chapter:8

Mr. Riaz's eyes flickered open, groggily taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. He was met with the sterile smell of a hospital room, and the beeping of machines monitoring his vital signs. His gaze landed on his son, Shazad, who was sitting beside his bed, relief etched on his face.

"Shazad..." Mr. Riaz's voice was weak, his throat dry.

"Father!" Shazad's eyes lit up, his face filled with a mix of joy and concern. "You're awake! Thank God..."

Mr. Riaz's eyes narrowed, his mind foggy. "Where...where am I?"

"You're in the hospital, Father," Shazad replied. "You were in an accident. But you're going to be okay."

Mr. Riaz's gaze wandered, his eyes scanning the room. "The doctor...who was the doctor who saved me?"

Shazad's expression turned apologetic. "I don't know, Father. No one knows. She was a mysterious doctor who appeared out of nowhere, saved your life, and vanished just as quickly."

Mr. Riaz's eyes flashed with determination. "Find her, Shazad. I need to know who she is..."

Shazad's face filled with a mix of frustration and sympathy. "We've tried, Father. But it's as if she never existed..."

Mr. Riaz's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with questions. Who was this mysterious doctor? Why did she save his life? And why did she disappear without a trace?

Prince Shazad's eyes scanned the sleek, modern office, his gaze settling on his secretary, Danial, who stood before him, a look of apologetic defeat etched on his face.

"Who is she, Danial?" Prince Shazad's voice was low and even, but his eyes betrayed a hint of frustration. "This doctor who saved my father's life...who is she?"

Danial shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting to the floor. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. We've tried to find out, but...no one seems to know."

Prince Shazad's expression turned incredulous. "No one knows? How is that possible?"

Danial hesitated before speaking. "It seems she only appears in emergency situations, Your Highness. She's a dedicated and experienced doctor, but...she's a ghost. No one knows her name, her face...nothing."

Prince Shazad's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched in annoyance. "Find Salina," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "And find out who this doctor is. I want answers, Danial."

Danial nodded, his face pale. "Yes, Your Highness. But...I must warn you...we've tried everything. It's as if she doesn't exist."

Prince Shazad's expression turned cold, his eyes glinting with determination. "I don't pay you to make excuses, Danial. I pay you to get results. Find her."

Danial nodded again, his eyes downcast, and quickly exited the office, leaving Prince Shazad to his thoughts. The prince's eyes lingered on the spot where Danial had stood, his mind racing with questions. Who was this mysterious doctor? And why was she so determined to remain anonymous?

Prince Shazad slumped in his office chair, his eyes fixed on the cold, dark coffee in his cup. His mind, however, was a thousand miles away, consumed by the haunting memories of Salina's evil deeds.

He couldn't shake off the image of his sister, innocent and pure, accepting a chocolate from Salina's deceitful hands. And then, the unthinkable happened. His sister was gone, taken from him by Salina's cruel trickery. Yet, Salina had the audacity to deny any wrongdoing, to feign innocence even as his sister's life slipped away.

Shazad's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing, shrill and insistent. He answered, his voice curt, and listened as the caller delivered the devastating news: his brother had been in an accident.

Shazad's heart raced as he rushed to the hospital, his mind reeling with worst-case scenarios. And then, he saw her. Salina. Standing in the hospital corridor, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, her face a picture of innocence.

"Shazad, I swear, I didn't do it," she sobbed, her voice trembling. "I would never hurt your family."

But Shazad was unmoved. He knew her tricks, her lies, her evil heart. He knew she was capable of anything.

"You're a monster, Salina," he spat, his voice venomous. "A heartless, soulless monster."

Salina's face crumpled, her body shaking with sobs. But Shazad was unforgiving. He turned his back on her and walked away, leaving her to her tears.

As he walked, the hospital corridor seemed to stretch on forever, a cold, bleak tunnel of despair. Shazad's heart was heavy with grief, his mind consumed by the darkness that was Salina.

And then, he saw his brother, lying in the hospital bed, his eyes sunken, his face pale. Shazad's heart skipped a beat as he rushed to his side, his eyes scanning the machines beeping around him.

"Brother," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "Please, don't leave me."

But his brother's eyes were already glazing over, his chest still, his heart silent.

