Vivi's War

By Arthur Cola

Arthur Cola

In the small village of San Pietro Avellana in the Apennine Mountains in Abruzzo, a young boy of fourteen, Vivi Colaianni, roams its mountainous area spying on the Nazi movements near the final years of World War II. With his friend Amedeo Frattini, he sets out to warn the Allied troops coming up the Italian peninsula of the German general's plan to stop the Allies from getting to Rome through the mountains. Meanwhile, in Rome, the king of Italy, Victor Emmanuel III, is trying to find a constitutional way to get rid of the Fascist leader and Prime Minister, Mussolini, without caving in to the Communists at the same time. The Kingdom of Italy is on the verge of collapse and along with it the monarchy, and the Germans know it. They seek to hold onto Italy at all costs. The Crown Prince Umberto and his wife, the Crown Princess Marie-Jose, work with loyal Italian leaders to get rid of Mussolini and form a government in alliance with the Allies now coming up from Sicily. They seek peace with the Allies and set out to communicate with the commanders of the Allied troops. The royal mission and that of two teenagers, Vivi and Amedeo, are destined to intersect in the summer of 1943 and change the course of the war for the Kingdom of Italy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798890610799

Book preview

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Letter

Chapter 2: The Armistice Plot

Chapter 3: The Rescue at San Michele

Chapter 4: Delivering the Object

Chapter 5: The Vatican Connection

Chapter 6: Presentation to the King

Chapter 7: Rejection

Chapter 8: The Bombing of Rome

Chapter 9: The Plot Thickens

Chapter 10: The Fall of Il Duce

Chapter 11: The Arrest

Chapter 12: Birds, Bees, and Mussolini

Chapter 13: Swimming with Mussolini

Chapter 14: Escape to Maddalena

Chapter 15: Chasing Pantera

Chapter 16: Campo Imperatore and the Armistice

Chapter 17: Skorzeny's Mission

Chapter 18: Coming Home

Chapter 19: The Brown Shirts Are Coming

Chapter 20: The Secret Cavern

Chapter 21: Ashes and Rubble

Chapter 22: The Liberation

Chapter 23: Saving the Allies

Chapter 24: Singing the Village Praises

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Glossary

Author's Statement

About the Author

cover.jpg

Vivi's War

Arthur Cola

Copyright © 2023 Arthur Cola

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2023

Book Cover Design Originated by John T. Colaianni

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental. The opinions in this book are solely those of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher.

ISBN 979-8-89061-078-2 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-89061-080-5 (Hardcover)

ISBN 979-8-89061-079-9 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

To my wife, Donna Shields Colaianni; my children, Arthur (Tricia), Jana (Chris Smith), Kathleen (Mark Timler), John (Elena) Colaianni, and Richard Colaianni; and my grandchildren, Olivia Colaianni, Arthur Colaianni V, Connor Smith, Riley Smith, Macain Timler (Kaylee), Meghan Timler, Angelina Colaianni; and sister-in-law Nancy Shields and to the entire family for their support of this project.

Prologue

Like a swarm of bees bursting from their hive, the Nazis spread out of Germany in 1939, not content with having made Austria and a great part of Czechoslovakia part of their hive. They soon sucked the nectar of most of Europe, leaving the flowering beauty of such nations as Poland, France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, Norway, Luxemburg drained of their resources and freedom by 1940. The Kingdom of Italy watching these grand nations fall easily before the advancing Nazi troops faced a decision, one which would spell the doom for them, but as yet they were unaware of the consequences of what their leader, Prime Minister Benito Mussolini, was about to force upon the nation. King Victor Emmanuel III, though Head of State, had no power over Il Duce as Mussolini was popularly called by his most loyal followers. It was the Fascist Grand Council, which ran the nation, not the Assembly of Representatives of the People. For twenty years, it had been that way, and it seemed it was to continue to be that way if Il Duce sided with Hitler and his plan to subdue all of Europe. Italy needed Germany's help to hold onto its African colonies, especially Tunisia, and maintain its prestige on the world stage.

