“Good morning, Marco. Condolences.”
“Thank you.” Marco realized that they must have heard that Aldo had died an anti-Fascist, but he wasn’t about to let their hard eyes bother him. He headed for the grand marble staircase and reached the top floor, which was flooded with sunlight from its floor-to-ceiling windows. He crossed to Commendatore Buonacorso’s office, as he always checked in before the day started.
“Good morning,” Marco said to Pasquale, who stood guard by the arch, and they saluted each other.
“Condolences,” Pasquale said, and Marco went to his boss’s office and knocked on the mahogany door.
Buonacorso called him to come in, and Marco opened the door and saluted, but was taken aback at the sight. His boss sat behind his desk, but standing next to him was an OVRA officer built like a bear, with a bald head and a fierce glare. OVRA was Mussolini’s secret police, a law unto themselves.
Marco felt a tingle of fear as he walked to the desk. “Commendatore Buonacorso, good morning. May I get you anything?”
“No.” Buonacorso motioned. “Sit down.”
“Yes, sir.” Marco sat, and the OVRA officer glared at him without introducing himself, a bad sign.
Buonacorso frowned. “Marco, you’re fired. You can’t continue at fascio headquarters, now that we know you had a subversive for a brother.”
Marco recoiled. “But Aldo truly wasn’t like that, I promise you.”
“How can you defend him?” Buonacorso’s dark eyes flashed. “He tried to kill an officer of the law. He was a violent anti-Fascist and a Communist co-conspirator. He was transporting guns to use against us.”
“He may have, but he paid the ultimate price, and—”
“Which is as it should be,” Buonacorso interrupted sternly.
“I am not my brother, sir. I had no idea of his leftist politics. We never discussed it. He kept it to himself.”
“Is that true?” Buonacorso arched an eyebrow. “You had no idea?”
“I swear to you, sir, I didn’t know. You can’t fire me for what my brother did.”
“It’s a matter of trust, Marco. I can no longer trust you.”
“Sir, you can. I prove it every day, working for you. I’ve learned confidential information here. It never leaves this building.”
Bam! The OVRA officer slammed his meaty hand on the desk and advanced on Marco, leaning into his face. “Your brother was a criminal subversive! We must assume you are, too!”
“But I’m not.”
“Yes, you are!” The OVRA officer’s glare bored into Marco. “He was in an anti-Fascist cell, and you are, too!”
Marco’s mouth went dry. “I swear to you, I didn’t know anything about it. I’m a patriot, a good Fascist, and I love Il Duce and our party. I would never do anything against—”
“I don’t believe you! You’re in it with your brother!”
“No, no, I swear to you—”
“You work here in order to spy on us!”
“No, that’s not true. I didn’t know.”
“You showed off at the bar for Commendatore Buonacorso! You tricked him into believing you were a patriot!”
“My patriotism is no trick.” Marco could barely respond to the rapid-fire accusations.
“You expect us to believe that he never told you? You lived with your brother! You rode with him!”
“He said he was seeing a married woman.”
“You came home at the same time! You were seen!”
Marco tried to think through his fear, which was intensifying. “We planned it that way, for my father. We lied to him.”
“So you admit you’re a liar! You’re lying to us! You were in cahoots with your brother and the other filthy pigs! Who are they?”
“I don’t know, I’m telling you, I had no idea he was meeting with them.”
“That’s why your father fought you at the funeral! He found out you were an anti-Fascist!”
“The fight had nothing to do with Aldo. It was about my girlfriend.” Marco flashed on Elisabetta, then thought of Aldo’s girlfriend, or whoever she had been. “Wait a minute, listen, one of the anti-Fascists came to the bar that day. She was a pretty blonde, the one Aldo said he was having an affair with, the married—”
“You saw her?” The OVRA officer blinked. “A woman anti-Fascist?”
“Yes.” Marco had forgotten about her, in his grief. “She’s the one you need to talk to.”