Summer That Changed Everything
1706 Words
CHAPTER ONE
The De Luca estate was never quiet.
Every morning, the aroma of freshly baked bread drifted from the kitchen, mixing with the sweet fragrance of blooming roses that lined the garden paths. Laughter echoed through the grand house long before breakfast was served, and by the time the sun climbed over the hills surrounding Milan, the family was already gathered around the dining table.
"Matteo, stop stealing the strawberries," Sofia De Luca said, trying and failing to hide her smile. "They taste better before breakfast," sixteen-year-old Matteo replied, popping another strawberry into his mouth.
"They taste exactly the same," Lorenzo De Luca said as he folded his newspaper. "That's your opinion, Dad." It's a fact.
Eight-year-old Isabella giggled so hard that she nearly spilled her orange juice. "You two argue about food every morning," she said.
"And every morning your brother loses," Sofia replied with a laugh.
"I don't lose, I simply choose to surrender," Matteo protested.
Lorenzo shook his head in amusement before looking at his daughter.
"What are your plans today, Bella?"
"I'm going to finish my drawing. The roses near the fountain still don't look right," Isabella answered excitedly.
"They're flowers. Flowers don't complain. They would if you drew them," Matteo teased.
Everyone laughed.
It was moments like these that made the De Luca house feel alive. Wealth had given them comfort, but it was love that made the mansion a home.
Across the road stood another estate. Bigger, older, far quieter.
The Moretti mansion rose behind towering stone walls and black iron gates that seemed determined to keep the world out. Luxury cars came and went throughout the day, security guards stood at every entrance, and servants moved about like silent shadows.
Yet no laughter ever escaped its walls.
To Isabella, it looked less like a home and more like a museum, beautiful, grand, and strangely empty. She often wondered what kind of people lived there. Her father rarely spoke about the family across the road.
Whenever she asked, Lorenzo simply smiled and changed the subject.
"They like their privacy," he would say.
That afternoon, Isabella carried her sketchbook into the garden.
Bruno, the family's golden retriever, trotted happily beside her before flopping onto the grass beneath a large oak tree.
The garden was her favorite place in the world. Birds chirped from the hedges, butterflies floated lazily between colorful flower beds.
A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead.
She dipped her pencil onto the paper and began sketching the roses surrounding the fountain. Then she heard it.
The low rumble of an approaching engine, Curious, Isabella lifted her head.
A black sedan slowly approached the gates of the Moretti estate.
She frowned, "That's new."
Bruno perked up his ears. The iron gates opened immediately, and the sedan disappeared inside. For reasons she couldn't explain, Isabella stood and walked toward the stone fence bordering the road.
She wasn't being nosy. Well... maybe just a little.
The car came to a stop in front of the mansion, a chauffeur stepped out and opened the rear passenger door. A teenage boy emerged first.
He looked about fourteen, tall for his age, with dark hair and a calm expression. He reached back into the car before turning to help someone else. A younger boy climbed out. He couldn't have been older than ten. Unlike his brother, he didn't hide his emotions.
His wide hazel eyes wandered over the enormous mansion, the fountains, the towering marble columns, and the endless gardens. He looked amazed.
But there was something else in his expression.
Uncertainty.
As though he wasn't sure whether he belonged there. The front door opened.
A man in an expensive charcoal suit stepped onto the front steps. Even from across the road, Isabella could tell he carried himself with authority.
His face revealed nothing; no smile, no excitement, no warmth.
The younger boy's eyes lit up for a brief moment. Perhaps he expected a hug. Instead, the man looked at the brothers as though they had arrived for a business meeting, "Come inside," Vittorio Moretti said.
That was all. "Welcome, No. "I've missed you. No embrace.
The younger boy's hopeful expression faded almost instantly. He lowered his head, picked up his small suitcase, and quietly followed his older brother into the mansion. The massive wooden doors closed behind them.
Isabella remained standing by the fence long after the car had driven away.
She couldn't explain why, but the lonely boy with the sad eyes stayed on her mind for the rest of the afternoon.
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. Even after returning to her sketchbook, Isabella found herself glancing toward the Moretti estate every few minutes.
The younger boy never came back outside.
She frowned, tapping the end of her pencil against the page.
"You're thinking too hard."
Isabella looked up as her brother approached with a football tucked beneath his arm.
"I am not."
"You've been staring across the road for the last ten minutes."
"I was just wondering who those boys were."
Matteo followed her gaze toward the neighboring estate before shrugging.
"Does it matter?"
"A little."