The king who had led Italy through the First World War now faced another worldwide conflict, which made that a mere skirmish in comparison. And yet unlike those times, he had little to say as to what direction Italy should take. In the end, Mussolini formed a defense alliance with Hitler's Germany in 1940. It was to be the beginning of the end of his Fascist government.

However, that end was clouded with the dust of city after city being reduced, if not to rubble, then the decay of Nazi intimidation and obliteration of free thought and expression. By 1941, Yugoslavia's government was overthrown even though it was friendly to the Axis powers. Its territory was divided into puppet states consisting of Croatia, Montenegro, and Serbia, and what little territory remained was divided between Germany, Hungary, Italy, Albania, and Bulgaria. In one week, Yugoslavia had been conquered and divided. The decision to ally Italy with Germany seemed to be paying off.

Then Hitler decided to invade the Soviet Union, more commonly referred to by its centuries-old name of Russia, and that was to prove a poor choice in strategy.

By the spring of 1943, it had become apparent that Hitler had his own plan, and it was not in line with that of the king of Italy and especially his son, Crown Prince Umberto, who had protested against the Defense Alliance with Germany from the beginning. No German troops were sent to Tunisia to help the Italian army keep control of the North African territory. Mussolini's request to withdraw from Russia and concentrate on the Mediterranean was rejected by Hitler, who had his troops mercilessly killing the people of Ukraine in a final push to subdue the Soviet Union.

All of this was being reviewed in the Villa Savoia, a palace in which King Victor Emmanuel lived. His choice to live away from the Quirinal Palace in the heart of Rome gave him a sense of control within Rome. Mussolini and Hitler's German field marshal, Albert Kesselring, literally controlled every aspect of the government. Set on 450 acres on the northeastern edge of Rome, the Villa Savoia was named for the House of Savoy, the Royal Family of Italy. Under it was built a bunker to protect King Victor Emmanuel III and Queen Elena. When the Allied bombs would fall on Rome, and fall they did, they would survive, but the future of Mussolini would not.

It's 1943 and the tide of World War II is turning in favor of the Allies. For the Nazi forces and Mussolini's Italian forces defeat after defeat has lost most of North Africa, Greece, and Malta in the Mediterranean Sea. The front in Russia is also crumbling for the Fascist Italians and Nazi forces. Italy has now become a focus of the Allied campaign and Hitler as well. Italy must be held at all costs.

The Allied forces of the United States, Britain, Canada, South Africa, a Jewish Battalion from Palestine, Brazil, New Zealand, Australia are planning their next move to throw Italy out of Tunisia in North Africa and move onward to Sicily and the Italian peninsula.

Under the direction of General Mark Clark for the United States and General Bernard Montgomery for the British, with General Dwight D. Eisenhower of the USA overseeing the planning of the entire European campaign, the Allies advanced.

The military leadership of Nazi Germany in Italy has direct orders from Hitler to hold Italy. Hitler doesn't believe the Italians have the will to carry on. He appoints Field Marshal Albert Kesselring to take over Rome and Central Italy.

Against this backdrop, the tiny village of San Pietro Avellana in the Abruzzo-Molise region of Central Italy, amongst the Apennine Mountains, is about to become directly involved in the war. William Colaianni, a young teen, comes upon the news of Italy's eminent defeat in Tunisia and of the German plan to deal with Mussolini. It sets in motion an exercise which will have him going to war as an unofficial spy.

Not more than eighty-seven miles from that village, in the Royal Palace of the Quirinal in Rome, the king of Italy, Victor Emmanuel III, is wrestling with his son, Crown Prince Umberto, and loyalists to the crown about how to deal with the Fascist government led by Benito Mussolini. Il Duce still remains a powerful leader as prime minister of the government. At the same time, he must save the monarchy from the onslaught of the communists, who stand ready to fill the void once the Fascist government is defeated by the Allies.

So begins our story in the summer of 1943 in the Kingdom of Italy.

