“Dr. Pivetti is a dyed-in-the-wool fascist. He’d turn us in and sleep all the more soundly for it.”

“What does your father think? Rosa?”

“Do you think my sister would let me do this if she didn’t agree?”

It was almost enough to make her laugh. “True enough. Though I can’t help worrying that my being here puts all of you in danger. I think we should find somewhere else for me to go.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. You shouldn’t have to risk so much for me. What have I done to deserve such kindness?”

“It isn’t something you’re expected to earn, Nina. You have the right to be safe here. This is your country as much as it is mine.”

“I wouldn’t blame you for looking away,” she insisted. “I would understand.”

A whisper of movement, then his fingertips brushed across her forehead. So gentle. So kind.

“You might forgive me, but I could never forgive myself. If I were to stand aside, I’d be no better than those who persecute you.”

“I heard it on the radio tonight. The manifesto.”

“Yes. And even worse . . .”

“Tell me,” she implored.

“There have been roundups. Not in Venice, not yet. But elsewhere they’ve been arresting all the Jews they can find. Last month in Milan, Turin, Rome. Last week it was Florence. The people they arrest are put on trains. Some they send to the camp in Fossoli. The others . . . I don’t know. We don’t know where they are sent.”

“Mamma and Papà—”

“Are where you saw them last. Can you hold on to that? If only for tonight? You need to sleep—we both do. And in the morning we’ll talk more.”

In seconds the peace of sleep overtook him, and she was left alone with her thoughts. He wasn’t her husband. He wasn’t her lover. He was, instead, her beloved friend. A man who ought not to exist in a time such as this. And what had she done to deserve the kindness he had shown her? Why had she been rescued when others were pursued, captured, imprisoned?

There was no reason for it. Pure chance had led her to Mezzo Ciel, to this farm, to this man. A stroke of fortune alone had saved her—and the same fortune might just as easily consign her to oblivion.

How was she to sleep, to rest, with the weight of such knowledge pressing down upon her? And how might she learn to live with it?

Chapter 12

30 November 1943

I’ve the last of the ironing to do this morning,” Rosa said to Nina after breakfast. “While I’m busy with that, you and the girls can go to the store for me. We’ve two dozen eggs. That should be enough to pay for everything.”

“With eggs?”