"Why?"
"They looked... lonely."
Matteo smiled faintly.
"You can tell that from this far away?"
"I don't know." Isabella lowered her eyes to her unfinished drawing. "The younger one looked like he expected something."
"And?"
"He didn't get it."
Matteo sat beside her beneath the oak tree.
"Dad once told me that not every big house is a happy home."
Before Isabella could answer, Lorenzo De Luca stepped onto the terrace carrying two glasses of lemonade.
"There you both are," Lorenzo said. "Your mother was beginning to think you'd run away."
"We're only in the garden," Matteo replied with a grin.
Lorenzo handed each of them a glass before settling into a chair nearby.
His eyes drifted toward the Moretti estate for only a moment.
He quickly looked away.
"Dad," Isabella began, "who lives over there?"
Lorenzo remained silent for several seconds.
Finally, he answered.
"The Moretti family."
"Are they nice?"
"They keep to themselves."
"Do you know them?"
"A long time ago, I knew Mr. Moretti in business."
"Were you friends?" Isabella asked.
Lorenzo smiled politely.
"No."
That single word ended the conversation.
Isabella knew better than to ask another question.
Whenever her father answered that briefly, it meant he had no intention of saying more.
...
Across the road, Alessandro stood quietly beside the window of the guest room he shared with Marco. From there, he could see almost everything beyond the estate walls, the tree-lined road, the elegant houses.
And directly opposite the mansion...
Another estate.
Unlike the Moretti mansion, this one felt alive.
He watched a family laughing together in the garden.
A teenage boy chased a golden retriever across the lawn while a little girl clapped and cheered.
Their parents stood nearby, smiling as though they didn't have a single worry in the world.
Alessandro rested his forehead against the cool glass.
"They look happy."
Marco walked over and stood beside him.
"They are."
"How do you know?"
Marco slipped his hands into his pockets.
"You can always tell."
Alessandro watched as the little girl spun around the garden, laughing while the dog ran after her.
For a brief moment, she looked toward the mansion.
Their eyes met again.
This time, she smiled.
A small, genuine smile.
Without thinking, Alessandro smiled back.
It lasted only a second before she disappeared behind the hedges.
Marco noticed.
"You made a friend already?"
"I don't even know her name."
"Maybe you'll find out."
Alessandro looked toward the road once more.
For reasons, he couldn't explain, he hoped Marco was right.
The evening light began to fade over Milan, turning the sky into soft shades of gold and violet.
Alessandro remained by the window even after Marco had stepped away.
The glass had grown cold beneath his forehead, but he didn’t move.
Down below, the world between the two estates felt divided in ways he couldn’t explain. One side was warm light spilling from open windows. On the other hand, the Moretti mansion was already sinking into silence.
Footsteps approached behind him. Marco’s reflection appeared in the glass.
“You’re still looking over there,” Marco said calmly.
Alessandro didn’t answer immediately. His eyes stayed fixed on the De Luca garden.
“She smiled at me,” Alessandro said quietly. Marco raised an eyebrow. “Who did?”
“The girl.”
Marco followed his gaze across the road. “You don’t even know her.”
“I know, but she looked… happy.” Alessandro replied.
Marco leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Happy people usually don’t notice houses like this.”
Alessandro finally turned away from the window. “What does that mean?”
“It means we’re only here because we have to be,” Marco said simply. “Not because we belong.”
The words hung in the air for a moment.
Alessandro looked down at his hands. He didn’t fully understand what Marco meant, but something about it felt heavy.
Downstairs, voices echoed faintly through the mansion.
The woman’s laugh was controlled, polished.
Elena Moretti.
Then another voice followed, deeper, colder.
Vittorio Moretti.
Alessandro had barely heard his father speak more than a few sentences since arriving.
Even now, his voice carried no warmth.
“Dinner will be served at eight,” Elena said brightly, as if announcing something joyful. “The boys must be tired from traveling.”
“They’ll adjust,” Vittorio replied without looking up from the document in his hand.
Alessandro’s chest tightened slightly when he heard it from the hallway.
The boys will adjust.
Not just my sons… boys.
He turned away from the door before anyone could notice him listening.
Across the road, the De Luca house was alive again.
Isabella sat at the dinner table, her legs swinging slightly beneath her chair as she poked at her food.
“You’re not eating,” Sofia said gently, placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
“I am,” Isabella replied, pushing a piece of pasta around her plate.
Matteo smirked from across the table. “She’s thinking about the haunted mansion again.”
“I am not!”.
- Writer