Chapter 1

The Letter

Nestled in amongst the peaks, gorges, and plateaus of the Apennine Mountain range, which creates a limestone and dolomite rock backbone for the Italian Peninsula, lies the tiny village of San Pietro Avellana. The hamlet's only claim to fame, as World War II hits high gear, is that it contains a pasta factory, which is a source of food for Italy and beyond and is home to the white truffle. It also has a railroad station and delivery system to bring the product as well as people throughout Italy. It is completely surrounded by rugged terrain, which is really part of the Gran Sasso d'Italia chain and forests of beech, oak, and pinewood trees as well as rocky grazing land for sheep and goats.

The ancient stones of the Solmites still line the cobblestone main streets of San Pietro Avellana. Along that uneven path of Via San Paolo, a woman is running out of the post office waving a letter and shouting. Clothed in a free-flowing black dress, which gave her the appearance of an elderly matron rather than her thirty-five years of age and long brunette hair flying in the soft June breezes, she is shouting.

Cenza, a letter, a letter has come from America!

As soon as the word America was heard, heads began to pop out of the homes and businesses along her route to the home of Cenza and Berardino Frattini. The home she sought was a modest stone structure built from the rocks, which surrounded the village as were all the structures.

The church of Saints Peter and Paul was no exception, as she stopped to make the sign of the cross. She had turned onto Largo della Chiesa, the street on which the fifteenth-century church stood.

Its bells were ringing out the noon Angelus, thus the stopping in her tracks to pray the Ave Maria. Then she went down the stones stairs to another level of the street on which the school building stood.

The excitement was spreading quickly in this town of only two thousand where almost everyone knew each other or were related in some fashion. She, however, did not have followers accompanying her. In fact, the very issue of her parading in such a fashion down the street in 1943 was a risk which many thought to be foolish given that the Nazi troops were stationed throughout the village. They were even inside the post office where she worked and from which she was running. Their eyes followed her every move as if the missive she held tightly clutched in her glistening narrow fingers, now feeling the warmth of the growing summer days, was of a military nature. However, even the private soldier knew that such a demonstration of mail delivery was of no importance to them, or she would never have been allowed to leave the post office in the first place. And so their eyes followed her movement, but they did not pursue her.

By the time she ran down the evenly carved stone stairway, she had to pause to take a breath. She did this in front of a small courtyard fenced off and in front of a two-story stone building, which had a smooth plaster façade on the front.

A sign above the doorway read, "Scuola and Instituto Comprensivo of San Pietro Avellana." The courtyard was filled with students ranging in age from five, who were in kindergarten, to thirteen and fourteen, who were in middle school. It was lunchtime, though in 1943, that consisted of a piece of bread, a piece of cheese, and perhaps some goat's milk. For many of those students, this was the most they had to eat in the day.

The days of good food being plentiful had long gone by. In the early days, when the Fascists came into power, there was a celebration of hope for many, and for others there was despair that such people should be given the power of governing the Kingdom of Italy. Among them was the king, Victor Emmanuel III.

But he had no choice when they assumed the power, as the people were in a frenzy to restore the glory of Ancient Rome and his Blackshirt militia roamed the streets. And yet the people rose up and held Benito Mussolini in high esteem, calling him Il Duce. But it soon proved to be all show and no substance when he formed a defense alliance with Adolph Hitler and his Nazi government in Germany in 1940.

The sender of that letter held so firmly in her grasp was one of three from their town, which saw no hope in this Il Duce. They immigrated to America with many others years before Hitler turned the head of Mussolini to follow his plan for Europe. All three brothers—Arthur, Earl, and Anselmo—left their young sister in the arms of their mother for a place called Pittsburgh, Arthur being the only one who brought with him a wife, one Liberata, or Libby as she would be called in America, Frazzini.

Until Hitler invaded Poland and set off the war, the letters between the brothers and their sister came on a regular basis. That, however, was no longer the case. In point of fact, there was little communication, and certainly letters from America were not allowed to freely flow through Italy once the Germans arrived.