Shazad's world went dark, his mind shattered by the loss, the grief, the anger. He knew Salina was behind this, he knew she had struck again.

And he vowed, in that moment, to make her pay. To make her suffer as his family had suffered. To bring her to justice, no matter the cost.

The scene fades to black, the sound of Shazad's anguished roar echoing through the hospital corridor, a haunting reminder of the destruction Salina had wrought.

The police station's drab, grey walls seemed to closing in on Salina as Shazad's accusatory gaze bore into her very soul. His eyes, once bright with hope, now blazed with a fierce anger, a tempest of fury that threatened to consume her whole.

"Why?" The single word was a low, menacing growl, a challenge that dared her to deny the unspeakable crimes she had committed. Salina's mask of innocence slipped, her face pale and drawn, as she realized the game was up.

Shazad's towering frame loomed over her, his broad shoulders squared in a stance of unyielding determination. His voice, a low, husky whisper, sent shivers down her spine as he hissed, "You killed my family, Salina. My sister, my brother... how could you?"

The folder in Danial's hand seemed to contain the very weight of her guilt, its contents spilling out like a deadly accusation. Photos of her darkest deeds stared back at her, a graphic reminder of the destruction she had wrought.

Salina's face contorted in a twisted grimace, her eyes wild with fear, as she realized the net was closing in. Her lies, her deceit, her very existence - all were about to be exposed in a blaze of truth.

And then, the storm broke. Shazad's anger, a pent-up fury, unleashed itself in a torrent of words, a condemnation that left her reeling. "You're a monster, Salina. A heartless, soulless monster."

Shazad stormed into the police station, his anger and frustration palpable. He demanded to see Salina, and when she was brought before him, he sneered at her.

"You're coming with me," he growled, his voice low and menacing.

The officers hesitated, but Shazad's wealth and influence meant they didn't dare defy him. They handed Salina over, and Shazad dragged her out of the station, throwing her into his luxurious car.

When they arrived at his mansion, he pulled her out of the car and dragged her to a dark, dingy room deep within the haveli. He locked the door behind her, the sound of the key turning in the lock echoing through the darkness.

Salina was left alone, her mind racing with fear and uncertainty. She had no idea what Shazad had planned for her, but she knew it couldn't be good.

Three days passed, and Shazad returned to the room, expecting to find Salina cowering in the corner. But to his surprise, she was gone.

He demanded to see the CCTV footage, and what he saw made his blood run cold. A young man, his face obscured by a hoodie, had entered the room, lifted Salina into his arms, and carried her out of the mansion.

Shazad was furious. He launched a massive search, but despite his best efforts, he couldn't find any trace of Salina or her mysterious rescuer.

One year and six months passed, and Shazad was no closer to finding them. The case had gone cold, and he was left with only his anger and frustration to keep him company.

Shazad and Nazia's engagement ceremony, their happiness and love radiating like a beacon of joy. But then, the scene twisted and contorted, like a grotesque funhouse mirror reflection.

Nazia's uncle, was brutally murdered, his lifeless body lying in a pool of blood. Shazad's anger and grief were palpable, his face twisted in a snarl of rage and sorrow.

And then, the dream descended into even darker depths. Shazad's father, the king, clutched his chest in agony, his face contorted in a grimace of pain. He collapsed, his body crumpling to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

Queen Sofia's dream-self was paralyzed with fear, unable to move or speak as the horrors unfolded before her eyes. The dream was so real, so vivid, that she could feel the terror and despair like a physical weight crushing her chest.

And then, suddenly, she was awake. Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up in bed with a gasp. The darkness of the night seemed to press in around her, and the silence was oppressive, heavy with the weight of her dream.

She glanced at the clock, and the red numbers seemed to glow like embers from a fire: 3:00 AM. The witching hour, when the veil between reality and nightmare was at its thinnest.

Queen Sofia knew she wouldn't be able to sleep again, not after that dream. She threw off the covers and got out of bed, her heart still racing with fear and her mind reeling with the implications of what she had seen.

"The Shadow of Reckoning"

In the whispering winds of fate, a warning echoed through the ages: every mistake has a price, and every wrong will be righted. The universe, a master weaver, threads the tapestry of existence with the fibers of accountability. Every action, a delicate stitch, shapes the grand design of life.

