“My parents are dead.” Awful to say such words, but far safer. “I had no one left back home.”

“You have known Niccolò for some time?”

What had they agreed upon? Had they ever discussed that part of things? What ought she to say?

“It was a whirlwind romance,” Rosa broke in. “Not an unusual thing in these times.”

“Indeed. It must have come as a shock to you all.”

“A surprise, yes, but a welcome one. We are very happy to have Nina with us. She is a great help to me.”

“Very well. Do pass on my felicitations to your husband, signora.” He spun around, his polished boots kicking up a flurry of dust, and made to enter his monstrous car. But then he paused suddenly, almost theatrically, and turned to face them once more. “Apart from your father and brother, Signorina Gerardi, there are how many men living here?”

“There are no other men. Only my younger brothers.”

“And their ages?”

“Why do you—”

“They are how old, signorina?”

“The older boys are seventeen and fifteen,” Rosa admitted. “And the youngest is nine. A child.”

“You keep them here in spite of the pressing need for labor elsewhere? Surely you cannot be ignorant of it.”

“We need the boys here on the farm. And it is our duty to grow what we can for the war effort, is it not?”

“A farm this size hardly requires the labor of four men.”

“And you know this how? Have you ever worked on a farm?”

“Certainly not, but I am perfectly able to judge when others are indolent and work-shy. Watch yourself, Signorina Gerardi. Your viper’s tongue does you no favors. In any event, I have wasted enough time here today.”

He got into his car and was driven away, and even after the sound of its engine had faded and her heart had stopped racing—even then Nina was still afraid.

This Nazi was not a man who would give up. He had come in search of Nico three times, and he would undoubtedly return again, and in the meantime he had taken note of her and seen her face and learned she had once lived in Venice. What was she to do?

NICO RETURNED A few days later, tired and dusty from his long walk home in the late afternoon sun, and though she longed to take him aside and tell him everything, the children were hanging off him and it wasn’t fair, she knew, to burden him immediately with the story of Zwerger and how he had frightened her. It would have to wait.

That evening, after the children were in bed and Aldo had uncorked a bottle of wine, Rosa and Nina told Nico of Zwerger’s most recent visit. He listened, one thumb digging into the crease between his brows, offering no comment until they had finished.