That's what made the letter she held so glorious for Antonietta Colaianni, wife of the local grocer at the Alimentari Colaianni on the other side of town from where she stood watching the children play as if no war was being waged. Only their ragged appearance would indicate that their life was no longer filled with joy—that and the Nazi Swastika flag, which flew over the school building and above the flag of the Kingdom of Italy with its vertical bars of red, white, and green with the Coat of Arms of the Royal House of Savoy emblazoned on the white field in the center. Oh, how her husband, Peter Colaianni, yearned to reverse that order, if not totally to destroy the German flag. And yet there it flew as it did over the post office.

She straightened up and prepared to continue her delivery of the precious letter postmarked from Chicago where Arthur and his wife had settled after leaving Pittsburgh. He had gotten a job in a plumbing factory on the city's west side. His brothers had stuck with the Pennsylvania Railroad and stayed in Pittsburgh where they both had met girls who were also from Italy. Her eyes roamed the play area once more and settled on three older boys sitting not on the stone bench but on the wooden backrest with their feet firmly planted on the stone seat. As teen boys would often do, they were poking at each other, trying to unbalance their friend.

And what a friendship it was; her son, William, though she and everyone in town called him Vivi since he was a young lad in kindergarten, was in the center. To his left sat Ferdinando Frazzini, a tall lanky lad by any standard of measurement, and to his right was his pal since they were five years old, Amedeo Frattini, a dark-haired lad like William with dark eyes like coal, while Vivi's eyes were blue like the sky above them despite his ebony black bushy hair. Now they were all fourteen years old. Next year, if the war ended, it would be time for them to enter secondary school.

She couldn't help herself, so she called out, Vivi, look here. She waved the letter and looked about her to make sure a German guard was not near her. Then she slowly moved toward the stone wall surrounding the courtyard and leaned against it.

Waving to them to come to her, they immediately stopped their nonsense and jumped from the perch. In seconds, they, too, leaned on the rock fence, all eyes focused on the envelope, a bit worse for wear but intact.

Mama, began Vivi, did you have to call out to me like that? I'm almost a man now and should be called William.

"Mi dispiace, so sorry, William, but I'm afraid you'll always be Vivi to us. But think of it this way, it's a name of fondness because everyone loves you and your silly smile and your energy and all that is good in Italy."

The boy tried to smile and hide his reddening cheeks with his hands, but his friends only poked him and laughed. That did it, and he was back to his old self and snarled at them.

Mama, what's that in your hand which is so important?

"Si, Signora Colaianni, what is this that you call to us in front of everyone?" Amedeo looked around and caught the eye of Adelma on the other side of the courtyard where the girls had their recess and lunch. She smiled and waved, and he now turned red in the face.

Antonietta pinched his cheek and then her son's cheeks and smiled. Oh, it's nothing at all, go and talk to the girls but don't get caught by the headmaster, for I shall not speak up for you. You fresh boy, whose mind should be on his studies.

Mama, please…stop teasing.

"Si, Signora, what is that?"

She took hold of Ferdinando's neck as well as that of her son and pulled them into Amedeo. In a low voice, she told them, It's a letter from America…

All three couldn't control their excitement. Madonna, does it have news…, began Amedeo.

Are the Americans coming to save San Pietro Avellana? whispered Ferdinando.

Vivi shushed them for fear that it did. Basta, enough. So, Mama, is it true…what they ask, that is?

Her face sank. She should have guessed that in the minds of the growing boys, the war would be foremost on their minds.

Each wanted to be like Amedeo's older brother, Joseph, and be in the Italian Army of the king. But none of them wanted to be told what to do by the Germans.

Perhaps I should not have stopped to share some good news in these times of horror.

No, Mama, don't say that…

"Si, Signora, we are pleased that you have come with good news, but so far we know nothing."

"Ah, of course, the news. Bene allora, Amedeo, then this letter is for your mother. I am running like the deer in the forest to her so that she might have it. I'm afraid that the censors got to it before it came to me to deliver. But still there is a big part left, which is good news which your Mama needs to hear. She patted Amedeo's cheek. So now I must go."

The boys became epileptic and tried to jump over the wall. Mama, stop…

"Signora, please…don't leave us hanging." Amedeo reached out to her, trying to grab hold of her arm.

