prove it. They crushed his hands, so he couldn’t paint again. It was cruel, and unjust.”
Marco shuddered. So it had been true, what the ginger had told Elisabetta. “Were they punished?”
“No, they were promoted.” His father shook his head. “Ludovico spiraled down after that. Couldn’t paint, couldn’t earn money. He started drinking. I gave him what I could. I couldn’t stop thinking about Serafina. That’s when it began.” His father pursed his lips, but held Marco’s gaze. “I’m ashamed to say that I betrayed him, and your mother.”
“How did she find out?”
“She followed me one night, with a knife.”
“Mamma, a knife?” Marco asked, in disbelief.
“Make no mistake about her. She’s quite something, your mother. She was protecting her family.” His father heaved a sigh that filled his big chest. “I made a terrible mistake. I broke her heart. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her.”
“How did Elisabetta’s father find out? He’s the one who told me.”
“Ludovico? Serafina probably told him. It wasn’t her first affair. I heard she left him for someone else. He probably blamed me for everything, and I accept that. It’s in the past.”
Marco couldn’t agree. “No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“If it were, it wouldn’t have mattered to you if I saw Elisabetta. You didn’t want me to see her because she was Serafina’s daughter. That’s why you hit me at Aldo’s funeral, isn’t it? Your past became my present, Papa.”
His father cringed. “You’re right. I was embarrassed that you knew.”
“So you understood me.”
“Of course. You could never hide your feelings, from when you were little. I could see hate in your eyes. Disrespect, for me.”
Marco felt a rush of love for his father. “Not anymore.”
He smiled. “As for Elisabetta, you’re better off without her.”
Marco couldn’t stay silent. “No, Papa, I’m not.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Massimo
26 September 1943
It was Sunday evening, and Massimo masked his nervousness as he got out of the car with Presidents Almansi and Foà. They had been summoned by Lieutenant Colonel Herbert Kappler, head of the SS in Rome, to a meeting at Villa Wolkonsky, a historic Italian estate in the southeast of the city, which was now serving as the German embassy. Almansi and Foà had asked Massimo to accompany them as counsel, but none of them knew the purpose of the meeting.
Guards escorted them onto the property, and Massimo passed a massive Nazi banner with a black swastika against a field of blood red. Dread filled him, but he reminded himself to remain calm.
The men were escorted along a stone path to the massive villa, which had been the residence of the British Ambassador before the war. The grounds were beautifully landscaped, and Massimo hated to see this Roman jewel in Nazi hands. Set on the Esquiline Hill, Villa Wolkonsky was said to encompass five verdant hectares. Waning sunlight filtered through the fronds of its many palm trees, and the fragrance of lemon and lime trees scented the air. Thirty-odd bays of a Roman aqueduct built by the Emperor Claudius stood in the distance, and Villa Wolkonsky itself lay ahead, a magnificent home with squared wings, classic balustrades, and a porticoed entrance.
They reached the entrance, a grand door flanked by Nazi soldiers, then were escorted into an elegant office dominated by an ornately carved antique desk, with upholstered chairs in front. Massimo felt his heart begin to hammer when Lieutenant Colonel Kappler rose from behind the desk and strode toward them. The Nazi was fearsome in his gray uniform, its black collar embroidered with the runic SS insignia. He looked to be in his forties, with a widow’s peak in his light brown hair, framing a wide face with large eyes. He had a straight nose, thin lips set in a strong jaw, and a scar that creased in his left cheek.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” Lieutanant Colonel Kappler extended a hand, and Foà shook it with a nod.
“I am President Foà. Good evening.”
“Thank you for coming. It’s good for us to meet, face-to-face. Please introduce me to your colleagues.”
Foà made the introductions, then Kappler shook hands with Almansi and Massimo, who felt a tingle of disgust at the Nazi’s touch.
Kappler gestured to the chairs opposite his desk. “Please sit down.”
Foà, Almansi, and Massimo did so, and Kappler seated himself behind the desk. A Nazi flag stood behind the desk chair, next to walnut shelves lined with books.
“Gentlemen, I regret any inconvenience this may have caused your schedules.”