It also wouldn’t hurt to learn more about this network of people Arturo has, considering the amount of resources our little escape has already utilized.
As long as these two men keep me safe and ensure the Amulet of Amun stays out of the hands of the fascists, I’m on their side.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to let my guard down.
Eventually, our path opens up into a small square.
The street lamps flicker to life, casting the cobblestone in a golden glow. Faceless shop windows and empty doorways gawk at me in looming silence. I have the strangest impression of being back in a cemetery. Instead of decaying bodies hidden beneath the ground, it’s the lifeblood of Italy, rotting from the inside out before my eyes.
I know firsthand that Cec’s assertion that socializing is rooted deep in the Italian people is apt. And with Mussolini’s heavy hand, those roots of community and love are decaying with each passing day.
I fiddle with the scarf still tied around my head, the material scratching against the sensitive skin of my neck. “How much further?”
Bes’s gaze riffles around the square, less bothered by the emptiness than I am. “Not far, but we have to make a stop.”
“Another one?”
“A necessity, I’m afraid. We can’t get into where we’re going without a change of wardrobe.”
He nods in the direction of a storefront across the way, a place simply named Costumi.I think I can translate that one without Cec’s help.As much as I don’t want to involve more people in our plans, perhaps we’ll meet someone here who I can berate with questions.
“Let me guess: you know the owner of the costume shop too.”
Cec clicks his tongue at Bes. “And you said she’s not quick on the uptake.”
I smirk. “Well, unless you plan on dressing me up as a large pink bunny rabbit or a clown, I’m not sure how a place like this is going to help us.”
Cec chuckles. “Wouldn’t that be a sight.”
“Have a little faith, Miss Hawkins,” Bes asks of me, ignoring his cousin.
I step toward him. “But you’ve already taken so much of it, Bes. Soon, I’ll have none left to spare.”
He glances away, refusing to answer me as he continues on to Costumi.
“Are you trying to rile him up?” Cec whispers beside me.
I smirk. “He’s riling me up; why shouldn’t I do the same?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Are you sure we should be stopping here?” I wonder. “We’ve already been to one establishment this evening where anyone could’ve given us away to Mussolini’s men. Should this many people be aware of what we’re up to?”
“Unless you said something damning to Gino’s nephew,” he starts, a hint of jealousy in his tone that I find fascinating, “he has no idea why we’ve come here. And the owner of this shop is one of the—my uncle’s friends.”
“If it helps,” Cec interrupts, saving Bes from me questioning what he was about to say before he corrected himself, “I trust Francesca far more than Gino.”
I grin. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that he hates you, would it?”
“Why, Hawkins, the very idea.”
Like the pizza place, there’s nothing particularly special or ostentatious about the shop as we approach.I wonder if secret meetings happen here, too.A small sign on the door reads ‘Chiuso’.Closed.
I open my mouth to say something snide about it, when a short, round woman opens the door. A long, flowing yellow dress with red flowers drapes loosely around her shoulders. Stark-white hair sits atop her head in a messy bun, green cat eye glasses framing kind, light brown eyes, her lips painted a deep red.
“Bes! Cecilio!” she croons in a voice ravaged by cigarettes. Her accent is softer than Gino’s, though. In fact, the way she dresses, how she speaks, reminds me so much of my nonna that tears well up in my eyes. “My boys, it’s good to see you. I had to see your faces for myself before I left the shop.”
She steps back and waves us through.