She turned with a big smile on her face. "Va bene, okay if you think there is time, but, really, your mama, Amedeo, she should hear this first, shouldn't she?"

He nodded affirmatively and pulled back on his friends' shirt collars. She's right, it's for my mama. She should read it first.

Vivi spoke softly in his ear. "Si, she should read it first, but wouldn't it be proper to learn of the message like from a news report on the radio?"

Amedeo's eyes brightened. More than that, they sparkled with mischief. "Amico, you are so…so…so cool that I could kiss you but not like how my papa does to my mama, if you get my reasoning."

Vivi swung in front of Amedeo with his hands on his hips like a Captain of the Guard. He made it clear that an embrace would be enough gratitude as in Italian custom. Then he laughed. "Signora, what if you pretend that you are on the radio…you know, on the news program. What if you just announce the message of the letter?"

Antonietta's face lit up like a Roman candle. You are a clever boy, Vivi, everyone knows that…one day, you shall help to save Italy."

The three boys ran back to the wall and leaned over it, their faces beaming as if it were the Christmas Feast of the Three Kings when La Bafana would come to bring gifts.

"Ragazzi…young gentlemen, she began as if on the radio broadcast, today in the village of San Pietro Avellana, the news from America is that Arthur Colaianni and his wife, Libby, now residing in a place called Chicago, shall soon become grandparents. The child is of his son Arthur, and wife Wanda Rose is due near the end of July. More news to come. Antonietta smiled at the boys, quite proud of her performance. She only saw in return three blank faces and a slight grin from Amedeo, and he was only smiling, if the truth be known, because his mind was back in the bedroom nine months earlier when that baby was first created. He quickly wiped the grin from his mouth and sulked like his friends. So, boys, how did I do?"

Mama, began Vivi, you did fine, but all this fuss because a baby is being born in a few weeks?

"Caro Vivi, Amedeo, Ferdinando… She paused and looked into the eyes of the lads now with no luster. She could have chided them for forcing her to make it so dramatic, but she did not. Instead, she told them of the greater meaning of that birth. She told them that a Colaianni child was to be born in a free land and be an American. There would be no Nazi censor blacking out his mail. There would be no soldiers telling him where he could go and when he could go there. There would be no one to force him to think only in a particular way. There would be no one telling him that a certain people are inferior or less than human. There in America that child will grow and eat and learn and speak out about good things and pray freely in the manner of our faith while honoring those who pray differently. This is why this letter is important, boys. Now go back to class and become great scholars."

The gleam and luster in their eyes had returned. No blackened-out sentences would dim their enthusiasm for the good news of the birth of a Colaianni child. Thanking her profusely and begging her forgiveness for their lack of response, they ran across the now empty courtyard.

They collided into the headmaster standing in the doorway through which the students had all entered, save for them, who never heard the bell.

While the boys shared the good news from America with a now smiling headmaster, Antonietta had reached the Frattini home not far from the pasta factory where the husband of Cenza worked as the coordinator of shipments. She waited, listening for the church bells. They would indicate that Cenza would be home. Her shift at that same factory had been shortened due to lack of supplies, in particular flour. The front door of the stone house, like all the houses on Via Fontanella, in fact on any street in the village, had their front door directly on the narrow stone street.

The Frattini house was a bit different than the others in that it had a backyard garden. Cenza always felt most fortunate for that since the war began. Having five children meant many mouths to feed. She had a green thumb, and so did her daughters Nicoletta and Dorantina. As for her sons, Amedeo was the youngest and still in school. Errico, like his father, worked in the pasta factory also in the distribution department but, like her second son, Joseph, was conscripted into the Italian Army. Only the girls and Amedeo were home to tend to the garden. The older boys for whom she prayed each day were stationed outside of the village but, thank the Lord, as she would say, not in a combat zone.

That is, until recently when things were getting bad for Italy and it was soon to become a battle zone. Antonietta didn't have to knock on the door, as Cenza, the mother of Amedeo, was cleaning the window facing the street and saw her just standing there. Immediately, she ran to the door, thinking the worse may have befallen one of her two sons in the army. She swung open the door and stood there motionless for a moment, as did her longtime friend. They looked into each other's eyes, and then suddenly, she smiled. The eyes had joy in them, not sadness, Cenza observed.

