The trattoria was already full by noon. Tourists, locals, men in suits pretending not to be criminals , all crammed into the little tables under yellow lights that buzzed when the AC kicked in.
Aria moved fast between them, tray balanced, smile fake.
Her legs ached. Her back hurt. And the last thing she needed was more noise. But this was her job. The only thing she had. The only thing keeping her from ending up on the same corner Giulia stood on last night.
She approached table seven , four men, middle-aged, loud, drunk way too early. Aria could smell the grappa on their breath before she even reached the table.
She placed their food down, head low. Didn't make eye contact. She was about to turn away when she felt it,
A hand.
Smack. Right across her backside.
Hard. Gross. Like she was nothing.
Her entire body froze for a second. One of the men laughed , the one with the gold ring and the balding head. He looked proud of himself.
"Bella ragazza… hai un bel culo, eh?"
(Pretty girl… you've got a nice ass, huh?)
The tray dropped with a loud clatter.
Before anyone could blink, Aria grabbed it with both hands and swung it straight into his face.
CRACK.
Again.
CRACK.
Again.
CRACK.
The man yelled, falling off the chair, blood already leaking from his nose. His friends jumped up. People screamed. Chairs scraped the floor.
"Stai impazzendo?!" one of the men shouted.
(Are you crazy?!)
Two waiters rushed forward, grabbing Aria by the arms and dragging her back.
She was panting, wild-eyed, the tray still in her hand, trembling.
In the back room, her boss exploded.
"Fuori di testa! Sei completamente fuori di testa!"
(Out of your mind! You're completely out of your damn mind!)
Aria stood against the wall, shoulders tight, not saying a word.
"Hai colpito un cliente! Davanti a tutti! Ti rendi conto di quello che hai fatto?!"
(You hit a customer! In front of everyone! Do you realize what you've done?!)
"Mi ha toccata!," she said quietly.
(He touched me!)
"Oh certo. E allora? Sei come tua madre, no?"
(Oh sure. So what? You're like your mother, aren't you?)
That one landed.
He stepped closer, spit flying.
"Siete tutte uguali. Donne di strada. Pensate che potete sputare sul pane che vi do? Tornatene ai marciapiedi, puttana!"
(You're all the same. Street women. Think you can spit on the bread I give you? Go back to the sidewalks, whore!)
Aria didn't speak. She couldn't. Her throat was thick, her eyes stung, her heart was pounding out of her ribs.
"Vai a casa. E non tornare."
(Go home. And don't come back.)
He didn't need to say she was fired. She knew.
She ran. Out of the trattoria. Past the tourists. Down the alley near the corner bakery. Past the girls already lining up in heels and fake laughs.
She ran until she reached her apartment. Slamming the door. Locking it.
And then she dropped.
Right there on the floor. Her knees hit the tiles, and it came out of her all at once.
She cried. Hard. Ugly. Loud. Like she was trying to scream her mother out of her blood.
Fists pounding the ground. Hair stuck to her face. Chest heaving like her body was trying to spit her soul out.
She had tried so hard. So damn hard.
She wasn't like them.
She wasn't.
But none of that mattered now.
The streets were louder than usual.
.
.
10:37 pm
Aria lay curled up on the mattress, hoodie still on, face puffy from crying. Her body felt like it had been scraped raw from the inside out. The only thing worse than the silence in her apartment… was the noise outside.
Laughter. Loud music. Yelling. Drunken swearing. Car engines revving like they were racing.
This was Rione Sanità after dark.
Not alive , just loud.
She stared at the crumpled bills in her bag. Barely enough for bread and a snack. But her stomach had been twisting all day. She needed something in her.
So she got up. Washed her face. Pulled on her shoes. Slipped the money into her hoodie pocket. Then opened the door and stepped into the noise.
The streets looked like a circus made of broken people.
Men leaned against light poles, drunk and talking too loud. One had his hands all over a girl in a pink miniskirt who couldn't have been older than twelve. Aria's stomach flipped.
"Dai, vieni qui, piccola. Fai vedere quanto vali."
(Come on, baby. Show me what you're worth.)
The girl giggled, but it sounded fake. Like something someone taught her to do.
Aria looked away fast. She couldn't handle that.
Two women argued in a doorway , one barefoot, one with a knife in her hand, yelling something about money and betrayal. A dog barked nonstop from someone's balcony. The street was chaos wrapped in neon lights and exhaust fumes.
Aria ducked into a small kiosk. Bought a cheap sandwich, a small water bottle, and a bag of chips. That was all she could afford. The man at the counter didn't say a word , just took her cash and handed her change without looking.
She held the bag tight to her chest and stepped back outside.
She wanted to run home. Fast.
Then she heard it.
A scream.
Not like the usual drunken ones. This was real. From deep in the lungs.
Another one followed.
Then chaos.
Gunshots.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
People ran in every direction. Someone knocked into her shoulder hard, and she dropped her chips. A woman screamed behind her. A bottle shattered near her feet.
"Corri! Sparano!"
(Run! They're shooting!)
Aria's legs moved before her mind did. She ran , heart pounding, feet slapping pavement, trying not to trip.
She turned the corner to her street.
And stopped.
Vans. Black. No plates.
Parked right outside her building.
Men in black jackets with guns slung over their shoulders were dragging women and girls , some barefoot, some half-dressed ,into the vans like they were cargo.
"Lasciami! Per favore! No! Non così!"
(Let me go! Please! Not like this!)
"Zitta o ti ammazzo!"
(Shut up or I'll kill you!)
Aria froze.
Her hands trembled. Her knees locked. Her lungs forgot how to work.
She watched a man backhand a girl who tried to run. Another man dragged someone by her hair into a van. One girl ,maybe nine years old , looked right at Aria, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Then someone behind her whispered, "Prendi anche quella."
(Grab that one too.)
Before she could turn, a huge hand wrapped around her arm and jerked her back.
"Lasciami! NO! NO! Lasciami!"
(Let me go! NO! NO! Let me go!)
The man was massive. Tattoos ran from his shaved head down to his wrists. His face was cold, like he didn't even see her as human. She kicked, clawed, screamed until her throat tore.
Two more men rushed over, grabbing her legs and dragging her toward a van.
"Ti prego! Ti prego non fatemi questo! Vi supplico! Aiuto!"
(Please! Please don't do this to me! I'm begging you! Help!)
They didn't care.
They threw her in, hard, and slammed the van door.
Inside, it was dark. Cramped. The air smelled like sweat and fear. Several girls and women were already inside , some crying, some shaking, one completely silent with her eyes wide open.
Aria gasped through tears, banging her fists on the door.
But then a man in the front turned back and raised his gun.
"Un altro suono e vi sparo in testa. Tutte voi."
(One more sound and I'll shoot you in the head. All of you.)
The van went silent. Even the sobbing stopped.
Aria's hands were still shaking, her mouth still open , like the scream was stuck in her throat.
This wasn't a nightmare.
This was real.
And it was just beginning.