Milan — Hidden refuge
The heavy silence of dawn weighed over the shelter.
Sitting in a circle on worn-out mattresses, Vera, Enzo, and the others studied a crumpled map of Milan spread across the stone floor.
Every street.
Every square.
Every strategic point was marked with hastily scribbled notes.
"They still control the main newspapers," Enzo said, biting his lip. "And the radios have been silenced."
"But they don't control the people," Vera replied, her voice low and steady.
She pointed to several points on the map.
"If we take the squares of San Lorenzo, Sant'Ambrogio, and Lambrate, we spread our voice through the workers' districts. And if we block the main avenues, we force them to come to us."
The young faces around her exchanged nervous glances.
It was a bold plan.
Risky.
But it was all they had.
"How will we communicate?" asked a dark-haired girl.
Vera gave a crooked smile.
"The way we always have: word of mouth, paper, and courage."
The group nodded.
They knew every move now was like spinning a loaded revolver.
But they also knew the moment was now.
Waiting meant dying.
Attacking meant living — or at least dying on their feet.
Vera looked around at the young and old faces surrounding her.
In them, she saw the same fire she had once seen in Luca.
The same defiance that had burned in Moretti.
They weren't just makeshift fighters.
They were heirs to the revolution.
And she was ready to lead them.