"Amica, why on earth do you stand like a statue on the altar? She crossed herself. You gave me a scare that my boys might be in danger. Come in for a coffee."

"Bene, good but I should not take your provisions, as meager as they are these days."

Nonsense, we shall make do. So now sit and tell me what brings you across town. Take this cloth and wipe yourself. Have you been running?

The sweat on her brow and upper chest barely visible above the neckline of her black dress glistened from a sunbeam coming through that very window through which Cenza first saw her friend. The breasts heaved just a bit after the run, and since they were quite prominent in her figure beneath that loose flowing dress, one could not avoid noticing them. Antonietta delicately dabbed her face and exposed bodice area, having placed the envelope on the table.

Oh my God, Cenza, I almost forgot why I came running.

She picked up the open envelope and held it up to her friend's face. It was now showing a confused look as she bent over to place the small cup of Italian coffee before Antonietta, knowing all the while that it was from their last can.

So you are personally delivering the mail these days, Antonietta? She eyed the battered envelope. I am surprised to see any mail coming into our village these days. That looks like it's been through the war.

And, dear friend, it has. In fact, it has crossed the ocean.

Cenza immediately knew what was coming next. She grabbed hold of the back of the wooden chair, pulled it out from the table, and slid into it, all the while never removing her gaze from that shabby envelope. She pushed on her abundant coal-black hair to make sure the bun in the back was still intact, as if the sender of that letter might be able to see her appearance. So then, it is from America, isn't it?

"Si, amica, it is…from a place called Chicago from the postmark. See right here," Antonietta pointed to the hardly visible postmark.

"Then it must be from Arthur. He and Libby have moved there while Earl and Anselmo stayed in Pittsburgh in a place called the Beaver Falls. I often wonder if it is like our cascate di San Michele. But enough, let us see what Arthur has to say. Her face became grim like one at a funeral. So this has been read already?"

"Si, I am so sorry, but the censors get the mail first, and now they strike out what they think should not be seen. My dear friend, believe me when I say that I have not blackened out the words."

Cenza took out two sheets of now frayed white paper from the battered envelope. Apparently, the censors do not even bother to take care of what they read before the one who is supposed to get it does.

She flattened the pages onto the oak wood of the tabletop now bare and not covered with a tablecloth as when the family would gather around it for dinner. The thought of Berardino, her husband, making that very table so that all seven could sit around it as a family flashed through her mind.

Now then, as I was saying…those…those Nazi devils, they certainly did a good job of blacking out the words. She grabbed hold of the first page and held it before her friend.

What do they think they accomplish, I wonder. Have they never heard of a radio, of people coming from other places throughout Italy with news of what is really happening on the other side of this mountain by the sea, both of them, the Mediterranean and the Adriatic? All this black only tells me that my brother confirms the rumors that the Allies are coming to free us from that beast Mussolini, who is under Hitler's control.

Cenza, please, you do not know what you're saying. Someone might hear you.

"Let them hear, let them know how their great Il Duce even blocks out the love written to family. A trickle of liquid dripped from her eyes. She quickly wiped them away. But you are right, let us look at the words not blocked out… ‘Cara Sorella [Dear Sister], Libby and I write with news here in'—and here the word is blacked out as if knowing it's from Chicago will change the course of the war. It goes on, ‘The trees are all green, and springtime has arrived with many flowers growing in our garden, just like in the one you make for your family. We went to the movies just the other day in this grand theatre, which reminded me of the Palazzo where the king and his family live. Its name is'—and here the word is blocked out as is the name of the movie. Tell me, Antonietta, why is the name of a theater so dangerous? Anyway, Arthur goes on."

She picked up the second white sheet of lined paper. ‘Libby says the Rosary every day for all of you and for the town too. We never forget San Pietro Avellana. Today she is knitting…actually, she is teaching our daughter-in-law, Wanda, our son Arthur's wife, how to knit, and that brings me to the news. Cenza took a breath as the smile of foreknowledge entered her mind before the words were read.

