Whether it our own family legacy or the history of the world, there has never been a more important time to remember the truth of what really happened. Jordyn Taylor already did it once with The Paper Girls of Paris and now she has us heading us over to Rome to uncover more of what happened in World War II in another sweeping read.
Cosmopolitan has an exclusive look at The Rebel Girls of Rome by Jordyn Taylor, which is set to be released July 8, 2025. The novel follows Lilah who is desperate to reconnect with her family’s history after the death of her mother. When she receives a letter from another student, suddenly she finds herself in Rome and one step closer to the truth that her grandfather has been keeping from her all along. Here’s some more info from our friends at HarperCollins:
Part historical mystery, part sweeping romance, The Rebel Girls of Rome brings the stories of two young women to brilliant life: Lilah, a college student looking to understand her grandfather’s mysterious past, and Bruna, a queer Jewish woman who joins the resistance during World War II.From Jordyn Taylor, author of The Paper Girl of Paris, this dual-contemporary and historical tale—where heartbreak, hope, and finding light in times of darkness are inevitably intertwined—is perfect for readers of Ruta Sepetys and Monica Hesse.Now:
Grieving the loss of her mother, college student Lilah is hoping to reconnect with a grandfather who refuses to talk about his past. Then she receives a mysterious letter from a fellow student, Tommaso, claiming he’s found a lost family heirloom, and her world is upended.
Soon Lilah finds herself in Rome, trying to unlock her grandfather’s history as a Holocaust survivor once and for all. But as she and Tommaso get closer to the truth—and their relationship begins to deepen into something sweeter—Lilah realizes that some secrets may be too painful to unbury…
Then:
It’s 1943, and nineteen-year-old Bruna and her family are doing their best to survive in Rome’s Jewish quarter under Nazi occupation. Until the dreaded knock comes early one morning, and Bruna is irrevocably separated from the rest of her family.
Overcome with guilt at escaping her family’s fate in the camps, she joins the underground rebellion. When her missions bring her back to her childhood crush, Elsa, Bruna must decide how much she’s willing to risk—when fully embracing herself is her greatest act of resistance.
Read the exclusive excerpt below to discover more about Lilah’s family. Don’t forget to pre-order The Rebel Girls of Rome and check out Jordyn’s other books as well!
An Excerpt From The Rebel Girls of Rome
By Jordyn Taylor
Chapter 3
Bruna1943
Daniela and I are almost at the front of the bread line when our neighbor, Signora Leoni, comes running as fast as she can, her slippers pounding up the cobblestone street. She says we all must get to the synagogue, for the rabbi has an announcement to make.
Fear courses through me. “About what?”
“The Germans,” Signora Leoni replies. “I’ve been told it’s an emergency.” Breathing heavily, she continues her trek up the street.
“I—I’m sure it’ll be all right,” Daniela says, as much to herself as to me.
“Mm-hmm.” Instead of telling my younger sister how I really feel, I squeeze the locket that hangs from my neck, channeling my terror into the golden pendant.
The first emergency we must handle is the aching emp- tiness in our stomachs. Inside the bakery, we hand over the ration cards that grant us each two hundred grams—one loaf—of pane unico. Our precious brown bread in hand, we leave the shop, where we each break off a corner to stuff in our mouths before tucking the rest in our pockets for later.
Daniela closes her eyes, savors the morsel of dry bread. I chew with military-like efficiency, getting it over with. My stomach spasms as we make our way to the synagogue. When you’re this hungry, food is a blessing and a curse, because nothing goes down easily.
At the giant domed building near the river, a sea of people floods up the steps. Mamma and my little brother, Raffaele, are probably out in search of food, but Daniela and I link arms and climb to the top of the steps, where we crane our necks for any sign of Papà’s weary face.
“There he is.” Daniela points up the street to Papà, who drifts toward the synagogue with empty eyes, following the pull of the crowd. It’s almost as though our father died five years ago, and the man we’ve known since then is a ghost. He used to be so full of life, back when he owned the stationery shop, when we could actually afford the food on our ration cards. Then came the racial laws. Il Duce, who was supposed to be our protector, forced us out of school and work. Our family used to vacation at the seashore, on beaches that have since been closed to Jews. Now Papà is lucky to find an odd job here and there, no matter how hard he’s always searching. He climbs the steps with legs that seem leaden. “Hi, girls.”
I try my best to keep my voice steady. “Do you know what’s happening?”
Papà shakes his head grimly. “I never know what’s hap- pening anymore.”
“At least we’re together.” Daniela wedges herself between us and links her other arm through Papà’s, her malnour- ished body guiding us into the synagogue. I may not share her optimism, but she’s right about one thing: At least we’re together. Two years ago, my friend Aronne’s father, Signor Piperno, was so guilt-ridden from not being able to provide for his family that he took his own life.
Inside the packed synagogue, Rabbi Zaccaria strides up onto the bimah, where he thanks the community for gather- ing on such short notice. Even from the back of the hall, his frown is visible beneath his bushy gray beard. “Yesterday, the German authorities summoned two of our leaders, Ugo Foà and Dante Almansi, to their headquarters at Via Tasso to issue a certain . . . request.”
