TWENTY-SIX

Francesca

January 24, 1944

News from Anzio rushed through Rome like a spring wind. Francesca pedaled along streets more crowded than she’d seen in months. People huddled in the cold afternoon, smiling and laughing on every corner. There wasn’t a German to be seen. How many had left? She bumped around a corner and pressed up the Lungotevere, cycling against a breeze coming off the Tiber. According to Carlo, a steady stream of staff cars had rolled north during the night, spiriting German officers out of the city ahead of the expected Allied approach. She filled her lungs and tried to feel the satisfaction she’d anticipated, yet her heart remained grim. She veered toward the bridge Tommaso had chosen as a meeting place. Perhaps, when the last German left Rome, she’d be able to welcome the relief she’d long sought.

Francesca dismounted at the lip of the Ponte Sant’Angelo, glancing across the cobbled span to the ancient castle rising over it. Bernini’s angels stood guard over the bridge, forever stoic. She started across, passing groups of joyous people out for a stroll, shivering in their threadbare jackets. She looked up at the angels; the last time she’d stood under them she was being arrested. How different things were today, not a season later.

At the end of the bridge, she spotted Tommaso, seated on the ground against the railing. She paused. Nerves gathered in her stomach, followed quickly by anger. Tommaso was surrounded by a handful of other young men, undoubtedly partisans, though she didn’t recognize them. Most of them looked like boys, barely old enough to fight. They sat cross-legged, passing a bottle of wine, laughing and talking loudly as the clouds rolled overhead and splashed them in winter sunlight. The fools. Francesca clamped her jaw and strode toward them, incredulous. She was leaning her bicycle against the railing when Tommaso saw her.

“Ciao, Francesca!” he called up, his grin sloppy.

“Stai zitto!” she snapped, widening her eyes to drive home her command to shut up. Anger bunched in her stomach: now everyone here knew her real name. She stumbled into the group and sat awkwardly down while Tommaso stared at her, stung. Someone across the circle snickered, and another passed the bottle.

“Loosen up,” a boy said, stumbling over his words. He’d clearly had too many swigs already. She turned to glare, trying to place him. What were they thinking, meeting here, out in the open, when Germans were still in the city?

“I will not loosen up,” she said, keeping her voice low. She had their attention somewhat, though she caught one man rolling his eyes. Tommaso seemed to have sobered. He looked at the ground between his knees, sheepish, and someone passed him the wine. He stowed the bottle and met Francesca’s stare.

“Have you lost your minds?” She forced her voice to steady itself and held Tommaso’s gaze. “The Allies aren’t here yet—our job isn’t finished. And you’re meeting in the open for all the world to see? What if someone reports you to the Gestapo?”

A freckled man, younger looking than Francesca, shook his head. “The Gestapo are gone. They’re all running away—haven’t you heard?”

“Not all of them, you fools. And until they’re gone, until you can reach out and touch an Allied soldier right here in these streets, you need to behave like you’re in danger.” She rounded back on Tommaso, who blew a chunk of hair from his eyes. “Didn’t you hear anything Gianluca told you? The Americans warned us that this would be the most critical time. Now. This very bridge you sit on could explode at any moment—the Germans mined them. In Naples, they blew up nearly everything on their way out of the city.”

The circle shuffled around her. A few of the young men looked down.

Tommaso squared his jaw. “What you missed, Allodola, is that we’re not just celebrating here.” He lowered his voice an octave. “Yes, we feel a bit lighthearted. Gesù Cristo, we’ve been hiding for months. Haven’t we earned some wine and fresh air, at the very least? You, of all people, have earned that. You should take a swig. But we’re also discussing our next actions—we’re well aware that there’s more to do.”

The freckled man spoke up, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I think we should hit the Germans on their way out. I saw streams of cars last night—easy targets.”

Tommaso nodded, his gaze igniting with its old passion. “I’ve long thought we should take advantage of their movements. With the way they paraded up and down the streets of Rome, it would’ve been so easy. Why didn’t we hit them every chance we got?”

“Because we weren’t ordered to,” Francesca interrupted. She weighted each word. “This isn’t a game. Everything we do has consequences. Is your memory so short?”

He looked away, and she knew he understood. She’d never told anyone about the moments after their attack on the piazza, when Tommaso had run away, leaving her behind. But it hovered between them.

She cleared her throat. “You’re to follow the instructions of your superiors, like actual soldiers. Every strike is designed for a specific reason—to meet a strategic objective with as little risk to civilians as possible. We’re not meant to kill Germans just because we can.”

One of the boys smirked. “Oddio. We should have expected the girl to be soft.”

She rounded on him, pinning him down with the fury of her stare. “I’m not soft. But I’m no fool, either. I’ve seen the inside of Via Tasso—did you know that? Do any of you boys know what the Nazis will do if they catch you? They’ll torture you, and you’ll endanger everyone if you can’t withstand it.” Again, she looked at Tommaso. She knew who was likely to cave under pressure. “If you randomly strike, killing the easy targets, as you say, we’ll all pay. You think you want revenge, ragazzi? I’ll tell you who likes revenge: Nazis.”

“But they’re leaving,” someone said, and she forced herself not to shout.

“They’re not gone yet.”

She put a hand on Tommaso’s shoulder, using it to stand, and the boy who’d had too much wine snickered again. When she stood on both feet, she glared at them all a final time.

“Don’t do anything you haven’t been told to do.” She controlled the fury in her voice. “And, for God’s sake, stop acting like children. Get off this bridge. Don’t gather in public. Don’t use the telephone, even if it’s working. Don’t allow yourself to feel confident, or lighthearted, until the Allies roll through the Aurelian Walls.”