The Ghosts of Millennia

That Awkward Moment When You Almost Call Your Boyfriend a Fascist

CHAPTER SUMMARY

Mussolini.

That is all.

BEGINNING NOTES

Chapter Rating: Fit For No One (part 2)
Content Warning: Cursing, Sexual Themes, Loss of Your Innocence (yes, again)
Word Count: 3993

Now it's time for my FAVORITE CHAPTER!!!!!!!

Remember that Mussolini is a son of Ares. That comes up.

And all the characters are owned by JK Rowling, or Rick Riordan.

Credits at the end.

____________________NICO____________________

***

Nico saw something he wasn't supposed to see. He was having trouble sleeping and did what he always did--sneak into the kitchen and steal something to eat. Mamma was very strict about treats after dinner, but sugar was the only thing that calmed his mind, and, besides, Cucinare was good at her job.

He snuck into the hallway and down the stairs, through to the library and Nonno's office, all the way to where the preparation room was. It was a small room between the dining room and kitchen; the place where Cucinare put the food so the servants could take it to the dining room. Nico liked to think of it as his secret lair, even if it wasn't secret. He wanted to be a hero like all the men in the newspaper--brave young men fighting and dying for their country, like the Greek heroes Papà would tell him about. Nico wanted to be a hero when he grew up. And every hero needs a secret lair.

When Nico tiptoed into the kitchen, he heard Mamma's voice coming from the sitting room. A curious little boy, he crouched as close to the archway as he could and listened. It wasn't rude. Heroes eavesdropped all the time. It was how they knew things.

"He cannot do this, Father! You've retired."

"He may do as he likes. If he wants me in Rome, I leave for Rome."

"Rome!" Nico heard the click of Mamma's heels on the marble floor. "Oh, Rome! There is no place for you in Rome!"

"Not so, not anymore." Nonno sighed. "What is there to do, Maria?"

"Say no!"

Nonno laughed a harsh and bitter laugh. "No one says no to Il Duce and gets away with it."

"You will die, Father. You step one foot into that city as a governor, and you will be assassinated. How many metals have you won for your bravery? How many thousands of lives did you save in the Great War? This is how Benito Mussolini repays those to whom he is in debt?"

"Do not blame the man for the administration."

"What administration?!" she cried. "There is nothing and no one now but him! The only hope I have left is my work and my family. That devil incarnate may have stolen my country, but he will not steal you!"

Silence for a moment. "I will make myself useful to you, Maria, I swear," came a gravelly voice. "I'll find a way to pass on information for your friends to use."

Nico inched forward and peered through the archway. Nonno stood from his chair with great effort and embraced a sobbing Mamma. "Don't cry, my love. Be strong, and trust in Jesus almighty." His words popped and cracked. These simple actions exhausted him. This wasn't Nico's grandfather, Generale d'Armata Enrico di Angelo, Four-Star General of the Italian Army, an intellectual of endless strength and commanding presence. Who was this seventy-year-old man, beaten by time and ready to surrender? Where was Nico's idol? What did that old man do to him?