France — Marginal Café
Vera slowly wrapped up the bundle of underground newspapers she had brought with her.
In front of her, the young people discussed plans for small acts of local resistance, full of enthusiasm and hope.
She smiled quietly.
But deep inside, she knew:
her main battle was over.
Milan no longer belonged to the corrupt.
The people had taken back the squares, the factories, the streets.
Now, others would carry the torch.
Vera rose from the table, adjusting the worn coat on her shoulders.
Before leaving, she lightly touched the shoulder of the young woman who had asked — "Are you La Voce?" — hours earlier.
— Keep fighting — Vera said softly. — But never let pain replace hope.
Then she disappeared into the damp streets of the small town.
As she walked, her thoughts drifted back to Milan.
And to the secret messages Enzo sent her:
The trials were beginning.
The once-arrogant faces that had smiled from podiums now sat behind prison bars.
The corrupt racing teams were shutting down.
Independent newspapers screamed headlines in bold letters:
"Justice for Milan."
Vera knew Luca was still in Milan, helping quietly from the shadows.
But she also knew his time there was ending.
The ghosts of the old order still lurked.
And soon, like her, he would need to disappear — so the flame could survive.
Vera quickened her pace, feeling the cold of the early morning bite at her skin.
But inside, she carried the warmth of a certainty:
freedom had taken root.
And nothing — absolutely nothing — could ever tear it from Milan's soul.