She climbed down the ladder and helped Rosa to pull it back up. She waited until the trapdoor was closed and she could see her friend—her sister—no more. She walked downstairs, past the parlor, through the kitchen, and into the afternoon sun.

“I surrender,” she called out.

Zwerger whirled around, triumphant, and closed the distance between them.

“It took you long enough.”

“I was asleep when you arrived. I had to dress.”

He stepped back, looking her over, and his expression curdled into disgust. “What is that?”

She looked down and saw the two dark stains against the pale blue fabric of her bodice.

“Where is the child?” Zwerger demanded.

“Dead. Born dead because of you.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Why? Because my breasts are leaking? Don’t you know that a mother still produces milk for her dead child? Yet another horror you have laid at my door.”

Zwerger whirled around, his gaze settling on the children. A few paces led him to Angela

“Does she tell the truth? Was the child born dead?”

Angela looked to her father, her entire body quaking with fear, and then to Nina. “Yes,” she said carefully. “The baby was dead. Rosa said it was because of the shock.”

“Very well. And yet I think a search of this house is still worthwhile.”

Zwerger barked out his orders; all but two of the soldiers rushed inside the house. The sound of crashing furniture soon followed.

They were making such a racket. Surely it would wake the baby. Surely they would hear her wails and learn the truth of the hiding place. Nina held her breath, not daring to hope, but eventually the soldiers filed out and made their report to Zwerger.

“But that is impossible!” he raged. “That sister of his—the one who spat in my face. What about her? Where has she got to?” He spun around and advanced on Nina again. “You are hiding something—I know it!”

“I am not.”

“But you are,” he insisted, and he took hold of her arm and dragged her across the courtyard until she stood before Aldo and his children. “Look at her—a Jew! All along she’s been hiding here, a cuckoo in your cozy nest, and she is the reason your Niccolò is lost to you. She brought this to your door—can you not see the truth of it?”

“You lie!” Aldo shouted, and only the threat of the soldiers’ guns kept him pressed against the wall.

“But I can prove it,” Zwerger insisted.

“That she’s a Jew? What of it? She is my son’s wife. And that makes her my daughter. Nothing can change that. As for your other accusation, we both know that you are the reason my son is not here today. You alone are responsible for taking him from us.”