The goldsmiths’ shops that lined the Ponte Vecchio, the bridge that Adolf Hitler had thought was too beautiful to be destroyed as the German Army began its final retreat from Italy, were deserted, the streets empty of all but the last one or two Florentines finally heading home from the bar or restaurant where they’d spent the evening. The pale moonlight, filtered through a scattering of cloud layers, played over the Santa Maria del Fiore, commonly referred to as the Duomo, and the Baptistry, giving life to insubstantial shadows that seemed to flicker and move around the ancient buildings. But two of the shadows endured, moving with clear purpose through the ancient streets. Neither man knew the city well. Both had been recruited from the Rome underworld, precisely because their temporary employer had not wanted to use faces who might be known to the police of Florence. The downside was the lack of local knowledge, but a hand-drawn map, supplemented by a mapping application on the smartphone carried by one of the men ensured that they knew exactly where they were going.
