managed to hide his inability to read when he had been asked to organize a file system for the fascio’s bills. He couldn’t read the bills or vendors’ names, but he could match them by color and appearance. He was never tasked with taking notes, as his boss employed a secretary for such purposes, a redhead who wasn’t nearly as pretty as Elisabetta.
Marco wished he could get Elisabetta off his mind, but he couldn’t. He had been enticing her by jealousy, when he should have been more straightforward. He kept expecting her to throw herself at him, like Angela and the other girls did, but that wasn’t happening. Perhaps he needed to be more aggressive, like Il Duce with Ethiopia, and press his suit like a campaign, in war.
He wouldn’t win her if he didn’t try harder.
It was time to start.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Aldo
October 1937
Aldo concealed his anguish, as he sat with his back against the frigid wall of the crypt. He could barely listen while Uno and the others talked away, discussing the particulars of Operation First Strike. Aldo had done nothing the past few months but worry about the attack on Spada’s retirement party, for, in a horrifying turn of events, Marco had gotten a job at the fascio working for the top brass, which put him directly in harm’s way.
Aldo had been trying to figure out what to do, but he hadn’t come up with any answers. He tossed and turned, night after night. Some days he could barely keep down a meal, and he lost weight and muscle mass. His father told him to eat more liver, his mother worried that he was ill, and Marco thought he was lovesick, still believing he had a secret love affair. Meanwhile every night at dinner, his brother regaled his family with funny stories about the cranky Spada and others at the fascio, which made Aldo more and more fearful. He had tried to convince Marco to quit the job, saying that it was boring to be a portaborse, but that hadn’t worked. Marco liked the salary, and Aldo sensed that his brother’s self-esteem was growing in his new job, in alarming ways.
Aldo hated that his political beliefs were diametrically opposed to those of his younger brother, in addition to his father, but that was the least of his concerns, with Marco’s very life endangered by Operation First Strike. Aldo prayed every morning at Mass for God to show him a way out of the situation, or send him a sign, but so far nothing had appeared.
Aldo considered his options, but there were none. He couldn’t reveal to Marco that he himself was an anti-Fascist, for fear of compromising his brother. Nor could he quit the anti-Fascists, for then he’d be unable to learn the details of Operation First Strike. The more he knew, the better he could protect Marco when the time came. The anti-Fascists had no idea of his inner conflict, for none of them knew the others’ real names or identities, so they didn’t know that his brother worked at the fascio.
“Everybody, quiet down,” Uno was saying. “We remain on our countdown to Operation First Strike at Spada’s retirement party. I have made progress since we last met. I can now announce to you that I have already delivered the money to buy the guns. So we’ve accomplished our first step.”
The thought made Aldo sick to his stomach. He was a step closer to his ride to Orvieto. He had pledged to pick up the guns that could kill his own brother. He felt his face drain of blood, and he knew he must look like a ghost in the crypt. He didn’t think anyone noticed, for they generally didn’t notice him, and they were so excited about Uno’s announcement.
Only Loud Mouth shouted, “What if they cheat us?”
“We will not be cheated, I promise you that. I know our cohorts in Orvieto personally, and I vouch for them. Now, as for timing, we had to wait through September because of Mussolini’s trip to Berlin. As you know, because he took the train from Rome, the route was protected by army, OVRA, and Blackshirts. It was too dangerous to send Signor Silenzio north to Orvieto.”
The anti-Fascists responded: “Mussolini only did it for the propaganda!” “There were more pictures than people!”
Uno shook his head. “True. Mussolini’s visit was a stage show, but it increases instability. Danger grows on the world scene, with the agreement between the Germans and the