On the day of Samuele's funeral, Messina presented itself wrapped in a light that seemed to offer an apology. After the blind fury of Hurricane Harry, the sky had cleansed itself of every impurity, tinting itself with a blue so deep and clear it appeared almost surreal. The air was cool, washed by the rain, carrying with it the intense scent of jasmine and clean salt air. Despite the sorrow, a strange energy lingered in the atmosphere—a vibration of life desperately trying to sprout among the rubble.
The parvis of the Cathedral was an ocean of people. Samuele, the pediatrician with the tireless smile, the godfather who had transformed the word "protection" into a daily mission, had succeeded in uniting everyone. There were hospital colleagues in white uniforms, the parents of the children he had treated, and countless members of the community who had admired him for his civic courage.
Belinda walked supported by Elia, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin. Beside them, Andrea, Samuele's partner, moved with a dignity that moved anyone who looked upon him. Andrea was not just the man who had loved Samuele for twelve long years; he had been his pillar, his anchor during the days of the storm. Despite a face marked by tears, Andrea kept his shoulders squared. Between his fingers, he clutched a bouquet of green carnations and lavender—Samuele's favorite flowers.
The service was a hymn to life. The priest spoke not of an end, but of a transformation, and when Andrea climbed to the pulpit, the silence that fell over the cathedral was nearly sacred.
"Samuele would not have wanted to see us standing still," Andrea began, his voice steady despite the emotion. "He always told me that life is like the sea: it can be cruel, but it is the only element that allows us to sail toward new horizons. Samuele died as he lived: trying to get home, trying to be present. His was not a defeat, but the final act of a man who never stopped believing in tomorrow. Today we do not merely mourn his absence; we celebrate the fortune of having walked alongside a giant of the heart."
Belinda looked at Azzurra. The girl, though her eyes were swollen, did not seem crushed. Around her neck, she wore Mastro Alfio's pendant, which glowed with a warm, almost reassuring light under the church chandeliers. In that moment, Belinda felt that rebirth was possible. Samuele's sacrifice had left a legacy of strength, not just mourning. Life had to go on—not as an obligation, but as an honor for those who no longer could.
After the ceremony, as the crowd slowly ebbed away, Andrea approached Belinda in the adjacent cloister. He handed her a transparent plastic bag with a small, melancholy smile. "The police gave me these things. Samuele was clutching them so tightly they had to pry his hand open. I know he wanted you to have them. He always talked to me about how special you were to him, Belinda."
Back at home, Belinda sat in her study. The sunset light streamed through the window, gilding everything it touched. She opened the bag and pulled out the pager and that crumpled slip of paper. Samuele's handwriting was a nervous whisper on the page:
"Belinda, listen to me. The Draunara seeks the gateway. Alfio's gold is a beacon, not a shield. I saw the shadow in the Strait... it was not just sea, it was memory. Stop it before it reaches London. The debt does not belong to Azzurra; it belongs to whoever spun the first silk. Protect the heart, my friend. Tell Andrea I will wait for him where the sea is calm and no longer frightening. S."
Those words, though carrying an ominous warning, were imbued with a protective love that Belinda could not ignore. Samuele did not want her to be paralyzed by fear. He wanted her to act. "Protect the heart." It was a call to rebirth, to active strength.
Belinda called Azzurra and pulled her close. "Sweetheart, Samuele has left us a mission. And life is asking us to be brave. Sicily gave us the gold, but London asks us for the truth. Are you ready to start again?" Azzurra nodded, and for the first time in days, a timid but determined smile appeared on her face. "Yes, Mama. I'll do it for him. I'll do it for us."
In that house, which still smelled of the sea and of the ancient, sadness began to transform into a resolute hope. Samuele's death had not been the end of their world, but the seed of a new, courageous awareness.