“Still, I can think of another plan. Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Elisabetta raised the binoculars.
* * *
—
Later, they walked along by moonlight, crossing vineyards and horse pastures. They came upon a large acetaia with a small stone farmhouse, a barn, a chicken coop, and two outbuildings. They sneaked through rows of vines to the outbuildings, and Marco turned on his flashlight and shone it inside.
The first outbuilding contained balsamico barrels, reeking of fermenting vinegar, and the other held stacked burlap bags. They chose the latter and went inside. The air smelled musty, and cobwebs draped from the low rafters.
Marco cast the flashlight on the burlap bags. “We can sleep here. We’ll be gone by dawn.”
“Good.” Elisabetta eased into the earthen floor, leaning back against the bags. “I’m so tired, I could sleep sitting up.”
“I’ll wake you up when it’s time. I always know.” Marco sat beside her, turning off the flashlight and plunging them into darkness. His eyes adjusted to his surroundings. Moonlight streamed through the small window.
Elisabetta didn’t respond.
Marco looked over to find her already asleep. He exhaled, then let himself feel his own fear and anguish. Their mission was dangerous, with slim odds of success. He would lay down his life for Sandro and Massimo, but he would never forgive himself if anything happened to Elisabetta. He considered sneaking out while she slept and executing the plan alone, but he did need her. And she would have been furious with him.
He leaned back on the burlap bags, closed his eyes, and rehearsed his plan in his mind. Tomorrow was the first step, and the more he thought about tomorrow, the less he thought about his father’s death, and Gemma’s.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE
Elisabetta
17 October 1943
Elisabetta walked along Via Remesina, swinging a bottle of wine. Bees buzzed in the vineyards, and the air smelled of fermenting balsamico and freshly cultivated earth. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon, perfect for a young girl to visit her grandparents, which was her false story. This was the next step of their plan, and its success depended solely on her. She had freshened her dress and combed her hair into place, as she needed to look her best. Marco was watching her through his binoculars, from the ravine.
She tensed at the sight of armed Nazis with dogs, ahead at the transit camp. A group of them were guarding the prisoners laboring on the construction site, at the back of the camp. Dump trucks with muddy tires were parked on the site, and lumber and tools had been stacked here and there. She reached the site, and the dogs began barking at her.
Nazi guards and prisoners watched her pass by. The prisoners returned to their toil, but the Nazis smiled or winked at her. One Nazi blew her a kiss, which revolted her, but she waved back.
She kept walking, reminding herself that she had an important role to play. She felt newly stronger, having learned the truth about how her father’s hands had been broken. Now she was proud of him, rather than ashamed. He had sacrificed to resist the Fascists. She felt as if she were truly his daughter, doing her part to defy the Nazis.
She reached the end of the construction site, walked along the side of the transit camp, and turned right on Via dei Grilli, heading for the main entrance. Inside, Nazis going in and out of the offices stopped to watch her walk by, smiling and waving. She smiled and waved back. The gates were open to construction traffic, and a group of Nazis surged forward to meet her, greeting her in German and broken Italian.
She smiled, waved, and made eye contact with as many Nazis as possible, for her goal was to be memorable. She was never good at flirting, but she didn’t have to be, for they seemed hungry for female attention. Suddenly one of the dogs lunged at her, baring its teeth.
Elisabetta jumped back, startled. “Oh!”
“I’m very sorry, miss,” the Nazi said, in poor Italian. He reprimanded the dog, which quieted. “He’s really very friendly. Would you like to pet him?”
“No, thanks.” Elisabetta made a funny face, and the Nazis laughed, evidently charmed.
“Do you live nearby, miss?”
“No, my grandparents do. I’m visiting.” Elisabetta felt satisfied that she had made enough of an impression. “Well, I’d better go now. Goodbye.”
“Will you come again sometime?”
“I’ll try,” Elisabetta answered, knowing she would be back sooner than they expected.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SIX
Marco
17 October 1943
It was almost midnight. Darkness concealed Marco and Elisabetta, who were lying in the ravine side by side, on their stomachs. Marco held the binoculars to his eyes, watching the transit camp. The prisoners were in their barracks. The construction site was quiet. The Nazis guarded their posts along the perimeter fence.