As the clock of karma ticks on, the weight of errors accumulates, like autumn leaves rustling in the breeze. The day of reckoning arrives, unannounced, like a thief in the night, its presence felt only when the weight of mistakes comes crashing down like a tidal wave.

The piper's payment is exacted, and the ledger of life is balanced. No one escapes the cosmic justice, for in the dance of accountability, every step has a consequence. Yet, in the depths of darkness, a glimmer of hope flickers. Redemption's light beckons, guiding us towards atonement, forgiveness, and growth.

Every mistake is a lesson, every wrong a chance for redemption. The universe, a patient teacher, offers a path to wisdom, guiding us towards a brighter tomorrow. Heed the warning, dear traveler, for in the shadows of reckoning, lies the power to shape your destiny.

The morning sun, a fiery orb of gold, burst forth from the horizon, casting its radiant beams upon the majestic royal house. The grand estate, with its turrets and spires, gleamed like a beacon of prosperity, its stone façade radiant with a warm, golden light. The windows, like sparkling diamonds, refracted the sun's rays, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the manicured lawns.

But, alas, this beautiful morning belied the horror that was to come. Unbeknownst to the royal family, a dark and sinister fate lurked in the shadows, waiting to strike. The very walls that had witnessed countless joyous moments and celebrations now stood as silent sentinels, guarding the secrets of a terrible truth.

As the sun continued its ascent, its golden rays illuminating every nook and cranny, the royal family stirred, unaware of the impending doom that was to befall them. The sound of laughter and gentle whispers filled the air, a stark contrast to the terror that was to come.

And then, without warning, the tranquility was shattered. A loud crash, a scream, a cry for help – the morning's peace was brutally shattered, leaving the royal family to face a horror beyond their wildest imagination. The golden light of the sun now cast an eerie glow, illuminating the scene of unspeakable terror that was to unfold.

The majestic royal house, once a symbol of prosperity and happiness, had become a house of horrors, its beauty and grandeur now a cruel mockery. The morning sun, once a harbinger of hope and joy, had become a witness to the unspeakable, its golden rays forever tainted by the horrors that were to come.

The police department was in a state of utter despair, their faces etched with worry and frustration. The chief of police, a man revered for his dedication and integrity, had been brutally murdered, and the killer remained at large. The investigation had yielded nothing – no leads, no witnesses, no evidence. The usually bustling streets of Rome were now hollow and silent, as if the city itself was mourning the loss of its protector.

The detectives pored over the crime scene, searching for any clue that might lead them to the perpetrator. But there was nothing – no fingerprints, no DNA, no surveillance footage. It was as if the killer had vanished into thin air, leaving behind only the haunting memory of the chief's lifeless body.

The city was in a state of collective shock, its residents reeling from the news of the senseless murder. The once-vibrant streets were now empty and still, the only sound the echoes of whispered prayers and mournful sighs. The people of Rome knew that their city was in karma, that the universe had exacted a terrible price for some unknown transgression.

As the days passed, the police department's desperation grew. They scoured the city, questioning suspects and scouring the streets for any hint of evidence. But the killer remained elusive, a ghostly figure who seemed to have committed the perfect crime.

The city's residents lived in fear, wondering who would be next, and the police department was consumed by its failure to protect its own. The memory of the chief's murder hung over Rome like a dark cloud, a constant reminder of the evil that lurked in the shadows, waiting to strike again.

The pink hair ribbon lay delicately coiled on the cold, steel autopsy table, its soft, feminine hue a stark contrast to the harsh reality of the crime scene. It was as if it had been carefully placed, a subtle clue left behind by the killer.

Inspector Matteo's eyes zeroed in on the ribbon, his mind racing with questions. Who did it belong to? Was it a signature from the killer, a taunting clue to their identity? Or was it a personal item of the victim's, a hint at a secret life or hidden connection?

He reached out a gloved hand, gently lifting the ribbon. It was silky to the touch, with a subtle sheen that caught the light. He turned it over, studying it from every angle, but there was no hidden message, no obvious clue.

The inspector's gaze narrowed, his eyes burning with determination. He knew that this small, seemingly insignificant item could hold the key to unlocking the entire case. He would follow its trail, no matter where it led, driven by his unyielding determination to bring justice to the victim and closure to the case.

