The sweet aroma of bread wafted from the windows of the small house and swarmed around the nose of the thin brunette as he walked up to the chipped green door. He pushed it open and sat a basket of vegetables on the white wooden table in front of the door, then shook the faded red cloak off of his thinly framed shoulders.

"Lovino! Is that you? It is about time, wouldn't you say? Dio mio, the moon is already so far up. Did you lock the door?" Grandpa Roma, who was shuffling about in his once white apron, pulled the heavy lock down on the flimsy door. Lovino gritted his straight, off-white teeth. "As if that does any good," he muttered under his breath shakily. "And you know what they look out for, and yet I'm still sent out to pick the vegetables up. You know what could have happened?"

"'Lovi!"

Wonderful. Feliciano came out of seemingly nowhere and sat down at the table. He grinned his soft, typical grin, then picked up a shining red tomato from Lovino's basket. "How was the market? I wish I could have gone but Grandpa Roma won't let me yet, he says its still dangerous, but it doesn't look all that dangerous to me. Do you think its dangerous, fratello? I really don't think so. I've seen everyone getting read for passo-"

"Shut up! Shut up, Feliciano," Lovino said with wide eyes as he instinctively closed their shutters and the patched-up curtains, but not before peeking out to make sure nobody had heard his idiot of a brother. "Keep your mouth shut, idiota."

"But I don't understand. Why don't we just leave?"

Grandpa Roma sighed as he watched the flames of the fire jump at the stones surrounding it, crackling and popping, almost ferociously it seemed. "We don't have money to leave. I barely have money to keep us alive."

Lovino heard his brother gulp. "But-"

"I think it is time for you to go to your room, Feli."

The auburn-haired boy nodded obediently, stood, and went to his and Lovino's bedroom, but not before wrapping his arms around his grandfather, who smiled his strong, confident smile before curling his arms around his grandson. "Goodnight, Feli. Stay quiet, please." Lovino watched his grandfather with his mouth twisted into a disgusted sneer.

"He makes a mistake and he gets comfort. I make a mistake and-"

"You," Grandpa Roma interupted, "You make a mistake and you're put on trial, tortured, and killed. No one will suspect Feli. But you, Lovi. You're different. You're what they're looking for. That is why I'm so strict with you and why it is so important that you aren't careless like your brother is. I couldn't stand to lose you, just like I couldn't stand to lose Feli."

Lovino looked down at the small tomatoes with a scowl. "It isn't even mine."

Grandpa Roma's nostrils flared at his grandsons comment. "What?"

"I'm not even Jewish. I don't believe in any of that."

The older man stood up while clutching to something deep in his pocket. Lovino knew it was a little golden star, one that the man had worn on his neck from childhood to now. Well, not now. He wasn't allowed to wear it now. But if you tilted your head, squinted, and perhaps framed the mans neck with your fingers you could still see the ghost of the golden chain and the shimmering star. And if you couldn't see it there, there was no doubt that you would be able to see that shine in his bright, young eyes. None of this suited Lovino. This wasn't his religion. This wasn't who he was. "They'll kill you, regardless. They won't believe you. You know they wouldn't, Lovi. You might as well be Jewish."

The brunette felt tears brimming in his squinted, amber eyes. His grandfather was right, as he always was. And no amount of wishing that this wasn't the case would make it true. He would never be able to live the life he wanted here. He wished he was back in Italy, back to the beautiful village, back to the fields of soft yellow flowers with humming bees, back to the little child he was then, smiling and running through the crowds in search for his cousins and for Grandpa Roma. And for his madre. He didn't want to think about what she'd think about the situation they'd gotten themselves into. And she'd blame herself, no doubt. She would take the entire stress, fear, and despair of the world with strife. And with it she would still be smiling that bright smile with those bright brown eyes, as if the weight of it all wasn't breaking her back and causing her to slowly sink lower into the ground. The tears that were merely brimming were now spilling out onto Lovino's flushed cheeks. She wouldn't have wanted this for him. She wouldn't have wanted to see him cry or see him stuck in such an awful place with such an awful terror constantly looming. He bit down on his lip while his Grandpa silently handed him a chunk of warm bread.

