Georgio flushed angrily and stomped to the jeep. The German officer clicked his boots and followed him, a deep groove between his brows. They rolled out of the courtyard, through the gate, and Angelo, Santino, and Fabia stood in silence and watched them go, badly shaken.
The house had been searched from top to bottom, various valuables removed for the “support of the Reich,” but his grandparents were unharmed, and the house had not been commandeered. But had Eva stayed in Florence, she would have been arrested. They had known exactly where to find her.
“It’s time for you to leave Florence, Nonno,” Angelo told his grandfather. “Go stay with your brother.” He had a feeling the Gestapo would be back.
“Where do you live, Fr?ulein Bianco?” Captain von Essen asked Eva out of the blue one morning. She had delivered his coffee and the stack of reports that he’d had her type.
The question surprised her. She’d had to list her address for her employment file when she’d begun work at Via Tasso. He could look in her file for the information. She was guessing he already had.
“I board in the guest quarters at the convent of the Church of Santa Cecilia.” There was no reason to lie. It was easy enough to verify, and boarding at a convent made sense, especially if it had been arranged by her brother, the priest. Still, she didn’t like shining any attention on the convent. She wasn’t the only one boarding there, or hiding there.
Something flickered across the captain’s face, as if he was a little surprised she’d answered truthfully.
“I thought you would live with your brother.”
“No. He is the assistant to Monsignor Luciano of the Curia. Monsignor Luciano and his sister are natives of the city, and they still own the family apartment they were raised in. Angelo would have lived in a religious college with other assistants and priests who work at the Vatican, but he wanted to be more accessible to Monsignor Luciano. Monsignor has had some health issues in recent years.” Her answer was very logical. Very smooth. Very reasonable. But her stomach twisted anxiously.
“I see.” The captain smiled and nodded amiably. “Where is that church, exactly? I am not terribly familiar with the city.”
“Just west of the Tiber, in Trastevere. Are you familiar at all with Trastevere?” So forthcoming. So conversational. No secrets from the boss.
“Ah, yes. Trastevere,” he said as if it were all making sense. “Isn’t that a Jewish neighborhood?”
Eva stared at him blankly, having anticipated his question. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Jew. How would I know if I had? Everyone at the convent is Catholic.” She sounded simple. Stupid, even, and the captain laughed and patted her hand.
“That is a long way to work each day. Now that it is growing dark so early, I must remember and let you leave earlier so that you will arrive home before curfew.”
Angelo had said the very same thing the day before, worrying that she was not getting home before dark.
“That would be very generous of you. I have worried about getting detained.”
“Then that is what we will do. You may leave at four thirty today. That will be all.” She turned to leave, and he called out after her.
“Oh, Eva?” It was the first time he’d called her Eva and not Fr?ulein Bianco, and she stiffened at his familiarity but turned with a smile.
“If you are to see a Jew or hear of Jews in your neighborhood . . . you will tell me.” It wasn’t a request. “We will reward you, of course.”
Eva nodded, feeling bile rising in her throat. She left his office quickly. Just the day before she’d overheard soldiers talking about a Jewish girl in Rome who had reported dozens of her fellow Jews. Her favorite thing to do was walk through the marketplace at the busiest times of day or walk by ration lines and wave and call out to friends and community members, revealing their identities, only to have the SS men who followed her around swoop in and arrest the unfortunate people who’d been outed by one of their own. She was of great help to the SS, and they rewarded her with lire and freedom.
Eva wondered if the girl ever considered what would happen when she was the last Jew left, when she was of no more use to the Gestapo. Eva promised herself that if she ever discovered the girl’s identity, she would find a way to kill her. She’d told Angelo what she’d heard, and he could only shake his head in disgust, but he’d cautioned her to forgive, just like a good priest should.
“Your hate will only harm you,” he said.
“Just as long as I can harm her too. I would very much like to harm her.”
Angelo laughed at her fire and tweaked a lock of her hair, like they were children again.
“What if someone pointed me out on the street, and just that quickly I was gone? What then, Angelo? Would it be so easy for you to forgive?” she wondered aloud.
He had looked at her soberly, his smile fading.
“Remember when I told you not to come to the seminary anymore to visit me with Nonna?”
“Yes. You said I was not your sister or your cousin and you were too attached to me. You were very rude about it.” She was teasing him, but he had hurt her feelings.
“I was trying to protect you, Eva.”
“What does this have to do with forgiveness?”
“I told you not to come anymore because some of the boys had taken notice of you. They had started asking questions. They wanted to meet you. I refused. They thought you were my cousin and couldn’t understand why I was so protective.”
Eva laughed a little, but Angelo didn’t.
“I hit one of them. One of the boys. I split his lip and gave him a black eye because he said if he had a cousin like you, he would make sure he was alone with you as much as possible.”
Eva’s eyebrows rose faintly.
“Father Sebastiano thought they were taunting me about my leg. I let him believe it, but I recognized then that my feelings for you weren’t very brotherly. And that’s when I knew I would have to protect you . . . from me. My instincts, where you’re concerned, are to go to war. I don’t know that I could forgive someone who hurt you. But most of all, I would never forgive myself for not protecting you.”
Angelo was protective. There was no doubt about that, and Eva spent the rest of the day worrying over how she would tell him that the captain had been curious about her address and whether or not she had seen or heard of any Jews in the area. Angelo was already worried about her association with him. As a priest, Angelo was immediately suspect, and by association, so was she.
Lieutenant Colonel Kappler, the head of the German SS in Rome, had become fixated on Monsignor O’Flaherty, convinced that he was the director of the underground in Rome. He was right, unfortunately. Lieutenant Colonel Kappler had established checkpoints on every street, and Vatican passports were receiving more and more scrutiny. One of Monsignor O’Flaherty’s helpers—an Italian priest—had recently been arrested under allegations of resistance work. He’d been tortured and executed.
As a result, O’Flaherty had limited his meetings with any of the helpers in his organization to within the Vatican walls so that he wouldn’t, by association, make them targets of the colonel as well. Since then, code names had been given, and O’Flaherty’s foot soldiers were on high alert. O’Flaherty said Angelo was his “foot soldier with one foot,” and as a result, his code name was O’Malley, after a famous Irish pirate.