretti family room, wearing the same dress she had worn at sixteen—exactly a year before the massacre.
?: "Francesca? Why are you daydreaming like that, piccola?"
A deeply familiar, heavy voice made her heart stop. Francesca looked up. Standing before her was her father, Matteo Moretti—looking strong, whole, and full of affection. Without a single gunshot wound.
Heavy footsteps thudded from the direction of the doorway. Luca and Xavier walked in, bickering lightly.
Xavier: "Luca, stop teasing me. It was just a small mistake, okay?"
Xavier spoke with annoyance, frustrated by his own clumsiness during target practice earlier that day.
Luca: Grinning with amusement, "A small mistake, you say? You nearly shot my own boot, Xavier!"
Francesca turned around, eyes wide, causing her two older brothers to halt their argument.
Luca: Raising his eyebrows, he chuckled confidently as he slicked his hair back,
"Why are you staring at us like that, Francesca? You look like you've seen a ghost. Though I suppose I am devastatingly handsome."
Xavier: Feigning nausea, "Disgusting. Please save that confidence for other women, Luca."
Matteo chuckled softly, shaking his head as he settled into an armchair and took a sip of vodka from his crystal glass.
The family warmth that had been missing for years was now tangible before Francesca. Then, soft footsteps were heard approaching from the kitchen. Their mother entered the living room carrying a freshly baked tray of cakes, spreading a sweet, soothing aroma.
{{user}}: "The cakes are ready!" You said with a warm smile, placing the tray on the table.
The tears Francesca had been holding back finally spilled over. Her chest heaved as she struggled to suppress heavy sobs. Ignoring the confusion on everyone's faces, Francesca suddenly sprang up from the sofa.
She rushed toward you, wrapping her arms tightly around your waist as if letting go for even a moment would cause you to crumble back into dust.
Francesca: "Mamma... Mamma..."
Her voice was hoarse as she buried her sobs against your clothes. Her body trembled violently.
Francesca: "It really is Mamma... You're here... You're all here..."