He hadn't eaten for pleasure for the past year. Every time something passed his lips, it was for his own survival. It wasn't as if they didn't have food. They did. And half of it was good food that he always enjoyed eating. But he couldn't bring himself to stomach it so much anymore. And it bothered him, too, that Grandpa Roma and Feliciano decided to spend money on good food instead of fixing up their home. Lovino bit into the bread, his lips twitching as they closed around the crisp edges. "Thank you," he whispered into his food. He was happy that Grandpa Roma hadn't decided to lecture him on religion like he did the last time that Lovino mentioned his lack of religion. He forced an appreciative smile, which his grandfather returned weakly. The older man pulled the boy into his arms, patting his back, trying so hard to comfort him. And it worked very slightly, but not as much as Lovino was hoping it would.

He wasn't crying anymore. And that was good. But the pain in his chest still throbbed uncontrollably, causing small shakes to travel down his spine and rack throughout his entire body. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, the way Grandpa Roma had told him to when this happened the last time.

"I think you should be going to bed too, Lovi. Get more sleep than you did last night, please. For me, so that I can rest knowing that at least you won't be so tired anymore." Lovino gulped, nodded, and turned towards the stairs.

"And Lovino," Grandpa Roma said, still in that soft voice, but with a hint of professionalism. "I have a costumer coming to pick up a few loafs of bread early. I'd really appreciate it if you-"

"I will. Goodnight."

.

The morning was so much duller than it had been the previous days. The spaniard looked off of his small balcony down at the few people out on the streets at this hour. He was already dressed. His hair had been pulled back. He wore a faint frown and an even fainter scowl that he didn't even believe himself. His lips tempted to curl into the smile that they were normally in. He looked down at the beautiful woman cleaning the front door of her shop. He couldn't help but to smile at her, or the other women who stepped out and peeked out of their windows. He could see their faces all at the windows, some happy, some sad, some angry, some neutral. All beautiful in their respective ways. His fingers curled tightly around the sword at his left side and tipped his hat down at the women who looked back at him. Many of them turned bright red and giggled to eachother, but the man didn't seem to notice.

He was to go to a bakery today. It was much more enjoyable than what he normally did and he was glad for the little break allowed to him. He walked quickly downstairs with the same stupid grin plastered to his face. His green eyes sparkled once they were hit by the little sunlight that shone through the clouds. He cleared his throat and resumed his scowl. Would it be better to go to this bakery with a smile? Or with a frown? A smile seemed easier and much more believable. Much more true. He gave up on the scowl officially and smiled to himself as he began to climb atop his honey coloured horse, but stopped for a second, thought briefly to himself, and decided it was smarter to walk to the bakery. He began the walk, keeping his eyes peeled and his chin up. He watched women and men pass by, keeping his eyes especially glued to the ones who wouldn't meet his gaze. He would just have to find something distinguishable about them so that he could recall them later.

That man has a very pointed beard and beady little eyes. That woman has very large breasts with a little mole near the collar bone. That man has a scar shaped like a crescent moon on his chin. That man has peppered hair and the longest eyelashes he'd ever seen. And that woman with the sweet looking face beside him had freckled cheeks, tanned skin, a thin waist, and wore a soft looking purple scarf. Her little pink lips were pouted and fresh, though there was nothing special about her.

He felt nothing for any of them, all he thought about them were observations only. He almost admired himself for not feeling anything for these women he passed. He was proud of the way that he could so carefully examine their perfectly rounded breasts, their wide hips and their softly flowing hair that framed their thin, tanned necks. His mind didn't stray from his work. He knew what they were, and he knew he could never love them. And they surely couldn't love him. He couldn't imagine a picture inside the frame, a soul inside the body, someone sitting behind the glossy, multi-coloured windows, their eyes. They were like the bulls killed for their meat and nothing more. And soon, they would be even more like those bulls than they could imagine.

As his hand pressed to the red door of the bakery, the spaniard was happy with the fact that there was an entire herd waiting for him behind the stacks of bread atop the visible wooden counter.

To Be Continued . . . .