Uno chuckled. “I agree, friend. However, men, I have made another decision. Even though Mussolini has returned, I believe that we should nevertheless delay in sending Signor Silenzio for our guns.”
Aldo sent up a prayer of thanks, wondering if this was the sign from God that he had been waiting for. The delay would give him more time to think of a way out of the situation, and he felt a temporary reprieve. He plastered a disappointed expression on his face, not to arouse suspicion and to match the disapproval of the men around him.
“Why wait?” Loud Mouth shouted, and others joined in: “What’s the holdup?” “We need our weapons! We need time to train and drill with them! My shooting is rusty!”
Uno pursed his lips. “Put matters in perspective, and in context. Mussolini has signed the agreement, and Italy is officially allied with Germany. Mussolini and Hitler are setting themselves up as defenders of Western values against the threat of the Soviets. We know better.”
“They’re the threat!” hollered the Tsar. “Not Bolshevism!”
Uno nodded. “Brothers, we need the situation to cool down before Signor Silenzio can travel.” Uno turned his spectacled gaze to Aldo. “Signor Silenzio, I know you’re ready to go, but I would never risk your safety unduly. Do you understand my reasoning?”
“Yes, Uno,” Aldo called to him, masking his relief. “I agree with you. It’s better to be prudent now, to ensure our success later.”
“Exactly.” Uno frowned. “By the way, you look like you’ve been losing weight. Stay strong, we’re counting on you.”
Uno turned to the others. “Now, as far as Spada’s retirement party, I have further information. The party is an official function, so no family members of the brass will be in attendance, not even Spada’s. I regard this as good news, and you will, too. We don’t want the blood of wives or children on our hands. They are off-limits.”
“Good, good!” the men chimed in. “We’re not animals, like they are!”
Aldo masked his reaction. Family members were off-limits for others, but not for him. If the attack went as planned, he would be an accomplice to his own brother’s murder. He could never allow that to happen.
Uno continued, “I have it on good authority that Spada is a widower, and his only daughter is estranged from him. From what I understand, the old codger is even more selfish than most Fascists.”
The men chuckled, and Aldo knew exactly how selfish Spada was, from his brother’s stories.
Loud Mouth snorted. “Then he deserves what’s coming to him! They all do! Every one of them will get their just deserts!”
Aldo shuddered. He had one last hope, so he forced himself to ask. “Uno, which officers do you expect will be there?”
“All of them, as Spada is the grayest of heads. They’re a top-heavy organization, so there are plenty of bosses. Buonacorso, Terranova, DeNovo, and Medaglio will be there, for sure. Buonacorso is our main target, as he’s the rising star, set to replace Spada. He’s the future of the fascio.”
The information confirmed Aldo’s worst fears, though he didn’t let his expression betray him. If Buonacorso would be there, so would Marco. Aldo was running out of time. Somehow he had to make sure Marco came to no harm. He could only pray Marco would quit before then. Aldo would keep trying to convince him.
Uno straightened. “Events have taken a dangerous turn. We must proceed with the utmost caution. Forces are arraying against us, so we must array against them! Men, unite!”
“Unite! Unite! Unite!” everyone chanted, stamping their feet.
Aldo joined in, hiding his despair.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sandro
December 1937
Sandro had never been to a Fascist rally at night, and the magnitude of the spectacle astounded him. It was rumored that almost a hundred thousand people flooded Piazza Venezia, and darkness cloaked the crowd except for a spotlight sweeping back and forth. Armed Blackshirts stood in formation, like dark shadows with white sashes, and soldiers played drums, waved banners, and hoisted Fascist flags.
Men, women, and children filled every available space in front of the buildings, standing on fences and hanging on the pedestals of lampposts. They swarmed the gigantic Vittoriano, the illuminated monument to Vittorio Emanuele II, made of white Brescian marble, and Palazzo Venezia, a stately medieval edifice that was the seat of the Italian government. Mussolini himself was about to speak from the palazzo’s majestic balcony, announcing Italy’s withdrawal from the League of Nations. His father believed that the decision was justified, given that