Tragedy in the Alps: The Devastating Swiss Bar Inferno That Claimed 40 Lives—and the Heartbreaking Story of a Waitress Who Was Never Meant to Be There
The snow-capped peaks of Crans-Montana shimmer under the Alpine sky, a playground for the wealthy where luxury chalets and high-end resorts draw crowds from across Europe. On New Year’s Eve 2025, Le Constellation bar promised the ultimate celebration: champagne flowing, music pulsing, and an atmosphere charged with the thrill of a new year dawning. Tables cost a minimum of around ÂŁ900, ensuring an exclusive crowd of revelers ready to toast in style. What unfolded in the early hours of January 1, 2026, however, transformed this glamorous venue into a scene of unimaginable horror—one that claimed 40 lives, injured over 100, and left a nation grappling with questions of negligence, exploitation, and preventable tragedy.
At the center of this nightmare stands Cyane Panine, a 24-year-old French waitress whose radiant smile and spontaneous spirit made her unforgettable to those who knew her. Her parents, Jerome and Astrid Panine, now speak out from their home in Sète, southern France, with voices heavy with grief and quiet fury. “Cyane was spontaneous, radiant, and full of heart,” Astrid says, her words trembling. “She possessed a beauty that went beyond the physical. She embodied it. She trusted people without the slightest suspicion. She paid the ultimate price for this with her life.”
Cyane had arrived in Crans-Montana in late November 2025 for seasonal work, a common path for young people seeking adventure and income in Switzerland’s ski resorts. She began her shifts at Senso, a gourmet burger restaurant owned by Jacques and Jessica Moretti, the same couple who ran Le Constellation. The Morettis often moved staff between their venues, and on New Year’s Eve, Cyane started her day at the restaurant before being sent to the bar later that evening. Crucially, she was never scheduled to work at Le Constellation that night. “She wasn’t even meant to be there,” her father Jerome emphasizes. “She was exhausted, working relentlessly between the two places, sometimes both in the same day. She felt used, mentally and physically drained.”
Despite her fatigue, Cyane arrived at the bar to help with the massive New Year’s crowd. For most of the evening, she stayed on the ground floor, warmly welcoming guests and guiding them to their expensive tables. Shortly after 1 a.m., Jessica Moretti asked her to head to the basement to assist with a large champagne order. “Get the atmosphere going,” Jessica reportedly encouraged. What followed was a routine stunt at the venue: waitresses placed sparklers in champagne bottles, donned quirky accessories like Guy Fawkes masks or crash helmets, and were lifted onto colleagues’ shoulders to parade through the crowd, heightening the festive energy.
Video footage captured the moment that would change everything. Cyane, wearing a black-visored crash helmet provided by champagne brand Dom PĂ©rignon—a gimmick meant to protect from sparks—climbed onto the shoulders of 27-year-old barman Matthieu Aubrun. She held two bottles aloft, sparklers blazing brightly. The helmet obscured her vision completely, blinding her to the danger above. Jessica Moretti stood nearby, filming the spectacle on her phone. As Cyane was paraded, the first flames erupted on the ceiling’s soundproofing foam. Within seconds, the fire raced across the material in a devastating flash-over, turning the basement into an inferno.
Panic erupted. Music blared on as people screamed and shoved toward the exits. The basement’s narrow staircase—reduced from three meters to just one meter wide during renovations in 2015—became a deadly bottleneck. Many of the 40 victims perished there, crushed or overcome by smoke as the wooden steps and handrails collapsed under the weight. Cyane, still blinded by the helmet, tried to flee with others toward a second exit—a service door that investigators now believe was deliberately locked from the inside. “Jacques had closed the emergency exit because he was afraid people would come in without paying,” Astrid Panine alleges. “The tables cost 1,000 euros. And if you can’t even put a guard at that door… If the door had been open, maybe there wouldn’t have been deaths.”
Jacques Moretti later told investigators he only realized the door was latched after the blaze. Cyane was found among a pile of bodies behind it, suffocated and burned. She was carried unconscious to a nearby bar but could not be saved. The Morettis claimed she was “like family,” even “a stepdaughter,” but her parents reject this fiercely. “They say she was like a sister to them,” Jerome says bitterly. “But she had no employment contract, no safety training, and she was exhausted from their demands.”
The fire’s rapid spread stemmed from multiple factors. The soundproofing foam, highly flammable, fueled the blaze. Sparklers had been a staple for years, according to Jessica Moretti, who told investigators it was routine. Yet no fire safety inspections had occurred since 2019, despite Swiss laws requiring annual checks. The narrow staircase and locked exit compounded the catastrophe. Swiss authorities have launched a criminal investigation into manslaughter by negligence, bodily harm by negligence, and arson by negligence. Jacques Moretti remains in pre-trial detention due to flight risk, while Jessica wears an electronic tag.
The death toll—40, many teenagers and young adults, the youngest just 14—shocked Switzerland and the world. Over 100 suffered severe burns and injuries. Survivors describe chaos: people smashing windows, clawing at doors, the air thick with smoke and screams. One escaped waitress told investigators staff received no fire safety training and were unaware of emergency procedures. “I didn’t know the fire had started at first,” she said. “I saw it afterwards on videos.” The masks and helmets likely delayed reactions, costing precious seconds.
Cyane’s parents are haunted by the media’s portrayal of their daughter as “the girl in the helmet”—a symbol of the tragedy rather than a vibrant young woman. “I cannot accept that my daughter is remembered only as the girl with the helmet,” Jerome says. They accuse the Morettis of exploitation: long hours, no contract, and pressure to perform dangerous stunts. Cyane had even contacted workers’ protection services about her conditions before the fire, planning to go public.
The Alpine resort, usually a haven of luxury, now bears the scars of this disaster. Memorials dot Crans-Montana—flowers, candles, and tributes from grieving families. The Swiss government has promised a thorough inquiry, but for the Panines, justice feels distant. “She trusted people,” Astrid reflects. “She paid the ultimate price.”
This tragedy exposes the dark underbelly of seasonal work in glamorous resorts: young people, often far from home, pushed to their limits for profit. The Morettis’ venue thrived on excess—expensive tables, pyrotechnic shows—yet skimped on safety. The locked exit, narrow stairs, and flammable materials were choices that cost lives.
As investigations continue, the world watches. Will accountability follow? For Cyane’s family, no verdict can bring her back. But their voices demand that her story not be reduced to a single image. She was a daughter, a friend, a light in the world—gone too soon in a fire that should never have happened.
The Alps remain beautiful, but the echoes of that New Year’s night linger: screams in the smoke, a helmet obscuring vision, and a young woman who trusted too much. In remembering Cyane Panine, we honor not just a victim, but a warning—safety must never be sacrificed for spectacle.