Wanda, such a lovely girl who brings joy to this family, is going to have a baby in just a few weeks. She let go of the papers and let them float to the tabletop. Such good news, dear friend. I am to be an auntie but will never see the baby.

Antonietta jumped from her chair and went to stand next to Cenza at the window. Just then, one of her neighbors was walking by holding an infant in her arms.

They both began to weep softly. Do not think that way, Cenza. The war will end soon, and then they will visit. Those Americans will make them rich, and they will be able to travel. Did I tell you that I met our sons on the way here? Forgive me but I just had to tell them. You don't mind, do you?

Cenza turned to her friend and held her shoulders. "Of course not, amica, you did the right thing. Now let us finish the last of the coffee and talk of babies. What name do you think they will give the child, I wonder?"

Now let me think…it's not a difficult question. Your brother Arthur named his son Arthur, and now that son, if he has a son, will do the same. Your brother loves carrying on tradition, and I think that is true of your nephew as well. Now if it's a girl, that is a different question.

"Ah, a little princess…the name will have to be one belonging to a royal baby. Maybe Maria, like our Crown Princess Marie-José, though not the José part, it's too masculine. She laughed more of a giggle. How silly we are talking of baby names when the world burns around us."

It's not silly at all, Cenza. It's like what I told the boys when I met them. This child will be born American and be free to think and pray, to dream impossible dreams and not be told what to think, to laugh at silly things and cry over bad things, to become whatever is desired in life in a free land…

"Oh, Madonna mia, dear friend, you make me cry but from joy, not sadness. I think my Amedeo is fortunate to have you in his life…"

And my Vivi is very lucky to be able to sit at your table as well. But now I must go before I am missed too much at the post office. By the way, speaking of the boys, two things I need to share. First, my Vivi thinks he's a man and wants to be called William. I told him he's loved too much to become a William. He seemed to accept my decision.

Oh my God, that boy is growing up too fast. Doesn't he know he will always be Vivi to us even when he's as old as his Nonno Colaianni? And what is your second announcement?

"Nothing important. The boys, they want to go camping in the woods by the Cascate di Villa di San Michele. I told them that I would discuss the matter with you. What do you think our husbands will say?"

Berardino will be fine with it. He wants our Amedeo to be a man and survive this world of horrors. He thinks such things will make him independent.

"Si, that sounds like him. As for my Peter, he will think of losing his two helpers at the grocery store, but he'll get over it. Goodness, are those the church bells already. School is out, and so will the shift at the factory. I need to get back. We shall see each other at the store on Saturday."

"Arrivederci, amica, tomorrow then." Cenza blew her a kiss goodbye as she mumbled to herself the need to gather what she could for Amedeo to take on the camping trip into the woods. Fear grew in her heart, but she let it be suppressed, for she knew that they would have to face greater challenges as this war of horror continued to spread.

Chapter 2

The Armistice Plot

Cenza and Antonietta were quite correct—the Bells of Saints Peter and Paul Church were indeed signaling. The doors of the school were being held open as the students poured forth like flour from a sifter spreading across from the courtyard and onto Via Fontana Grande. There were less than two hundred students, but on the streets of San Pietro Avellana, it made quite the scene. At the same time, on the north side of the village, the pasta factory was ending its shift; there would be no evening shift, as there simply wasn't enough supplies to make another batch of pasta, let alone materials to package it.

Vivi, Amedeo, and Ferdinando stood at the bottom of the stone stairway, about to go their separate ways. Just then, one of their classmates, Adelma, walked by with a group of her girlfriends. She flashed a quick smile at Amedeo, who turned an instant pink in the face, but it was all business, and the camping trip again took precedence once those girls were out of sight.

Do we have it all straight now? Hey, Amedeo, are you with us?

Me? Oh sure, we meet at the train station and hop on the freight train, right, Vivi?

"Si, it's better than walking almost three miles, eh, guys?"