The courtroom was dimly lit, the air thick with the weight of frustration and defeat. The prosecution's case, once a promising pursuit of justice, had finally reached its inevitable conclusion - a dead end.

The prosecutor, a seasoned veteran of the legal arena, stood before the bench, his eyes cast downward in defeat. "Your Honor, we have exhausted every lead, every tip, every shred of evidence. The investigation has yielded nothing but dust and disappointment. We have no victim, no suspect, and no case."

The judge, a wise and weathered arbiter of justice, nodded solemnly, his eyes clouded with the weight of responsibility. "I hereby declare the case closed, due to lack of evidence and no viable leads. The pink hair ribbon, once a tantalizing clue, remains an enigma, a mystery that may never be solved."

As the lawyers packed their papers and the courtroom began to empty, the pink hair ribbon seemed to fade into obscurity, its delicate threads a reminder of the elusive truth that had slipped through their fingers. The case was closed, but the questions lingered, a haunting reminder of the unsolved and the unknown.

The courtroom doors swung shut, a solemn creak echoing through the empty hallways, as the justice system acknowledged its limitations and moved on, leaving the mystery of the pink hair ribbon to the annals of time.

The grand throne room was bathed in a somber silence, the ornate tapestries and gleaming marble seeming to mourn the failure that was to be announced. The police officer, a stalwart and dedicated servant of the law, stood before the monarch, his eyes cast downward in a mixture of shame and regret.

"Your Majesty," he began, his voice low and heavy with the weight of defeat. "I come to you with a heavy heart, bearing news that pains me to utter. Despite our most valiant efforts, we have failed to solve the mystery of the pink hair ribbon."

The king's expression remained impassive, but a flicker of disappointment danced in his eyes. "Go on," he commanded, his voice firm but laced with a hint of sorrow.

The officer drew a deep breath, his words tumbling forth like a confession. "We have exhausted every lead, every tip, every shred of evidence. We have interviewed countless witnesses, followed every trail, and yet... nothing. The case remains a puzzle, a riddle we cannot solve."

The king's gaze narrowed, his eyes piercing the officer's very soul. "And so, you come to me, hat in hand, to announce your failure?"

The officer nodded, his shoulders slumping beneath the weight of his responsibility. "I do, Your Majesty. We have failed you, and we have failed the people. The case is closed, a mystery that will forever remain unsolved."

The king's expression turned stony, his voice cold and detached. "Very well. You are dismissed, Officer. May your future endeavors be more fruitful."

As the officer bowed and retreated, the throne room seemed to grow darker, the shadows deepening into a chasm of disappointment and defeat. The pink hair ribbon, once a tantalizing clue, had become a symbol of failure, a reminder that even the most diligent efforts can sometimes fall short. The king's gaze lingered on the empty space where the officer had stood, his thoughts consumed by the unsolved mystery that would forever haunt his reign.

The Bella Moda company was a sleek and modern building, its glass and steel façade gleaming in the city's bright lights. Inside, the office hummed with activity, fashion designers and marketing executives bustling about, creating the latest trends. But amidst the creativity and chaos, a different kind of drama was unfolding.

In a corner office, Shazad, the CEO, sat behind his desk, his face etched with concern. His secretary, Danial, stood opposite him, a look of shared frustration on his face.

"Can you believe it, Danial?" Shazad asked, his voice low and urgent. "The police have closed the case of the chief of police's murder. Just like that, no culprit, no justice."

Danial shook his head. "It's a travesty, sir. But what can we do?"

Shazad's eyes narrowed. "We can do what the police couldn't. Find the enemy of the chief of police."

Danial's eyes widened. "But sir, that's a dangerous game. We're not investigators."

Shazad's smile was cold and calculating. "Leave that to me, Danial. I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

As they spoke, the office around them faded into the background, the sounds of typing and laughter muted by their intense focus. Shazad's eyes gleamed with determination, his mind racing with strategies and plans.

"Let's get to work, Danial. We have a case to crack."

The sun-kissed streets of Rome, Italy's eternal city, pulsed with life. Via del Corso, a iconic thoroughfare, was abuzz with energy, its ancient architecture a testament to the city's rich history. The air was alive with the hum of Vespa scooters, the chatter of pedestrians, and the wail of sirens in the distance.

