“Yes.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“You don’t know her like I do.”
“What would she do if you came home without me? Would she leave you?”
“No, she would kill me.” His father chuckled, but Marco couldn’t let the joke pass, thinking about his father’s infidelity.
“Papa, what happened with you and Elisabetta’s mother?”
His father’s face fell. “I’m not proud of that.”
“How did it happen?”
“It began with Ludovico, Elisabetta’s father. She was just a baby then, like you.” His father eased onto a stack of boxes, setting the quattropunte on the floor. “I met Ludovico when he came to the Piazza San Bartolomeo all’Isola, to paint the Basilica. He was very talented, and I would bring him coffee. Then one day, on his way home, he painted over the party emblem on a wall in Trastevere. He covered it with a perfect painting of the Basilica.”
“Oh no.”
His father’s expression darkened. “You know, in those days, thugs abounded. Carmine Vecchio was one of them.”
Marco’s ears perked up. “The OVRA officer?”
“Yes. He saw the painting, but didn’t know who had done it. He asked me if anyone came to paint the Basilica, but I told him no. That night I warned Ludovico to get out of town. That’s when I met Serafina and I . . . fell in love.”
Marco felt uncomfortable, as it was hard to hear. “Real love?”
“I wouldn’t have strayed for less. But she wasn’t who I thought she was. She was selfish. Now, I know better. I know how lucky I am.”
“And you and Mamma are happy?”
“Yes. Marriage is hard work, but it’s worth it.” His father smiled, his relief plain. “Anyway I told Ludovico and Serafina to get out of town, but he came back early and was ambushed. I suspected Carmine and Stefano Pretianni, but I could never prove it. They crushed his hands, so he couldn’t paint again. It was cruel, and unjust.”
Marco shuddered. So it had been true, what the ginger had told Elisabetta. “Were they punished?”
“No, they were promoted.” His father shook his head. “Ludovico spiraled down after that. Couldn’t paint, couldn’t earn money. He started drinking. I gave him what I could. I couldn’t stop thinking about Serafina. That’s when it began.” His father pursed his lips, but held Marco’s gaze. “I’m ashamed to say that I betrayed him, and your mother.”
“How did she find out?”
“She followed me one night, with a knife.”
“Mamma, a knife?” Marco asked, in disbelief.
“Make no mistake about her. She’s quite something, your mother. She was protecting her family.” His father heaved a sigh that filled his big chest. “I made a terrible mistake. I broke her heart. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her.”
“How did Elisabetta’s father find out? He’s the one who told me.”
“Ludovico? Serafina probably told him. It wasn’t her first affair. I heard she left him for someone else. He probably blamed me for everything, and I accept that. It’s in the past.”
Marco couldn’t agree. “No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“If it were, it wouldn’t have mattered to you if I saw Elisabetta. You didn’t want me to see her because she was Serafina’s daughter. That’s why you hit me at Aldo’s funeral, isn’t it? Your past became my present, Papa.”
His father cringed. “You’re right. I was embarrassed that you knew.”
“So you understood me.”
“Of course. You could never hide your feelings, from when you were little. I could see hate in your eyes. Disrespect, for me.”
Marco felt a rush of love for his father. “Not anymore.”
He smiled. “As for Elisabetta, you’re better off without her.”
Marco couldn’t stay silent. “No, Papa, I’m not.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Massimo
26 September 1943
It was Sunday evening, and Massimo masked his nervousness as he got out of the car with Presidents Almansi and Foà. They had been summoned by Lieutenant Colonel Herbert Kappler, head of the SS in Rome, to a meeting at Villa Wolkonsky, a historic Italian estate in the southeast of the city, which was now serving as the German embassy. Almansi and Foà had asked Massimo to accompany them as counsel, but none of them knew the purpose of the meeting.