April 12th arrived with an oddly gentle warmth, like the world itself had decided to take a breath. It had been weeks of tension, violence, secrets, and unspoken grief. Yet amidst it all, Alessia Moretti — Valerio's younger sister — was turning twenty-three. Heavily pregnant and already glowing with maternal softness, her round belly was the first thing anyone noticed when she walked into a room these days. But today, for just one day, her family was determined she feel celebrated.
The private dining area of Rossi di Notte, one of the most elite restaurants in the city, had been reserved under Valerio's name. Velvet drapes, tall white candles, and strings of fairy lights softened the luxury space. The Morettis knew how to throw a lavish event, but tonight, it wasn't about money — it was about creating warmth. Safety. Something real, even if temporary.
Alessia waddled in slightly, her arm looped with Dante's as she smiled widely at the golden-lit room. "You did all this?" she gasped, her hand instinctively falling to the gentle curve of her belly.
Dante grinned. "Don't look at me. This was all Valerio. I just drove you here."
Valerio, leaning casually by the bar in a dark suit, gave her a small smirk. "Thought it was about time you had a night that didn't revolve around baby names and blood pressure monitors."
Leona stood near him, dressed in soft ivory, her hair curled delicately around her shoulders. She watched Alessia with a tenderness she rarely showed anyone else. When Alessia smiled at her, she stepped forward and held out a dainty blue-gift-wrapped box.
"A little something for when the baby comes," Leona murmured.
Alessia opened it carefully, revealing a tiny white onesie embroidered with soft golden thread: Moretti's Miracle.
Alessia's eyes misted. "You're going to make me cry before the starters are even served."
"Good," Leona grinned. "You need a proper emotional cleanse. It's your day."
The evening unfurled like a gentle dream. A soft jazz band played in the background, plates of truffle pasta, grilled lamb, and wood-fired focaccia passed around as laughter filled the room. Despite everything — the blood on Valerio's hands, the weight in Dante's chest, the whirlwind that Leona's presence always caused — tonight was different.
Along with the Morettis, even Alessandro and Isabella Russo were present, more quiet than the others, but visibly moved by the gesture of normalcy. Alessandro made a toast — short, simple, but meaningful.
"To Alessia," he said, raising his glass, "for bringing hope to a world we thought had forgotten how to feel it."
She blinked away fresh tears and laughed. "You're all so emotional today. I'm the hormonal one, remember?"
As dessert arrived — a towering tiramisu cake — Alessia leaned her head against Leona's shoulder. "I know things are crazy right now," she whispered. "But this? I'll remember this for the rest of my life."
Leona smiled softly, fingers brushing her shoulder. "So will I."
Valerio stood beside them, his gaze falling briefly on Leona's profile — the way she seemed at peace for the first time in weeks. A small ache spread in his chest, but he buried it deep. Tonight wasn't about his conflict. It was for Alessia.
"I have one more surprise," Valerio announced, drawing the room's attention. "But it's not something I could buy."
He turned toward Dante. "She wanted a name for the baby."
Alessia's eyes widened. "Valerio—"
"I talked to Father Renato," he continued. "We're naming her after Mom's grandmother. Lucia. It means light."
Everyone fell silent for a beat. Then Alessia's lips trembled, and she nodded, holding her stomach protectively.
"Lucia," she whispered. "That's… perfect."
The clink of champagne glasses, the laughter bubbling up again, and the warmth that spread through every corner of that elegant room — it was rare. Brief. But it was real.
Just for one night, even in the shadows of the lives they led, the Morettis and the Russos carved out a small sanctuary. And for Alessia, glowing with life and joy, it was everything she could've asked for.
The Bittersweet Truth
For a fleeting moment, the evening shimmered with the illusion of perfection. Glasses clinked. Soft jazz filled the air. Alessia glowed, and laughter poured across the dinner table like aged wine. It had been a long time since any of them felt something close to normal.
Leona sat beside Alessia, her expression soft but distant. She smiled when expected to, nodded at all the right words, and even offered help with passing the dishes. But there was something dulled in her eyes—like her mind hadn't been fully present, like she was tracing ghosts no one else could see.
Valerio noticed it first. Not in the way she spoke, but in the way she avoided his gaze. In the subtle way her fingers curled into her palm beneath the table. She hadn't touched the pasta. She hadn't sipped the wine. And when the towering tiramisu cake was brought out with its delicate candles and sugar flowers, Leona leaned back slightly in her chair, like the dessert itself made her uneasy.
"Alright," Alessia beamed, "who wants the first slice?"
Forks clinked in anticipation as Dante cut the cake. Plates were passed around, forks dug in. But Leona didn't move.
Valerio noticed her untouched plate.
"You're not having any?" he asked casually, keeping his tone light.
She shook her head. "No, thank you."
