It was just after midnight on November 16, 2020, when the quiet of a suburban Melbourne street was broken by the sound of smashing glass. Inside the Manno family home, 23-year-old Celeste was asleep in her bedroom. By the time the noise brought her mother rushing in, the young woman’s life had been stolen in a burst of brutal violence — a frenzy of 23 stab wounds delivered in less than three minutes.
The man who did it, 39-year-old Luay Sako, wasn’t a stranger. He was a former co-worker, someone Celeste had once tried to treat with patience and civility. But Sako had turned that brief workplace connection into an unhealthy obsession, one that grew more dangerous over the course of a year until it ended in her death.
A Smile at Work
Celeste Manno had a reputation for warmth. Friends described her as the sort of person who remembered birthdays, laughed easily, and checked in on people when they seemed down. She worked at a Melbourne call center for a period, and it was there she first encountered Sako. He was older, and their professional overlap was brief — not much more than passing interactions on the floor.
Then in 2019, Sako was fired. From that moment, a line was crossed. The messages began — persistent, unwanted, and increasingly invasive, The Guardian reports. At first, it was easier for Celeste to ignore them, but they didn’t stop. The tone shifted from awkward to threatening, and her discomfort turned into fear.
Her family later said she tried to set boundaries early, making it clear she wasn’t interested in contact. But Sako didn’t take no for an answer.
By the end of 2019, Celeste went to the police. She was granted an interim restraining order — a legal barrier meant to keep Sako away from her and her family. But pieces of paper don’t stop people who refuse to respect them.
Court documents would later reveal the breaches. Sako monitored her social media activity and even used mapping technology to locate her family home. Every ping of her phone was a reminder that he wasn’t going away. Her mother, Aggie Di Mauro, recalled that they lived in “a state of constant fear” during those months.
When Celeste posted a new photo online, Sako saw it. When she visited a place, he seemed to know. It was as if he had made her life his central fixation, and nothing — not the police, not the courts — was going to stop him.
The Last Night
According to ABC News, on the evening of November 15, 2020, Celeste uploaded a picture with her new boyfriend. Hours later, Sako got into his car and drove to her home. He carried a hammer, which he used to smash her bedroom window, and a kitchen knife for what he came to do.
The attack was sudden and ferocious. According to evidence presented in court, Sako stabbed her 23 times while she slept. The entire assault lasted around two and a half minutes.
Aggie woke to the noise, ran to the room, and found her daughter fatally injured. In those chaotic moments, Sako fled.
He would later walk into a police station and hand himself in — not with shame or remorse, but with accusation. “You know what happened, it’s your fault. She’s dead. Go have a look,” he told officers.
The Trial and Sentence
In February 2024, after years of delays, Sako stood before the Supreme Court of Victoria. The judge, Justice Jane Dixon, called the crime “horrific” and acknowledged the “immeasurable suffering” of Celeste’s family. She sentenced him to 36 years in prison, with a minimum of 30 before he can apply for parole.
For the Manno family, the number fell short. Life imprisonment had been their hope — the harshest punishment available in Victoria. Justice Dixon explained she had not imposed that sentence because of Sako’s diagnosed “extreme personality disorder,” which she said significantly impaired his mental functioning during the murder.
Outside court, Aggie voiced the disbelief that rippled through supporters: “It’s unbelievable that the court decided to show him mercy, even when he showed Celeste none,” per BBC. She had prepared a statement demanding justice, but in the end, she tore it up, too overcome by the result.
Their frustration only deepened when the Office of Public Prosecutions chose not to appeal the decision for a longer sentence.
The Fight Beyond the Courtroom
Since Celeste’s death, her family has become more than mourners — they are campaigners. Aggie and her son Alessandro have spoken publicly about stalking, its dangers, and the holes in the system that allow it to escalate.
In interviews, Alessandro has been blunt: “We want no other family to go through what ours has endured. This cannot be just another statistic.”
They argue that restraining orders must carry more weight and that breaches should be treated with the seriousness they deserve. For them, it’s not an abstract debate — it’s about the very gap that cost Celeste her life.
A Story That Struck a Nerve
The Manno case got a lot of media attention in Australia and even in other countries. Crime programs reconstructed the timeline, exposing how early warning signs were missed or downplayed.
Experts have said that stalking often starts small — repeated messages, online monitoring — but can spiral if not addressed decisively. In Celeste’s case, every step Sako took toward violence happened in plain sight, yet the system struggled to contain him.
A Victoria Police spokesperson summed up the official stance: “This case is a stark reminder of the importance of taking stalking seriously and ensuring appropriate safeguards for victims.”
Her family continues to speak her name not just in grief, but as a call to action. They attend events, engage with lawmakers, and talk to the press. Their hope is that in telling her story, they might stop the next one from ending the same way.
For Aggie, the work is unending: “If this system had worked, my daughter would still be here,” she has said. And while the court has closed the file on Sako’s case, the campaign for change — for Celeste — is still very much alive.
