Emanuele Di Caterino's mother: "My son was killed, and we were abandoned by the state."

Naples - "Today I am an orphaned mother. Abandoned by the state and by justice," she says, her voice breaking but without losing composure. "I know full well that no sentence will ever give me back my Emanuele, but I expected different decisions from the judges. Certainly not yet another acquittal."

A few minutes after the verdict was read, Amalia entered courtroom 314 in tears. She could no longer remain silent. "Justice has been defeated," she shouted in front of the judges and lawyers. It was the breaking point in a long judicial odyssey that had never led to a definitive conviction.

"Throughout these years, I've always had respect for judges and institutions," he says. "But this time I couldn't. I'd like to ask the president just one question: who killed my son?"

Thirteen years of trials haven't been enough to provide an answer. "I ask myself this question every night, and it keeps me awake at night," he confesses. "I even wrote to Justice Minister Carlo Nordio to shed light on this case. The medical reports speak clearly: Emanuele was shot in the back, killed without even realizing what was happening."

Emanuele was returning home. He didn't know his attacker, he hadn't had any arguments, and there was no criminal record. "I remember his voice on the phone as he died," his mother says. "He didn't have time to understand anything."

In a country that continues to see increasingly young victims, often armed and ruthless, Amalia Iorio feels compelled to speak directly to these young people. Her appeal is born of grief:
"I would like to tell young people to put down their knives and guns. Don't make mothers like me suffer anymore. We are orphans and also abandoned by the state. Live life to the fullest, because it is the most precious gift you have."

The memory of her son is bright, light years away from the violence that took him from her. "Emanuele was a pure boy, he lived in the light," she says. "He was a high school student, he loved studying, and he dreamed of enrolling in engineering, perhaps in another city. He had his head on his shoulders. That evening, too, he had gone out with peace of mind. On Monday, he had a math test, and that was all he thought about."

Then a sentence that carries weight like a moral sentence: "Whoever killed him will have to guard his hands for the rest of his life. The same hands with which he took my son's life."

Today Amalia is a broken woman, but not defeated. "My heart is broken," she admits. "But I have three other children I need to protect. I haven't become bitter. I love being around kids because they are our life."

She remains bitter about a justice system that, she says, "is not equal for everyone." But also grateful for those who never left her alone. "I will never forget the buses that arrived for Emanuele's funeral, nor the letter from Pope Francis inviting me to a private audience, telling me how impressed he was by her clean-cut face."

From that pain, a promise was born: "I founded an association named after Emanuele. With this project, I will continue to keep his memory alive."
Because, even though human justice has acquitted, a mother continues to demand the truth. And to demand that no one else have to say: "My son was killed and we were abandoned by the state."