Seven years are but a blink of an eye to the universe, yet they can feel like an eternity to those who have known the bite of deprivation. For Belinda's family, that septenary—which began with the ritual of the green candles and the whisper of the word Fluxus—was an unstoppable ascent, a golden dance that seemed to have banished the shadow of misery forever. Wealth had not arrived as a vulgar, sudden windfall, but as a vital life-force that had begun to flow into every crevice of their existence, mending roofs, filling voids, and transforming desires into solid realities.
Elia had been the first to ride that wave of fortune. His career in the logistics firm had taken a prodigious turn: unexpected promotions, performance bonuses, and a series of financial insights had transformed him into an esteemed and wealthy executive. He was no longer the man counting pennies at the supermarket; he now wore bespoke suits that reflected a new, rock-solid confidence. Belinda, meanwhile, had watched her modest restoration workshop evolve into a luxury brand. She had launched an online boutique titled "Narrative Handiwork," where her embroideries—imbued with a beauty that many described as hypnotic—sold for staggering prices across the globe. Her hands, which had once been stained a supernatural green, now handled the purest San Leucio silks and threads of 24-karat gold.
Their home on the Ionian coast had been restored with a taste that blended ancient Sicilian splendor with the most refined modernity. Every room was fragrant with citrus and well-being. Yet, the true center of this new galaxy was Azzurra. At twelve years old, the girl was the portrait of grace and an almost precocious intelligence. Belinda had enrolled her in classical ballet school when she was only five, and that journey had become the greatest source of pride for both parents. Azzurra did not merely dance; she became air itself—a ballerina who, after seven years of iron discipline, moved with a physical awareness that enchanted her teachers. Alongside the tutu were the language books. The girl had just earned her first-level English certification, speaking with a perfect accent that made Belinda smile.
During those years, the family discovered the pleasure of travel. These were no longer desperate escapes, but stays in resorts where the sea seemed bluer and the service was impeccable. They visited European capitals, dined in Michelin-starred restaurants, and gave Azzurra every possible opportunity. Elia, once a skeptic, had grown accustomed to that magic which had transmuted into the magic of gold. Their serenity was such that the memories of the nightly ritual, the volcanic stones, and the nightmare of Grandfather Giovanni seemed to have faded, resembling old folk tales told only to frighten children.
Everything was perfect. Belinda's online shop received orders from New York to Tokyo. Nonna Anna's health seemed made of steel, and Elia was discussing a new real estate investment. In that bubble of happiness, they decided that Azzurra's twelfth Christmas should be special: a return to London, but this time as victors, to reunite with Uncle Mattia and Aunt Erica. Azzurra could showcase her progress in English and, perhaps, even attend a ballet at the Royal Opera House.
Belinda felt invincible. As she packed her designer suitcases, she ran her hand over her ancient grimoire, tucked away in a secret drawer. She hadn't opened it in years. She thought that, in the end, her grandfather had been wrong: there had been no price to pay. Wealth had arrived, and the good had tripled. Life was a smooth silk, without knots, without tears. They departed for Fontanarossa Airport with light hearts, unaware that the time of the harvest had ended and that the "flow," when it decides to reverse its course, knows no mercy.