On April 25, 1945 World War Two was declared over, and Italia liberated from Nazifascist rule.
Italian partisans fought against the enemy from 1943 to the end of the conflict, 1945.
Here's some excerpts from Giovanni Pesce, Senza Tregua. Without Rest.

This passage has the strongest impact when you consider that Italy was officially on the side of the United States and allied forces,but these zones were in denial of that, and were run by fascists and nazis that would not give up the fucking ghost.

"(...) in partisan war don't fall by maneuvering, they're destroyed; enemy forces are not surrounded, they're annihilated. In "no man's land", between a unit and another, forces move in irregular formations, not to expose themselves to attacks."

"I receive the news March 23rd, in the evening: in the morning Germans and Fascists captured the entire Piedmontese regional command Volunteers for Freedom: General Perotti and all the rest, including Eusebio Giambone. The messenger bringing me the news doesn't know the details:
'They were in Piazza San Giovanni; nothing else is known except that the square was completely blocked. Fascists knew and set the trap. The hit was successful.'
Our actions as gappists had their effects on the working class andon the partisan formations acting around the city. The entire clandestine movement was picking up quickly: hope, unimaginable until yesterday began to reappear, maybe in a new strike, maybe in new demonstrations of  struggle. In any case, the sabotage of factories and the enlisting of workers in partisan formations proceed with growing intensity.
The hit surprises us as we are gaining the upper hand. Only in the last ten days we blew up a train at Porta Susa, shot dead a high German official, and executed an SS sargeant; in the same morning, while our command was being captured, Bravin and me eliminated one of the most despicable characters of fascist propaganda: Ather Cappelli, the director of Gazzetta del Popolo, the provoker of bloody reprisals. The action was one of the of the more risk filled ones. The betrayer was well "guarded"; when he would go out in the morning to the paper's office, or to the offices of of the fascist federation, or when he returned home in the evening, he was surrounded by a squad of armed goons. It seemed impossible to surprise him. But looking into his habits we found a pull in his precautionary net. Living in the downtownest Largo Migliara, continuously monitored by nazifascist squads, he returns home for lunch at one. he probably thinks any action impossible in an area where a man can be localized at 1,500 feet, because of the rigorous geometry of the streets and the lack of porticos. Cappelli returns home by car. We cannot use bicycles, since they would attract the attention of nazifascists.
We meet at dawn with Bravin, in Piazzale Susa. "Are you ready for a stroll?" I ask him. It's a way to hide my tension. He must find himself at the end of his rope too. It's been a long time we don't give ourselves any breaks. He doesn't know for what action I've called him. When I tell him the command's order, he only asks me if the itinerary was studied. I tell him that I personally took care of the preparation. We reach the "base" with Ines' s help. Near Cappelli's house  there's one with a damaged gate that's always open: the old iron fence has long disappeared along with the other iron donated to the fatherland. Hidden there we wait 'til one. It feels like the hours do not ever pass. Luckily the place is not crowded. The greater part of the tenants must have left the city for safety. We still get rid of the tension.

Days and nights go by in a continual state of alarm. We're forced to control every gesture, to slide close to the walls at dawn, to stay shut indoors while people are at work to avoid being surprised by squads that would analize our ID excessively. Here, now, at the corner, we're living one more of those long, exhausting waits.
'Let's go', I tell Bravin.Only a few minutes to one. Cappelli is always exactly on time. I checked it out. We're exactly on time as well.
We split up. I go to my position on Largo Migliara, on the side of the street.
Bravin goes to the opposite side. At about 25,000 feet on my right, I see Ines. She's also on time. She took her place at one. I try to look as natural as possible. On that street, a man who is not wearing a nazi or fascist uniform cannot stay still for more than a minute without provoking alarm. The area is overrun by military vehicles and in many houses live fascist officials.

Ines, pretending to read a flyer, checks the side from where the car should approach: I seehermove and cross the road: it's the signal. I turn a little too quickly, walking toward Bravin. According to my calculations, walking normally, we should meet in front of the fascist official's house at the right time.

Even Bravin, with a confident look, comes toward me. I distinguish clearly the strained expression of the gappist, one of the best. He has a cigarette dangling from his  lips, and has, like me, his hands sunk in his jacket's pockets. I hear the car's noise behind me: it's Cappelli. I become aware of the instinctual impulse to quicken my step. But it only lasts for a moment: to run would mean setting off the alarm. Even Bravin starts walking casually. We can stare at each other's eyes: we're about 250 feet away from one another, at about thirty steps from the front door where Cappelli will stop. Bravin doesn't look at me anymore. The roar of the motor lowers as it breaks. Bravin pretends to look elsewhere. There must only be about 50 feet between me and Bravin: two people who who meet each other, completely by accident, along the sidewalk of a residential neighborhood. At this point Cappelli's car passes by. My comrade moves his hands slightly in his pockets. He probably notices the same movement of my hands. 20 feet between me and Bravin. I see Cappelli collect some papers, then open the car door and get out. Bravin and I shoot at the same time. Seven bullets mow him down. There's the driver. The command insisted we should spare him, but he calls for help. I tell him to shut up, but he shouts anyway. I make him shut up with a bullet in hisleg. He falls to the ground. We have to run, now. Ines is already safe. Instead, we have to run to a less deserted area, where we could mix in with the crowd. Running without cover, risking being shot at sight by a Salo' fascist or a nazi, we hold our weapons in sight. Suddenly at the street corner  we see an official and two fascist soldiers. They see us: I exchange a glance with Bravin. If they're only three at the height we can use our guns, we might overtake them.  We continue to run breathlessly. If the three position themselves at the corner, it's over for us. But we can't backtrack: by now the alarm has been given andwe would inevitably fall in enemy hands. Even the main doors are shut. It's an old neighborhood with strong doors, bomb proof. We're only some 100, 200 feet from fascists. I tell Bravin: "as soon as I throw myself on the ground by the wall, do the same. But at a distance, so we can shoot together." Bravin nods. Just some more feet: now we can shoot. I'm about tothrow myself on the ground, when the unexpected happens. The three Salo' fascists run. They disappear in the street from where they came. The street is free. We finally reach a crwoded square. I climb on the first trolley passing by. Bravin goes off on his own. We will meet later. We're safe,now. When I get home, at Piazza Campanella, I throw myself on the bed. I've never seen my death so close like this time. At 7:30PM they bring me the afternoon paper. It announces " A bounty on those responsible for the assassination of the worthy comrade Cappelli." It's the eighth bounty onmy head and Bravin's. Later I receive the news of the capture of the C.V. L.command."