Alessia blinked, surprised. "You love pastries though! I've literally seen you devour half a dozen cream puffs in one sitting."
Everyone chuckled lightly, waiting for Leona to crack a joke. But she didn't.
Her voice was soft. "That was… when I was a kid."
There was a pause. Leona looked up then, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. Her gaze wasn't accusing, but it held a fragile honesty, the kind that demanded to be spoken aloud or else it would shatter her from the inside out.
"When I was a child," she said, "I stopped eating birthday cakes."
The table grew still.
"I stopped after I realized no one ever celebrated mine. Not even once." Her eyes flickered downward. "Not even a slice of cake. Not a single candle."
Alessia's smile faded slowly. Dante went completely quiet. Even the elders, seated a little further down, exchanged silent glances.
"I think I stopped associating it with joy," Leona added, her voice almost a whisper. "It became… something other people got to have. Something I was never meant to."
The moment sat like a weight over the table. The warmth from earlier dimmed, replaced by a quiet, respectful grief. There was no drama, no sudden gasp — just the ache of understanding.
Valerio's jaw clenched faintly. He didn't speak. He couldn't. He'd seen her broken, furious, bloodied… but this? This soft-spoken truth pierced deeper than any confession ever could.
"I'm sorry," Alessia said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn't know."
Leona smiled at her. "It's alright. You deserved this night. And it was beautiful."
She stood, smoothing down the dress she wore. "I just need some air."
Valerio rose silently. "I'll go with you."
"No," she said quickly, a small shake of her head. "Stay. She only turns twenty-three once."
She was gone before anyone could protest.
Valerio didn't sit back down. He remained standing, watching the doorway she'd disappeared through. The gentle laughter in the room had stopped altogether.
Alessia looked down at her plate, her appetite gone. "She was so quiet tonight. I should've noticed."
Dante ran a hand through his hair. "She's always quiet when she's hurting. But she hides it too damn well."
Out on the balcony, Leona leaned against the cool marble railing, the night breeze brushing her hair back from her face. Her eyes were closed, lips pressed into a tight line. She hated how it slipped out — that vulnerable piece of her. But some part of her had needed to say it. To finally voice the loneliness she had never dared to speak of before.
Behind her, the door creaked open.
"I said I was fine," she murmured, without turning.
"I didn't ask," came Valerio's voice.
She let out a soft sigh.
"I didn't mean to kill the mood."
"You didn't," he said firmly. "You just reminded us that even the brightest lights burn from somewhere dark."
She turned her head slightly. "That's poetic."
He joined her at the railing, standing close but not touching her. "Did you really never have a cake?"
She gave a tiny, broken smile. "I did once. When I was six. It was chocolate. I still remember the smell. But it wasn't… mine. It was for another kid in the orphanage. I snuck a piece when no one was watching."
Valerio's hands curled around the railing. His chest ached.
"I wish I'd known you then," he said quietly.
She laughed, but it was bitter. "You'd have hated me. I was mouthy and sharp and didn't trust a soul."
"I wouldn't have," he said, glancing at her. "I would've fought anyone who made you cry."
Her eyes softened. She didn't respond.
They stood there, in silence, two shadows in the night — sharing pain without the need to speak further.
Inside, the others resumed a quieter version of celebration, but the shift had settled. They all felt it. Alessia's birthday would be remembered — but not just for the gifts or food. It would be remembered for Leona's truth. For the quiet ache that came with the realization that behind every smile, someone might be carrying years of silence.
And for Valerio, who now looked at Leona not as a mystery he was desperate to solve… but as a wound he wished he could heal.
Just as the quiet settled back into place, a loud crack split the air — sharp and sudden, like lightning without thunder.
Valerio's head snapped toward the sound. The wine glasses trembled. Leona straightened from the railing, her entire body tensing.
Then came the unmistakable screech of tires on the rooftop level, followed by the clattering of boots. Shadows shifted near the rooftop entrance.
"Down!" Dante barked, instinct taking over as he pulled Alessia behind a marble pillar.
A bullet pinged off the steel railing inches from Valerio's hand.
Chaos erupted.
Guests screamed, scattering toward the stairwell. Alessandro shielded Isabella, dragging her behind an overturned table. Leona didn't run — her eyes scanned the darkness, muscles locked. That precision in her stillness… it wasn't panic. It was calculation.
Valerio reached for the weapon tucked beneath his jacket — always prepared, never expecting it'd be needed tonight.
More shots fired.
A masked figure appeared through the shadows, stepping slowly into the soft rooftop lights — tall, deliberate, holding something unfamiliar in their gloved hands.
Leona turned her head slightly. Her eyes met Valerio's — not with fear, but something sharper.
Recognition.
Then—
Boom.
The rooftop lights blew out, plunging everything into darkness.
Silence. Then a single scream.