The blood of Davide Pollina still stains the suburban streets of Preston, but for his shattered family, the real wound reopened this week when a teenage driver walked away from court with little more than a stern talking-to. The 19-year-old tradie, a bright-eyed apprentice carpenter with dreams bigger than his toolbox, was mowed down last August by a stolen car barreling through the night like a rogue missile. His killer? A 16-year-old boy – unnamed to shield his “youthful indiscretion” – who now faces just 18 months of community supervision and a two-year driving ban. No jail time. No real reckoning. Just a family’s howl of injustice echoing through the halls of the Melbourne Magistrates’ Court.

It was a balmy evening on August 17, 2024, the kind where young lovers text heart emojis and the world feels full of promise. Davide, fresh from a long day on the tools, hopped on his pushbike for the familiar ride to his girlfriend’s place in Preston – a quiet ritual of stolen kisses and shared Netflix queues. Trailing behind in her car, his girl watched in horror as a black SUV – nicked hours earlier in a brazen home invasion in nearby Reservoir – swerved wildly onto the path. The impact was instantaneous and unforgiving: metal on flesh, a sickening crunch that flung Davide’s body 20 meters across the asphalt. The driver? Didn’t even brake. Just floored it, vanishing into the suburban sprawl as witnesses scrambled for their phones.

Davide clung to life for agonizing hours at the Royal Melbourne Hospital, surrounded by the beeps of machines and the sobs of those who loved him most. His girlfriend, 20-year-old Mia, held his hand through the night, whispering promises of forever even as the doctors shook their heads. “He was my everything,” she later told A Current Affair, her voice a fragile thread. “We had plans – a house, kids, the whole stupid beautiful life. Now? I drive past that spot every day and see his ghost pedaling away.” By dawn, the machines fell silent. Davide Pollina, the cheeky kid from an Italian-Aussie clan who’d light up barbecues with his guitar strums and bad dad jokes, was gone. Just 19. A statistic in a city choking on youth crime.

The teen behind the wheel – a lanky 16-year-old from a fractured family, already tangled in the juvenile justice web for petty thefts and truancy – was nabbed two days later, holed up in a dingy flat with mates, the stolen SUV stripped for parts in a back-alley chop shop. Cops pieced it together quick: The home invasion netted the keys to a 2019 Mazda CX-5, which the boy and his crew used for a midnight joyride high on adrenaline and cheap vodka. No intent to kill, prosecutors argued – just reckless stupidity amplified by speed and shadows. But to Davide’s family, it was premeditated murder on wheels. “He stole a car knowing full well it could kill someone,” fumed his uncle, Marco Pollina, a burly builder with calluses like his nephew’s dreams. “And for what? A laugh? Our boy’s life wasn’t a joyride.”

Fast-forward to Tuesday, December 9, 2025 – 16 months after the crash that cracked a family’s foundation – and the courtroom drama unfolded like a bad sequel nobody wanted. Magistrate Elena Rossi, her face etched with the weariness of too many teen tragedies, peered over her glasses at the now-17-year-old offender, who slouched in the dock, hood up, eyes down. The boy’s lawyer painted a portrait of redemption: Enrolled in TAFE counseling, “profound remorse,” a product of poverty and absent parents. The Crown pushed for Youth Justice Centre time – six months, minimum – but Rossi demurred. “Detention would be counterproductive,” she intoned, handing down the sentence: 18 months’ supervision order, mandatory anger management, and a two-year driving ban. Community service? 100 hours, to be “completed at the family’s discretion.” The teen nodded, almost relieved, and shuffled out to hugs from his tearful mum.

The Pollina clan? They erupted like Vesuvius. Sister Monica Pollina, 22 and Davide’s fiercest defender – the one who’d tag-team sibling pranks and midnight McDonald’s runs – stormed from the courthouse, microphone in hand, tears carving rivers down her cheeks. “Be more respectful for victims, just put yourself in our shoes sometimes!” she spat to the gaggle of reporters, her voice raw as an open wound. “My brother can be a brother or a child of anyone. It’s so unfair this situation. He was 19! He had his whole life – jobs lined up, a girl he adored, a family that worshipped him. And this… this boy gets to go home? Sleep in his bed? While we bury empty plots and light candles that flicker out?”

The backlash has been a tidal wave. Social media’s ablaze with #JusticeForDavide, racking up 250,000 posts in 48 hours – mums sharing their tradie sons’ selfies, footy clubs blacking out their logos in solidarity, even Premier Jacinta Allan fielding calls from outraged constituents. “Youth crime’s a crisis, but this feels like a cop-out,” thundered one viral tweet from a Preston dad, echoing the sentiment of a city fed up with “soft sentences” in the wake of rising ram raids and road rage. Victim advocates like the Road Trauma Support Group Victoria are mobilizing, demanding a review: “Eighteen months? That’s less time than Davide’s last birthday weekend,” group head Lena Vasquez fumed on ABC Radio. “His family gets supervised grief while the driver gets supervised freedom. Where’s the deterrence?”

Davide’s story isn’t just statistics; it’s snapshots of a life unlived. The second youngest of four in a tight-knit Italian clan – Nonna’s lasagna Sundays, footy at the MCG, that infectious laugh that could disarm a room – he was the glue, the dreamer with ink on his fingers from sketching house plans and calluses from swinging hammers. “He’d come home filthy, grinning ear to ear, with stories of nailing his first beam,” his dad, Giuseppe, choked out in a family statement. “Now? Our house echoes. His room’s a shrine – tools on the dresser, that half-finished guitar in the corner.” Mia, still wearing his silver chain like a talisman, added: “He texted me ‘On my way, love you’ five minutes before. I keep rereading it, waiting for the next one.”

As the teen’s supervision ticks down – just 18 months till he’s “rehabilitated” and back on the roads – the Pollinas vow to fight. Petitions for sentencing reform are flooding Parliament House; a GoFundMe for road safety scholarships in Davide’s name has hit $150K. Monica’s rallying cry? “Don’t let my brother’s blood dry on the pavement. Make the system see us – really see us.”

In Preston’s quiet streets, where eucalypts whisper over bike paths now lined with ghost bikes, Davide’s absence is a scream. A stolen car took his breath, but a lenient gavel stole his justice. For the Pollina family, the real trial isn’t over – it’s every dawn without him, every empty chair at Nonna’s table. And as the teen drives off into his second chance, they wonder: Whose life was really stolen that night?