Aida gripped the wooden barrier that had been erected, her fingers curling against the rough surface as the reality of the scene sank deeper into her chest. The crowd around her was a strange chorus of silence and sound—murmurs of disbelief, stifled sobs, the occasional gasp as people tried to make sense of the impossible. The air was thick not just with dust, but with something heavier: a collective grief that rippled outward from the rubble, much like the collapse itself.
A woman to her left whispered prayers under her breath, clutching a rosary as though it were the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. Beside her, an older man stared at the ruin with hollow eyes, his lips trembling as he shook his head, over and over again.
The weight of their grief pressed into her, intertwining with her own. It was the pain of every Roman who had grown up in the shadow of this monument, every visitor drawn to it as if seeking something timeless. The Colosseum had been more than stone; it had been a constant reminder of resilience through the centuries. And now, it was a broken thing.
She glanced around at the faces in the crowd, all caught in the same disbelief. A group of teenagers, too young to fully grasp the depth of the loss, held each other in stunned silence, their eyes wide, still searching the horizon as if the Colosseum might reappear, as though this were some terrible mistake that could be undone.
Aida’s own tears were quiet, slipping down her cheeks as she blinked back the dust, trying to focus. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried in public. But here, surrounded by strangers whose hearts were breaking alongside hers, it didn’t matter.
A man in a red scarf lifted his phone to record the wreckage, his hands shaking so badly that Aida was sure the imageblurred. He wasn’t alone—others raised their phones, trying to capture what remained, but it felt pointless. No picture could contain the depth of this loss, and no video could explain what had been taken from them.
Aida wiped her face with the back of her hand, the tears mingling with the grit of dust and ash. The sirens grew louder as more emergency vehicles arrived, but the crowd stayed rooted, unwilling to turn away from the fallen monument as if by watching they could somehow keep it with them a little longer.
“Aida!”
It was Felix, who had come back and somehow managed to find her. She collapsed into his arms, and they held each other tight, their tears mingling. She knew what no one else around them could understand.
She had made this happen.
III
22
February–March 2020
Two days later, authorities still hadn’t confirmed the cause of the Colosseum’s collapse. It wasn’t a bomb—that much was clear—but uncertainty lingered over whether the giant sinkhole in the center of the wreckage had been caused by an earthquake or the ongoing metro construction below. Whispers of faulty engineering and geological instability swirled through the media. Some suspected corruption or negligence, but no one could quite explain how it had all gone so terribly wrong.
Eighty lives were lost—janitorial staff, security personnel, and a few unlucky tourists who had been caught in the surrounding area. Rome vowed to rebuild, but the cost would be astronomical, and no one knew where the funds would come from.
Aida spent her “vacation” that Disa had prescribed watching the television with a grim obsession. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was no accident. The gods, after all, didn’t have to throw bombs or cast lightning bolts to cause destruction. They just needed to push the right pieces into place and let human error take care of the rest.
The only thing that kept her grounded was the imminent arrival of both Yumi and Luciano. She dreaded their questions, knowing she’d have none of the answers they’d want to hear.
On the day of Yumi’s flight to Rome, Aida shuffled down to the kitchen for breakfast. Ilario and Pippa were uncharacteristically standing at the bar, looking at a newspaper.
“Is there more news?” Aida asked as she hauled herself up into the bar seat.
Ilario lifted his eyes from the paper. “Buongiorno.Different news. That virus, the one in China, it’s growing,” he said.
“You mean spreading?” Aida teased.
“Bloody right,” Pippa said, pushing the paper away. “Spreadin’. The Chinese government’s locked down that city, Wuhan, right? Shut it all down, lockin’ people inside. No one’s goin’ anywhere. They’re pullin’ sick people out from their families, quarantinin’ ’em. They reckon thousands might’ve died already.”
“It’s worse than that,” Ilario said. “The virus is in Rome. People have been hospitalized.È terrible.”
Aida gasped as Disa’s words came hurtling back to her.All it takes is one small invisible thing. That’s the beauty of it, really. You never see it coming.
“Oh my god,” she breathed as the gravity of the situation hit her. It wasn’t the Colosseum that was the catastrophe. It was a virus, a small invisible thing.
“Aye, it’s ’orrible,” Pippa said. “But what can we do? We charge ahead. Now let me whip up that cappuccino for ya.” She swept the paper off the counter and focused on the espresso machine.
Ilario brought a chocolate cornetto pastry and a bowl of cut-up fruit. “Signorina,tuttookay?”
Aida took a breath. “No.Il Colosseo, the news about the virus. What’s happening?”
Ilario looked off toward the east and curled his hand into horns with his fingers. “Tiè!” he exclaimed, shaking his fist.Take that!“Now you.”
Aida felt awkward making the sign to ward off evil, but she did it to appease the chef, even practicing the right way to say the word:tee-ay. If only a simple hand gesture could save the world.
