“But I can’t simply stop.”
“I’m not saying stop. I’m saying cut down.” Beppe closed Massimo’s folder. “Your mind is on your work all the time.”
“That’s what Sandro says.” Massimo frowned.
“He’s right, your son. Talk to me about him, not this folder. How is Sandro these days?”
“I don’t see much of him. I’m at the synagogue. He’s off with Rosa or at school. He runs the house.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s taken over the household finances, such as they are, so I can work.”
“But it’s not his place.” Beppe frowned. “You’re the head of the Simone family. Remember who you are. Resume your proper role. Everything else will fall into place. It will do you good.”
“Maybe I will.” Massimo straightened, blinking. “How’s Marco?”
“He likes working at Palazzo Venezia, and at night he sees girls.” Beppe paused. “Again, I’m sorry for those things he said at your house. I’m ashamed.”
“Of course he didn’t mean it. You apologized already. These are dark and hard times. There’s suffering, and war.”
“But wars end. That, we know. That, we have lived.”
“Yes, they end.” Massimo pursed his lips. “And then, they begin again.”
* * *
—
In time, Beppe slipped Massimo out the side entrance, then locked up. He left to go upstairs when he heard banging on the front door. He turned around to see Carmine Vecchio through the glass, a runty figure in his dark OVRA uniform.
Beppe went to the door and unlocked it, blocking the threshold. “We’re closed,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“You’re feeding that little Jew. I saw you. I know you.” Carmine’s eyes glittered with malice.
“I feed every customer. The day that becomes illegal, throw me in jail.”
“Simone is not a customer, he’s a friend. You think you can get away with it because Marco works at Palazzo Venezia.”
“My son has nothing to do with it. Your grudge with me goes back. You were a punk then, and you’re a punk now.”
Carmine wagged a finger. “Don’t think I can’t get to you.”
“Go ahead. Try.”
“Or your little Jew friend.”
“Don’t dare touch him.”
Carmine snickered. “The Simones are your Achilles’ heel. It’s written all over your face.”
“I warn you, don’t touch him.”
“I have OVRA behind me. What will you do to me?”
“Don’t find out,” Beppe answered, through clenched teeth. Out of nowhere, the thought occurred to him to kill Carmine with his bare hands, right then and there. It was an instinct forged in combat, the reflex of a soldier to protect a brother of his company. He had done it in war. Many times.
“You don’t scare me, Beppe.”
“Because you’re stupid.” Beppe stepped back and closed the door, eyeing Carmine through the glass. Beppe had always believed there were battles that a man needed to walk away from, and battles that a man needed to fight.
Carmine had just become the latter.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Elisabetta
March 1941
Elisabetta and Nonna sat at the dining room table, nursing their nightcaps of anisette. The house was quiet and tranquil, and the breeze through the open window billowed the lace curtains. Rico slept on his chair, with Gnocchi on hers, their seat cushions covered with white doilies to collect cat hair, which was a lost cause.
Nonna nodded. “We did well this week. We were even with last, so we’re holding our own.”
“You deserve the credit.” Elisabetta smiled, pleased.
“Do I disagree? No!” Nonna laughed, and Elisabetta joined her. Casa Servano was still in business thanks to Nonna’s strategy, which was serving only their house specialty, pasta. All other entrées had been eliminated, and Elisabetta bartered everything they had for flour and eggs. Others in the trade association had followed suit, focusing on their own various specialties. Beppe had never come to another meeting, though he had left them his list of vendors.
“Elisabetta, how are you doing with your book?”
“Fine, thanks.” Elisabetta finished the last of her anisette, which tasted licorice-sweet. She had begun to write the night she first brought home the Olivetti, and what had started as a lark had turned into a discipline. She would start writing after their nightcap and not stop until she had finished five hundred words. Some nights it would take her until one o’clock in the morning, and other nights until almost dawn.