Fire in the Vineyards
The bells of San Michele ring at dawn, but they do not call the faithful. They call the fearful. The chimes echo over the Tuscan hills, carrying not prayers but warnings. Something has broken in the marrow of the town, and everyone feels it.
Whispers, already sharp-edged from weeks of scandal and betrayal, turn into knives. The feud between Elena and Luca on one side, Marco and Isabella on the other, has infected every vineyard, every café, every kitchen table. People no longer sip their morning espresso without asking, "Which side are you on?"
And this morning, Tuscany answers: everyone has chosen.
---
Elena
She stands on the balcony of the farmhouse overlooking the vines she and Luca have fought so hard to build. A line of smoke curls in the distance — not mist, not morning fog. Fire.
Her heart drops. Not again.
"Luca!" she shouts, her voice tight, tearing through the stone halls of the house.
Luca storms in, shirt half-buttoned, his eyes dark with sleeplessness. He already knows. He always knows.
"They've torched Ricci's vineyard," he says flatly. "And they left a message on the barn door. 'One fire for betrayal, more for silence.'"
Elena grips the iron railing so hard her knuckles whiten. "Marco." She says his name like a curse, like it rots her tongue.
But Luca shakes his head. "Not just Marco. The whole damn town's at each other's throats. He's just the match. We're standing in the dry field."
---
The Piazza
By midmorning, the square is unrecognizable. Neighbors who once shared bread and wine now hurl insults across the cobblestones.
"You sold us out to Elena!" shouts a man from one side.
"You drank with Marco while he gambled our money away!" spits back another.
The fountain that has stood for centuries now becomes the center of the fight — women clutching their shawls, men rolling up their sleeves, boys throwing stones like soldiers in a war they don't understand.
And above it all, Isabella arrives, draped in black silk, her hair coiled like a queen. She watches the chaos as though she herself has orchestrated a symphony of violence. Which, in truth, she has.
---
Isabella
Her debts choke her like a noose, but watching the town crumble gives her breath. If everyone is ruined, then her ruin is no longer shameful — it is simply inevitable, universal. She can live with that.
She whispers to Marco at her side, her lips brushing his ear.
"Stoke it. Spread the word that Elena plans to sell the town's water rights to investors. They'll turn her into the enemy."
Marco grins, his teeth flashing like a predator's. "And when they come for her?"
Isabella's eyes glint. "We'll be waiting to collect the pieces."
---
Luca
The first stone hits the farmhouse window just after noon.
Luca doesn't flinch. He's in the courtyard, sleeves rolled, wine stains on his hands like blood.
"They've lost their minds," he mutters, watching shadows gather on the road — a mob forming, the kind that moves with one heartbeat and one hunger.
Elena steps beside him, her breath quick, her voice urgent. "They think we're outsiders. That I brought ruin from the city. That you betrayed them by standing with me."
The shouts grow louder.
Traitors!
Elena sold us out!
Burn the farm!
Luca takes Elena's hand, squeezing hard. "We don't run. We never run."
But his chest burns with something else too — jealousy, rage, and the memory of her estranged boyfriend standing in the piazza just days ago, pulling Elena's name into the mouths of every gossip. It's all fuel, and now the town is lit like kindling.
---
Marco
The tavern is his kingdom tonight. His gin glass sweats against his palm as he basks in the fever he has unleashed.
"They're animals," he laughs, to no one and everyone. "All I had to do was whisper, and they tore themselves apart."
But his laughter is cut when two women storm in — Clara and Sofia, his mistresses, both furious, both screaming his name.
"You told me you loved me!" Clara shrieks, brandishing a broken bottle.
"You said you'd leave your wife!" Sofia snarls, shoving him back against the counter.
The tavern roars with glee — gossip made flesh, scandal performing live. Marco tries to charm, tries to laugh it off, but the women claw at each other like wildcats, their fight spilling blood across the floor.
The crowd chants: Fight! Fight! Fight!
Marco's grin falters. For once, he is not in control.
---
The Townspeople
POVs fracture like glass:
Old Signora Bianchi, clutching her rosary, screaming, "God will punish Elena for bringing the city's corruption here!"
Young Matteo, sneaking into the vineyard with a torch, whispering Marco's lies under his breath like a prayer.
Giulio the baker, torn between friendship with Luca and fear for his family, watching his neighbors sharpen knives.
The town is no longer a community. It is a battlefield.
---
Explosion
Night falls, and with it, the first true explosion of violence.
Elena and Luca's newly built farmhouse for the workers is set ablaze. Flames lick the sky, a hellish beacon. Workers scatter, shouting, coughing, their livelihoods reduced to ash in minutes.
Elena runs toward it, screaming orders, trying to form a bucket line, but the mob blocks her path.
"You brought this here!" they howl.
Luca throws himself between her and the mob, fists swinging, blood spraying as he takes hits but refuses to yield.
"BACK OFF!" he roars, but his voice is drowned by fire and fury.
---
Isabella and Marco
From the hillside, Isabella and Marco watch the blaze.
"This is only the beginning," Isabella whispers, her face lit orange. "Tomorrow, they'll burn her vines. Then her name."
But Marco isn't listening. He's drunk, his eyes locked on the fire, mumbling, "Burn it all. Burn it all…"
Isabella's lip curls. Even in victory, he disgusts her. But she needs him — for now.
---
The night reaches a fever pitch when a gunshot cracks through the chaos.
The mob freezes. Elena gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. Luca staggers back, his shirt blooming red at the shoulder.
The gunman stands revealed in the flickering firelight: not a stranger, not a hired thug — but Giulio the baker.
His hands tremble, his eyes wet, but his voice is steady.
"I told you, Luca," he says. "You chose the wrong side. And now Tuscany will bleed for it."
The crowd erupts in screams, half in horror, half in triumph.
Elena's scream shatters the night as Luca collapses into her arms.
And above it all, Isabella smiles.
The civil war has truly begun.