Milan — Blazing night
The sound echoed like thunder on stone:
improvised drums, voices in unison, firm steps pounding the asphalt.
Milan was no longer a city — it was an army of determined faces.
In the squares, young and old alike raised barricades with whatever they could find: uprooted benches, crates, scrap metal.
In the workers' districts, sirens wailed without pause, mixing with cries for freedom.
The government tried to respond.
Special forces stormed the streets, firing gas grenades and rubber bullets.
But the crowd answered back.
When they were beaten, they returned with stones.
When they were dispersed, they reappeared elsewhere — stronger.
Vera and Luca watched it all from a broken balcony, only a few meters from the heart of the conflict.
She held a small, hastily adapted military radio transmitter to her ear, her other hand clenching into a fist of rage and hope.
— They're advancing down Via Torino — Enzo's voice crackled through the radio. — But we've got barricades set up at the crossroads.
Vera smiled.
The strategy was working.
They couldn't control everything.
The city was no longer theirs.
It belonged to the people.
And at that moment, as the stars were swallowed by smoke and sparks of rebellion, Vera knew:
the true battle for Milan had begun.