CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWO

Sandro

16 October 1943

Sandro kept his eye on the lone Nazi guard on Via in Publicolis. The line of families had shifted forward enough. He and his father stood directly across from the entrance to the street.

Sandro shifted his gaze to the Nazis guarding their line. They stood at a distance, near its head. They weren’t looking in his direction.

He checked Via in Publicolis again. The Nazi there had turned away, too. It was time for Sandro to make his move.

He squeezed his father’s arm, signaling him. His father looked up. Sandro shifted his gaze. They took a step toward Via in Publicolis.

Just then, two more Nazis approached the lone Nazi on Via in Publicolis. One lit a cigarette, cupping the flame against the rain.

Sandro’s heart sank. It was too risky now. He quickly nudged his father back in line with the other families.

He wracked his brain for another means of escape. He needed a subterfuge of some kind. Maybe he could tell the Nazis that he had left the gas on. Gas came on for mealtimes, and it was around breakfast time. The Nazis wouldn’t want to start a fire that could rage out of control.

He decided that it wouldn’t work. The Nazis probably wouldn’t let them both go back to the apartment, only Sandro. He didn’t want to leave his father.

Their line grew longer, extending almost all the way across the piazza. His gaze fell on the other families. He knew all of them. The elderly Angelo Fornani with Alberto and little Alberto, six years old. The grandmotherly Teresa Campagnano with Vito and tiny Donato. Augusto Capon, an older gentleman whose daughter had married the Nobel Prize–winning physicist Enrico Fermi.

The Scudi family was prodded into the line, but Matteo Scudi was having a problem controlling his elderly mother, Aurelia, who had become senile and often said inappropriate things. Aurelia began shouting curses at the Nazis, and Matteo tried to silence her, placing his hand over her mouth. Sandro, his father, and the other families turned to watch in alarm.

Nazi guards rushed to Matteo and Aurelia and tore them forcibly apart. Aurelia cursed the Nazis louder. Matteo begged her to stop. Suddenly one of the Nazis struck Aurelia in the head with the butt of his gun. A gruesome fan of blood sprayed from her head. She dropped to the cobblestones, spasmed, then went motionless.

Matteo screamed, and his wife held him, turning him away from the agonizing sight. Aurelia was dead.

Sandro felt tears film his eyes. His father covered his mouth, stunned. The line recoiled, and children cried louder. Rain drenched her body, and her blood spilled in the crevices between the cobblestones with the rainwater. The Nazis stepped over her. They left her lying there, cruelly.

Sandro looked away, shocked and terrified. His thoughts were frantic. He had to think of something. He and his father had to escape.

And it had to be soon.