He pauses.
“We must hand over fifty kilograms of gold, or else two hundred members of our community will be sent to labor camps in Germany.” The rabbi holds up his hands to silence the murmurs. “And we must do so in thirty-six hours.”
Screams and cries reverberate off the high ceiling.
“Fifty kilos?” Daniela asks, wide-eyed. “How much does gold weigh? Can we do that?”
Papà doesn’t answer. His face is white as a sheet. “I don’t know,” I tell my sister.
“It has to be possible.” Despite everything we’ve been through, Daniela still trusts, deep down, that the Fascists will take care of us. Or that’s the way it seems. Maybe she’s actually like me: hiding a knot of doubt and distrust at her core, but never making it known for fear of what happens to people who violate government rules. As I look around the room, I can’t help but wonder how many other knots are growing in my neighbors’ chests, even if they’ll never admit it. We’ve all heard the horrifying stories of what’s happening to Jews in other parts of Europe.
A few rows ahead of us, Aronne jumps up onto a wooden bench. He’s short and burly, so even on the bench he has to wave his arms to be seen above the crowd. “We’re just going to lie down and let the Germans take our gold?” he shouts at Rabbi Zaccaria. “What’ll they take next?”
“Young man, please ”
I’m terrified for Aronne’s safety. Ever since his father died, he’s been dangerously vocal about his anti-Fascist sen- timents, and in the two and a half weeks since the Germans invaded, he’s been open about resisting them, too. What if a neighbor reports him to the authorities? Our community may be close-knit, but still, you never know who might be side-eyeing you—who might snitch on you in the hope of getting something more to eat. And then, what if he gets arrested? Our new occupiers have put up posters stating that organizers of strikes and other resisters will be “tried and executed by summary judgment.”
Aronne turns to the congregation. “How do we know the Germans won’t turn around and send us to labor camps any- way? We shouldn’t pay their ransom; we should take our gold and use it to buy weapons so we can fight them!”
A few other young men clap and cheer, but the major- ity of the room looks to the rabbi for guidance. Up on the bimah, he continues speaking in his measured voice. “As we witnessed in the streets of Rome earlier this month, fighting the Germans would involve tremendous risk of injury, and we do not want any members of our community to get hurt. If we show the Germans reason, perhaps they will be more reasonable—”
“The Germans, reasonable?” Aronne interrupts. “They’re as reasonable as the Blackshirts!”
The Blackshirts, or squadristi, are groups of brutish men devoted to enforcing Fascism by any means necessary. They’re known for tying dissenters to trees and pouring pints of cas- tor oil down their throats, then sending them home covered in their own bowel movements.
Aronne continues, “I have a friend in Paris who says the Germans rounded up thirteen thousand Jews and locked them in a cycling stadium before shipping them—”
“Which is why we have decided to comply with the Germans’ request,” the rabbi insists, cutting him off. “We pray that it ends with the gold.”
Most of the crowd nods, Papà and Daniela included. I wish I were brave like Aronne, who starts to yell something else before an older man yanks him down off the bench.
Instead I squeeze my locket, like always.
Back at the apartment, our hunt for gold begins. We sold many of our valuables after Papà lost his job, but we held on to our more precious items: the gold-stemmed wineglasses my parents received as a wedding present, the gilded frames showcasing our family photographs. This time around, we can’t keep anything. The week before Papà closed the statio- nery shop, he put a sign in the window to advertise a sale: “CLEARANCE: SHOP CLOSED FOR CEASED ACTIV-
ITY.” That’s how I feel now, as Daniela and I search through the bedroom we share with our brother.
“I loved these.” Pouting, Daniela plucks a pair of gold ear- rings from her jewelry box. With a sigh she sets them aside, along with a bracelet she’s had since she was little.
Our eyes meet in the vanity mirror. I’m nineteen and she’s fourteen, but our struggle to survive has made us both look older than we are. We have the same pale, thin faces, the same honey-brown eyes ringed by dark circles. She still wears her long, dark brown hair in a neat braid down her back. I wear mine loose, wild—the tiniest act of defiance. Back when we still put on our uniforms to take part in Fascist Saturdays,
I would have been scolded for showing up with messy hair. “Turning in our gold . . . it’s all for the best, isn’t it,
Bruna?” Daniela was always more eager to put on her uni- form than I was. As far as I can tell, she isn’t harboring a secret that keeps her from ever truly fitting in with the rest of the world—a secret that makes her feel as though she’s stranded on a remote desert island, even when she’s standing on the busiest street in Rome.
“I don’t know,” I admit. It’s the same thing I told her in the synagogue. The truth is, I don’t want to comply, and I never have—but the alternative is just as awful. I know what Mussolini and Hitler think of people like me, and I don’t just mean Jews, or women. I mean people like Giuseppe, the friendly man who owned the bookstore near Papà’s old sta- tionery shop.
I turn away from Daniela so I can keep sorting through our sewing kit for gold buttons. But first I squeeze my locket.
The Rebel Girls of Rome Copyright © 2025 by Jordyn Taylor. Used with the permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
The Rebel Girls of Rome, by Jordyn Taylor will be released on July 8, 2025. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:
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