You may have heard of a place on the banks of Genoa, perceived a cry in the night, a whistle in the wind that seems to the weary eye like a scene of pure foulness. Where the air smells of bitter rum and the sand is damp with the tears of forgotten sorrow. Well my friends I’ll tell you if only you’re willing to listen, of the fateful night that twisted these once beautiful and serene shores into a place of mad terror and fright. Where the waves swallowed a ship in which carried home a sailor and the vain revenge that rung out eerie through the sea.

In the Azzara household it was clear to any guest who stepped within their halls that they were a family of great wealth. The handcrafted settee and bookshelf that were arranged precisely in the parlor automatically gave off the appearance of privilege and beauty. However, as of late Mr. Azzara had been out of work and money had become scarce. The change was not much of a burden to his three children who had been far too consumed at the time with the courting of possible suitors to care about their father’s troubles. Of course, none but the eldest had ever experienced the true mental strain of duty, so frankly it was not expected of them to pay much attention to their family’s financial situation. That is, until the evening when a heavy knock came upon their door.
“Pardon Madam, but am I correct to presume this as the Azzara household?” the man at the door’s gruff voice questioned. Mrs. Azzara, who stood in the entryway clad only in her nightgown (very improperly dressed for a woman of status) sighed with the annoyance of being awoken by a stranger's presence. 
“You presume correctly. However Sir, I  was not expecting visitors at this hour of the night.” replied Mrs. Azzara with a weary gleam in her eye.
The stranger cleared his throat nervously, as if holding back some regretful news lingering on his tongue.
“I regret to inform you of this my lady, but we’ve received word about your husband. There was a terrible storm last night, only a few men made it off the ship in time. I’m so sorry, but your husband has died.”
Mrs Azzara felt her heart beating heavily in her chest, her lungs failing her as she searched desperately for air. She couldn’t truly be hearing this, it was a dream she assured herself. A horrible, dreadful nightmare. In that moment, the poor middle aged woman dropped to the floor in faint.

“Ah, Gianni. How I will miss you.”
She sighed, looking up into the warm, brown eyes of her fiance. His gentle voice never failed to provide her with a powerful sense of security, even when she knew that every word which had just departed from his lips were of pure dishonesty. She had never been one to revel in such things, such empty promises which lovers often gave to one another.
“Don’t whisper your sweet words of condolence into my ear. Do not dare to provide me with false hope. That is a burden my already shattered heart has refused to carry.” She replied, holding back tears of remorse. This would be the last time they would see each other, it was written plainly in the half hearted smile painted across his face.
Angelo nodded, solemnly honoring her request.
“If you wish my love, I’ll refrain from being hopeful.”
Gianni scoffed, turning away from him in scorned pain.
“It is not the hope I distaste in you, Sir. It is your lack of reason.” she retorted.
She hoped her harsh words hurt him. She wished so badly that they cut through his heart with the pain of a knife, the way that his words were wounding her.
Suddenly, she was brought out of her dark thoughts by the warmth of strong arms wrapping around her waist. Angelo.
“My love, please. If there were any other way…”
But they both knew there wasn't. The last thing she remembered of that day was the gleam in his eyes as he sailed off into the horizon, leaving her behind to mourn his departure.

That was when Gianni Azzara woke up, sensing the familiarity of her own bed sheets beneath her. She woke up from the dream that had been haunting her for weeks now. Oh how the past seemed to find no greater pleasure than to torture old, broken hearts! Hearts that had suffered more pain throughout the years than one could ever imagine. That’s when it all came flooding back to her. The storm, the wind, the knock upon her door.
“No! No ti prego! Non dopo che ho perso già tanto!” The poor woman sobbed, screaming out in agony. She had loved him! True, Ferro Azzara had not been the first of her lovers, but in some ways that brought them all the more closer together. The pain of loss however, was not her only concern. What about her poor, sweet children? Years ago, when he had decided to marry her (a lower class citizen) they had been denied of his family’s fortune. Without her husband’s income, how would she provide for her family? Her daughters were already clothed in second hand dresses, ones clearly not worthy of being worn upon such beautiful young women. Why, Maria had never been courted in her life! With the age of marriage approaching rapidly for her youngest, how did she expect to hand her off to a wealthy enough suitor when she would have to be clad in rags?
“Mother, oh Mother! Tell us it isn’t true!”
Her eldest daughter, Luisa came rushing to the bedside. She had tears in her eyes and a letter in her hand. Wait, not a letter. A death certificate.
“Oh Luisa, I’m afraid it is. The storm took down his ship and… well there were simply no survivors.” Mrs Azzara broke the news as gently as possible, putting on a mask of strength for her daughter.
“Ah Madre! What will become of us?”
“Hush daughter, we will manage. Your father lived a long life, but he couldn’t provide for us forever now could he? It’s time your brothers learned some responsibility. They will be our source of income, if only until i’m able to visit your Uncle. Surely he will not deny us of inheritance now that he sees i’ve given him four, beautiful nieces and nephews.
Luisa looked at her mother strangely, as if in shock.
“But Mother, we’ve never even met father’s brother! You can’t simply expect him to-”
“We have no other choice, dear. I will arrange a letter to be sent to his manor in Parma. I will reason with his wife if all else fails. Be strong my love, and please be gentle when you inform your siblings of...you know.”
Luisa nodded with a tearful eye as she turned, exiting her mother’s bedroom wistfully, letting the door close behind her.
As soon as Gianni was sure of her daughter’s departure, she slipped out of bed, regretting the action as it immediately caused her head to reel dizzily as a result of her previous fainting spell. She reached into the drawer of her bedside table, blindly feeling for the key she kept there at all times. Ah, there it was. Creeping silently to the door, Mrs. Azzara inserted the key into it’s rusty lock, turning until she heard the familiar click. Once again, she tiptoed to her corner desk, wary of the creaking hardwood floors beneath her bare feet. She wanted to make sure that none of her children could hear her up and about from the parlor downstairs where they all sat, discussing the sudden death of their beloved father. Gianni hoped they weren’t grieving too hard, they all had many things in their lives that needed to be attended too. With a weary sigh, she took out a quill and a fresh sheet of paper, beginning the letter to her past.

Dear Angelo….