The boy climbed out the window and onto the red tiled roof. The twinkling lights of the giant Christmas tree in the piazza shone from below, illuminating his fine features. He could see tourists swarming with their cameras. In the furthest corner, protestors kept vigil with their placards, warming themselves by the firelight of their makeshift furnaces while the carabinieri watched on. He had been annoyed to see a picture of himself with his mother on the front page of one of the newspapers just that morning. If the reports were true, his mother was fast becoming the most despised person in the country. The tree, with its million euros’ worth of crystal decorations, was the most magnificent Rome had ever seen – and was now the cause of even greater civil unrest.

Nico adjusted the daypack on his back, then took a deep breath and ran, his feet feather-light across the rooftop. All those months of training with the parkour team were about to pay off and soon he would be celebrating Christmas with his grandfather, whether his mother approved or not. Why should she care, anyway? She had her new husband and the job she’d always wanted.

‘Stop!’

Nico froze. He could see a guard in the piazza pointing up at him. Some of the tourists had turned to look too. He couldn’t go back now. He wouldn’t. Nico spun around. He needed a run-up or there was no way he would make it to the other side. It comforted him to know that only Fabrizio was fit enough to follow him.

Nico filled his lungs and began to sprint just as the door to the rooftop flew open. He charged towards the edge of the roof and, with his arms spinning like a windmill, leapt into the abyss. He was flying through the air when, with a stab of dread, he realised he’d miscalculated.

Nico slammed into the stone wall but managed to grab hold of an iron railing. As his body swung like a pendulum, Nico resisted the urge to look down. With a grunt, he hauled himself over the balcony railing, then somersaulted up onto the roof. He lay there for a second, his heart thumping in his chest. That had been much too close for comfort.

Over the din of car horns and traffic, Fabrizio called out his name. Nico propped up on his elbows, laughing at the sight of the man shaking his fist. ‘Codardo!’ Nico shouted.

With a wave goodbye, the boy jumped to his feet and fled across the rooftops of Rome. It wouldn’t be long until they raised the alert. He could already hear the wail of sirens.

Nico felt as if his chest was about to explode as he leapt from building to building. He was making good progress, when a searchlight forced him to reassess his route. The helicopters had taken to the air faster than he’d anticipated. He would soon have to drop down into the shadows of the street, which was much more time-consuming. Nico came to another break in the rooflines and launched into the air. But as he landed, the tiles disintegrated like chalk beneath his feet. He could feel himself falling down, down, down and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He hit the floor below with a sickening thud.

‘Mamma mia!’ the woman exclaimed as she heard the ruckus from above. She charged up the narrow staircase to the top of the vast townhouse. ‘Giovanni, come quickly!’ she screeched.

There was a snort and grumbling from the bedroom below. ‘What is it?’ he called, unhappy to have been woken.

‘Just get up here!’ she ordered. ‘Now!’

Giovanni did as he was bid and shuffled into the room, rubbing his eyes. The disused space with its peeling paint was filled with cast-off furniture piled high around the walls and a narrow single bed in the corner. Lying in the middle of the floor, which was peppered with shards of broken tiles, was a child. Giovanni peered up at the gaping hole in the roof. ‘Since when do young boys fall from the sky?’

The woman knelt over the lad. A trickle of blood ran down the child’s temple, but he had a strong pulse and was breathing. She looked up at the man. ‘Perhaps he is a gift from God.’

The man gazed at the boy’s face. There was something familiar about it. He blinked again, then sped away only to return clutching a newspaper. ‘Do you know who this is?’ he said, thrusting it into the woman’s hands.

She stared at the front page then at the boy, before stepping back with her hand on her heart. ‘The Lord works in mysterious ways,’ she said, clasping her hands together. ‘Quickly, Giovanni, get up there and fix those tiles!’