CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

Marco

13 September 1943

Marco tensed as a Nazi soldier approached the counter at Bar GiroSport. The mere sight of the Wehrmacht uniform triggered a visceral hatred in him. The Armistice had been signed last week, and it made Marco sick to his stomach to see Nazis swarming all over Tiber Island. Only days ago, he had been shooting them from a rooftop, and now he had to take their coffee orders.

“Kaffe, bitte,” the Nazi said, reaching the counter.

“Danke,” Marco shot back reflexively.

“Sie sprechen Deutsch?”

“Nur ein bisschen,” Marco answered, meaning a little. He hit a button on the gleaming coffee machine, heating the pressurized water. Confusion had reigned today at Palazzo Venezia, with the bosses reeling from the Nazi occupation. Marco went in to learn information useful to the partisans.

“Here,” Marco said, switching to Italian as he passed the coffee to the Nazi.

The Nazi took the coffee without paying.

“You owe me for that.”

The Nazi laughed, then turned away.

Anger flamed in Marco’s chest. He caught his father’s eye as he was walking toward the counter, his expression grim. His father had been listening to a secret radio in the storeroom and he beelined for the counter, then came behind.

“I have news,” he said under his breath. “Mussolini has been rescued by the Germans. He was being held in the Gran Sasso.”

Marco masked his shock, in case any customers noticed.

“He’s setting up a Fascist regime in the north. He’s calling it the Salò Republic, after the town of Salò. It’s a puppet government, and the Nazis are propping him up.”

“He’s trying to return to power?”

“Yes.” His father picked up a rag, for show. “Badoglio will try to stay in power in the south, in absentia, supported by some army officers.”

Marco felt stunned. “So there will be two Italian governments, competing with each other?”

“Yes, and the Fascist officers who had voted for Mussolini to remain in power have been released from prison, including Buonacorso. It makes your activities with the partisans more risky.”

Marco’s mind raced. “But I can learn more than ever before, too. Buonacorso trusts me.”

“I know, but I fear for you. I can go on without you. I offer you that choice.”

“I’m with you,” Marco answered, unhesitating.

His father placed a hand on his shoulder, and Marco warmed to the touch. Neither of them had to say another word. The time for talk had passed. Now was the time for action. The Nazis infested Rome, presenting new targets of opportunity.

Marco was ready.

This time, to do justice.