Jesus Christ.
“I didn’t sign up for something more important than myself,” I argue, even as I remember my promise last night to help keep the amulet out of the hands of the Third Reich.
“Didn’t you?” Cec wonders. “What you and your nonna do, unearthing important historical artifacts and ensuring they have a place in their country of origin, is noble, and contributes to the conservation of the world’s history. If that’s not more important than yourself, then I don’t know what is.”
I don’t have an answer for that.
Bes continues. “You already deduced from my story about the statue in Messina and Cec’s mention of the secret talks between dictators that we’re more educated than any ordinary person. If you follow that line of thinking to its conclusion, you might very well have your answer. The question is whether or not you still trust us.”
I stare up at the ceiling, considering his words. The only deduction I can make is that Bes, Cec, Ailsa, maybe even the old museum curator, Pierre, aren’t just Arturo’s friends—they’re part of an organized, well-funded anti-fascist resistance.
I don’t, however, understand why he can’t simply tell me that.
“You’re being purposefully obtuse,” I say finally.
“I am. But I wasn’t lying before: Arturo’s is one few truly safe places in this world. And we’re going to make sure you and the amulet get there unscathed. I promise you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Cec shakes his head. “Oh, for the love of all that’s holy, Bes, steady on.”
He whispers loudly to me, “He’s right, of course, but he doesn’t have to be so bloody grim about it. Tonight, we’ll be back at sea and then docking in the Port of Genoa before you know it.”
Bes punches his cousin’s arm. “Are you mad? Someone could be eavesdropping.”
“Oh, forgive me,” Cec pleads falsely, “I didn’tseeanyone nearby.”
I choke out a laugh, clearing my throat when Bes glares at me.
The mention of the Port of Genoa is new information, but they were pretty clear about taking me to the Dolomites. I have to imagine that port is the closest one to where we need to be. I think to confirm. Based on how Bes acted when Cec casually mentioned it, I’ll have to wait until no one’s around to hear us.
After a moment of solemnity, Bes can’t help cracking a smile either. He pats Cec hard on the shoulder. “Water under the bridge, old chap. Just don’t let it happen again.”
He pulls up his shirtsleeve an inch or so and checks the small watch on his wrist I haven’t noticed until now—I’d nearly forgotten about my own, still set to the wrong time—and glances toward the exit. The vibrant twilight has twisted into dark shadows and warm, yellow electricity outside the smudged glass.
“It’s time to go.” He gets to his feet and regards Gino, who’s busying himself behind the register. “Good to see you, Gino.”
“You should come see me more often, bambino.” He gestures at me. “And don’t forget to bring the bella donna with you.”
He smiles but I don’t return it. As endearing as he might believe his compliments to be, I don’t like being leered at by old men, no matter how sweet they appear. Besides, something about him doesn’t sit right with me, not after what Bes told us about their relationship.
I follow Bes and Cec through the restaurant and out the door. The bell tinkles again, but this time it sounds sad to see us go.And I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed I’ll likely never again taste pizza that delicious.
Once more left to our own devices in the empty alleyway, Bes heads in the opposite direction of where we first came. He does so silently, expecting us to follow. Cec attaches himself to me, though barely anyone’s around to notice this time.
It takes us long enough to get to our next destination for me to ponder their connection with Gino. The more I mull it over, the quicker I come to the conclusion Gino isnotone of Arturo’s “friends.” He’s nothing like Ailsa—he’s boisterous, weaponless, speaks his mind, and was surprised to see us. And while his establishment might be a safehouse for people like Bes and Cec, Bes said they pay him well to keep an eye out. Which means he can be bought by the highest bidder.
Whatever closeness he and Bes have has lost all meaning now: Gino’s allegiance to Bes is, at its core, monetary, and therefore untrustworthy.
Only time will tell if it was worth the gamble.
Emptiness overwhelms the streets in this part of the city, where only the shadows from the setting sun remain to play tricks on us. We walk down the thin lanes between buildings, past apartments with faded-color doors and empty flowerboxes on the second-floor windowsills.
Somewhere far away, the soft lilt of piano music drifts along the rooftops. It’s so faint, I can’t tell which direction it’s coming from. Otherwise, only the clacking of our shoes keeps us company. The few people who rush by do so with their heads turned, their mouths shut, and their belongings clutched tight to their chests.
My chest turns into knots. For an entire country to live in constant terror… It sickens me.This is what Mussolini wants: to be feared.
To fill the silence, I nearly ask them about the club we’re going to. It doesn’t feel right to speak when it’s so quiet, though. We can’t afford to get caught, especially if the fascist regime in Italy is aligned with the God Men. I’m honestly shocked we haven’t had any run-ins with them yet. Luckily, Civitavecchia is a more crowded port, and we didn’t park our boat in a conspicuous place.
Whatever information we’ve come to retrieve about the God Men, though, I have to be all in. Like Bes said before, I could go back to the boat right now. Cut my losses and wait for them to return. My curiosity, however, refuses to let my mind be silent on what information could be so important that they’re willing to risk us getting caught.