As the golden light of sunset danced across the rooftops, the street transformed into a catwalk of sorts, with locals and tourists alike strutting their stuff. The sound of laughter and conversation filled the air, punctuated by the clinking of espresso cups and the rustling of gelato cones.

Amidst the vibrant chaos, she emerged, her dark hair and piercing green eyes a striking contrast to the sea of faces. She moved with purpose, her long strides devouring the distance as she navigated the crowded sidewalk.

As she turned a corner, the majestic Colosseum came into view, its ancient stones glowing golden in the fading light. Her eyes locked onto the iconic landmark, her thoughts drifting to the secrets it held, the stories it could tell.

The street seemed to fade into the background as she stood there, lost in thought, the sounds and smells of the city blending into a sensory overload. It was as if the very essence of Rome was alive, pulsing through her veins like a powerful elixir.

In that moment, she knew she was a part of something greater, something timeless. She was a thread in the intricate tapestry of Rome, connected to the city's ancient past, its vibrant present, and its uncertain future. And as she continued on her journey, the city's secrets beckoned, waiting to be uncovered.

Her lips, painted red as a rose, curled into a subtle smile, hinting at secrets untold.

Her outfit was a master class in elegance, a black dress hugging her curves like a glove, its hem fluttering around her knees like a dark mist. But it was her shoes that truly made a statement – red stilettos that gleamed like rubies, their heels clicking against the pavement like a ticking time bomb.

As she walked, her face remained hidden behind a veil of mystery, a black lace mask obscuring her features like a whisper of secrecy. It was as if she was a phantom, a ghostly apparition gliding through the crowded streets, leaving a trail of intrigue in her wake.

Despite her concealed face, her presence was mesmerizing, drawing gazes like a magnet. She moved with the grace of a cat, her red heels striking the ground with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. It was clear that she was a woman on a mission, one who would stop at nothing to achieve her goals. And as she disappeared into the Rome night, the city itself seemed to whisper a single word: "Danger."

The royal house loomed before her, its turrets and spires reaching towards the moon like skeletal fingers. The night air was heavy with the scent of decay and rot, as if the very walls were exhaling a sigh of despair. As she stepped inside, the creaking of the ancient wooden floorboards seemed to echo through the halls like a death knell.

The darkness was absolute, a living entity that wrapped itself around her like a shroud. She fumbled in her pocket for a match, the strike of the sulfur a tiny explosion in the stillness. The flickering flame cast eerie shadows on the walls, making it seem as if the portraits of long-dead monarchs were watching her every move.

As she ventured deeper, the shadows seemed to writhe and twist around her, like living things. The air grew colder, the silence more oppressive. She could feel the weight of history bearing down upon her, the secrets and scandals of generations past seeming to seep from the very walls.

And then, she saw it. A door, hidden behind a tattered tapestry, its surface adorned with strange symbols that seemed to pulse with a malevolent life of their own. The match flame danced and spat, casting an eerie glow over the door as if warning her away.

But she was drawn to it, a moth to the very flame that would consume her. With a sense of inevitability, she reached out and grasped the rusty handle, the creak of the door echoing through the halls like a scream. As she stepped across the threshold, the darkness seemed to swallow her whole, leaving nothing but the faintest whisper of her existence...

The next morning, Maria, the maid, entered the Prince's room, expecting to find him refreshed and ready for the day. Instead, she was met with a sight that made her blood run cold. The Prince lay unconscious on the floor, his face pale and clammy.

Maria's scream echoed through the halls as she rushed out of the room, desperate to find help. She collided with Nazia, the Prince's fiancée, in the corridor. "Princess, princess! Come quick! The Prince...he's...he's...!"

Nazia's face went white as she pushed past Maria and rushed into the room. She gasped at the sight of the Prince's limp form. "Oh no...oh dear God..."

Nazia quickly turned to Daniel, the Prince's secretary, who was standing in the doorway, his face ashen. "Daniel, we need to get him to the hospital, now!"

