He brightens, my heinous blasphemy already forgotten. “Your nonna, is she here?”
“No,” I start. “I wouldn’t want her within a thousand miles of me at the moment.”
He clucks his tongue. “Too bad. If she is as beautiful as you, I’d be in trouble.”
Without waiting for my response, he hobbles back to the kitchen.
By the time I’ve turned back to my companions, they’ve nearly devoured their slices. I take another bite of mine, savoring the flavors once again.
“Gino may be a master at holding grudges,” Cec says between chews, “but he makes the best pizza in Italy.”
Bes wipes his mouth with a red cloth napkin. “I’m going to tell Nonna Alessa you said that.”
Cec gapes at his cousin in horror. “Please don’t—death by rolling pin bludgeoning is such a shit way to go.”
“There are far worse ways,” I counter, wondering if their nonna is anything like mine.
Just then, a bell slightly deeper than the one above the door rings out.
The restaurant quiets in that moment. I don’t dare speak to ask why, and instead strain to listen. Not long after, a set of uniformed footsteps pass by the front door. The black shadows they’re attached to march by the heavily-obscured windows without pause.
Bes holds out a hand for me to keep my silence and mouths, “Blackshirts.”
I nod, not wanting to speak despite others quietly picking up their conversations again once the footfalls disappear, as if nothing happened. As if this were a normal occurrence.I’m sure it is.
Swallowing the last delicious morsel of my slice, I lean in close, curious about our next move. “So, how do we plan on getting into Club Sotterraneo?”
Bes’s gaze flicks around the restaurant to ensure no one is listening in.
“The man I finished speaking with just then imparted upon me the riddle we need in order to get in tonight.”
“Another one of Arturo’s friends, I assume?” I ask sharply. “What about fuel and food and drinking water? You know, things to keep us alive and get us the rest of the way to the Dolomites?”
Bes casually lifts a shoulder. “That’s being taken care of as we speak.”
By whom? Another friend? Who else knows we’re here?I take a calming breath. Staying my voracious curiosity has become an impossible task.
“I’m growing tired of being kept in the dark, Bes.”
He pushes his glasses up his nose. “Believe me, I take no joy in keeping you there. Once we’re safe, you’ll know everything. I promise.”
I take stock of the small pizzeria. More people have left than were here earlier, and the stragglers appear to be engrossed in each other.
“It seems pretty safe here.”
Bes snorts softly, pressing his hair behind his ears. “Have you already forgotten what happened at the Temple of Seti the First? You’re far too trusting. I know for a fact one of Mussolini’s OVRA soldiers frequents this establishment, though we pay Gino well enough to leave a signal outside to warn us.”
The sign balancing on the single hinge, I think.
“I haven’t forgotten what happened at the temple, Bes,” I tell him. “And likely won’t for the rest of my life. But I distinctly remember doing my best given the situation, breaking in and out of the Osireion with the Amulet of Amun in hand, saving your life.” I lean forward. “And if I’m far too trusting, then that means I shouldn’t trust either of you.”
He stares straight into my eyes, and I fight the urge to flinch away from the intensity there. Or to sock him in the face for being an asshole. Possibly both.
“We needed to eat and I needed to know how to get into the club tonight, so we came here.” He places his hand centimeters from mine. “I’ll never forget how you saved my life outside the temple, but we’re not in Egypt anymore. We’re in a fascistcountry, and for good reason—to learn about the God Men’s involvement in the Third Reich. We cannot falter.”
“And what can we do with this information?” I wonder. “What can your Uncle Arturo do with it?”
“Something more important than any one of us.”
