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.
“Nothing.” Marco watched the Nazis, who examined their fingernails, brushed dirt from their coats, or smoked one cigarette after another. “They stand there, looking at the same vineyards night after night. That will help us, when the time comes. They’re bored to death.”
“That’s why they were so interested in me today.”
Marco lowered the binoculars. “That’s not why. You’re a beautiful girl, carrying wine. It’s what men dream of.”
“Men like wine that much?”
“No. Men like women who like wine that much.” Marco returned the binoculars to his eyes. “Still, you did well. You were brave.”
“Thank you.”
“The next step will be harder, and there’s always the possibility that Baron von Weizsäcker didn’t get Sandro and his father sent here. If the Baron failed us, we’re in trouble.”
“I think he did it.”
“Why?”
“I make the best pasta in Rome.”
Marco smiled, falling in love with Elisabetta all over again. His heart ached for her, and he worried these feelings would never leave him.
He stole a glance at her in the moonlight, but her eyes were on the camp.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SEVEN
Marco
18 October 1943
The next day, Marco and Elisabetta were lying in the ravine, having camouflaged themselves with underbrush. It was already late afternoon, and they were still waiting for Sandro and his father to appear. If the train had left Rome this morning, then Sandro and his father should have already arrived, assuming that they had been on the train.
Marco tried not to be discouraged. Elisabetta had fallen silent. He focused the binoculars on Via Remesina, the road from Carpi station. There was no sign of anyone. So far, the only traffic on that road or Via dei Grilli had been a mule cart, a farmer on horseback, and an old truck from an acetaia.
He shifted left, to the transit camp. It looked like business as usual, with Nazis on post at the perimeter. A group of Nazis guarded the construction site, where the prisoners labored. No preparations were being made to receive new prisoners, which worried him.
Marco watched and waited, then finally noticed something coming down Via Remesina toward the transit camp. In the next moment he realized that it was a few Kubelwagens, a