The morning after the hurricane, the world woke beneath a pale and sickly sun, rising over a landscape that Sicily would never wish to recognize. The silence was not one of peace, but of sheer bewilderment. Messina and the coastal villages looked like the aftermath of a bombardment: the promenade had been literally eviscerated, with massive slabs of asphalt uprooted like dry scabs and hurled against the facades of buildings. Everywhere lay the carcasses of piled-up cars, the wreckage of boats reduced to shards of fiberglass, and mud—a grey, slimy carpet covering everything, emitting a metallic stench of earth and the abyss.
Belinda stepped out onto the balcony, still dazed by the night's ritual. Her mind tried to convince itself that the worst had passed, that the "severing" had put an end to the suffering. But the air was thick with a strange heaviness, a residual electricity that made the hair on her arms stand on end. Elia was already outside in the driveway, shoveling debris with mechanical gestures, while Azzurra gazed at the sea beyond the shattered walls, motionless as a statue of salt.
The sound of the telephone, around nine in the morning, was not a ring but a blow from an axe. Elia answered in the kitchen, and Belinda heard him murmur only a few words: «No... it's not possible. When? Where?». Then, silence. A silence so absolute that Belinda stopped breathing even before hearing the news.
When Elia re-entered the room, his face was a mask of ash. He couldn't look her in the eye. «It's Samuele,» he said with a broken voice, barely a whisper.
Belinda's heart gave a violent jolt. Samuele. Her best friend, the man who had held Azzurra at her baptism, the godfather who had protected her with a love that transcended blood ties. Samuele, who with his contagious laughter and steadfast spirit had been their safe harbor in every storm.
«It happened last night, during the peak of the hurricane,» Elia continued, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. «He was trying to get home after his shift at the hospital. A patrol found the car this morning near the port area. A rogue wave, one of those mountains of water that overtopped the sea wall, swept him away while he was driving along the straight. The force of the sea dragged the vehicle away... he stood no chance.»
Belinda collapsed onto a chair, feeling her legs give way as if they were made of smoke. A scream remained choked in her throat. The void opening before her was immense. While she had been on the balcony fighting the demon, while she was "cutting" the tail of the Draunara, the sea was claiming its tribute elsewhere.
Azzurra, who had been listening from the threshold, did not cry immediately. She pressed her hand to her chest, clutching Mastro Alfio's pendant with such force that it cut into her palm. She felt the icy metal, despite the August sun.
«It was him, wasn't it Mama?» Azzurra asked, and her voice was not that of a twelve-year-old, but of someone who has seen the secret clockwork of the universe. «The gold wasn't enough. The sea wanted a soul.»
Belinda could not answer. The realization struck her with the force of a sledgehammer: the curse had not surrendered to prayer; it had simply moved. Samuele, the purest man she knew, the friend who had never hesitated to lend a hand, had been the lightning rod of their salvation. It was he who had paid the highest price, acting as the final shield between Azzurra and the Dragon.
As the sirens of the rescue services continued to wail in the distance, Belinda looked at her hands. They were soiled with ash and salt. She had saved her daughter, yes, but at what cost? Samuele's death was the seal of blood on a pact that had not yet been fully honored.
Sicily was wounded, the streets were destroyed, and mourning had fallen over their home like a black veil. Belinda understood that the battle was far from over; it had only become crueler. Samuele was gone, taking a part of their light with him, and leaving behind a question that would haunt Belinda for the rest of her days: who would be next?
The debt had been paid, but the creditor remained listening, within the folds of the tide.