Right, see you in an hour then. Off went Ferdinando. But I don't know if I will be allowed. If I'm not there, just go without me.

"Ah shit, amico, your parents are too strict. You're not a little kid anymore."

"Si, and I can prove it, too, but they still think overnight in the woods is too dangerous, especially with the Germans on the prowl." Off he ran toward Via Marracino.

"Poor guy…oh well, at least we'll get to the cascate."

It's June, and by now, the waters of the falls should be at full flow and just waiting for us, eh, Amedeo?

As the innocents of youth made their plans for a splashing good time at the Falls of the Villa di San Michele, just over eighty-seven miles away in the royal Quirinal Palace in Rome, a black car left the enclosure and headed for the outskirts of Rome. It paused not by choice but because of German troop trucks coming through as they reached the Victor Emmanuel II Monument. The thinning dark-haired man in the car looked out toward the gleaming white Romanesque marble monument. The sunlight bounced off the white Carrara marble Corinthian columns so brightly that for a moment he had to turn away from the sight.

Umberto, why torture yourself so? There will be no victory in this war for Italy.

You speak the truth, Marie, but there is still hope. I need to speak with my father. Something has to be done about that madman Hitler who has Mussolini under his thumb.

The crown prince of Italy once again gazed at his great-grandfather's statue, which was the centerpiece of the monument in honor of the unification of Italy, which he spearheaded back in 1861.

The crown princess Marie-José looked at her dejected husband, feeling his pain that more than a throne would be lost but that the people of Italy would suffer unimaginable pain and deprivation should their plan fail.

The car, with a jolt, began to move across the Piazza Venezia and away from the huge monument with the goddess of Victoria riding on a chariot at the pinnacle of the monument. In the mind of the crown prince, victory could never be achieved. Italy would be lucky to survive with any kind of independence. All this ruin was due to that Defense Alliance which Mussolini signed with Hitler three years previously, in 1940. In those years since, it has been a disaster for the Italian people and the loss of Italy's territory outside of the Peninsula itself.

The black sedan drove onward to the Villa Savoia away from the Capitoline Hill. The king, the father of Umberto, preferred to live there rather than in the center of Rome, in the Quirinal Palace. That he used only for meetings and formal occasions. The villa had 450 acres surrounding it and gave it a sense of country living in the northeastern part of the city.

A bunker had just recently been added to the villa for the protection of the royal family in the event of an attack on Rome itself.

But its lake and abundance of stone pines, holm oaks, and laurels, and even a metasequoia from Tibet, which was brought to the villa in 1940, made it a getaway destination for King Victor Emmanuel III and Queen Elena, who was once Princess of Montenegro.

To the crown princess, who came from Belgium, it was a brief glimpse of rural areas of her country now conquered by Hitler's troops, a fate which Umberto and she knew would fall upon Italy should they sever ties with Germany and join the Allies. But joining the Allies is exactly what brought them to Villa Savoia. What was the king thinking? That was the question which needed an answer, and few knew that answer.

For the king was self-absorbed into himself and rarely spoke publicly or intimately with anyone, let alone his son with a wife bent on avenging Belgium while saving Italy.

They entered the king's study on the lower level of the villa and away from the hustle and bustle of everyday activity and meetings to transmit the latest disaster for Italian forces and the people of Italy and its possessions. They found him not to be alone. Standing behind a large Italian provincial-style, gold-gilded desk on which lay what appeared to be maps and news releases were the king and Count Dino Grandi.

They had no idea that anyone would be present except the king and possibly the queen.

It was to be a family affair, or so they thought. Prince Umberto immediately slipped into protocol behavior.

Your Majesty. He stood at attention and bowed as the princess curtsied. He then entered a family greeting. Papa, I thought this was to be a private family meeting.

The king looked up from the piles of maps and papers on the desk. Ah, Umberto, Marie, come and embrace me.

They did so with some reservation as Count Dino smiled and looked on to the familial greeting by a nonfamily member. The greeting having been observed, the king got right to the business at hand. That business was another global war but quite different from the First World War, just in territories being affected and the type of weaponry being