plumnovel Chapter 726 Proton
Chapter 726 Proton
Gaspare sat in the passenger seat, seemingly wanting to say something but holding back.
Boselli leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed.
After a long while, he spoke, his voice hoarse.
"Gaspare, do you think the king will agree?"
Gaspare remained silent for a few seconds.
"Prime Minister, I don't know."
Boseli gave a wry smile.
"I don't know either."
Rome, December 22.
Quirinal Palace, the royal palace of Italy.
Boselli stood in the king's study, facing King Vittorio Emanuele III. The king was forty-eight years old, his hair already gray, and his face bore an indescribable weariness. He was dressed casually, sitting behind his desk, holding the agreement he had brought back from Switzerland in his hand.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then he put down the agreement, looked up, and looked at Boseli.
"The Germans want Umberto as a hostage?"
Boseli nodded.
"Yes."
The king remained silent for a few seconds.
What do you think?
Boseli took a deep breath.
"Your Majesty, I know this is difficult. But if the Germans don't believe us, none of this matters. Twenty divisions, the navy, political statements—they can see all of this as empty words on paper. Only His Highness Umberto—"
"Only my son can make them believe it?" the king interrupted him.
Boseli lowered his head.
"Yes."
The king stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the night in Rome was deep, and the dome of St. Peter's Basilica in the distance was faintly visible in the moonlight.
He remembered Umberto as a child. The skinny little boy, following behind him, calling out in a childish voice, "Daddy, wait for me." He remembered Umberto's tenth birthday when he gave him a pony, and the boy happily hugged his neck and kissed him again and again. He remembered Umberto's eighteenth birthday, dressed in a crisp military uniform, saluting him, his eyes full of youthful pride.
Now, he's going to send this son to Berlin.
To be taken hostage.
"Boseli," his voice was hoarse, "do you know what that means?"
Boseli nodded.
"I know. This means His Highness Umberto will become a bargaining chip in the hands of the Germans. If Italy betrays us again, he will be the first to die."
The king closed his eyes.
"Then why did you ask me to agree?"
Boseli remained silent for a few seconds.
"Your Majesty, if we don't do this, Italy will die."
He walked over to the king and stood beside him.
"Look at the current situation. Britain is on the verge of collapse, but they're still fighting. Germany is on the verge of collapse, but they're also fighting. The Lanfang have risen up, and they've taken over half of Britain's colonies in Asia. The Meikas have arrived; they want dollar hegemony, not help us."
He paused.
"Italy is caught in the middle, pleasing neither side. If Britain and France win, they will punish us. If Germany wins, they will look down on us. We will lose no matter which way we choose. Only by taking a gamble can we have a chance to win."
The king looked at him.
"A gamble? With my son?"
Boseli nodded.
"Yes. Prince Naumberto bets."
The king remained silent for a long time.
Outside the window, the night in Rome grew deeper. In the distance, church bells rang out, once, twice, three times—it was midnight.
"Boselli," the king finally spoke, "if anything happens to Umberto, I will kill you."
Boseli lowered his head.
"I know, Your Majesty."
"If Italy betrays us again, the Germans will kill him, and I will kill you."
"I know."
"If all of this is in vain, if Germany still loses in the end—do you know the consequences?"
Boseli looked up at him.
"I know. I will become the greatest sinner in Italian history."
The king stared at him for a long time.
Then he waved.
"Go. Bring Umberto to see me."
Boseli bowed and turned to leave.
Twenty minutes later, Umberto entered the king's study.
He was dressed casually, a hint of unease on his young face. He didn't know why his father had called him so late, but he knew something serious must have happened.
"Dad," he began, using the term he used when he was a child, "you were looking for me?"
The king looked at him, at that young face, those clear eyes, and that still innocent heart.
He suddenly didn't want to talk anymore.
"Dad?" Umberto called out again.
The king took a deep breath.
"Umberto, sit down. I have something to tell you."
Umberto sat down on the sofa and looked at his father.
The king walked up to him and sat down.
"Umberto, Italy is going to war."
Umberto paused for a moment.
"A war? With whom?"
"With Britain and France. We're going back to Germany again."
Umberto's eyes lit up.
"Really? We're finally not hanging out with those hypocritical British people anymore?"
The king looked at him, a sharp pain piercing his heart. This child, he had no idea what awaited him.
"Umberto, going to Berlin comes at a price."
Umberto paused for a moment.
"The price? What price?"
The king remained silent for a few seconds.
"The Germans want you to go to Berlin. To be a hostage."
Umberto's face turned pale instantly.
"hostage?"
The king nodded.
"Yes. Hostages. They need to make sure Italy doesn't betray them again."
Umberto sat there, motionless.
He looked at his father, at that tired face, those bloodshot eyes. He wanted to see a trace of reluctance, a trace of hesitation, a trace of struggle in his father's eyes that said, "I don't want you to go."
But he saw nothing.
He only saw a king. A man who would sacrifice everything for his country.
"Dad," he said softly, "will you let me go?"
The king remained silent for a long time.
Then he nodded.
"let."
Umberto lowered his head.
He recalled his childhood when his father took him to a military parade, pointing to the imposing soldiers and saying, "Umberto, you will be their king someday. You must protect them and be responsible for them."
Now, it's his turn.
He looked up at his father.
"I'll go."
The king was stunned.
"Umberto—"
The crown prince stood up and walked to his father.
"Father, I am the Crown Prince of Italy. If going to Berlin can protect Italy, then I will go."
He paused.
"I believe in you. I believe in Boselli. I believe the Germans won't hurt me."
The king looked at him, his eyes welling up with tears.
He stood up and hugged his son.
"Umberto—"
Umberto patted him on the back.
"Dad, don't be sad. I'll come back."
December 25th, Christmas Day.
A special train slowly pulled out of Rome's train station and headed north.
Inside the train carriage, Umberto sat by the window, watching the city of Rome gradually recede into the distance. The distant St. Peter's Basilica, the nearby houses, and the streets leading to unknown destinations all blurred and disappeared in the morning light.
Boselli sat opposite him without saying a word.
He didn't know what to say.
The train passed through fields, villages, and nameless stations. At each stop, Umberto would glance at the place, as if trying to etch it all into his mind.