Selva fell, stricken. The children rushed to her, screaming. Rosa dropped her basket of vegetables and knelt at the dog’s side, her hands painted red with blood as she moved them over Selva’s golden fur.

Nina managed, just, to stay on her feet. “What sort of man are you, to kill a dog in front of the children who love her?”

Zwerger had been staring at the dog, at the children, at Rosa and the blood that covered her arms and dress. Now he turned to face Nina again. There was nothing on his face—no expression of remorse, of horror, of disgust, even.

“Leave here,” Nina commanded, and to her surprise he did just that. Simply swung around and got in his car and was driven away.

“Nina,” Rosa called out. “She’s still breathing!”

“She’s alive? From the way she fell, I thought—”

“Can you help her?”

“I don’t know. Help me get her into the kitchen.”

Selva was heavy, at least twenty-five kilos, but with the two of them sharing her weight, they managed to haul her onto the kitchen table. The electricity, once again, was not working, but Agnese was quick to light two of the lamps, and she and Angela held them over the table while Nina examined the dog. It was difficult to get close to her, though, for Carlo was hugging the animal, his thin arms clutching her tight, his sobs unrelenting.

“Carlo, darling, let me look at her,” Nina pleaded. “You need to stand back.”

“He killed her. He took out his gun and he killed her, and she only barked at him! She never bites anyone! She’s dead and he killed her!”

“She isn’t dead, my darling, she’s asleep. Only asleep, and I need to make her better. Let me see her, please.”

Rosa pulled him aside, gently, and before Nina even had to ask, the other woman handed her a bowl of hot water and a clean cloth.

Nina set to washing the wound, putting pressure on one area that was still bleeding heavily. “I need the scissors,” she told Rosa. “Can you cover them in iodine first? I need to cut away some of her fur—see here? The bullet hit her shoulder, but it was only the muscle. I don’t think it hit the bone.”

Nina snipped at the fur, wiping away blood as she worked, and before long she could see all of the wound. “The bullet didn’t go in—thank goodness for that. It skimmed along the top. If I can clean the wound and stitch it she should recover.”

“Why won’t she wake up?” Angela asked softly.

“When a bullet hits you, it feels like someone has punched you very hard. It’s a good thing she’s asleep, because that means she’ll stay still while I’m helping her.”