Milan — Abandoned farmhouse
Morning crept in shyly, hidden beneath heavy clouds.
Inside the crumbling house, Vera, Luca, Enzo, and the other resistance fighters sat in a circle around an improvised table made of old planks.
Maps, clandestine flyers, and handwritten notes were scattered across it.
The air smelled of strong coffee and dried blood.
Vera studied each face.
Here were the survivors.
The ones who had chosen to fight even when faced with the impossible.
She and Luca had decided: it wasn't enough to resist.
It was time to take Milan.
— We must act before they reorganize — Vera said firmly. — The city is already ours in spirit. Now we make it reality.
Enzo, his face lined with exhaustion, nodded.
— Sabotage the main avenues.
— Block the police stations.
— Occupy the central squares.
Each proposal was written down, discussed, refined.
Luca added, his voice rough but steady:
— And we need a new manifesto. Something to unite everyone — workers, students, farmers — under a single banner.
Vera smiled.
She knew this was more than a battle for territory.
It was a battle for the soul of the city.
It was the final great race.
And now, with the flames of hope burning in the gloom, Vera felt something she hadn't dared feel in a long time:
They could win.