Yet for all the hours Antonina spent at her mother’s side, the moments of connection they shared were growing ever more elusive, and there had been one awful day, not so long ago, when her mother had not recognized her at all.

Today, however, had been a good day, or something close to good, and her mother had allowed Antonina to feed her nearly the entire bowl of soup. “Let me wipe your face and hands with this cloth—isn’t the water nice and warm? There. That must feel good. And what if I were to read to you for a while? We can pick up at—”

“Hello, Devora. Hello, my Nina.”

“Papà! Look, Mamma—it’s Papà. We weren’t expecting you.”

“I know, I know,” he said, crossing the room so he might press a kiss to his wife’s temple. Then he turned his head a fraction, just so he might look Antonina in the eye. “Will you come into the hall with me?” he asked, and the tone of his voice, so careful, so measured, alarmed her more than if he had screamed in her face. “We’ll let your mother rest for a moment.”

There was nothing for it but to follow, her hands clammy with apprehension, and wait for him to share the terrible news with her. And she knew it was terrible, for it was hardly likely to be good news. Not with the newborn Republic of Salò so desperate to please its allies in Germany.

“I am sorry for the haste. For frightening you. It’s only that something has happened, and I . . . I hardly know how to begin.”

“Say it,” she implored. “Imagine I’m one of your patients and you’re giving me bad news. You have to say it, no matter what, otherwise how can the cure begin? Go on, Papà.”

He nodded, hesitated for a further heart-tearing moment, and then, finally, whispered in her ear. “Arrests are imminent. Any day now. Any hour.”

Since the moment German troops had first occupied Italy, only weeks before, she had known this moment would come. She’d been as sure of it as her next breath. And yet she still could not bring herself to believe. “How can you be certain? People have been worrying for weeks—why now? Why today?”

“They came to Dr. Jona. The Gestapo. Because of his presidency of the Jewish community. And they demanded he provide them with the names and addresses of every Jew in Venice.”

“Has he given them the lists?” Dr. Jona was her father’s friend. He was a good man. It was inconceivable that he should do such a thing.

“No. No, he told them it would take a day or two. For him to gather the information they needed. At least I believe that’s what he said.”

“Then we have—”