San Francisco, 1945
Tony was in heaven. The osso buco at Fior D’Italia was just as tender and flavorful as his mother’s special recipe that he recalled. And the Barolo wine from Piemonte—exquisite. Even though he’d had a lot to drink, he was celebrating, wasn’t he?
He patted his full stomach and leaned back in his chair. “Fine choice of restaurants, Doc. You were right.”
“My father’s family was from northern Italy. This reminds me of some of our traditional dishes, although the seafood on the Sorrento peninsula is magnificent. Thought I might as well share my best finds in San Francisco with you before I leave.”
“What time do you board your ship in the morning?”
“I should be there by eight. Where are you staying?”
Tony stroked his chin. He figured he’d find a room. “Plenty of inns around.”
“And most of them are sold out,” Doc said. “I have a room you can take over when I leave. You can have the couch tonight.”
“Gee, thanks, that’s swell. Wish you were going to be around longer, but I sure appreciate the room.”
“Wait until you see it. It’s nothing fancy, but the location is good.”
Tony wished he had friends or family like Doc, who spoke Italian so elegantly with the restaurant staff that Tony hated to say much. Tony was proud to be an American, though his family had come from Italy. When he was a teenager, his parents had died during an influenza epidemic, so he had no family except for his mother’s uncle, who the last he heard had moved to Santa Monica, somewhere south of San Francisco near Los Angeles. No, Tony Baldini was on his own in the world.
Tony poured the remaining wine into Doc’s glass. “So how long will you be gone?”
Doc sipped the wine and savored, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I won’t be returning. I’ve spent enough time in America.”
“What will you do there?”
Doc’s eyes lit up. “There’s a legend of exceptional quality cacao trees in Peru. I’ll start there and try to find them.”
“You know so much about chocolate. When you were talking at that shop, I thought your knowledge was pretty impressive.”
“My family is in the industry.” Doc gave a modest shrug.
“No kidding? In Italy?”
“Naples and Torino, but they’ve been closed for the past few years. I imagine my father will reopen the factories as soon as supplies become available.” Doc heaved a great sigh. “That’s in the past. I’m more interested in what I can do for farmers and their families in South America. The villages are a long way from medical facilities. There’s a huge need there, so I can make a real difference in their lives. And I hope to gain a lot of knowledge in cultivating cacao and medicinal herbs.”
Tony respected that. “So you’re not coming back to settle down later?”
“If I wanted to do that, I would return to Italy. But sadly, I cannot.”
“How come?”
“Even the best families sometimes have…disagreements.”
An intriguing idea took root in Tony’s mind. Though it would solve his problem, it wasn’t exactly on the up-and-up. He resisted, yet it wouldn’t hurt to ask a few questions, would it?
Tony cleared his throat. “Do you have family here in the states, Doc? A wife or children? Cousins?”
“No one. I’m a free man. I go where I please.”
Tony smiled broadly. “That’s a fine plan. Which pier are you leaving from?”
As Doc told him more about his plans, they finished the wine and moved on to dessert—velluto di cioccolato and zabaglione—and Doc went on to tell him about the research he’d done and his interest in medicine. Tony told him that he’d once been a pharmacist, but that he was thinking about starting a different business in San Francisco.
“The city is booming,” Doc said. “I understand there is a real need for housing.”
“I worked in construction when I was a teenager,” Tony said. As he watched Doc, his idea grew into a plan. And the young chocolatière he’d met today might even be part of it.
“Say, about that pretty chocolatière you introduced me to today. Celina. Do you know if that sugar is rationed?”
Doc chuckled. “As far as I know, she’s not dating anyone. She’s a smart young woman. And she makes the finest raspberry truffles I’ve had in years.”
After the two men left the restaurant, they hopped onto the cable car, which took them near the Victorian-styled house where Doc had rented a room.
They climbed the stairs to the second level. The house was quiet, and Tony assumed most of the guests were asleep.
“A widow owns this, and she rents out the rooms,” Doc said, turning the skeleton key in his door. “Toilet and shower are down the hall. I’ll have a shower tonight. Not much hot water in the morning unless you’re first.”
“You first,” Tony said. “I’ll go outside, have a cigarette. Great dinner, by the way. Thanks, again.”
Tony left the room and started down the stairs to the first level. An electric charge of anticipation shot through him. He hadn’t done anything like this in years.
After opening the front door and closing it, Tony remained inside. He paused and waited, hardly breathing. As soon as he heard the bathroom door click and the shower start, he hurried back to the room.
On the dresser were Doc’s passport, military identification card, dog tags, and a wad of cash. The two boxes of chocolates from La Petite Maison du Chocolat that Celina had prepared for them sat beside everything.
Tony bit his lip. Should he risk it?
That ID card represented the path to freedom that he needed so much. Still, he felt bad about it.
In a flash, Tony palmed the identification card and dog tags. Feeling guilty, he jerked a Saint Christopher medallion from his neck, tossed it next to the cash, and scrammed out the door, his heart pounding. Once he might have been a tough kid, but this wasn’t like him, not anymore.
Yet he needed a fresh start. A new name that no one from the old gangs could track down. A different place to call home. A new career. If the thugs found him again, he might not survive. He knew what they were capable of doing. No one would be safe—not him, not his wife, not his children.
Tony slid down the banister, raced out the front door, and swung onto the passing cable car. Later, he leapt off and spent the night in a deserted park, barely sleeping. He could hardly believe what he had done—and to such a genuinely nice guy—a true gentleman.
He felt like scum.
The next morning, Tony concealed himself near the pier where Doc’s ship was departing. When he saw Doc pass through the line, he breathed a sigh of relief. All the man needed was his passport.
Tony needed Doc’s old life.
He fished the military identification card out of his pocket. What luck. Tony’s birth name was Antonio, which was close to Antonino.
Filling his lungs with fresh salt air, Tony felt lighter than he had in years. He rolled his new name around his mouth: Antonino Cesarò Savoia.