She froze at the sound of rough, stumbling footsteps on the stairs.

“Where is he going?” Rosa shouted.

“He’s lonely, too, and I know you have sisters up there. Pretty ones, too.”

Rosa gasped in horror. “What kind of pervert are you? They’re children.”

“The one with the curly hair isn’t a child. She’ll do.”

“My sister-in-law? Are you insane? My brother is just outside.”

“So? What’s he going to do? I’ll tell you—nothing. If he even puts a finger on me or Meier he’s a dead man, and you know it. So shut up and stop fighting me.”

Nina stood in the dark, waiting, willing her hand to stop shaking and her roiling stomach to settle so she might think. Just think, and somehow find a way to keep both of the intruders at bay.

The man was almost at the top of the stairs, his footsteps growing ever louder, and if a giant were to have jumped from the shadows she wouldn’t have been surprised. She waited, her pulse thundering in her ears, but the soldier who finally appeared was no figure of terror. Instead it was the boy whose hand she had stitched not quite two weeks before.

“What is the matter? Why are you here? We’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You are very pretty,” he said carefully, his Italian so heavily accented she had trouble understanding him. “I want only to talk. Maybe to kiss you. Maybe more.”

“My husband is outside—”

“Stop talking,” he warned. “Stop now.”

“But the children—you’ll wake the children.”

“Then be quiet.”

Something moved in the shadows behind him, and some nameless instinct told her to keep talking. Keep him occupied.

“All right,” she said. “But I need a minute. Just a minute to . . . to get ready. Is that all right?”

He flushed, and she wondered if he might be ashamed. If she might be able to urge him to reconsider what he was about to do.

“I’m begging you,” she whispered. “Please go. Please leave us alone.”

He opened his mouth, about to answer.

Would have answered if not for the blur of movement in the darkness, the hand that wrenched his head back so roughly, the startling gleam of metal. The awful choking, struggling sounds of a dying animal that followed.

A hot spray of liquid hit her face. Still not understanding, Nina wiped at her eyes and was surprised when her hand came away dark with blood. Was it her blood? Had he stabbed her?

But no, for Meier was sliding to the floor, his legs still jerking, and Nico was behind him, Rosa’s good knife in his hand.

She would not scream. Could not, or the other German would hear. She covered her mouth with her hands and was surprised by the coppery taste on her tongue. She forgot to scream.