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.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
Sandro
September 1943
Sandro felt intimidated, as he had never been to the offices of the Union of Italian Jewish Communities. At the head of the glistening conference table sat Dante Almansi, the President of the Union, who had formerly served as a Vice Chief of Police under Mussolini. Next to him sat Ugo Foà, who was President of the Jewish Community of Rome, also formerly a Fascist magistrate. Opposite them sat the Chief Rabbi of Rome, Israel Zolli, with his characteristic downturned eyes and round, horn-rimmed glasses. Chief Rabbi Zolli had asked Sandro’s father to attend and serve as his legal counsel.
Sandro sat on a carved chair against the wall, which was lined with mahogany bookshelves full of leather-bound volumes in Hebrew and Italian. A glass display case contained an antique silver menorah, ornate candlesticks, and an array of other priceless Judaica. Elegant brocade curtains flanked tall windows, which were open to the balmy afternoon, as the meeting began.
“So.” President Almansi smiled politely. “Chief Rabbi Zolli, it’s always good to see you, but what is the purpose of this meeting? You called it in great haste, causing some disruption to President Foà and myself.”
“My apologies, but these are terrible times for our Community. Exigent times, in fact, and quotidian business cannot hold sway.” Chief Rabbi Zolli shifted forward. “Roman Jews are under grave threat since the Nazi occupation. I have studied the matter, and it is my considered opinion that we need to encourage them to evacuate and emigrate. We need to disperse and disband Italian Jewry.”
Almansi recoiled, alarmed. “What an extreme suggestion! I don’t share your concerns.”
“Nor do I,” Foà added, with a deep frown. “What are you saying? Run away? We live here! Even so, Chief Rabbi, where would everyone to go? Who has the means to travel or move?”
Sandro could see that neither Almansi nor Foà were going to agree with Chief Rabbi Zolli, who had always been an outsider. Unlike Almansi and Foà, born of storied Italian families, Chief Rabbi Zolli was a naturalized Italian from Eastern Europe, and his demeanor tended to be excitable, unlike the reserved Almansi and Foà. Even Sandro’s father disagreed with him.
“I can speak to those concerns,” Chief Rabbi Zolli answered, agitated. “I say we