Author's Note: So, the last time I had this up here, I hadn't noticed how bad my Italian was, nor the fact that my translation hadn't made it into the final edit. So, here's the updated

version and a big thank you thank you thank you to Azure Phantom for correcting my Italian. It was much appreciated!


October 28, 1922

Rome, Kingdom of Italy

"March on Rome"

A victory, that's what had been won on this day. The heavy set Italian man surveyed Rome from the balcony and smiled. This was his now, his country was his and only his. The Italian watched as his troops marched along the streets. How simple it was to march on Rome with only an army of less than 30,000 men and still have the king hand over all power to him. The Italian smirked and turned back his back on the street. He walked into the large office and stood before the two men seated in the two chairs in front of the desk.

The younger of the two Italians cowered at the sight of him; his golden eyes squeezed shut, his prominent curl bouncing as the auburn haired man shook. The older one merely glared at the heavy set man; his golden eyes flashing in anger, refusing to say anything to his new leader.

The heavy set Italian frowned; he didn't like their defiance. He would need their cooperation in order to run this country. Didn't they realize that he was there to help their country get back on its feet? Didn't they realize that he would pull them out of their post-war collapse? He was a man of Italy, and he needed the cooperation of the two Italy boys.

"Salve ragazzi, sono Mussolini. D'ora in poi sarĂ² il vostro capo."

Neither of the two Italians said anything. The heavy set man scowled and put his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Non salutate il vostro capo?"

Still, neither of the Italian men spoke a word. The younger one started to cry a little at the heavy set man's touch. In anger, the heavy set man struck the younger one across the face, making him cry out.

"Rispondete quando vi parlo!"

The older Italian jumped up from his seat, golden eyes flashing dangerously.

"Non osare toccare Feliciano, bastardo! Non m'interessa chi tu sia, ma non
dovrai mai toccare mio fratello a quel modo!"

The heavy set Italian turned on the older Italian brother and punched him across the face. The older Italian's head snapped to the side, his dark brown hair whipping across his face before he collapsed to the floor.

"Romano! Non fare del male mio fratello!" cried Feliciano, rushing to his brother's side.

The heavy set Italian grabbed the young Italian by the collar and threw him back into his seat, causing him to cry harder. The heavy set Italian forced Feliciano's head up so he was looking at him. From the floor, Romano started to stir.

"Proviamoci di nuovo. Salve, sono Mussolini, il vostro nuovo capo. Potete chiamarmi 'Il Duce.'"


Translation:

Hello boys, I am Mussolini. From now on, I am your boss.

Aren't you going to say hello to your new boss?

You will answer me when I speak to you!

Don't you dare touch Feliciano, you bastard! I don't care who you are, you will not hurt my brother like that!

Romano! Don't hurt my brother!

Let's try this again. Hello, I am Mussolini, your new boss. You may call me 'Il Duce'.