Without hesitation, Daniel nodded and together they carefully lifted the Prince onto a stretcher, their faces set with worry. At the hospital, the doctors and nurses worked tirelessly to revive the Prince, pumping his stomach and administering antidotes.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the doctor emerged from the intensive care unit, a hint of a smile on his face. "He's going to make it," he said, his voice laced with relief. "He ingested a poisonous substance, but we've managed to counteract its effects. He's out of danger now."

Nazia's eyes welled up with tears as she gazed upon the Prince's still form, her hand clasped tightly in Daniel's. Who could have done such a thing? And why? The questions swirled in her mind like a vortex, but for now, she was just grateful that the Prince was alive.

The scene unfolded like a eerie tableau, the maids standing frozen in fear, their eyes fixed on Nazia as she demanded answers. "Who among you entered the Prince's room?" she asked, her voice firm but laced with a hint of desperation. "Who prepared his coffee?"

The maids exchanged nervous glances, but none spoke up. The silence was oppressive, heavy with secrets and suspicion. Nazia's gaze swept over them, her eyes blazing with determination.

Meanwhile, Secretary Daniel discreetly slipped away to investigate the Prince's room. His eyes scanned the space, taking in every detail. That's when he saw it - a pink ribbon tied to the bedpost, a note attached to it. His heart raced as he reached for the note, his fingers trembling slightly.

The message was brief, but chilling: "Only Shazad will read this." Daniel's mind raced with questions. Who wrote this? What did they want from the Prince? And who was Shazad?

As he stood there, the note clutched in his hand, Daniel felt a shiver run down his spine. He knew he had to share this with Nazia, but he also knew that they were dealing with something sinister, something that threatened the very life of the Prince they were sworn to protect.

The hospital room was bathed in a soft, golden light, the machines beeping in the background a constant reminder of the Prince's fragile state. Shazad stood by the bedside, his eyes fixed on the Prince's face, his expression a mask of concern.

As the Prince's eyes flickered open, The Prince's gaze wandered, taking in the surroundings, before finally settling on Nazia, who sat by his bedside, her eyes red-rimmed from tears.

The Prince's face creased into a weak smile, his voice barely above a whisper: "Nazia...please...don't tell the King and Queen about this. I don't want them to worry."

Nazia's face contorted in a mix of emotions - concern, fear, and determination. She nodded, her voice firm: "I won't, my Prince. I promise."

Shazad's eyes narrowed, his face a picture of intensity. He glanced at Secretary Daniel, who stood by the door, his expression a mask of professionalism, but his eyes betraying a hint of curiosity.

The Prince's gaze followed Shazad's, his eyes locking onto the Secretary. For a moment, the two men held a silent understanding, a nod passing between them.

The Prince's face relaxed, a look of relief washing over him. He knew his secret was safe, at least for now. Nazia's hand tightened around his, her eyes shining with tears.

Shazad's face softened, his eyes filled with a deep empathy. He knew the weight of the Prince's words, the burden of secrets kept hidden. He nodded, a silent promise to protect the Prince's trust.

In that moment, the three individuals in the room were bound together by a shared secret, a web of loyalty and deception that would have far-reaching consequences.

Nazia's phone rang, piercing the tense atmosphere of the hospital room. She hesitated for a moment, then picked up, her voice cautious: "Hello?"

A young man's voice burst through the line, excitement and urgency mingling in his tone: "Nazia! Oh my god, it's me, Giovanni! I'm here! I've arrived at the royal house! Come quick, I can't wait to meet you!"

Nazia's face lit up with a bright smile, her eyes shining with happiness. She was thrilled to hear from her brother, Giovanni, who had just arrived from Canada.

She glanced at Prince Shazad, who was watching her with a curious expression. Secretary Daniel also looked on, his face tense with concern.

Nazia's voice was firm, but laced with excitement: "Giovanni, I'll be right there! I can't wait to see you!"

Giovanni's voice dropped to a whisper: "Me neither, Nazia! I've missed you so much! See you soon!"

With that, the line went dead. Nazia's eyes met Prince Shazad's, a silent understanding passing between them. She had to go, and she was eager to reunite with her brother.

"Secretary Daniel, stay with him," she instructed, her voice firm. "I'll be back soon."

Secretary Daniel nodded, his expression serious.

Nazia quickly exited the room, her heart full of joy and excitement. She was finally going to reunite with her beloved brother, Giovanni.